InsaneJournal

The Price of Silence

                They hadn't spoken since she'd ended the friendship at Gryffindor Portrait.

                "What do you want?" Petunia said from the doorway.

                "I need to speak with Lily. Is she even here?"

                "Why would I tell you if she was?"

                "I have to see her," he said sternly.

                "You don't have to do anything," she retorted. "We both know you have a crush on her. Lily knows it too. But she's through with you—finally."

                He said nothing, picking some lint off of his robe in the ensuing silence, waiting for her to break and let him in to see Lily.

                "It's so unnatural," she said after a while.

                "Magic?" he said with disdain.

                "That too," she said darkly. "But, no, not magic. Not the things you do. I know your other secret. What you are."

                He felt his blood run cold. "What I am?" he raised an eyebrow.

                "I've heard your mum talking to my mum about it. I don't think Lily knows. I've never told her."

                "Told her what?" he asked slowly, carefully. There was no need to panic. She couldn't possibly mean . . . .

                "That you, 'Severus' Snape, are a woman."

                He paused.

                "You can't deny it," said Petunia gleefully. "It's true, isn't it? You're a woman who not only tries to pass for a boy, but you've got a giant crush on another girl—had one since you were, what, nine years old? Poow Sevewus." She laughed a sort of mean cackle.

                "What is he doing here?" asked Lily, coming into the doorway after a while of silent, sick glee versus silent, sick panic. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Send him away, Tuney. Or don't. Just don't let him near me." She walked into the kitchen to ignore them.

                "Don't tell her," he begged Petunia when Lily was no longer in range to hear. "Whatever you want, within reason at least, you can have it."

                Petunia thought about it for a moment. Then she grasped him by the front of his robes and pulled him into the house. "Stay out of my room for a bit, Lily. We're just going to talk. I'll explain things to him."

                "I don't care," Lily called, sounding weary as she fixed herself a sandwich.

                "What do you want?" he said when Petunia locked the door. His arms were crossed protectively over his chest.

                "I want to see if it's true," said Petunia.

                He raised an eyebrow.

                "Or else I'll tell Lily," she added.

                He paused and then, reluctantly, began shirking his robe.

                "I knew there was a reason you were wearing your mother's old things," she said, circling him. "They're small, but they're still breasts, aren't they?" He closed his eyes. She reached out to brush one of his nipples. He got goose bumps all over, but not in a pleasant way.

                "Take them off too," she said, pointing at his greying underpants. He opened his eyes, biting his lip.

                "Petunia—"

                "Do it."

                "Don't make me!"

                "Do it!"

                "No one's seen—"

                "DO IT!" she roared, and then paused to calm herself, not wanting to draw attention to them. In one move, she tackled him to the bed. He yelped and reached for his wand . . . which was in his robe.

                "No, Petunia, don't, don't," he muttered, face reddening in shame as she reached for the pants herself, pinning him down. She was thin, but not as thin as he was.

                "You, Severus Snape, are just a pretty little girl, aren't you? Well, not pretty . . . ."

                "Neither are you!" he spat. "You aren't pretty either." He shivered as she bared him to the light, shying away from the finger that stroked at his thigh. "What are you—?"

                "Do you touch yourself?" she asked him and his eyes bugged.

                "No, never. Petunia, stop it, Petunia . . . ."

                "It can be quite pleasant," she whispered, reaching down to part his thighs, brushing fingertips over that place between his legs.

                He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, Petunia, you can tell her, you can tell her! Tell the whole neighborhood!"

                "Shh," she said calmly, and she added, "Don't you dare move." She went to his robes until she found his wand. "I'll break it if you move an inch."

                There was no way he'd be able to acquire a new wand before the start of the new term. He resigned himself to letting her . . . do whatever it was she intended. His throat felt thick as if he might cry already. You can wait until after she forces herself on you for that, he thought angrily.

                She picked up an old, purple jumping rope and neared the bed again, tossing his wand across the room. "Hold still. I don't bite," she smiled pleasantly at him. Then she tied his hands to the bed frame. He tried to test the knots a bit, but they held strong.

