Past Master

I'm painfully aware of him, my rival, my enemy. I'm aware of every heated and distasteful glance in my direction, although I pretend not to notice. This is just another competition, a fight to make each other scream, but mostly for ultimate domination. I've almost given in to him; in past nights when his hands stray everywhere but where I want them.

How did it come about? Remus, you are so naïve. It was a natural progression. Between one punch and another, we found that adrenaline wasn't the only thing rising. So, naturally, we took that where it led us. The empty potions classroom, to be precise. It was mostly biting and clawing that first time, each of us using the other. Actually, that's how it still is. I'm not really sure what happened next. We seem to seek each other out, unfinished business you know.

Every time his hands glide over my skin, a mixture of lust and rage clouds my mind, I become incoherent, but I remember every touch vividly. I have more bite marks on me then one of those vile sugar quills Pettigrew is always eating in class. I'm so riddled with half-healed scratches and royal blue bruises that I'm afraid to shower in my dorm. What is it with you Gryffindors and your fixation upon biting and mauling things? It must be the instincts of a house cat.

No, Remus, we are not lovers. I would not lower myself to that level. Although, I could consider it and get a tax deduction for a charitable deed. Love is a term for people like Potter and Evans, not for us. We know only power and the struggle for it.

He's winning, Remus. I don't think I can hold out much longer. I'm addcted. What will he do with me when I break? Black tried to kill me once, what will he do when I am totally under his control?

Severus Snape tore himself away from the pensieve. He didn't want to remember his former master, or that conversation with his master's best friend. Black had been more his master then either Voldemort or Dumbledore had ever been. Against his better judgment, Severus kept thinking back to the nights he spent as a student in one empty classroom or another. He looked at the mark on his arm and cursed Sirius Black. Black had taken him, toyed with him and cast him aside. As a broken and angry man, he'd fallen into the aristocratic hands of Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy somehow took hold of Severus and handed over the already broken man to a new master. It was Black's fault that he received the Dark Mark, and the bastard couldn't even stick around to see his handiwork. He had to go and betray his best friend and go to Azkaban.

Severus conjured up a picture of Sirius Black, worn down and sickly from the Dementors' treatment, and thought:

I hope you rot.

Immediately, he was wracked with guilt and the memory of sweet pain. Severus hung his head and gulped down the rest of his brandy.

I'm sorry, Master.