When Harry returned to Spinner's End, it took him a while to find Professor Snape's house among the winding alleyways. Surprised that the door wasn't locked, as if it were waiting for him, Harry was even more taken aback to find the house completely dark, without a single light.

  "Professor Snape?" he called out, feeling slightly uneasy.

  In the living room, Professor Snape was sitting on the sofa, with only a small oil lamp in front of him casting a weak yellow light on the empty wine bottles scattered on the table and the floor. He sat motionless, his hair falling across his face, but the smell of alcohol was strong. Harry frowned; he had never thought Snape knew how to drink or was addicted to alcohol during his time here, and he hadn't even seen a bottle anywhere in the house.

  "Sir…?" Harry said hesitantly.

  He moved closer, intending to touch Professor Snape, when suddenly the man on the sofa grabbed his wrist, so hard that Harry froze, his eyes widening. The professor raised his head. In the flickering lamplight, his face appeared gaunt and contorted. His deep black eyes were like dark, lightless tunnels.

  "Finally back," his voice was hoarse, tinged with melancholy and bitterness. "Wandering around all day out there with Lovegood, while I sit here like a fool waiting for you to return."

  Harry stopped short. He had never heard Professor Snape speak like that – not the usual lecturing anger, but something very real, very human, and full of hurt. But that wasn't important; what mattered was the way he spoke that sent shivers down his spine, reminding him of his conversation with Luna earlier. He wanted to pull his hand away, but Professor Snape held it tighter. A cold dread ran down Harry's back as he looked into those black eyes.

  "I was just taking a walk with Luna… you know…"

  "I know," Snape almost growled. The grip on his wrist made Harry wince. "I know where you went. I know that girl touched you when you were laughing and talking. I know she confessed her feelings, and you kissed her!"

  Harry stared wide-eyed at Professor Snape. So he hadn't left but had been following them? Probably hidden under a Disillusionment Charm. A wave of disgust churned from the depths of his stomach. Harry's voice was strained.

  "You're drunk, you should go to your room and rest."

  He tried to pull his hand away to escape upstairs, but Professor Snape pulled him down onto the sofa. Harry tried to get up, but the professor sat on him and waved his wand to immobilize the boy. Fear and panic flashed in Harry's green eyes.

  "What… are you going to do?" he asked, his whole body trembling.

  "I told you not to go," Snape said, his voice dropping, distorted by alcohol and something even more dangerous. "Begged you to stay. You looked right at me, then turned away as if I were nothing, and then accepted that girl's confession."

  "You… have no right to stop me from dating anyone. It's my personal freedom," Harry retorted, his eyes wide, feeling the last fragile thread holding this teacher-student relationship together about to snap.

  Snape lowered his head, his hair falling forward, his hands gripping the edge of the sofa as if trying to control the storm raging within him. After a moment, he looked up, his black eyes wet with a flickering light.

  "I love you, Harry," he said, slowly and almost a whisper, as if each word was a form of torture. "Just as you guessed when you were sitting next to that girl. I know it's wrong. I know you'll be disgusted by me. But I can't hide it anymore. I've tried… tormented myself, forced myself to see you as a student… but you… you bring me back to life. And you also drive me mad."

  The space went silent, as if all the air had been sucked out. Harry's face was pale, goosebumps rising all over his body. Because of the spell, he couldn't struggle to escape the man pressing down on him, but he gritted his teeth and spat out each word in a mixture of anger and fear:

  "All those times you looked at me, touched me to heal me, were you enjoying it in your sick way?"

  Snape's face contorted. The wound in his eyes was no longer a crack, but an abyss.

  "No, Harry…"

  "Don't call me that!" Harry hissed. "After everything, after five years of tormenting and belittling me and my father, after beating me and locking me in the cellar, you tell me you love me? Don't you see how ridiculous you sound?"

  Harry gritted his teeth, his whole face flushed with fury, so angry that his green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

  "Do you think I don't remember? All the times you humiliated me in front of the class, punished me for petty offenses, found excuses to give me detention… and now, you stand here, saying you love me?!"

  He let out a dry laugh, the sound breaking, choked, and bitter.

  "You know what? I used to wish you were dead. I hated you so much that just hearing your footsteps outside the corridor made me nauseous. Why are you still alive while Sirius is dead? I don't accept your feelings, never, I loathe them, I loathe you, do you understand?!"

  Snape didn't answer immediately. He looked at Harry, his eyes as deep as a bottomless black well, but unwavering. Despite the insults, he didn't look away. No denial, no apology.

