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06 July 2015 @ 09:39 pm
Fanfiction: The Colour of Blood  
The Colour of Blood


Author’s notes: This is completely different to anything I have ever done before and all I can hope is that you enjoy it.  It starts in Half-Blood Prince and is very AU.  It contains a student/teacher relationship and will go back-and-forth.  It’s also a fair bit darker than anything else I’ve written.  I can only hope that you enjoy it!

“So you find yourself surrounded by death and horror in the world, and you escape it into lust.”

-          Hermann Hesse

Summary: AU.  It was like a never-ending tug-of-war.  Fem!Harry.  Dark themes.



The sound of birds chirping and the dull clunk of ceramic against marble, which had seeped into her subconscious, were what woke Rose that Friday morning.  She didn’t open her eyes as she rolled onto her back, pulling the sheets over her exposed chest.  Merlin, it had happened again. The ever-increasing frequency it was happening was beginning to get unsettling.  She finally opened her eyes and looked up at the heavy, exposed beams.  It was early, barely sunrise to judge from the faint glow coming through the window, and if she were quick she would be able to make it back to her dormitory before Hermione woke.

“You should go.”  Flat, expressionless.  As always.

She turned her head to the side to find him watching from across the room, black eyes boring into her own.  He was leaning against the counter that separated his bed from the adjoining chamber, one foot crossed over the other.

“And if I don’t?” she retorted, bristling.  It was always the ‘morning after’ when he annoyed her the most.  Like an unamusing joke the world insisted on playing.

He smiled humourlessly.  “That, of course, is your prerogative.”  He turned around and reached for a coffee mug.  As he stretched forward, she could see how his shirt strained over his spine.  Barely any muscle, just skin and bone. Rose said nothing, and merely watched as he tapped his wand against the kettle, which let out a shrill whistle.    “However,” he continued, turning back, “Miss Granger will no doubt wake soon.  That library waits for no one.”

He smirked through the steam which rose from the mug as he blew gently, cooling the liquid down.  Rose glared back, unable to deny that he was right; after all, she had thought the same thing only moment earlier, but it nonetheless angered her when he mocked Hermione.  She sat upright, sheets clutched to her chest, swung her legs around and placed her feet on the ground.
“Ouch!” she muttered, grimacing.  The wooden floor was freezing against her bare feet.  Her clothing was scattered across the floor and she gathered it into an untidy bundle and stalked to the bathroom.  Rose could hear him chuckling behind her and felt that familiar stab of irritation as she slammed the door harder than was necessary.  She threw her clothing onto the vanity as she took care of her usual morning routine and, all-too-soon, found herself looking in the mirror at her reflection.  She looked tired, with dull smudges beneath her eyes and her skin was so pale as to be almost translucent.  She could even see the faint lines of veins at her temples, the same spot she could feel a headache forming.  How on earth had she, had they let this happen yet again?

Rose cringed as she turned on the shower and stepped inside.  She closed her eyes as she turned her face upward, letting the water rinse away the remnants of the previous night.  Behind her, she heard the door open and wasn’t particularly surprised to feel his hand press against her hip as the other found its way into her hair, twisting to the point it was almost painful.  She could feel his lips against her neck, nipping lightly at her skin, as he pushed her against the wall.  She reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck as his hand left her hair and made its way down her thigh, hitching her leg over his hip.  She waited, biting her lip as he lined himself up, before pulling her hard onto him.

She let out a hiss and clenched her nails into his back.  He didn’t flinch, merely thrust harder, his face buried in her neck.  After a couple of minutes she lifted her other leg to wrap them both around his waist and crossed her ankles, pushing him still deeper and forcing him to be rougher with her.  She arched her back, whimpering into his ear as he pressed his lips to her neck, licking with his tongue, making sure to leave a mark behind.  All too soon, she clenched around him, muttering obscenities, her body shaking.  He let his tongue run one final time along her clavicle and kissed the base of her throat, her cheek, the corner of her mouth before giving one final thrust and spilling into her.  This, she thought as they stayed still for a few moments, regaining their breath, is why it happened again.  And would continue to happen.  Again and again and again.

