Entry tags:

art recs, bill/snape, fic, nc-17, slash

FIC: "As the Gentle Rain" Part Four (Story now complete)
Title: As the Gentle Rain
Author: joanwilder aka RaeWhit
Pairing: Bill Weasley/Severus Snape, Snape/Original Male Characters
Beta: jadzialove, as always, I'm in your debt for your time, encouragement, and expertise. A thank you to magic_helmet for the read-throughs and advice.
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Drama/Angst/Romance
Word Count: 29,000+
Warnings: BDSM, D/s. Highlight for specifics: erotic humiliation, extreme bondage, whipping, object penetration
Challenge: Written for thematic_hp Round Ten—BDSM, D/s challenge, for Prompt # 46—In public, he's in charge. In private, someone else is.
Disclaimer: All things Potter belong to J.K.Rowling and her book and film companies.
Summary: For Snape and Bill, obsession is only the beginning.


A/N: This story was inspired by my own obsession with a piece of artwork that appeared in this year's IJ hp_springsmut. After weeks of thinking about it, I contacted fanlay and received her blessing to write a story around it. Please, please take a look at her beautiful and haunting artwork Rain. My slightly insincere apologies to her for embellishing considerably upon her original vision of "an illicit, hurried liaison in heavy rain."

The story is completed.

Start from the beginning.



1993-1994

"It's oppressive. The students can't go outside of the castle unaccompanied. Black could be anywhere, and the bloody Dementors have everyone on edge," Snape told him as they sat in the small sitting room in late November.

Bill shook his head, then distractedly patted the settee. "Come up here, would you?" He watched as Snape stood from the floor, seeming slightly surprised, then sat next to him. Bill took his hand and laced their fingers together as he stared into the fire. "You knew him, didn't you?"

"Yes, we were in the same year, along with Lupin, the new Defense teacher."

"And the Potter boy's parents?"

"Yes, them as well."

There was a pause as they sat silently, Snape still musing over the fact that he'd been invited to sit where he was.

"Is Black really so dangerous?"

"Certainly, at school he was a sadistic little prick. He's murdered, and spent years with Dementors. Who knows what he's capable of?"

"I'm glad you're at Hogwarts; I won't worry about my brothers."

Snape's face darkened. "Oh how I'd dearly love to be the one to find him."

***

It wasn't until after it happened that Snape realized how Bill had been preparing him the entire year. On each of their weekends, up until this particular one in May, Bill had taken a part of their ritual and replaced it with something else, something that gradually placed Snape on a more equal footing, so gradually, in fact, that Snape barely took notice anymore.

It was only afterward that he realized he no longer spent hours in positions of servitude; gone were the nights when he slept at the bottom of the bed or on the floor, and he almost always sat at the table and took his meals just the same as Bill did.

He no longer automatically assumed his position at Bill's feet in the sitting room after supper, but waited, a formality now, to be invited to sit beside him.

It had started on Friday, when Bill arrived to find Snape already in position, naked and collared, waiting by his armchair

Snape watched, not speaking, as Bill undressed and draped his clothes over the back of the settee. Taking a seat, he stretched out a hand. "Please, sit beside me."

It was unusual to be invited up so early in the evening, but Snape obeyed, then waited as Bill turned to face him. He was suddenly filled with fear, alarmed by the apprehension in Bill's eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "What's happened?"

Bill shook his head. "Nothing. Everything's fine." He reached out and traced his hand along the edge of Snape's collar, seeming fascinated by it all of a sudden. Then he looked up and met Snape's eyes. "I want you to take the collar off."

Snape froze, his eyes suddenly wide. "Take it off?" he asked, his heart beginning to pound. "You mean…what do you mean…for how long?"

Reaching out reassuringly, Bill stroked his cheek. "I don't know. Let's play it by ear." He considered Snape sympathetically for a moment, then asked gently, "Do you need me to order you to take it off?"

After thinking for a moment, Snape reached up behind him, then stopped. "You do it."

Bill's eyes seemed about to brim over as he nodded. "Turn around."

