Breaking the Curse

2: Breaking the Curse

With a few adjustments, Remus tied Severus's hands to the bedpost and gagged him as well to hinder him performing magic. He hoped that Severus's condition was too poor to do wordless magic, but he couldn't be sure, and so he hurried, went back to the living room and to the sideboards which held pots and skillets, as well as phials and bottles filled with various potions.

There was one potion he needed for himself if he wanted to perform the necessary act, and yes, there it was, hidden behind a jar with Ashwinder eggs. Nearly embarrassed, Remus snatched up the phial, downing the contents before picking up a pot of salve. Remus returned to the bedroom only to find Severus kneeling next to the bed now, his arms painfully twisted, and with so much murder, hate, fear, and madness in his eyes it was almost unbearable to see.

The Potions master's hair clung to his skull and his bloody cheeks; he ripped once at the rope, nearly managing to dislocate his shoulder. Through the gag he shouted and screamed, then pulled hard enough at the rope that the bed moved away from the wall. His chest heaved, and big beads of sweat rolled down his temples. Every now and then, a drop of blood hit the floor. His skin was no longer white, but smeared red. He looked like the devil himself and tried once again to get up and away from the bed when Remus came into the bedroom.

For a moment, the werewolf closed his eyes, steeling himself. He had no idea why Severus suffered so very strongly from the curse, but one thing was clear – he did not have hours left. Maybe not even one hour. The curse needed to be broken quickly, he was the only one who could do it, and therefore, he would perform the task, whatever his own hopes and fears might be.

Remus grabbed his friend and threw him onto the bed face first, immediately pressing his knee into the back of the naked man. Trying to avoid body contact wasn't easy under the circumstances, so he quickly dug some salve out of the pot. "Damn Bellatrix," he murmured through clenched teeth. "I hope someone kills you tonight, or I swear I'll do it myself if I survive."

There were some long, deep wounds on the Potions master's shoulders, caused by sharp nails and strong fingers. Remus decided he could begin there as well as anywhere and traced the wounds with the salve from neck to bottom. With relief, he saw that his actions left healed skin – the salve was strong, and as his friend's hands were bound, he couldn't hinder the werewolf from performing his task. Remus knew that Severus had invented the concoction years ago when it had become clear that they could expect many wounded in the battles. Now, it served its designer, and Remus closed his eyes for a moment, thankful it worked so fast and so well.

Shoulders and arms, sides and hips. Soon, the scratches were only faint marks, and even Severus, trembling under his strong grip, managed to stop fighting for a moment. "The curse makes your skin extremely sensitive," Remus murmured whilst he worked, not only because the harsh breathing of the Potions master unnerved him but also because he hoped that the explanation would reach the burning brain of his friend. "Fabric hurts, which is why you undressed. Unfortunately, the skin of another human will hurt more. What I have to do... "

Damn. How could he explain? Under normal circumstances, Severus would, of course, know what was necessary to break the curse, but this – nothing of this was normal. Remus didn't know whether Severus understood or not. "The curse causes madness. Every victim so far has first killed others, then themselves... unless the curse is broken."

Snape resumed fighting against Remus's knee in his back and tugged hard again at the ropes that bound his hands to the bedpost. A strangled grunt indicated he knew very well what was necessary to save his life and he wasn't happy about it.

"Sexual intercourse," Remus whispered, talking to himself as well as the man struggling on the bed. "Of course Albus couldn't allow you to just rape someone, and you would have raped in your rage. Most likely killed your victim whilst doing so or afterwards at the least. Therefore, I am your only option. I am very sorry, Severus."

A flick, and Remus turned his friend onto his back. Now the werewolf placed his salve-covered hand in the middle of the Potion master's chest, and there were those colour-drained eyes, narrowed and thoughtful in their near madness.

"I'll make it quick," Remus said, and at that moment, Snape brought his knees up and slammed his ankles between the werewolf's legs. Had he made full contact with his target, Remus would have been thrown off the bed, howling with pain, but the Potions master only caught the werewolf's thighs – unpleasant, but not a bad hit. Hissing with hate and frustration, hissing through the gag that prevented him from cursing, hexing, and biting, Snape then threw his body around, stretched himself as far as possible, not caring that the ropes dug deeply into his wrists. He kicked and fought, but Remus backed off, caught by surprise and relieved that he had another few minutes' delay from his task.

Then Snape flung his body half off the bed, trying to get his legs onto the ground – he wanted to rip his hands free and didn't care that his body wasn't in any condition to fight anymore.

His bound hands turned in the ropes, but the angle was too steep; the strength Severus used was too forceful. Blood ran down his hands. One last pull, and his right wrist snapped in half, a dry little sound accompanied by the eerie, horrible scream of a wounded animal.

Remus's face was grey with horror. Seeing Severus kneeling next to the bed, hands twisted in the rope and tears of pain and panic streaming down his face, was too much. With one swift move, he grabbed his friend around the waist, picked him up, and lowered him face down back on the bed. The fact that Severus's wrist was broken couldn't be helped. In fact, it might come in handy. He had stopped fighting, not calmed, but stilled at least by the pain. Snape couldn't move anymore without causing himself further harm, and so he lay motionless on his own bed, but still groaning and hissing and trying to bite his way through the gag.

