Chapter Text
They were in the Shrieking Shack and a knot of certainty settled in his gut.
This was it. His time was over. There was Nagini, then pain.
Then blood, so much blood.
Followed by darkness.
And then nothing.
A nothing that felt like calm, sweet peace.
He was tired. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to give in and sleep.
--
Severus reared up, waking in a sweat of utter panic, as if his heart was about to be ripped from his chest. He reached for his neck, gulping in desperate lungfulls of air. His fingers frantically searched for the gash in an undoubtedly futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
But… His throat felt fine, normal even.
Surprise began to replace the fear of death as he realized he was not in pain, nor was he in Shrieking Shack anymore. He attempted to slow his breathing as he took in his surroundings, his fingers continuing to course about his body and inspect the bizarre lack of damage.
He was in a large, comfortable bed beset with high end linens, dressed in unrecognizable, soft stripped pajamas. Daylight streamed into a beautifully appointed bedroom. The room was shades of white and powder blue with walnut and acorn furniture.
It did not strike him as a hospital, more like a wealthy manor. But who would have taken him in and healed him in the midst of a war when he had ultimately run out of usefulness to both his masters? It’s not like he was well-loved, or even liked really.
So… was this Heaven? Surely if Heaven existed, he would be at best residing in Purgatory. Not whatever elegant manor this must be. Unless this was Hell, and the room was a rouse…
A knocking at his door startled him out of his pondering.
“Sev-darling, time to get up,” an oddly familiar voice said, but he couldn’t quite place it.
He knew it wasn’t his mother, clearly the voice came from a masculine person, not to mention the small detail that she was dead, but no one else had ever called him that.
The knock sounded again.
“Can you please confirm you heard me? Or else I’m coming in,” the voice said, a playful tone to the warning.
Quickly he replied, “Yes, yes I heard you…” Whoever you are… He needed more time to figure this out before he faced anyone.
His voice had cracked from lack of use, sounding higher pitched and hoarse. He grunted in attempt to clear it.
“Thank you, Sweets. Breakfast in ten, okay?”
Sweets ?! No one had ever called him that before. Not even Mother. Who the hell…
“Okay?” the voice called again, a bit louder with just an edge of sternness.
“Yes,” he called back, restraining a scowl.
Sweets… Must be Hell.
He took a deep breath and pinched himself under one of his arms. It felt real. He felt flesh. His next experiment was to hold his breath. He counted slowly until he had to gasp in air again. Okay, so he needed to breathe. That had to mean he wasn’t dead.
As reassuring as that should have been, it left him with about a thousand other questions. Where was he? Why hadn’t he perished? Who was daring to call him ‘sweets’?! And more importantly, why?
He spotted a set of clothing place on a bench at the foot of his bed. He paid the details of them no mind as he changed into the outfit, noting only that it fit him perfectly. Whoever his benefactor was, the man was diligently familiar with him. The thought alone made Severus’s skin crawl. He contemplated Lupin for a moment. Was this a ‘thank you’ for the Wolfsbane over the years? But Lupin wasn’t of means… Which would make this one of the Black estates? But none that he recognized from his time in the Order. In any case, it was unlikely. The voice had not sounded like Lupin. And somewhat chilled sociability between them certainly wouldn’t justify the use of pet-names.
Severus set his pajamas down on the bed and realized how large the furniture in this room was and how staggering the ceiling height. He was a tall man and this place made him feel like a child. Whoever’s home this was had opulent taste, if not a bit odd. Severus’s own home was nothing to speak about, but he had always preferred cozy and spartan to excessive and dwarfing.
He resumed analyzing what the voice said as he dragged his fingers through his hair in an attempt to neaten it slightly. Beyond the grossly familiar and overstepping pet names, the person seemed to speak as if Severus was awake and had been for some time, which would mean that perhaps he was dealing with memory loss.
He took a few breaths to center himself and get a feeling of what his gut was telling him. He had always had a keen internal sense. As he focused, he determined there was a sense of familiarity and safety here. Afterall, though he had not deeply inspected himself, he was not in any pain and he appeared well fed and cared for. He couldn’t help but feel a bit of dread at the thought of repaying such hospitality. No one did anything for free. Was he to toil as a well-kept potions slave for the rest of his days? Oddly, that thought didn’t torment him like it should have. It’s not like he felt differently about his post at Hogwarts or for the Dark Lord.
