Imprisoned

There is no other viable explanation for it: I am addicted. Every month I try to quit, and end up cursing myself for the horrid lack of control that I display. Every month, against my will I am here again, walking these morbid corridors, up to that smothering gray cell to meet those haunting gray eyes. I imagine he does not know why I come here either.

"Severus," he says by way of greeting, and there's something like relief that courses sweetly through my veins. He is human today, not the dark, growling animal that I encounter during some of these meetings. I know that in his dog form it is that much easier to hide from the dementors, because they have no interest in animals, but I do not admonish myself for my selfish-ness. No, it is too late for that, isn't it?

"Come here to taunt again, Snape?" he growls, but his heart is not in it. It is as if the animosity is expected between us, and we both welcome the distraction. I don't believe we can bear to look at one another with that veil absent -- we would have to face reality, then, and reality is perhaps even crueler than the Dementors.

"It is the only reason I am here, Black," I reply, and I can see his lips quirking into a small smile. "Have the Dementors driven you mad yet?" I ask him. Are you okay? My fingers trail along the bars of his cell as I wait for an answer It comes in a bitter laugh.

"As if I needed the Dementors, Severus. You do the job well enough, on your visits."

"You would prefer I didn't come?" I already know his answer -- it is the same question I've asked countless times before, and the answer is repeated.

"Yes, I would." A pause. "But I want you to come." It is these words, perhaps, that feed my addiction.
-----
I don't remember how I got here, only that I was trying my best to think of a reply and couldn't. It does not really help that I've done this many times before, because each time is different -- he is a multi-faceted drug. The next thing I knew, I was hauling myself down onto the ground, my hands between the metal bars, touching him, running my fingers slowly through his black hair.

"I can stop coming, you know," and it is my voice, not his, that speaks. He smells of dog and sweat and dirt, and we are so close despite the bars that I can taste all of it. I can taste him.

"I wouldn't be able to make you stay," he says, and I am thankful he does not say he wouldn't want to stop me. He never has said it, but each visit is a new study in trepidation for me. All of a sudden, we're kissing, our tongues dueling, touching, moist and wet and warm and bitter. An addiction.

When we pull apart, we're both breathing hard, and there are tears in his eyes. My eyes are thankfully dry, but the ache in my chest has grown worse. "Your godson will be starting Hogwarts next month," I tell him, changing the topic as if we were speaking of it in the first place.

His face is alight with interest, but he is still breathing hard, still clutching me; his lips are still hovering above my cheek. "I suppose it's useless to ask you to be kind to him."

I smirk. "He's the savior of the wizarding world. He doesn't need kindness, does he?"

"Snape..." I turn my head slightly so that my lips are against his again, and for a long while it is just our soft lips and heavy breaths and need. Protect him, if only because he is my godson and you will remember me when you see him.

"Don't worry, Black," I murmur at last. "Your precious Potter won't die." I refuse to think of it as a promise. His gray eyes shine, and he smiles and squeezes my hand. I need to feed my addiction, after all. It is not a promise.

----
I know he wants to ask me if I will be coming again by the way he looks at me, just grayness staring, staring, staring. I am standing again, having composed myself. His strong dungeon smell still lingers on my clothes, and I will not wash these robes when I get back to Hogwarts, at least not for a few nights. I turn to leave, and he reaches up to catch my hand. His fingers grip hard, and I let them. We do not offer farewells to each other, just as we do not offer greetings. It seems too cruel to make this any realer than it already is, and I've been cruel enough by coming time and time again.

He lets go, and, just as I did the day Dumbledore freed me from this place, I walk away without looking back. But I will come back to you, because you are my addiction, and I can't quit..