Forever Mine

He watches him. Has been watching him since the moment he was born until the moment he was taken away. Hidden away from even his sight. Taken into the muggle world and lost, seemingly forever. Lost to him until he first arrived at Hogwarts. Eleven years old. All bright eyed and full of wonderment. Such a carbon copy of his father too.

He is mean to him. So mean. Taking sadistic pleasure in seeing him stumble and fall his way through his classes, his life. Taunting and hating him. But always watching him. Always. Even when he saves his life he wants to kill him. Can't because he leads a double life. The spying spy.

He sees the changes the boy goes through as he grows. Taller, stronger, handsomer. Lithe with just a hint of Quidditch-induced muscle. He hates the boy. Loves him. Wants him. Needs him. Oh sweet lords! He fantasises about having him. Taking him. Making him as his own. His bitch. His slave. His to take and his to destroy.

He uses all his self-control not to touch the boy. Not to appear too obsessive over him. He is inconspicuous in his methods of observing him. Always there. Always watching. Hidden in the shadows. Only appearing when the need arises. He has never been caught. Never been seen. Never been watched as he watches him sleep. Shower. Eat. Laugh. Cry.

He has a collection. It was started when his father was at school. It all started with James. His hate for James. His love for him. His need. His want. He has a collection of hair samples, skin samples, even a sample of the seamen he was so careless to spill whilst calling out Black's name during a wank in the quidditch changing rooms. He has some of his clothes. Underwear taken from the laundry room. Cutlery he had used.

He had had plans for James. Big plans. Even as he had watched him grow up. Marry. Have a child. He had planned- his revenge, his desire. And then he had to go and get himself killed. His wife dying also. Leaving his brat alive. His brat destroying the greatest Dark Lord this century.

He seethes. So he changed his focus. Sealed the box labelled 'James' and began one called 'Harry'. It's already fuller than his father's ever was. Newspaper cuttings. Clothing he wouldn't even miss. Hair samples. Even his tears, shed during Occlumency lessons. Oh how he has to control himself during them. Stopping himself from wanting. Needing. Oh god! Oh god! It was so hard. So hard to not grab him at his weakest and make him his own. Take him. Break him. He can almost taste his fear. His sweat and his seamen.

He closes his eyes and begins to fantasise.

Fantasise about all the wicked, illegal, immoral things he wants to do to him. Beat him. Rape him. Make him scream. He can almost see himself stepping out of the shadows when Harry is on one of his solitary walks about the castle. In this he has no cloak on, no way to hide himself from Severus Snape's prying eyes.

He can hear himself speak. His voice low and dangerous: "Follow me, Mr Potter." And he knows the boy will follow as he turns and stalks towards a room. An abandoned room. One where no one will hear him scream. He hides his smirk behind a sneer and directs the timid looking boy into the darkened room.

He then follows the boy in, locking and silencing the room. A light flares and he can see the fear in the boy's face. He doesn't like to waste time. And so he pounces. Grabbing the boy and pulling his mouth towards him. Forcing their lips into harsh and brutal contact. He knows the boy will cry out in protest. Struggle. Fight. But oh that he would! For it makes it all the more sweeter to him.

He can see the boy before his minds eyes as he is thrown to the floor like a rag-doll. Beaten and raped repeatedly. Voice turning hoarse from his screams. Body bruised and bleeding. A pulp of beaten flesh. And still he continues to shag him. Fuck him. Rape him.

He would turn the boy to face him for the final time. Silver blade glinting in the dull light of the room as he reaches his orgasm, slitting Harry Potter's throat as he does so. Green eyes alight with emotion. Betrayal. Hate. Guilt. Shame. Fear. So beautiful to watch his life ebbing away. Away with his blood. He would swoop down, suckling at the gaping wound. Tasting of his blood. So, so sweet. The taste intoxicating. He would cum again just from the taste of it. Sated in a way he never was with James. Stalking James. Wanting James. But Harry was so much sweeter. More trusting. Easier to lure. Easier to beat. To rape. To fuck. To kill.

- - -

Severus Snape's face remains impassive as he sits at the Head Table. The Headmaster telling the school that after two-weeks missing their precious Boy-Who-Lived was found... dead. He spares them the details but Severus knows the truth. They had found Harry Potter: beaten, raped, his body nearly unrecognisable after his torture and subsequent rotting.

He doesn't even twitch when half the students break down crying. Has to resist the urge to cackle in glee. Jump upon the table in an entirely uncharacteristic manner shouting that it was he! Him! He was the one who killed him. Beat him. Raped him.

He doesn't though. For that would be unwise. Instead he sits there, impassively. His eyes landing upon another young boy whom he has a score to settle with. Blond hair flashes before his eyes and he licks his lips quickly. His body heating in anticipation. But he will wait. He will plan. He will watch. And one day, one day when he is least expecting it. He will strike.

The dark haired boy is already forgotten. The blond one taking his place. Back in the safety of his own quarters, Severus Snape will seal the box labelled 'Harry' and open the long neglected one labelled 'Draco'.

- - -

Fin.

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