Severus gave himself one last straightening out and steeled himself in aplomb and bravery. He would face his host and graciously express his thanks for saving his life. If his host seemed amenable, he would begin to make small enquires. Nothing so bold as to give up his complete lack of memory, lest the man use it to manipulate him.
He was a spy, a damn good one if he did say so himself. It was time evidently to play a new role and glean the answers to his questions. He would need mastery of his words and timing. It would take patience. He could be patient.
His stomach gave a slight churn as he reached for the door handle but he moved through it. The hallway was even more opulent than the bedroom. Adorned with endlessly burning candles, gilded frames around portraits and landscape art, antique furniture beset with undoubtedly priceless vases and busts. All in immaculately cared for condition. This place must have had an army of House Elves.
Ah, the first problem. Which way to turn? He approached the first portrait he saw. A beautiful elderly woman, slight of build and kindly looking, dressed like a muggle Duchess in a purple gown with matching bolero.
“Good morning, Madame,” Severus said as politely as possible with a tipping of his head. “Might you point me in the direction I should go? I am feeling just a touch disoriented from a difficult night’s sleep.”
The woman in the portrait clapped her hands with a delighted laugh, the bejeweled bracelets on her wrists chiming with motion. “Aren’t you adorably well-mannered this morning? Did the Lord have words with you?”
Interesting.
So his host was a Lord, though that felt obvious judging by the home, but perhaps they did not always get along? It was a bit soothing that they knew of his surly temper. That must have meant, prior to his memory loss, he was comfortable enough here to be himself.
“Yes,” Severus decided to reply.
“Oh, my poor lad,” she said, giving him a mock pout that he decided to ignore at just a peculiar sense of humor.
“Yes, well… Might you help me with the direction, Madame?”
“Such an odd one you are, Severus. You’ve lived here all of ten years, and you mean to tell me you’ve forgotten which way to turn?”
TEN YEARS????
His heart leapt into his throat and his mouth went dry. He had forgotten an entire decade?! An overwhelming desire to panic nearly got the better of him. Breathe, he told himself, breathe. Again and again. He was strong. He was a survivor. He would get his memories back and this would just be an unpleasant morning. Everything would be alright.
He wet his lips and forced a controlled reply. “Nevertheless, I am feeling disoriented this morning and require assistance, if you would be so kind.”
The Portrait pointed him to the right and he went without so much as a goodbye, lest she say something else he wasn’t ready to hear. Ten years. His heart was hammering in his chest. He had been living in this strange manor for ten years! … Unless… well, who’s to say the old lady in the portrait was a reliable source?
He shook his head firmly as he continued through the hall and down a set of stairs. He had to snap out of this dread. He was a spy, for Merlin’s sake! There were surely worse places he’d found himself in.
He followed the sound of a spoon clinking on china to a formal dining hall with a long banquet table. He took a deep breath before entering. He was about to meet his host and he needed the right frame of mind. He had to play this slow and calm and assess the situation and his moves wholly. It might take time and patience, but he had…
“Good morning, my darling,” an adoring voice greeted him, the same from earlier.
His head shot up. Without the distortion through the heavy wood door, he knew that horrible voice without a shadow of a doubt. His jaw dropped. All his years of spying could not have trained him for this. Potter.
Potter seemed confused by his gapping expression and began to touch his own face and hair, checking to see if something felt amiss. When he passed his own inspection, he looked down at his clothing, again to see everything was fine by him. He looked back at Severus with a compassionate glance.
“Everything alright, Sweets?”
Severus opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find his words. He wanted to scream and berate the dunderheaded hooligan. No, more than that. He wanted to leap across the dining table and wipe the gentle look off of his face and demand the answers to all of his questions! How dare he sit there and look so calm and condescending?! How dare he direct that look at Severus Snape, of all people?! Had the boy lost his mind too?!
Although, perhaps ‘boy’ was no longer an accurate description. Clearly it had been ten years or so, judging by Potter’s terrible looking beard, if one could even call it that, and more angular, adult face.