***

That night, after a bath together, Snape lay on his back in the bed, arms stretched up and waiting, as Bill tied them loosely to the bedposts.

And as Bill moved over him, like he had on so many other nights like this one, for the very first time, Snape chafed at the fact that he was bound, all of a sudden filled with a longing to be in control of his hands and have them free. He wanted to touch, and taste, fondle and bite at will.

In the middle of the night, Snape awoke, and without a second thought, he used his hands to roll his partner, fixed him to the bed with them, then he fucked him long and hard and felt good about it.

At the end of the weekend, they sat at the table across from each other, delaying that moment of goodbye, like they always did. Snape was curious, so he asked outright.

"Did you plan this?"

Bill smiled slightly. "No, but I thought about us, and you, and how things were ready to change." He reached out and caught Snape's hands on the tabletop. "What both of us need has changed. Haven't you sensed it?"

Snape furrowed his brows. "Not so much sensed it as wanted you in a different way. Needed you in a different way. I'm not sure I can adequately explain it, but I no longer feel as if you have to…set me to rights. I'm not afraid to be free to choose any longer, if that makes sense?"

"It makes perfect sense. And me, I like the idea of letting you take care of things for a change, if you like. I've had this feeling for months, that you wished you could be more…spontaneous. "

And so, over that weekend, without premeditation or preamble, everything had changed.

***

Snape was standing in the rain; there was a moon this night, but it winked in and out as clouds moved across it. He felt the wet grass beneath his feet as he started to walk along the lane lined with tall trees that swayed gently in the blowing mist. He'd never really noticed how tall they were before, because he'd always been running in his dreams.

He turned slowly, and looked at the lane behind him.

Nothing.

For the first time in his life, nothing pursued him. He resumed his walk in the other direction, awash in the fragrance of wet blossoms and drenched earth.

He was alone here, with nothing to run from and no need of a savior. His heart was serene, but at its depths, there was a well that was both bitter and sweet.

°°°§§§°°°

1994-95

Bill sat with Snape's head in his lap, listening as the man complained.

"It's a bloody circus, is what it is. Classes disrupted, hormones out of control—you'd think Hogwarts has no females at all, the way the boys are tripping all over themselves; I suppose it has something to do with the fact that they're bloody French, I don't know. And the girls are just as smitten with the Durmstrang idiots." He rolled his head back and forth until Bill groaned for him to stop his teasing. Smiling up at him, he finished with, "Albus might've just as well suspended classes for the year, seeing how much they're able to concentrate."

"Except in Potions," Bill said with a smile. "You're not letting them dawdle, are you?"

"Hmmm. Mine is the one class where they're forced to put all that piffle out of their heads, or else," he said humorlessly.

"Mmmm," Bill said as he playfully pushed Snape out of his lap and exaggeratedly showed him the bulge in his trousers. "I'll take some 'or else', please."

Snape was already on his knees beside him, grinning wickedly as he reached for Bill's flies. "My pleasure, and yours as well."

***

Despite the perpetual undercurrent of excitement in the castle, Snape had to admit to himself that he was more content than he'd ever been in his relatively young life.

He and Bill had renegotiated their 'arrangement' at the end of the last school year; some things had been left behind—as Bill said, they'd changed, so now their needs were different; some things remained—certain sexual practices, as well as some 'scenes' of which they were both particularly fond; by far the greatest change had been in Snape's roll as a submissive. Not entirely done away with, but now they'd agreed to play things by ear, both of them willing to 'switch' between roles that had heretofore been assumed and assigned.

Snape still didn't know about love; all he knew was that life without his lover was unimaginable.

***

Over the Yule holidays, Snape wearily made his way up the spiral staircase, then knocked on the door with a heavy heart.

"He's beside himself with fear," Snape said to the headmaster as he perched on the arm of a chair.

Dumbledore, behind the desk, stated, "Igor has reason to be. If it's as we suspect, then any reuniting of the Death Eaters will not be a happy event for him, given what he did." He studied Snape for a moment longer. "It's becoming more defined still?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Sighing, Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "We should decide on a plan, given what this might mean." He squinted at Snape and lowered his voice. "If you're willing."

