BONDS OF AFFECTION

By Emily Waters

Just one week before the beginning of the summer holidays, in the office of Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter sat on the chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. He breathed deeply, trying to relax, but felt more and more nervous every moment.

“What can I do for you, Harry?” Dumbledore asked softly, lifting his head. His face held the usual benign expression, and his eyes twinkled warmly.

“We need to talk,” Harry said quietly and firmly.

“I thought you might to,” Dumbledore conceded kindly. “For what it's worth, Harry - I am dreadfully sorry about all you had to go through this year...”

Harry nodded. “I know. I am not blaming you. You did what you thought was best... But I want things to be different.”

Dumbledore looked at him quizzically. “In what way?”

“From now on, I want the truth. Always.”

“Harry,” Dumbledore said softly. “I have never lied to you...”

“I know that,” Harry cut him off. His stomach lurched at the realization that he was arguing with his mentor... his hero.. but he continued speaking, quickly and hurriedly, afraid that if he hesitated, he would lose the momentum. “Look - Headmaster. You don't lie to me. But you don't tell me the entire truth right away, either. I want this to change. I want to know everything that you know that concerns me - immediately. I don't want you telling me to ignore dreams and visions and voices that obviously mean something. I don't want you avoiding me to protect me without an explanation. Even if you don't think you know something for sure - even if it's only a guess, I'd still like to know.”

Dubmledore surveyed him thoughtfully.

“I don't mind fighting, or taking risks, or even dying,” Harry said quietly. “But if I do, I want to know why... I want to know all of my life, and all of the forces at play in it... is that too much to ask?”

Harry almost swore inwardly. He had made an idiot out of himself, and he would never live this down, he thought. But Dumbledore's serene, accepting gaze reassured him.

“Not at all, Harry,” the Headmaster said quietly. “Very well... that can be arranged.”

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely. He stood up, about to leave, but Dumbledore stopped him.

“Perhaps we should begin immediately,” Dumbledore said. “One piece of information is just a guess - another, is a hard fact. If you are ready - that is...”

“As ready as I'll ever be,” Harry said confidently.

He was wrong.

Two hours later, he met up with Ron and Hermione in the library.

“How did it go?” Ron blurted out instantly. Hermione was quiet, but Harry could see that she was as curious as he was.

“It went well,” Harry said with forced calm. “He agreed...”

“What did he tell you?” Hermione demanded instantly. “I can tell that you are hiding something. Something big. Tell us.”

Harry shook his head. “Later.”

“Not later, Harry,” Hermione whispered vehemently. “Now. We are in this together - remember?”

“Fine,” Harry said barely audibly. “Keep your voices down, and try not to freak. Dumbledore has less than a year left to live. He touched something that poisoned him. There is no cure. And as for Voldemort - Dumbledore's guess is that I am his Horcrux.”

“What's a Horcrux?” Ron asked. His face paled noticeably, making his freckles stand out even more.

Hermione did not ask what Horcruxes were. She just sat down weakly on the nearest chair, and hugged her body with both arms.

“Harry... what are we going to do now?” she asked miserably. “That means...”

“I know what it means, Hermione,” Harry said quietly. “But don't stress over it too much just yet. It's not like the world will end tomorrow if we don't figure it all out today.”

In retrospect, he was right.

The world ended two days later.

Two days later, Severus Snape and Harry Potter were in the office of Albus Dumbledore together. Severus kept his face stoically impassive, even as he was about to disclose the latest development... that heralded the end to his spying career... and this end had never seemed so entirely welcome.

“Potter does not need to be here,” Snape said coldly. “This does not concern him.”

“I am afraid it does,” Dumbledore answered. “After all, he was the intended target of the substance...” Dumbledore's gaze fell on the flask that stood on the table.

“But since he is not going to drink it, it has nothing to do with him, and his presence is not required...”

Harry sat quietly, watching his Professor and the Headmaster bicker back and forth. Snape could swear that the brat was enjoying himself.

“What if Voldemort is going to try again?” Dumbledore offered softly. “What if he makes another batch of substance, and this time it will be Lucius Malfoy delivering it? Then what?”

Snape winced slightly. “Then you will deal with the problem as it arises. But for now...”

“But for now,” Dumbledore said firmly, “You will explain the situation to Harry the best you can. I gave him my word that he will know what is going on.”

Harry was staring at both of them quizzically.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “As you must know by now, Professor Snape is a double-agent... he is the only person in Voldemort's inner circle of trust, working for us.”

Harry nodded mutely.

“Not many people know where his true loyalties lie,” Dumbledore continued. “I do, Minerva McGonagall does... and so do you. But that is all.”

“Okay,” Harry said quietly. “So what is the substance...”

“The substance, Potter, is an enslavement potion,” Snape said sourly. “The future slave must drink it from the hand of the future Master.”

Harry glanced at him incredulously. “You are kidding, right?”

Snape looked at him with loathing.

“You are not kidding,” Harry muttered. “So...what is supposed to happen?”

Snape laughed disdainfully. “What do you think, Potter?”

“Voldemort wants you to enslave me...,” Harry stammered. “But why? To... control me?”

“Bravo, Potter,” Snape sneered. “Wonderful deduction.”

“Because he knows that I am his Horcrux,” Harry said firmly. “He wants to kill me - but doing so would weaken his chance at immortality. But he also doesn't just want me roaming around, trying to destroy him... if he enslaves me - it will solve his problem.”

Snape glared at Dumbledore. “Potter knows about Horcruxes? Are you out of your mind, Headmaster?”

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore said reluctantly. “But we can discuss my sanity later. Right now, we need to formulate an exit strategy for you - this was definitely not ... something I had anticipated.”

“Indeed,” Snape said, but without hostility. He felt tired and drained. “There really is no exit strategy, Albus. I'm sorry - I wish I could have done more in my years as a spy. And I am sorry that you will need to find a new instructor to fill my position rather shortly.”

“Wait just a second,” Harry spoke up, and the two adults turned to look at him. “Why can't Snape - er, Professor Snape still teach after this?”

Snape glared at the boy, marveling at his stupidity. Because dead people can't teach very effectively, he almost said out loud, but stopped himself just in time.

“Let's just say, once my obligations to Albus are fulfilled, I intend to take a well-deserved vacation, and live out my remaining days in peace,” Snape said impassively. All seven or eight of them, he thought with an inward smirk. Oddly enough, it felt good to think of approaching death - he had lived far too long. Thirty-eight years, but he felt absolutely ancient. The years of pain, darkness, betrayals, danger, lost friendships, misunderstandings and regrets... He chuckled softly at the thought of it all ending.

“Voldemort is going to try and kill Professor Snape for failing in his task,” Dubmledore said suddenly. Snape shot him a deathly glare.

Harry sat on the chair with his mouth gaping open.

“Don't worry yourself needlessly, Harry,” Dumbledore said kindly. “I am certain we will come up with something. Now then - off you go. The rest of the conversation does not concern you.”

“What if we trick Voldemort?” Harry offered. “I am sure I could ... pretend to be enslaved.”

“Tempting, Potter,” Snape said coolly. “The idea of having you respectful and obedient for an entire year is quite appealing, even if extremely unlikely to materialize. Unfortunately, the potion has a tracking spell on it. The spell will inform Voldemort whether it is drunk, or simply discarded...”

“What are the ingredients of the potion?” Harry asked, taking a quill and a parchment from Dumbledore's desk without asking for permission. Snape rose his eyebrows in surprise, but prompted by a curt nod from Dumbledore, recited the ingredients - from Devil's Snare Root to Wailing Willow Bark, as Harry wrote them down. Snape watched the boy with reluctant approval - the cautious gathering of information spoke well of his intelligence... for once.

“What does Wailing Willow Bark do?” Harry asked absently.

“That I do not know, I am afraid,” Snape said, reluctant to admit his lack of knowledge about an ingredient. He knew exactly what the other ingredients did - awakened desires for powerlessness, surrender and vulnerability in the future slave. And that was only a part of it...

“Would it really work?” Harry asked, gazing doubtfully at the flask with the clear fluid. “I mean - it seems a bit far-fetched. An enslavement potion?”

Snape nodded gravely. “There are a number of enslavement spells, potions and contracts in the wizarding world, Potter. This particular potion is ... especially insidious. The attachment it creates is not instantly felt by the slave. It grows over a period of time. It is both extremely powerful and extraordinarily subtle. The desires felt as a result of the bond can be quite overwhelming and shocking - and yet, the person feels that those desires are truly his own - and not those of the bond.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, as he scribbled furiously.

“Can there be an antidote developed?” he asked. “Or at least, a treatment?”

Snape shook his head. “No, I'm afraid not. It's not ... something that just stays in your bloodstream or organs, until you introduce something else that can neutralize it or knock it out. It enters your mind, your awareness... your very being. It transforms you.”

“Interesting,” Harry said quietly. “So when am I expected to turn into your obedient slave-boy?”

Snape shook his head absently. “That is not going to happen, Potter. There are limits to what I will do to defeat Voldemort. Having a Master/slave relationship with my least favorite student is definitely high up on that list.”

“Well, I'm not exactly making an offer just yet,” Harry retorted. There appeared to be a strained quality to his voice. “I just want to know how long you have...”

“A week,” Snape said impassively.

“Professor Snape is right, Harry,” Dumbledore spoke up finally. “Such a relationship between a teacher and a student would be entirely inappropriate. Extremely harmful. And quite unnecessary. There will be other ways of solving this problem. More to the point, I will not let you drink the potion. We will find other ways...”

“Sure,” Harry agreed easily, with a nod to them both. “Thanks for keeping me in the loop. Have a good day, Professor, Headmaster.”

Snape watched him thoughtfully as he left.

“Albus - why on earth would you tell him about any of this?” Snape growled when the door slammed shut behind Harry Potter. “This was completely uncalled for.”

“I gave him my word,” Dumbledore said quietly. “To advise him of anything that pertains to him. To stop keeping things from him just to assure his inner peace...”

Snape laughed unhappily. “Well, this definitely fits the bill. I suppose it's best that he knows - after all, once I am gone, Voldemort will likely try something like that again. For the rest of his time at Hogwarts, Potter will need to be very careful what he drinks.”

Harry left the Headmaster's office and went to find Hermione immediately. She was found in the library, unsurprisingly.

“What does Wailing Willow Bark do?” Harry demanded, without any preamble.

“I have no idea,” she said simply. “Willow Bark is something that provides pain relief - but I don't know what a Wailing Willow is - or where one can be found... why?”

“What is the age of consent in the wizarding world?” Harry asked, instead of answering her question.

“Consent for what?”

He swore under his breath. Did he really have to spell out everything? She looked up at him, saw the desperate look in his eyes, and smiled sheepishly. “Oh. Well it really depends. On the age difference, on whether any aspects of the relationship can be deemed exploitive, on whether or not one person is in a position of authority over another...”

“Say, worst case scenario,” Harry said casually. “Age difference, exploitive aspects, and authority...”

“Well, then, Harry, it simply can't happen...” she looked at him thoughtfully. “Are you being pressured into something? Is someone trying to hurt you?”

Only Voldemort, he almost said out loud, but bit his tongue just in time.

“Hermione,” he said quietly. “I am going to ask you a hypothetical question. You have to promise me not to freak.”

“I promise,” she said uncertainly. “What is it, Harry?”

“What would I need to do in order to enter a consensual Master/slave relationship with my professor, without getting him fired, murdered, or sent to Azkaban?”

He gazed at him with her eyes wide open. “Harry! Who is it?”

“It's a hypothetical question,” Harry said with a grin he hoped was coming across as mischievous and light-hearted.

“I am sure,” she said dubiously. “Why do I have the feeling that I will regret answering this question?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don't worry, I won't do anything stupid. Just tell me.”

She thought about it for a minute. “Well,” she said finally. “You would need to become legally emancipated. Since you are an orphan, and sixteen years old, that shouldn't be a problem for you - just a matter of filing appropriate paperwork. Then you would need to withdraw from school... ending the teacher/student relationship between you and whoever you want to be your... partner.”

Harry almost laughed out loud, but forced himself to keep a straight face, listening. She continued:

“Then, I suppose, you could get married - and being married would move the controversial relationship into a private territory... and finally, once you are married, you could return to school. Nobody could do anything then... Other than give you really weird looks for the rest of your time at Hogwarts.”

He reached out for her and kissed her cheek firmly. “Thanks, Hermione,” he said. “You are amazing.”

He was just about to leave when she grabbed his shirt and pulled him back to sit down again. “Not so fast,” she said dryly. “If you want me to help you ever again, you will tell me what is going on.”

Quickly and reluctantly, he explained the situation to her. She listened quietly, without interrupting. Finally, when he finished, she reached to his forehead with her hand. “I think you've gone completely insane,” she said sadly. “Must be the belated stress of heading Dumbledore's Army this year. I'd better take you to the Hospital Wing.”

He smiled a little. “Have any better ideas?”

She nodded with conviction. “Let Dumbledore figure this one out.”

Harry smiled more. “What's there to figure out? Either I drink it, and Snape lives, and we have our spy; or I don't, and within half a year, both Snape and Dumbledore will be dead.”

She looked at him hesitantly. “Harry - let me ask you one thing. Is this something that you would ever choose for yourself... if not for Voldemort - and so on...”

“I don't know,” Harry said. “Maybe - but I don't think so.”

He knew he was gay, beyond a shadow of doubt, and did Hermione and Ron - ever since the kiss with Cho under the mistletoe resulted in utter disaster. That wasn't the problem. He'd even had some fantasies in the past - mostly bondage - being tied up. He kept his mouth shut about them - he was not really keen on being teased mercilessly by the entire Slytherin in case someone found out that the Boy Who Lived wanted to be topped. Harry figured, once he graduated, once Voldemort was dead, and once everyone forgot the legends and the prophecies, he'd focus on looking for a partner who would be compatible. Key-word, compatible. Not someone who despised him. And not someone who would make his life hell, if he were to give up any measure of power to him.

Hermione watched him with concern. “Do you think Snape is attractive?” she asked.

“Sort of,” he managed to say weakly. “There were times when I had almost had a crush on him - when he wasn't a complete bastard.” But those times were few and far between, and each time, the fragile crush would disintegrate after a particularly unfair detention, or a vicious, spiteful comment.

She gazed at him thoughtfully. “You've already made up your mind, right?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I'm going to wait though, until the week is almost over - maybe we'll think of something else. Meanwhile, can you find out what Wailing Willow Bark does? I'm not too keen on drinking something with an ingredient nobody knows anything about...”

“I want the full list of ingredients,” she said firmly. “I want to research how they will interact with each other, too.”

He handed the parchment to her, and she smiled at him. “I'm very proud of you, Harry. Actually thinking before acting!”

“You've been a good influence on me,” he said quietly and hugged her. “So say - will you help me get emancipated?”

“Against my better judgment.”

Five days passed, and with Hermione's help, Harry was legally emancipated. That felt great - and his first action as a legal adult was head to Hog's Head and get completely drunk on firewhiskey. For the next day, he regretted his stupidity, until Hermione found him and cast a few spells that cleared his hangover and left him feeling almost human.

He looked at her apologetically but she just shrugged. “If I were about to become Snape's slave voluntarily, I'd be drinking heavily, too,” she said sourly. “By the way, no luck with the Wailing Willow Bark. I've even owled to other schools, and to St. Mungo's - nobody knows. Nobody had even heard of a Wailing Willow before. Some people are guessing pain relief...”

Harry snorted at the thought of Voldemort putting a pain relief ingredient into anything Harry was meant to drink.

“I don't think so either,” she said softly.

He looked at her in amazement. He was surprised at how well she was taking it. He had expected her to argue a lot more. He told her and she nodded.

“I know,” she said softly. “But at least this way, Voldemort won't have a reason to kill you. As far as he's going to be concerned, you'll be under his servant's control... this will give us some leeway, buy us some time.”

They stood together quietly for a few minutes. Harry watched her with sadness, wondering how the slave-bond would affect his friendships. He opened his mouth, wanting to promise her that nothing would change between the three of them - or perhaps, to ask her to make that promise to him - but then just shrugged, and said nothing.

After all, promises were only meaningful when one had the power to keep them.

Six days after the conversation in Dumbledore's office, Severus Snape was ready. His will was updated, his affairs were in order, and his students' assignments had been graded and returned.

He had bequeathed everything he had owned, to the last piece of parchment, to the last knut - all of it, to Albus Dumbledore. Let him figure out what to do with it, Snape thought, with a wry grin. He was immensely relieved that Albus hadn't contacted him in the last five days. He had almost expected some half-baked plan to whisk him away to “safety” (as if one could hide from his own Dark Mark) - or some other ridiculous attempt to assure his survival. Nothing was done - perhaps Albus regained his common sense and finally just decided to let Severus Snape die in peace. He could only hope.

Snape couldn't be bothered to write any personal letters to anyone. Who would he write to? His godson? The blond-haired boy used to be his little darling for quite a while - but he was beginning to change, and follow in his father's footsteps. Draco's gleeful and enthusiastic participation in Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad was enough to make Snape's stomach rebel at the very sight of his godson now. The fact that, in order to keep up appearances, Snape had to praise him and encourage him, did not make any of it better.

He could write to Potter, Snape thought, amused. Tell him just how much he was like his father, and nothing like his mother. And just how much Snape loathed him. Yes, that would do... but he could not be bothered to pick up a quill.

The knocking on the door to his private quarters startled him. Nobody visited him. Nobody knocked on his door. Especially not... that way. Not like a student would. Most students knew better than to knock on Snape's door.

“Enter,” Snape said. He was not surprised to see Harry Potter, standing in the doorway.

“May I come in?” he asked quietly.

“I do believe that what the word enter means,” Snape said humorlessly. “At least to most people. Now, how can I be of service?”

The boy regarded him cautiously, and Snape began to lose his patience. “Potter, either speak, or get out. Either way, it doesn't make much of a difference to me.”

“I think we should do it,” Harry said quietly. “I think it's the best way.”

“Oh?” Snape said sourly. The boy apparently was even more dim-witted than he realized. “I do believe that the Headmaster had vetoed that plan.”

Harry shrugged. “I didn't say we should tell him. At least, not until I've drank the potion.”

Snape closed his eyes, and took a deep breath to calm himself. “Potter, let me explain to you, once again, what this potion does. It, simply and plainly, slowly molds the person to become a perfect slave to his Master - attuned to his wishes, compliant, affectionate, pining for his touch, his presence, even his cruelty... And unlike with other enslavement potions, or spells - this particular one is irreversible. Only my death will end the enslavement.”

“I understand,” Harry said calmly. “That's ... fine.”

Snape looked at the boy with surprise. He was about to ask him why on earth he was so eager to martyr himself in such an undignified manner - but then, Harry's response was all the answer Snape needed. Simply put, the boy wasn't expecting him to live all that long. And the boy had a point there - spies rarely did. The boy would “suffer” stoically through a few months, perhaps a year of servitude, but in relative safety (at least from Voldemort). And truly, the boy likely knew that Snape's disdain for him aside, he would not be abused. Then, once Snape was dead, Potter would be the pitied hero and the admired victim... reveling in the attention of all his friends, and milking the sympathy of his teachers for all it was worth. Not a bad deal, Snape thought sourly. Almost... Slytherin.

“Potter, let me explain this to you in the terms your pitiful pre-pubecent brain can actually understand. I have no attraction to your body, or your personality. I despise you, partially because you resemble your father so much, and partially, because you are a dimwit and a nuisance in your own right. Whatever feelings of affection or attraction the bond will force you to feel towards me, shall never be reciprocated. Is that clear enough for you?”

“Crystal clear, Sir,” Harry said serenely. “Don't worry. I don't expect you to change into prince charming. Just do whatever needs to be done to create a ... connection that will be satisfactory to Voldemort... and don't worry about the rest.”

Snape shook his head disdainfully. “And I suppose this is my cue to tell you what a brave little hero you are?”

“No, Sir,” Harry said calmly, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “This is your cue to tell me how we are going to break into Dumbledore's office and steal the motherfucking potion.”

“Language, Potter,” Snape said automatically. “And the answer is still no. I will be of no use to anyone as a spy, if I am marooned in Azkaban for exploiting a student.”

Harry's smile grew wider. “Well, no need to worry about that part. I got myself emancipated. I am a legal adult, as far as the law is concerned. I also just withdrew from school... although I am sure that after the relationship is established and accepted, I'll be able to re-enroll.”

Snape regarded the boy with distant curiosity, as if he were some sort of exotic magical creature. The brat had obviously thought things through quite carefully, this time, Snape mused. It was rather.. unusual. For the reckless, thoughtless, dim-witted Harry Potter.

“Just out of idle curiosity,” Snape intoned impassively. “Did you think of all that on your own?”

“Oh. No, Sir. Hermione helped,” the boy said with a smile.

Naturally, Snape thought. Hermione Granger. He made a mental note to take some points from Gryffindor in the beginning of the following year - just for her sake.

Snape looked at the boy thoughtfully. “Let me ask you a very direct question, Potter. Are you doing it for me, for the Order, or for yourself?”

Harry lowered his eyes and studied his feet.

“Mostly myself, Sir,” he said quietly. “Personal safety considerations... although helping the Order this way is a perk, as well.”

“Just as I thought,” Snape muttered. “Well, perhaps there is a single shred of intelligence in your puny teenage brain.”

“Perhaps, Sir,” Harry agreed indifferently. “You have a way to get into Dumbledore's office after hours?”

“Of course,” Snape said coolly. “Let's go.”

They walked to the Headmaster's office in absolute silence. The boy next to him was annoying him with every move he made - shuffling his feet, staring into the ground, walking with his hands in his pockets. The boy had no manners, no grace. Snape sighed deeply, resigned to the months, if not years of hell, if they had to share the same household.

Once in the office, it took them a good hour to find the flask with the potion. Dumbledore had stashed it away securely in one of his numerous cabinets. Snape took the flask and opened it, inhaling the smell. It smelled of tree bark, soil and herbs. Harry smiled uncertainly.

“Well, Potter - open up.”

Harry opened his lips and threw his head back. With one move of his hand, Snape poured the contents of the flask into his mouth. Harry winced slightly and swallowed every drop.

“Congratulations, Potter,” Snape said coldly. “You can go home and write a diary entry about your saga as a self-sacrificial war hero.”

To his surprise, Harry did not offer a resentful retort - he just smiled bitterly.

“Yeah,” he whispered tiredly. “Thanks. I just might.” He walked away quickly, without saying another word.

When Harry finally made it back to his dormitory, he collapsed on the bed, cast a silencing spell around himself, and sobbed uncontrollably. His dorm-mates did not wake, even as he cried into the pillow, until his throat was hoarse and until his eyes could no longer withstand being open, even for a second.

He had just turned himself over to someone who despised him utterly and completely; who would never forgive him for the sins of his father, who would never think of him as anything more than a coward, and an idiot. His only consolation was that it would not last very long - as Voldemort's Horcrux, he would have to die, probably sooner, rather than later...

He stuffed his face into the pillow, bit it, and drifted off into darkness.

The morning greeted him with Ron shaking his shoulder. Harry released the spell, and sat up in the bed. Ron surveyed his face thoughtfully.

“Nightmares?” he asked.

“Don't I wish,” Harry spat.

“What?” Ron demanded. “You've got to tell me.”

“Maybe later,” Harry muttered, and leaned from the bed, searching for his clothing.

“Now,” Ron insisted.

“Okay,” Harry muttered. “But not a word to anyone else. Not George and Fred, not your mom, and not anybody. Hermione knows, and she's the only one.”

He told him about the events of the last week, in great detail, and Ron stared at him incredulously, with his mouth wide open. When Harry finally finished the story, Ron's mouth still continued to maintain a perfectly circular shape.

“You look like a goddamn man-whore about to give a blow -job,” Harry growled at him. “Shut your mouth already.”

Ron complied instantly and scratched his head. “Harry - I don't really know what to say,” he said weakly. “Please tell me this is a belated April Fool...”

“Yeah, from Voldemort,” Harry said dryly. “Ron, just do me a favor? Don't tell me what an idiot I am, and how I should have done something else. I'm already feeling like I've been turned inside out, okay? If you can't handle this... just let me go, ok?”

Ron nodded quietly. “I won't let you go,” he said. “I'll ask around about the Wailing Willow Bark, too... maybe my dad heard something.”

Harry smiled a little. “Thanks, mate.”

They met up with Hermione in the dining hall for breakfast. Most of the students had gone away for the summer already, and there were just the three of them, sitting down at a large table together. Harry picked at his food absently, smearing egg yolk over the plate into exotic shapes. Hermione watched him with distant fascination.

“I have something for you,” she said reluctantly. “Though I don't know if this will make things better, or worse...”

Harry gazed at her in despair. “How could it possibly get any worse?”

She pulled out an enormous volume out of her backpack and slammed it onto the dining table. Harry pulled it towards himself and shuddered at the title - “On the Imperceptible and Irreversible Bonding of Slave to Master.”

“Oh,” he said with a sigh. “Thanks, I guess.”

She shrugged apologetically. “Just in case you decide you want to know what to expect...”

He grabbed the book from her. “When do you need it back?”

“I don't,” she said softly. “I won it in a game of chess.”

“From?” Harry asked. “Do I even dare to ask?”

“Malfoy,” she whispered. “I have no idea where he got it, but... I wasn't about to question my good luck.”

“Thanks,” Harry muttered again. “I guess I'll go read.”

For the next few hours, he sat outside, his back leaning against a tree-trunk, paging through the book. Every page filled him with dread. If the bond was supposed to make him want any of this, it was failing rather miserably, he thought.

He would need structure, clear orders, guidance, control. He would require regular discipline. Corporal punishment. He would require being near his Master, in the same household. Eventually, he would require physical touch - sexual touch from his Master. Harry just shuddered with humiliation at the prospect of begging for physical touch from someone who had absolutely no attraction for him.

And just when his despair was about to become complete, he saw a shadow of a person standing behind him. He shut the book hastily and stuffed it into his shoulder-bag.

“Mr. Potter,” Minerva McGonagall's voice said coldly. “The Headmaster will see you in his office immediately.”

“Sure,” he said with a sigh.

In the office of Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape was already seated at the desk. His face was an impassive mask, as always. Harry stood in sullen silence, until Dumbledore offered for him to sit down.

Harry sat in one of the large, cushioned chairs and looked at the Headmaster.

“I understand that there has been a... disappearance of a certain substance from my office,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“Really,” Harry said evenly. “How very unfortunate.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Just what do you think you intend to do?”

“I thought it was blindingly obvious, Albus,” Severus Snape said coldly. “We intend to establish a loving, passionate Master/slave relationship and live happily ever after.”

Harry couldn't help but snicker, but Snape's glare cut him off instantly.

“I understand that with Harry's new status as legal adult, I cannot lawfully stop you from... embarking on this adventure,” Dumbledore said quietly. “However, you must know, that I am very disappointed in you both. Especially you, Severus.”

Harry felt his heart clench inside him. Disappointed... he had never heard Dumbledore use that word towards him before.

“Albus,” Snape spoke evenly and unemotionally. “At this point, to be blunt, I don't give a fuck about your disappointment. You want your spy, you have him. You want your golden boy, you have him too. Don't sit there and pretend that this is the end of the world for you personally, or for the Order of Phoenix.”

“Language, Severus,” Dumbledore said absently. “Leave. I need to speak with Harry alone.”

Snape nodded curtly and left.

Harry stared at Dumbledore defiantly.

“Why would you do such a thing to yourself?” Dumbledore asked kindly.

Harry shrugged. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Still does, to be honest. Professor Snape isn't the most evil person in the world... and for as long as I'm with him, under these terms, Voldemort won't be trying to murder me. It will give me some time to ... search for other Horcruxes, and figure out a way to kill him. And then... eventually, I'll have to die anyways - so ...”

Dumbledore's face was completely expressionless.

“Tell me something, Harry,” Dumbledore asked finally. “How do you feel about what you are doing on a personal level?”

“Good,” Harry lied confidently. “I mean, it's a bit odd - but I don't see it as something ... unpleasant.”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “If I can offer you a word of advice, Harry... this type of bond will take time to develop. Don't rush things - let the relationship unfold naturally. I think it will be easier that way.”

“Of course, Sir,” Harry said agreeably. He did not bother to say that there would be no relationship. And naturally, he had no intention of rushing the enslavement. Not at all.

“If you find yourself abused, or mistreated, I expect to hear immediately,” Dumbledore continued sternly. “Finally, if you find yourself thinking that you have made a mistake, I need to hear at once. Am I quite clear on that, Harry?”

Harry nodded sullenly. As if any of it would matter, he thought bitterly. After what he had read, he was certain that the bond, once established, would not let him leave - even if he were utterly miserable.

“Harry, I mean it,” Dumbledore said severely. “There is no joking around. Should I die unexpectedly, you will report to Minerva McGonagall in the same manner. Understood?”

“Yes,” Harry said tiredly. “Will there be anything else?”

“Not at this time. Good night, Harry.”

When Harry walked out of Dumbledore's office, Snape was already gone, and Harry felt, to his own shock, a faint twinge of disappointment. He allowed himself an amused smirk, when he remembered Snape's language around Dumbledore. For some reason, it was... oddly and dysfunctionally satisfying, having heard him say something like that.

When he returned to his dorm room, Harry grit his teeth and started packing. He did not have too many belongings - for the most part, just books and clothes. He sorted through his possessions, and ruthlessly discarded anything he did not need. None of that would matter for much longer, anyways. For the remainder of his life, however brief it might be, he intended to travel light.

Early next morning, Severus Snape was preparing to depart from Hogwarts for the summer, when he heard a tentative knock on his door. He sighed deeply.

“Enter, Potter,” he said unhappily. He had been hoping that it wouldn't come to this, but he hadn't been holding his breath. The boy was packed - with a school bag around his shoulder, and a small trunk with the caged owl on top of it.

Snape pursed his lips disdainfully. “Where is the rest of your stuff?”

“That's it, Sir. I don't have anything else.”

Snape did not believe him, not for a moment. The boy must have more stuff hoarded somewhere at Hogwarts, or with his Muggle relatives. He sighed deeply, foreseeing a summer filled with please Sir, may we go back to fetch this or that?

“If you say, so, Potter.”

The teenager appeared to look surprised, but said nothing.

“Must you really do this?” Snape asked coldly, fighting to keep the utter despair out of his voice “Are you telling me that the bond is already demanding that you move into my household?”

Harry shook his head. “No, Sir. I feel no urge to be in the same household with you.”

Snape regarded him curiously. “Then, pray tell, why would you do this?”

The teenager shrugged. “It will eventually. Might as well start adjusting right now. Besides, Voldemort might get suspicious if I am roaming around, while supposedly being enslaved.”

Snape had to admit that the boy made good sense. Oddly enough. He was not used to Harry Potter making sense. It was unnerving.

“Very well,” Snape said finally. “You may come along.”

They arrived to the Prince Manor only a few hours later.

Gritting his teeth, determined to get it over with as soon as possible, Snape took the boy on a tour, showing him the different rooms. The two libraries, the potions laboratory, the greenhouse, and the store-rooms.

“This is your bedroom,” Snape pointed to one of the rooms at the end of the hall. The bedroom was entirely too large for someone like Potter, but it was the farthest from Snape's own, and that was the only thing that mattered. “The room next door is your study.”

The boy stared at him with his eyes wide open. “I ... Sir? I have a bedroom and a study?” he mumbled.

Snape looked at him with despair. “Forgive me for being so presumptuous, Potter - but for some odd reason, I assumed that you were planning to both sleep and study this summer.”

Harry gave him a cautious smile. “Well.. thank you, Sir.”

“You are quite welcome. Settle in, and come out for lunch in half an hour. I will set some rules for you, that will ... minimize my misery.”

At lunch, Snape was watching Harry with a mixture of disdain and sadness. It was utterly uncanny at how many annoying habits a single teenager was capable of exhibiting in such a short period of time.

“Potter,” Snape said sternly. “You are playing with your food. Are you not hungry?”

“Not really, no.”

“Very well. You may set your plate aside and just listen for now.”

Harry pushed his plate away and looked at him questioningly.

“You will arrive to lunch with your hair brushed and your face and hands washed. You will keep your elbows off the table, and chew with your mouth shut. You will not play with your food. No wands at the table. You will dress appropriately for dinner. No reading materials or games at the table at dinner time. If you choose to eat alone, you may simply help yourself to the food in the kitchen, however, if you decide to eat with me, you will follow these rules. Is that clear, so far?”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said quietly.

“You will get up no earlier than five in the morning, and no later than eight. You will go to bed no later than midnight. You may not have more than two guests visit at once without my permission, and no sleepovers without my permission. You will not snoop through my personal study, you will not steal or damage my property. You will advise me when you are leaving, where you are going, and when you intend to be back. You will not go away for overnight trips without securing my permission first. If you decide that these rules are not to your liking, you will go search for other accommodations.”

Snape finished his monologue and did not bother waiting for a response. He stood up, cleared the table, and walked away.

He did not see the boy until dinnertime. To his surprise, Harry showed up at dinner. He did not even bother to dress properly for dinnertime - he wore a pair of blue jeans and a worn-out hooded shirt. And Harry's hair... it looked absolutely ridiculous, and for the first few moments, Snape could not figure out what exactly happened. Then the realization dawned on him - it had been brushed. He had never seen Harry with his hair looking anything other than an unruly, rebellious mop... and as annoying as that had been - this was much, much worse.

Snape bit his tongue, suppressing a disdainful comment. They ate in silence, rather, Snape ate, while Harry wrecked silent chaos upon the food in front of him, barely putting a single piece in his mouth. And then, Snape finally decided he had had enough.

“Get out,” he said quietly. Harry lifted his eyes and stared at him incredulously.

“You obviously don't want to be here,” Snape said calmly. “Take your food into the bedroom and eat alone. I will not have you ruining my dinnertimes for the entire summer.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said stoically, and stood up, taking his plate. His face was absolutely unreadable.

“Tell me just one thing, Potter,” Snape asked slowly. “If you intend to be absolutely miserable here, why did you come now? Before the bond even demanded your presence here?”

“Because, sooner or later it would,” Harry said. “At least this way, if I do it on my own, before the bond demands it, I feel I have some control left.”

Snape eyed him thoughtfully. That actually made even more sense than the reasons Harry had given previously. Snape wanted to say something - but found himself at a loss for words; and then, a moment later, it was too late. Harry picked up his plate, and walked out, without saying another word.

The following morning, Harry did not come out for breakfast. He did not remember how long it's been since he had a proper meal, but he didn't really care. He felt like he was shutting down. He didn't feel any hunger, not anymore. Just an odd faintness and dizziness - but they were not bothering him enough to start eating.

He got up, showered, made his bed, got dressed, brushed his hair, and collapsed back on the bed, fully dressed. Lying on his back, he folded his arms and shut his eyes. Voldemort's potion was something else, he thought bitterly. He didn't feel any different as a person since he took the potion. Of course, he wouldn't - he'd been warned. It would be far more subtle far more insidious than that. The enslavement would creep up on him subtly and gently. It would ensnare, rather than crush. But for now, he was still himself. He felt no different than ever, apart from the despair and hopelessness that gripped him and ravaged his entire being. Maybe Wailing Willow Bark was a misery ingredient. Something that ensured he'd never feel happy again.

The stern knock on his door brought him out of his brooding, and he said, “Enter.”

Snape stood in the doorway, viewing him with contempt.

“Get up,” Snape said impassively.

Harry got off the bed and stood silently.

“Potter - is your brain too puny to understand simple rules, or is your hand-eye coordination too feeble to enable you to follow them?” Snape inquired unpleasantly.

“What did I do now?” Harry demanded. He didn't feel particularly... subservient and had no intention of faking.

“I am talking about last night's dinner,” Snape said disdainfully. “What part of dressing appropriately do you not understand?”

Harry shrugged. He wore his best pair of jeans and his newest shirt. Apparently that wasn't good enough.

“What the hell did you expect, a leather harness and a bit gag?” Harry spat contemptuously.

Snape eyed him with a sneer. “While harness would be an overkill, a gag would certainly be welcome,” he said. “But surely your wardrobe has appropriate trousers and shirts that are more suitable for formal wear?”

“Not really,” Harry said.

Snape's eyebrows rose. “Why not?”

Harry shrugged again.

“Have you lost your verbal faculties, now, as well?”

“I just don't really care,” Harry said honestly. “I only had an allowance until recently. And since I got emancipated, shopping wasn't really on my mind.”

“I see,” Snape said, a little more peacefully this time. “Come with me, then.”

They Floo'd into the Diagon Alley, and once there, Harry found himself relaxing, to his own surprise. The familiar faces of people, the familiar stores were comforting. But to Harry's surprise, the first store they went to was not a clothing store - it was the school supplies and books.

“I don't have the textbook list for the next year yet,” Harry said awkwardly.

“Not to worry, Potter, I am well aware of the texts that will be used. I am sure you will appreciate having a head start.”

Harry nodded gratefully. He wasn't really keen on studying on his own - but at least it would take his mind off things. He roamed the store aimlessly, while Snape selected the books, supplies, quills, parchments - and then, to Harry's surprise, paid for it all himself.

In the clothing store, Snape merely gave him an ungentle push, and ordered him to select 'appropriate wear'. Harry had no idea what 'appropriate wear' constituted, and just looked at Snape questioningly.

“Something simple, and formal,” Snape told him, with a faint note of despair in his voice. “Imagine how Draco Malfoy would dress for a formal occasion.”

Harry could not suppress a shudder.

“Just select what you want me to wear and I'll buy it,” he said. “I honestly don't care at all.”

Snape did, and paid for everything once again, and Harry felt oddly unnerved by it. Snape even paid for Harry's haircut, and once that was done, Harry looked at himself in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. He was becoming something else - someone else already, he thought. He glanced at Snape, expecting to see evidence of gloating, but the man's expression was that of grudging approval, and Harry smiled hesitantly.

“Are you hungry?” Snape asked impassively

“A little,” Harry admitted, to his own surprise. The familiar surroundings elicited a nostalgic feeling.

“Why don't we go for lunch, then,” Snape suggested. “Do you like anything... in particular?”

“Butterbeer and burgers,” Harry said. Snape rolled his eyes, but took him to the nearest cafe, where the hostess took their order, and disappeared promptly. They sat at the table, bags with purchases stowed under Snape's chair, and eyed each other cautiously.

Harry glanced at his ... he wasn't sure how to think of Snape anymore - Professor? Master? .and smiled again, just a little.

“Sir? Why are you paying for me? Is it because you will be controlling my finances anyways?” Harry asked cautiously.

Snape's eyebrows rose slightly.

“No, Potter, this isn't a legal bond. It's an emotional one. You will retain all legal and financial rights, even as the... connection progresses further,” Snape said, marking the word 'connection' with particular distaste.

Harry was surprised, once again. “Then I should definitely be paying for my own things,” he said.

Snape smirked unhappily. “Yes, and have your lovely parents haunt me from beyond the grave, for wasting your inheritance to mold your appearance to my satisfaction. I think not.”

The food was brought, and Harry ate ravenously, making a mess of his face, and fingers, and not caring in the least - he was too starved, he realized all of a sudden. He glanced at Snape cautiously, and to his own surprise, noticed that Snape managed somehow to eat the burger in a way that was completely dignified. Harry was not sure how that was possible... magic, perhaps, he thought wryly.