“Oh I know,” Potter replied to his silence, taking a sip of his coffee before carrying on with such ease and familiarity to his tone that it further unnerved Severus. “I don’t prefer to eat in the formal dining hall either but no need to be so dramatic about it. Afterall, it is a certain someone’s fault the kitchen is still under repair. I asked Daddy to let me help with the clean-up and fixing, but he was adamant magic would be insufficient in restoring all the details. So the muggle way it is. Not a problem, really, just takes longer… Are you going to come sit down or just keep standing there?”
Potter paused, waiting for Severus to move.
“Are you nervous? No need, darling. I talked him down. Neither of us are particularly pleased you were experimenting on your own, mind you, but he’s calmed since last night.”
Another silence.
Potter narrowed his eyes in concern.
“You feeling alright, love? Here, come sit by Mummy.”
Mummy?! Did Potter just refer to himself as ‘Mummy’?!!
“Bite your tongue, you insolent brat! What in all Hades’ High Hell are you playing at?!”
Potter had the nerve to flinch, seemingly astonished by Snape’s words.
“What?” he spluttered.
“You heard me, you deceitful daft cretin, utter bane of my existence! I demand an explanation for your disgusting overfamiliarity this instant!”
Potter cocked his head. “Is…this for a school play or something? I don’t understand and I can’t advise you continue. Daddy won’t be…”
“Did you just say ‘school play’ to me?! You think Hogwarts…”
A little chuckle stopped him. Potter, that blasted demon child had the audacity to look at him with an endearing sort of patience, like a parent might at a child!
“This is about Hogwarts again? I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you’ll have to wait just like all the other little witches and wizards until your eleven. We’ve been over this.”
“Until I’m eleven!” Severus roared at the insult. “You…!”
“What is going on in here?!” A new, cold voice interrupted him.
Severus spun to see a man joining them with a sternly furrowed brow. He was tall, very tall, immaculately dressed, looked about mid-forties, had dark curling hair and red eyes… Voldemort… but without that disfigured snake face.
How had he not seen it? In all his confusion, he missed the key signs. This was Riddle Manor. A far better kept version of it, but still, he had been to Little Hangleton enough times that he should have recognized it.
Had the Dark Lord restored himself and taken Potter prisoner? And why involve Severus, why not leave him to die as he first intended?! Was he here to be tortured? But why wait ten years?
“I would think a boy on as thin of ice as you wouldn’t be speaking to his mother in such a tone,” the Dark Lord said.
Severus shook his head. “This is lunacy. I don’t understand any of this,” he said despite himself.
“What do you mean, darling?” Potter asked.
Severus felt his temper blaze. “Enough, Potter!”
“What did you say?!” the Dark Lord raised his voice in chastisement.
He turned to yell at Voldemort, all caution to the wind.
“I may not understand what in Circe’s ass crack is going on here, but I won’t be degraded any longer by whatever this act is!” Severus snapped back, as Potter had the nerve to scold ‘language’ at him in the background.
“You better check that temper this instant, Severus, or you will sorely regret it!”
Did the Dark Lord just wag his finger at him?
Severus huffed, simply unable to hold himself together. “Go on then, crucio me! I can take it.”
“WHAT?!” the man thundered, as if the very notion offended him to his core.
“You’ve done it before, a hundred times I’ll wager! So do it now. Crucio me!”
“Severus,” Potter gasped, frowning at him with a look of disappointment. “Where is this deplorable behavior coming from?”
“You have the gall to lecture me on deplorable behavior, Potter?! Oh that is rich. After all the misery… And don’t call me young man! Who do you think you’re dealing with?!”
The Dark Lord shook his head as he pulled an armless high-backed chair away from the table and turned it outward to sit on. Severus watched him, mind not recognizing the movement. Their eyes locked and Severus felt a chill run down his back despite his bold claims. He realized he was running on adrenaline and needed to keep it up in order to survive whatever ordeal he was about to endure. Those red eyes were creased with displeasure
“Need a seat, do you?” he sneered. “You intend to crucio me for that long? Why not just kill me?!”
“Severus!” Potter scolded, but the Dark Lord and Severus did not break eye contact.
“Oh, I’ve got something else in mind for you, my lad.”