He didn’t smile and took a step backward, into the jetting water.  She said nothing as he cleaned himself off and stepped back outside.  Instead, she simply watched as he wrapped a towel around his waist and cleaned her pile of dirty clothes with a tap of his wand.  He didn’t spare her a second glance as he left the room, leaving the bathroom door ajar.  Rose looked away, at the tiled floor, at her own feet.  She already felt disgusted with herself.

“I repeat,” his voice called from outside.  Distant.  Impersonal.  Very unlike a man who had fucked her senseless only minutes ago.  “Miss Granger will wake soon.”


Rose kept her head down as she snatched up her satchel and walked toward the portrait hole.  He was sitting on the chaise lounge, his head buried in a book.  “I have a… meeting tonight,” he called, not glancing upward, “should you wish to visit.”

 “I’ll keep that it mind,” she said stiffly.  She knew exactly what ‘meeting’ meant.  He would see Voldemort later tonight.

He nodded as Rose turned and murmured the password (Asphodel) and hurried outside.  She walked quickly through the winding corridors, back to Gryffindor Tower and nearly collided with Hermione as she walked through the portrait hole.

“Already had breakfast, Rose?” Hermione said suspiciously.  Her eyes moved up-and-down, noting the unbrushed hair, the mark on her neck, her rumpled clothes.  “I noticed you weren’t in bed.”

“Yep,” Rose lied, just as her stomach gave a loud growl.  She hadn’t had dinner the night before, she’d just gone to find him as soon as was humanely possible.  Food had taken a backseat. “But I forgot my Transfiguration textbook and, well, you know McGonagall.”

Hermione nodded, not convinced, but said nothing further as Rose darted around her and hurried up the dormitory stairs.  She threw her bag onto her bed and sat down.  With her stomach rumbling and eyes heavy, she felt utterly useless.  She leant forward, elbows on knees and pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes; she still found it strange that she and Snape had these dysfunctional nightly liaisons.  Not always night, though, she reminded herself as she dropped her hands down into her lap.  She bit her bottom lip to stop herself smirking as she remembered the fuck on his desk a month ago.  She’d asked him some irrelevant question, giving an excuse to stay back after everyone had left.

“This is stupid.  Risky,” he’d whispered, as he pushed up her robes and slid his hand up her thighs.

“Don’t do it, then,” had been her response.

The scar on her forehead gave a painful twinge, jolting her back to reality and she pushed Snape to the back of her mind.  Where he belonged, she couldn’t help but add, knowing full-well she didn’t believe it.

Where he should belong.



He wasn’t really listening to the conversation around him as he reached for the pile of toast but the word ‘Potter’ caught his attention.

“… really not sinking in,” Flitwick was saying to McGonagall who nodded, her lips thin and pursed.

“I’ll have a word with the girl, Filius,” she said, “Perhaps we can arrange something…”

“What’s this about Miss Potter?” Severus interrupted.

McGonagall shot him a severe look over her spectacles and didn’t answer, clearly annoyed.  They had never really got along, he and Minerva.  He found her to be an irritating matriarch while she no doubt thought him a traitor whom Dumbledore was idiotic enough to trust.  The only time he had ever heard Minerva raise her voice to Dumbledore was in regards to him working for the Order.  He could recall clearly the night she had found him, sopping wet and barely able to stand, in the Great Hall.  Voldemort had given the order to kill the Potters and the remaining shreds of decency had collated inside him, forcing himself to Hogwarts so he could tell Dumbledore.

He could still her sharp voice as she leant over him.

“Severus, what on earth?”
“Get… Dumbledore…  The Dark Lord.”

He’d pushed up his sleeve, showing her his tattoo, and she’d jumped as if she received an electric shock.  Her expression turned immediately from one of concern to that of revulsion though she had nonetheless called Fawkes who found Dumbledore immediately.