“You haven't been eating much lately,” Snape said. There was no sympathy or rebuke in his voice - just a plain statement of fact. “Is it the stress of the recent events?”

“Some,” Harry said. “But I usually don't have much of an appetite during summer.”

“Why not?”

Harry shrugged indifferently. He wasn't about to start explaining how his summers with the Dursleys usually went. “Just the heat, I guess,” he said noncommittally.

“Nonetheless,” Snape said coolly. “You will need to endeavor to consume adequate amount of food on your own. However you choose to do it, is your business - but I have no intention of coddling you or doting on you. You know where the food is at home - so feed yourself.”

“Fine,” Harry said. “Sir?”

“Yes, Potter?”

“Would you mind if Hermione and Ron visited me?” he blurted out.

Snape sighed quietly. “What did I tell you about visits?”

“No more than two guests at once visit without your permission,” Harry recited automatically.

“Do Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley, put together, constitute more than two?” Snape asked.

“Um. No.”

“Then do as you please, stay out of my way, and don't waste my time with idiotic questions,” Snape said sternly. “While I do not intend to turn my Manor into a Gryffindor dorm-room, I have no interest in your private activities.”

Harry nodded again.

“Needless to say, however,” Snape continued quietly, “You will breathe no word of my true loyalties to either of them. Is that quite clear?”

Harry felt a familiar knot in his stomach. He wanted to just nod assent, but he decided he should be truthful, this time.

“They already know, Sir.”

Snape's face stiffened. “I see. Of course you couldn't keep your mouth shut. How utterly shocking.”

Harry shook his head. “Hermione guessed, and told Ron. And when they had guessed, they could tell that I knew as well... but they both swore Unbreakable Vow not to tell anyone, until either I, or Dumbledore tell them they could, or until the war was over.”

“Well,” Snape said again. His voice sounded especially old and tired. “I suppose I should be content with that.”

They sat in silence a bit longer. Harry knew that he should have felt relieved, but strangely enough, in response to the note of brokenness in Snape's voice, Harry's feeling of utter wretchedness flooded him again.

“And Potter?” Snape said very calmly and evenly. “While I can see that you have your heart set on wallowing in self-pity, I expect you to control your emotions around me. Your misery is quite contagious. I used to rather ...enjoy summers, until recently.”

Harry nodded again. “I'll do my best.”

“See that you do,” Snape said gravely, and stood up.

Harry followed automatically. The lunch was over, and it was time to return home.

For the next few days, Snape noticed that Harry kept his word the best he could. He avoided the meals together, fed himself unobtrusively, and retreated to his study. Snape did not know if he actually studied, or wallowed in misery - and it did not matter much to him, as long as the boy was out of his way. He caught sight of him reading something in the garden, sprawled in the grass, paging through an old, decrepit volume that Snape did not recognize as one of the texts he had bought for him.

Snape found a faint glimmer of hope then. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad, he reasoned. The slave-bond did not seem to be turning Harry into a mindless drone, at least not just yet. Harry also didn't seem to be pining for Snape - and perhaps, that was still far off in the future. He could only hope.

Eventually, two days later, Harry found him in his study.

“I have some questions,” Harry said quietly.

“Have a seat,” Snape offered.

“I have been reading on the slave-bond,” Harry said, showing him the volume. Snape was surprised to see the book - he only knew one other person to own the text. It was rather.. odd, to see Harry in the possession of it.

“And?” Snape asked, finding himself oddly impatient.

“Are you planning to use corporal punishment?” Harry asked bluntly.

Snape shrugged. “What I am planning is rather irrelevant, don't you think?” he said sourly. “At some point, the bond will require it, and it will happen.”

“Have you ever done it before?” Harry asked. The young man's face was a picture of absolute calm.

Snape had done it before, of course. He was a Death Eater, for crying out loud - those like him thrived on power and cruelty. And naturally, he had a number of Master/slave relationships in the past. Not the loving ones, or the kind ones, either. But it had been quite a while since he last held a tool, or caused someone pain... and he had been hoping that this certain part of his life would remain in the past. He still had the dreams once in a while - dreams where wretched screams were mingled with whispers of surrender, dreams where his victims cried his name, and begged him for pity... and he had shown none. Not once.

“I have,” Snape said simply. “Why do you ask?”

“What will you use on me?” Harry demanded.

Snape leaned back in his chair and folded arms on his chest, staring at Harry with curiosity.

“The cane is my usual tool of discipline,” he said, and noticed, with satisfaction that Harry's face paled slightly. “I take it your Muggle relatives had never used it on you?”

“No,” Harry admitted.

“How did they discipline you then?” Snape asked with a sneer. “A belt? A paddle?”

“No, Sir. Just the hand.”

Snape shook his head disdainfully. He should have known. No wonder the brat was this unruly and insubordinate. “Well, Potter, if a hand spanking was the worst you ever experienced, you are in for a rather traumatic shock, when the time comes,” he said unsympathetically.

Harry nodded quietly, but did not move from his chair.

“Any more questions, Potter?” Snape asked coldly.

For a minute Harry seemed at a loss for words. He just sat silently in front of Snape, staring blankly, not saying anything. Eventually, when Snape's patience had reached its limit, and he was about to tell Harry to get out, Harry spoke, in a barely audible voice:

“Will you cane me?”

Snape glanced at him coldly. “I believe that's what I just said.”

“I mean,” Harry said quietly. “Will you cane me now?”

“Now?” Snape repeated, a little incredulously. “Why would you want that?”

“I don't,” Harry said sullenly. “But I don't want to spend the next weeks or months imagining, or dreading it either. I would rather just know what to expect in the future.”

“I see,” Snape said thoughtfully.

The request surprised him, but in retrospect, he supposed, it shouldn't have. It was an ancient rite in most Master/slave relationships - to have an introductory punishment, for no other reason than merely introduce the slave to the Master's control and expectations. It also relieved some of the tension and uncertainty when the slave joined the Master's household.

“The bond requests it, then?” Snape probed.

Harry shrugged. “I don't feel the slave-bond at all,” he said. “I don't feel anything foreign... you know? No voices in my head telling me what to do, no urges that seem extraneous. In fact, I don't feel anything inside me that's not a part of me.”

“Just as we had thought,” Snape mused. “Well. Whatever drives you to experience this, I believe I can accommodate.”

He leaned and opened the desk drawer. Buried underneath scraps of parchments, old letters and notes, was a cane - a tool he had not used in about eight years. He pulled it out and set it on the desk. Harry's eyes opened in shock as he stared at it - the long, slender, inflexible piece, made of mahogany wood, sturdy handle crafted into a serpentine design.

“You will receive six,” Snape said impassively. “And just so that you know, there will be no spells or ointments to ease your discomfort afterwards. I believe that will offer you the opportunity to have a fully authentic experience.”

Harry stood up and looked to Snape for direction. His face was slightly pale, but it betrayed no emotion - no fear, no misery, no embarrassment.

“Drop your trousers. Lift your shirt. Keep your shorts on,” Snape commanded. His eyes narrowed, as he watched his victim comply, and the familiar surge of pleasure at having power over another washed over him. iSo much for being reformed,/i Snape thought with self-disdain, picking up the cane.

“Lean over the desk. Hold your hands out. Don't move,” he instructed. Harry complied instantly, bending over the desk, with his rear presented for punishment. His fists were clenched, and his knuckles were absolutely white. Snape circled around the desk, and stood behind him, surveying the young man thoughtfully. The trousers were pooled around his ankles on the floor, and his shirt was gathered up, exposing an incredibly slender waistline, defined by the band of the young man's shorts.

“Just look at you,” Snape taunted half-heartedly. “Facing your fears with such bravery. Godric Gryffindor would be so proud.”

Harry gave no response. His fists just clenched tighter, and he pressed his face to the wooden surface of the desk. His breathing was measured and even.

Without further deliberation, Snape delivered the first stroke of the cane across the boy's buttocks. He struck hard, harder than he normally would have, taking the fabric of the shorts into consideration. The boy's body shuddered slightly, but he issued no sound. Snape struck twice more, each blow eliciting an involuntary convulsion of silent agony.

Snape paused for a bit, and took a step back, watching Harry with gleeful satisfaction, as he struggled in complete silence to regain composure and still himself. And then, as Snape caught himself enjoying this, enjoying inflicting pain, reveling in cruelty - yet again, after all these years, the self-loathing returned. Snape collected and focused all of his anger, anger towards James, anger towards Dumbledore, anger towards Harry, and most of all, anger towards himself, and allowed it to gather in his fist, the fist that was holding the cane. Without any warning, but very eager to get it all over with, he delivered three brutal blows to the vulnerable backside. He watched pitilessly, as Harry's knees nearly buckled from the impacts, and his fists opened, fingers scraping desperately against the surface of the desk. Still, Harry made no sound, even as his entire body shook violently, even after the punishment was over.

Snape sat back at the desk, and placed the cane in the drawer. When he lifted his eyes, he saw that Harry still hadn't moved - his flushed face was pressed against the desk, tears streaming from his eyes, falling on the wooden surface.

“Enough,” Snape snapped. “Make yourself decent, and leave. And clean your snot and tears off my desk.”

Moving painfully and slowly, Harry lifted himself from the desk. His arms were trembling slightly. He bent down to put his trousers on, and it took him several minutes of struggling against the pain to manage to dress himself again. He reached to the desk silently, and wiped the surface with the sleeve of his shirt, the fabric gathering the dampness of his tears and traces of blood - Snape looked at Harry's face and saw that he had bit through his lower lip in the struggle to keep himself silent. Snape felt a faint, unwelcome twinge of sympathy, but shook it off.

“A simple cleansing spell would have been sufficient,” Snape said coldly. “No need to wreck your clothing.”

Harry nodded. “I'll remember for next time,” he said. His voice was strained and barely audible.

“Get out,” Snape told him.

Harry left promptly, but as far as Snape was concerned, it wasn't soon enough.

The two days that followed were utterly miserable. Harry's backside throbbed, then hurt, then ached. He spent hours immersing himself in the cool water in his private bathroom, thankful to have his own tub. He felt sore all over, both hot and cold at once. But most of all, he felt humiliated - at having asked for it, and at having cried a pool of tears onto Snape's desk.

He spent the rest of his time lying on his belly, reading the stupid book Hermione had given him, and beginning to hate her for finding it. Whenever he felt the pain beginning to subside, he reached back to touch his swollen backside with renewed hope, but each time, he was rewarded by the fiery agony reawakening and gripping him again. And this wasn't even a real punishment, he thought grimly - just a taste of it. Maybe when he actually finally screwed up, he'd just ask for Cruciatus.

Eventually, two days later, the swelling receded, and the pain ebbed away to a tolerable level. He managed to avoid Snape completely - he was too mortified to even look at him now. When he got hungry, Harry ate quietly in the kitchen, and went back into the bedroom to read. Eventually he grew sick of the book on slavery, and stuffed it under the bed. Instead, he pulled out a Herbology text for the next year, and started reading ahead. That felt surprisingly good - and he felt a sense of normalcy beginning to pour back into his life.

Another day later, Hermione and Ron owled him, and told him they were coming over. He found himself both looking forward to the visit and dreading it - it was embarrassing to have them visit the place of his...enslavement. But he still wanted to see them.

To Harry's surprise, when they finally showed up, Snape came out to meet them, greeted them formally, and told them they had to be out by midnight. He said nothing to Harry - in fact, he avoided looking at Harry completely. The tree of them went into Harry's bedroom and Harry locked the door behind him.

He sprawled on the bed face down. Ron and Hermione followed and sat at the edge of the bed. He felt their eyes drilling into them and he shrugged resentfully.

“What?” he asked.

“How are you doing?” Hermione asked gently. “The bond...”

“I don't feel it yet,” Harry said. “It's... it's like nothing. I'm no different. I guess it will take time.”

“Harry, what happened to you?” Hermione demanded bluntly. “Did he - did you and he..”

“Nothing happened,” Harry said, absolutely mortified that she would even ask.

“You move like you've been injured,” she insisted. “Tell us.”

“I wasn't injured,” he cut her off, trying to sound nonchalant and indifferent. “How is your summer going, anyways?”

She surveyed him thoughtfully, never taking eyes off his backside.

“He punished you,” she said with confidence. “Let me see.”

“No way in hell,” Harry muttered. “I've humiliated myself enough by now.”

“I am going to be very direct with you, Harry,” Hermione said evenly. “Either you show me your injuries on your own, or I will spell your clothes off, while Ronald holds you down. Choose.”

“God-damn you both,” Harry muttered, and pulled down his trousers. A loud gasp from her, and a subdued growl from Ron told him that it still looked awful. He twisted around, stared at his own backside, and winced. The cane had broken the skin in a few places, and now that the injuries were healing, they looked worse than when they had been first inflicted.

“What the hell did you do, excavate his parents' corpses and have sex with them?” Ron asked, astounded.

Harry smirked unhappily. Hermione sighed deeply. “It wasn't a punishment, was it? It was initiation. Yes?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I asked for it.”

Ron stared at Harry darkly. “Well - Hermione knows good healing spells. Let's patch you up.” His voice was strained.

Harry just shook his head.

“We can't,” Hermione explained faintly. “Only the Master can. I've read about it. The slave-bonds are very particular. The healing spells and such either won't work... or they will, but if someone other than the Master delivers the healing, it will cause untold mental anguish. Possibly insanity.”

Ron covered his mouth and excused himself. He retreated into the bathroom, where for a few minutes nothing was heard except from water, running from the tap. Harry covered himself up and turned to lie on his side. Hermione was staring at him with concern.

“Why didn't you ask him to heal you?” she demanded.

“Because,” Harry said bitterly. “If he wanted to, he would have done it by now. And, bond or not, I am not going to beg him for anything he doesn't want to give on his own.”

Eventually, Ron returned, and sat on the edge of the bed silently.

“How is it, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Oh. Well, it wasn't all that bad,” Harry said absently. “I mean - it hurt, but I prefer this to.. you know. My uncle's fists. At least I know Snape won't break my ribs or nose. With Vernon, I could never be sure.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “And... how is it... with the bond... waiting for it to form, to set... how does it feel now?”

“Well,” Harry murmured absently. “It's ... Miserable - knowing that something will draw me to him, but knowing that it will always be one-sided. I guess you could say it's like waiting to fall in love... but already knowing that it'll be unrequited.”

She nodded wordlessly and buried her face in Ron's shoulder. Ron stroked her hair gently.

“Harry - why did you do this?” Ron demanded. “And don't tell me you did it for the war, or for the Order of Phoenix. If someone had told you to become Malfoy's slave to win the war, you would have told everyone to go fuck themselves.”

Harry mumbled incoherently and buried his face in the pillow.

“Tell us,” Hermione said softly. “It's not like you. I mean - you always jump into something stupid and self-destructive to save everyone, but this... this is just weird. Even for you. Why would you choose to live like this, with someone who despises you, with someone who will never thank you or appreciate you...”

“Because,” Harry said softly. “That's what he does.”

“Who?” Ron demanded.

“Snape,” Harry said quietly, feeling a lump in his throat. “That's what he does, year after year. The ones who are on our side despise him, because they don't know where he stands. Everyone he is fighting for either loathes him, or controls him.”

“He's a bastard,” Ron said pointedly. “Of course, everyone despises him. For good reasons.”

“Maybe,” Harry said reluctantly. “And he despises all of us right back, I am sure. But he still keeps fighting for the people who abhor him, for the people who will never know him, for the people who will never thank him. And - well.. I couldn't just let him die, knowing all that. I figured, our side owes him one.”

“That's the stupidest reason yet,” Hermione said sadly.

Ron nodded vigorously. “Completely mental. Therefore, it makes perfect sense that Harry would do it,” he said with a strained smirk.

Harry laughed quietly and stretched out. It felt extremely liberating to have said it all. He didn't expect his friends agree with his reasons, or approve - but more than anything else, he wanted to be known.

“Well,” he said lazily. “Now that we have no more pain and suffering to discuss, how about we go to Hogsmeade and get absolutely blind-drunk?”

“You can't get drunk on butterbeer,” Ron laughed.

“No, but I could purchase firewhiskey and hypnoticgin, now that I am emancipated,” Harry smirked smugly. “Come on - school is out... what else would we do?”

“We could go to the library and read up on Horcruxes,” Hermione said reasonably. “And herbology...”

Ron rolled his eyes. “She should have been enslaved to Snape. It would have been a match made in heaven.”

When Snape emerged from his study a few hours later, he realized that the Manor was oddly quiet. No voices were coming from Harry's bedroom. He and his friends simply left. All three of them.

Snape's first hunch was that after the caning, Harry had simply decided he'd had enough, and left, went back to his Muggle family. Snape entered Harry's bedroom and surveyed it. No, that wasn't it, he saw. Harry hadn't gone away. His belongings were still there. Even his owl was still there - he wouldn't have taken off without her.

It seemed unlikely then, that Harry would defy the clear-cut rule of informing Snape before leaving... Not when the slave-bond might assert itself any moment, and demand punishment for misbehavior.

Snape went to the fireplace. The Floo hadn't been used. The feeling of dread surged, then intensified. He had finally done it, Snape thought with despair. He had taken Dumbledore's golden boy from the blood protection of his Muggle family, and lost him... Then, for a few seconds, genuine, uncontrolled panic set in, as it always had, whenever Harry Potter was in danger... whether he rode a hexed broomstick, or whether he drove a stolen vehicle into the Whomping Willow, or whether he roamed the Hogwarts hallways in the dark, with a murderer on the loose, or whether he was captured by Umbridge's inquisitorial squad, about to be subjected to the Cruciatus curse... The knot in Snape's stomach tightened. At the moment, Snape abhorred Harry Potter more than any other human being on the face of the earth - for being able to evoke so much terror in him.

The panic only lasted for a couple of moments. Abruptly, Severus Snape came to his senses and forced himself to calm down. He was being ridiculous. Harry Potter was not kidnapped right under his nose. Rather, he was an unruly, irresponsible, insubordinate sixteen-year-old, with a short attention span. He and his friends just went somewhere, and he forgot to advise Snape of his plans... And as for why they hadn't used the Floo - well, perhaps, they rode broomsticks, or Apparated illegally, or had a port-key... Or, Snape suddenly remembered with loathing, Ron Weasley's infernal car.

He still had no idea where the young people may have gone, however, Snape had surveillance spells on all of the rooms in the Manor. A precaution he had never seen fit to remove, and now he was thanking the heavens above for his own paranoid, compulsive tendencies. He had not intended to listen in on the private conversations of his unwelcome guest, but neither did he have any compunction about doing so, when needed.

“Enarro,” he said, with a flick of his wand, summoning the words of the private conversation that had taken place a few hours ago.

He listened to the echo of the conversation in stunned silence.

The gasps from Harry's friends led Snape to believe the damage he had inflicted was more severe than he realized. Snape frowned. He hadn't held a punishing tool in years. And he hadn't bothered to examine the damage of the caning after the punishment had been delivered. So much for his own confidence that he would not abuse his ... well, whatever Harry was to him. Snape cursed himself under his breath, and continued to listen.

Harry's voice: I prefer this to.. you know. My uncle's fists.

Fists? Broken nose? Broken ribs? Snape thought, overcome with nausea. Harry had said that his relatives only used the hand to correct him. Snape had taunted him upon hearing that. Little did he know... Harry Potter, Snape's least favorite student, hadn't been reckless and unruly because he was spoiled. He was this way because ... he either did not care enough about himself, or because no trouble he could possibly get into at school, would compare to what he had experienced at home.

Snape listened. I couldn't just let him die.

Anger surged through him, violently and unexpectedly. Pretending to be a noble rescuer - just like James - Snape thought automatically... and then caught himself. No, Harry was nothing like James - at least, not in this instance. After James Potter had saved Snape's life, he never let him live that down. His taunting got worse. Harry was... different. Acting behind the scenes. Not expecting to be thanked - or even liked.

Almost - a kindred spirit, Snape thought suddenly.

Almost. But not quite.

Harry was not doing his good deeds covertly, behind the scenes, to atone for the sins of the past, or to redeem himself. Unlike Snape, Harry was not tainted by horrible, abominable crimes, or by love of cruelty and power. Harry was just doing things this way because it was in his nature.

Snape buried his face in his hands and sighed deeply.

At the end of it all, Snape still did not know with certainty where the young people went - to Hogsmeade, to get drunk; or to the Hogwarts library. Placing a wager on Hermione Granger's uncanny influence on the two boys, Snape guessed the library, and arrived there shortly. His guess was confirmed when he saw the three of them together at the table, immersed in books and scrolls.

He approached their table quietly and waited, with his arms folded on his chest, staring at Harry thoughtfully. Eventually, Harry lifted his eyes and paled slightly, looking at him.

“I forgot to tell you where I went,” he said quietly.

Snape nodded gravely. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were staring at Snape with obvious distaste.

“You want me to come home with you now,” Harry guessed.

Snape nodded again. Harry stood up instantly.

“See you later,” Harry told his friends. Hermione Granger gave Snape a deathly glare, and Snape returned it gleefully. To his satisfaction, he managed to stare her down, and she looked away.

Snape and Harry walked to the Headmaster's office, to use the Floo to travel back home, Snape walking fast, and Harry trailing slightly behind.

“Sir?” Harry asked hesitantly. “How did you know where to look for me here?”

Reluctantly, Snape forced himself to answer.“There are surveillance spells on ... all the rooms in the Manor. I have had them for years.”

“Oh,” Harry said weakly. He sounded positively mortified.

They walked together in silence. For the first time in his interactions with Harry Potter, Snape found himself wishing he could say something genuinely reassuring, however nothing was coming to mind readily.

When they returned home, Snape disappeared for a few minutes, then returned, holding something in his fist. Harry did not even look to see what it was.

Snape's right hand was placed on Harry's shoulder, and Harry found himself directed and nudged to his own bedroom, with Snape following closely behind. Harry complied, almost mindlessly. When they entered the door, Snape nodded to the bed, and Harry sat on the edge of it, staring in front of himself numbly. He felt oddly grateful for the lack of taunting about his idiocy, or about the unlikelihood of a boy who was nothing more than his fat uncle's punching bag, being able to defeat Voldemort.

But the lack of taunting obviously did not mean that Harry was going to avoid punishment. For a fleeting brief moment, Harry considered protesting, but his resolve to resist just wasn't there. He had broken a clear-cut rule, and besides, he had consented to it all, he thought, so what would be the point of arguing against it now? Without saying anything, and without waiting for an order, he stretched himself on the bed, face down, reaching underneath himself to unbuckle his belt and pull down his trousers.

Snape's fingers grasped the elastic of the shorts gathered about Harry's waistline, and pulled, exposing his battered buttocks. Harry suppressed a shudder of humiliation and dread, and buried his face in the pillow, biting hard into it. He was still sore, and he was quite sure he would cry out... this time. And quite possibly, every single time that followed, too.

He breathed deeply, evenly, forcing himself to be still, waiting to hear the words, “Accio cane.” Nothing was said.

Instead, he felt strong, forceful hands on his flesh, coming in contact with his injuries, spreading a sticky substance across the half-healed cuts. The ache reawakened, but the hands soothed it, leaving only a trace of warmth in its stead.

Those hands... Snape's hands felt just like Harry had imagined they would in his daydreams.. on those few occasions when he had let his guard down just enough to have a hesitant, fleeting crush on his spiteful, vicious professor. And just as Harry found himself about to relax and melt under the touch, the hands were withdrawn.

He heard a flick of the wand, and a few spells were uttered, and then, the rest of the discomfort ebbed away, leaving him feeling shockingly normal and whole. He breathed a sigh of relief, covered himself up, and sat up. Snape looked at him oddly. His face was completely devoid of disdain - it was almost as if he was looking not at Harry Potter - but at someone else.

Harry smiled weakly. “So,” he said as casually as he could, “What are you going to do with me for breaking your rule... not telling you where I went?”

Snape's expression was that of concerned curiosity. “What do iyou/i think I should do with you?” he asked.

“Let me get away with a warning this time?” Harry offered with a wry grin, but without much hope.

To his surprise, Snape nodded slightly. “I take it you don't feel the urge ... to be punished?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Why?”

Snape regarded him thoughtfully. “It's a typical feature of the master-slave bond... The slave feels the need to be punished for his ... transgressions. The need usually takes shape of mental anguish, which can only be alleviated by physical punishment. Doubtlessly, that aspect of the bond will develop in time. But I have no intention of rushing things... or for that matter, punishing you, unless you yourself request it.”

Harry's felt his heart sinking. The thought of being caned repeatedly was bad enough, but the idea of constantly asking to be punished was absolutely and utterly degrading. And then, to his complete horror, he found his eyes stinging... again. He winced involuntarily, and bit his lip.

“Are you ... embarrassed?” Snape offered suddenly.

Harry meant to deny it, he wanted to say something spiteful, or maybe proud - but when he opened his mouth, no sound came out; possibly because his situation did not naturally invite words of dignity. So he said nothing, and just nodded a little, keeping his face as composed as possible.

And then, the remnants of resolve left him, and he just turned away and buried his face in the pillow, grabbing it with both arms. He made a desperate attempt to calm himself, but somehow, only managed to upset himself further, and silent, fiery tears streamed from his eyes into the pillow. Harry's entire body stiffened involuntarily in anticipation of a taunt, or a spiteful comment. But then, he felt a hesitant caress of a hand on his hair, stroking it in slow, soothing motions. He tensed more, but the hand continued to rise and fall with gentleness, and slowly, his resistance waned, and he was crying openly, not even caring at all about dignity or appearances.

Suddenly, he heard his name, and at first he could not understand what had happened. Then it suddenly dawned on him, that Snape was calling to him, calling him by his given name:

“Harry. Look at me.”

His face still flushed and damp, Harry forced himself to sit up. Snape's gaze was focused on Harry, dark eyes scrutinizing him carefully.

“You have nothing to be embarrassed of,” Snape said evenly. “Apart from, perhaps, being entirely too sentimental towards the wrong sort of people.”

Harry felt an instant pang of dread and ache. He had never - ever remembered Snape to say anything of this sort... anything so self-deprecating... so defeated. Harry's stomach clenched in protest - but he did not know what to say. He glanced at Snape with misery.

“What now?” Snape demanded.

“I would almost ... rather that you were angry with me again,” Harry said reluctantly.

Anger was nothing new. He knew how to be a recipient of it. No matter what happened during the school year, every summer had been the same. The caning at Snape's hands, with the rage that went into the last three strokes, had almost convinced Harry that anger was something he deserved... no matter how much he'd been trying to tell himself otherwise throughout the years.

Snape was watching him. Then, his hand cupped Harry's chin and held it, firmly but not cruelly.

“No,” Snape told him, calmly and firmly. “Never again - not that way.”

For some inexplicable reason, Harry realized that he believed him. He sighed deeply, suddenly feeling his entire body relax, as if freed from a horrible weight that had been crushing it for years, without him even realizing it.

“I am not quite sure how this will end,” Snape said quietly and impassively. “But I will promise you that I shall endeavor to make your ... experience... bearable, as much as possible under the circumstances.”

It was almost dinner time by then, and Snape headed out into the kitchen. Harry followed him closely.

Snape produced the meal ingredients he had purchased earlier in the day and unpacked them. He was about to cast a spell to combine them into a satisfying dinner, but to his surprise, Harry shook his head, moved him out of the way, and proceeded to prepare the meal the tedious, Muggle way - cutting up vegetables, brining water to a boil and putting handfuls of linguine into the pot.

"How did you learn to .." Snape started asking. Harry tensed instantly at the question, but did not stop.

"I cooked for my family," he said very quietly. "For years. Don't worry, I won't' wreck your kitchen.”

He watched with quiet fascination, as Harry moved confidently, combining the ingredients, following a script he had obviously committed to memory. He looked oddly thin and fragile, and Snape found himself unable to tear his gaze away from his form. His shoulderblades were sticking out through his shirt, and he looked incredibly vulnerable, as he continued to work, focused and undeterred. Soon the aroma of vegetables and unripened cheese spread through the kitchen, and Snape inhaled deeply. It smelled good, Snape had to admit grudgingly, if only to himself.

“You don't have to do this, you know,” Snape said unhappily. “I don't expect you to be...”

“Subservient?” Harry offered helpfully, with just a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Snape grunted something unintelligible.

“It's just a bloody meal. Don't read too much into it.” Harry said with amusement. “I am surprised you even have all the Muggle stuff... the proper kitchen. Some wizards don't even bother...”

“My mother put it all in,” Snape said absently. “My father rather enjoyed cooking.”

Mentioning his parents brought a flood of unwelcome nostalgia. He never had anyone cook for him since his parents died. His life had been devoid of relationships that had any normalcy to them. Back in school, he was a loner - taunted by James Potter and his little gang. Then, later, he was Voldemort's loyal henchman. The relationships that ensued since then were about control, and power... not doing ordinary, human things together.

Eventually, upon joining Dumbledore's cause, he had cast everything away. He had no friends. No servants. He got rid of the house-elves, who all wailed pitifully when he gave them clothing. Absolute loneliness was a good way to be - it was safe. Solitude had been his sanctuary for the last fourteen years... And now, he thought resentfully, his sanctuary was invaded by an obnoxious willful brat, who had pushed him out of the way, in his own kitchen... Snape's gut shuddered in protest at the realization, but he couldn't find it in himself to throw the boy out. He just watched him, as if in trance.

“Your father liked cooking nonmagically?” Harry asked.

Another intrusive question, but Snape answered it, nonetheless. “That's the only way he could cook.”

Harry's hand froze in mid-air. “Your father was a Muggle?”

“Yes,” Snape said. He didn't see the point of evading the questions - producing genealogy records was a simple enough matter, and had he attempted to dodge the inquiry, it would only provoke curiosity... and snooping.

“Oh. That would explain why the place is called Prince Manor,” Harry muttered. “That was your mother's family name?”

“Brilliant deduction, as always,” Snape drawled contemptuously. “Well - aren't you going to taunt me on the account of my sullied ancestry? Something along the lines of me being unworthy of heading the House of Slytherin?”

“Maybe later, when I decide I want to get caned again,” Harry snickered. “What were your parents names?”

“Tobias. Eileen.” Snape said absently, and almost swore under his breath. He had no idea why he was answering those questions, and allowing his privacy to be invaded. He also had no idea why he didn't even mind all that much - not really.

Because it feels good, the sudden realization assaulted. It feels good to be known... to have someone want to know you.

Snape grit his teeth and shook his head disdainfully. Being known was not an option - not in this case. It could never be, given who he was... what he was.

As if in response to those thoughts, he felt a familiar burning on his arm. His Dark Mark had come alive - he was being summoned. .

Harry, it appeared, sensed something as well, because his entire body froze motionless.

Snape stood up abruptly.

"I need to go now," Snape told him. "Stay in your bedroom for the rest of the night. Don't come out when you hear me return. This is rather serious, and I expect you to comply."

Harry spun around and glared at him. "Why?"

"No time for details," Snape said sternly. "There will be a period of readjustment ... upon my return. You must not attempt to assist. You will not breathe a word to any living soul. You will give me plenty of space and stay away from me."

Harry opened his mouth to ask more questions - but the summoning had become more urgent. Snape turned around and fled the kitchen, heading out of the Manor.

As soon as he left the Manor, he Apparated a location of Voldemort's choosing, indicated to by the Mark. The image of Harry's shocked face still lingered before his eyes, but he grunted disdainfully and willed the vision away.

x x x

He was the only one summoned this time. A dark, dreary location, as always - a crypt, with barely any light. Snape gazed around, seeing no-one, and nothing. That was not surprising. A serpentine hiss entered his mind, and sent a familiar, deadly chill through his bones.

"My servant," Voldemort's voice intoned severely. "I welcome you. Since I gave you the potion, I have been waiting... waiting for the surveillance spell to show me the image of you, forcing the potion down the boy's throat, in your dungeons... I must say, you have exceeded my expectations.”

"I am glad, my Lord," Snape said evenly. He found the slippery presence coiling itself around his mind, slithering within, seeking out undisclosed secrets.

"Has it began then?" Voldemort inquired. "Have you caused him pain? Have you forced his tears?"

"Yes. And yes." Snape said unemotionally.

"From your stoic response, I take it you enjoyed it beyond what words could express," Voldemort mused. "Yes?"

"Yes," Snape uttered, transfixed by the realization. He had enjoyed it. He reveled in the power, wallowed in it. The power to hurt , and reject afterwards... the power to deliver agony, and then cast out the one he had hurt... the power to draw tears from one's eyes... the pure, dark pleasure of it ensnared him. After all these years.

Voldemort's laughter was mirthless and joyless. "And is he attached to you yet?"

"Somewhat," Snape said with disinterest in his voice. "The attachment will grow with time, I presume."

Voldemort's voice was that of a gasp of ecstasy. “Of course, the pre-existent attachment that he had towards you makes it even more... delicious. Such brilliant irony. If only he knew the truth about you, and the reason he craves your touch, even before the bond is fully formed. If he only knew the kind of monster you are, and the role you had played in his life, he would rather rip his heart out than permit it feel any affection for you."

Snape laughed at the words, but without bitterness or resentment. The laughter was sincere this time. Voldemort was right - to the extent that even the Dark Lord himself did not realize. In fact, no-one, in the entire world, could ever guess the full horror of the actions of the one called Severus Snape. Not Voldemort, not Dumbledore, not Hermione Granger, and certainly not Harry Potter.

"Well then," Snape said with cold irony in his voice. "It is rather fortunate that I have no intention of disclosing my sordid past to him. The slave-bond binds him to me, not me to him."

The Dark Lord stepped out of the dusk, and the dark figure loomed over Snape.

"You could have given in to his attraction years ago,” Voldemort said softly. “You could have been kind to him... he would have thrown himself at you - at the mere age of twelve and thirteen. You could have taken him years ago. He would have told no-one.”

“Yes,” Snape agreed easily.

“But your cruelty and disdain for him kept him at bay,” Voldemort said with vicious gentleness. “How you despise his attraction to you... how you loathe him for it.”

“It's a despicable frailty,” Snape said darkly. “His weakness, and his undoing.”

“And my salvation,” Voldemort whispered intimately. “Go now. We will speak again soon.”

x X x

On his return home, Snape walked through the door unsteadily. His own mind rebelled against him.

Traitor! Abomination! Filth! the inner voice screamed.

The inner voice sounded like Dumbledore, like Voldemort, and like Snape himself. Slowly and with great difficulty, Snape started making his way to his bedroom, using walls for support. His disorientation increased. His mind was turning in on itself, consuming itself.

Not worthy to be alive. The inner voice spoke more softly now, and almost gently, each tender whisper stabbing through his entire being. How can you live like this? How can you keep this up?

"Same as always," Snape muttered under his breath. "My way."

Ah, and look how well your way is working out for you,the voice pitied him.You are damn near death... but death is too good for you.

"Death," Snape whispered dreamily. No word ever sounded so beautiful to his ear, as that word, just now.

You will suffer, for as long as you live, the voice told him. And afterwards, for eternity. And longer. You are damned.

"Don't care," Snape hissed defiantly. He slammed his fist against the wall, hard, again and again. blood smeared on the rough stone surface. "Don't care about that. Not in the least.”

He stumbled into the bedroom, and cast a locking spell on the door. Then he moved to lie on the bed, but his body betrayed him. His knees buckled, and he collapsed on the floor. His head struck against the hard surface. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dark blood collecting on the floor. He smiled disdainfully. No matter. He'd been through this before. This was only marginally worse than the last few times. He would be fine, come morning.

His ear to his bedroom door, Harry listened to the sounds of Snape muttering under his breath, slamming his fist against the wall, then eventually, heading into his bedroom. Harry wasn't going to move - but the sound of something falling heavily, a terrible crash, changed his mind. He rushed out, and pounded on Snape's door, then tried pushing it in. The door did not budge.

"Sir?" Harry demanded. "Are you alright?"

No answer came. Harry pressed his ear to the door. He couldn't hear anything - not even the sound of the man's breathing. All instructions and orders forgotten, Harry felt his heart racing.

"Alohomora!" Harry cried, pointing the wand at the door. It took several attempts, but the door finally yielded, and Harry flew into the room. The sight in front of him made him nearly gasp in shock. Dark blood was trickling out from the gush on Snape's head, pooling around him on the floor. He was unconscious, but still breathing, his entire body convulsing with each breath.

For a moment, Harry stood there with his mouth wide open. He pointed his wand at Snape and uttered the "Rennervate" spell. A tremor of agony appeared to run through Snape's entire body, but he did not wake.

Harry pointed his wand at the cut on his head, and uttered "Episkey". The spell elicited a shudder from Snape's body, but the trickling of blood did not slow down.

Harry started pacing around the room, unsure what to do. He thought of contacting St. Mungo's, or the Hospital wing of Hogwarts, but he remembered Snape's solemn warning about not informing anyone.

On an impulse, Harry attempted to place a firecall to Dumbledore and discovered that the Floo and the firecall connections were blocked. Snape must have blocked them just before he left, Harry thought dejectedly. He ran back to his room, and jotted down a note to Hermione - hoping she would still be at the Weasleys:

"Hermione - need help at Snape's. Urgent. Apparate!"

Hedgwig took off with the letter, and Harry rushed back to Snape's bedroom. He sat on the floor next to the man, watching him in terror, listening to his rasped, labored breathing. Time passed, but the convulsions were not easing. Harry had never seen anything like this, not even from Cruciatus - and he was beginning to feel nauseous from the sight. Still, he remained by Snape's side, not daring to move away and leave him alone.

An hour later, Hermione banged on the front door of the Manor, and Harry hurried to let her in.

"What's so important that I am risking expulsion for Apparating illegally?" she demanded.

"Come take a look," Harry whispered furiously, and brought her in. In Snape's bedroom, Hermione stared at his shuddering body with dread.

"What happened?"

"Don't know," Harry said. "Voldemort summoned him. He returned... when I found him, he was like this.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. She was fighting to keep a calm appearance, but Harry could tell that she was shaken up by the sight. Eventually, she shut her eyes and took a deep breath, and regained a measure of composure.

"Alright," she said softly. "Let's see." She leaned over Snape's' body, and examined it, her hand touching his skin, lifting his eyelids. She cast a few basic revealing spells, as Harry watched gratefully. At least one of us has a brain, he thought wistfully. She wasn't doing anything too quickly, just gathering information, and assessing the situation, calmly and cautiously. Somehow, her calm translated to Harry, as well, and he found himself relaxing, if only a little.

"He appears to be in pain," she said. "But no assessable physical damage, other than the cut to the head. Perhaps it is psychosomatic. What have you tried so far?"

"Episkey and Rennervate," he said. "Do you know some other spells... something that could help?"

"A few," she murmured. She pointed her wand at the body in front of them and commanded:

"Panaceo!"

The spell had an effect - but not as Harry had hoped. The convulsions became more rapid, and more violent.

"Take it back!" Harry cried out. "Undo it!" She didn't need to be told twice.

"Finite Incantum!" Hermione blurted out, flicking her wand. Somehow, it made things even worse. Snape's entire body appeared to be gripped by indescribable agony. Cautiously, she took a step back and gazed at Harry in terror.

"I don't think I should try anything else," she said with a tremor in her voice..