His elbow was snatched in a tight hold and he was yanked forward. He couldn’t help but grunt as his stomach collided with Voldemort’s lap. His brain whirled. Was he really over the Dark Lord’s knee like a naughty child? And why did he fit so well?
“Oh no, Tom, please,” Potter argued, “It’s not even 8 am yet. Have him stand in the corner. It’s much too early for…”
“For this blatant disrespect and poor disposition! He’s earned a spanking and it’s what he’ll get.” The Dark Lord glared back at Potter, not letting Severus up. Potter sat back in his chair and gave a sigh of resignation, clearly unhappy with the situation but not willing to argue further.
Did he just say a spanking?!
The thought was answered by a firm slap across the seat of his trousers. And another and another and another, in fast rhythm. Before his mind could even grasp the situation enough to scoff at it (as if a spy like him could be hurt by something as trivial as a hand spanking!), his body responded to the stimulus in a disgracefully ungratified way… He shrieked and flailed his arms, clawing at nothing in an attempt to get away.
“Owww!” he couldn't help but howl, tears forming in his eyes mortifyingly quickly. Was this really happening to him?! Why did this hurt so much?! He couldn’t even remember the last time he cried!
Swat. Swat. Swat. Swat.
The Dark Lord’s hand continued paddling his bottom relentlessly. Each slap leaving behind a fiery burn on his skin. He could feel a deep ache building underneath the repetitive stinging and another sorrowful moan escaped him along with a few loathsome tears.
“Your behavior this morning is so far past the mark of unacceptable, you ought to be very grateful I didn’t bare your naughty bottom! Don’t think for a moment I won’t if we have to repeat this conversation. No more cheek today, Severus, no more temper. You will conduct yourself civilly and treat us with respect. Do you understand me?!”
“Yesss,” Severus forced out, anything to stop this humiliating assault.
“I ought to give you a mouthful of soap for that colorful remark earlier,” the man lectured, slapping down with a bit of extra force. Severus yipped and bucked.
“Owww,” he whimpered, tears falling steadily down his cheeks now.
“And if I ever hear you call your mother ‘Potter’ again, you’ll get a dose of the slipper, am I clear?!”
“But that’s his name!”
The Dark Lord’s hand moved lower on his bottom, slapping now at the sensitive crease between his bottom and thighs.
Severus sobbed.
The litany of spanks continued, never missing a painfully well-placed smack. Severus tried to catch his breath, but his body seemed entirely out of his control. It took everything he had inside of him not to wail for mercy like a bawling brat. How was this so painful? He took dozens of crucio’s as a man, and as a boy far more brutal beltings than he cared to recount.
“It has not been in a long time and it certainly isn’t his name to you!”
“Where did you even hear that?” Potter asked and, thank Merlin for small mercies, the Dark Lord stopped his barrage to turn a questioning look at Potter, who then shrugged from his place at the table, explaining, “No one ever called me just ‘Potter’. If anything, I got ‘Black’ fairly often. But ‘Potter-Black’ was the normal address.”
After a pause, the Dark Lord’s hand came back down in a warning pat. “Go on then. Where did you hear it?”
“I don’t understand,” Severus struggled to say, focused now on attempting to rock himself loose of the hand holding him in place.
All it got him was a couple sterner warning pats. He groaned, dropping his head in defeat.
Hell, alright. He was in Hell.
Potter gave a soft sigh through his nose. “Okay, love, I think someone’s good and sorry.”
“He better be.”
Suddenly Severus was back on his feet and the Dark Lord was attempting to pull him closer. Severus thrashed violently, the only thought in his mind was that this was the end again, that the man would now suffocate him or gut him like a fish or…
He floundered, landing on the floor, letting out a shrill cry as his sore bum hit the stone. Then it was tears and this overwhelming feeling of helplessness. Despite himself, he began to weep loudly.
The Dark Lord gave an aggravated huff as he pulled Severus up again, this time receiving no fight. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you had better snap out of it, young man.”
Severus sobbed harder, out of self-loathing for not being able to control this reaction.
