Innocence

I shooed Minerva out of my office as gently as I could.  She
wasn't happy about leaving, since she was quite certain that I
didn't truly comprehend what she was trying to tell me.

Dear Minerva, I know.  I know nearly everything that goes on at
Hogwarts; how could I not know?  I do not pretend to know all the
fantasies that the young men and women under my care harbour in
the privacy of their curtained beds, but this one student's
secret desires are not a secret to me.

He's never been unsubtle about it, never been so obvious that I
have ever been forced to take notice of it, but I am aware that
one of my students has dreams and fantasies of a rather adult
nature towards me.  I know he does and I suspect he knows I do.

What he does not know and I take great pains to assure that he
never does, is that, much to my own shame, I share those dreams.
I suspect my dreams are even more sordid than his; his are dreams
of caring and love, expressed in the only terms he knows.  Mine
are pure lust for that long, lean body and a shameful desire to
see those dark eyes show something other than hollow despair.

Minerva has sharp eyes.  She saw the way he looked at me the
other day, as I told him as gently and kindly as I was able, that
his behaviour would have to change if he wished to stay and
complete his education.  He looked at me with those dark,
unfathomable eyes, then lowered his lashes as if in shame.  That
was all there was; just a lowering of long, black lashes, but in
that moment, Minerva saw what he was offering.  Submission.  Do
with me what you will, Headmaster; I willingly accept whatever
you ask.

I have many things I would like to ask of him.  Stay away from
those around you who will use you for their own ends.  Learn to
accept kindness for what it is.  Do not give yourself to anyone
who offers what you so desperately need.

Yes, I know what the boy needs.  He needs someone to care for and
about him, someone to lavish his own affections upon.

That someone cannot be me.  He does not need someone who lusts
after his body and his youth.  He does not need someone who would
accept his gift of surrender; he has had too many of those in his
all too short life.  I cannot be another and I cannot trust
myself not to be.

I shy away from even thinking about what steps we took to get
there, but all too soon, my robes were opened to expose my bare
flesh and his robe was discarded in a heap on the floor.  His
hands were everywhere, inflaming the desire that I had harboured
for so long and mine were running over his smooth young skin,
revelling in its soft responsiveness.

I was in no doubt that he wanted this; I only mourn that I did as
well.  In what little defense I can muster for myself, I can only
say that I was not the first to touch him in this manner.  His
caresses were far too practiced, disturbingly experienced and
achingly seductive.

When he touched me with those long fingered, soft hands, I
moaned, surrendering to my deepest, most deeply hidden desire.
When he rose a little and impaled himself on me, I cried out.  My
cries were swallowed by his mouth on mine, drinking in eagerly
the emotions he had wrought in me.

And when I spent myself in that young body, he closed his eyes
and whispered softly that he loved me.  He was utterly sincere; I
believed him.

He was always a strange child, from the moment he set the Sorting
Hat on his head.  The Hat spent considerable time deciding which
house to put him into.  Much later, I understood that he would go
into Slytherin in any case; the Hat had not doubted his talents,
but, rather, contemplated whether he should be allowed into
Hogwarts at all.  It was concerned about the boy and, perforce,
so was I.

So I looked more carefully at the child with the too-old eyes,
and a grace all at odds with his years.  He was a child in body
only; his intellect was that of an adult, and his experiences...
Whatever innocence he had ever possessed was long gone by the
time I met him.

His body matured early, perhaps a result of that early loss of
innocence, but his emotions were - and are - still very young.
He still seeks approval and acceptance, love and tenderness,
although all he knows about those is purely physical.  He seeks
to seduce, and, in doing so, to fulfil those needs that have
never been filled in any other way.

At first, it was my heart that ached for the boy.  It pained me
to see how twisted and damaged the boy was.  It would take hard
work to make that strange changeling into something approaching a
normal boy.

Later, that ache in my heart spread.  I had never before wanted
young flesh in my bed, so it quite surprised me to find that this
one attracted me.  As he grew older, and went from a downy
cheeked boy to a young man of height and grace, I told myself
that I was merely concerned.