"Do something!" Harry whispered. "A numbing potion... something..."

She shook her head. "It's not a good idea to try and get him to drink anything right now," she said quietly. "In this condition - he would just choke on it..."

Harry looked at her miserably. "Can't you just spell it right inside him?"

"No," she whispered. "Too advanced. Requires a good year of medical training... And if it makes things worse, too, how am I going to get it out?"

"Well ..." Harry muttered dejectedly. "What are we going to do now?"

"I don't think I should do anything else," she murmured apologetically. "Every spell I said so far, made things worse. I think we should just let him... ride it out. Not try and do anything."

Harry felt a knot in his stomach. Nausea and guilt gripped him as he heard her say that. "Just like he said I should," Harry whispered weakly.

Hermione glared at him. "Let me get this straight. He told you something like this would happen - and not to touch him - and you didn't listen?" she asked icily. "And you didn't bother volunteering this little piece of information?"

Harry just nodded dejectedly. "I thought it was just pride or... spite... or...Oh... and he told me not to call for help, too.”

For a second she looked like she was going to snap at Harry and chew him out, but the look of complete horror and misery on her face apparently dissuaded her. She sighed wearily. Harry looked at her plaintively.

She went into the bathroom and returned with a towel drenched in cold water. “Press it against the cut,” she told him. “And try not to move his neck, just in case...”

Harry nodded absently.

“Unbutton his robe a bit and loosen the clothing around his neck,” she said softly. “That will help him breathe more easily...”

Harry nodded again, and followed her instructions. When he touched Snape's neck, his hand almost jerked at the sensation - the man was burning with fever.

"Well," she said quietly. "I'm quite tired, so I am going to lie down. Wake me if he gets worse, or changes color, or starts vomiting, or stops breathing... If he is not better by morning, we'll have to figure something out.”

"Like what?" Harry asked bitterly.

"Don't know," Hermione said reluctantly. "I could Apparate near Hogwarts grounds, and walk to the school, to find Dumbledore... Do you want me to go now?”

“I don't think so,” Harry whispered. “Hermione... stay. If something worse happens - I have no idea what to do.”

She nodded, and collapsed on Snape's bed, with her clothes and boots still on, and wrapped herself in his blanket. Harry slid to the floor, sitting next to the lifeless body of the man, and watched him. He reached out to Snape's hand and held it. Fiery fingers grasped him, digging into his skin, nearly crushing his hand. He did not mind. He just sat silently, feeling more and more horrified with every moment, not taking his eyes off the pale face and the black hair stained with blood.

Hours went, and the convulsions subsided. The breathing evened out and became more measured. Harry sat and watched. Eventually, Snape's eyelids fluttered, and Harry was faced with a piercing glare of black eyes. Harry stared into those eyes, as if hypnotized. The fingers released Harry's hand abruptly.

Harry wanted to look away, but found himself unable to do even that. He continued gazing back, both mesmerized and horrified, unable to even utter a single word.

Eventually, it was Snape who looked away. He stared at his own hands, regarding them thoughtfully, as if not recognizing them.

After a long, heavy silence, Snape pulled himself up to sit on the floor, and surveyed the room. He glanced at the ruined lock on the door. The dark eyes narrowed slightly as he saw Hermione's sleeping form on his bed, and the trail of mud and dirt on his blanket.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter." Snape's voice was oddly unemotional, apart from the usual note of cold irony in it. "Just out of curiosity, what spells did you use to torment me?

"Episkey. Rennervate. Panaceo," Harry mumbled dejectedly. "Then, when that didn't work... Finite Incantatem, to reverse... but even the reversal made things worse... "

"Very nice," Snape said sardonically. "Do remind me to give your House some points."

Harry found his stomach clench. He struggled to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat. Eventually, when he found his voice, he said :

"I'm sorry. I should have listened to you."

Snape gave him an odd look. "Don't be sorry, Mr. Potter. Nothing happened to me tonight that I did not deserve. And as for listening to me - why start now?"

The man stood up, and draped his robe around himself. He cast one more glance at his bedroom, shook his head disdainfully, and walked out without saying another word.

When Snape had arrived to his study, he used the basic cleansing spells to remove the blood from his face. He did not bother doing anything else. The night terror had drained him, beyond anything he had ever felt before. He transfigured a chair into a couch, and stretched himself out on it, with his eyes shut.

Had this happened a year ago, or even two weeks ago, he would have been livid, furious, humiliated... but not today. Today, he felt completely spent, and strangely resigned. Nothing bothered him anymore. Not the breaking of rules, not complete invasion of his privacy, not the ruined bedding, not the wrecked door, and not even the fact that Potter had disobeyed, as always, thinking himself to know better than anyone else - and attempted to "help", nearly killing Snape in the process. Of course, he would, Snape thought tiredly. How foolish was he to expect Potter to follow simple, clear, unambiguous instructions.

He slept for a few hours, then got up. Returning to his bedroom, he found it immaculate. The bedding was spelled spotless and clean, traces of blood and dirt were removed from the floor. Even the door had been repaired.

Harry was nowhere to be seen. Snape consulted the surveillance spells - Harry was in his bedroom, making himself scarce. Hermione Granger had gone home shortly after Snape had woken.

In his bedroom, Snape took off his boots, stretched himself on the bed, and promptly, drifted off to sleep again. The dreams were fragmented memories from his past, from fourteen years ago...

Fourteen years ago...

...in the office of Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape stood in silence, while the old wizard surveyed him thoughtfully.

"Do you understand what you are about to do?" Dumbledore asked, not unsympathetically.

"Not quite," Snape conceded. "But understanding is not required. Only choice."

"Redemption is an interesting phenomenon, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "Quite difficult to earn, for most people. And in your case..."

Snape smiled bitterly. "I am not doing this to earn anything," he said slowly and evenly. "I don't care about personal redemption."

The old man's smile was cautious. "Well then.. what do you care about? Or perhaps, I should say... who? "

Snape shrugged indifferently. Dubmledore nodded slowly. "Harry Potter. Of course."

"Of course," Snape whispered quietly, feeling dread course through his entire body at the mere mention of the name.

Dumbledore shook his head. "It is dangerous to make a choice such as this out of guilt."

Snape laughed unpleasantly. "That's the best offer you are going to get, I'm afraid. Take it or leave it, either way, it won't make much of a difference to me. I can go, or stay - but my own path is clear."

"Then stay," Dumbledore told him.

Snape gazed at his Headmaster with gratitude, relief flooding him and overtaking him.

“You must know,” Dumbledore said softly. “When the time comes, and the Dark Lord returns... the pain... will be like nothing you had ever experienced. Not even the Crutiatus curse will compare to this.”

Snape shook his head with a faint smile. It did not matter. He could stay. He could serve. He could be used for something else - even his Dark Mark could be used for something else. He would have wept at the wonder of it, but he had given up that habit years ago.

"I am surprised you would take me back," Snape said simply.

Dumbledore winced at those words.

“You are welcome here," Dumbledore said evenly. "However, Severus - you need to understand... No matter the sacrifice, no matter the price you are willing to pay... you will likely remain unforgiven for as long as you live."

Snape nodded readily. "Just as it should be," he agreed. "I couldn't hope for more."

When Snape finally woke up again, it was evening. The sun behind the window was setting, and the birds had already fallen silent for the night. Snape cast several spells to refresh and groom himself, and bring his clothing to an acceptably neat state.

When he exited the bedroom, he stopped dead in his tracks. Right by the door, crouched on the floor, was the figure of Harry Potter, who had fallen asleep, apparently waiting for him. Snape considered waking him, but then, just shrugged, and walked away, heading into the dining room.

When he entered there, he saw that the dinner had been prepared and served. It was a luxurious salad of greens, tossed with fruit and unripened cheese - contained within a shimmering shield of a stasis spell. Snape shook his head tiredly. Being stuck with an obnoxious, disrespectful Harry Potter was bad enough. Having to dwell with guilt-ridden, remorseful, unforgiven Harry Potter trying to make amends would be pure torture.

He returned to the hallway, where, by his bedroom door, Harry was still sleeping, frozen in an unnatural position. Snape moved him with his foot a little, not trusting himself to lay his hand on the boy. Harry's head shot up and he opened his eyes.

“Sir,” Harry said. “You are alright.”

“No thanks to you,” Snape said sharply. “Get up ... slave. Let's go eat before you starve yourself to death out of guilt.”

Harry bowed his head low, but got up slowly, using the wall to support yourself.

“I am truly sorry, you know,” Harry whispered abjectly.

“Yes, I gathered that,” Snape said unsympathetically. “Although, as much as it pains me to say this, it probably wasn't entirely your fault.”

Harry gazed at him with his eyes wide open. “What do you mean?”

“Remember the little matter of Voldemort's potion that you took? I would be willing to bet that your misguided rescue attempt was driven by the effects of the potion. Poor loyal little slave just couldn't let his Master suffer, now, could he? It would go against his instincts.”

Harry sniffled a little. “Maybe the attachment is from the potion,” he muttered. “But stupidity was all mine. I'm just an arrogant idiot.”

Snape nodded meaningfully. “Truer words have never been spoken, Mr. Potter. Now, to set your self-tortured soul at ease, I assure you that you will be punished. Tomorrow, you will spend the entire day, taking care of my greenhouse, pruning, weeding, watering, softening the soil, and harvesting the Dittany leaves. I will supply you with an instructional manual for your work, that you will follow religiously.”

Harry smiled uncertainly. “Really?” He sounded genuinely relieved and grateful.

“Yes, really. And before you even think to do otherwise, you will find a pair of dragon hide gloves at the entrance. You will wear them. I don't want to see any scratches on your hands at the end of the day. More importantly, I don't want to see any blood on my plants.”

Harry was still smiling a little, but his voice was absolutely serious. “Of course not, Sir. Blood would interfere with other potion ingredients.”

“Indeed,” Snape said gravely. “And should I require your blood for any of my potions, I can find better ways of drawing it.”

He saw with smug satisfaction that the smile had disappeared from Harry's face altogether.

Harry spent the following day in the greenhouse, laboring on the plants. He was surprised at how good it felt to do some work, to learn something new, and to ... earn something. Something like forgiveness. He felt grateful, to the point of idiocy, for being punished - for not being allowed to get away with something like that. This wasn't like before, he thought - not like crashing the car into a Whomping Willow. That could have cost Snape his life. Foolishly. Needlessly.

Evening came, and his work was completed, leaving him absolutely exhausted, spent, aching all over - and feeling absolutely wonderful. He cleaned up, brought the bagged Dittany leaves to Snape's study, and placed them on his desk. Snape lifted his head and nodded silently.

“Feeling better?” Snape inquired, somehow managing sound both concerned and scornful. Oddly enough, Harry did not mind.

“Yes, Sir,” he said sincerely. “How can I thank you?”

“I suppose you could kiss my boots.” Snape's voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Harry laughed in spite of himself. On an impulse, he bent down and took the man's hand in his, pressing his lips to it. He felt a pure note of pleasure mingled with ache ring through his entire body at the contact - and his lips lingered against the back of that hand. It took all of his willpower to let go.

“Not quite ready for the boots yet,” Harry said mischeviously. “But I will work my down there eventually, I am sure.”

“I can hardly wait,” Snape said, unamused.

Snape's regained coldness unnerved Harry - and he took a deep breath.

“Sir? Can we talk for a bit?” he asked hesitantly.

Snape sighed deeply. “To each other, I presume?” he asked unhappily. “Very well.”

Harry nodded and pulled up a chair, sitting at the desk across from Snape.

“Can you tell me what happened to you?” Harry asked. “I mean.. is it normal? Do all Death Eaters go into near deadly shock after your meetings with Voldemort?”

Snape shook his head.. “Sadly, no,” he said coolly. “The other Death Eaters return to their homes uplifted... recharged. I daresay, they rather enjoy the experience.”

“Well then?” Harry demanded. “Why not you?”

Snape's face was unreadable. “Let's just say, it's an occupational hazard, and leave it at that. Needless to say, you will not interfere again.”

Harry nodded quietly. “Of course. But I would like to understand...”

Snape shot him a cold glance. “I am surprised that neither you nor Miss Granger figured it out yet. You even had the book to help you.”

Harry looked at him in confusion.

Snape sighed tiredly and rolled up his sleeve, baring his arm. Harry stared at his Dark Mark - the black image of skull and serpent, prominent against the pale skin.

“This is my bond,” Snape said gravely. “Voldemort is, for all intents and purposes, my Lord... my Master.”

Harry felt a shudder go through his entire body. “Master,” he repeated absently.

“Yes,” Snape said. “Surely, you must know what the slave-bond does to an unfaithful servant?”

“Punish,” Harry said automatically. “The bond... punishes you... for being unfaithful to him?”

Snape nodded reluctantly. “The servant is bound to obey the Master. To do his will. Every time the servant conceals information, or plots disloyalty, or commits an act that goes against the Master's wishes... it results in mental anguish that is strong enough to drive one to insanity. The bond ensures that.”

Harry stared at the Dark Mark in terror. He had no idea... every spiteful joke about Snape he'd shared with Ron and Hermione, every snide comment, to Snape's face or behind his back, suddenly came back to haunt him. He bit his lip and gazed vacantly in front of himself.

Snape appeared to misread his expression.

“No need to worry yourself needlessly,” Snape said evenly. “My mental state is in rather good shape, and you do not need to be concerned about your safety while residing with me. I have learned a few tricks along the way. Physical punishment, you see, alleviates the mental anguish caused by the bond. Once I had developed the ability to channel the mental discomfort into physical symptoms, my life became a great deal more bearable.”

“As long as nobody tries to... relieve the ... punishment...alleviate the pain,” Harry muttered under his breath. “Only Master can... And that's why you didn't want anyone to know... eventually, if someone saw you like this, after your meetings with Voldemort - they'd guess your true loyalty...”

“See, you are catching on so well,” Snape said sardonically. “And they say Gryffindors are dim-witted.”

“The pain... It looked... worse than Cruciatus,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

Snape shrugged indifferently. “Only marginally,” he said dryly.

Snape pulled down his sleeve, concealing his Dark Mark, and went back to reading. Harry sat quietly, deep in thought. Dreadful guesses and speculations coursed through his mind, and he wondered in silence what else was not being said.

“Sir,” he asked finally, stammering as he spoke. “So ... all these years... while Voldemort wanted me dead... and you rushed to my rescue... with the hexed broomstick, or at the Shrieking Shack, or... well... does it mean that.. each time you were left feeling like this afterwards? Tortured? Because you did something that went against his wishes?”

Snape smiled thinly. “No need to be so melodramatic, Mr. Potter,” he said impassively.

Harry noticed a familiar knot in his stomach. He lowered his eyes, and felt a dreadful ache spread throughout his body, sending chills down his spine. His fault, he thought - his doing. All those times... all those years, of Snape looking out for him, at such cost to himself, and Harry rewarding him with nothing but scorn and spite... It was no wonder that Snape loathed him, it was wonder that he didn't hate him more. When tears streamed from his eyes, Harry did not bother to hold them back. He cried in absolute silence, with his eyes wide open, staring at the man in front of him, not knowing what to say.

“How ..” he stammered finally. “How can you bear to be in the same room with me?” he whispered. “How can you even stand to look at me?”

Snape turned to face Harry, and gazed at him. Black eyes had a strange, unearthly glow to them, and Harry found himself drowning in them. Snape's hand reached to his face, across the desk, and wiped his tears.

“Harry - don't think that way,” Snape said evenly. “Trust me. I have no complaints.”

Harry leaned into his touched unashamedly. “How?” he whispered dejectedly. “For years...”

Snape's hand lingered against his cheek.

“Well,” Snape mused tiredly. “In all honesty, given my past - it's the least I could do.” There was a barely noticeable note of brokenness in his voice, and Harry found himself undone by it, utterly and completely.

He sobbed noiselessly into the hand that still held his face. Guilt, terror, gratitude, and the pure bliss of the man's touch, all merged together, and became a pressure in his chest. Harry stood up quickly and circled around the desk. Without even stopping to think, he took the man's face in his hands, and leaned in to kiss him. Stunned, Snape offered no resistance. Harry practically drank in the man's kiss, tasting blood, bitterness, tears, and sweetness, all mingled together into one.

And then, suddenly, Harry came to his senses and realized what he had done. He had violated yet another clear boundary that was set by the man who had already suffered for years, in course of protecting him.

Harry released him, muttered a hasty apology, and ran out of the room, not daring to look back.

An hour passed, but Severus could still taste the young man's kiss on his lips. It took him by surprise. Harry's mortified reaction seemed to indicate that he was just as shocked by his own action.

That kiss... Severus shut his eyes and took some time to calm himself. He had began to hope that somehow, the Master/slave bond would not come to this... What a misguided fool. As if Harry Potter could escape the pull of the strongest slave-bond known to the wizarding world. Though Harry did put up a good fight, Snape had to admit. Slave-bond or not, the brat was still obnoxious, obstreperous, and obstinate.

He sighed deeply, and walked towards Harry's bedroom. He stood in front of the door for a few minutes, still trying to decide what the best course of action would be. His personal preference would have been just to wait - and allow Harry to come to him on his own, when the urging of the bond became irresistible.

But he also remembered Harry's resolve - of not willing to beg for anything. His pride, his arrogance would literally drive him to an early grave, before he stooped to begging... or before he admitted to a weakness. Especially in a situation like this. Snape muttered a curse under his breath and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a subdued invitation followed. Snape entered, and looked at Harry. He was still up, sitting on the bed, hugging a pillow.

“I'm really about that,” Harry mumbled sheepishly. “I... I remember what you said. No attraction. I shouldn't have done it...”

“No apologies necessary,” Snape said peaceably. “The kiss was not... unpleasant.”

Harry smiled dejectedly. “ I won't do it again, I promise.”

Snape gazed at him severely. “Not even if I ... request it?” He asked in a silky voice.

Harry gasped quietly and bit his lip. “No,” he said firmly. “It's not fair to you... you never wanted this. And we had an understanding...”

Snape sat on the edge of Harry's bed, uninvited, and reached out to touch him. Harry's entire body trembled at the contact, and he withdrew himself from Snape's hand instantly.

“The bond intends for you to need my touch - and more,” Snape said simply. “Do you?”

Harry glared at him. “I don't need your touch,” he said defiantly. “What - you think if you don't touch me, I'll shrivel and die of grief?”

“Something like that,” Snape said humorlessly..

Harry snorted disrespectfully. “Think again,” he said. “I don't need to have sex with you.”

Snape stood up abruptly. “Pity,” he said snidely. “You would look ravishing in bondage.”

He was about to head for the door, but suddenly found himself stopped, by Harry's hand grasping his.

“Yes?” Snape asked without turning.

“I said I don't need it... doesn't mean I want you to leave,” Harry said quietly.

Snape came to the bed and surveyed the young man thoughtfully. His breathing was labored and heavy. Snape reached to stroke Harry's short hair, and Harry seemed to have melted under his hand instantly.

Snape sat down on the bed again, coming face to face with Harry.

“So,” Snape said very softly. “ What's on your mind?”

“Can you tell me more?” Harry asked suddenly. “What is so horrible in your past... that you would...”

“I am afraid I can't answer that question,” Snape said.

“Why not?” Harry insisted.

“Because,” Snape said unhappily. “If I tell you, you will run away and let the bond kill you before you come back. I won't risk it.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “I am sure I can deal with it... whatever it is,” he said.

“Don't be so sure,” Snape told him sharply. “And consider this topic closed. There will be no further discussion of this.”

“Fine,” Harry muttered resentfully, in a way that clearly indicated it wasn't. Snape paid him no heed.

“Tell me what you need,” Snape said again.

“Nothing,” Harry said stubbornly.

Snape stared at him intently, scrutinizing him head to toe. Harry's face was flushed and his entire body trembled and radiated heat.

“Well... Perhaps I am going about this the wrong way,” Snape said, not unkindly. “Tell me what you want.”

“What I want...” Harry repeated absently.

Moving fast, Snape grabbed his arm, pulled, and pushed him off the bed. Harry followed his prompt effortlessly, without protest, and stood in front of him, with his head slightly bowed.

“Tell me what you want,” Snape said gravely, in a tone of voice that could not be mistaken for anything but an order.

“I want you to hold me in your arms,” Harry said quietly. “If you hurt me, I want to feel your hands on me afterwards. I want to be helpless. Bound, or kneeling - not being able to run. I want to be taken... hard...That's what I want.”

Bound... kneeling... helpless... taken... Snape listened, mesmerized, as each word conjured an irresistible vision, filled with promise of pure, dark, deviant pleasure.

“It sounds manageable so far,” Snape said ironically. “Anything else?”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, in a valiant attempt to contain his embarrassment at his spontaneous disclosure. His cheeks were flushed, and he was blinking furiously. Snape placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it cruelly, eliciting an incredulous gasp from the young man's lips.

Snape reached out to him, and took his face in his hands. His thumbs trailed along Harry's cheekbones, caressing them, following the faded tear-tracks. His grip on Harry's face became firmer, until he was almost bruising his cheeks, but Harry did not flinch. Snape leaned in to kiss him, opening the young mouth violently, invading it with his tongue, subduing it with practiced skill. Harry cried out pitifully, and Snape caught the cry in his mouth, swearing he could almost taste it.

He released Harry's face abruptly. Harry's entire body shuddered at the loss of contact, but he steadied himself instantly.

“Wow,” he said dreamily, his eyes half-closed.

Snape nodded again, his lips twitching into a vicious grin. “Now, Harry...” he intoned with deceptive softness in his voice. “Since we are about to take our adventure to a whole new level... do you suppose you could start calling me by my first name?”

Harry looked at him serenely.

“Severus,” he said, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Severus.”

Severus Snape shut his eyes and smiled. He liked the sound of that.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, standing in front of Snape... in front of Severus.

The man's proximity was maddening. His eyes, and his voice had an absolutely hypnotic effect. Harry gazed at him, waiting for something... a touch, or words... anything.

“Disrobe,” the voice said sternly.

Harry gasped at the simple blunt order, and looked at the man hesitantly.

“What? You expect romancing and cuddling before I strip you naked and fuck you?” Severus asked with a sneer. “Think again.”

Harry blushed furiously. “Sir...Severus...”

“Remove your clothes, or I will do it for you - and I assure you, there will be nothing gentle about it,” Severus said evenly.

Harry proceeded to unbutton his shirt, his fingers shaking, and being unable to find the buttons. Severus gazed at him with a mixture of pity and disdain, then stood next to him, and grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands. He tore it open in one firm movement, buttons popping off, and falling to the floor. He practically shook Harry out of the shirt, and then, proceeded to unbuckle his belt, pulling it out roughly, and casting it aside. Severus unbuttoned Harry's trousers and allowed them to drop to the floor. His hand reached inside Harry's shorts, and brushed against his erect member that throbbed violently upon contact.

“Well, I am certainly glad to know that you do not require my touch,” Severus said snidely. “I would hate to see your state if you had.”

Harry glared at him fiercely. “If you are going to make fun of me, you may as well forget the whole thing and leave me alone.” He was certain he was the very picture of ridiculousness, standing in his bedroom with his trousers pooled around his ankles... and still trying to sound dignified.

The hand stroked Harry's member gently, fingers caressing the entire length of it, and stopping to circle the head. Then the hand was withdrawn, and Severus stood quietly, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Leave you alone, you say,” Severus whispered with sinister gentleness. “Are you quite sure?”

“No,” Harry said quickly. He bent down, and unlaced his boots. Quickly, he freed himself of the vestiges of his clothing and stood before Severus, completely naked, utterly mortified, and painfully aroused.

Severus continued staring at him intently, not moving. Harry glared back, growing more and more humiliated and frustrated every moment. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer.

“Do something!” he demanded.

Severus rose an eyebrow and smiled thinly. “If you insist.”

He placed his palm against Harry's chest and stroked it gently, fingers slowly traveling down to his belly, brushing against the trail of dark pubic hair that led down to the groin.

“Ah!” Harry cried out and whimpered in protest when the hand stopped just short of touching his cock. The fingers traveled back up, and lingered against one of the nipples that hardened instantly at the contact.

“Please,” Harry whispered, all self-respect forgotten.

The fingers grasped the nipple and pinched harshly, sending a violent tremor of agonizing delight through his body. Harry arched his entire body forward. The hands grasped his nipples and squeezed, and Harry issued a fierce hiss of pleasure at the sensation.

“So responsive,” Severus observed coolly. His voice was distant and unemotional, and somehow, it only increased Harry's frustration.

“Severus,” he begged shamelessly. He no longer knew what it was that he wanted. His entire skin craved touch, contact, pleasure or pain - it no longer mattered.

Severus sat on the bed, took Harry's wrists in his hands, and drew him to himself. Harry stood between his legs, his lips only a few inches away from the man's face. On an impulse, Harry leaned to him and pressed a kiss against his forehead. Severus did not withdraw. His hands stroked Harry's back gently, fingertips sliding down to his buttocks, stroking the cleft between the butt-cheeks.

Then, Severus withdrew his hands - but not for long. A hand traveled in the air and smacked against Harry's bottom sharply. Harry shuddered slightly at the stinging slap, but the hand cupped the aching flesh and kneaded it firmly, transforming ache into luscious warmth.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered breathlessly, pressing his lips to the man's forehead again. The smacks continued to fall, sharp and firm, alternating with ungentle squeezing and kneading, and Harry's entire being swayed like a pendulum, from ache to ecstasy, over and over again.

Eventually, it became more than he could bear - not for the pain, but just as he became overwhelmed with sensation. He threw his arms around Severus, and straddled his lap, his naked flesh pressing against the man's dark robe. He buried his face in the black, silky, long hair, inhaling deeply, surprised that Severus smelled like...like dried Dittany leaves, like faded autumn grass.

And just as Harry was drowning in the bliss of the moment, Severus placed his hands on Harry's shoulders, and pushed him onto the bed, face down. Harry fell, into elated self-abandon, feeling nothing, and caring about nothing. He heard Severus utter several incantations, and found his wrists and ankles encircled by leather. He opened his eyes to see restraints, locked around his wrists. Then, his eyes focused on the headboard of the bed, and he stared at it, as if for the first time - a lattice of metal bars, wrought into serpentine designs. Another incantation - and chains appeared, locking the cuffs to the headboard and the footboard of the bed, and then tightening, spreading his limbs apart.

He was lying on his belly, nude, helpless, completely immobilized, heat radiating from his buttocks, aching for touch. Severus placed his hand on Harry's bottom, and massaged it gently. Harry became aware of his arousal again and lifted his hips slightly.

“Please,” he whispered again.

Severus leaned towards him, and placed a kiss on the small of his back. Harry shuddered and pulled against the restraints to arch his back out - without much success.

“You look lovely when you struggle,” Severus said softly. Harry sensed Severus stand up and get off the bed. Harry turned his head to look at him. Severus was folding Harry's clothes, neatly and meticulously, setting them on a chair in front of the bed.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded.

“Tidying up, of course,” Severus said gravely. “You seem to be in no condition to do so.”

“Now?” Harry demanded. His entire body was aching with untold frustration. His member was throbbing violently underneath him. “Tidying up - now?? Are you mad?”

Severus pointed his wand at Harry's wrecked shirt, and uttered a spell that restored it to its original condition.

“My mental health is in very good shape, thank you for caring, Mr. Potter,” Severus said sardonically. “However ... fun... mess may be in the throes of passion, I like to tidy up when I am done for the night.”

“Done??” Harry shouted. “What do you mean, done!?”

Severus shook his head with feigned regret, and finished folding Harry's clothing on the chair. He then picked up Harry's wand from the floor and placed it on the night stand, entirely out of his reach.

“What I mean is, Mr. Potter, that I am about to call it a night. Sweet dreams.”

“You can't leave me like this!” Harry growled and struggled in his chains violently. “Release me, then!”

Severus gazed at him serenely. “I think not. Besides, I am just granting your requests. You wanted to be bound... and, at one point, you wanted to be left alone. You are getting both wishes met.”

“No!” Harry protested, enraged at his own helplessness, and Snape's tranquil cruelty. “Release me, damn it! I mean it!”

“I am sure you do,” Severus said soothingly, in a mocking way. “And I will.. come morning.”

Harry buried his face in the bed. His body was a heaving mass of frustration and helpless agony. “Why would you do this to me?” he asked, with not a small measure of accusation in his voice.

“Because I can,” Severus informed him bluntly. “And because your pleasure is secondary to mine.”

Severus strode out of the room quickly, shutting the door behind him when he left.

The following morning, Severus woke up with a self-satisfied smile on his lips The last evening was just... dreamlike. Not many things amused the former Death Eater, but to tie an obstinate, undisciplined, lacking self-control, begging and whimpering Harry Potter to the bed - and just abandon him there, definitely fit the bill. Severus had to admit, that was ... wonderful. And this form of cruelty was entirely guilt-free. It's not like he'd caned the brat...

Severus got dressed, and groomed himself, ensuring that no wrinkle on his clothing, and no single hair out of order would betray his distracted state of mind. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he exited the bedroom...

... to come face-to-face with Harry, fully dressed, free of restraints, arms crossed on his chest, and a smirk on his lips that looked intolerably complacent.

“Good morning, Sir,” Harry said smugly.

“I see you've escaped,” Severus said coolly, not allowing his face to betray the utter shock at the sight. “How nice for you.”

“I know,” Harry said, not a small note of self-congratulation in his voice. “Care for some breakfast, Sir?”

“Yes,” Severus said simply.

In the dining room, Severus sat at the table, and permitted Harry to serve him breakfast. He did, bringing out tea, fruit, and freshly baked raisin bread. Apparently, Harry had been awake long enough to have gone out shopping to Diagon Alley. They ate quietly, with Severus remaining absolutely silent.

“Well?” Harry demanded finally. “Aren't you going to ask me how I escaped?”

“No, I am sure your need to brag will save me the trouble of having to inquire,” Severus said dryly.

Harry shot him a quick playful glance. “Admit it, you are impressed,” he insisted with a smile.

Severus was in no mood to admit such a thing. “Hardly,” he drawled contemptuously. “You are a ... bad slave.”

Harry snorted disrespectfully, and proceeded to drink his tea in stoic silence. A few times he opened his mouth to say something, but then shut it defiantly, without uttering a single word. Finally, Severus took pity on him.

“Fine. Go ahead. Tell me about your miraculous escape,” Severus offered generously.

Harry beamed. “Well - I used the wand... Just the basic Relashio spell. You know, there's a way to use the wand without touching it, right?”

“Naturally,” Severus said impatiently. “However, it requires a great deal of focus and self-discipline...”

The smug grin on Harry's face grew wider. “I've known how to do that for over six months now. I started by practicing doing a Lumos spell, without touching the wand... then, progressed to other spells.”

Severus rewarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Just out of curiosity, what motivated you to acquire this skill?”

Harry's smiled faded a bit. “This year... training Dumbledore's Army... I thought it would be a useful ability to have in battle,” he said. “Now, we can all do it.”

“I see,” Severus mused, and then, his curiosity got better of him. “What other things did you teach?”

“Protego, Patronus charm, disarming and stunning spells... then, this - and, also how to use spells without saying the words out loud...”

Snape could not suppress a look of surprise. “That's typically not taught until the final year, at Hogwarts...”

“I know,” Harry agreed. “We've been reading ahead. Hermione helped teach too - she knows a lot of really obscure spells. Like the Undetectable Extension Charm... that's neat.”

Severus looked at him, amused. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Harry said, a little defensively. “Properly applied, it can be really helpful. Theoretically, there is no limit to how much stuff you can cram into a small space with that charm.”

Severus could not suppress a smirk. “Mr. Potter - I have never heard anyone make a simple charm sound so... utterly... dirty.”

Harry blushed profusely. “That's not what I meant!” he protested. “I mean - ... you've seen Hermione bring dozens of huge reference volumes to class, right? How did you figure she does it?”

“I always presumed, some abominable Dark Magic,” Severus said humorlessly. “I see, I was not too far off.”

Harry snickered a bit, but then an awkward silence ensued - apparently neither of them did not know what else to say. Finally, Harry spoke up to break the silence:

“By the way,” he said quietly. “I never thanked you... for ... you know. Not giving Umbridge Veritaserum to question me. That could have gone badly.”

Severus winced a little. “It did go badly,” he reminded him. “She nearly Crucioed you. And...”

Harry lowered his eyes and looked at the faded scar from Blood Quill on his left hand. He shrugged a little. “At least she didn't get any information out of me,” he said quietly. “If you hadn't helped, she would have.”

Severus eyed him thoughtfully. “I can brew an ointment that will remove the scar completely,” he said.

Harry nodded with a smile. “I'd like that. Once the war is over.”

Severus did not argue. Harry was still smiling, but Severus sensed a question coming up.

“Are you going to punish me? For escaping?” Harry asked.

“Why did you?”

Harry shrugged. “I was angry... then annoyed... then bored... but ultimately, I just didn't like being helpless like that, without anyone being around. Didn't seem... safe. I mean, all playing around aside, we are still at war. Should there be an attack for some reason, I would rather not meet it inescapably chained and butt-naked...”

“Ah,” Severus said evenly. “Then you should be pleased to know that the spell on your room would have released your restraints in case of a natural emergency, intruder alert, or danger to your person.”

Harry blushed slightly. “Oh,” he said weakly. “Sorry.”

“No matter,” Severus said impassively. “There is always the next time. But, to answer your question, no, I am not going to punish you for escaping.”

Harry grinned a bit. “Thanks.”

“I am, however, going to discipline you for leaving the Manor without advising me,” Severus said evenly. “This morning - did you go to Diagon Alley? To shop for breakfast?”

Harry nodded with a sigh. “Damn it,” he muttered.

Severus was eying him thoughtfully. “Is it so difficult to follow that simple rule?” he asked. “Why? Do you think it's unfair? Overbearing? Undignified?”

“No,” Harry whispered. “The rule is fine. I'm just not used to this.”

“What?” Severus asked sternly. “Discipline? Self-control?”

“I'm not used to thinking someone who sets the rules might care,” Harry said reluctantly. “It's not something that occurs to me automatically, you know?”

Severus gazed at him thoughtfully. Harry was far from spoiled, and used to pain, in one form or another, even if he still dreaded it. Just as Severus had guessed, Harry's routine disobedience stemmed from not believing that an authority figure would care for him on a personal level. Albus cared for Harry deeply, but he was not someone who ever set boundaries for him. Harry's family obviously did set rules, but without warmth or caring.

Severus realized that he could cane Harry daily, and it would not change his behavior. In fact, any punishment or disciplinary measure that created a distance between Harry and his disciplinarian, would likely result in reinforcing the attachment disorder that his upbringing had created.

Harry was staring at him expectantly. Severus smiled thinly. “Detention, Mr. Potter.”

“Detention,” Harry repeated with a smile. “More greenhouse duty?” It was a welcome thought.

“You should be so lucky,” Severus said gravely. “For the duration of the day, you will remain by my side. You may read, or amuse yourself in other innocent ways, but you will stick to me like dog on a leash.”

Harry stared at him incredulously. “That doesn't seem like much of a punishment,” he said quietly.

Severus gave him a brief glare. “You might change your mind by the end of the day.”

They cleaned up after breakfast together, and then Severus headed to his study. Harry followed closely. Severus sat on his chair and started reading and taking notes. Harry pulled a random DADA book from the shelf, and sprawled on the floor by the desk.

He spent a few hours, completely engrossed in the book. Now and then, however, he lifted his eyes and looked at Severus. The man's face was distraught, and he was scanning the pages of his text almost furiously, his lips mouthing an obvious silent curse after each line.

“What are you reading?” Harry asked.

“Herbology,” a reply followed.

“Trying to find something on the Wailing Willow?” Harry guessed.

“Yes,” Severus confirmed impassively. “Oddly enough, there is absolutely nothing on it.”

“Is that all you've been reading for the last two weeks?” Harry demanded.

“What else would I read at this time?” Severus said absently, without looking up.

Harry looked up at him in surprise. It did not occur to him that Severus would be so intent on figuring it out the mystery ingredient in the potion Harry had taken. He stood up, and walked up to Severus, who was still seated behind the desk, absorbed in reading.

Harry, threw his arms around him, and pressed a kiss against his cheek. Burying his face in the man's long black hair, Harry inhaled deeply, allowing the nostalgic smell of dried grass, the smell of fallen leaves... the smell of late fall, enter him. “Thank you,” Harry whispered quietly.

A hand reached to the back of his head and stroked his hair with unusual tenderness. Harry stood quietly, absorbing the touch with his entire body, not daring to move, half-expecting a sarcastic remark. But absolute silence answered him for the next few minutes.

“Well,” Severus said softly. “Shall we have some lunch?”

Harry nodded quietly. They were about to head into the kitchen, when a firecall came through from Hermione. Severus stepped out of the study, to give Harry some privacy.

Through the firecall connection, Hermione looked at Harry worriedly. “Harry - are you alright? Did you get hurt? And Snape?”

He shook his head. “We are both fine. It's all good, Hermione. Don't worry. We've talked it out.”

She smiled uncertainly. “Well... that's a change. I'm sorry I haven't called to check on you sooner - but... I was with Ron.”

Harry smiled broadly. “That's nice,” he smirked.

“Not really,” Hermione said weakly. “He's in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. Something happened to him... when I came back to the Burrow from helping you, he was already gone for the day. We found him later that day, in Knockturn Alley... unconscious, and beat up, with a few hexes placed on him. Instead of St. Mungo's, we took him to Pomfrey's, figured might as well - she has his medical records and all...”

Harry felt a lump at the back of his throat. What was Ron doing in the Knockturn Alley, a paradise for dark wizards and witches, an unofficial black market for anything and everything illegal... ? He asked the question out loud, and Hermione shook her head dejectedly.

“I have no idea,” she said. “Ron doesn't either. He's fine by now, except he doesn't remember what happened. They are keeping him under observation until the end of the day...”

“Maybe I'll drop by,” Harry said quietly. “If Sev... er, Snape lets me.”

Hermione grinned a little, Harry's slip of tongue not going unnoticed. “Maybe I'll see you at Hogwarts then. I'll be either with Ron, or at the library. I'm waiting for him to be released.”

Harry nodded and let her go. When he exited the living room, Severus was waiting for him.

“Sir? I know I'm supposed to be doing detention... but .. Ron...” Harry suddenly found himself stumbling through words. “Please,” he whispered quietly.

“What happened to Mr. Weasley now?” Severus asked sourly. “An accident involving his infernal car again, I presume?”

Quickly, Harry conveyed the details of the conversation with Hermione. “Please, Sir,” Harry begged shamelessly. “I want to see him... I'll do double the detention tomorrow and the next day... ... if you just let me have a break for a few hours today.”

“I am afraid not,” Severus said calmly. “You will be staying by my side the entire day.”

Harry nodded dejectedly. “Yes, Sir,” he said quietly, feeling absolutely miserable. He did not even have the resolve to argue.

“It just so happens that I am going to visit the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts,” Severus said coolly. “A complete coincidence, naturally.”

Harry stared up at him with a wide grin. “Naturally,” he agreed. “Thanks.”

“I suggest you go clean yourself up before we leave,” Severus advised him sternly. “You have spent the morning rolling around on the floor.”

Harry gazed down on his shirt and shrugged. “Nonsense,” he said with a smirk. “Your floor is clean enough to eat off.”