                "You promise you won't tell?" he said, voice cracking as he fought against the urge to sob.

                "I promise," she said honestly, nodding. Then she pulled off his shoes and socks and stared at his feet. "I'm just going to explain things. I think I have some . . . ." She trailed off, and he did not know what "some" referred to, even as she neared him with a small bottle of colored liquid. He assumed it was a potion, and when she opened the bottle and he could smell it, he made a face.

                "Do you lot even have polish?" she asked. "Don't kick," she warned as she neared his left foot. She held the bottle in one hand and the lid in the other. Attached to the bottom of the lid was a small brush. The red liquid was painted onto his toes. He stared at them aghast as she continued.

                "That's really much nicer," she said as he continued to fight back rising sobs. "They're not bad, your feet. If I had my own bathroom, I might help you shave yourself," she said with a soft smile, looking indulgent, as if it were something he desired to do.

                He shivered, sincerely hoping she would just leave his legs as they were. And, God forbid, his poor snatch. If she shaved him down there, he would never forgive her. Never. He may even use the Cruciatus on her, Muggle Protection Act be damned. He gritted his teeth as he waited for what would come next.

                "Dry enough now," she said, having already put the bottle of "polish" aside. He relaxed, but only slightly.

                "I'll be gentle, you know," she said, parting his thighs. "Be good, Snape," she coaxed, and he reluctantly allowed her to open up that part of him he loathed to the scrutiny of the light fixture in Petunia Dursley's bedroom. He let a small sound of distress escape his throat, unable to hold it back.

                "It's not all that bad," she said, almost warmly. But the words, as all the words she'd spoken since she'd made him take off his robe, only brought his heart more chilling ice, encased him in a sort of numb, painful shell. He wasn't sure his mind could bear this torture.

                What are you going to do? Just get on with it! he wanted to say, but the words would not come, especially when he was spending all his time trying to hold back any sounds from escaping him.

                She paused, once again telling him not to move. Terrified, he held still. Reaching underneath her dress, she slid her own knickers off. "Look," she said, parting her slick lips slightly in a way that made him want to wretch and to imagine Lily doing the same all at the same time. There was blood, though, and, oh, the blood always made him queasy just thinking about it. She petted the soft, blonde hair above it all with a gentle fondness. "Look, Snape, I have the exact same parts," she said softly. "See? It's alright."

                He let out a sorrowed moan. His hands clenched as they remained trapped. "Petunia...," he pleaded again.

                She didn't seem to mind that he was pleading at all. She reached for his between-the-legs parts, and he was gnawing at his lip so he would not pull his legs away, so he would not cross them protectively. He was so raw and open and vulnerable, and he would kill her if he were free. He would fucking kill her. Muggles never listened to anything anyone else had to say. They were horrible. They were menaces to society. They were rapists and abusers. He would have killed her without remorse.

                She had the nerve, the fucking nerve, to put a fingertip . . . inside of him. "Leave it alone!" he sobbed out, letting a tear fall from the corner of his eye.

                "It's not all that bad," she coaxed. "Let me convince you. We got the better end of the deal, really." She gently pushed the finger in and out.

                "Way of . . . bloody . . . convincing me," he growled, squeezing his eyes shut tight again.

                "Speaking of bloody . . . I can't exactly let you explore much of myself right now anyway," she said. "Although, I've been told the taste isn't terrible." Her second hand left his thigh and he slit his eyes open just in time to see her run a finger along herself. The tip of her finger came away with horrible, bloody redness and he convulsed, trying to pull away.

                "You really are very dramatic, you know," she said, almost sounding amused. She flicked the tip of her tongue over the redness to try it. "Could be worse," she said with a nod.

                "I'll report you if you don't let me go," he said.

                "And let everyone in on your secret?"

