The Ties That Bind - Snamione, Post War

The Ties That Bind - Chapter 6

[A/N: We're very very sorry this is so late. The holidays are a bitch for writing. Also, apologies for how long this is and some of its contents 😂 😏😉
Enjoy! And let us know what you think! x]

CHAPTER VI: The Morning After

Invisible threads are the strongest ties. - Friedrich Nietzsche

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Thursday, 27th November, 2003 – Morning

     It took quite an extended amount of time for Severus Snape to emerge from his dreamless – yes dreamless, or to be more specific, nightmare-less, slumber. He had, for the first time in decades, been liberated from the gut-wrenching, spectral images of the events and people of his past; blissfully delivered from the savage reminders of his unatonable transgressions and failures, and even his many forced sins at the decrees of his former, 'self-ordained' masters.

     Severus had escaped that ghastly nightly ritual by the bestowment of one redolent with only solaced serenity. He had been swaddled tightly by the protective and meritorious hands of Worthiness and Exoneration. And, perhaps, a foot or so of Self-Love had even dared to light the doorway. In short, it had been the kindest sleep to him in years, and therefore the most difficult to want to abandon. But, relinquish it he must, for he had work to do. And the bitterly sweet familiarity of Contrition's hand to take once more.  

     And so, finally, Severus gave a remorseful stretch of his arms above his head and emerged from the depths of unconsciousness to that of it's livelier sister and opened his eyes to his dark, still-retired room. And that's when it struck him: the inevitable blow of a pounding headache, courtesy of its owner, the roughish hangover, that his older body, now, failed to be able to conquer through sleep. And, along with it, also arrived the crashing waves of guilt and self-contempt for the enterprise he had allowed himself to yield to. And one, which no number of indulgences, from any church, could ever hope to grant him self-penitence for.

     Having gone to 'Cockaigne' was a far more accurate sentiment for the phenomenon, however, that was still putting it lightly. Indeed, for the man had climaxed with greater pussiance of force than he had ever priorly sustained. And his afflatus had been an ex-pupil, an insufferable know-it-all, and worst of all, or perhaps best in his case - his wife. Ah, yes, his writhing, begging, ecstasy-inducing wife that had completely submitted to his adoration of her, and who had – quite suspiciously – achieved the arduous task of doing the same to him. She had topped his top and had induced the most fantastic of physical releases he had ever been host to. 

     Stop it, Severus. Those images certainly aren't going to help your current condition lessen. You shan't indulge in that again. Ever.

     And so, with a moan of minor self-pity, but mostly self-humiliation, The Half-Blood Prince bluntly ignored the unusually hellacious throbbing of his morning wood, and attempted to sit up and begin his day.