Severus rose an eyebrow. “Something to explore at a later time, I am certain.”

x x x

Only half an hour later, Severus, Harry and Hermione all sat beside Ron's hospital bed at Hogwarts. Ron was looking at them with a chagrined smile.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Don't know what happened.”

Harry looked at him in disbelief. “You have no idea why you were in the Knockturn Alley?” he demanded.

“I don't even remember going there,” Ron said with a sigh. “Last thing I remember was sitting in the library with Hermione. We were both reading on Willows...”

Harry snorted. “Is everyone at Hogwarts now reading on Willows?” .

“Not everyone,” Hermione said soothingly. “Just the Dumbledore's Army...”

Harry couldn't suppress a mortified groan. “The entire Dumbledore's Army knows I drank Voldemort's enslavement potion?” he growled. “Why don't you just kill me now?”

Hermione gave him a brief glare. “Nobody knows about the potion,” she said sternly. “We wouldn't just blab about something like this, Harry. And the Army - they are happy to help, even without knowing the reasons. You should know this by now.”

“Okay,” Harry whispered peacefully. “So Ron... you were reading on Willows.. and then what?”

“Don't remember,” Ron muttered. “Just ... blackout... until someone found me at Borgin & Burkes.”

“I see,” Severus said very quietly. “Well, I think I know what happened, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron glanced at him from the hospital bed. “What?” he asked defensively.

“You had the brilliant idea that Wailing Willow Bark would be an ingredient that the criminal elements of the wizarding world might know something about. Then, you had the significantly less brilliant idea to venture out into the Knockturn Alley by yourself, and seek out the said information,” Severus said sharply. “I am guessing you had discovered something, given that you were found Oblivated.”

Ron smiled weakly. “I guess it makes sense,” he said reluctantly.

Severus Snape was giving him a deathly glare. “Mr. Weasley, if you as much as set your foot into the Knockturn Alley again, I guarantee that I will make your life hell for the duration of the next academic year.”

“Okay,” Ron said quickly. “I'll be good.”

Severus looked at him sceptically. Hermione smiled a little.

“Don't worry, Professor,” she said softly. “He won't go back. I'll make sure of it. You and Professor Dumbledore will take it from here, right?”

“Undoubtedly,” Severus said grimly.

“So what exactly do you think happened?” Hermione insisted. “Someone gave Ron some information, and then someone else Oblivated him?”

“Perhaps,” Severus said quietly. “However, there is another possibility. There is a spell that can be placed on a text... ensuring that whoever reads it, does not retain the information, and is subsequently Oblivated.”

“Interesting,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“So, Hermione,” Ron asked with a smile. “I don't get to go home till evening... what are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

She shrugged absently. “Maybe I'll volunteer for a few hours. I hear they are cleaning out Umbridge's old office. Harry, want to come along and help?”

“No thanks,” Harry said with a shudder. “I'm... kind of in detention now. And besides, I've had enough of her office for the year.”

Hermione nodded sympathetically. “I still can't believe what she put you through... the Blood Quill...”

Harry smirked. “The Blood Quill I could live with. But not all the pink decorations and the pictures of kittens on the walls. That was just... creepy.”

The rest of the day flew by quickly. After dinner, Severus spent a few more hours reading, while Harry was napping on a couch in his study (or rather, a chair that Severus had transfigured into a couch). Severus placed a firecall to Albus, asking him to check the Knockturn Alley for information on Wailing Willow Bark.

Harry slept through the entire firecall, without even stirring. Severus looked at him nostalgically and shook his shoulder gently.

“Harry,” he said softly. “Your detention is over. You can get up and go to sleep. ”

Harry opened his eyes and smiled a bit. “Thanks,” he said quietly, standing up. For a few minutes they surveyed each other cautiously and silently, and then, with no small amount of trepidation and dread, Severus opened his arms. Harry nearly flew into his embrace, and pressed his face into his robe.

Severus could feel the young man's body tremble at the contact.

“I am sorry,” Harry said meekly.

“Don't be,” Severus told him. “It was to be expected, if you may recall.”

“I don't think it's the slave-bond,” Harry said tensely. “I don't feel it at all. I feel no different... and I think it's just me wanting you...” He paused for a bit. “But then, you said it would be like this, right? Imperceptible bond? Something that would make me believe that whatever I want, is coming from my own mind...?”

“Yes,” Severus confirmed quietly, still embracing him. “Tell me what you want,” he offered.

Harry sniffled a bit. “Honestly..? Don't taunt me. Don't make fun of me. I don't think I can handle it tonight... Just for one night... Just take me. Take me hard. Hurt me. Then hold me afterwards. That's all.”

Severus pressed his lips to the top of his head. “I can do that,” he told him softly. “Just let me know at any point if you change your mind.”

He lifted Harry in his arms, and was surprised at how light his body was. Harry offered no resistance, just threw his arms around his neck, and allowed Severus to carry him. Severus chose his own bedroom, and laid Harry on the bed.

“May I undress you?” Severus asked quietly.

“Please,” Harry whispered.

Severus reached for Harry's shirt, and unbuttoned it slowly, once again, exposing an incredibly lean body. Ribs were visible along each side, and Severus ran his hands over them gently, eliciting a mortified sigh from Harry's lips.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I can't be a very attractive sight... If you don't want to...”

Severus pressed a finger against his lips. “Harry, I promised you that I would not make fun of you tonight, did I not?”

Harry nodded silently.

“You've got to make it easy for me then,” Severus said evenly. “And the suggestion that I am somehow doing you a favor by stripping you and fucking you is utterly laughable.”

Harry glanced at him questioningly.

“Trust me,” Severus said dryly. “For a Death Eater, who thrives on control, and power... to take advantage of an attractive, submissive sixteen year old... it's hardly a sacrifice. So set your mind at ease.”

Harry smiled timidly, but nodded his head. Severus reached to unbuckle his belt, and open his trousers. Harry arched his body upwards, allowing himself to be disrobed completely. He lay silently on his back, while Severus surveyed his body - the nipples hardening in the cool air, the shockingly taut abdomen, the incredibly slender waist... and the utter lack of arousal.

Severus glanced at him questioningly. “It doesn't look like you want any of this tonight,” he said, but without accusation.

“I do,” Harry whispered. “Just not... look... I don't want you to play with me, or give me pleasure. I just want you to take me and hurt me.”

Severus leaned in to kiss him, and Harry returned the kiss passionately. Their tongues touched, and Severus bit down on Harry's lower lip, eliciting a brief, subdued wail, that transformed into a moan when Severus sucked on the bite, caressing it with his tongue.

“Turn on your belly,” Severus told him, pulling out of the kiss.

“No,” Harry pleaded. “Please... I ... I want to look at you.”

“It's easier if you are face down,” Severus said softly.

“I know,” Harry said quietly. “But that's not what I want... Look- you asked what I want... I want to look at you. I don't want you to ... you know.. prepare me, or anything. I just want you to take me. That's all.”

“There will be damage,” Severus said reluctantly.

“I know,” Harry told him. “Just heal me afterwards.”

“Harry... will this be your first time?” Severus asked.

“Yes.”

“Why would you want your first time to be like this?”

“I don't know why,” Harry admitted with a pained smile. “I just do.”

Severus nodded curtly, and unbuttoned his own trousers, setting his erect member free. Harry's words, his request, and the sight of his nude, lean, trembling, and completely willing body, left Severus aroused beyond what he had imagined possible. He lifted Harry's hips gently, and placed a generous amount of lubricant on his opening, circling the tight, tense ring with his fingers. Harry sighed slightly under his touch, and only parted his legs wider. Without further deliberation, Severus pressed his erect member against the opening, and thrust into it, as slowly as he could, drawing an anguished gasp from Harry's lips upon being opened.

Severus issued a deep sigh of pleasure. Ecstasy, absolute, pure, blissful ecstasy, gripped his member, as he felt the tight muscles of Harry's channel constrict all around it. He started thrusting slowly and cautiously, feeling the young body shudder and tremble with every move. Harry's hands dug into the blanket underneath him, gathering handfuls of fabric in his fists, in an attempt to keep himself still. Harry's eyes behind his round glasses were half-shut, but he was still glancing up at Severus timidly, now and then, meeting his gaze.

For Severus, everything about the entire experience was completely surreal and dreamlike. His lover's willingness to embrace pain, to yield, to give himself up, and to meet his eyes while doing so - the dark desire and the wicked pleasure of it ensnared him. Severus felt his orgasm building, but he continued to move as carefully as he could, doing his best not to put his entire length inside his young, unprepared lover. But then, wincing against the obvious pain, Harry lifted his hips higher, and wrapped his legs around the man's waist, drawing the two of them close together. Suddenly, Severus found his entire length buried within Harry's tight opening. He climaxed violently, feeling as if the entire universe had raptured in an explosion of ecstasy and wonder.

Breathing heavily, Severus withdrew with caution, looking at Harry with concern. Harry's face held an expression of serene self-abandon.

When Severus finally regained his voice, he only asked: “Why?”

Harry glanced at him hesitantly. “I've been watching you... thinking ... thought you might... like something like that. Did you?”

Severus had no words for this, so he just nodded. His heart was beating wildly and furiously.

Harry smiled blissfully and shut his eyes. Severus adjusted his clothing and stretched himself on the bed next to Harry. Sounding faint, and as if coming from a great distance, Harry's soft voice asked,

“Hold me.”

Severus did, wrapping his arms around the young man, drawing him into a secure embrace.

“Are you hurt?” Severus asked with dread and guilt.

“Yes, but it can wait,” Harry told him.

Severus sighed deeply as Harry buried his face against his shoulder.

“Safe,” Harry whispered quietly.

“What?” Severus asked, tensing up instantly.

“Feel so safe,” Harry whispered blissfully. “Now that you are holding me... don't think I ever felt so safe... in my entire life... It's like... like a memory of a dream...”

Severus found his eyes welling up with tears, but he fought them back. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. Familiar, heart-wrenching guilt gripped him, but he couldn't bring himself to release Harry from his embrace. He continued to hold him, stroking his hair gently.

“What are you sorry for?” Harry asked.

“Everything,” Severus said absently.

Harry shifted in his arms. “One day, you'll have to tell me what this is all about,” he said. “Will you?”

“Yes,” Severus said firmly. “Once the war is over... I will tell you everything.”

“Okay,” Harry murmured agreeably. “I can wait.”

Severus found himself drifting off to sleep, with Harry's face buried in his hair. Harry inhaled deeply.

“You smell like October,” Harry said wistfully.

“Yes,” Severus agreed darkly, trying not to think - or feel anything. “Eternally.”

The following morning, Harry woke up next to Severus

Harry moved and winced slightly at the pain that was coursing through his backside. He could not suppress a quiet groan as he sat up. Severus opened his eyes and sat up abruptly.

“Lie on your belly, and don't even think of moving,” Severus told him sternly.

“Okay,” Harry said agreeably, and collapsed on the bed face down. He parted his legs and waited, until Severus brought some sort of ointment, and slid a finger, lubricated with the substance, inside Harry's opening. The agony of being penetrated again, even with a lubricated finger was absolutely atrocious, and Harry bit into the pillow harshly, not making a sound. Soon, the pain subsided, and was replaced with warmth.

“Better?” Severus asked.

“Much,” Harry whispered gratefully. He suddenly realized that he was absolutely naked next to Severus Snape - whose body he had not seen as of yet. He also realized that he was shockingly undisturbed by it.

Severus stroked his back gently, fingers trailing along his spine, pressing gently down on each vertebrae. Harry sighed contentedly and relaxed under his touch. The hand caressed his back tenderly, traveling to his neck, and then, stroking his hair.

Harry smirked a little. “Bet you regret cutting it so short,” he said impishly. “Now you can't drag me around by the hair...”

“I can spell it to any length I want,” Severus said gravely. “It's a simple enough incantation.”

Harry glanced at him curiously. “I dare you.”

A quick spell later, Harry found his hair lengthen and fall all the way down his back.

“Interesting,” Harry mused. “Now what?”

“Put your hands behind your back, and you will find out,” Severus offered. His voice was terrifyingly soft, and Harry swallowed hard, even as he brought his hands behind him obediently.

He felt rope tying his wrists and arms together, and then, belatedly he realized what Severus was doing - he was braiding his hair, and weaving the ends of the rope into the braid, using the rope and his hair together to secure his arms behinds his back. Harry felt his heartbeat race, and he bit his lip, suppressing a wave of anxiety. Severus saw the look on his face and leaned to kiss his forehead.

“Don't worry,” Severus said. “I will not harm you.”

“I know,” Harry said. “But I'm still nervous... more than that night...”

“Would you like me to release you?” Severus offered seriously.

“No.”

Severus lifted him off the bed, and Harry stood in front of him, hands bound behind his back, exposed, and feeling completely vulnerable. Severus drew him close, and planted a kiss on his neck, biting down gently at first, then harder, suckling on the injured flesh. All anxiety gone, Harry moaned and laughed at once.

“Ah!” he cried out as hands reached his nipples and pinched them gently. Waves of pleasure radiated from them, traveling throughout his body, and reaching his groin. He felt his arousal stirring and blushed a little. Severus was littering his neck and chest with kisses and lovebites, and Harry found himself arching his body forward, even as his arms were struggling in their bonds behind his back, tugging against the harness of rope and hair.

Severus knelt before him, and with agonizing deliberation, kissed his way down to Harry's belly, tongue caressing the trail of dark pubic hair. Harry moaned shamelessly as his member began to throb. Tongue touched the head and circled around it, drawing a small trickle of precum from it. Harry gasped quietly and stood as still as he could, as Severus took him in his mouth, swallowing his entire length. Then, hands reached behind his back, and massaged his buttocks, the firm caresses reawakening the mild ache of last night's passion. The caresses of the tongue, the firm pressure of the fingers, and the tightness of the lips around his cock were building his arousal, and Harry found himself thrusting into the mouth in front of him furiously, without any thought to what he was doing.

Severus allowed him, even as Harry's cock was pressing against the man's throat. He groaned loudly as he spent himself in the warm mouth holding his member. Then, Harry stared down, mesmerized, watching Severus consume every single drop of his release. Done, Severus lifted his eyes and looked at him with a barely perceptible smile on his face.

“Enjoying yourself, Mr. Potter?” he asked snidely.

“You could say that,” Harry whispered breathlessly.

With a parting kiss to his belly, Severus stood up and released him from his bonds with a single spell, restoring his hair to its former short length.

Harry sighed contentedly.

Severus picked up Harry's clothes from the floor and thrust the pile of it into his hands. “Go shower, and dress yourself,” he ordered.

Harry grinned impishly. “Maybe I want to walk around naked,” he said with a smirk. “You know... to be perpetually sexually available and such...”

“While I appreciate the sentiment, I doubt Albus or Minerva will,” Severus said wryly. “They are coming over for breakfast.”

Harry snickered at that, and retreated to shower.

Half an hour later, Dumbledore and McGonagall Floo'd in, and Severus greeted them cordially. Harry smiled at them brightly as well. They ate breakfast together, talking about random things. Ron Weasley was home safely, but his memories of his visit to the Knockturn Alley seemed to be lost permanently. A team of undercover Aurors were going to the Knockturn Alley to attempt to retrace his steps. Hagrid was being investigated for keeping some sort of dangerous rare creature as a pet (Harry rolled his eyes at the news). Umbridge's office had been cleared out, Hermione taking the supply of Blood Quills to carry back to the nearest Ministry of Magic Office branch.

Shortly, the four of them moved to the living room, where Dumbledore and McGonagall sat on the couch, and Severus took one of the large armchairs. Harry grinned a little, and sat on the floor next to him, leaning against his leg and placing his head in his lap. Severus tensed slightly, but did not protest, just stroked Harry's hair gently.

“I don't bloody believe it,” Dumbledore said incredulously. There was no amusement in his voice. If anything, he sounded a little ill.

Harry snickered under his breath. He could tell that his show of submissiveness was vexing the Headmaster, and he enjoyed that. Just a little. Severus shrugged apologetically.

“It's been less than three weeks,” Dumbledore said dangerously. “Severus, do you honestly mean to tell me that the slave-bond is demanding so much already?”

“It's hard to tell what the slave-bond demands, and what we want as human beings,” Severus said calmly. “In fact we might never be able to tell the difference. With the slave-bond being... imperceptible.”

Dumbledore shot him a dangerous glare. “I must say, I did not expect... this.” he said slowly.

Harry laughed out loud.

“Whatever you say, Headmaster,” he smirked.

Dumbledore gave him an odd look.

“Honestly, Headmaster,” Harry continued grinning broadly. “You put a sixteen-year old sexually frustrated insecure gay teenager high on slave potion, into care of a sadistic Death Eater... and you expect a platonic relationship?”

Dumbledore stared at him speechlessly. Then he opened his mouth as if to say something harsh, but Minerva McGonagall placed her hand on his shoulder and shook her head slightly. Dumbledore nodded sadly.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said suddenly. “May I have a word with you alone?”

“Sure,” Harry agreed easily and stood up. Together, he and Dumbledore stepped out into the kitchen.

Dumbledore looked at him with concern.

“You must realize, Harry, I never wanted you to drink Voldemort's potion...”

“I think you did,” Harry said with confidence. “If you didn't, you would have locked your office better. Or, you would have poured the potion down the drain the day it arrived. But you kept it... you made it possible for us to find it. I think you wanted me to drink it. You just didn't want to ask me to. Maybe you felt too guilty about it, or maybe you wanted to make sure it was my choice... but I don't think you were all that surprised when we did what we did.”

Dumbledore smiled faintly. “If that's what you believe about me, Harry - what does it mean about your trust in me?”

Harry looked at him seriously. “I still trust you, Headmaster,” he said firmly. “And I believe that you care for me.”

“I do, very deeply,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Should something go wrong, would you let me know?”

Harry nodded. “Of course. But... it's fine. Better than fine, actually. I think I am ... genuinely happy.”

Dumbledore smiled bitterly.

“Well... I suppose it's a good thing,” he said, still sounding unconvinced. “Minerva and I will be going now. Stay in touch, please.”

Harry nodded silently. Dumbledore gave his shoulder a brief squeeze, and they walked back into the living room. A few minutes later, Dumbledore and McGonagall departed.

Left alone with Harry, Severus eyed him thoughtfully.

“Was the public display of affection truly necessary?” he asked unhappily. “Albus was rather distraught by it.”

Harry grinned. “I know. Serves him right. Old manipulative bastard.” He said it affectionately, but the pleasure at having annoyed the Headmaster was nonetheless quite genuine.

Severus lifted an eyebrow. “Mr. Potter, you never cease to amaze me. It's a pity you were not sorted into Slytherin.”

Not long after Minerva and Albus departed, a firecall came through from the Burrow, from Hermione and Ron. Even through the firecall connection, Severus could tell that the two young people looked genuinely distressed. He stood up and was about to leave the room, to allow Harry some privacy, but Harry took his hand and held him back.

“What is it?” Harry asked, addressing his friends.

Hermione looked at them plaintively. Ron gave her an ungentle shove, urging her to speak.

“It's about Wailing Willow Bark,” Hermione said contritely. “I was playing with surveillance spells... I placed one on the outside of McGonagall's door,” she said quietly.

“Did you,” Severus said sternly. He wanted to berate her for spying on her teachers, but the expression of complete misery and dread on her face held him back.

“The Aurors... there were two Aurors sent to .. retrace Ron's steps in Knockturn Alley... find out information on Wailing Willow Bark - McGonagall helped them get started... But Dumbledore called them off, before they ever made it to the Alley.”

“Oh,” Severus said blankly. “Do you know why?”

Hermione nodded miserably. “I accessed the surveillance spell... Only caught a part of the conversation. But Dumbledore said it was obviously too dangerous to look for that information... he didn't want to endanger more lives, and it didn't matter anymore, because what's done is done. So he terminated the investigation.”

Severus looked at the firecall images of Hermione and Ron. Hermione was smiling dejectedly.

“And then?” he asked quietly.

“And then... McGonagall got really upset, and said, of course it matters... and then she almost cried, and Dumbledore followed her to her quarters, and I didn't hear the rest.”

“I see,” Severus said impassively, and terminated the connection.

There was a knot in his stomach. Every night for the last three weeks, before finally falling asleep, Severus was plagued by horrible fears of what the unknown ingredient in Voldemort's potion might have been... was it life-threatening? Would it cause some kind of permanent damage over time? Would it destroy Harry's mind, or turn him into something else, someone else entirely? Apparently, Albus was not nearly as concerned. To give up on the welfare of a sixteen-year old student, to call off the investigation, just like that, was... a betrayal. Severus had no other word for it.

He glanced at Harry cautiously, and saw a faint, unhappy smile on his lips.

“Dumbledore's got a point,” Harry said quietly. “It really doesn't matter.”

Severus glared at him. “Of course it matters,” he spat vehemently.

“Not really,” Harry insisted. “Whatever the ingredient is, it is likely as irreversible as the rest of the potion. Knowing what it is most likely won't help us.” He was speaking with quiet conviction, but Severus could still hear a note of ache in his voice.

“You feel betrayed,” Severus said with sadness.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “But not because he stopped looking... because he didn't tell me he had.”

Severus nodded quietly. He had considered venturing into the Knockturn Alley on his own, to look for the information on the mystery ingredient, but to do so would likely blow his cover in Voldemort's eyes... after all the trouble they had gone to in order to keep it.

He was still sitting silently, looking vacantly in front of himself, when he sensed Harry standing next to him. Harry buried his face in his hair and sniffed a little, and Severus found himself laughing quietly at the sensation.

“You should laugh more,” Harry said seriously, and pressed a kiss against his cheek. Severus wrapped his arms around Harry, and pulled him into his lap. Harry melted in his embrace, settling comfortably against his chest. Severus stroked his hair and cheeks, amazed at the softness of his skin. His eyes half-shut, Harry pressed his face into Severus's palm and kissed his fingers, one by one, nipping the fingertips with his teeth, but very gently and teasingly. There was so much gentleness and innocence in his affection, that Severus found himself unable to reciprocate, or say anything. All he could do was sit in mindless wonder, blissfully absorbing the youthful, kind touch.

Harry reached towards his face and kissed him on the mouth. Their lips and tongues merged in a torrent of pure pleasure, and Severus held Harry in his arms, caressing his back and sides, fingers running through his hair. For a good several hours, all they did was kiss. Severus suddenly realized that he was feeling young again... Or rather, that, never before, had he felt so young, and so full of life; not even when he was actually seventeen years old - a sulky, antisocial loner, bullied by a small gang of Gryffindor students... agonizing, humiliating memories rose to the surface briefly, but were drowned in the youthful, loving kiss, and were wiped out with a caress of a soft hand against his face.

They were interrupted by a rapping on the window. Severus walked over to it and opened it reluctantly, allowing in an owl with a letter from the Malfoy household. Severus skimmed the letter, sighed disdainfully, and tossed the parchment into the fireplace. He lifted his eyes and saw Harry studying his face with concern.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“Lucius Malfoy is coming for dinner tomorrow,” Severus said reluctantly.

Harry winced a little. “Well...maybe I could go to the Weasleys for the evening. I have an open invitation.”

Severus felt a lump in his throat. “I wish I could just send you off, but it is Voldemort's wish that Lucius and you... interact.”

Harry was glaring at him. “Interact,” he repeated icily. “How?”

Severus shrugged apologetically. His orders were to submit to Lucius in the matter, but he had no idea what type of interaction was intended. Knowing Voldemort, it could truly mean anything... from a cordial conversation, to a human sacrifice. Harry stared at him sullenly a bit longer, but then his expression softened, and he smiled a little.

“Sorry,” he said reluctantly. “I trust you, you know... out of all the people that are supposed to be guiding me and directing me, I think you are the only one who actually still cares on a personal level.”

Severus opened his mouth in automatic protest, but Harry shot him a single bitter glance, and he could not find the resolve to argue, and try to convince him otherwise. True, there were people who cared for Harry deeply -the werewolf, the Weasleys, the ever-annoying Hermione Granger, the entire Dumbledore's Army... but of the people who were in a position of authority over Harry, Albus and Minerva were the only ones that Severus could have singled out as having personal attachment to the boy. Severus was not about to pass judgment on either of them based on a fragment of a conversation obtained second-hand; however after what he had heard today, he could not help but wonder.

Harry glanced at him cautiously. He seemed to be unnerved by his silence. “You do care for me, don't you?” he said softly.

Severus just nodded wordlessly.

“Say it,” Harry asked suddenly.

Severus opened his mouth, wanting to say that - and more; but no words came. He just wrapped his arms around Harry, and drew him close, kissing the top of his head.

“Why won't you?” Harry asked quietly.

I don't deserve to, Severus almost said out loud, but stopped himself just in time.

The next day, morning and afternoon were spent with Severus instructing Harry on how to behave around Lucius.

“Do try to act... reasonably subservient,” Severus told him stiffly. “I don't want there to be any doubt in his mind that you are... subdued. And a single stupid remark from you, Merlin help me, I'll punish you right in front of him.”

Harry wanted to say something snide, but with a single dark glare from Severus, the smart remark died in his throat, and he just nodded mutely.

When Lucius Floo'd in, Severus welcomed him cordially. Harry was standing slightly aside, and greeted the Death Eater with a respectful bow.

“Lovely to see the brat finally showing some respect,” Lucius said with a broad smile. “We should have done it years ago.”

Severus rose an eyebrow. “We, Lucius?” he asked impassively.

“Yes, 'we', Severus,” Lucius said smugly. “After all, I am the one who came up with the idea of slavery... just as soon as we learned that our dearest Harry was a Horcrux...”

“Clever,” Severus said coolly. “I bet you wish Lord Voldemort had chosen you to be Harry's Master...”

Lucius shrugged with feigned indifference. “No matter. As long as Our Lord's will is done, I am pleased. By the way, Severus, dear - I must request my book back.”

“Your book,” Severus repeated absently.

“Yes,” Lucius said wryly. “On Imperceptible and Intangible Bonding of Slave to Master. That's mine, I am afraid.”

“Draco lost it to Hermione in a game of chess,” Harry blurted out impulsively, and was instantly rewarded with a sharp slap to his face - from Severus. He gasped quietly, and lifted his hand to touch the burning cheek. “Forgive me, Sir,” he said, as contritely as he could.

“Don't speak out of turn again,” Severus intoned coldly. “If you do, you know where the cane is, and I am sure Lucius will be happy to assist in administering the punishment.”

“All too happy,” Lucius confirmed with a wink. Harry shuddered inwardly.

“Yes, Sir,” he said meekly. “Thank you, Sir.”

“As if my son could ever lose a game of chess to that insecure, arrogant mudblood,” Lucius said contemptuously. “No, I am afraid this was just a case of teenage cruelty. He learned that Harry had taken the potion... and he wanted to- ah, make him sweat, as they say.”

Severus nodded curtly and glanced at Harry. “Fetch the book,” he ordered.

Harry bit his lip at the unfairness of it - but did not protest.

“Yes, Sir,” he said with a credible amount of respect, and walked away. He returned with the book a minute later, placed it on the dining table, between Severus and Lucius, and stood back, waiting for further instructions.

Severus shot him a displeased glance. “Well, what are you standing here for? Bring in the dinner, won't you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said quietly and departed into the kitchen. Placing the dishes on the tray, he could still hear the subdued voices from the dining room:

“Tell me, Severus, will you have him eat off the floor, or join us at the table?” Lucius inquired with curiosity.

Severus laughed unpleasantly. “What makes you think he'll eat at all?”

Lucius clucked his tongue with mock disapproval. “The child is entirely too thin. You shouldn't starve him.”

Severus snorted. “Oh my, such concern from you. It's almost as if you care.” He clapped his hands and called, “Slave! Hurry up with the food.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry answered promptly, and entered the dining room, carrying a large tray filled with delicacies on his hands. He placed it on the table gently, and bowed slightly, taking a few steps back.

“Get out,” Severus said sternly.

To Harry's surprise, Lucius shook his head and leaned to Severus, whispering something in his ear.

“On the second thought, you may remain and eat,” Severus said impassively, his dark eyes glaring at Harry dangerously. “But do not be a nuisance.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said quietly. “Thank you, Sir.”

They ate together quietly, Harry barely managing to swallow a few pieces of his meal. His stomach was clenched in a knot, and his heart was beating rapidly. The scar on his forehead was hurting so much, it nearly made him nauseous and dizzy. He gazed at his plate in silence, and continued eating slowly, even as he tasted bile in his mouth. He sensed Lucius staring at him intently, but did not lift his eyes.

“How is the slave-bond progressing, by the way?” Lucius asked with a smirk.

“The slave-bond is just fine,” Severus said indifferently. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

“Ah,” Lucius chuckled, amused. “Have you told him though?”

Harry glanced at Severus questioningly. Severus was glaring at Lucius in a most vicious way.

Lucius, however, was undeterred. He gazed at Harry serenely and asked gently:

“You don't know, do you, Harry? You don't know why being in his embrace is so comforting to you? Why it feels like it's ... just the safest, most peaceful way for you to be?”

Unexpected terror coursing through him, Harry shook his head mutely. Lucius chuckled again.

“How sad, Harry. I bet, when you first arrived to Hogwarts, and first caught sight of your stern, cold-hearted Potions Professor, you just wanted to throw yourself into his arms and drown in his embrace... but the greasy bat was too spiteful, too vicious to allow this sort of... connection... to take place. Were you sad about that, Harry?”

Harry sat at the table, unable to move. When he finally gathered the strength to turn his head, he glanced at Severus, but the man's face was completely unreadable.

Lucius eyed Harry with a mixture of contempt and amusement.

“Do you like ducks, Harry?”

Harry stared at him, wondering if Lucius had gone completely insane. But Lucius was glaring at him, clearly demanding an answer, and Harry forced himself to reply:

“Yeah, sure, Sir. I like ducks.”

“Well... you may want to read up on ducks - and learn about imprinting,” Lucius said snidely. “When ducklings first hatch, they imprint onto the first thing they see... be that their mother's face, or a face of the human who is studying them. Whoever they first see... is the one they will attach themselves to, and follow, from that moment on.”

Harry bowed his head, afraid to hear more, but he had no choice.

“You are our little duckling,” Lucius laughed softly. “The day your parents died at the hand of Our Lord was rather traumatic for you. The shell that protected you was broken. It was... like being hatched. Can you see that, Harry?”

Harry gave no answer. His eyes were studying the surface of the table.

Lucius spoke again:

“You see, Harry, on that night of October 31st, there was someone by Voldemort's side at Godric Hollow, assisting him... helping him dispose of your parents. That person's arms were the first to pry you from your mother's lifeless body and cradle you. That person is someone you had imprinted on. From that moment on, the hands of the man who had assisted in the murder of your parents, are the only thing that can bring you complete comfort and joy. Rather tragic, don't you think?”

Harry did not move. His mind was blank, filled with disordered meaningless noise. Lucius might have asked something else, but Harry could no longer understand what he was saying. Finally, Harry managed to stand up, just barely. His knees felt weak.

He avoided looking at Severus. “Sir,” he asked softly. “May I be excused, please?”

“Yes,” Severus said quietly. “Go to your room.”

Harry did, without looking back.

Once Harry left the dining room, Severus glanced at Lucius with disgust. Lucius patted his lips with a napkin, and stared back at Severus with satisfaction of a person who had just enjoyed an exquisite meal.

“Don't glare at me, Severus. It was Our Lord's wish to test the strength of the bond by disclosing your little secret to your pet...”

“I see,” Severus said icily. “Was it absolutely necessary to do it in this fashion?”

“No,” Lucius smirked. “But it was more fun this way. Anyways, if your, ahem, slave, doesn't murder you by morning, or run away, we'll know the bond is as strong as we had hoped... Good night, Severus.”

Severus watched him throw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and depart with a bright flash.

Once Lucius was gone, Severus sank to the floor near the fireplace and buried his face in his knees. Despair and grief coursed through him. He knew it would happen sooner or later - and he knew that he would have to tell Harry the truth... eventually. He just hoped it could have waited until after the war. Until Severus was no longer needed to the war effort.

He was not a fool - he realized that once Harry knew the entire truth, he would not remain with Severus; bond or not. He would leave, and allow the slave-bond to kill him, before coming back. Severus was ready for the eventuality. He had already decided, that should something like that happen, he would die, and have his death set Harry free from the bond... he had no reservations or regrets about that.

Severus was ready to die the day Voldemort gave him his assignment... he could have died easily, and without regret then. The weeks that followed since then were both agonizing, and wondrous beyond words. To have caught a brief glimpse of beauty and warmth was a gift beyond anything Severus had ever known. He was not surprised that this simple yet entrancing grace was about to be taken away from him; he was only surprised that he had managed to hold on to it for this long.

Severus stood up, and walked to Harry's bedroom. He knocked on the door, and entered, without waiting for a response. Harry was sitting on the edge of the bed, hugging his body with his arms. He glanced at Severus angrily.

“Why did you let him say any of that?” Harry demanded. “Why didn't you just send me to my room... why didn't you kick him out?”

“I couldn't,” Severus said softly. “He was acting on Voldemort's orders. I had to comply.”

Harry nodded dejectedly. “Please tell me Lucius was just saying that,” he pleaded. “Tell me he was lying.”

“He was saying it to test the strength of the slave-bond,” Severus said reluctantly. “But he was not lying.”

Harry swallowed hard, and took a deep breath. “Tell me everything,” he demanded. “I want to know.”

Severus nodded, and sat on the chair across from Harry.

“I was the one who conveyed Trelawney's prophecy to Voldemort,” Severus said quietly.

“Did you know the prophecy was about my parents?” Harry asked.

“No,” Severus said. “But had I known, it wouldn't have mattered then.”

Harry looked away. “Were you at Godric Hollow with Voldemort that night?” he asked hesitantly. “Were you there to help him kill my parents?”

“Yes,” Severus confirmed.

“I see,” Harry said quietly. “I guess... that's why you smell like autumn... like October... at least to me. Whenever I am near you... it brings the memories of the fall to mind... memories of the month my parents died.”

Severus nodded wordlessly.

“Did you ... did you cast the Killing Curse on either of my parents?” Harry stumbled through the words as he asked.

Severus shook his head tiredly. “No, Harry. I did something far worse.”

Harry glanced at him with disbelief. “What could possibly be worse?”

Severus looked down. “You know how Horcruxes are made, Harry?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. “A murder is necessary... and then... a spell... although, Professor Dumbledore told me that me becoming a Horcrux was accidental... Voldemort's soul just splintered... during the murder of my parents, and ... embedded itself in me...”

“It's a good theory, Harry,” Severus said evenly. “And it's the best one Albus has at this time. I never told him the rest...” Pain stabbed through him at every word, but he continued speaking, eager to get it all out. “You see, Harry, Horcruxes are not created by accident. Ever. It's just not possible. Someone needs to cast that spell.”

Harry glanced at him in terror. “No,” he whispered beggingly, shaking his head in denial.

“Yes,” Severus confirmed quietly. “When Voldemort cast Avada Kedavra on your mother, I uttered the Horcrux spell. That's how you became his Horcrux. Harry ...”

“Stop,” Harry cut him off suddenly. “That's enough.”

A long silence ensued. Severus sat absolutely still, not daring to move - fearing that a single motion might shatter the fragile world of anguish and betrayals that contained the two of them.

He waited in silence.

Harry stood up abruptly. He walked through the room, moving almost mechanically, collecting his clothes and books, packing them into his trunk, and the shoulder bag. Severus watched him silently. Harry's face was a frozen mask, and deliberately and methodically, he continued to gather up all that belonged to him, never stopping to look at Severus.

“What are you doing?” Severus asked mildly.

“What does it look like?” Harry offered with eerie calm in his voice.

“It looks like you are about to leave,” Severus said softly. “That's not a good idea... the bond ... I don't think it allows that. You being away from me for a prolonged period of time will likely cause your death.”

“Do you really think I care?” Harry asked, his voice completely devoid of feeling. “I would much rather die, than stay here.”

Severus was not surprised to hear that.

Harry walked out of the bedroom, carrying his shoulder bag, and pulling the trunk behind him. The cage with the snow-white owl was balancing precariously on top of the trunk, but Harry did not seem to notice, or care. Severus was following him closely.

“Harry,” he said softly, once they had entered the dining room. “Please... wait.”

Harry span around and faced him. Seeing the painful look on Severus' face, Harry laughed quietly and contemptuously.

Severus reached out with his hand to touch him. Harry moved out of the way instantly.

“Don't you ever - ever touch me again,” he said firmly. “Don't ever come near me again.”

“Harry,” Severus said again, almost automatically, moving towards him. He did not know what else to say. Harry's name was the only word left in his mind, and the only thing that still existed, after his entire world had collapsed. “Harry...”

Harry glared at him with loathing, and then, suddenly, without a warning, spat in his face.

Severus did not flinch, or recoil. He simply stood numbly, as if in a daze, watching Harry toss a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace and depart from the Manor.

When Harry emerged at Hog's Head, the hostess looked at him in disbelief.

“Harry Potter,” she said incredulously. “What brings you here?”

He gave her a crooked smile and flashed his Gringotts card at her.

“Private Room, hypnotic gin, pumpkin juice, and don't bother me,” he demanded. His money spoke for itself, and she nodded in acquiescence.

In a dark, grungy room, Harry mixed a drink, leaned back in his chair, and put his legs up on the table. He felt oddly calm, given all that had happened. He had spat in his Master's face, he had defied the strongest slave-bond in the wizarding world... the slave-bond that would likely kill him within a few days - but he could not care less. He drank quietly. His stomach was virtually empty - he had barely eaten anything during his dinner with Lucius and Severus - and alcohol hit him hard, setting his innards on fire. His mind was in a daze, but he welcomed the feeling of vague disorientation. Better that, than...

He sniffled a little, and cursed under his breath.

He had promised Dumbledore he'd come to him in case something went wrong - but he had no intention of doing so. Dumbledore had known the truth... the reason for Harry being drawn to Severus ... and he still let him drink the bloody potion. Dumbledore was the last person Harry would go to.

Harry opened his trunk and surveyed his belongings. His Invisibility Cloak, the Hyppogriff Feather, the Marauders Map, and his family photos. He pulled out a parchment and a quill, and jotted down a note. He was leaving everything he had to Ron and Hermione. Hopefully the Invisibility Cloak would come handy in battle...a battle he would never live to see.

He opened the photo album then, and stared at the pictures of his parents. In those pictures, their arms were holding them, and they were smiling kindly, at each other, and at him.

“I betrayed you,” he said to his mother. Ache gripped him as he stared at her serene, kind face. She died to save him... He wished she had just moved aside and let Voldemort take him then. He loathed himself, utterly and completely, for giving himself to the man who had used her death to preserve the soul of her murderer. The memory of sex and intimacy with the man made him physically nauseous, and wistfully nostalgic at once. “Sorry, mom,” he murmured contritely.

He had nothing to say to his father. Severus had called James Potter a swine once. Harry smirked unhappily. Severus Snape had a point there, he thought with grim amusement. His father had taunted and bullied Severus back in school... and most likely it was because of him that Severus Snape became so embittered and angry, and joined Voldemort, finally bringing death to the Potter household. Still, James Potter was his father, and Harry was not about to curse his memory.