Sinking into the chair at last, Snape sat stiffly, and said with a nod, "Ever willing."

***

Spring had come early, and the second-story rooms in Hogsmeade were warm, making it necessary to open the windows in late March.

They'd been in bed almost the entire weekend, only out of it to use the loo and shower early that morning; they'd even eaten take-away between the sheets, the two of them sitting with their backs against the headboard.

There was an unstated urgency in their weekends now that hadn't been there before. Snape made no secret of what he believed was on the eventual horizon of the wizarding world, and the change in his Mark, in any case, was a sign that was impossible to ignore.

"So, Potter could win it?"

"I don't know. Diggory and Krum are certainly more qualified. But…he has this way of…thwarting fate."

"Yeah, doesn't he?" Bill mused.

"Bill…" Snape began, but stopped. He didn't know how to even begin to say what he'd been thinking.

That they should leave….

That they should pick up their respective lives and go far, far away….

That they should set up a meeting place, a safe place, a signal for distress, an alternate destination for them to meet, just in case it became impossible for Snape to get to London, or Bill to Hogsmeade.

He'd lately been overwhelmed by this feeling that life as they knew it was about to end, and he wanted to stop it from all going wrong somehow, but he knew that if it did, he was in for a penny, in for a pound. That had been decided long ago, when he'd made his pact with a devil….

"Severus?"

Snape smiled. "Nothing worth sharing."

***

The moonlight cut a path across the room, solid at the center, more diffuse along the edges where it filtered through the curtains. It had rained all day, but had finally stopped.

They were a tangle of sweaty limbs on the damp sheets, now cool against their skin as they moved purposefully against one another. Neither of them had spoken in a long while, as they took turns lying still as the other one did what he had it in his mind to do.

No scene. No script. Just the willingness of their flesh, and the will to experience it all.

Bill lay flat on his back, arms on either side of his head, palms up, breathing heavily through his mouth as Snape rode him, flying the kite, as he'd once called it. The springs of the bed creaked loudly each time Snape bounced his weight off the body below him, knees digging deep into the mattress as he seated himself firmly and forcefully with each of Bill's upward thrusts.

"Sev…" Bill grunted out once as he began to jerk, pulse after pulse.

Snape didn't come that time; he was weary and had already had his fair share of orgasms. Collapsed on the bed, he put some distance between the two of them, in the interests of cooling off.

But then, Bill's words made him shiver. "I was thinking, maybe, considering what's happening, we should have…a contingency plan."

***

Snape leant weakly against the door, listening in disbelief as Dumbledore and Fudge argued. Fudge's face was already an unhealthy purple, and Snape had known the headmaster long enough to guess at his fury; his voice had become softer and more intense with each exchange.

He'd sworn he'd keep his focus, but the weight of Bill's eyes on him made him slowly look up. There he sat next to the head of Potter's bed, his face so white that his freckles stood out like blemishes. Their eyes met for only an instant, communicating a wealth of anguish and fear and longing, before Snape was the first one to look away.

He was engulfed in the horror of the past several hours—from the moment his Mark had quickened and burned as of old, when the boy'd returned with the Cup and his dead competitor, through the interrogation of the masquerading Death Eater, to this, almost the worst of it—Fudge's staunch denial of the truth right in front of him, the truth for which there was irrefutable proof. Even when faced with Snape's own testimony about the transformation of the Marks, the man still stubbornly refused to believe.

Snape was filled with dread, knowing that the future was no longer certain, suspecting that especially for him, everything he'd built for himself, all that he held dear—and that wasn't much—was now at risk. Bill's voice startled him to attention.

"I'll go to Dad," he said as he stood. "I'll go now."

No, not you, Snape wanted to say. They've no need of you—let Molly go, she's not needed here. As you are…I need you. I need you right now, he wanted to protest.