“Hush now, darling, you’re going to be just fine,” the voice softened considerably as he was sat on the larger man’s lap and… cuddled?! His brain hurt and he continued to cry. A hand carded through his hair as another rubbed his back. He hated how good that felt. “There, there. Yes I know, that was not pleasant for any of us,” the deep voice rumbled gently.
It was so soothing to listen to it against the man’s chest, despite the indignity of the situation. Severus felt safe, which was the weirdest sensation. How could he possibly feel safe in the clutches of Voldemort? Yes, the man had somehow lost the snake face but he was still somehow a giant and had just infantilized Severus with a degrading nursery spanking. What kind of sick game were he and Potter playing?
The man’s thumb wiped away the last of the tears from his cheeks as he said, “Up you go, little lad. All forgiven. Time to eat. I think we’ll feel better after we have some breakfast.”
Severus was stood up and guided into the chair across the table from Potter, who was passing him sympathizing looks. Severus only ducked his head, refusing to look up beyond the bowl of porridge and fruit in front of him. This felt horrendously domestic.
Severus dropped his face in his hands and whimpered. He wished he could reach inside his own head and physically pull himself together, but everything felt like it was slipping away from him. He felt defeated and exhausted. He wished he had never woken up at all.
“What’s the matter, love?” Potter crooned at him. At the words, Severus snuck a glance. It looked like Potter wanted to reach across the table and hold him just like Voldemort had.
Heavens above, please no…
He tried to ignore the endearment as he replied a whining, “That was humiliating! I haven’t been spanked in ages.” Why had he said that out loud? Where was his impulse control? He needed to keep his mouth shut.
The Dark Lord chuckled in his throat. Potter’s sympathetic eyes turned to glare at the man. Who in their right mind glared at Voldemort? And then, what’s worse, Voldemort attempted to look apologetic.
“I’m sorry, love, I just think one week hardly counts as ages.”
Severus was horrified by that reply. Now he certainly didn’t want these lost memories back. Only to escape. That was the answer, right? Fuck the questions he woke up with. He had to get away from these two demented psychopaths.
The Dark Lord gave him a pointed stare at his oatmeal, a reminder to eat. Merlin above, please let this food be safe and not drugged! He decided to shovel it down and then hopefully he could escape back to “his room” and find a place to forcible wretch it back up.
The Dark Lord and Potter chatted casually about their plans for the day. Voldemort was going to the ministry and then to meet a contractor to fix their kitchen. He shot a glare at Severus when he said that bit. Potter moved the conversation forward and told him he had meetings as well in London. Severus perked up at the idea that both of them would be indisposed.
“And who will be watching our troublemaker?” asked Voldemort.
Potter smiled kindly at Severus and said with a wink, “Two very strict Aurors, young man. So you be on your best behavior.”
The pair had the nerve to chuckle familiarly. Severus wanted to gag as he stuffed down the rest of his food. Great, so clearly Voldemort controlled the ministry now and that must have meant the Aurors were all his goonies. He was in for a terrible afternoon, he was certain.
Despite how hard it was to eat, he finished, then forced out a meek, “Can—can I go, please?”
“You may,” the Dark Lord replied, and Severus wanted to slam his head on the table to have his grammar corrected. That was worse than ten hidings. What had they done to him?
“To your room, love,” Potter said, an air of strictness to his tone that made the Dark Lord raise an eyebrow. “You aren’t in trouble, but I think a rest and reset on the day would do you good. At least an hour, please. Then I’ll come check on you before we go, okay?”
Even though that was his intention, being told to do so by Potter made Severus want to fume. He nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak as surely anything he had to say to Potter would earn him another punishment from the Dark Lord.
He got to the bedroom determined to figure out a way out of this demented version of reality. But perhaps a bit of fresh water would help clear his mind. He spotted the door to the adjoining bathroom and headed in. The sink was oddly high up. Come to think of it, most things in this home were oddly large. Still he was able to use it. Splashing cold water on his face felt incredible. After the tears and salt, this was a much-needed refresher. He patted himself dry with the hand towel and then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.
… Wait…
He batted his eyes furiously.
… Wait…
His hands touched his cheeks and nose and mouth.
… Wait…
His brain couldn’t process what he was seeing. It had to be a trick.
A trick mirror or a joke hex or his eyes were…
He was a child.
The world went dark again as Severus fainted.