Harry finished his drink in a quick gulp, feeling slightly dizzy, and mixed another one, putting more gin than juice in it this time. He sipped again, shut his eyes, and sighed tiredly. He wasn't sure how long he sat nursing his drink; but suddenly, he felt a movement across the table from him, and opened his eyes. A woman who looked vaguely familiar sat across from him, sipping firewiskey right out of a large bottle.

“I asked for a private room!” they blurted out at the same time - and then, they both laughed drunkenly together.

“Professor Trelawney,” Harry giggled.

“Harry Potter,” she said with a hesitant smile. “My favorite student ...”

He glanced at her briefly and snickered. “Aww, I'm only your favorite, cuz you get to predict my death every year,” he laughed and hiccuped.

She snorted at that and sipped from the bottle.

“You know, you shouldn't drink to improve your self-esteem,” Harry said seriously, as if lecturing a first-year student on dangers of underage Apparating. “If you drink yourself stupid, you are just letting the likes of Umbridge get to you ...”

“She doesn't need to get to me,” Sybill Trelawney said suddenly and belched loudly. “I'm a fraud. No better than a squib, really. I know the theory, but ... Divination just doesn't agree with me. Three hundred and nineteen prophecies I uttered, Harry Potter... Three hundred and seventeen of them were utter gibberish and nonsense.”

“Meh,” Harry shrugged. Two out of three hundred and nineteen isn't bad.” He sipped his drink slowly and luxuriously, feeling his disorientation increase every moment. He gazed into his teacher's face, and her dark eyes stared back at him, appearing to be absolutely enormous behind the huge glasses she was wearing.

Holding his gaze, she spoke suddenly. Her voice sounded deep and unfamiliar, as she uttered the words with agonizing slowness:

The bonds of affection are patiently wrought,

Through them, he draws the twin he had fought.

Through them, he ensnares the traitor's groom;

Immortal hope he seals in a tomb.

Yet, life eternal, for flesh, is a lie.

Seven times born, once he shall die.

For just above the heart of gloom,

Lies trace of fire, in wood entombed.

He stared at her in disbelief.

“Professor,” he said quietly. “Are you.. alright?”

She sat up with an abrupt jolt, as if snapping out of a trance.

“Did I just... say... something?” she asked hesitantly. She sounded almost sober.

“A mouthful,” Harry confirmed gravely. He reached for a parchment and a quill, and jotted down the words while they were still fresh in his memory. She was watching him with dread.

“I am quite certain I didn't say anything,” she said with a tremor in her voice. “Maybe I should stop drinking...”

“Maybe,” Harry agreed easily. “But don't give up on Divination. You have a gift.”

She picked up the bottle and fled the room quickly, without looking back. For a moment, Harry wondered if he had really seen her, of she was just an alcohol-induced hallucination; but the lines of poetry he had scribbled on the parchment stood as a testament to the reality of their encounter.

This last prophecy was easy enough to understand, he thought. Harry was the “twin” that Voldemort was seeking, and Snape's lover, “the traitor's groom”. He was drawn by Voldemort through the bond that he had created between him and Severus. “Seven times born” was Voldemort, who had attempted to ensure his immortality through his seven Horcruxes. However, Voldemort would not live forever, because his Horcruxes would be destroyed. All of them. Harry would die, and be “sealed in a tomb”.

He grinned sadly. He'd come full circle, he thought. The first prophecy of Sybill Trelawney did say, “either must die by the hand of the other.” Him being a Horcrux, he knew he had to die in order for Voldemort to be defeated. Somehow, he had envisioned dying in battle, or perhaps facing Voldemort one-on-one, in a proper wizard duel... not drinking himself into oblivion while the imperceptible, unrecognizable, intangible, insidious slave-bond, established by Voldemort, killed him for defying his Master. But then again, perhaps that was a fitting end for the “savior of the wizarding world” - to die as a runaway slave, alone, in a grungy bar, taking the piece of Voldemort's soul to the grave with him.

Harry finished his drink, slid off the chair, sprawled on the floor, and reached out to the bottle with his hand. He drank the rest of the gin straight from the bottle, setting his entire body aflame, and then, shut his eyes, allowing darkness to claim him at last. With his last waking thought, he welcomed death. Sybill was right, he thought bitterly. He would die, and be just “a trace of fire, in wood entombed”, but fortunately for everyone, in order to ensure the salvation of the wizarding world, he wasn't required to be more than that.

Left alone, Severus Snape paced around the Prince Manor like a caged animal. His duty was clear enough - he had to die in order to set Harry free from the slave-bond. He had the potion already on hand - something fast-acting and painless. Yet, he found himself hesitating, and wondering how long he could wait, before the slave-bond asserted itself and caused Harry's death.

He was not motivated by fear - at least not fear for himself. However, he was reluctant to die without having uncovered the truth behind the unknown ingredient in the potion Harry had drunk. Perhaps it could wait.. wait just one day, he thought, giving him the opportunity to venture into the Knockturn Alley, retrace Ron Weasley's steps, and attempt to uncover the mystery. Whatever it was, had to be serious enough to place protective spells and hexes on the text about it...

He idly considered murdering Lucius Malfoy before taking his own life; leaving his own godson fatherless. Severus smirked unpleasantly. He decided that, before he did anything else, he would let Albus know. Perhaps Albus had a card up his sleeve, or a miracle, ready to be pulled out of the Sorting Hat... but somehow, Severus doubted it.

How he loathed himself in this moment... how he loathed himself, for everything he had ever done. Thinking of Harry made him physically ill. How he had despised him all these years, and how he had agonized over him, as well. And now... .now he had finally destroyed him, at the mere age of sixteen... the exact age that Severus and James were, when their animosity had become legendary throughout Hogwarts.

X x X

In the office of Albus Dumbledore, sixteen year old Severus Snape was fidgeting. He was shifting in his chair uncomfortably, clenching and relaxing his fists, and glancing up now and then at his Headmaster.

“Don't be nervous, my boy,” the Headmaster said mildly.

Severus gave him an incredulous look and stood up with a jolt. “I don't want to do this. I am going to leave.”

Albus Dumbledore nodded serene acceptance. “If you choose, you may. Of course, they will see it as a sign of weakness...”

Severus groaned at the obvious manipulation, but sat back down. “I don't believe you talked me into it.”

With his usual kindness and gentleness, Dumbledore had convinced him to sit down in his office, together with James Potter and Lily Evans, and talk out their differences. He would act as a mediator, the old Headmaster said. He was eager to see their ... tensions... resolved. Severus had almost snorted at the word “tensions”... but complied.

The rivalry between Severus and James Potter had reached its peak. It used to be mostly verbal, with a few hexes now and then, and a few physical shoves here and there... but recently the animosity had escalated to a whole new level. Severus winced, remembering the degradation of collecting his clothing from trees and shrubs, while James and the other Gryffindors snickered and laughed. They departed eventually, leaving Severus to himself. As he watched them go, their backs turned to him, he had considered hexing them...but then, oddly enough, he decided against it. Covering their faces in sores or making them throw up violently for days, just did not measure up to the humiliation they had put him through. Fury settled into his bones and became an undercurrent to his entire existence.

The Headmaster found out, of course. Severus barely suppressed a mortified groan when Dumbledore made him tell his side of the story. No, Severus said, rolling his eyes, he was not sexually assaulted. No, he wasn't physically harmed. Just stripped naked and utterly and completely degraded in front of the four Gryffindors who hated him ... Just made a laughingstock of the House of Slytherin, as well. He did not say that part out loud - he did not need to.

“Yes, I talked you into it,” Dumbledore confirmed quietly. “What else could I do? Sit silently and watch my favorite student destroy himself from within?”

“I am not your favorite student,” Severus said with surprising ire. “James Potter is. If he hadn't been, you would have expelled him by now. But you didn't. Why not?”

“Because,” Dumbledore said firmly. “There is a great deal of goodness in him... He is courageous, loyal to his friends, he knows how to take risks... and he knows how to love. I suspect if you can put your rivalry behind you... and become friends, you can be each other's salvation.”

Severus looked at him grimly. “A prophecy, Headmaster?”

Dubmledore shook his head. “I have no gift of divination, my boy. But I have been observing young people long enough to see dangers of damnation and opportunities for deliverance.”

Severus smiled a little. “Maybe it's James Potter who is damned.”

“You both are,” Dubmledore said gravely. “If you don't put this animosity behind you. I can see the signs ... you have been invited to spend a part of your holidays with the Malfoys, haven't you?”

Severus nodded reluctantly.

“You shouldn't accept the offer, in my opinion,” Dumbledore said quietly. “If you never listen to any of my advice, listen to this one. You are not strong enough to handle a friendship with him.”

Severus shrugged indifferently. Lucius Malfoy, only a year older, had taken him under his wing. It had been a welcome association, if not particularly deep. Lucius was not as skilled with Dark Arts, or as clever as Severus - but even so, for some reason, he scared him at times. Still, it was one of the few connections that Severus had made, and he wasn't about to let it go. He was about to open his mouth and say something along those lines, but the knock on the Headmaster's door interrupted him.

Following Dumbledore's invitation, Lily Evans and James Potter walked in.

“Young people,” Dumbledore said quietly. “I have spoken to each of you in private. You have all agreed that it's time to settle this. Are you familiar with the expression, Peace begins at home?”

The boys stared at him sullenly. Lily Evans nodded slightly.

“Hogwarts is your home,” Dubmledore said gently. “What is born here, will go forth into the world, once you leave the walls of the school. It's time to make peace.”

Severus stood up and glanced at Lily uncertainly.

“I am sorry,” he said without prompting. “I am sorry for calling you names... You did not deserve it. That was cruel and ... unfair.”

She nodded readily. “No big deal, Severus... and thank you. I accept,” she said quickly, and extended her hand to him. Severus breathed a sigh of relief. They shook hands firmly, and he was surprised at how her touch exuded kindness and comfort, subduing the rage within him. Their handshake lingered just for a second longer than it had to. James noticed that, and apparently, misjudged it. He glared at Severus with hostility.

“Too scared to beg for mercy on your own, Snivellus?” James asked contemptuously. “The proud Slytherin needed the Headmaster to protect him? Did you need his help finding your underpants that day, too?”

Dubmledore thundered something at James - Severus could not hear what. He was beyond hearing, beyond absorbing anything else from either of them.

Severus released Lily's hand from his, and gazed at James coldly. The rage returned, in full force - but it no longer was a foreign presence in his body. It became a part of him, a subtle, intangible, imperceptible force that gripped him, claimed him... enslaved him.

Severus shrugged nonchalantly. “Later, Potter,” he said with absolute calm. “I'll see you when school is out.”

He left the office quickly, without looking back. And Dumbledore, who had never ran after anyone, ran after Severus this time, caught up with him, and placed his hand on his shoulder.

Severus spun around and faced him. Before Dumbledore could even open his mouth, Severus cut him off.

“Go fuck yourself, Headmaster,” he said, and strode away briskly, before he had a chance to regret his decision.

X X x

Severus lifted his arm and wiped his face. He should have listened to Dumbledore, he thought tiredly. Maybe he should have just fallen at Potter's feet back then, and begged him to end the feud. The noble Gryffindor would have pitied the sniveling, wretched Slytherin student, of course... and they would have all lived happily ever after.

Instead, he had become responsible for the murder of both James and Lily Potter. And then, throughout the years, he had despised, taunted, and bullied their son... while trying to look after him as well. How had he despised him... because he was so much like James, in so many infuriating ways. Because he had so little regard for his own life, and Severus endured hours of agony each time after rescuing him. Because he was arrogant, snide, disrespectful, rude, disobedient... and most of all, because it was easier to feel loathing, than guilt.

And now, Severus thought, it was over. He was a monster, an abomination, who had visited the sins of the father on the son, throughout the years... and from the boy's infancy.

When he fell asleep, James Potter's face stood before his eyes, the usual contemptuous smirk on his lips.

“Ready to die yet, Severus?” James asked icily.

Severus looked at him with loathing and dread. And then he spoke, addressing him one final time:

“I forgive you.”

Could the unforgiven forgive? Severus wondered idly.

James looked at him thoughtfully, the smirk disappearing from his lips.

“Yeah,” he said calmly. “Okay.”

The vision disappeared, replaced by dreamless dark.

Harry woke up with a splitting headache, and a nausea that defied reason. He opened his eyes, and saw a blurred face above him.

“Hermione,” he said.

She pointed her wand at him and pronounced healing and restoration spells. He breathed deeply as he pounding between his temples began to ebb away. The nausea receded as well. He attempted to sit up, but couldn't - and he just collapsed on his back again, and surveyed the room he was in. It was Ron's room, at the Burrow.

“How long was I out?” he asked, his voice sounding unusually hoarse.

“Just the day,” she said. “You really did a number on yourself this time, Harry. Whoever gave you the idea to mix hypnotic with pumpkin juice?”

He winced as his stomach lurched again. “How did I get here?” he asked.

“The hostess firecalled, when you passed out on the floor,” Hermione said disapprovingly. “Oddly enough, she decided not to send you to St. Mungo's. Probably not good for business to advertise that the teenage legend of the wizarding world got overserved in her fine establishment.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Hedgwig?”

“She's fine,” Hermione assured him. “What happened with Snape?”

“Nothing,” Harry said sullenly, turned on his belly, and buried his face in the pillow.

“Did he hurt you? Did you run away?” she demanded. “Tell me.”

She sat on the bed next to him, and waited. Then Harry broke down and talked, telling her absolutely everything. He even told her about his first time with Severus, which normally would have left him mortified to talk about, but he no longer cared. All his defenses and inhibitions were completely gone, and it was as if his entire body and mind were beginning to weaken, and fade out of existence. Finally, he finished, and stopped, only to realize that he was crying. In complete silence, Hermione hugged him and held him in an iron grip, while he sobbed, agony stabbing through him with every breath.

He cried for a long time, sobbing desperately in her embrace. Eventually, he ran out of tears, having cried himself to complete exhaustion.

“You should eat something, or at least drink something,” she said gently.

He shook his head. His insides were a knot of agony and tension. His throat was constricting with every breath.

“Is it the slave-bond?” she asked softly. “Urging you to kill yourself?”

He almost laughed at her question. “What do you want me to tell you, Hermione? There are no voices in my head telling me to off myself. But I really think I might as well die this time. I mean... we all know I should, one way or another.”

Hermione's grip on him tightened even further. “Not like this,” she said firmly. “We'll figure something out. I am not sure what... but we will.”

He turned to her and shot her an incredulous look. “You think I should go back?”

Hermione sighed deeply. “We should tell Dumbledore...”

Harry laughed with a shrill note of despair in his voice. “Dumbledore can piss off. He doesn't care. He cares about the war, not about me.”

Hermione shook her head.

“Look, Harry,” she said softly. “We'll figure something out. Something you can live with, okay? Maybe Snape can drop by a few times a week to give you ... you know... a fix of his presence... just enough to satisfy the damn bond. Or if you need to go back, Ron and I will come with you, so that you are not alone there. I don't know. I just know that we can't let you die. Not like this.”

Harry shrugged indifferently. “Whatever, Hermione.”

“Well,” she said sadly. “Go back to sleep then. We'll figure it out tomorrow.”

He stretched himself out on Ron's bed, and fell asleep almost instantly.

In his dreams, green flashes of raw energy washed over him. He heard a woman scream, and her cry was both distant and hauntingly familiar. He felt someone's arms lifting him and cradling him; then, carrying him away. The stark, bare branches of trees loomed over him, swaying in the cold wind, against the dark, starless sky. There was a smell of wilted grass, and smell of autumn leaves, all around him. He awoke - but the smell of October still lingered in the air, even after the dream had dissipated.

Harry opened his eyes, and saw him - Severus - sitting on the floor, across the room from him, leaning against the wall.

Neither said a word.

Harry wondered idly how Severus got in... whether Ron or Hermione got nervous and firecalled him, or whether he came on his own... but then Harry decided it didn't matter.

He looked at Severus. The black eyes met his gaze and held it firmly, and Harry looked away almost instantly. He had never felt so much despair and resignation in his life just being next to someone.

This man had seized him, took him away from his murdered parents, cradling him as he carried him away, forcing the irresistible attachment to form, binding Harry's soul and body to himself. The man was his captor, his owner...his master. He had always belonged to this man - body and soul, without ever knowing it. Voldemort's potion was just the finishing touch in his enslavement.

“You came to take me back?” Harry asked, still looking away. Suddenly, he realized he no longer cared, one way or another.

The man's answer, however, surprised him.

“No,” Severus said quietly. “You don't have to come with me. I came to... try and explain...”

Harry glanced at him disbelievingly. “Explain? Well , explain this. You were already working for Dumbledore then?”

“Yes,” Severus confirmed reluctantly. “I was. Not long, but yes, I already was. Never defying Voldemort, or going against his explicit orders... just... slipping information to the Order now and then.”

“He trusted you,” Harry muttered under his breath. “And yet, you still turned me into Voldemort's Horcrux...”

Severus nodded slightly, and continued talking, as if unwilling to be deterred:

“I had participated in a number of raids before the assault on Gordic Hollow. But those were more like real battles, Harry... never, when.. it was just a family being slaughtered, with a child being there. When... we entered the bedroom, where Lily was holding you in her arms. She looked at me, begging. But what could I do? Voldemort was too strong. He could not be defeated by any spell or curse from me. Except... well... when he cast the Killing Curse on your mother, I cast the Horcrux spell. Based on my understanding of Dark Magic, I had thought - I had hoped, that if a part of his soul embedded into you, then his Killing Curse would rebound off of you. Turns out, I was right.”

Harry gave him an incredulous stare. “So you made me into Voldemort's Horcrux to save my life?” he asked bitterly.

Severus nodded dejectedly. “I - I figured I had maybe just a second or two before he turned on you and tried to kill you as well. And I wasn't a particularly powerful wizard. All I had was my book smarts. And honestly... I just couldn't think of anything else at the time. So I cast that damned spell. Without saying the words out loud. He never knew I had. No-one knew.”

“I see,” Harry said tiredly. “And then?”

Severus continued softly: “Then, when he vanished... I knew what I had done... and that he would return, eventually... Then, I took you out of Godric Hollow. It was the last day of October. It was cold. I wrapped you in my robe and carried you to Hogwarts. I gave you to Albus and Minerva, and left. I was gone for over a year. But I couldn't stop thinking about you... about what I had done to you. Then I came back, and asked Albus to take me back, and let me help, so that we could be ready when Voldemort returned.”

Harry glanced at him. “But this time, you didn't come to the Order just as a casual informant. This time, it was different. You actively defied Voldemort... and went against his orders, over and over again... and your bond to him punished you worse than before... ever since he incarnated again.”

Severus shrugged. “Albus and I had expected that, but we had ample time to prepare. He taught me how to re-channel the mental discomfort of the bond into the physical pain. He saved my mind.”

“Right,” Harry whispered. The familiar feeling of guilt returned, as he looked at the anguished smile on the man's weary face. “Why didn't you tell Dumbledore?” he demanded.

“I was too ashamed... and too afraid. Afraid that he'd think you'd need to die because of this. And then, when he had finally guessed that you were a Horcrux... he was so broken... so devastated - then I was just ashamed.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something kind, but nothing came to mind. A heavy silence hung between them instead. Finally, Harry spoke again, with renewed hope:

“Look... Severus... if you are the one who created the Horcrux... you have the power to destroy it. I've read about it... if the creator of the Horcrux repents... then it destroys the Horcrux... if you repent, then - the piece of Voldemort's soul in me will be destroyed.”

“I can't,” Severus said softly. “Believe me, I've tried to. I've been trying for over a decade now. I can't. I regret, I am remorseful, I dread what I had done... but I cannot repent of it. Me casting that spell saved your life at that time. I can never repent of it, for as long as I live. I want to. Truly. But - I am just not able to.”

Speechless, Harry stared at him, not knowing what to say to the man who had assisted in Voldemort's survival in the attempt to rescue Harry from him. The man who had spent the last fourteen years atoning for the crime that had saved Harry's life, enduring unspeakable torment, and never feeling he could do enough. Fury, compassion, rage, guilt, resentment, and gratitude all welled up inside, aching and demanding to be let out.

Harry barely moved his lips when he spoke.

Severus looked up at him, startled.

“What... what did you say?” he asked with a tremor in his voice.

“I forgive you!” Harry shouted on top of his lungs, certain that he was loud enough to be heard throughout the Burrow and outside of it.

Severus looked at him painfully. “You shouldn't,” he said in a quiet voice.

Harry smiled a little. “Too late.”

Harry was still sitting on the bed, when Severus came to him and knelt in front of him, burying his head in his lap. Harry stroked the silky black hair gently and then leaned in to kiss it. The smell of October made him nearly dizzy, filling him with a faint, faded memory of death, loss, and salvation. He slid to the floor, and wrapped his arms around his nemesis and savior, holding on to him fiercely.

“I am so - so sorry,” Severus whispered. “I just wish I had thought of something else back then...”

Harry kissed him on the lips, drowning his apologies and protests. He tasted the tears on his tongue, and kissed deeper and deeper, until he had invaded his mouth, until he was almost forcing himself into him. Severus kissed back, with wild, unrestrained passion, holding Harry's face in his hands.

When Harry finally pulled out of the kiss, it was only to say breathlessly:

“Master? Take me home.”

Severus stood up and lifted Harry in his arms effortlessly. Harry threw his arms around his neck and his entire body relaxed in his embrace. He carried him out of the tiny bedroom, down the stairs, and towards the Floo, avoiding looking at either Ron Weasley, or the insufferable Hermione Granger. He left all of Harry's belongings behind - his friends could bring them over later. For now, he was just eager to get them both home.

When they Floo'd in and emerged in the living room of the Prince Manor, Severus sat him on the couch and asked: “Are you thirsty? Miss Granger advised me of your self-destructive spree...”

Harry nodded with a sheepish smile.

Severus brought water, and a nutritional supplement potion, and eyed Harry with concern, while he drank both.

“Tired?” Severus asked gently. Harry just shook his head.

“I am sorry,” Harry said suddenly. He set the empty glass on the side table next to the couch. “For how I acted towards you.”

Severus saw the guilty expression on Harry's face and drew him into a tight embrace, pressing lips to his forehead. “Don't be. Everything is just fine. Trust me.” Everything was better than fine, Severus thought, the wonder of the realization seizing him and overwhelming him. He was forgiven. He no longer had to hide anything from Harry... he could hold him, and kiss him, without feeling he was deceiving him with every touch of his hand, and with every caress of his lips.

Harry sniffled a little, and then said, in a barely audible voice, “I think you should punish me.”

Severus drew him even closer. “Harry... I've destroyed your life... from infancy ... and now you want me to punish you for getting angry? Do you even realize how horribly unfair that is?”

Harry was shaking his head stubbornly. “You saved my life... the only way you knew ... and I spat in your face,” he said quietly.

Stilling himself against the dreadful agonizing guilt, Severus held Harry in his embrace, stroking his hair. “No,” he whispered. As far as he was concerned, Harry hadn't done anything Severus hadn't deserved many times over. He could not even imagine meting out a punishment over something like this.

But Harry leaned against Severus, lips next to his ear, and asked, in a manner that was gentle and retiring: “Severus? Please...”

Leaning back to put some distance between them, Severus reached to Harry's shirt, and unbuttoned it, pulling out the tail of the shirt from the trousers. Harry smiled shyly and allowed him. When Severus took a hold of the collar of Harry's shirt, Harry planted a kiss against his fingers, as if to at once encourage and forgive the upcoming punishment. His hands sliding under Harry's shirt, Severus caressed his skin gently, working to ease the tension gathered underneath it. When he finally removed the shirt, Harry seemed to have barely noticed it, as his expression never changed, and the serene smile never left his lips.

Harry arched his body forward when Severus reached to unbuckle Harry's belt and pull it out of his trousers. Harry lifted himself slightly, allowing Severus to disrobe him completely, and then kicked off his boots. And then, Harry reached for his own belt, folded it in half, and handed it over to Severus.

Severus took the belt, patted the back of the couch with his hand, and said quietly, “Kneel up.” Harry knelt on the couch instantly, arching out his back, and then, Severus felt Harry's face press into the palm of his hand that was still resting against the back of the couch. Severus caressed Harry's face gently, and felt Harry's warm breath on his fingers.

“Harry,” Severus said quietly. “Everything and anything you may think you've ever done wrong... I forgive you. You know this, don't you?”

“Yes, I do...” Harry whispered into his hand. “But.. please...”

Gritting his teeth, and cursing the wretched unfairness of it, and most of all, loathing himself for enjoying the sight of the surrendered body in front of him, Severus delivered a lash against Harry's back, raising a red welt on the pale skin. Harry's entire body shuddered at the blow, but even though he moved his lips, he did not make a sound: Severus only felt a kiss press and linger against his open palm, still holding Harry's face. He caressed Harry's cheek gently, and looked at him with concern. Harry turned to face Severus and nodded to him slightly.

The belt rose and fell, over and over again, leaving weals on Harry's tender back, sides and buttocks. And Severus held out his hand, while Harry kissed it, with every lash that fell on his body. Severus caressed Harry's face, catching his muted cries in his palm, and finally, even the splash of tears that burst out of his eyes.

“Thank you!” Harry breathed out at last, and Severus looped the belt around Harry's shoulders, using it to draw him into a kiss. Harry's body trembled slightly, and his eyes were damp, but he yielded to the kiss easily and eagerly, opening his lips to the tongue that thrust into his mouth.

Their lips still pressed together, Severus wrapped his arms around Harry, and drew him to his chest.

“Why?” Severus asked gently, once their lips parted. “You must know that I was not angry with you.”

Harry nodded furiously, hugging back. “Was angry with myself,” he said quietly. “Too angry ... couldn't believe myself... How mean-spirited, how spiteful I've been... and for what?”

Severus stroked Harry's cheeks, brushing away the tears. “I am worried about you,” Severus said softly. “I know you are not supposed to be able to tell the difference between the bond's urges and your own... but ... is this normal for you? To torment yourself this way? To grant forgiveness for something so horrid, so easily?”

Harry smiled a little through the tears. “I don't care if it's normal. I just know that this time, it's right.”

Without saying anything further, Harry slid to the floor and knelt down, wincing slightly against the obvious pain in his back and buttocks.

“May I?” He asked, looking up timidly.

With dread and wonder, Severus permitted for his robe to be opened, his trousers, to be unbuttoned, uncovering his arousal. Harry's moist, hot tongue caressed the length of his aching cock and circled the head, finally pausing to stroke the slit that was weeping with pre-cum. Harry then took him in, licking, sucking, caressing with intensity that was absolutely stunning. Severus found himself thrusting into the depths of the warm, young mouth that only welcomed every move, over and over again, without pausing or letting up, until finally, Severus emptied himself right into it with a low, almost painful groan.

Harry's lips released the member, but he did not look up. He lowered himself all the way to the floor, as if to express complete surrender. Severus stared down at his kneeling form, his young, slender body littered with marks of the lash, and felt Harry press his lips against his boots. Severus leaned down to stroke his back, finger trailing along Harry's spine. Harry's face only pressed firmer to his boots.

Severus reached for him, and lifted him up gently. Harry's face held a tranquil smile, as he stood before him. Severus run his hand over Harry's injured back and buttocks, and Harry issued a sigh of contentment.

“May I heal you?” Severus asked softly.

“Please... not yet,” Harry whispered, and looked down, blushing deeply. “The marks... they feel good when you touch them.”

Severus lay on the couch, on his back, and drew Harry into his arms, to lie on top of himself. Harry melted into him, pressing a flushed cheek against his chest - even through his shirt, Severus could feel the heat emanating from Harry's face. Severus threw his robe over him, and stroked his welted back and buttocks, over and over again, feeling Harry relax more and more under the touch of his hand.

“Good to have you home,” Severus told him, kissing his hair.

“Home,” Harry repeated blissfully, drifting off to sleep in his embrace.

Harry woke up from a kiss pressed to his forehead. He opened his eyes, to see Severus leaning over him. Harry was stretched out on the couch, with a cushion under his head, his body covered with the long, black robe. Harry smiled and shifted slightly, discovering that his back and bottom were still pleasantly, delightfully sore and warm.

“I guess I should get up,” Harry said reluctantly. “What time is it?”

“It's early evening,” Severus told him. “Getting up may be a good idea. We have Minerva and Albus coming over shortly. They firecalled an hour ago. I also took the liberty of firecalling your friends. They will come by as well, and bring your belonging and your owl.”

“Thanks,” Harry said sincerely. He got up, stretching luxuriously, and proceeded to get dressed. Severus stroked his back gently, and helped him gather his scattered clothes off the floor. Harry smiled shyly and got dressed, while Severus watched him with affection.

In preparation for the company's coming, they drew a set of armchairs around a long coffee table, and placed trays with sandwiches and drinks on it. Once they were done, Severus lowered himself on the couch. Harry sat on the couch next to him, but then, on an impulse, sprawled out, and placed his head in his lap. Severus stroked his hair gently. When Ron, Hermione, McGonagall and Dumbledore Floo'd in, Harry did not bother getting up, just smiled and waved at them. This time he was not doing it to annoy anyone - it simply felt blissfully and completely wonderful to stretch out and rest his head against Severus.

“You alright, Harry?” Ron asked with a wry smile, dragging in Harry's trunk and travel bag. Hermione followed, and placed the cage with Hedgwig on the window sill.

“Totally,” Harry assured him. “Thanks you guys. For everything.”

The four guests sat in the arm chairs around the coffee table. They all ate together quietly, no-one saying anything. Harry glanced up, and noticed that McGonagall looked slightly distressed, and Dumbledore's face held a faint anguished expression, as well.

“You gave us quite a scare, Harry,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Imagine my concern when I received a firecall from my brother this morning, telling me that Harry Potter got blind-drunk in his pub, and had his friends remove him from the premises.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Harry smirked. “On the bright side, though, I saw Trelawney, and we got a new prophecy out of it.” He flicked his wand, summoning the trunk with his belongings. He pulled out the parchment and handed it over to Dumbledore, who read the words out loud:

b

The bonds of affection are patiently wrought,

Through them, he draws the twin he had fought.

Through them, he ensnares the traitor's groom;

Immortal hope he seals in a tomb.

Yet, life eternal, for flesh, is a lie.

Seven times born, once he shall die.

Whilst just above the heart of gloom,

Lies trace of fire, in wood entombed.

/b

When Dumbledore finished reading, Harry realized that everyone in the room was staring at him with trepidation, no-one daring to break the silence.

“What do you think it means?” Hermione asked finally.

“Well... Seven Times Born, refers to Voldemort's seven Horcruxes, I think,” Harry said. “And Voldemort is planning to use the slave-bond to trap me, somehow... and I guess, I am going to die, given the tomb reference.”

Ron and Hermione paled slightly. Severus was glaring darkly, but not saying anything.

“On the bright side, the prophecy says that Voldemort will die too,” Harry said as light-heartedly as he could.

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. “We should act now, don't you think?”

She pursed her lips into a thin, sad smile. “Yes,” she agreed. “We have to proceed with the plan right away.”

“What plan is that?” Harry asked, feeling instant irrational resentment that something having to do with the plan to defeat Voldemort had been formulated without his awareness.

“The rest of Voldemort's Horcruxes must be found and destroyed at once,” McGonagall told him.

Harry nodded. “Hermione, Ron and I have been thinking about it - we have some ideas...”

“I am sure you do, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall cut him off icily. “So do we. In fact, after extensive research and investigation, we have a very good idea of what those items are; where to search, how to destroy them; and several teams of well-trained elite Aurors are ready to act.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered. “I just thought...”

“You thought what, Mr. Potter?” McGonagall asked with obvious ire in her voice. “That you and your friends would be spending your summer holidays, and part of the academic year, hunting for Horcruxes?”

Harry smiled sheepishly, and he saw that Ron and Hermione did, as well. “Well, actually, yes, kind of...”

“Mr. Potter - the destruction of Voldemort's Horcruxes will likely attract his attention to the people involved. You will glue your butt to the Professor Snape's couch for the rest of the summer, and will not even think of getting involved. Same goes for the two of you,” she added, glaring at Ron and Hermione, “and the rest of your Army.”

Ron looked at McGonagall, with a confused expression. “Why would Voldemort try to stop people from destroying his Horcruxes?” he asked. “Won't he just go off and make new ones?”

It was Hermione who answered, with a brief shake of her head. “He can't. You see, most DADA researchers are certain that there can be only up to seven Horcruxes at a time. Moreover, once the seven are created, they become an unchangeable unit... and no new ones can be created, unless all of the original seven are destroyed.”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “Very good, Hermione” he said absently. “And yes, quite right. Fortunately, we already have a head start... two Horcruxes have been destroyed at this point. Harry destroyed Tom Riddle's Diary, and I, Marvolo Gaunt's Ring.”

“But the ring was poisoned, and now you are dying,” Hermione whispered dejectedly.

Dumbledore nodded serenely. “Yes... in a way. You see, while the effect mimics that of poison, the Ring was actually cursed.”

“Oh,” Hermione said weakly. “That's much worse.. without knowing the exact curses used...”

“Quite right,” Dumbledore said gently. “Healing from poison does not require the exact antidote, merely powerful healing spells. With Dark Magic curses, however...an exact counter-curse would be required.”

Ron glared at the Headmaster. “So what - you are just going to die? You are not even going to try some of the more obvious counter-curses?”

“Don't be an idiot, Weasley,” Severus snapped at him. “Firing random counter-curses can easily kill Professor Dumbledore before the effect of the Ring would. And yes, when the time comes, of course we will try... however, don't hold your breath. There are close to six thousand deadly Dark Magic curses that I am aware of. The odds of guessing the right few that had been used on the Ring are rather astronomical.”

“But not impossible?” Ron insisted stubbornly.

“Not impossible,” Dumbledore agreed with a twinkle in his eyes. “Just.. extremely unlikely.”

Hermione and Ron sat quietly, immersed in their own thoughts.

“We should go,” Hermione said finally. There was a faint tremor in her voice, but she fought it back. “Have a good night, everyone... Harry, I'll drop by and see you tomorrow.”

Harry nodded to her; and Hermione and Ron left together, using the Floo to get back to the Burrow.

Upon their departure, a heavy silence ensued once again.

Finally, Dumbledore broke the silence and spoke with unusual gentleness:

“On that note, I feel I should let you two know that, once I am gone, I intend Professor McGonagall to succeed me, as the Headmistress, and as the leader in all matters pertaining to the war. Over the next several months, in preparation for my death, I will be incrementally transferring my authority to her. Although her approach usually differs from mine, I am certain that she will guide you well.”

Severus nodded slightly. “I will be reporting to Minerva then?” he asked impassively.

“Yes,” Dumbledore said softly. “Do you have a better idea?”

“No,” Severus said. “That's fine. I accept.”

McGonagall glanced at Severus almost apologetically. “I realize that I can never replace Albus...”

“No,” Severus agreed, but without accusation in his voice. “No-one could. But we will make do.”

She stood up abruptly. “I should get going,” she said softly. “Albus, would you please find me once you come back to Hogwarts?”

“Of course,” Dumbledore assured her, and surprisingly, gathered her up in his embrace. She hugged him back, smiling sadly, and then she departed.

Left alone with Severus and Harry, Dumbledore eyed them both thoughtfully.

“How are you two... coping?” he asked cautiously. “What was Harry's sudden departure all about?”

Harry glanced at Severus, who smiled bitterly.

“Lucius had disclosed my involvement in the raid on Godric Hollow to Harry,” he said coolly. “An animated conversation ensued.”

Dumbledore nodded serenely. “I can imagine. And now? Have you worked it out?”

“Yes,” Harry said firmly. “We have.”

Dumbledore eyed Harry with concern. “Severus, would you leave us please?” he asked kindly.

Severus nodded instantly, and left the living room. Harry glanced at Dumbledore questioningly.

“Harry,” Dumbledore spoke quietly, but there was an undercurrent of fury in his voice. “You've broken your promise to me.”

Harry glanced at him cautiously. “What do you mean?”

“You had promised to come to me if something went wrong here. You didn't.”

Harry felt an instant surge of irritation. “Whatever,” he said resentfully. “I didn't feel like it.”

Dumbledore glared at him. “You could have gotten yourself killed, roaming around Hogsmeade, blind-drunk and homeless. Next time, if something goes wrong, I expect you to report to me, or Minerva, at once. Is that clear?”

Harry snorted disrespectfully. “Or what?”

“Or,” Dumbledore said gravely, “I will get you out of here and keep you in a cage for the duration of the summer, to ensure your safety.”

Harry laughed a little. “Thanks for that, but need I remind you that the slave-bond will eventually kill me if I am removed from my Master's care?”

Dumbledore rose an eyebrow. “I will find a cage big enough for both you and Severus,” he said without even a trace of amusement in his voice.

“Fine,” Harry sighed with resignation. “Okay... fine. I promise... really.”

“Very well then,” Dumbledore spoke peacefully. “Good night, Harry.”

He departed shortly, and Harry remained sitting quietly on the couch. Resentment, anger, and frustration coursed through him when he thought of Dumbledore... and then, ache ran through his entire body, and he felt his heart clench in his chest when he thought of the Headmaster's imminent death.

Severus returned to the living room and sat on the couch next to Harry, drawing him into a secure embrace. Harry leaned into him, drowning himself in his arms. Severus pressed his lips to his head, and Harry found his grief and anger ebbing away, dissipating, being replaced with complete tranquility.

“Are you alright?” Severus asked softly.

“Yes,” Harry told him with absolute sincerity. He suspected that hard times were ahead, but for the moment, he felt peaceful and safe, held in his Master's arms.

When Harry fell asleep in his arms, Severus considered carrying him to the bedroom - but changed his mind. Harry looked completely and utterly peaceful - and Severus did not want to wake him. He covered him with his robe, and slid a pillow under his head. Harry barely moved in his sleep.

When morning came, Severus woke him up with a brief kiss, and Harry threw his arms around his neck instantly. “Good morning,” Harry mumbled happily, pressing his face against Severus' robe.

For a few minutes, they stood silently, their bodies pressing together. Severus could hear Harry's heartbeat.

“We should probably go make breakfast,” Severus said finally.

They went into the kitchen together and cooked - or rather, Harry sat Severus in a chair and told him not to move; and proceeded to make breakfast. Severus watched him affectionately and with just a twinge of guilt.

“This can't be a very pleasant thing for you to do,” Severus said hesitantly. “I doubt you have ...enjoyable memories cooking for your family.”

Harry turned around and smiled wryly. “I'm making new memories... Cooking for someone I love is not exactly unpleasant.”

Severus stood up abruptly and came up to him. Harry's smile faded quickly. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn't mean to...”

Severus took his face in his hands and looked at him thoughtfully. Harry was biting down on his lip, blushing a little. “Harry,” Severus said quietly. “If I loved you - would you want to hear it?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered breathlessly.

“I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone,” Severus said simply. “More than I can put into words. You've changed my life.”

Harry struggled to speak for a minute but then a smile reappeared on his face. “Well... maybe your words to Dumbledore that day were prophetic... when you told him we were going to establish a passionate Master/slave relationship and live happily ever after...”

Severus laughed slightly. “Indeed.”

Harry's eyelashes fluttered, with tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but the smile still played on his lips. “We should get married, you know,” Harry said mischeviously. “And, in a few years, adopt a bunch of rugrats. Your place is big enough for a whole herd of them.”