"Leave it to me," Bill assured the headmaster. He touched Harry on the shoulder, kissed his mother on the cheek, pulled on his cloak, and strode from the room, his eyes meeting Snape's at the very last moment. They were bright with purpose, but heavy with emotion and regret.

He felt himself in a daze, momentarily coming to his senses only to sustain a further shock, as Sirius Black materialized in front of him for a hasty introduction, then the dog, too, was sent off on a mission of his own. Snape shook his head slightly as the large black mutt lumbered toward the door, which it nimbly opened with a paw.

Time was speeding up; things were moving too quickly, Snape thought as he turned back to the room. Only Potter and his two friends remained, with Molly. And that left himself and…

Dumbledore was watching him critically. As Snape lifted his eyes to his face, he cringed inwardly, as he knew exactly what was to come. A moment of silence passed between them, and Snape remembered, then, his vows of so long ago, both to himself and to this man, and to the spirit of one long-dead. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, as he squared his shoulders and steeled his resolve.

"Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…."

Suddenly, Snape had the sure and sickening knowledge that his entire life had been for this precise moment somehow. He felt the color drain from his face, and realized there was a trace of a tremor in his voice as he answered, "I am."

Dumbledore's eyes softened. "Then, good luck."

Without a glance for the other occupants of the room, Snape spun on his heels and swept from the room.

***

He'd hoped, as he took the steps from the infirmary, that Bill might've waited. But he knew as he spied the Entrance Hall, that this had been a foolish hope. Bill would've gone immediately to do his duty, just as Snape was about to do his.

The Mark had burned so fiercely out on the pitch that he'd had to struggle to maintain his composure. Now it had faded somewhat, but still, it called him.

He raced toward his rooms, pushing through the parents and students still milling about in the corridors. Down in the dungeons, there was no one to delay him. He went first for his sideboard, when he poured himself a finger of whisky which he downed in a single gulp. Then on to his sleeping chamber where he buried himself into the nether recesses of his magical wardrobe, groping until his fingers connected with the small, carved wooden box. Pulling it out, he spoke the mot-clé, then watched as the top of the box slid silently to the side. Dumping the contents onto his bed, he murmured the spell to reconstitute them to their normal size, then scooped up the robe and mask as he was already turning toward the door. Hurrying along the dungeon hallway, he hid the loathsome items inside the cloak he wore now.

Swearing softly as he exited the castle, he realized that he'd have to go into the forest to Apparate, as the grounds were still teaming with people: students and parents, visitors and officials, including Aurors.

The silence of the forest was almost deafening, given the uproarious events of the past several hours. Shedding his cloak, he donned his Death Eater robe and mask, then stood for a moment, inhaling the scent of the trees and the wildflowers of summer; the Mark still summoned him—he had only to turn on the spot and he'd be transported to his…Master.

Snape laughed aloud at the irony. Of all the masters he'd had over the years, this was the one to whom he'd never thought to be subject again.

He was about to go, when, unbidden, Bills face as he'd last seen it drifted into his mind. Not the scene of this night, but of their last moments in Hogsmeade barely a month ago.

If I'd known it was the last time I'd see him, I would've said…I would've done something…different, were Snape's final thoughts before he cleared his mind and Apparated.

***

A day later, at almost midnight, Snape staggered in an unknown forest. He was sore and injured; he'd been abused repeatedly, the Cruciatus Curse having been the worst of it. He'd had moments when he'd thought the Dark Lord had no intention of letting him go; he'd been certain that he'd let his defenses down enough for the man to penetrate and see his duplicity; he'd stupidly and stubbornly repeated his story over and over, until finally, he'd lain on the ground at the man's feet and heard in a daze the charge to never show himself so deficient again, or suffer the permanent consequence.

So, he Disapparated, not certain that he'd be able, and found himself on the edge of the forbidden forest. One more forced concentration to avoid being splinched, and he found himself just outside the gates. As he tiredly let himself in, the clouds broke open above him, and a gentle rain began to come down in earnest. There was no one about, and most of the lights in the castle were darkened.