This was the time. Now was the moment. Remus knelt on the bed and opened the belt of his trousers.

All of this was so utterly, totally, and completely wrong: that he was here in this room, now, whilst everybody else fought in the final battle. That he was here, although Severus hadn't invited him. That he was naked and so very painfully hard. That the man underneath him, a man he had desired for years, was bound and gagged instead of waiting for him with longing in his eyes. The heat on his skin was wrong, the lust that rushed through his blood, the way his eyesight had sharpened because of the potion he had taken earlier... All of it was wrong. It was surreal, happening in another timeline, another reality. Therefore, Remus chose the easiest path: he shut out reality, forgot how much he hated to do this and how horrible it would be for Severus.

I can't just touch him, he thought and reached for the pot with salve once more. I have to protect him as much as possible; I can't hurt him any more than necessary. Quickly, he covered Severus's chest, abdomen, and thighs with the creamy substance, his hands and his arms and finally, his cock, using the salve as a barrier to direct skin contact. Severus's shoulders trembled underneath him; the Potions master groaned with pain as well as with need – it was of minor importance. All that counted was the now, the here, and that he had to hurry.

Due to the potion he had taken, Remus was more aware of his own body and of the body he had to invade. Touch brought arousal, smell increased his desire, and Remus could barely hinder himself from kissing Severus's neck, the pale, bloodied shoulders, and the side of his face that was not pressed into the pillow. So still his friend lay, not moving, just shivering. One bound hand was pushed under the other, holding the broken wrist. His joints were limp, and it was easy to push his legs apart. Snape didn't struggle; didn't fight.

Penetrating a man who was cursed was horrible; pushing his cock into someone who hated him, who would have stunned him under normal circumstances for as much as suggesting sexual intercourse, was an abomination. Remus felt his stomach twist, felt bile rise in his throat, felt his eyes burn with unshed tears. However, he had no choice. A forceful thrust of his hips brought him all the way in, and although Severus screamed against the gag, Remus neither stopped nor retreated.

Shagging an unwilling partner was the most awful, cruel thing Remus Lupin had done in all his life. It was worse than killing an enemy; it was worse than losing someone he loved. He hated himself for having offered to do so, hated that he had even carried Severus back to his rooms. He hated the fact that they were both here, and that his friend, for whatever reason, reacted much stronger and faster to the curse than usual. Remus wished he were anywhere else – on the battlefield, upstairs, fighting, or even dead, lying in the Great Hall covered by a blanket.

Instead, he was here.

To his horror – on some very dark level – he was enjoying it! The body underneath him, Severus's body, was responding to his attention. Remus was in heaven; the fact that the response was caused by the curse, simply because the body was as cursed as the mind, didn't matter at the moment. They moved together, and when Remus brought one salve-covered hand to his friend's cock, he was delighted to find it was hard. For one brief, endless moment he imagined that Severus not only needed but also wanted this fuck as much as he did.

Remus felt his conscious and his scruples slipping away. He forgot that the man underneath him was essentially a rape victim. It hadn't been more than a minute or two since he had begun to move his hips, since he had started shagging his friend. But... it felt so good. Severus felt so good! Warm and lean, he moaned with every thrust he received, and gods, how perfect the Potions master's cock felt in the werewolf's stroking hand, and how marvellously hot and narrow his arse was.

Severus's trembling subsided, but the gasps and groans, although muffled by the gag, became louder and clearly spoke of pure pleasure. Many long moments later, the Potions master threw his head back as he orgasmed, and Remus felt warm seed spill over his hand. Happily, he smiled and thrust deeper – a little while longer, only a little while, and he would come himself, would...

Cold dread washed through him as he realised what he was doing. Instantly, Remus froze in mid-action. Wrong! his mind screamed, and he pulled back his far too enthusiastic, still hard cock. Horrified, he stared at the hand that was placed on his friend's shoulder. Disbelieving, he felt the stickiness on his other hand, and Remus moved away from the pale, still man, moved away fast enough that he fell off the bed.

The combined smells of cum and blood strangled him and made him choke. How the hell was it possible that he hadn't smelled the blood on the sheets, blood that had seeped from the scratches on Severus's skin? How could he have forgotten that this was not consensual sex, that this was rape, nothing but sheer, brutal rape no matter how much Severus might have appeared to enjoy it? His reactions had been curse-induced, for Merlin's sake, and how could he, Remus, have dared to enjoy it for as much as a second, not to talk about... how long? One minute? Two? Ten?

Too long in any case.

Staggering, Remus stood and searched for his trousers, pulled them on, and closed the belt with shaking hands. His shirt... there it was, half under the bed, and he ripped off half a sleeve with clumsy hands, thrusting his arm in. A small nod summoned his wand as well as Severus's. His own he stowed in his trousers; the Potions master's wand he placed on the table next to the bed.

