Your Mark is burning.
Your hands, potion stained and shaking, clench and unclench from fear. Your eyes are wide, staring at the pulsating tattoo in a silent sort of grief and horror.
You stumble as the Mark gets hotter, swelling underneath your skin with Dark, oppressive Magick. You put on your robes as fast as possible, and Apparate away to the location the Mark contains, thankful for the fact that you were in the Forbidden Forest; away from sight of any nosy student of staff.
Much to your shock, you’re deposited not in Malfoy Manor, but in Riddle Mansion, which you’ve been to only once.
For a single, ephemeral second you stand there still and silent; you wonder whether your Master, you own Dominant, will finally get rid of you as he hinted— raving mad and spitting angry— before his demise that fateful Halloween night in Godric’s Hollow.
You’ve been wondering about that for a long time now, and it still leaves you feeling sick the same way it did the first time you thought about it, a warm summer night in which your Master, for the first time, brought back home a Submissive bint from the streets instead of fucking His own Submissive.
I am easily replaceable, you thought to yourself that warm night, giggling madly with tears in your eyes and broken shards of glass in your hands. The room you were in— not sleeping with Master anymore, you punishment for something that you did not do— you destroyed it, tore the bed and curtains, and burned half of the books. Every single glass in that you shattered and broke, and did not care for your own injuries; an elf came and did it instead, staring at you with pity and sympathy in her giant eyes as she tended to your nearly catatonic body.
You still have not forgotten how hard He whipped you the next day, more focused on inanimate objects than you. More focused on anything other than you.
He banned all the elves from treating you, and left you lying naked and bloody in the cells; a shell of who you once were with Him.
The first thing you notice upon walking inside is that the mansion is empty. The second thing you notice, however, is that it’s clean .
Although confused, you follow your Mark as it leads you to what your distantly remember as the Master Suite, and your fear picks up once more.
You haven’t seen Him since Pettigrew— wretched rat that he is— resurrected Him using Potter’s blood unwillingly. He’s once more back to His beautiful, strong features: that you are aware of. But it is His mental state you’re more worried about.
Once, in the beginning, He treated you as though you were a precious jewel; He praised you constantly, kissed you in ways that left you breathless, worshipped the body that you hated so, and never went too far when He punished you.
And then He started changing. He became colder, angrier, punished you until you were a broken and bloody heap on the floor, begging for mercy He refused to grant.
(He became just like Tobias.)
“Master,” you greet quietly, palms trembling as you bow and kneel before Him. He is sitting on a chair in front of His fireplace, blood red eyes staring into the fire, the only source of light in the room.
The clock’s tick-rocks are almost too loud as you wait for your Lord to acknowledge you, now reduced to the same level as that of a follower, and not His.
Finally, He sighs: “Come here, my Severus,”
Trembling as you are, you still obey Him, kneeling before his chair and keeping your eyes on the floor. Tears gather in the corner of your eyes like a well ready to burst, but you do not make a sound.
Your Lord, however, protests. “Look at me, my own.”
My own , He calls you, as though He hasn’t destroyed you more times than you could count. As though you actually meant something to Him.
Still; you know better than to refuse Him. You look at Him— and you feel your already tender heart shatter into a thousand pieces.
There are tears in His eyes, and He looks at you with an expression you cannot— refuse to— to decipher.
A trembling hand reaches to your cheek, and you do not bother to stop your flinch, terrified and confused beyond belief.
Master’s hand freezes the second He notices your fear, but the second passes and he reaches towards you again, until his fingertips trace a path down your damp, tear-streaked cheeks.
“I have wronged you terribly, my own,” He whispers into the quiet, wiping your tears with his thumb. “In my insanity, I have not treated you as I should have, and for that I apologize, even if you do not believe me nor accept me.”
Hesitantly, as if you’re a thin, fragile piece of glass, He picks you up from the dirty floor and moves to the bed. His trembling has increased, especially when he hears you whimper quietly.
On the bed, He places you between His legs, your ear to His beating heart and His chin on your head. His hands run through your hair, and you can feel His tears make a path on your scalp.
“I am so sorry, Severus.”