Snape was heartsick, his feet heavy as he walked, so terrified and tempted to despair. He trudged up the stairs toward the great doors, then at the last moment, broke away to the side of the castle, heading toward the gardens. He didn't have it in himself just now to face the headmaster.

He felt revulsion. Filled with self-loathing that reached out and strangled him from across the years for the foolishness of his youth. There were some mistakes that could never be remedied; he'd known this, long ago, but hadn't been forced to appreciate the stark and painful reality of it for years now.

As he walked to the far end of the garden, the rain was falling harder, but strangely, there was still moonlight filtering down to illuminate the hedgerows and roses along the borders, reflecting off the puddles beginning to pool on the stones of the square. Snape turned his face to look up and see the moon, and just this movement of his head was enough to make him dizzy and sick; he was struck with a gut-wrenching terror that knocked the strength from his legs and took him to his knees.

There was a flash of lightning, and almost immediately after, a rumble of thunder. It was pouring harder, so that the slanting rain felt like brambles brushing across his face and neck. Snape didn't care; he was numb, paralyzed, powerless to move, even. Here he was, stuck in his own private Hell, having just left one Dark Lord, and about to submit himself to the will of a lighter one. He was cursed.

Everything was about to change, he knew, as he closed his eyes and let the rain wash over his face. He'd have to hide himself from everyone. No one could know. No one could come close.

He was alone again.

It felt familiar, this punishment. It was what he'd always known…it was nothing more than what he deserved….

Something in the depths of him was repulsed by the thought, and railed against this sentence.

It's not true; I've paid for my crimes, I'm even willing to do my part now. But that doesn't mean that all is lost. Does it?

The question echoed hollowly in his mind, and he opened his eyes to stare straight ahead into the rain, and was suddenly struck by a sense of déjà vu so strong that it took his breath away.

He remembered his dream of a savior, and laughed out loud, a bitter sound. The rain forced him to close his eyes again, and he raised his head as he thought to himself:

Now would be a good time.

He began to shiver, thoroughly drenched, his hair plastered over his cheeks. He could see the next lightning flash through the thin flesh of his eyelids, then the thunder came, and just as it died out, a muffled sound that made his eyes snap open.

It seemed to materialize from thin air, and he watched in wonder as the figure of his dreams strode toward him, long loping steps that broke out into a run as it grew closer. Snape let out a half-cry, a half-sob of recognition, knowing it couldn't be; he was hallucinating, numb, probably feverish…

But then the light from the moon went out, as the figure stopped just in front of him, its breath a billowy steam about its head. Snape felt the hands on his shoulders, and his heart sank, knowing now that it was his dream. He let out a single cry, a wail of despair and presentiment. He was about to waken, and his savior would be lost, just as he always was.

Then amazingly, the figure fell to its knees and the moonlight illuminated its face. A face with wide, half-crazed hazel eyes, searching Snape's for a moment before the hands pulled him forward, crushing Snape's face to his chest.

Snape drank in the feel of it, being wrapped in these arms he knew so well, in the sound of Bill's voice, words indistinguishable, but Snape could feel the rumbling in Bill's chest as he talked. Snape shook his head in wonder, then protested feebly as he felt himself being pushed away.

Pushed away only far enough for them to see each other's faces, Snape sat back on his heels as Bill knelt up before him. He ran his hands over Snape's head, and then his face, letting them drop to his shoulders as he shook his head, staring into Snape's face.

"Are you all right?" he asked, still examining him with his hands.

"I'm fine, nothing that won't heal," Snape told him irritably, suddenly feeling the weariness that had been staved off and then worsened by adrenaline.

Bill's hands were back in his hair, feeling his scalp, then one settled to cradle his head at an ear, the other holding on at his shoulder. Bill leant in close to Snape's face. "I can't believe he sent you like that."

"We agreed…long ago; you knew this."

"You selfish…" Bill bit his lip, the rain dripping off the end of his nose. "What if you'd been…killed. What if?"

Snape closed his eyes, and smiled. "But I wasn't." Feeling suddenly grateful, beyond any gratitude he'd ever felt before in his life, he reached out, finding Bill's flies and fumbling with the wet fabric. He could feel the hand in his hair tighten, as Bill gasped and leant forward, his cock slipping free of his pants and into Snape's slick hands.