                He gasped, throwing his head back as, instead of waiting for an answer, she licked her fingertip and pressed it against that spot, the spot that felt horrifyingly good, that embarrassed him, that he wished he didn't have almost more than he wished he didn't have that hole that bled and wept and embarrassed him too.

                And yet, the fucking monstrosity felt good. It felt good to touch. He lied. Sometimes he touched himself there. He really tried not to. It was shameful to want to.

                "Give into the feeling," she coaxed, and he tugged at the jumping rope again, snarling, ready to strangle her right away. "Accept yourself," she said. "This is you."

                He moaned a tortured sort of moan. "Oh God . . . stop it!"

                She ignored him again, pressing her finger against that spot rhythmically until his insides were clenching around the finger that still had not left. Fire rose from that nub of flesh of his on every touch to it, fire so consuming he was soon thrashing and moaning and crying and wishing he did not have it!

                "Can you reach orgasm?" she asked, stopping. He groaned and it took him a while to calm down enough to mutter something to the affirmative. She seemed pleased with this answer and leaned down, parting his legs wider to flick her tongue against the thing and, ah, he came, gushing, flowing, wetting the duvet, as well as wetting his face, hair, and neck with his tears.

                "You bitch!" he snarled as he caught his breath, still clenching around her finger. "I'm going to murder you . . . in your . . . sleep!" He was shaking with rage and orgasm all at once, sedated and yet filled with fire.

                "No you won't," she said, leaning back on the bed, and he could see it clearly as she sucked the finger that had been in him a bit, before shoving it right into herself, heedless of her own blood. Her other hand touched at her own fire-making nub, and she rocked her hips, arching, looking what he imagined would be beautiful, under other circumstances, on someone else. She came too, in a pink flood that stained the light duvet.

                "I'll let you up," she said after a moment. "But you're going to clean the bed. Then you can leave. I won't tell Lily a thing."

                She handed him the wand and watched as he cleaned up the mess before beginning to untie him. She then put her knickers back on and helped him dress too.

                "Are you becoming more acceptant of yourself? Of your parts?" she asked him hopefully.

                The fact that it seemed she really was trying to help in some sick, perverted way sent him over the edge from silent silent seething to a roaring rage. "I HATE THEM! I HATE OUR BODIES! YOU LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" he shuddered, beginning to hyperventilate.

                "Shh." She reached for him, grasping him tightly to help him calm, until he shoved her away, brandishing his wand.

                "Stay the fuck away from me."

                He flew out her bedroom door and toward the front of the house.

                "Severus?" asked Lily, striding in front of him for a moment to head him off. "Are you alright?" She frowned, wondering just what Petunia had done to him.

                "Don't ask," he said, trying to get his breathing under control. "Don't—" He sprinted toward the bathroom and retched into the toilet, coughing and gagging. Lily stood in the doorway, staring at him. "Don't . . . fucking . . . ask," he said bitterly and, flushing the toilet, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he left, slamming the front door behind him.

                Lily frowned again, hearing Petunia come out of the bedroom soon after. Petunia claimed that Severus came onto her while they were talking about Lily. Lily didn't believe her, but she certainly couldn't imagine what could have happened to make him ill. "Pick your friends better next time," she said. "What a horrible boy."

                Secretly, she hoped he'd learn to accept himself—learn to become a great woman.

                "You know very well he's not my friend anymore," said Lily stiffly.

                "Not that I care anyway," said Petunia.

                "I'm glad you don't," said Lily.

                "Yes, you would be."

                "You don't know me!" Lily snapped.

                "You knew about his crush, didn't you? Wanted to get away from him as soon as you could. Dropped him like a bad habit. I suppose it's for the best."

                "I'm going to cast a curse on you if you don't leave me alone!" Lily snapped.

                Petunia looked cowed, on the outside. On the inside she clung to the knowledge that she knew something of the horrid boy that Lily didn't know. Something Lily would never know. The boy—or girl, whatever—had paid a price for his silence. That price would be honored. And Petunia, for once, had a secret Lily, with all her otherworldly items, and classes, and friends, would never have. It was about time.