Severus smiled faintly. “Don't know about that, Harry... What if some of the poor brats get sorted into Gryffindor?”

Harry gave him a fierce glare. “I hope they all do!” he spat defiantly.

“I bet you do,” Severus said with feigned disdain.

Harry snickered and pressed a kiss against his hand. Severus wrapped his arms around him. For a fleeting moment, it all seemed attainable... winning the war, living together, cooking breakfast together, day after day, having unruly, obstinate, little Gryffindors running through the enormous Manor... but then, the reality of their situation dawned on Severus, and he stilled himself against the ache stabbing through him. Harry was expected to die... Albus, too; and there did not seem to be a way to avoid what was ahead.

They ate breakfast quietly, and retreated into the living room, where Severus gathered Harry up in his arms and simply held him, absorbing every slightest movement of the young body with his. It was afternoon already, but Severus could not bring himself to end the bliss of their embrace, as the world around him, and time itself became meaningless.

They were interrupted by a firecall coming in. Severus accepted it, and turning to the fireplace, Harry and Severus saw Hermione's face.

“Professor Snape,” she said very quickly, “I need to come over right away. May I?”

There was an urgency in her voice, and Severus did not bother with a usual snide remark. “Of course, Miss Granger,” he said simply, and a couple of seconds later, she emerged from the Floo.

Her hair looked slightly disheveled. She was wearing her usual jeans, and a hooded shirt - and surprisingly, a pair of gloves that covered her both hands. It was ... odd, Severus decided, eying her suspiciously. To wear a pair of gloves on a warm June day was rather... strange.

“Miss Granger,” he said evenly. “What...”

“I was in the Knockturn Alley,” she said without a preamble. “I think I have information on the Wailing Willow Bark.”

“You think?” Severus asked impatiently. Harry glanced at her in confusion as well.

“I was Oblivated,” she told them. “My notebooks and scrolls were gone when I came to. But I recorded the information ... or at least I think that I did.”

“Would you please stop speaking in riddles and tell us already!” Severus snapped unkindly. “Where did you record it?”

She lifted her glove-clad left hand. “Right here,” she said, smiling with a bit of embarrassment. “With one of the Blood Quills. I figured that whoever was hiding the information would take away any notes I made, but something like this might go unnoticed... I laced the glove with ink, too, to make the lines more visible - but I think the ink had irritated the cut, and now the glove is stuck right into it...”

Harry's mouth opened in shock. “You've mutilated your own hand? Are you completely insane?”

She looked at him with amusement. “Honestly, Harry, you are the one to talk...”

Severus stood up and took her gloved hand in his. “Have you attempted to remove it?” he asked.

She nodded. “It's stuck pretty good,” she said sheepishly. “I don't really know how to spell it off...without damaging the lines. Do you?”

“No. That requires medical precision. I can, however, make a potion that will dissolve the glove around your hand.” Severus felt the material with his fingers. “Nundu hair?”

“Ninety percent Nundu, ten percent Unicorn,” she told him.

Severus nodded. “Follow me.”

Harry and Hermione both did, as they reached his potions laboratory and he started combining the ingredients hastily, tossing the powdered substances into a small cauldron. Hermione was shifting uncomfortably, pressing her right hand against her left.

“You are fidgeting. Are you in pain?” Severus demanded.

She shook her head. “No, but it itches like crazy.”

“Serves you right,” he muttered unsympathetically. “I should have known better than trust the word of a Gryffindor.”

“I kept my word,” she said defiantly. “I promised I wouldn't let Ron go back, and he didn't...”

“I see,” Severus sneered. “Instead, you went yourself, and returned with a wound requiring medical attention. I agree, this is much better. ”

She shrugged unapologetically. “Actually, it is. Ron went on an impulse... when he was Oblivated, he didn't even remember why he went - I think that spell erases several hours of your memory. I, on the other hand, have been planning this for the last five days... so when I woke up face down at Borgin & Burkes, I had a pretty good idea of what had happened.”

Severus shook his head disdainfully, and produced a large bowl, pouring the potion from the cauldron into it. “Put your hand in,” he said tiredly, and she complied quickly.

Harry was staring at her, looking stunned. “Hermione... you are completely crazy. But thank you.”

She winked at him. “No problem.”

Severus gazed at her with a mix of admiration, pity and distaste, as she was soaking her hand in the solution he had provided. “Miss Granger, at the risk of insulting your intelligence, or lack of it... do you realize that there are spells that allow an ordinary quill to record information elsewhere? If you had placed a routine spell like that on a regular quill, the information would have simply appeared in your notebook back at the Burrow. You could have saved yourself quite a bit of needless discomfort.”

To his surprise, she nodded. . “I thought about that. I almost did that, actually, but then Ron's dad told me that most government offices with sensitive information have wards and charms to counteract that effect. I was pretty sure that any shady store in Knockturn Alley would as well ... same goes for remote communication devices.”

“But they wouldn't have wards against Blood Quills,” Harry snickered. “I guess they didn't think anybody would be insane enough to use them for this purpose...”

Hermione smiled wryly. They watched the glove slowly dissolve around her hand, baring the scarred flesh, covered in ink. She reached for a small towel that Harry handed to her, and wiped her hand, revealing the dark, ink-filled lines, etched into her skin.

Harry and Hermione leaned in to read the lines, and smiles disappeared from their faces at once.

Severus looked as well, and his heart instantly fell as he saw the words:

Of most foul creature's kiss, a twin,

Shall wipe your mind and soul clean,

An empty shell, and naught within,

You shall not live past seventeen.

He felt stinging in his eyes, but compelled himself to maintain a neutral expression. Next to him, Hermione was staring at Harry with dread.

“Harry,” she said pitifully. “Just one month... One month until you turn seventeen ...”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a forced smile, but sounding much calmer than Severus felt. “That's some ... birthday card, Hermione.”

Harry glanced up at Severus and saw a shadow of torment crossing his face.

“Well,” Harry prodded. “Does it mean what I think it means?”

Severus nodded reluctantly. “I don't recognize the words, but I recognize the ... signs. Apparently, Wailing Willow Bark is the termination ingredient.”

Hermione glanced at him, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Explain,” she demanded.

Severus nodded. “It goes back to the times when... child slavery was prevalent. Many centuries ago. Quite a few owners preferred to have children as slaves - but did not want to keep them past a certain age... So the slave-traders discovered and harvested what was known as termination ingredients, something that would simply end the slave's life, when the slave reached the age when the Master would no longer be ... pleased with her. Or him.”

“Pedophile's paradise,” Hermione said grimly. “No wonder we couldn't find any information on it. It must have been wiped clean centuries ago, when the wizarding world got rid of child slavery and banned the termination ingredients?”

Severus nodded dejectedly. “I should have guessed - simply by the conspicuous absence of information - that it was something of the sort...”

Harry was listening to the conversation with distant curiosity, as if it was about someone else. He could scarcely believe that something running through his bloodstream at the moment would turn on him and destroy him in a month's time. He looked at Hermione's hand and re-read the words.

“But this is different, isn't it?” Harry asked quietly. “This won't just kill me.”

“No,” Severus said slowly, with a tremor in his voice. “iOf most foul creature's kiss, a twin /i- this ingredient ... apparently, acts in a manner similar to Dementor's Kiss. It will wipe out your mind, your soul, your personality. When you turn seventeen.”

Hermione bit down on her lip hard, and shook her head stubbornly. “This doesn't make sense,” she said faintly. “Why go into all that trouble? I mean... why not just make Harry drink something that would kill him instantly? Why bother with the enslavement potion? And why make him drink something that will destroy his soul at seventeen?”

Harry smiled bitterly. Next to him, Severus was motionless, almost frozen.

“Because,” Harry told her quietly. “Not all of me will be turning seventeen on July 31st.”

Hermione gazed at him in terror. “Harry...”

“The piece of Voldemort's soul in me, Hermione. It's what - sixty? Seventy years old? The ingredient won't affect it. Its seventeenth birthday had already passed. When I turn seventeen, my mind and personality will die. At that time, the only thing still living in my body will be the fragment of Voldemort... that's all.”

Severus was staring in front of himself vacantly. “I should firecall Albus and tell him,” he said absently.

“Yes, you should,” Harry agreed easily. Severus stood up and walked out of the lab, shutting the door behind him.

Hermione glanced at Harry abjectly. “Harry... I am so sorry... so sorry that I didn't fight you on your decision ... I am such an idiot...” She shut her eyes in a desperate attempt to suppress tears, and Harry hugged her hesitantly.

“Don't be sorry,” he said quietly. “This doesn't change anything, you know. Not really. We all knew that I had to die. All this does is give us a timeline. Like you heard Dumbledore say - it doesn't matter anymore. What's done is done.”

She looked up at him with dread. “Do you think he already found out what it was, and didn't tell you? Do you think that's why he called off the investigation?”

Harry shrugged. “I wouldn't be surprised.”

She sniffled a little. “But why... why wouldn't he tell you? Why would he keep something like that from you?”

Harry grinned light-heartedly. “Because,” he said with a crooked smile, “he didn't want me to run off and do something stupid and self-destructive... before my time was up. At least that's what I think. He really does care about me. In his own way.”

He found that he couldn't resent the Headmaster anymore. He could not fault him for not willing to disclose such a horrible fact. They would both die shortly, he thought - and the manner of death did not really matter a great deal. The only thing that mattered was how they lived out their remaining days, and what they did with the time that had been allotted to them.

Hermione studied her scarred hand thoughtfully. “Harry...”

Harry interrupted her. “Hermione, you should tell Ron, and the rest of Dumbledore's Army. I want you to promise me that you all won't let my body walk around with nothing but the fragment of Voldemort's soul in it. If Severus hesitates, then you must kill it - when the time comes. Promise?”

She nodded silently.

“You can even tell them about the enslavement potion if you think it'll be helpful. I have one month left, it's not like I care about my dignity anymore,” he added with a smirk.

She stood up and hugged him again. “I should go... tell Ron. We'll see you soon...”

“I know,” he said. “Go.”

They both left the laboratory, Hermione departing to Floo back to the Burrow, and Harry, heading to look for Severus.

Harry found Severus in his bedroom. Severus lay on his bed, face down.

“Did you tell Dumbledore?” Harry asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him.

“Yes,” Severus said. His voice was muffled and subdued. “He... told me to look after you.. that's all.”

Harry nodded, unsurprised.

“Severus,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

Severus sat up abruptly, and stared at Harry, even as unrestrained tears were streaming from his black eyes.

“I've killed you,” Severus said painfully.

“No,” Harry reached with his hand to his face and wiped his tears. “Voldemort killed me,” he said calmly.

Severus was shaking his head abjectly. “I had you drink it from my hand...”

Harry grasped him with both arms. I would do it again, Harry thought - if he hadn't, Severus would have been dead by now. But he said nothing of the sort, not willing to add to his lover's anguish. Gently and cautiously, he drew Severus into his embrace, until the man's head was resting against his chest. He stroked his hair over and over again, parting the dark, silky locks with his fingers.

Severus pressed his forehead to Harry's body and sobbed quietly, brokenly, as muttered, disjointed words fell off his tongue:

“Harry... beloved... what have I done to you...”

Harry held him tighter. “You have extended my life by sixteen years,” he said. “Try not to forget that.”

Undone, and broken, Severus sobbed in Harry's arms. His past, all of it, every snide remark, every cruel word, every attempt at bullying Harry, were swarming in his mind, a host of dreadful, guilt-filled memories... and now, the final atrocity, the potion that would claim his soul.

And throughout all of it, Harry held him, kissing his hair, telling him something over and over again, quietly and desperately.

Finally, Severus was able to make out the words.

“I love you,” Harry was saying softly.

Harry guided Severus to lie back on the bed, and took his hands, covering them with kisses.

“Please, Severus,” Harry pleaded with him. “Don't ... I need you.”

Severus turned to Harry and gave a faint smile. “Tell me what you need,” he offered.

Still holding his hands, Harry looked at him seriously. “Not what. Who. You.”

Severus reached for him and pulled him close. Harry sat on top of Severus, straddling his waist. Their fingers locked furiously, almost painfully, and Harry stared at him intently, silently demanding an answer.

“You've got me,” Severus said quietly. “For as long as you want.”

Harry grinned, wrinkling his nose in an almost childish fashion. “Forever then?”

Severus smiled back weakly. “Forever then. However long that lasts.”

Harry leaned forward to kiss him, but suddenly froze in mid-movement, his face wincing from pain.

“Harry - what is it?” Severus asked - but the burning on his own arm was his answer. The Dark Mark was summoning him.

“He's calling you,” Harry whispered, climbing off. “I can tell.”

Severus sat up and nodded. “I'll be back soon,” he added, seeing the expression of utter misery on Harry's face. “Don't worry. Go to your room, try to get some sleep.”

Harry gave him a harsh glare. “I don't think so. I know I can't help - but I will stay with when you come back.”

Severus sighed deeply. “If you must,” he muttered, getting up, and heading out of the bedroom. Harry walked with him, side by side, through the hallways, until they reached the main exit.

“Well,” Severus said awkwardly, placing a parting kiss on Harry's forehead. “See you shortly.”

Harry nodded, and stood in the doorway, until Severus Disapparated.

Arriving to Voldemort's location, Severus saw that some of the others were gathered this time as well. Peter Pettigrew, Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange - along with Volemort were waiting for him. The location was one of the abandoned haunted castles they had been in before. They sat down in a circle, lowering themselves on chairs that looked like they hadn't been used for decades. Smell of mold and decay was everywhere - and Severus wondered why the others did not seem to mind it. Perhaps Bellatrix and Peter were too far gone, but even Lucius did not appear to be bothered by it. It was as if Voldemort's presence held them all in his thrall, not allowing their senses to connect with their minds.

“Welcome, Severus,” Voldemort said in a soft voice, but there was an undertide of danger within it. “Any news to report?”

“Nothing noteworthy,” Severus said absently. Voldemort was reaching into his mind again, looking for answers. Severus put up the shields around his affectionate conversations with Harry, and around McGonagall's and Dumbledore's plans to destroy the Horcruxes .

“Liar,” Voldemort hissed vehemently. “Filth.” Severus shuddered inwardly.

“My Lord?” he asked with an expression of confused abjection. “How have I displeased you?”

“The child found out about the Termination Ingredient,” Voldemort said bluntly. “How could you have let it happen?”

Severus smiled a bit. “Because I knew it would not matter. He confessed me as his Master, and said he would accept death from my hand.” Generating a false mental image was easy, and it seemed that Voldemort was pleased with the outcome.

“Well done, Severus,” he said with unfeigned delight. “Truly well done. And you... were you surprised to find out the truth of it?”

“Yes,” Severus confessed. “Although in retrospect, I should not have been. It's an ingenious plan, my Lord.”

Voldemort scrutinized him with his yellow serpentine eyes.

“Kind of ironic, really,” Severus added casually. “Usually, Willow Bark is meant for pain relief...”

Lucius glanced at him strangely. “It is,” he said in a tender voice. “Death of the soul is the ultimate pain relief, wouldn't you say?”

Severus chuckled a little. “I suppose so. Still, seems a bit far-fetched, if you ask me...”

Lucius smiled defensively. “It's been used for millenia. It's a natural agent... nothing can counteract it. The natural lifecycle of the tree is seventeen years. The bark, properly treated, becomes intangible, and attaches itself to the human mind, and soul, if you will, as if it were a tree-trunk... binds to it... and, if the soul is younger than seventeen, ensures that it never lives past that age.”

Bellatrix Lestrange laughed wickedly, with a note of delirium in her voice. “The legends say that the Willows used to wail and weep for their young victims... hence the colloquial name. It's almost romantic, don't you think, Severus?”

“Yes,” he said sardonically. “Almost.”

“Of course,” Lucius said smugly, “Only the young are affected. The five of us could be feasting on Wailing Willow Bark all night long, and suffer no ill effect...” he chuckled softly. “Poor little Harry.”

Severus smiled distastefully. “Indeed. Well, he will be put out of his misery soon enough.”

Voldemort chuckled benignly. “My my, Severus. I had expected more of an attachment from you. Do you not love your pet, your slave - even a little?”

Severus glanced at Voldemort briefly. “My Lord... I do not know what love is. I only know that it's a dreadful weakness.”

“Go home,” Voldemort said suddenly, looking at Bellatrix, Lucius and Peter. “We will see each other again, shortly.”

They departed one by one. Severus lingered a bit. Voldemort glanced at him. “You've come full circle, Severus,” Voldemort said gently. “I've used you to dispose of Potters once and for all. Does it please you?”

“Immensely,” Severus said with a cold smile.

“Until later, my servant.”

x X x

When Severus was gone from Voldemort's presence, and arrived to the door of the Manor, the delirium caught up with him. The inner voice screamed and threatened, demanded and berated... but this time, it did not sound like Dumbledore, or Voldemort, or even Severus himself. It sounded like Harry.

Severus could hear his voice in his mind, speaking in a cold, harsh tone; and what's more, he could almost see Harry's face in the corner of his vision.

You know what I am, don't you? Harry taunted him. I am your slave-consciousness, Severus. I've caught up with you when you weren't looking... shall we play?

Severus shut his eyes, his hands scraping along the walls, as he advanced to his bedroom, step by step.

Murderer. Liar. Traitor. Harry laughed at him. Look at you go. You'll never make it.

This isn't real, Severus told himself.

Are you sure? How do you know? Do you really think Harry loves you? Or - pitiful old fool - do you think that you love him?

Yes, Severus thought desperately. His resolve was beginning to weaken.

Harry's voice laughed sadly. Severus... You speak of love - but you don't know the meaning of the word. People who love - well.. they don't get off on hurting their beloved. They don't whip them, or cane them, or rape them till they bleed... you have a rather twisted view of love. And now, you've twisted me too. You've turned me into something that I was never meant to be. You should die, Severus. You should die, and set me free.

Severus entered his bedroom, and stood in the doorway. He saw Harry getting off the bed, standing up, looking at him, with his eyes wide open. Severus stared at him blankly, not certain whether Harry was real, or a figment of his imagination.

Then the storm of physical torment overtook him, and Severus collapsed on the bed. The last thing he could feel was Harry's arms catching him, and drawing him in. Severus clung to them shamelessly, as if to a buoy that was floating on the dark waves of agony that was seeking to drown him.

Harry was holding Severus in his arms, while the man's body was shuddering in agony. Harry's first natural reaction was to panic, or to sink into despair, but he bit down on his lip and forced himself to calm down. Second time around it was easier, and besides, this time he knew what was going on.

Harry turned Severus to lie on his back. He unbuttoned the shirt and loosened his robe, and then, sat by his side, holding his hand, and absorbing every tremor and convulsion that coursed through the man's body.

The silent torment went on for a several hours, and then, it looked like the agony began to dissipate. Severus started breathing more slowly and evenly. Harry rested his head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. They slept together until early morning the following day, waking up only briefly to kiss each other, and drift off back to sleep instantly. Eventually, Severus shifted slightly, and made a move to get up. Harry's hands held him back.

“Severus,” Harry said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“Good. Rested,” he said sincerely. “Having you here helped. Thank you.”

Harry was looking at him with a sad smile, his hands trailing along the folds of the heavy black robe.

“May I... undress you?” Harry asked hesitantly.

Severus looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

“I want to see you,” Harry insisted. “Please?”

Severus nodded reluctantly.

Harry smiled a little, and reached to remove his robe. Underneath, Severus wore a thick black old-fashioned overshirt, with buttons alongside the sleeves, as well as from the collar all the way down. Slowly and unhurriedly, Harry worked to undo them all, even as Severus was tense and numb under his touch.

“Are you embarrassed?” Harry asked.

Severus just shook his head absently. “No. Believe me, Harry, I have no ego left at this point. I just don't want you to be disturbed.”

Harry nodded a little, but did not stop. He removed the overshirt, and quickly unbuttoned the white old-fashioned overshirt, that was drenched in his sweat, slowly revealing the muscular, firm body underneath it. Severus looked down , barely breathing, as Harry stared at his nearly hairless, sculpted chest, firm abdomen, and two deep scars that ran across his entire torso.

“What are those?” Harry demanded instantly.

Severus took a deep breath and said quietly:

“From the raids, Harry. When I had been participating. With Voldemort.”

Harry took a deep breath and touched them, fingers contacting the old scar tissue and trailing along. The scars... obtained while fighting and killing others - people... people like Harry's parents. Harry felt a lump at the back of his throat, and sat quietly for a minute, not moving. Next to him, Severus appeared to be frozen as well.

“Why didn't you remove them?” Harry asked in a low voice. “Your noble way of torturing yourself?”

Severus smiled without happiness, or regret. “Not at all. It is my Master's wish that I keep them. He never wants his servants to be whole.”

Harry sighed a little, and embraced Severus, the scars pressed against his own body, hidden between them. Severus tensed even more. Harry kissed his shoulder, sensing the smell of mildew and soil on his skin.

“Come on,” Harry urged him, pulling him off the bed.

Severus stood up numbly, looking away. Harry unbuttoned his trousers, and completed undressing him, which Severus permitted without uttering a word. Harry shed his own clothing quickly, and lead Severus into the ensuite bathroom. He was surprised at what he saw - no tub, just an enormous shower, with a tiled floor, and multiple showerheads hanging overhead. He nudged Severus inside, and they stood together, as the streams of hot water rained over them both.

Severus stood motionless, allowing himself to be held. Slowly, Harry guided him to sit on the tiled floor, under the streams of water pouring from above. Leaning over Severus, Harry washed his hair with gentleness, rinsing out the smell of decay that he had brought in with him from the meeting with Voldemort. Severus sighed deeply, and leaned back slightly, pressing his head against Harry's thigh.

Eventually, Harry slid to the floor next to him, and they lay on the floor together facing each other, touching each other slightly. The water engulfed them, and fell on the floor heavily, rapping against the tiles, and streaming away. Severus looked at Harry with a sad smile.

“Does it scare you?” he asked. “To see me so... weak?”

Harry caressed his face gently, fingers stroking his cheekbones.

“Why would it? Because a Master shouldn't have a single weak bone in his body?” Harry asked, a little ironically.

“Something like that.”

“You are not weak,” Harry said firmly. “You are human. No, it doesn't scare me. If anything, it makes me feel safer with you.”

Harry moved his hands to Severus' chest, and traced the old scars with his fingers, gently and cautiously, as if trying to soothe the pain that was no longer there. Severus shut his eyes, but a disbelieving smile crossed his lips and lingered on them.

Harry shifted and reached up to kiss his lips, and Severus kissed back, first absently, but then, with renewed passion and vigor, caressing Harry's tongue, sucking on his lower lip. Harry moaned quietly, and wrapped his arms around Severus, pressing firmly against him. Severus moved his kisses to Harry's neck, each application of the lips and teeth leaving a faint love bite mark that faded almost instantly. Harry found his breath becoming heavier and shorter.

“I want to make love to you,” Severus said suddenly. “May I?”

Harry lifted himself on his elbow and smiled a little. “You don't ever need to ask,” Harry told him. “Just do as you like. Anytime.”

Harry turned to lie on his belly, his body pressing against the firm tiles of the floor. Severus was stroking his damp back gently, fingers and streams of water caressing his skin together. Harry felt kisses travel along his spine, descending lower and lower, until tongue circled the small of his back. He trembled slightly, and lifted his hips a bit, feeling a hand slide between his cheeks, caressing his cleft, teasing and probing his opening. A sleek finger entered it and teased it. Harry groaned quietly, and pushed back against it, gulping when the tip brushed against his prostate. Another finger was added, and then one more. The caresses became more intense, almost painful, but each time his deep point of pleasure was touched, Harry's hips bucked involuntarily, and he pushed himself against the tormenting fingers. Severus slid his other hand underneath Harry's chest, finding his nipples, squeezing them slightly, one after another, sending ripples of ecstasy through Harry's body. His erect member pressing against the firm floor, his entire body overwhelmed with sensation, Harry begged finally:

“Now... Please...”

Severus sat on top of him, straddling his hips, the head of his cock pressing against Harry's opening. Harry trembled furiously, and mumbled something incoherent when he was entered. He shuddered helplessly as Severus moved inside him, slow, measured, unhurried thrusts pushing further and further in. Still thrusting, Severus leaned forward, kissing Harry's back with every movement, even as his hands caressed Harry's shoulders.

The consummate, careful tenderness of the lovemaking was so unexpected, and so blissful, that Harry found his eyes welling up with tears. Then, in spite of the brilliant ecstasy that was gripping and rocking his body, tears fell, of their own accord, mingling with the torrents of water descending on him from above. He cried soundlessly, cried from the joy of being held and filled, from heartache at the thought that their time together would be too short, from the anguish he had witnessed only a few hours ago, from gratitude, affection, remorse, and wonder.

Strong fingers held his shoulders, steadying him, soothing him. Soft voice spoke something above him, reassuring, comforting, instilling untenable hopes.

He felt Severus tense and climax inside him, and then, Harry spilled himself on the floor with a loud groan.

Exhausted and spent, they lay together on the floor, side by side, facing each other.

The streams of water continued to fall on them and lave them, as if seeking to erase all signs of fatigue and exertion from their bodies: the sweat, the traces of release, the droplets of tears, and the shadows of anguish, recent and distant.

It was still early in the morning, when Severus and Harry made it out of the bedroom. Just as Harry was about to head to the kitchen and make breakfast, a firecall came in from Hogwarts. McGonagall addressed them from the firecall connection.

“It began,” she said without a preamble. “The school has been evacuated - fortunately, not many students were on premises, given that we are on holidays. The members of the Order and the teams of Aurors are gathering to search the school, the grounds, and surrounding area, in the attempt to find and destroy the Horcruxes that we suspect are still around. Please remain where you are and make sure Harry does the same.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Severus covered it with his palm.

“We will. Please keep us updated,” he said quickly.

“I am not sure how much I will be able to,” McGonagall said reluctantly. “We are shutting down the Floo network and all communications until it's over.”

“Understood,” Severus said.

Minerva regarded him cautiously. “We expect that Voldemort will attempt to intervene. We have been told that he had summoned Lucius Malfoy. Possibly some others. Do you expect he will summon you to participate?”

“I doubt it,” Severus said quietly. “I am certain that in his mind, I am more valuable to him as a spy at this point.”

“The joys of being a double agent,” Minerva said dryly. “Good day, Severus.”

When the connection terminated, Harry glared at Severus furiously. “We should be there. We should be helping...”

Severus shook his head. He himself wanted nothing better than to be there, looking for the damned Horcruxes, and fighting... but he knew that blowing his cover now, of all times, was not an option. And as for Harry...

“We will wait here,” Severus said with a finality in his voice.

For a few minutes they sat in the living room, Severus staring in front of himself vacantly, and Harry, fidgeting, until finally, Harry got up and went to his bedroom. Severus followed him closely, and watched in silence as Harry searched through his belongings, first calmly, then desperately, emptying everything out of the trunk onto the floor, and rummaging through his possessions.

“It's not here,” Harry said sullenly.

“What?” Severus demanded.

“The Marauder's Map,” Harry said. “It shows movements of every person at Hogwarts... where they are, where they are going. .. it's not here.”

Severus frowned. “Do you know where you may have left it?”

Harry shook his head. “Don't know. I hope I didn't drop it at Hog's Head while I was drinking with Trelawney...”

Harry fell on the bed on his back and shut his eyes. Severus walked out of the bedroom, and went to his study. He could not focus on any of his readings, and eventually just sat there numbly, staring into a text in front of him, unable to absorb a single word from it. Harry walked in an hour later, and said,

“I am going to the Burrow.”

“Absolutely not,” Severus said gravely. “You are not leaving my side.”

Harry gave him an odd look. “Then you'd better come with me, because I am going, whether you want it or not.”

Severus rose an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“Look, I would rather do it with your permission, but I will do it anyways. You can cane the living daylights out of me when I come back.”

Severus swore inwardly. Going to the Burrow at a time like this was not the best course of action - the last thing he needed was attract attention to himself and be found in the house of the members of the Order. But Harry's face was determined, and Severus relented, imagining the agony Harry must have been feeling at not even being close to his two best friends at this time.

They firecalled the Burrow, and then, Floo'd in. Ginny, Ron, and Hermione greeted them quietly. Arthur, Molly, Charlie, Bill, Fred and George had gone to Hogwarts, Ron advised them.

“Marauder's Map?” Harry asked. “Did the twins take it?”

“Yeah,” Ron said sheepishly. “They were going to ask you for it, but then... your stuff was here when you - you know... came over that night, so they just lifted it. They figured they didn't want you to know something was up until the day it happened. Sorry...”

“No problem,” Harry said with a strained smile. “Hope it comes handy...”

A strained silence ensued, and lasted for a while. From time to time, either Ron or Ginny attempted to strike up a conversation, but it fizzled out almost immediately. Hermione smiled a little and said, in a muted whisper:

“Waiting for Godot.”

Blank looks answered her. Severus was the only one who recognized the reference, as far as he could tell; an Muggle play, where heroes spent their lives in tense anticipation of someone's arrival, doing anything, from swapping hats to contemplating suicide, just to 'hold the terrible silence at bay'.

“Nothing to be done,” Severus told her quietly, and she glanced up at him in surprise, recognizing the quote from the play.

“Guess not,” she agreed reluctantly.

It was late evening, when the Floo finally opened, and one by one, Molly, Arthur, George, Bill and Charlie emerged. From the looks on their faces, Severus could tell that something horrible had happened, and he barely opened his mouth to ask, when Ginny jumped to her feet, and cried out loud:

“Where is Fred!”

Ron leapt to his feet as well, and stared at his parents and brothers.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Molly just shook her head.

Severus and Harry sat in absolute silence, neither daring to speak, even to offer regrets.

“How?” Ron asked finally.

“He died in Fiendfyre, destroying one of the Horcruxes,” George said. “He did it. He destroyed the cup. There was no other way.”

Severus stood up and extended his hand to Arthur Weasley. “My condolences for your loss,” he said.

Arthur shook his hand as quickly as he could and nodded mutely. Then, Arthur's gaze fixed on Harry, and Harry stared back at him.

“I am sorry,” Harry said weakly.

“I am sorry too,” Arthur told him. “Harry...”

Harry stared at him.

“What? Someone... someone else died?” Harry asked.

Arthur nodded briefly, struggling to speak.

“Who?” Harry stammered.

“Remus... Remus Lupin.”

Harry bit his lip, hard, and choked back a sob.

“How?” he whispered.

“One of the Death Eaters killed him... in an attempt to recover one of the Horcruxes.”

Harry nodded dejectedly. Severus placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, but Harry shook it off angrily.

Severus hesitated asking the next logical question, but Arthur had anticipated it, and said quickly:

“Three Horcruxes were destroyed today. The Cup, the Diadem, and the Locket.”

Severus nodded. Only two were remaining, he thought - Nagini, who was always with Voldemort, and Harry.

He glanced at Harry, who was standing quietly, staring at his feet.

“Shall we go home?” Severus asked softly.

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said.

They Floo'd back to the Manor. Severus watched Harry with concern. Harry's face was contorted with anger and pain.

“I shouldn't have listened. Should have gone to Hogwarts,” Harry said bitterly. “If I had been there...”

Severus shook his head. “Harry. I am truly sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

Harry shot him an incredulous look. “You don't need to say things you don't mean on my behalf,” he said stiffly. “I'll live.”

Severus issued a deep sigh. “I do mean it,” he said. “I realize that Remus and I were not ... friendly...”

Harry laughed bitterly. “No kidding. Look... I appreciate you trying to humor me... but don't. You hated him. You feuded with him for the entire year that he'd taught at Hogwarts. Finally, you forced him to resign.”

Severus took a deep breath. “Yes,” he agreed. “Except, I did not hate him. I was angry and scared, but I did not hate him.”

Harry glared at him. “Angry and scared, and why, exactly?” he asked sceptically.

“I was angry, because he was getting close to you, but never thought to tell you he was a werewolf. Albus himself asked me not to reveal his condition to anyone... which made me even angrier. I was scared that one full moon, he'd forget to take Wolfsbane, and you'd be near him...”

Harry's face paled a little. “Just like it happened,” he muttered. “I .. lately I just assumed you hated him because he was one of the Marauders... because he had tormented you, along with my father and Sirius...”

Severus shook his head. “He never had. For what it's worth, out of the four Marauders, he was the most... inoffensive one. He never bullied me, and as far as I could tell, he had no ill feelings towards me. At times I thought he was never really a part of that little gang.”

Harry sniffled a little. “But he never spoke up for you either, did he?” he asked.

Severus did not answer that, and Harry smiled unpleasantly. “I didn't think so. You know - what you are telling me doesn't make it better. It makes it worse. He didn't even despise you - and he just stood by and watched? And did nothing?”

Severus sighed wearily. “Look... Harry. Whatever he did, or did not do at sixteen... he'd lived a decent life since then, and died a hero. For that matter, so did Sirius and so did your father. That's more than I can say for myself. Try not to brood too much over the things of the past.”

Harry looked at him in stunned silence and then left with nothing more than a brief, resentful shrug.

Harry spent a few hours tossing and turning in his bed. His dreams were just fragmented memories and images. He saw Sirius being hit with the Killing Curse. He saw Cedric, falling on the ground at his feet. He saw Dumbledore, speaking of his upcoming death, with a serene smile, and a friendly twinkle in his eye. He saw Fred and George, waving the Marauder's map, completing each other's sentences, laughing and teasing him light-heartedly. He saw the faces of his parents, through the Mirror of Erised. He saw Ginny, sprawled on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, her life draining from her. He saw Remus Lupin, telling Harry how much he resembled his father.

Harry woke up with a muted shout, and kicked off his blanket. His body was shaking slightly, and he felt disoriented - for a few minutes, he could not remember where he was, or why. Then he remembered. He got off his bed, threw on a shirt, and walked through the dark hallway, to Severus.

He entered his bedroom with a gentle knock.

Severus was sitting up in the bed, clad in a long, grey nightshirt, appearing to be deep in thought.

“You okay?” Harry asked, forgetting his own odd dreams.

“Yes. Just a nightmare, that's all.”

“What about?” Harry insisted, climbing into bed with him. Severus looked at him cautiously.

“Perhaps it's best...”

“Just tell me, dammit!” Harry almost shouted. “Why does everyone always think it's best not to tell me anything!” He covered his mouth with his hand immediately, ashamed of his outburst. But Severus just placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and spoke apologetically:

“In the dream, I saw myself over an open grave. A coffin was being lowered into it. Then... I started throwing the dirt in, to cover it up. And at some point, in my dream, I realized that it was you that I was burying... and I woke up.”

Harry sprawled on the bed next to Severus, and placed his head against his thigh. Hand ran through his hair with usual tenderness.

“I think it's just your own mind playing tricks on you,” Harry said light-heartedly. “You heard Trelawney's drunken prophecy, and now you are picturing me being buried, and stuff.”

“Perhaps that is all,” all-too-easily Severus agreed. “Well then, now that the mystery of my premonition is resolved to our satisfaction, shall we get some sleep?”

Harry glanced up at him with a shy smile. “Can I stay with you?”

“Anytime you want,” Severus told him gently. “You never need to ask.”

Harry crawled under the blanket and stretched himself out next to Severus. Strong arms took him into a deep embrace and cradled him, and Harry drifted off to sleep almost instantly, his cheek pressing against Severus' chest.

Morning greeted them with a knocking on the doors of the Manor. They scrambled to get dressed, and walked to open the door. Hermione and Ron stood at the doorstep, smiling uncertainly. They held travel bags in their hands, and the Weasley flying car was parked carelessly a few dozen yards away from the Manor. For a few moments, Severus and Harry both stared at the two friends blankly, until finally, Severus moved aside, and allowed them to enter.

“Sir,” Hermione started saying, and then paused indecisively. Harry and Severus waited for her to continue. Ron gave her a little shove, and she took a deep breath, and finished her sentence: “Can we please stay here?”

Harry opened his mouth to ask them if they both had gone completely insane, but a response from Severus cut him off:

“Mr. Weasley, have you discussed this with your parents?”

“Yeah. They said it was fine,” Ron answered quietly.

“Miss Granger?” Severus turned to Hermione.

She shrugged nonchalantly. “My parents said as long as I come back home in mid-august for a couple of weeks, it's alright.”

Harry was staring at them with his eyes wide open. When he finally found his voice again, he asked, “Why?”

Hermione gave him a small smile. “We just want to be with you. You know. Until we win the war ...”

“And find a way to reverse the effects of the potion you drank,” Ron completed her sentence with confidence.

“Oh,” Harry said absently. “Look, I don't think it's such a great idea. I don't really want you here. I think we should just visit each other...”

“Why?” Ron demanded.

Harry realized that three pairs of eyes were drilling into him, demanding a convincing answer. “It's just... not a good time for a long visit,” he muttered. “I want to be left alone.”

“Nonetheless, it appears that you have been outvoted three to one,” Severus said dryly. “Help your friends settle in. I will be in my study.”

Harry sighed in resignation and led the way to a spare bedroom, adjacent to his own. Hermione and Ron placed their travel bags by the bed and sat on the bed together, their backs to the headboard. Harry sat across from them and gave them both a glare that was far from amicable.

“What's gotten into you?” he asked.

“It's just that... we are meant to be with you. That's all,” Hermione said softly. “It's supposed to be the three of us. Always.”

Harry almost laughed at that, and made fun of her sentimentality, but something in her voice and words resonated with him. He thought back to all their adventures and misadventures... and realized that, whenever something significant was achieved, all three of them were involved.

She saw the thoughtful expression on his face and nodded slightly.

“It's not just a feeling, Harry,” she said gently. “It's Arithmancy. The magic properties of numbers, you know? Remember we talked about the Horcruxes.. how Seven is the number of completeness? Three is a number of power. It's... where unity and diversity combine, and ... great things can be achieved.”

“I always knew I hated Arithmancy for a reason,” Harry smirked. “Sounds like just a bunch of superstition, nothing more.”

Hermione pursed her lips into a mildly contemptuous grimace and gave Harry a pitying glance. But when she spoke, she still appeared to have some patience left:

“Think about it, Harry,” Hermione urged. “Some groups of three are just meant to be. Anyone at Hogwarts, who'd ever done anything that had any permanent impact ... always acted in packs of three. You, Ron and me. Luna, Neville, Ginny. Malfoy has Crabbe and Goyle...”

Harry laughed out loud. Undeterred, Hermione continued: “Then, McGonagall, Dumbledore and Snape are their own trio...”

“They are nothing of the sort,” Harry said dismissively.

“Yes, they are,” Hermione insisted with a serious face. “They just don't know it.”

“What about the Marauders?” Ron asked. “There were four of them.”

Hermione stopped, slightly taken aback.

“Well,” Harry said tiredly. “Maybe one of them wasn't really a part of the group. Maybe they were more like Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson.” iWith Remus Lupin playing the part of Parkison,/i he thought privately.

Ron stared at him incredulously. “What the hell are you talking about, Harry? Are you comparing your father to Malfoy?”

Harry did not meet his eyes. It's been several months since he'd seen the Pensieve, and he never told them. He didn't want to go into details, but neither did he want his friends to go on thinking his dad was the epitome of nobility and justice he'd always painted him to them.