You are tired; tired from your spying duties, tired from the constant fear of getting discovered, tired of being terrified of your own Dominant. Above all, you are tired of your life and who you’ve become.
The first sob that comes from you is so painful neither your or He bother with keeping silent.
In the morning, you wake up to Him kissing your hands, your cheeks, murmuring apologies after one another.
You stay silent.
After breakfast, which He hand feeds you, He tells you that you’re no longer a spy; He wants you here, away from the manipulative Headmaster and the ungrateful students.
You stay silent.
An elf brings you a set of dark blue robes, a gift from His back when He was in a better state of mind. He tells you, gently, to shower if you wish to.
You do shower, but you stay silent.
When you’re done and dressed in the robes, and your hair is dripping wet, you go out of the shower. He is once more on that chair, but now He’s reading a letter with a golden brush on the coffee table before him.
You freeze upon catching sight of the brush, mind whirling; He’s… not going to punish you, is He?
For the first time that morning, you speak, your voice uncertain:
He looks up from the book, a small smile on His face that disappears when He notices your hesitation and fear. Seeing your eyes glued to the brush, He rushes to explain. “I wish to brush your hair, Severus, if you’d let me.”
You do not wish to anger your Master, nor do you wish for Him to come out of this… soft disposition He currently has, so you silently nod and move over to him.
Before you sit on the floor with your back facing His legs, He places a pillow on the floor. And then He begins; brushing through your softly and gently, never once insulting you or hitting you with the brush as he’s done before.
Suddenly, you feel a warmth from where the brush and His hands touch your skin.
You nearly start crying again; it’s been so long since He used the bond to assure you of His love for you, to make sure you’re safe. You did not realize how much you missed it until he’s sending warm pulses of affection.
He kisses your forehead every so often, and it leaves you confused as much as it has you cautiously happy.
A year passes, and things go from good to infinitely better.
You’re no longer a spy, and such have no need to pretend to be a Dominion anymore. Your own Dominant, although still pretty scary to His followers, is no longer the mass murdering psychopath from before, and He no longer goes around throwing Crucio’s at you or His followers.
On top of that, the Golden Trio, along with Ginny Weasley, much to your shock, joined Him and swore allegiance to His cause. Even more shocking, the rest of the Weasley family also joined the Dark side. Aside from the two youngest, Percy and the twins wholeheartedly join the Dark while the other two, Charles and William, choose to stay Neutral. Molly and Arthur refused to allow their children to fight alone, and so they also joined.
Granger became, surprisingly, Antonin Dolohov’s apprentice while Weasley became Rookwood’s. Potter became your Dominant’s apprentice, and you begrudgingly also taught the three what you knew would help them.
The final battle occurs in Hogwarts; Slytherin House and certain students in the other Houses Stun and tie up as much of the other students as possible, effectively stopping them from helping Dumbledore, who angers your Master spectacularly by belittling you and being the normal, condescending bastard he is.
Molly and Arthur’s true allegiance is brought to light only when Molly protects your back while Lucius helps Arthur, and when that occurs Draco, who’s left arm is in clear view, brings a shield up to protect Harry, the latter not wasting a second and joining your Master’s side along with Ron and Hermione.
The sight leaves Dumbledore and his side gobsmacked in the middle of the battle field, which your Master takes advantage of wholeheartedly.
In the end, it is by your hand on which Dumbledore dies, for your Lord has broken his knees and arms and has him levitating like a tourist attraction.
Master encourages you through the bond you two share, and so with Dumbledore begging and your wand warm and supple in your hand, you cast Sectumsempra thrice; once for Harry, once for yourself, and once for your Master.
There is cheering when you do so, those of the Dark all congratulating each other while those opposite watch the sight with horror in their gaze. Your Master merely takes you in His arms, and kisses you until you are dazed, much to the entertainment of the Death Eaters, who are now much more enthusiastic about capturing their enemies.
“My incredible Submissive,” your Master grins. “You did great, my love.”
You grin back, a complete difference to the previous year. “Thank you, Master. I aim to please.”
You two kiss once more, and the sound of your side winning is what makes it all sweeter.