  "I know I've hurt you," Snape said, his voice slow, as if each word carried the weight of a lifetime. "I can't change the past, nor do I dare to hope for your forgiveness for what has happened. But that doesn't change the truth… that I want you."

  Harry trembled with anger and confusion. There was something in Snape's eyes that frightened him. Not the fear of physical harm – he was too used to that – but the fear of being overwhelmed, suffocated by a violent, uncontrolled emotion coming from a man he had always thought had no heart.

  "You have no right to want me," Harry strained out. "I'm not a prize, not a game."

  Snape continued to stare at the teenager beneath him. The man was like a fixed shadow, unyielding in the storm of his emotions.

  "But you are the only light I have ever seen in my entire life," he said, softly, but as firm as cold steel. "And I will not give up. I will make you mine, at any cost."

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  Before Harry could react, Professor Snape scooped him up and stood, leaving the living room. His heart pounding in terror, he shrieked:

  "What are you doing? What are you going to do to me?!"

  The Full Body-Bind curse broken, he struggled with all his might, almost causing Professor Snape to lose his grip, but the professor waved his wand again, and the stubborn boy in his arms fell silent, helpless.

  "I love you," Snape repeated gently, his hand stroking the teenager's back. "I will help you forget Lovegood."

  That sentence only frightened Harry more. He vaguely guessed what the professor intended to do, but he didn't dare to believe it…

  Snape waved his wand to lock the house doors, went straight up to the second floor, into his own bedroom, and placed the teenager on the bed. His bedroom was quite dark, the windows closed tightly, but still bright enough for Harry to see the professor begin to unbutton his characteristic black robes.

  "No!" he screamed. "No! Don't! Please!"

  But Professor Snape didn't seem to hear his desperate cries. The alcohol seemed to have made him more agitated than usual. The weak yellow lamplight fell on Snape's body as he unfastened the last buttons of his high-collared shirt. Each layer of fabric fell slowly.

  Professor Snape's body was thin but wiry. Not with bulging muscles or smooth skin, but a physique bearing the marks of years of endurance: long scars along his back – remnants of childhood whippings, faint blue veins on his arms, and skin ashen as if it had never known sunlight. There was a silent resilience, as if this man had endured thousands of sleepless nights, all kinds of poisons, and both war and betrayal. Those features, though not conventionally handsome, exuded something both dangerous and solitary, making it impossible to look away, like staring at a wild beast that had survived for years in the deep forest, its claws worn down but its eyes still burning with fire. And the thing below his waist, formidable, large, and erect. By God, Harry had never looked at "that" of any teenage boy at Hogwarts, let alone a grown man.

  He was terrified. He knew what Professor Snape wanted, and he couldn't submit. The Full Body-Bind curse broke for the second time, he sat up from the bed and tried to lunge for the door, but the man grabbed the teenager and threw him back onto the bed in the blink of an eye. This time, the professor conjured a rope from thin air and tightly bound Harry's hands to the bedposts.

  "Be good," Snape's voice was hoarse. "Don't be so stubborn."

  "Get off me!" Harry hissed and kicked the professor, causing him to stumble back, clutching his chest in pain. "You sicko! You rapist! Get out!"

  He unleashed a torrent of abusive, cursing, and degrading street language, while his legs remained ready to kick the man standing by the bed at any moment. He was too fierce for the professor to touch. Snape then waved his wand and vanished the boy's clothes.

  Beneath the usual thin t-shirt was a youthful, lithe but sturdy body. Harry's shoulders weren't broad, but enough for his slightly curved back to exude a steadfast air. His collarbones were visible when he tilted his head back, forming a soft but breathtakingly alluring curve. His arms were slender, his wrists thin but supple. His skin was soft and smooth, making one think of the inside of a dew-kissed petal.

  Flat chest, narrow waist, but not at all weak. There was an elegance in Harry's physique that gave him an androgynous beauty – angular enough to be called a boy, yet soft enough to make one want to touch. His hair was disheveled, his emerald green eyes burning like fire in the night, fierce and sharp, a beauty that made others want to hold on to him while fearing they would be burned if they got too close.

  Snape's deep black eyes seemed to darken further, his gaze suffocatingly intense. He stared at Harry's body, unblinking, as if trying to etch every line into the depths of his mind. Snape had never looked at Harry like this, never truly had the opportunity to admire the softness hidden beneath his impulsive and stubborn exterior.