I lied to myself.  I would have continued believing the lies I
told myself had it not been for the dreams that haunted me.

The dreams where that newly deep voice called my name softly,
begging me to touch and to taste, to do whatever lewd and
lascivious things I wished.  And, God forgive me, in those dreams
I did.

I could not longer stand being in the same room with him, not for
long.  What little progress I made with him stopped abruptly when
the dreams began.  As a child, he had been merely a concern and I
cared about him.  Now a man - very young, but a man nonetheless -
I wanted him.  And I knew full well that I could have him.

I truly don't know what to do.  I wish I could consign the boys
to eternal perdition, but I know that I should be there with
them.  I deserve it more than any careless schoolboy, no matter
what their crimes.

Crimes.  Yes, what they did was a crime.  I do not blame Remus;
he was the innocent in this.  He cannot help what he is and has
always been a responsible, sensible lad.  And James did what he
could to salvage the situation.  Level headed and practical, he
managed to turn what could have been a catastrophic tragedy into
a horrifyingly unpleasant experience.

No, it was Sirius who had precipitated this, aided and abetted by
Peter.  I don't believe that he intended Severus to come to any
lasting harm, but I don't believe he would have shed any tears,
either.  I doubt my beautiful changeling is quite human in
Sirius' eyes.  In all the years they have known one  another,
there has never been any glimmer of understanding or empathy on
either side.  Severus cannot understand how arrogant and cold his
defenses appear to others and Sirius cannot fathom that what he
sees are merely defenses, built to keep a hungry heart safe.

Those defenses were shattered beyond belief tonight.  After I
dismissed the Gryffindor boys, the indignation and anger that had
sustained him in front of his peers crumbled, leaving him a
shuddering, sobbing child in the grips of terror.  I could no
more leave him to suffer alone than I could have stopped
breathing.  I did then what I swore I would never do; I wrapped
my arms around him and held him close.

For a long moment, it was the right thing to do.  I held him on
my lap and soothed him, letting him rage and shake.  Then my body
betrayed me, and my compassionate gesture became all wrong.

What sort of a man am I, to feel as I did then?  A child -
sixteen years old, but still a child - and I felt my old shell of
a body respond.

Perhaps it was the unchildlike way he was writhing on my lap, or
the long, slender fingers that were creeping along the collar of
my robe, entwining in my long hair, or... No.  Seductive though
he is, and heartwrenchingly skilled at it, I cannot blame him for
what I felt.

I should have gently set him aside, held only his hands and
offered comfort in that fashion, but I did not.  I just held his
body close to mine and prayed that the heaviness of my robes
would hide my shameful response.

He lifted his head from my shoulder, finally, and there were no
traces of tears in those black eyes.  They were filled with pain,
and fear and something I devoutly wished I could not identify.
It was not - quite - desire.  It was devotion.  If ever a being
had his heart written on his face, Severus' heart was.  It hurt
so much to see that; a small modicum of comfort, such as I would
have given to any of my students, and he was offering me
everything.  His heart, his devotion and, with a soft kiss on my
lips, his body.

I think it was the kiss that was my final undoing.  He kissed me
as naturally and unselfconsciously as any five year old, but the
kiss was very much that of an adult.  He had no idea how
inappropriate it was for him to touch his lips to mine.  In his
mind and his world, it was perfectly natural for him to offer me
his lips.

It was not natural for me to accept that offer, but to my
everlasting mortification, I did.  I would give much to say that
the joining of our lips was in any way innocent, but it was not;
not on my part or on his.  He knew precisely what he was offering
and I knew that I should not accept it.  Still, there was time
and opportunity to bring the burgeoning scenario to a halt.  And
I did not.

I did not ease him away.  I did not protest.  I kissed him back.
More than that; I deepened the kiss, no longer able to resist the
temptation.  I kissed him as a lover would and he responded
instantly.  His tongue was all too eager to tangle with mine and
he shifted to straddle my lap, his long legs spreading with frank
invitation.