Snape had to struggle not to fall, as Bill bent him even further backward to almost brutally kissed him.

Bill was hard in a moment, and groaned into Snape's mouth as Snape did his best to pump him, despite the odd angle and chill of the rain.

They both fought to stay upright, and only a dozen strokes later, Bill came, and Snape exulted, holding on to him for dear life, as the gentle ran still fell around them. Of all that'd happened in the past twenty-four hours—the death of a promising young man, the Kiss to a betrayer, the resurrection of a dark wizard—this simple act symbolized and celebrated what there was to fight and live for.

Bill slumped forward, his head on Snape's shoulder, positioned perfectly for Snape to mutter, "Life as we know it is over."

°°°§§§°°°

Life as they knew it was truly over.

They first thing they did was break the 'Never here' rule, about being together in the castle. After a brief visit with the headmaster, Snape locked them in his dungeon rooms.

There was no master, and no submissive.

There was only Bill and Snape, making love to each other.

Before any more words were spoken, any promises made, or warnings given, it was imperative that they do this, a mandate that they both understood without any exchange between them.

When they were finally sated and quiet, Bill was the first to speak; Snape, for his part, would've postponed the inevitable as long as he could've.

"I hate this," Bill said, his eyes forlorn, his arm resting on Snape's shoulder as they faced each other.

Snape was more pragmatic. "I'll have to hide who I am. I'll have to play a part, a part that will make both sides suspicious of me. I don't think, though, that I'd be able, nor would it be prudent, considering all that you and I…."

Pragmatic didn't mean that he wasn't devastated by what he was about to say. "What I mean to say is that you're the one part of my existence that is without pretense. I'm not certain that I could…."

To hell with pragmatic…he hated it too. "To be honest, I am loath to put you in danger, should I come under suspicion and my defenses fail…."

Bill's eyes were wide with the effort to remain in control. "Severus, it's not right."

Snape half-smiled. "No, it's not. Gryffindor," he said fondly. He took a moment to force normality back into his voice. "You should get on with your life."

"Whatever that means," Bill said sullenly. "Settle down and start a family, just like that, huh?" he asked sarcastically.

Snape's heart threatened to break. "Something like that," he said softly, then leant in to gently and chastely kiss him. Pulling back, he brushed Bill's lower lip with his thumb, then said, "You'll be working for the Order—who knows what will happen? But whatever does, I wish you well."

Bill nodded. "I'll be watching your back," he said huskily.

Later that night, after Bill'd fallen asleep and lay with his face nestled in the crook of Snape's neck, Snape finally answered.

"I'll be watching yours as well. And you should know, you'll always be larger than life to me."

***

He'd had the dream so many times in his life that he'd come to that place of knowing, even as he dreamed it, that that's all it was—a dream.

It was raining, as it always was. Snape walked along purposefully, spurred on this time by the knowledge of something in front of him, no longer propelled forward by the fear of someone or something behind him.

Then in a rush, even though he was dreaming, he realized that the dream could never ever be the same again; at last he knew who his savior was—he was asleep at his side in his bed at Hogwarts, even now. It was a bitter pill to swallow, that he was about to lose his physical presence, when he'd only just discovered his identity.

But he sensed that the physical in this case was unimportant. What he and Bill had come to have could never be destroyed or minimized by the temporal. Even so, he knew that he'd miss the man. But Snape had other things to do now, other horizons to head for…

It was raining harder now, and still Snape walked on. There was a light from behind him; he didn't turn to locate its source, as he concentrated on the figure that he could see crouched on the ground in the distance in front of him. As he drew closer, the figure looked up, a hand shielding its face as it tried to see who approached, the other hand stretched out toward him, almost an entreaty.

Snape came to a stop and stood, motionless, almost overwhelmed by the urge to comfort the boy.

But somehow, Snape knew that Harry Potter could not see the face of his savior.


°°°FIN°°°