Apparently, his evasion worked. Harry gave a self-deprecating chuckle, "Positively ancient. I was nearly seventeen. I expect you were younger than that."
"Somewhat." It was, after all, the truth.
"About what you said before about . . . fearing me, I, er, would like to tell you that you don't have to . . . worry about your emotional integrity with me. But I guess I'd just be wasting my breath, wouldn't I?" Harry asked in a soft tone.
Now it was Severus' turn to tense. "Doubtless."
Harry's hands tightened on his back almost painfully, and then he asked, "Would it matter if I said I loved you? Because I do, whether you want to hear it or not. I don't expect you to say anything back."
Severus' very breathing seemed to still. Harry loved him. He'd said it before at the height of passion, but never when they were simply talking like this.
Not coward enough to let that confession pass unremarked upon, Severus lifted his head and stared down into Harry's nervous features. Harry had gone out on an emotional limb for his sake. The least he could do was acknowledge the gesture. "It . . . matters."
"But?" Potter encouraged, seeming more himself for those two hesitant words Severus had offered.
His mouth running dry, Severus gave a painful swallow and tried to explain. "The few times I've heard those words, utter disaster has followed. Each and every time. I . . . wouldn't have this, were it not for those words."
Severus held his left forearm up, letting Harry see the Dark Mark, the memento of the last time he'd been foolish enough to believe that particular sentiment. Even now, he could hear Lucius' voice saying, I want those I love there beside me, Severus. And for the sake of those pathetic words, he'd bartered his young soul away.
To Severus' bewilderment, neither disgust nor disappointment entered Harry's expression as he confessed the height of his foolishness. If anything, Harry's gaze gentled.
Harry reached up, captured his arm, and guided his forearm to his mouth so that he could kiss that hideous defilement.
Severus shuddered, as he did every time Harry pressed his lips to the skull and serpent. The few times he'd had intercourse after Voldemort's first fall, his partners had gone out of their way to avoid even looking at the mark. It hadn't been an issue since Voldemort's final defeat, for he hadn't had sex afterwards until Harry. But Harry treated the Dark Mark like just another part of his body.
"We wouldn't be here together like this, if it weren't for that. The entire Wizarding World would have fallen without the information that mark helped you obtain. I know you see it as . . . ."
"A stain on my soul?" Severus supplied. Repossessing his arm, he sat up, needing to put some room between them.
Harry followed suit. Pulling his hairy legs up to his chest and loosely wrapping his arms around his knees, Potter turned to face him. "If you like, but it needed to happen, Severus. We all learn from our mistakes, and that one helped you save millions of innocent lives."
Severus gulped. This man devastated him so effortlessly. Harry had this . . . gift for taking even the darkest events of his life and filtering them through his unique perspective so that even the worst depravities seemed . . . noble or, at the very least, errors in judgement. Harry never excused any of his mistakes, but he accepted them as though they were simply events, no different than the life choices any other of his lovers might have made. His entire adult life, Severus had been reviled and damned for a decision he'd made at seventeen. Harry was the first person who'd ever truly behaved as if everything he'd done to make up for his mistake was enough.
Severus didn't understand it. There were times like this when Harry's unconditional support convinced him that the man he was sleeping with was, in fact, utterly deranged. But . . . delusional as Harry might be, his acceptance of the unforgivable parts of his past made him all but worship him, despite that the young man was clearly mental.
"Potter . . . Harry . . . ." Severus began, and then faltered, for he had no idea what he wanted to say.
"It's all right," Harry whispered. "I know you're not comfortable with . . . declarations. I don't need them. We're here together; that's declaration enough for me. Especially after last night."
Once again, Harry used his natural talent and made everything easier for him, giving Severus a natural segue into his question, "About last night, are your nightmares always . . . like that?"
His face darkening, Harry nodded. "Pretty much."
"Can you tell me what happens in them, or don't you remember?"