  Slender collarbones, shoulders radiating resilience, skin as smooth and white as flower petals… all those details, under the flickering lamplight, seemed amplified, creating a beauty that was both fragile and strong, both pure and strangely sensual.

  Snape felt a heat spreading through his body. He licked his lips and moved closer, casting another Full Body-Bind curse. The man's hand touched the teenager's adolescent body beneath him, like touching the young petals of early dawn, caressing the silken skin. The kiss that followed was fierce and brutal, crushing Harry's lips. It was a raw, desperate longing to possess.

  Harry startled, but under the spell's influence, he couldn't evade. The strong smell of alcohol filled Harry's nostrils, making him feel disgusted and breathless.

  Snape sucked hard, biting lightly on his lower lip, causing him to moan softly in pain. The professor's hands gripped both sides of Harry's face, holding his head still, forcing him to endure this invasive kiss. He kissed deeper, his tongue brutally entering Harry's mouth, stealing his air and resistance.

  An overwhelming feeling of disgust surged within Harry. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to feel, not to taste this forced kiss, but he was helpless, trapped in Snape's strong embrace and haunting kiss. Tears streamed down Harry's cheeks, mingling with saliva and their ragged breaths. He felt soiled and violated, as if Snape was trying to possess not only his body but also his soul.

  Finally, when Harry was almost suffocating, Snape released him. He gasped for breath, his forehead pressed against Harry's, his black eyes dark, reflecting a terrifying possessive desire.

  "You are mine," Snape whispered, his voice hoarse and threatening. "Forever."

  That night was like a long, unending nightmare for Harry.

  Darkness enveloped him, the heavy and brutal weight of Snape's body pressing down on him, stealing all space and freedom. The muffled sounds of tearing fabric echoed in the dark room, mixed with ragged breaths and choked curses.

  Harry tried to fight back, but his strength was completely overwhelmed by the man's madness and possessiveness. Rough and hurried kisses landed all over his body, both frantic and full of anger. Snape's hands tightened, sliding along Harry's tender skin, leaving red marks.

  An overwhelming disgust surged within Harry, mixed with a numbing fear and a humiliating feeling of helplessness. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the tears of humiliation from flowing, but he couldn't. In the dim darkness, heavy and hurried sounds echoed, forming a horrifying symphony of violation and pain. Harry felt the brutality and possession not only physically but also mentally.

  Tears glistened on his thick eyelashes like pearls. The teenager's face was pale, his trembling lips softly uttering broken pleas.

  "Please… sir… please…" Harry whispered, his voice hoarse and weak as a sigh. His wet green eyes looked up at Snape, reflecting a fragile and pleading beauty in his despair. "I… I beg you… spare me…"

  Harry whispered, his voice choked. He tried to look directly into Snape's eyes, hoping to find a trace of compassion in those deep black depths. The pain and helplessness were evident in every line of his face, a silent, unanswered plea, yet with a strangely fragile beauty that tempted one to trample it.

  A sharp pang pierced Snape's heart as he saw those tears. A part of him screamed, wanting to let go, wanting to hold Harry and soothe his pain. But the dark, selfish, and obsessive part of him had risen too strongly, binding all reason and compassion. He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the surging tide within him.

  "It's too late, Harry."

  And he continued his brutal thrusts into the child's body.

  In his blind possession, Snape felt a powerful surge, a pleasure mixed with agony and torment. Each heavy gasp and curse from Harry was like a knife twisting deeper into his conscience, but at the same time, it aroused a morbid satisfaction, a haunting sense of ownership.

  The soft skin beneath his hands, the trembling breath in his ear, the choked sobs he tried to suppress… all of Harry's reactions were like a sweet and alluring poison, both burning and enchanting Snape. In that dark moment, he seemed to forget all boundaries, all moral standards, leaving only the urge to possess, to assert his ownership over this child, to make him belong to Snape completely, never to look at anyone else, anyone, especially that Lovegood girl…

  But deep within his drunken possession, Snape still felt a painful tearing. The hateful silence, the tightly closed eyes like a silent curse, haunted and tormented his heart. In his madness, Snape tried to seek a spark of love, a little response from Harry, but all he received was silence and a painful shrinking. That only made Snape's possession more brutal and desperate. He was rough, bruises overlaying the hickeys scattered across the teenager's body, and blood from the tear below Harry's waist mixed with the milky fluid flowing from between his legs onto the bedsheets.

  In the dim shadows, after the acts of possession, Snape leaned in close to Harry’s ear, his voice low and hoarse, laced with an uncontrollable, ravenous desire:

  "You have to accept me, whether you want to or not."