“Let's just say... not all of Marauders' adventures were benign,” Harry said reluctantly.

Ron glared at him with intensity that surprised Harry. “Look, mate... I don't know what's gotten into you, but Malfoy is a git, a coward, and a bully. Not to mention, he's a Death Eater-in-training. My parents knew your father, and he was nothing - nothing like any of the Malfoys.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbled. “Fine. Whatever. But all your stupid rambling about trios and magic numbers is no reason for you to hang here for the entire month. Just stay for a day or two and then go, okay?”

“Why?” Ron demanded

“I like my privacy is all,” Harry said stubbornly.

Ron snorted derisively. Hermione shook her head sadly. “You'll have to do better than that, Harry,” she said softly. “Look... with so many people around us dying...”

Harry stood up abruptly and headed for the door without saying another word, but Ron and Hermione both jumped up and grabbed his hands, holding him back. He shook his hands furiously, throwing them off, but they only latched onto his sleeves instead. He spun around and glared at them.

“You want to know the real reason I don't want you here?” he hissed furiously. “Fine. People are not dying around us. Death ... sort of... stalks whoever is around me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “And he's telling us we are superstitious,” she said under her breath.

“Cedric. Sirius. Lupin,” Harry spoke quickly and pointedly. “Dumbledore is dying. Your own family, Ron - Fred is now dead... I am not even talking about Ginny's little encounter with Tom Riddle's diary. You and Hermione had more near-death encounters during your friendship with me than all other Hogwarts students put together...”

“Harry, stop right now,” Hermione demanded. “You are making it sound like you are cursed or something.”

“I am,” Harry said unapologetically. “Horcruxes are cursed objects, Hermione. Nobody can hold on to one for long, and hope to stay alive.”

He slammed the door hard when he left.

For the remainder of the day, and the morning of the following day, Harry remained in his bedroom, avoiding everyone. When Severus, or others came to knock on his door, he growled insults at them, and did not emerge from his bedroom. Eventually, they received a firecall regarding a memorial service for Remus Lupin and Fred Weasley being held in Hogsmeade, with Three Broomsticks being taken over of the occasion, and Severus entered Harry's bedroom unceremoniously, to tell him that it was time. Harry, looking more withdrawn than ever, only nodded slightly, and proceeded to get dressed. They all Floo'd in back to Hogwarts, and joined the gathering in the Great Hall, that had been spelled to twice the normal size to accommodate everyone.

Others had already began to gather as well. Minerva, Albus and Sybill were there. The Weasleys already there, all standing together, except for Ginny, who was slightly aside, with Luna and Neville flanking her at each side, arms thrown around her. Severus saw Nymphadora Tonks, who stood apart from everyone else, looking down. Her pale face was even sadder than usual, and her hair had turned absolutely snow-white, looking even lighter than Luna Lovegood's.

Ron and Hermione stood together with Harry, who avoided looking at anyone. Slowly, others poured in, and the Hall filled with people.

Of the deceased, there was little left. A small urn with the ashes of Remus Lupin; and nothing was left of Fred Weasley, whose body had been claimed by Fiendfyre in its entirety, along with the Horcrux.

Albus spoke first, then Tonks, then Arthur, then Minerva. Severus found himself barely listening to the words... and looking at Harry with concern. Harry's face was frozen into a stiff mask, and whenever Ron or Hermione reached out to touch him, he only tensed more.

The speeches ended eventually, and then, Severus watched Luna Lovegood make her way to the podium, and speak to Albus about something.

“It appears that we have a song,” Albus announced eventually. “A tribute to the heroes who will never be forgotten.”

The crowd fell silent, all eyes fixing on Luna Lovegood, who stood tranquil in front of everyone, seeming to be unaware of anyone around her. Blond hair cascading down to her shoulders, her eyes were half-closed, and her face calm and focused. Without any further words of introduction, and without any music to aid her, she opened her mouth and sang, her melodic voice bringing the song to the gathering:

Lone's the mist-cloaked road before me lying;

On and on it winds and draws me far.

Night is still, all earthly sounds are dying;

Nature lists to god; star speaks to star.

Clothed in starlight, earth is wrapt in slumber,

And the skies are full of majesty.

Why, then, does reflection, drear and sombre,

Plague my heart and slay felicity?

As she sang, Severus found himself making his way through the crowds, circumspectly, but persistently, determined to advance as close as possible to the words that haunted and drew him.

I await no boons of fate, regretting

Not the past, for that is buried deep.

Ah, to find true freedom, true forgetting

In the calm of everlasting sleep!

Yet I dread the cold and clammy fingers

And the leaden, icy sleep of death.

Would that life within me, dormant, lingered

And I felt its warm and balmy breath;

Would that love's own voice, my ear caressing,

Night and day sang joyful song to me,

And an ancient oak, my slumber blessing,

Swayed above my head eternally.

There were no applause, and no words after that. The conversations in the Hall resumed, and Luna Lovegood stepped down from the podium, standing right in front of Severus. He surveyed her with caution.

“It was beautiful,” he told her evenly. “Though I doubt it reflects the personality of either Fred Weasley or Remus Lupin.”

“The songs are not for the departed,” she answered quietly. “They are for the living.” She looked at him intently.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I suppose they are.”

She extended her hand to him. “My condolences for your loss,” she offered, still staring at him.

“I haven't lost anyone,” he retorted, a little sharper than he had intended. “At least, not this time.”

Her unblinking gaze almost began to unnerve him. “But you think you already have,” she murmured. He could not argue with that, so he just stared back at her blankly. Then, she moved away, before he had a chance to accept her handshake.

He had barely moved when he saw Albus and Minerva approaching.

“Severus,” Albus said with his usual serene smile. “We will speak briefly. Harry should come along.”

“What about Weasley and Granger?” Severus asked, surprising himself. Albus raised an eyebrow.

“It doesn't matter one way or another. Whatever Harry knows, his little secret-keepers will know in turn.”

Severus nodded absently, and went to collect Harry and his friends. A few minutes later, they walked into the Headmaster's office and sat around his desk. Minerva and Albus were already waiting for them.

“The Horcrux hunt went well,” Minerva said bluntly, as soon as they were all seated. Severus noticed Harry's lips forming a thin angry line.

“Now.. the next order of business... Nagini - and Voldemort himself,” Albus said. “Severus - what do you think Voldemort going to do?”

Severus knew exactly what Voldemort was going to do. He was going to set up a secret location, summon his Death Eaters, and bring his two remaining Horcruxes to be in his presence. He would regroup, gather support, and strike back. Severus said so out loud. Albus did not appear to be surprised.

“We need to find a way to track Voldemort and Nagini,” Minerva said. “He had evaded us for years, but this time, we have an advantage.”

“What kind of advantage...” Severus started saying, but then caught himself. Of course. Harry. Severus had no idea where the locations of the Death Eater gatherings were - he merely Apparated as the Dark Mark directed him. Furthermore, no surveillance or tracking spells outside of Voldemort's control could be placed on Severus - the Dark Mark prevented that. However, Harry could be tracked... providing the Order with the location of Voldemort and Nagini.

It appeared that Hermione Granger had caught on as well.

“I don't like this,” she said sharply. “It's risky. To have Harry be under the same roof with Voldemort...Just so that you could track Voldemort and Nagini through him. You are going to use him as some kind of microchipped pet...”

“Meow,” Harry said with a wry smile, speaking up for the first time. “It's a brilliant idea, Hermione. I want to do it.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Here we go again...” he muttered, not even bothering to conceal his distaste.

Albus was regarding the trio thoughtfully. “I won't lie to you, I am hesitant...” he said softly.

Harry glared at him defiantly. “I said I want to do it,” he repeated. “Not because I am a Horcrux, not because I am going to die in a month's time anyways. I want to do it because I want the war to be over. I would do it regardless.”

“Then we will do it,” Minerva said sharply. “On one condition, Harry - no useless heroics. Don't think of your life, however much you have left, as being expendable.”

Harry shrugged with obvious resentment, but then nodded his head in reluctant acquiescence.

“Well then... let us apply the tracking spell now, why don't we,” Albus said gently. His wand pointed at Harry, and a series of spells were uttered. Harry shifted uncomfortably a few times, but then relaxed, and glanced at Albus.

“That's all,” Albus assured him with his usual kindness, and then gazed at Severus and Harry at once. “I will offer another word of advice, to both of you, that you may or may not heed. You don't know when Voldemort will summon you both to join him. It could be three weeks from now. It could be this afternoon. I suggest that you spend your remaining time focusing on things that are life-affirming.”

When they finally returned to the Manor, Ron and Hermione ran off to their room. Harry went to his, and sulked quietly, feeling compelled to find Severus, and being almost afraid to do so.

The funeral, Luna's song, and Dumbledore's words of admonition unleashed a flood of emotions within - the regret about wasting time, when there was so little of it left, remorse about pushing away his friends, and guilt about ignoring Severus... about pushing his buttons, provoking him, raging at him. Severus' patient, non vindictive approach to Harry's anger and insolence only made Harry feel more guilty... now that his rage began to ebb away.

It was late in the evening, when Harry finally resolved to go to Severus, and knock on the door of his study.

“I am - sorry,” Harry breathed out instantly, as soon as the door shut behind him.

“Very good,” Severus said impassively, but not unkindly. “However, I am still going to punish you.”

Guilty feelings notwithstanding, Harry found his temper flaring up instantly, as if on cue. “What exactly are you going to punish me for?” he demanded, even though he already had a good idea of what the answer was going to be.

Severus stared at him unblinking. “For deliberately upsetting yourself and brooding over the things in the past you have no control over. For pushing away your friends - or trying to. For wallowing in misery, and setting yourself up to be alone, isolated from everyone else.”

“You? You are going to punish me for something like this?” Harry muttered incredulously. “You are the one to talk. You have been doing exactly the same to yourself for years...”

Severus kept his face impassive, but Harry could swear that a hint of a smile was in the corner of his lips. “Yes,” Severus agreed easily, without a faintest trace of defensiveness. “And we both know how well that worked out.”

Harry bowed his head in surrender, as Severus had disarmed him entirely with that one simple statement. He watched, as Severus reached into the desk drawer and pulled out the familiar instrument - the cane he had used on him a couple of weeks ago. Harry swallowed hard, as the recollection of the last caning sent a chill down his spine, but the memory of Severus touching and soothing his injuries afterwards awakened his arousal. He issued a mortified groan and stepped forward to the desk, glancing at Severus plaintively.

Severus returned his gaze. “You don't have to,” Severus told him. “It is your choice. You have my permission walk away at any time. But I do believe it will be beneficial.”

Harry nodded slightly, and dropped his trousers and shorts, lifted his shirt, and leaned across the desk, grasping the opposite edge of it with his hands. Severus got up and circled around him, standing behind him. Harry took a deep breath and asked:

“How many?” He noticed, to his aggravation, that his voice was shaking slightly.

“Eight,” Severus told him.

Harry pressed his forehead against the wooden surface of the desk. “Can you put a silencing charm on the door?” he asked meekly.

“I can,” Severus said. “But I have no intention of doing so. You will exercise self-control, you will count out the strokes, and you will thank me for each one.”

“You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” Harry muttered incredulously. The tip of the cane touched the small of his back, and lifted the hem of the shirt even further up.

“It is inadvisable to use foul language during punishment,” Severus said coolly. “Let's make it ten, shall we?”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry whispered, suddenly unnerved.

The cane tapped his buttocks, and then struck hard, and a line of absolute cold imprinted onto his flesh. The cold lingered for a second, and then erupted into fire, and Harry bit down on his lip to stop himself from crying out.

“One. Sir. Thank you,” he said almost calmly. Faint hope glimmered: maybe he could get through the entire punishment without humiliating himself this time.

The cane struck again, and another line of agony was born right next to the first. Harry gasped, as his eyes stung with tears. He chocked back a sob.

“Two - thank you, Sir.”

The third stroke knocked his breath out of him. When he regained his voice, he mouthed out, “Three... thank you,” in a subdued whisper.

The fourth made the tears burst out of his eyes, and he tasted blood from biting down on his lip. “Four!” he cried out desperately, his hands digging into the edge of the desk. “Thank you.” His vision blurred, and his mind was immersed in a fog.

Several more strokes landed, covering the rest of his backside, turning the entire area into one massive throbbing burn. Harry did not remember counting them, giving thanks for them, or even acknowledging them. He must have, because he did not remember being scolded or corrected either. He found himself sobbing out loud, shamelessly, unrestrainedly, tears streaming from his eyes.

“How... many left?” he asked in a daze.

“Just one more,” he heard. He wanted to say it was enough, and end it - but instead, he just lifted his head off the desk and nodded.

The cane descended again, and his knees buckled at the agony. Harry heard himself cry out, he heard himself say, ten, not believing it for a moment. He whispered a word of thanks, and slid to the floor, curling into a fetal position, his entire backside throbbing with tearing pain, his thoughts disorganized, his limbs feeling faint and weak. But even as he sobbed quietly and dejectedly, from the torment and the humiliation of the punishment, Harry realized that the guilt, the regrets, and even the angry thoughts about the distant past before his time, had now dissipated completely. He found himself enveloped in warmth and cradled in tenderness. Slowly, as the fog in his mind cleared, he realized that Severus was lying on the floor next to him, holding him in his arms. Harry leaned into his embrace and cried blissfully and openly, anchored in the present moment. Everything else had vanished completely. There was no more past, no more future, no cause for guilt, no reason for fear... just the dreamlike reality of the present.

“Thank you,” Harry whispered again. Moving painfully, he lifted himself off the floor slightly, leaning on his elbows, and glanced at Severus. His Master's dark eyes were calm, but Harry saw a single tear-track on his cheek. Severus took Harry's face in his hands, and kissed his cheeks, lifting the tears off with his lips. Harry drew closer, and begged,

“Severus... if my punishment is over - kiss me. Please.”

The request granted instantly, their lips touched, and Severus kissed him, gently, slowly covering Harry's mouth with his, caressing his injured lower lip. Harry parted his lips, and met his tongue, his entire body trembling at the contact, the ache of the recent punishment being drowned in reawakened arousal.

Severus noticed it and moved one of his hands to Harry's belly, touching the very tip of his cock. Harry pressed himself into that hand with a shameless whimper.

Severus laughed softly and got off the floor, guiding Harry to get up as well. Harry complied easily, standing in front of Severus with a dreamy smile, in nothing but his boots and his shirt. Severus threw his robe over Harry's shoulders, covering him, and wrapped his arms around him, leading him out of his study, and into his bedroom. Harry allowed himself to be walked without resistance, or even a trace of embarrassment left... even as he wondered idly whether his friends had heard anything, or whether they would notice them walking - it did not matter much.

When they reached Severus' bedroom, Harry kicked off his boots, and shed his robe and shirt onto the floor. He collapsed on the bed face down, parting his legs, and hugging a pillow. Severus sat next to him. Harry heard him Accio something - he did not care what. He was immersed in a pleasant, warm haze where Severus could do anything he wanted to him, and he would issue no objection. He felt Severus touch his welted backside gently, rubbing something into it. Scent of something like lavender spread through the rooms, and the ache of the injuries slowly receded to a level where it was nostalgically pleasant. He felt the hands travel up his back, massaging his shoulders, kneading his muscles, easing the tension in his arms, and he melted under the touch, feeling his entire body become pliant and malleable, as a lump of clay under craftsman's fingers.

The hands returned to his buttocks, kneading them gently, tracing the fading welts. Severus leaned and pressed his lips to the the small of his back and Harry whimpered into the pillow. Tongue caressed the weals, and then slid into the cleft between his cheeks, barely touching his entrance. Harry just shivered at the contact, his body arching upwards to meet the caresses bestowed upon it.

When fingers entered him, Harry groaned and pushed back against them, practically impaling himself on the digits. He would have begged again, but his own voice betrayed him, and he just groaned and hissed from the ache of the stretching and the ecstasy of the thrusts that struck against his prostate.

When the fingers were withdrawn, Harry parted his legs and lifted his hips eagerly. Severus slid his hands under Harry's belly and lifted him up to stand on all fours. Instantly and eagerly, Harry complied, trembling in anticipation. He gasped when Severus entered him, and started moving inside him, at a pace that was luxuriously and agonizingly unhurried. Harry's erection was throbbing wildly, and he was wiggling furiously, trying to press himself against the bed, but Severus took a hold of his waist and held him firmly in place, not allowing any pressure or friction to be applied to Harry's cock. Harry moaned when Severus climaxed inside him, and whimpered when he withdrew. Harry's entire body was a knot of frustration, aggravation and arousal.

“Please!” Harry cried out furiously, as his entire body was shaking and trembling, not even bothering to complete the sentence. Severus did not mind.

Severus snagged Harry's waist and turned him over to lie on his back, sliding his hands under his aching buttocks. Harry gazed down pleadingly, as Severus brought his tongue to the very tip of Harry's cock, just barely touching the stream of precum leaking from it.

All self-restraint abandoned, Harry sank his fingers into Severus' hair and pulled down hard, almost forcing himself into his mouth. Harry groaned as he thrust into that mouth as hard as he could, his hands gathering fistfuls of black silky locks, tugging and pulling on it. Severus just laughed a little, and the vibration of his throat sent Harry over the edge.

Having caught his breath, Harry released the grasp on Severus' hair and turned to lie on his side. Severus settled next to him, patted his face affectionately and asked, a little smugly:

“You realize, Harry, it's not particularly submissive to pull on your Master's hair when he is deigning to pleasure you?”

Harry snorted irreverently, but then cast a worried glance at Severus. “Sorry?” he said uncertainly.

Severus shook his head with feigned sorrow. “We will need to do something about those busy hands of yours. Perhaps restrain them to keep them out of the way.”

“You are just looking for an excuse to put me in bondage,” Harry said with a smirk.

Severus rose an eyebrow. “I was not aware I needed an excuse.”

Harry leaned against him, and placed his head on his shoulder. He was feeling completely relaxed and wonderfully exhausted.

“Good night, Master,” he said with a smile.

Lips pressed to his forehead, and arms encircled him. “Good night, beloved.”

The following morning, at breakfast the four of them sat down to eat together. Severus expected a strained silence, or awkward glances, but nothing of the sort occurred. Hermione only snickered a little when Harry shifted in his chair with slight discomfort.

“Shut up,” Harry warned her.

She nodded, with a mostly straight face. “We are off Muggle London today,” she told them. “We are going shopping.”

“We are?” Ron blurted out, obviously surprised. Hermione shot him a meaningful glance, and Ron nodded quickly. “Oh yeah, right... that ... thing ... we ... really needed to buy.”

“We won't be back until eight in the evening,” Hermione said sweetly, and waved goodbye to Severus and Harry. Then they got up hastily and left.

As soon as they departed, Harry walked over to Severus, throwing his arms around him.

“Your friends are very considerate,” Severus said wryly.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I just don't see Hermione and Ron shopping for ten hours straight.”

Severus flashed him a positively evil smile. “Indeed. I can do all manner of wicked things to you, without having to silence you.”

“Do your worst,” Harry dared him with a smirk.

Severus laughed softly. “Harry... never say, Do your worst, to a Death Eater. That's just not a good idea.”

Harry freed himself from Severus' embrace and settled himself on his lap, straddling his thighs. Harry's fingers stroked Severus' neck and he shut his eyes blissfully.

“You've had relationships like this before,” Harry said softly.

“No,” Severus said firmly. “Never like this.”

“But you had slaves... or submissives...?” Harry prodded.

Severus nodded reluctantly. He'd had his share, during his involvement with Voldemort. But it had been different then. Back then, he was not a loving Master, and they were not based on affection. They were about control, power... conquering the mind, breaking down the resistance, until the slave became subdued and pliant... ready to serve the Dark.

“I had a few,” Severus agreed. “But - it was different. I had them, so that I could bring them to Voldemort. I never failed.”

Harry tensed slightly. “Like he thinks you are bringing me to him,” he said quietly. “That's why he chose you...?”

Severus nodded a bit. Undeterred, Harry continued to hold on to him.

“I always figured you'd have a dungeon or something in your home,” Harry said with a strained smile. “Hermione and I used to make bets on it...”

“Really,” Severus said, unamused.

“Do you?” Harry demanded. “I know there's a downstairs part to the Manor that you haven't shown me. Is that where it is?”

Severus grunted derisively. “You have quite a vivid imagination, Mr. Potter.”

“I want to see it.”

Severus pushed Harry off his lap and stood up abruptly. He cleared the table, and walked into the kitchen, bringing in dirty dishes with him. Harry followed him closely.

Severus dumped the dishes into the sink, and turned the water on. Harry stood behind him, achingly close, buying face in his back. “You miss it,” Harry whispered with confidence, his breath penetrating the Severus' shirt, and falling on his back, sending a chill down his spine. “You want it.”

“You sound pretty sure of it,” Severus said grimly.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “I watch you... I observe... notice things about you. I can tell what you want. Like with our first time... I just know things about you.”

Severus had not moved. “A perfect slave,” he said without happiness. “What have I turned you into...”

Harry's hands went around his waist. “I am not complaining, am I?”

“It's locked,” Severus said gravely. “I locked it the day I returned to Dumbledore, and asked him to take me back. I never opened it since.”

“Your own Chamber of Secrets,” Harry mused quietly. “Take me there.”

Severus spun around and stared at him. Harry's face was absolutely serious and untroubled.

“You are scaring me,” Severus said bluntly.

“I am scaring myself a little,” Harry conceded. “But I still want to see it.”

Severus shook his head. Not that, he thought, his entire body filling with both dread and horrible longing - longing for cruelty, absolute power, and owning another.

In front of him, Harry sank to his knees, and pressed his head against Severus' legs.

“Look,” Harry whispered softly. “I don't think I will ever be some sort of ... I dunno.. crawling, docile little pet. But I want to know all of you. And I want to give you everything you ever wanted.”

Severus stroked his hair gently.

“You already do.”

“I could give you more,” Harry insisted. “Show me. Please.”

Severus extended his hand to Harry and Harry grasped it firmly, lifting himself to his feet. Together, they walked through the manor, Harry holding on to Severus' hand, as if afraid to let go of him. They walked down the spiraling staircase, and reached a wall. Severus uttered a spell, and revealed a massive locked entrance, guarded by numerous bars and padlocks. Severus said a series of spells and the locking mechanisms moved of their own accord. Liberated, the doors swung open before them, allowing them in. Severus stepped in first, and Harry followed him closely.

The darkness in the giant room was absolute, and when the door shut behind them, Severus placed his hand on the back of Harry's neck. He sensed that Harry was trembling under his touch.

Severus drew him close and pressed lips to Harry's forehead. “Are you sure you want to see?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Harry whispered with dread in his voice. “Show me.”

“Flamma”, Severus said, and instantly, the room, or rather, hall acquired shape and size, illuminated by torches that were attached to the walls. Massive chains hang from the ceiling, restraints were attached to the walls. One of the walls contained nothing but instruments of torment and control hanging from it; tools that Severus had not used in over a decade.

Harry walked up to the wall, his eyes fixed on one thing - a coiled flat strip of metal with a ring in front, and a locking mechanism on the back. “A collar,” Harry whispered.

“Yes,” Severus confirmed quietly. “It signifies ownership.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly.

“How?” Severus demanded. “The book? Or ...”

Harry shook his head. “I just do,” he murmured. “May I take it in my hands?”

Severus glanced at him with curiosity. Somehow, instinctively, it seemed Harry knew that the collar could not be touched without the Master's permission. Harry took it in his hands, his eyes fixed on it.

“Come to me,” Severus said softly, and Harry walked towards him, with the collar in his hands.

Without a prompt, Harry knelt before Severus, handing the collar to him. Severus took it from him quickly, his fist clenching around it. He was about to start walking back to the wall, to put it back in its place, when Harry bowed his head low, offering himself to him.

“What do you want?” Severus asked gently. “Harry...”

Harry was looking down, as he spoke with difficulty. “I want you to make me yours. Completely. I feel as if I am a part of you - wanting to be lost in you. Or maybe found in you. I feel like I have never been any other way. Maybe I just couldn't put it into words until now.”

Severus was shaking his head. “No.”

He was not a suitable owner for anyone. Not given his history, his involvement with the Dark, not in the view of how he had wielded his power formerly. The best he could do was hold back, as much as possible, and not allow the grim reality of the past to seep into the present, and taint the beauty of what he currently had.

Harry lifted his head and looked up with a serene smile. “I know what you are,” he told him. “I know what you have done. I want you. I want you to own me.”

A long silence followed, and neither of them moved. Harry bowed his head again, clasping his hands behind him, offering up his neck. Severus watched him with ache, longing, terror, and desire coiling around him, as if a serpentine presence that subdued and ensnared his senses.

After what seemed like an eternity, Severus stepped forward and put the collar on him. Harry's entire body shuddered slightly at the faint clicking sound of it locking on him.

“Be mine, then,” Severus told him firmly. He hooked a finger into the ring in front of the collar, and lifted Harry to his feet. Harry stood up effortlessly, looking at Severus; his face untroubled and radiant.

“Yours,” Harry answered blissfully.

Harry was standing in front of Severus in blissful revery. He was dizzy from elation, and he might have stumbled, but Severus wrapped his arms around him and steadied him on his feet. Harry bowed his head and pressed his face into his Master's robe.

They stood for a long time, locked in embrace, until Harry's elated trembling subsided, and until he lifted his head once more.

Severus released him, with a kiss to his forehead. Harry's eyes fell on the wall filled with instruments and he winced slightly, but found himself unable to look away.

“May I... see?” he asked softly.

Severus nodded, and they stepped to the wall together. Harry surveyed them, one by one, his eyes finally stopping at a metal rod, with a pattern engraved into the end of it. He looked at the image: a Snargaluff, its thorny vines coiled into a resemblance of a letter S.

“It's a branding iron,” Severus told him quietly. “It inflicts a permanent symbol of ownership.”

Harry ran his fingers over the cold metal, his gaze fixed on it. “Go on,” he said.

“There are two ways to impress a brand. By the ordinary method, heating the metal, and pressing it against the flesh; or by means of magic. The first method is ... rather painful, as you can imagine.”

Harry nodded a little, briefly hesitating before asking. Finally he managed to force the words out:

“What... would someone need to do, to earn the right... to...” he stumbled as he spoke, and fell silent when Severus pressed a single finger against his mouth, stopping him. Impulsively, Harry wrapped his lips against that finger and caressed it with his tongue. He felt the finger mapping out his mouth, returning the caresses, soothing and teasing at once.

After that, Harry waited in silence as Severus began to undress him. Harry found that his entire body was shaking slightly from anticipation, but as Severus ran his hands over Harry's back, the trembling subsided once again in response to the comforting touch. Harry barely noticed that he was fully disrobed, wearing nothing but his boots, standing in front of Severus.

Severus placed a hand on his shoulder, stroking Harry's abdomen with the other hand, his palm brushing slightly against Harry's arousal that Harry hadn't even been aware of until it had been touched.

“Do you have any requests before I begin?” Severus asked seriously.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “Just...”

“Just what?” Severus prodded gently.

Harry swallowed hard and said, “Just that you do anything you like. That's all.”

Severus nodded thoughtfully. “No more talking, then” Severus told him. “You may speak if you feel something is wrong, or if you need to end this. Otherwise, not another word.”

Harry nodded, and shut his eyes. He heard footsteps around him, and then, a strip of fabric covered his eyes, and was tied behind his head. Fingers traced Harry's arms, and lifted them up with gentleness. Restraints encircled his wrists, and he was immobilized, standing with his arms raised above him. Not long after, a thick, heavy line of leather stroked his skin, and even with his vision obscured, his body recognized one of the whips he had seen only minutes ago.

Suddenly, panic surged through him. This went beyond anything he had ever envisioned or fantasized about. This even went beyond anything he had ever dreaded or feared. The whip could cut his body open. The brand could burn right through his skin. He opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound followed, just as he realized that he still wanted to go through with anything and everything. He really did want to be owned, for the lack of a better word. For a brief moment, an image entered his mind: a tree, on a cliff above an ocean, dark waves raging underneath. He was just a raindrop on one of the leaves of that tree, sliding down, slowly, but with absolute certainty, ready any moment to plunge into the depths of the abyss that was its eternal and unfamiliar home.

Harry moved his hands, and reached with his fingers to grasp the chains that were holding his restraints, using them to brace himself against what came next.

When he heard the sound of the whip traveling through the air, he tensed involuntarily, expecting screaming agony to overtake his body; but the kiss of the lash that descended on his back was no more than a gentle whisper, as far as pain was concerned. Another followed, and then another; warmth covering his back and buttocks evenly, working its way into the depths of his body. The intensity of the blows rose slowly and gradually, until the pain finally overtook him; but the pain was not the kind that he was used to. Relentless, yet somehow nurturing, it swayed him and rocked him, driving him into a state where he could no longer tell the difference between freedom and helplessness.

At one point, it seemed that Severus was done with him. Blissfully dazed, Harry hung limp in his restraints, until his wrists were released. His sore arms falling at his sides, still blindfolded, he knelt without prompting, and waited. When the metal touched his shoulder, he only felt his skin part briefly and painlessly, and he issued a barely audible gasp when he felt a pattern bind to his flesh. And then, he bowed his head to the floor, intending to kiss the Master's feet, but Severus lifted him in his arms before he had a chance to do that, and carried him off.

He was not sure how much time he spent resting, feeling as if he was floating - or flying. Harry only knew that when he opened his eyes, he was in Severus' bedroom, on his bed, covered with his robe, head laying against his lap. Severus was watching him with a smile, stroking his hair.

Harry moved slowly, and touched his bare shoulder. There was no pain, just a faint rising of the flesh, where the image had been imprinted on it.

“I thought...” Harry started saying, but then stopped himself.

“What?” Severus asked, a little sadly, stroking his hair. “You thought I would damage you? You thought I would burn you, or make you bleed?”

Harry shut his eyes, feeling a slight twinge of sadness himself.

“Well... You don't need to hold back,” Harry said quietly. “I really do want to give you everything. Anything you want. You know?”

Severus wrapped his arms around him, and pulled him to sit up. Harry did, leaning against him.

“I know,” Severus said softly. His lips pressed against Harry's head. “But you must know that I was not holding back; not at all.”

Harry settled against his chest, and listened, as Severus spoke kindly and gently:

“I have known love. And I have known ownership. But never before, two together. Being with you changed what I want. I can never want to harm you.”

Severus and Harry spent the rest of the day, and the evening side by side. They ate dinner early, and retreated into the bedroom before their houseguests returned from their day trip. Once alone again, they undressed each other, with Severus pulling Harry into his embrace, running his fingers through his hair that had grown noticeably longer in the last few weeks. Harry reached for his collar, and traced it with his fingers, and then glanced at the brand that marked his left shoulder.

“Thank you, Master,” Harry said quietly, with astonishment in his voice. “Thank you for doing this.”

“You seem surprised,” Severus observed.

“I am,” Harry agreed, “But in a good way. I didn't think - you'd want me that way.”

Severus frowned instantly. “Why wouldn't I?”

Harry shot him a shy glance. “Well, you know. You've said it yourself. I am a bad slave. I escape from bondage, I push you around in the kitchen... I pull your hair...”

Severus laughed very softly, as his hand rested on Harry's hip. “Silly brat. Those are your most endearing qualities.”

Harry grinned impishly. “I was worried I was starting to annoy you...”

Severus was shaking his head. “Not in the least. Harry - you have no idea. When you are around, all is full of life. It's...” he paused for a bit, unsure how to explain, or describe the reckless joy of having someone like Harry in his life. “It's like sunlight. It irritates your eyes once in a while.. but you love it when it does - because there's just absolutely nothing better.”

Severus watched with a smile, as Harry was blinking furiously, and finally shutting his eyes - but his eyelashes still held traces of dampness on them. Severus stretched himself on the bed, lying on his back, and drew Harry to sit on top of himself, straddling his hips. Harry leaned forward, their bodies clinging against each other, the pressure awakening each man's arousal. Severus ran his hands over Harry's back, and then cupped his buttocks, massaging them, tracing the fading marks with his fingers. Harry issued a quiet moan, leaning forward even more.

Severus continued to stroke Harry's bottom, then finally parted his cheeks, and ran a single finger along his ring, causing it to quiver with anticipation. Harry's eyes opened wide, as he stared at Severus with a smile that was somehow both utterly wanton and endearingly shy. Severus reached with one hand to the nightstand, producing a lubricant, and proceeded to prepare his lover, driving two fingers deeper and deeper into him, striking against his prostate. He watched the young body shudder with pleasure at every push.

When Severus withdrew his fingers, without prompting, Harry, still facing Severus, lifted himself slightly, and positioned himself over his cock, sliding himself down on it with a quiet gasp. Severus lifted his knees slightly, and as Harry started moving, their bodies rocked, locked together in mutual pleasure. He stroked Harry's chest with one hand, and with another, the head of his cock, and Harry thrust himself into his hand, rising slightly and falling back down, setting the pace of their lovemaking with his own body.

Severus felt his own orgasm approaching and stroked Harry's member firmly, causing him to empty himself into his hand. Harry let out a deep furious breath, and his entire body went limp, just as Severus climaxed within him.

Harry climbed off and stretched on the bed next to Severus with a pitiful whimper. Noticing collected tension in Harry's legs and thighs, Severus leaned over him and began to massage his body, feeling Harry relax completely under his touch.

“Thank you- for everything,” Harry mumbled in a quiet voice. “This was... really... something... I mean...”

Severus run his fingers along Harry's spine. “To be the bottom - but have control over the experience? He offered wryly.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. “I really didn't think you would want me to.”

Severus stroked the young, warm body with his hands. “Let's just say, it's a lot more fun to own someone when they have power and spirit - and some control. You think the chase has ended when you gave yourself to be collared and branded... but truly... it had only began.”

They fell asleep together, Severus feeling completely and utterly serene with Harry's head resting against his shoulder. But when Severus shut his eyes, and drifted off to sleep, nightmares broke through the shield of tranquility and invaded his mind.

In the dream, Severus was standing over an open grave. The gravestone at the head of it was unmarked. He stared down in dread, tears streaming from his eyes, as he knew he was expected to cover up the grave - but he could not bring himself to begin.

“Hello, Severus,” he heard a small, tranquil voice behind him. He spun around, coming face to face with Luna Lovegood, whose blond hair was cascading down her shoulders. She gazed at him calmly with an enigmatic smile playing on her lips.

“Miss Lovegood,” Severus said stiffly.

“Do you know where you are?” she asked.

“I am dreaming.”

“Of course you are,” she agreed. “But where is this place?”

“I don't know,” he said harshly. “Where?”

She sighed with regret. “I am just a shadow of your mind. I don't know anything that you do not know,” she whispered. “But maybe you should find out.”

“Why?” he demanded. “What does it matter? What does it matter where I am going to bury Harry?”

She gave him an odd look. “If he's already dead, then I suppose it's not important. Is he?”

He could not bring himself to answer her, and just stared into the grave, wondering if deep in his heart, he was already resigned to losing his beloved.

“Luna,” he begged. “Why? Why him?”

Standing behind him, she reached for his hand, and took it in hers. “You know how the prophecies are,” she said reluctantly. “No word is random, or superfluous. Make sure that no word is wasted, Severus - if you want to see sunlight again.”

She released his fingers with gentleness and walked away, her frail form disappearing amidst the tombstones littering the graveyard.

Severus woke up with a muted scream. Next to him, Harry was sitting up, looking at him with concern.

'Nightmares again?” Harry asked quietly.

Severus nodded reluctantly.

“Same kind?” Harry prodded.

“Yes.”

“You should take some dreamless sleep potion,” Harry told him.

Severus just shook his head mutely. Perhaps if he dreamed long enough, he would find a way to prevent the destiny the dreams had suggested.

Harry stroked his hair absently, and then grinned wryly. “I keep telling you, it's nothing. We are going to live happily ever after, and have a herd of adopted Gryffindor brats running through the Manor.”

Severus nodded again, this time with a forced smile. Harry's playful denial was not easing his fears - if anything, it was instilling further dread into him; and making him feel utterly alone in his terror. He wished he could pour out his fears freely - but Harry had done enough to support him in his hour of frailty... and Severus decided not to burden him further.

Harry smirked at his grim expression. “Look, if I die - just promise you won't write anything stupid on my tombstone, okay?”

Severus gave him an unamused glare. “I shall make no such promises. In fact, should you die, I will go out of my way to erect the most tasteless, horrendous gravestone that is legally allowed. I may even decorate it with kitten images from Umbridge's old office. ”

Harry's expression morphed into something between a grin and a pout. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“To give you an incentive to stay alive,” Severus said harshly.

Harry nodded with feigned seriousness. “Thanks. With that kind of threat hanging over my head, how can I not?”

The following morning, Severus, Harry, Ron and Hermione had breakfast together. Severus finished the meal first, kissed Harry's forehead and departed to his study, leaving the three friends to himself, as usual. Harry cleaned up after breakfast, with Ron's help, while Hermione sat at the table, deep in thought, paging through an old textbook.

After the cleanup was done, they migrated to the living room. Ron and Hermione sat on the couch, curled up together in one corner. Harry sat opposite of them and smiled.

“How did the shopping go yesterday?” Harry asked with a grin. “What did you buy?”

“Nothing,” Hermione said wryly. “That's why we are going back tomorrow.”

Harry laughed out loud. Hermione and Ron's efforts to stay out of the way and give him and Severus privacy were so... transparent, and so sweet - he thought. He found it incredibly comforting to be under the same roof with his best friends, even if they were not seeing a great deal of each other lately.

“You know,” Harry mused, “After all of this is over, we should continue to hang out like this. This is just brilliant... It's the best summer of my life, I swear.”

Ron's face paled slightly at those words, but Hermione flashed a brave smile.

“So, Harry,” she murmured, not allowing an awkward silence to set in, “What have you been up to yesterday?”

Harry snickered at her question. On an impulse, he rolled up his sleeve, baring his shoulder, revealing his brand - the image of the Snargaluff, engraved into his skin. Ron raised his eyebrows and smiled uncertainly. Hermione stared at it intently.

“It's his personal crest?” Hermione asked. “That's quite the imagery... a dead tree stump with wines that shoot out, capture and consume the victim... A bit scary.”

“Well, I think it's cool,” Harry said defensively, and covered his shoulder. He was pouting like a five-year-old whose parents did not appreciate his artwork.

“It is,” Hermione said agreeably, even as her back was turned to Harry again. Her voice was absolutely calm. Harry gazed at her intently, and noticed that her shoulderblades were trembling, just a bit. He moved closer to her, quickly covering the entire distance between them, and touched her arm, nudging her to turn around. When she did, Harry saw that her face was streaked with tears.

Ron reached out for Hermione and drew her into his embrace, as she wept into his shoulder. Harry sat close to them and stroked her hair in silence, not sure what to say.

“Harry...” Ron said in a soft voice. “Maybe ... maybe you can explain this for me.. ” Ron's eyes darted to Harry's shoulder, now covered up again. “I mean...what do you feel... or .. how do you feel...” Ron was stumbling through the questions, looking at Harry desperately.

Harry nodded to him. “Well,” he said seriously, “I feel... I don't know. It just feels right. I feel like I belong to him - and now it even feels like I always have, in a way. Sometimes I feel like - I am just a grain of sand on the beach... or a drop of water in the ocean. It's a little sad - but it's also a beautiful feeling, in its own way. But... that said, it's very natural.. you know? I don't feel forced or coerced into anything. It just feels right. I don't know how else to describe this... whatever it is that draws me to him is imperceptible... like a part of me.”