Harry snorted. "I remember every fucking one of them. It's always a variation on the same theme. I've been captured and tortured by Death Eaters. They come into the cell where I'm being held, put me under Cruciatus or torture me in some other way, and . . . and rape me."
Like Voldemort had raped Harry's mind during the final battle. It was just like that sadistic bastard to do something like this, to implant a curse that would keep torturing his enemy long after Voldemort was no longer around to enjoy it.
Severus wasn't sure if he should voice his next question. It seemed far too personal, but . . . Harry's declaration changed everything, even if Severus couldn't openly admit it. Harry said lovers had rights. It was only reasonable that the arrangement work both ways. So, he asked in as gentle and unthreatening a tone as he could manage, "Is that why you don't like to be taken, because of the dreams?"
Harry's aversion to being in the submissive role was more than simple dislike. The few times Severus had tried to penetrate Harry with even his fingers, Harry's body had turned to organic ice. Harry hadn't refused him or asked him to stop – Severus suspected that was due to his Gryffindor lover's sense of fair play – but Harry's obvious lack of enjoyment had made him wary of forcing the issue.
Harry gave a slow nod, his cheeks warming. "Yeah. That's lost me just as many relationships as the nightmares."
Reading Harry's complete discomfort, Severus softly offered, "Fortunately, that will never be an issue between us. I'm . . . more than satisfied with our current arrangement."
"It's not fair to you, though. You should be able to . . . ." Harry faltered and looked away.
"Why don't you let me worry about what is and isn't fair to me?" Severus suggested. "As you have noted many times in the past few months, I'm hardly a silent sufferer."
As he'd hoped, a smile twitched at Harry's full mouth and he turned back to him.
"Now about these nightmares . . . ."
Harry sighed. "Hermione says that I'm suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome. It's something a lot of Muggle soldiers get after a war ends. Counselling and certain medications might -"
"They'll do nothing," Severus interrupted. "You're not suffering from any kind of Muggle mental problem. You're suffering the effects of a powerful dark curse."
"What?" Harry nearly yelped, looking at him as though he were insane.
"Last night I was asleep when you were dreaming. I was holding you. My shields were down and I . . . well, I sensed Voldemort's presence moving through the room," Severus confessed.
"Vold . . . but he's dead. As dead as if a Dementor had kissed him," Harry protested, an uneasy light in his eye, no doubt caused by the idea that he might be wrong.
"That's true," Severus confirmed.
"But then how . . . ?"
"That final battle was fought in our minds. It's my belief that while Voldemort was . . . ." not quite sure how to address the rape of his memories that Harry had endured that day, Severus softly continued, ". . . searching your thoughts for a weakness he could use against us, I think he implanted a curse deep in your subconscious to cause these dreams. I believe he buried it so deeply that the only time it's detectable is while you're undergoing an actual nightmare. If it weren't, then I would have sensed it long before now."
"I'm . . . not going crazy, then?" Harry whispered.
Severus reached out and laid his hand on Harry's shoulder. "No, you're not. Although, after enduring these horrors for nearly nine years, you'd have every right to be."
Harry gulped noisily. "I've never heard of a curse like this before."
"Like yourself, Voldemort was adept at instantaneous magic. He could create a spell or a curse with a thought," Severus reported.
"That's where I get it from, then. Who do you think the mage fire came from – Albus or Voldemort?" Harry asked.
"What?" Severus blinked at the non sequitur.
"I got the Parseltongue ability and the instant magic from Voldemort. Did Albus give me the mage fire?"
"What do you mean 'you got the Parseltongue ability and instant magic from Voldemort'?" Severus asked, beginning to reconsider his protest of Harry's sanity.
"When Voldemort tried to kill me as a baby and my mother's . . . sacrifice made him fail, I absorbed some of his powers," Harry explained, his voice and face so troubled and serious that Severus knew his lover couldn't possibly be joking about the preposterous suggestion.