I shy away from even thinking about what steps we took to get
there, but all too soon, my robes were opened to expose my bare
flesh and his robe was discarded in a heap on the floor.  His
hands were everywhere, inflaming the desire that I had harboured
for so long and mine were running over his smooth young skin,
revelling in its soft responsiveness.

I was in no doubt that he wanted this; I only mourn that I did as
well.  In what little defense I can muster for myself, I can only
say that I was not the first to touch him in this manner.  His
caresses were far too practiced, disturbingly experienced and
achingly seductive.

When he touched me with those long fingered, soft hands, I
moaned, surrendering to my deepest, most deeply hidden desire.
When he rose a little and impaled himself on me, I cried out.  My
cries were swallowed by his mouth on mine, drinking in eagerly
the emotions he had wrought in me.

And when I spent myself in that young body, he closed his eyes
and whispered softly that he loved me.  He was utterly sincere; I
believed him.

I had betrayed him and myself in what we did that night.  I
betrayed myself and my position by taking him that first time.  I
betrayed him as well, but the largest betrayal came after.  As he
was curled on my lap, spent, with our mingled fluids upon us and
whispered words of love flowing out of him, I told myself that it
would be a disgrace to send him away.  The damage had been done,
I told myself.  Surely it would compound the error if I did not
wrap my arms around him and take him to my bed.

I wish I could look upon that night with unmixed shame, but,
truth be told, part of me shamelessly relives the sight of those
dark eyes shining with love, telling me with greater eloquence
than any words possibly could, how much he loved me.  How much he
wanted me.  How much he needed me.

Every fantasy I had was played out that night.  I spent hours
feasting on the carnal delights of a very willing young man,
responsive to my every whim.  He had no repugnance for my aging
body, or reluctance to card his fingers through my hair, silvered
with age.  Indeed, he seemed delighted to play with me, exuberant
as a child with a new toy.  I had never seen such playfulness in
him; he was a child playing very adult games, not knowing, or
perhaps not caring, how dangerous such games can be.

Upon waking, I found him curled up against me with his head on my
shoulder.  He looked so young, so very young, with an innocence
about him.  It was as if the innocence that had been taken away
from him so long ago had been found last night in my arms.

I had to ease my way out of his loose embrace; I was physically
ill.  I stayed in my lavatory a long time, long after my aching stomach
had anything left to expel.  Eventually, I had to return to the
tumbled bed and try to repair what I suspected was irreparable.

He was awake when I emerged, looking at me with shining,
expectant eyes.  He held his arms out to me and I wanted, more
than anything in this world or the next, to embrace him and to
kiss his brow and keep him with me.  Only the willpower that made
me a wizard of the standing I hold, the willpower that had
deserted me last night, kept me at arms length.

I watched his expression turn from joyful to wary, then wary to
hurt, finally settling on the indifferent mask he presented to
the world.  I had said nothing, but my silence spoke volumes.

I started to speak, but he spoke first.  He apologised to me,
leaving me dumbstruck.  He said he was sorry for troubling me and
calmly rose from the bed.  When I reached out a hand and touched
his arm, he pulled away.

I knew then that I had lost him.  Not by my actions last night,
but by this morning's rejection.  He would never allow me close
again; from his perspective, he had given me the only thing he
knew how to give and had given it freely, only to have it thrown
back in his face.  The enormity of my mistakes crashed down on me
and I could only watch helplessly as he walked out of my rooms
and out of my life.

I did not surprise me, years later, to know that he had been
branded with the Dark Mark.  I had watched as he went from father
figure to father figure, still innocent enough to seek out anyone
who would offer the love he so desperately needed.

I was surprised, and pleased, when he finally returned to me,
battered and nearly broken.  This time, I knew better.  I took
him in my arms and swore I would not let him go again.

Title: Innocence
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me and no copyright infringement is intended.
Rating: R
Pairing: Severus Snape/Albus Dumbledore
Genre: Drama, Angst
Archive: Anywhere; just let me know
Summary: Dumbledore tries - and fails - to help a young Severus Snape.
Comments to: ar895@ncf.ca