Monster! The thought crossed Remus's mind and he agreed whole-heartedly. He was a monster, had been one ever since he had been turned into a werewolf. What had happened here tonight only proved it once more. He had lost control; he had dared to enjoy this most brutal act, and that was unforgivable.

Swallowing heavily, Remus stepped around the bed and lowered himself to one knee. He needed to know. It was impossible to go before he knew if it had worked.

Severus lay still, barely breathing. His eyes were closed, his face covered by sweaty, blood-matted hair. Hunched shoulders and one balled fist – he was neither asleep nor unconscious; that much was obvious.

With unsteady hands, Remus unfastened the knots that bound his friend's wrists. Severus flinched: not from the brief contact, but because of his broken wrist.

Something like hope fluttered in the werewolf's chest. When no blisters appeared, when the skin stayed smooth and didn't break under Remus's touch, the werewolf considered the possibility that it was over, that the curse was undone, and that his crime had actually saved Severus Snape's life and sanity.

Carefully, Remus took Severus's broken wrist between his hands and lowered it slowly, very slowly, to the mattress. He didn't dare cast a Healing Spell – he was no expert and could do more damage than good, and therefore, he just steadied the joint with a Stasis Spell, thus keeping it immobilised. As if dealing with a terrified animal, the werewolf murmured nonsensical, reassuring words whilst doing so and then fished for the blanket, covering his friend up to the shoulders.

With his uninjured hand, Snape took the blanket and pulled it higher. Then he opened his eyes and stared at the werewolf kneeling in front of him.

His eyes were nearly black again; only a faint silver shimmer bore witness to the curse that had hit him hours ago. All the madness was gone; they were empty of emotion. The depth of Severus's eyes was endless; Remus felt himself drawn into them, into the abyss behind them, and into the horrors he must have caused.

Impossible. He couldn't stand it. Jerking his head away, Remus jumped up and ran, ran for his dear life and now for his own sanity. Pushing a chair out of the way, he reached the door – and halted. There had been a sound.

He turned, slowly and unwilling, and looked back to the bed.

Severus had pulled the blanket a bit higher. His injured arm was still lying outstretched on the mattress. His head, though, was covered and cradled in the crook of an elbow.

Once more, Snape's shoulders trembled, but not with pain or cold, nor because of madness thundering through his veins. Remus could hear the dry sobs, and he could see how Severus half turned and pressed his face into the pillow.

He wouldn't have believed the Potions master could cry. But then, Remus wouldn't have thought he himself was monster enough to be able to enjoy rape.

*****

Remus ran upstairs, out of the dungeons, away from the Potions master's rooms and the horrors he had caused in the past hours. Despairing, he hoped that someone – a Death Eater, an enemy – would see him, would kill him. He was barefoot, as he had forgotten his shoes in Severus's rooms; he was freezing because of his naked feet and because he hadn't eaten in more than twenty-four hours, and he feared someone would see him and ask him where he'd been.

Then he heard the cheers and knew the battle was over.

They had won.

Like a puppet on strings, the werewolf felt himself move towards the Great Hall. There was the noise; there was the source of the cheers. People were there, and when he looked through the doors, he saw that he knew them, most of them, at least. Former students of his were there, colleagues, friends. He saw Tonks waving at him but was feeling too numb, too lost, to so much as nod back at her.

And Dumbledore. He stood at the High Table, one hand on Harry's shoulder. He was talking, but through the noise Remus couldn't understand him. Only one thing was clear – Voldemort was dead, Harry had won, and the war was over. Finally.

Suddenly, as if Dumbledore sensed the werewolf standing in the doorway, he looked up, right into Remus's eyes. Remus nodded once before he turned away.

*****

His rooms, the rooms he had lived in this past year, although he no longer taught at Hogwarts, were dark and cold, and he welcomed it. Light would have pierced his eyes; warmth would have felt uncomfortable on his oversensitive skin. Warding the door, Remus threw his wand onto the table and headed for the bathroom. He felt dirty, filthy, and longed for a shower.

Bit by bit, he dropped his clothes. Icily, the water splashed on his head, his skin, his hair, and face. With shaking hands, he took the soap, but washing didn't make him feel clean.

And the pain between his legs, the longing, the need, didn't subside. He was still so hard that it hurt, and he knew that if he didn't take care of this problem, the pain would increase. The potion he had taken that had made it possible to fulfil his task in his friend's rooms – the strongest lust potion he had found – now demanded release.

He didn't want to do it, though. Touching himself, in the darkness of his own bathroom, whilst he was nearly freezing to death, and whilst thinking of... It was a horrible thought, having to do it like that. Nevertheless, his body screamed for the attention of his hand, and his hand found its way without guidance. His forehead pressed against the cold tiles, his fingers wrapped around his length, and he had to bite his lips to keep the lustful moans inside.

Wrong. This. Was. Wrong!

Still – he had to do it. He needed to come, and how could he control his own mind under the circumstances, keep control over his thoughts?

After he had spilled, he sunk to his knees, water still splashing onto his bluish skin. Maybe tears mingled with the water. All thoughts were gone, all need, and he felt empty, hollow, like a rotten, worm-eaten apple where only the skin was left.