But later, at the hospital wing.

“He’s a traitor, Dumbledore!”
“I’m afraid, Minerva, that this is a time we will have to agree to disagree.”

“What is this about Miss Potter?” Severus pressed, ignoring Minerva’s glacial expression.

“Her grades are slipping,” Filius answered instead, “She’s a talented student but she is falling far behind.  It’s as if she’s completing all of her assessments the morning they are due.”

“Is that so?” Snape responded carelessly, keeping his voice dismissive.  As it had always been when it came to the ‘Potter girl.’

Minerva frowned for a second before she schooled her face into its usual smooth expression.  “So, her grades have not dropped in Potions?” Minerva asked.

“On the contrary,” he replied, “They have vastly improved.”

That had been after she had handed in an assignment which barely merited a ‘Troll’ and he had pushed his old Potions textbook into her hands with a muttered “For Merlin’s sake, use this!”

“How interesting,” McGonagall continued, eyebrows raised.  The tone of her voice didn’t change but he could feel both scepticism and suspicion radiating from her in waves.

“Isn’t it?”

Minerva didn’t respond, merely looked at him for a few seconds longer, before she turned and began to speak to Filius once more.  Severus exhaled a long breath.  He knew exactly why Rose’s marks had begun to slip.  She spend far too much time in his chambers rather than with her books.  Perhaps he could tutor, he thought, taking a bite of his toast and spitting it out almost instantly.  He had forgotten to butter it.  Beside him, Minerva let out a barely audible chuckle which he ignored.

They could make a game of it.


He held his hand to his side as he struggled back to his feet.  Every muscle in his body ached, every bone felt as if it would push through his skin.  He was in complete agony.  The Dark Lord stood in front of him and glared down; his red eyes flashed with a combination of sadistic pleasure and anger.

“You have failed again.”

“Please, my Lord.  Dumbledore…”


He fell to the ground and landed with a muffled ‘crunch against the gravel.  Sharp points cut abrasions into his face, his neck, his hands and the Dark Lord laughed as he walked around Severus’ prone form.  He rolled him onto his back with his foot.

“Get up.”

Severus pushed himself up and, once standing, wiped away the blood he could feel trickling down his face with his sleeve.

“Find out exactly what Dumbledore knows!” Voldemort hissed.

Severus nodded.  He knew it was futile to try and find out Dumbledore’s ‘master plan.’  Like the Dark Lord, he never did tell everyone everything.  The risk was too great.  However, he said none of this.   “Of course, my Lord,” he replied instead.

He felt the waves of leglimency threading through his mind, searching his memories and quickly siphoned the Dark Lord toward false thoughts and actions.  Dumbledore and himself had put these lies in place, had acted a number of them out, and he was certain that even Voldemort could not push through.  Apparently satisfied, the other wizard turned away and flicked his wand toward Lucius Malfoy who waited to the side, watching the display in front of him with barely-disguised confusion.  .

“Contact Draco.  Make sure the plan is in action.”

Lucius nodded and disapparated with a ‘crack’ leaving Voldemort and Severus alone.

“Leave as well,” he said, not bothering to turn around.  “Do as I have ordered.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

He disapparated to the Hogwarts gates.  It was unnaturally clear and the freezing wind passed easily through his clock, chilling him to the bone.  He hunched his shoulders and walked as fast as he were able up the winding drive.

Hopefully, she would be waiting.


He was not disappointed.  She let out a soft exclamation when she saw his damaged face and rushed across the room.

“Oh,” she said softly, careful not to touch his skin.

“I have a potion,” he said, grabbing hold of her wrist and pulling her close.  He ran his finger along her jaw and tilted her face upward.  She inhaled sharply as he pushed her hair to the side and leant down, pressing his lips to her neck.  He could feel her pulse quickening as he slid his hand beneath her shirt.  “And that, he continued, “can wait until later.”


Author’s notes:  As I said, very different from my usual stories.

Please review!