Hermione lifted her head from Ron's shoulder and looked at Harry thoughtfully.

“Did you ever think that you ... I mean... that this is your true nature?” she asked softly. “That this is just the way you are?”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “Not at all. I mean... All playing around aside, I am not all that submissive, as far as my own personality goes. But with Severus - it's just different. Like I said... I feel like I should belong to him. But only him.”

Hermione nodded and sniffled in absolute misery.

Ron spoke up again. “Okay,” he said peacefully and quietly. “Harry, I can't claim that I fully understand how you feel - but I can see that it means a great deal to you. And for what it's worth, I no longer think that Snape is a complete bastard... so... Well... however you feel is fine. Really.”

Hermione nodded again, and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly. “I didn't mean to...”

“Don't worry about it, Hermione,” Harry said reassuringly. “If you showed up one day with someone's personal brand on your shoulder, I'd be worried, too, I think.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “Oh, Harry, it's not that at all. I think Snape is a fine person, underneath his facade. I can see that he cares for you and you for him. And honestly, I am not freaked out by the brand... I mean, goodness - Ginny got a Unicorn tattoo on her... well, never mind where, but what I am saying is that - Harry - I watch you, and things seem almost normal... I begin to believe that nothing at all is wrong, and... and we will all live happily ever after. Then I see something like that, and I can't believe that anymore, because I think about the potion, and the termination ingredient, and.. well... it's like the world collapses all over again.”

“Oh,” Harry said weakly, all defensiveness gone. “Sorry.”

“Me too,” she whispered quietly. “I really am. I wish I hadn't... helped you, you know...”

Ron sighed tiredly. “What really pisses me off, Harry, to this day, is that you didn't come to ask me for advice. You only told me after you were done. You know, I wouldn't have let you drink anything Voldemort sent. The only way you could have drank that damn thing would have been over my dead body.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry agreed softly. “That's why I didn't want to tell you.”

Ron smiled bitterly. “Well. I guess I can understand that. It still sucks though.”

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled again. He really was - in that he never meant to drive a wedge between him and Ron. But he still thought it was the right thing to do - if Severus had died that week -...

“Yeah,” Hermione whispered softly, seeing the look in his eyes.

They sat together for a while, Ron and Harry hugging Hermione tightly. Eventually, Hermione freed herself from their embrace and stood up.

“I want to go to Hogwarts,” she said quietly, but a faint smile returned to her lips. “Ron? Come on. We should go... do some research.”

“Research,” Ron muttered incredulously, but then, Hermione gave him a meaningful glare, and he nodded agreeably. “Oh yeah. We should go research that ... thing... that we meant to research,” he added, unconvincingly.

Harry laughed softly. “You guys. I appreciate you trying to give us privacy and all, but you really don't need to leave, you know. It's not like Severus and I will spend the entire day humping each other in the living room.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Harry, for planting that vivid image into my mind.”

“I could Oblivate you, if you like,” Harry offered helpfully.

Ron snorted. “Thanks. I just might take you up on that offer.”

Ron and Hermione departed shortly, and Harry went to find Severus, as usual.

The next days that followed were absolutely and utterly blissful, as far as Severus was concerned - when he allowed himself to forget about Voldemort, the termination ingredient, the prophecy, and his nightmares. Heeding Albus' advice, he banished those thoughts at daytime, and focused only on one thing - what he had with Harry. Harry's friends made it easy, joining them for breakfast every day, and then, disappearing tactfully, going to Hogwarts “to do research”, or to Muggle London, “to shop.” Severus once made a snide remark about what on earth they could be shopping for day after day - Hermione just issued a silly giggle, and studied her plate with absolute fascination. One of those days, Harry asked Severus to permit him to join Hermione and Ron on one of their excursions to Muggle London.

“You will stay out of trouble?” Severus asked him dubiously, hoping not to allow even a hint of dread to enter his voice.

“I can't promise that,” Harry answered with a smirk. “But I will return alive and unharmed.”

Harry left with his friends. They all returned in the evening. Ron and Hermione remained in the kitchen setting the table for dinner. Harry entered Severus' study and looked at him with a mysterious smile.

“Well now,” Severus drawled with just a touch of sarcasm. “If this isn't the Boy-Who-Shopped. Dare I ask what you bought?”

Harry approached his desk and simply opened his mouth. Severus glanced at it - and for a good minute just stared speechlessly, looking at the thick barbell piercing with massive metal end-beads, decorating Harry's tongue.

“What on god's good earth motivated you to do something like this?” Severus asked finally, when he regained his ability to speak.

“Hermione suggested it,” Harry said, grinning. “She got one, too. So did Ron... so I figured, well...”

“Mr. Potter,” Severus intoned with extreme displeasure. “If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you join them?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Join them?” he smirked. “I'd most likely lead the way.”

Severus cupped Harry's face in his hands. “Didn't it hurt?” he asked gently, abandoning sarcasm for a moment.

Harry nodded. “It hurt like hell, even with the Muggle freezing shit. It took 6 healing spells from Hermione, and a vial of healing potion, and it still hurt for good ten minutes afterwards. But it's fine now.”

“It's fine now,” Severus repeated venomously. “I suppose I should be thankful you did not return with some sort of exotic infection, or nerve damage...”

Harry was watching him intently, and then told him quietly, “Look... Severus.. if it makes you unhappy, I'll take it out at once. You can close the hole in my tongue. I don't care. To be honest, I mostly got it because... well, someone said it could enhance pleasure. I thought you might like it. I really didn't want to upset you... you can punish me if you want to...” Harry's voice trailed off, and he stared down at his feet, with a meek expression on his face.

Severus sneered and grabbed Harry's hair firmly, gathering a fistful of his locks. Harry leaned into his grip with a blissful sigh.

Severus glared at Harry, upper lip curling up in contempt. “You have ten minutes to convince me to allow you to keep this ... abomination.”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry answered humbly. Severus was still sneering at him, when Harry's mouth latched onto his, the young, irreverent tongue parting his lips, and reaching inside. Severus returned the kiss, and their tongues touched against each other, the bead of the piercing coming between them. Severus shuddered with pleasure as the smooth sphere stroked his tongue, over and over again. He was still slightly dazed when Harry withdrew from the kiss, and knelt before him, working furiously fast to unbutton his trousers.

As soon as Severus felt his erection spring out from his garments, Harry's mouth closed in on it, and the tongue began its caresses, the moist flesh and the cool metal trailing the entire length of his cock together. Severus gasped slightly when the tongue circled the head of his cock, and the bead of the piercing rubbed against his slit, rolling in the stream of precum. The teasing caresses continued, infuriatingly slow and tender, until Severus finally buried both hands in Harry's hair and thrust deeply into his mouth. The bead of metal and Harry's tongue continued to stroke the member that was sliding in and out of his mouth, striking against the back of his throat. With a low grunt, Severus spent himself into Harry's mouth, who swallowed every last drop - and finally glanced up at Severus with a sly smile.

“Well, Mr. Potter - I must say, this was ... quite convincing,” Severus said evenly, and closed his trousers, readjusting his clothing.

“If you are still not sure, we can repeat a few times,” Harry offered with feigned seriousness. “Maybe after dinner? The table is set... Hermione and Ron picked up kind of exotic pasta dish.”

About to head into the dining room, both inspected each other carefully, to ensure that no traces of passion was left on their clothing, or faces. The table was indeed already set, and the food had been served. Severus and Harry sat down quickly.

Hermione passed Harry on her way to her seat and murmured in a barely audible voice, “Goodness, Harry, you were just going to tell him the dinner was ready... what kept you so long?”

Severus kept his face absolutely impassive. Harry smiled like a Cheshire cat.

Ron glanced at Hermione sourly. “You should know by now to never ask that question in this household.”

She chuckled quietly.

“Oh come on now,” Harry said with a smirk. “Stop pretending to be bothered. Severus and I look good together, and you know it.”

“Yes, you do,” Hermione said seriously, without even a trace of irony in her voice.

Ron shrugged with feigned resignation. “Well... better than Dumbledore and McGonagall do anyways...We walked in on them snogging the other day... in his office...”

Stunned, Severus felt a string of spaghetti go down the wrong way in his throat. He had never - ever thought of the ancient, solitary Headmaster as being with anyone... that way. Especially with a woman. Harry apparently hadn't either, as his eyes and mouth were wide open in shock.

“Why,” Harry said with quiet accusation in his voice, “Did you see fit to plant that image into my mind?”

“Because,” Ron said with a wry grin. “Why should we be the only ones traumatized?”

“Ron!” Hermione hissed indignantly. “For shame!”

Ron laughed quietly and Hermione smacked the back of his head.

Harry glanced at Severus cautiously, as if trying to ascertain whether he was becoming irritated or upset. Severus gave them all an obligatory scowl, but could not help a corner of his mouth curling up in amusement. He folded his arms on his chest, leaned back in his chair and wondered when and how it happened that he stopped minding his solitary life becoming invaded by the unruly trio of young people, just on the verge of adulthood, but not quite there yet, who were teasing him and poking fun at him just about every chance they got. No - it's not that he did not mind it - he absolutely loved it. iSunshine, /ihe thought again, looking at Harry with a faint smile.

Later that night, when Harry was lying on the bed by his side, Severus asked softly:

“Harry - what's gotten into you? You've never acted like... a rebellious teenager before.”

Harry mumbled something incoherent into the pillow.

Severus patted his back. “You said one reason for the piercing was to enhance pleasure. Was there another?”

“Sort of,” Harry whispered quietly. “Look, Severus... the truth is, I never had a chance to do any wild things that other teenagers do. I mean... I never had a decent summer before this. I never ate properly, or enough... my uncle punched me whenever I screwed up... Every summer, I just shut down and waited for school to begin again. So today I felt like...I don't know... grabbing the last bit of freedom I had left before Voldemort calls us, and I finally have to grow up once and for all.”

“I see.”

Severus caressed Harry's hair with gentleness, and then, stroked his young body, over and over again, his fingers seeking out and soothing every knot of tension, and every ache, until Harry finally fell asleep under his touch with a tranquil smile on his face.

As Harry slept, Severus watched him: so incredibly thin, so fragile, and far too young... too young to be dying, too young to be fighting Voldemort, and his status as legal adult aside, far too young to be in bed with him... Severus wondered, yet again, what horrible stupidity had possessed him to pour Voldemort's potion down his student's throat, plunging him into the surreal, horrifying world they now both inhabited.

The following morning, Harry woke up from the touch of a hand to his face. He opened his eyes, and saw Severus, kneeling by the bedside, gazing at him. There was ache in the black eyes, and the thin lips were forced into a faint stoic smile.

“Today,” Harry said with certainty. It wasn't a question.

“Yes,” Severus said. “We will be leaving in a few hours. Albus and Minerva are already here. They will see us off.”

Harry nodded, and reached for his clothing. He got ready and dressed himself in silence, while Severus waited for him, never taking his eyes off of him.

They walked out into the living room together, where Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore and McGonagall were already seated around the coffee table. The table was set for breakfast, with tea, and scones, and fruit, but no-one reached for the food.

“I can't believe we are doing this,” Hermione whispered in absolute misery. “Sending Harry off to Voldemort's hideout...”

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “The good of the situation, however, is that it's only for two days, give or take a few hours. That's how long it will take to access the tracking spell I've placed on Harry, locate the hideout, and mount an assault... Harry,” Dumbledore looked at him seriously. “There will be someone coming to get you out. Keep an eye out for her. Come with her without arguing, no matter what.”

Harry nodded in silence.

“Well, it's not so bad,” Ron said calmly. “I mean - if it's only for two days...”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed readily, even as the knot in his stomach tightened. “Honestly, Hermione, you are worried over nothing.”

Before she had a chance to say something sarcastic, he stood up and glanced at his friends. “Come with me,” he offered, and they followed him to his bedroom. Once there, he knelt in front of his trunk, and pulled out his Invisibility Cloak from it. “Here,” he said, and pressed it into Hermione's hand.

She gave him a miserable look. “Harry,” she murmured. “You should take it with you... it could come in very handy...”

“No,” Harry cut her off with a faint smile. “This isn't a Hogwarts field trip, Hermione. I have a feeling I should go in with nothing.”

Hermione was still shaking her head, but Ron placed his hand on her shoulder. “We'll take the Cloak,” he said firmly. “Give it back to you when you return.”

“Good,” Harry said. “Take Hedgwig, too.”

“Okay,” Ron muttered. “But she better not fight with the family owl over the next two days.”

Harry snickered. “Honestly, Ron. I don't think your owl needs anyone to fight him... he's pretty good at knocking himself out on his own.”

They both laughed, but Hermione was still looking at Harry with concern.

“Harry,” she pleaded quietly. “Tell me... no.. promise me, you won't do anything self-destructive...”

“I won't,” Harry said softly. “Not needlessly, anyways... if at all possible, I want to come back... and .. well... as far as dying at the age of seventeen goes, I'd much rather die with my friends and Severus around me, than .. well. The other guys.”

She nodded to him with a brave smile. “Good,” she said and hugged him tightly. “Harry... no goodbyes. We will always be with you. Wherever you go, you'll never be alone.”

Hermione and Ron left shortly. Harry stood at the doorway of the Manor, and watched the two of them load their belongings, plus the cage with Hedgwig into the back seat of the Weasley flying car. They took off, and once the car was high in the air, he waved at them, without knowing if they had seen him do so.

When he returned to the living room, Minerva and Dumbledore had already departed, leaving Harry and Severus to themselves.

Together, Severus and Harry walked through the Manor, Severus setting things in order, and Harry watching his every move. Severus shut down the Floo, turned on the automatic irrigation system for the greenhouse, secured each window, and one by one, took the surveillance spells from each room in the Manor. Harry watched him absently, with each step realizing that Severus was not shutting down his dwelling for two days - he was preparing to leave it for good.

They continued walking together. Every preparatory action, every step only underscored the inevitability of their departure, but Harry no longer minded. They had waited long enough.

When they stepped into Severus' study, Harry stopped by the desk and took out his tongue piercing. Severus looked at him questioningly.

“I don't want anything that makes me feel more vulnerable than I need to,” he said quietly. “Can you close the hole in my tongue, and spell my hair short?”

Severus nodded. “How short?”

Harry brought the thumb and the index finger of his right hand nearly together, indicating a length of a quarter of an inch. Severus nodded again, pointed the wand at him, and two spells later, his tongue was whole again, and his hair was the length of a military crew-cut.

“All done,” Severus said softly.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. He found a lump in his throat, and swallowed hard to be rid of it, but it still persisted. He glanced at Severus and saw that he was watching him with concern.

“Nervous?” Severus asked seriously.

Harry just nodded, keeping his face as calm as he could. He was afraid - genuinely so, more than he had ever been in his entire life.

“What are you scared off?” Severus asked with a wry smile. “I mean - apart from death, torture, losing the entire world to darkness, and ending up as a soulless shell with a piece of Voldemort stuck in it?”

Harry laughed out loud involuntarily and threw his arms around Severus. “Honestly,” Harry whispered with dread. “I am afraid that Voldemort - and others will do things to me... and damage me to the point where... you'll just tolerate me, or pity me ... but deep down, you'll be disgusted to see me. I am afraid that I will die alone, without even knowing that I'm alone.”

Severus shook his head sadly. “You have such a vivid imagination, Harry. Let me assure you - that is not possible.”

“No?”

“No.”

Harry watched Severus intently. “You are scared too,” he said with confidence.

“I am,” Severus admitted, but added nothing further. His face was impassive, and only the glow of unshed tears in his eyes betrayed his anguish.

“You are afraid he'll... want you to.. well... hurt me... badly... ” Harry guessed. “And you will.. not under Imperius - but to keep your cover... and...”

“Yes.”

Harry smiled a little. “Well...in that case, I forgive you in advance, for anything and everything you will do to me. You have my consent to do anything that may be necessary. I will never stop loving you.”

Taking his face into his hands, Severus stroked Harry's cheekbones with his thumbs, and Harry pressed his face into his palms, kissing them. Severus took gathered Harry in his embrace, and Harry leaned against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, that raced wildly and furiously. It sounded like a thunderstorm, buried within him, almost ready to burst forth.

“I will never stop being yours,” Harry told him.

Hand in hand, they walked through the hallway to the exit of the Manor.

Once they were out, Severus closed the doors that locked behind them of their own accord. For a few minutes, they stood outside together, July sun blazing in the cloudless sky, trees casting sharp shadows on the ground.

Severus placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, and Harry looked up at him.

“Shall we proceed to our next misadventure, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked kindly.

Harry smiled a little. “We may as well.”

When they entered the location indicated by the Dark Mark, Severus noticed that Harry's entire body stiffened, as if in an attempt to suppress a wave of revulsion. The stench of mildew and decay permeated the place; and darkness abounded in every room and hall. The walls, the high ceiling, the floors were rough stones, with stale water trickling down them in rivulets.

Severus led the way, dragging Harry along, holding Harry's wrist in an iron grip. Harry followed along as fast as he could, staring straight ahead without expression. They reached the hall where the others were gathered. Severus looked around, seeing Voldemort, Bellatrix, Pettigrew, Lucius - and, to his astonishment, Draco.

Draco noticed the look on his face and smiled thinly, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his Dark Mark.

“Good to see you, godson,” Severus said with a smirk to match Draco's.

“Welcome, my servant,” Voldemort said, his yellow eyes fixed on Severus.

“Yes, indeed,” Lucius piped. “Welcome. I must admit, I had my doubts, Severus. I thought you might not have the heart to give up your little duckling.”

Severus laughed unpleasantly. “You think I would choose a mere pet over my Lord's favor?” he drawled contemptuously. “You are even more dimwitted than I realized.”

Behind them, Bellatrix giggled harshly, and Pettigrew issued a high-pitched cackling laugh.

Lucius was staring at them both with a benevolent, mild expression that did not mislead Severus - not for a moment.

“Take his wand,” Lucius said.

Severus nodded to Harry and opened his hand. Without hesitation, Harry surrendered his wand to him, and Severus tucked it away into his robe.

“Well, well...” Lucius murmured, bemused. “Our little Harry is quite the catch. Who knew it would be so easy to subdue the proud Gryffindor?”

Harry lowered his eyes and bit his lip.

“Follow me,” Lucius said softly, and left the large room, heading down the hallway. Severus and Harry followed him through the dark hallway, deeper into the castle, and then, into a chamber that contained a small nightstand, a fireplace, and a single, narrow bed, with a metal collar chained to the foot of it.

Harry bowed his head, staring at the collar without blinking.

“You've spoiled him,” Lucius said with amusement. “Once you let your pets sleep in the same bed with you, it's hard to break them out of the habit.”

Severus pressed his lips into a disdainful smile. “What does it matter? He has less than three weeks left to live. It's not like I am training him for life-time use.”

“True enough,” Lucius said peaceably. He was leering at Harry openly, and Harry glared back at him, not bothering to hide his distaste. “So tell me, Severus - what DOES he do for you?” Lucius inquired. “His body does not seem to be... overused ... either in matters of passion, or in matters of pain...”

Severus shrugged nonchalantly. “Just trying to keep it in good shape - making sure that the Dark Lord gets maximum usage out of it, once Harry's soul is wiped out.”

“Of course, of course,” Lucius purred with approval. He reached for Harry's face to pat it, but Harry recoiled instantly, almost involuntarily. “Oh my.”

“Sorry,” Severus said snidely, in a way that clearly indicated he was not. “The bond is exclusive. Your hand means nothing to him.”

Lucius smirked, unconcerned. “Well, I should let you know of a few details of your .. accommodations. All communications with outside world are cut off. Nothing can penetrate the perimeter; not even a Patronus. Also, no-one can exit the Castle, now that we are all here - so I hope you brought everything you needed with you.”

“Our Lord's presence is all we need,” Severus said with a serious face.

“Good answer, Severus,” Lucius murmured. “Finally... as a standard precaution, no healing spells will work here. The Dark Lord's instructions, you understand.”

“Perfectly,” Severus replied in a quiet voice.

Lucius flashed him a broad smile and and strode towards the exit. For a moment, it looked like he was going to leave - but then, stopping in the doorway, Lucius turned around sharply. “Oh. Almost forgot. Silly me. Burn his wand, Severus.”

Severus reached into his robe . Harry watched him with his eyes wide open, as the holly rod was tossed into the fireplace, bursting into flames. Their eyes met and they looked at each other in silence for a moment. A single tear shimmered in the corner of Harry's eye, but then, he blinked rapidly, and willed it away.

“I will let you two settle in,” Lucius said with a smirk, and left, shutting the door gently behind him.

Once Lucius departed, Severus stood up. Harry looked to him and opened his mouth, but Severus just gave him a barely visible shake of the head, and Harry did not make a sound. Severus took out his wand and issued several wordless, soundless spells, while Harry watched him intently.

Finally Severus nodded to him. “There were several surveillance spells placed on the room. I've scrambled them. We can speak freely now.”

Harry let out a deep breath. “Won't Voldemort get suspicious if he gets silence from the room for too long?”

Severus smiled, a little smugly. “He won't get silence. I've included some... sound effects.”

Harry forced out a smile as well. “I almost want to know what kind!”

Severus sat on the bed and Harry flew into his embrace, wrapping his arms around him. For a few minutes, they held each other tightly, without saying a word, clinging to each other unashamedly, absorbing each other's warmth in the chill air of the room.

“I'm scared,” Harry whispered quietly.

“I know,” Severus said softly. “Me too.”

Harry was looking at him with dread. “Something is wrong, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Severus confirmed reluctantly. “Nagini is not here. It's someplace else.”

“Shit,” Harry blurted out. “Then... if they... if the Order attacks in two days... when they raid this place... it'll be no good.”

Severus nodded silently.

“We have to send out a message...” Harry started saying and then stopped. “You sure Lucius was telling the truth... that Patronus won't work?”

“It's a certainty. It will just set off the wards that are all over the Castle, that's all.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “We've really screwed ourselves royally here,” he said. “And it seemed like such a good idea at the time.”

It did, didn't it, Severus thought sadly.

Harry sighed deeply. “Tell me.. was it absolutely necessary to burn my wand?” he asked sullenly.

Severus gave him a pitying, contemptuous look. Harry's mouth gaped open. “You still have it,” he said with confidence. “What did you burn? Something that...”

“Something that I transfigured to look like your wand,” Severus completed the sentence with not a small measure of satisfaction. “Your wand will be available to you when it's time to fight.”

Harry hugged him tighter and rested his face on his shoulder.

“Tell me,” Harry asked. “Will you... will the bond punish you here? For..lying, and...well... all of this...”

“No,” Severus said. “The bond won't punish me, for as long as I am in Voldemort's household. The Master's presence sustains me, and the punishment is delayed...”

“What if you have to leave?” Harry asked, terror creeping into his voice.

“I don't think I could this time,” Severus told him. “This time... it's too much. It's the ultimate betrayal of the Master. If I venture outside of his sphere of influence this time... I'll likely die.”

Harry gazed at him, emerald eyes piercing the darkness of the room. “You won't die,” he said with confidence, as if uttering a prophecy. “You can't. I won't let you.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. At night, Harry stretched himself out on the floor and reached to the collar attached to the foot of the bed, but Severus just shook his head, pointed his wand at the bed, and spelled it to twice its size. Harry climbed under the covers with him, and they fell asleep, holding each other, limbs intertwined, their lips pressing together. The only light in the room was coming from the embers glowing in the fireplace across from the bed.

The next morning, Severus was summoned away, and Harry was left alone, in the locked room, without a wand, and with nothing to do. He roamed the room aimlessly, looking for anything that might be useful or helpful - but the austere, minimalistic set up spoke for itself. Eventually, Harry curled into the corner of the room and sat there, hugging his knees in absolute misery.

When the door opened, his head shot up - he was hoping to see Severus, but instead, he saw Lucius and Draco, standing together. Draco's grin was wider than he had ever seen it - even wider than when he was a part of the Inquisitorial Squad, assisting Umbridge.

“Come,” Lucius said in a tone of voice that left no room for objections. His wand was pointing at Harry, demanding obedience.

Harry stood up and left with them.

“Where do you want him?” Lucius asked softly. Draco snickered. “Someplace with chains,” he said meaningfully.

Lucius chuckled indulgently. “That's a given.”

True to his words, soon they entered a large room, that had chains and restraints attached to the wall - and nothing else. Lucius grabbed Harry by the throat and pushed him against the wall. The restraints moved of their own accord, and encircled his wrists. Harry struggled furiously - to no avail.

“Well now,” Lucius murmured. “Have fun. Try not to... cause too much damage. I doubt The Dark Lord will be pleased if Severus ends up having to spend the night brewing healing potions.”

Draco nodded seriously. “I suppose not.”

Lucius winked at his son, and left. Draco stood in front of Harry, hands crossed on his chest, smiling smugly.

“Dream come true,” Draco told him with a sneer. “You have no idea, Potter.”

Harry glared at him. “Really Malfoy. All this time, I had no idea that you were a bully, and a coward. Yes, what a shock.”

Draco lifted his hand and stuck him hard across the face. Harry held himself still, not willing to give his rival the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. He tasted blood, and his lip throbbed violently at the blow.

“Well,” Harry muttered. “I think you've just made my point.”

Draco shrugged and pointed his wand at him and uttered a spell. Harry felt the chains lengthen and adjust, as an invisible force propelled him to fall on his knees. Kneeling on the hard, uneven stone floor, Harry stared at Draco with disdain. He saw Draco unzipping his trousers, and understood his intent instantly.

“Very nice, Malfoy,” Harry taunted. He felt surprisingly unconcerned. He had known Draco for years, and he knew exactly what buttons to push. “Is this how your daddy treats mommy at home? Or maybe the other way around? That's where you've learned it all?”

Smile slowly vanished from Draco's face. “Be quiet and open your mouth,” he ordered.

Harry just shook his head. “I hope you know some good penis reattachment spells,” he said with feigned sympathy. “Because the moment that useless thing goes in my mouth, I'll bite it off.”

Draco hesitated momentarily. “Good point,” he murmured. “Maybe I should remove your teeth first.”

“Yeah,” Harry snickered. “Voldemort will be just thrilled to have a toothless Horcrux that he'll have to feed through a straw for seventy years.”

Draco laughed without humor, and zipped up his trousers. He then took a step back and regarded Harry with cold curiosity. “You seem to be operating under the impression that we are still where we used to be. I got news for you Potter - you are a long way from Hogwarts.”

Draco's voice sent a chill down Harry's spine. He could sense that something had changed - but he was not sure what. Draco's wand pointed him again, and Draco said, with icy cruelty:

“Crucio.”

Harry's entire body shuddered in agony. Icy fire was flowing through his blood, his nerves, his bones. He would have screamed - but he had no breath left. Waves of torment flooded him. His entire body fell backwards as much as the chains allowed, and the back of his head struck against the wall behind him. He felt blood trickling from the gush, and the pain of it was almost nonexistent, in comparison with the agony coursing through his entire body.

But in addition to the pure anguish of the curse, there was something else, entering his body, and destroying him from within - an undercurrent of complete darkness, the kind he had never experienced before. It was almost as if this wasn't your ordinary Curcio spell ... This was something else. Not even when Voldemort himself used the Cruciatus on him - had this curse felt so horrible.

The agony continued to grow and spread, unabated. He felt his mind beginning to slip away, as if unable to continue inhabiting the hellish torment that his entire body had become. Had he been able to speak, he would have begged for it to stop, he would have told Draco he would do anything - absolutely anything - but words were no longer possible.

He was going to end up like Neville's parents, Harry thought. Or worse.

Help! He cried out in silence, to no-one in particular, not believing that anyone could hear him.

To his surprise, a voice echoed in his mind. Hermione's. We will always be with you.

He held on to that voice, and allowed it to anchor his mind back to his body. Slowly, the anguish receded. Vision returned, first blurred, then sharper. He looked up and saw Draco, standing in front of him, paler than ever, appearing as if he was fighting a wave of nausea.

“Malfoy,” Harry whispered. “Listen to me. This isn't normal.”

Draco looked at him with loathing. “That's what Cruciatus is like, idiot.”

“No,” Harry said with certainty. “This is something else. What is it?”

“Scared, Potter?” Draco taunted, having regained his composure, at least in part.

“Yeah,” Harry told him honestly. “You should be, too.”

Draco's wand pointed at him, and for a moment, it looked like he was about to repeat the curse. But then, it looked like another wave of nausea struck him. He spat in Harry's face, and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry hung limp in his restraints, his entire body feeling numb and spent. He barely felt anything when Lucius came and released him, and dragged him into Severus' quarters, throwing him on the floor. The last thing he saw was Severus push himself past Lucius and kneel next to him, placing a hand on his cheek. With the remnants of his strength, Harry turned his face slightly and kissed that hand, before oblivion finally claimed him.

For the rest of the day, Severus rocked Harry's body in his arms, watching him with terror. He placed a healing ointment on the gush on his head, and it began to heal. When Harry finally opened his eyes, Severus let out a breath of relief and kissed his warm forehead.

Harry looked at him in misery. “I screwed up, didn't I?” he asked. “Was I supposed to.. go along with it?”

Severus stroked his hair with gentleness, ensuring his fingers avoided the cut. “No, no. It'll be fine,” he said, trying to project a calm he did not feel. “Lucius was supposed to ask me first. Or at least, tell me. Not just... take you.”

Harry winced. “And if he had ordered you to ... lend me out... then what? And what if he orders again? Then what?”

Severus took Harry's face in his hands. “We have a choice. We can either stick it out, and wait until we get to Nagini ... or we can fight back now. Most likely die - but... at least ...”

At least Harry would not spend his last days as Voldemort's plaything, Severus thought darkly.

Harry groaned quietly and looked away. Severus watched him, waiting for his answer.

“We should stick it out,” Harry said finally. “I want to kill that goddamn snake, if it's the last thing I do. Just tell me what to do.”

Severus nodded to him, with a bitter smile. Truth be told, he no longer cared about Voldemort, Nagini, or their mission. He no longer cared about anything - other than ending the torment he had plunged Harry into.

But Harry leaned into his embrace, and shut his eyes, drifting off. For a few hours, Harry slept peacefully in his arms, with a smile that betrayed no fear, or regret. Severus sat and watched the young, weary face, unable to tear himself away from it.

When Lucius knocked on their door and entered, Severus instantly pressed his lips into a disdainful smile. Lucius ignored him, and stared at Harry, who was now awake, but still clinging to Severus shamelessly, with his entire body.

“It's amazing how much dependency and affection can a single vial of potion generate,” Lucius said with amusement. “However, your slave is ill-trained. Stunningly so.”

Severus issued a mocking grunt. “He is trained well enough,” Severus drawled spitefully. “He was trained to let no-one touch him but me. Had you advised me of your intentions, I would have lifted that restriction ...”

“Then you'd better lift the restriction right now,” Lucius said casually. “Lord Voldemort's orders are to grant Harry's use as a reward... to his most loyal servant.”

Severus felt Harry tense next to him. “Who would that be?” Severus asked calmly. “You?”

Lucius laughed without mirth. “You would think so, but no. The one who had brought the Dark Lord back... the one who had used Harry's blood to do so.”

“Pettigrew?” Severus said in disbelief. “That... thing?”

Lucius shrugged, almost apologetically. “I know, I know, the man looks like he's just crawled out of a sewer. But - loyalty above looks. Pettigrew has proved himself useful, time and again, and Our Lord is far from shallow... I suppose being brought back from the dead changes your perspective.”

“I suppose,” Severus echoed absently, his arms still wrapped around Harry, who was frozen in his embrace.

Lucius looked at Harry intently. “Come here, duckling,” Lucius said softly. Harry looked up at Severus, who nodded to him, and released him from his grip.

Harry got off the bed, and walked up to Lucius, standing before him. Severus watched cautiously, as Lucius took Harry's face in his hands.

“Do you love your Master, duckling?” Lucius asked gently.

Harry nodded slightly.

“Then remember this: your Master will be held accountable for your behavior. Choose your course of action with that thought in mind.” Lucius released Harry's face and gave him a little push. Harry stumbled back mindlessly, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Lucius glanced at Severus briefly. “Bring him to Peter,” he said. “Then join the rest of us in the main Hall. Don't dawdle.”

When Lucius left, Harry moved himself close to Severus and latched onto him with his entire body. Severus held him in an iron grip. The young body was trembling violently in his arms.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. “I don't suppose we could polyjuice Lucius to look like me, throw him to Pettigrew, and then just Oblivate him?”

Severus shook his head absently, with just a hint of smile crossing his lips. “Voldemort's surveillance spells are very deep. They can cut through polyjuice... And as for Transfiguration, neither of us is sufficiently skilled to...”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed deeply. “Well.”

They sat locked together in an embrace, knowing that they had to leave, unwilling to end it. Harry sighed slightly. “Kiss me,” he begged. “Please.”

Severus glanced at him in disbelief. “Now?”

Harry nodded furiously. “While you still want to.”

Severus smiled bitterly. “Idiot boy.” He kissed him deeply, caressing Harry's tongue gently, finding and stroking the faded, barely noticeable scar from the piercing. Harry yielded to his touch, and to his kiss, closing his eyes at contact. Severus felt the young lips trembling against his, and then withdrawing from his mouth.

“Don't even think this way,” Severus said gently. “Nothing can change who you are to me.”

Harry sniffled quietly. “I don't know about that,” he whispered. “After this morning...”

“What happened?” Severus demanded. “Lucius said Draco used Cruciatus...”

“Yes. But there was something else in it,” Harry said with a shudder. “Something... dark... like black ice... it burned... what was it?”

Severus froze at the question. “You couldn't tell?”

Harry shook his head. “Never felt something quite like that before.”

“Hate,” Severus said quietly. “Pure hate. It... can destroy.. make your mind slip from your body...”

“I felt it,” Harry agreed. Against his hand, Severus felt a tremor run down Harry's back. “Almost let myself go... where does it come from?”

Severus shrugged. “I am not sure,” he admitted. “Albus says it starts with something small... then grows.. expands...” Severus was holding him tightly, almost trembling himself. “Harry, let's just... fight our way out of here and run,” he offered. “Maybe if we surprise them...”

Harry shook his head again. “Nagini,” he repeated stubbornly. “I'll find that thing and kill it.”

“But - Harry... Pettigrew?” Severus spat out the name with distaste, as it left a foul taste in his mouth.

Harry shrugged tiredly. “It may as well be him. I don't think I'd do better with Voldemort, or Bellatrix. It's kind of ironic, actually ... him being the last surviving Marauder and all.” Harry freed himself from Severus' embrace and stood up quickly, as if in a hurry to start moving before he had a chance to change his mind.

Severus rose to his feet as well, placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, and led him towards the room where Peter Pettigrew was waiting for his prize.

They stopped before the massive door together. Harry cast one parting glance at Severus and stepped into the room, the door instantly slamming shut and locking behind him.

The door shutting behind him, Harry stepped into the dark room that contained a single armchair and a fireplace. He looked around with trepidation. Shackles were attached to the wall, some of them still had traces of blood on them. A single bloodied whip lay on the stone floor, and Harry winced a little at the sight of it.

As if in response to his dread, cackling laughter greeted him, and the large chair span around, Peter Pettigrew coming to face Harry.

“The last surviving Potter,” Pettigrew said with a giggle of anticipation, locking his hands in a firm clasp. “Come here, Harry. Come closer.”

Harry swallowed hard, but did not allow his gaze to waver. He clenched his fists tightly and stepped forward, coming to stand before Pettigrew.

Peter surveyed him with delight. “Strip off your clothes, Harry,” he said with a smirk.

Harry gave him a brief glare. “I don't suppose I could call in a life-debt and talk you out of this?” he asked without much hope.

Pettigrew just laughed shrilly. “Silly boy. I will not kill you. You are too important to die this way. Now, will you strip on your own, or should I do it for you?”

With despair, Harry glanced at the enormously long, thick yellow fingernails on Peter's left hand, and the smooth, silver fingers on his right.

“I'll strip on my own,” he said, defeated. Quickly and with disdain, he removed his shirt, and unbuttoned his trousers, sliding them down, along with his shorts. He kept his boots on, but Pettigrew did not seem to mind.

“Good, good,” Pettigrew murmured appreciatively. “Nice boy. Come sit at my feet, with your back to me.”

Harry bit his lip and complied, lowering himself to the cold stone floor. He felt Pettigrew's boots come around and press against his hips, and he tensed involuntarily. Thick fingernails of Pettigrew's left hand scraped his head, parting his ridiculously short hair.

“That's quite a cut you have,” Pettigrew noticed. “Tell me what happened.”

Harry knew better than to interpret the question as a benevolent offer. “Draco hit me with Crutiatus. I banged my head against the wall,” he said, as indifferently as he could.

Pettigrew laughed, obviously delighted. “He really hates you, you know. Could you feel it?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed dejectedly, his entire body freezing at the recollection. The memory of Draco's rage still coursed through his body.

Pettigrew almost purred. “I am quite proud of that achievement,” he murmured. “Yes. Very proud.”

Harry stiffened even more. “You made Draco hate me,” he said incredulously.

Pettigrew laughed softly. “Good heavens, no, Harry. You made him hate you. I just helped, that is all.”

“How?” Harry asked instantly. Pettigrew's filthy hand continued to rise and fall, stroking his hair, but he no longer cared. He wanted to know what the man had done... to him, to Draco... to everyone he had ever touched.

“Same way as always,” Pettigrew snickered. “As Scabbers, I attached myself to the trio... you, Hermione and Ron. You have no idea how easy it is for a pet to affect the mood the humans around it. Whenever Draco was around, I made sure that you three were just a little more bitter and hostile than usual. And then, of course, when Draco pushed you, you, Harry, the champion of justice, pushed back... each time just a little harder... always taking the hostilities to the next level... delightful, truly delightful.”

“I haven't done anything to Draco that he didn't deserve ten times over,” Harry spat furiously.

“Of course, of course,” Pettigrew agreed readily. “It's so beautiful, when wrath of the righteous brings about their own destruction... when those in the right feel they are entitled to exact revenge... as much as they want... Until their opponent runs to the Dark Lord's side.” Pettigrew's voice trailed off dreamily, as his hand rested on Harry's neck. “You and your friends helped drive Draco here, Harry. I love history repeating itself,” Pettigrew murmured. “Breathtaking when it happens.”

“You've done it before,” Harry whispered with sudden understanding entering his mind. .

“Years ago,” Pettigrew confirmed. “At Hogwarts. You know, how the people of destiny always fall into groups of three? I was supposed to have a trio of my own, you know. Remus and Sirius were mine by right. They were supposed to be Dark. I was supposed to bring them to Lord Voldemort.”

“How do you figure they were supposed to be Dark?” Harry muttered. “That's ridiculous.”

“Please tell me you are joking,” Pettigrew chuckled. “A werewolf and a relation of Bellatrix? They were destined for terrible greatness. The greatness that your father had cheated them out of.”

“My father...” Harry repeated absently.

“What can I say?” Pettigrew laughed. “Your father was a better leader than I. I admit that freely. He drew them away from the Dark so easily, so effortlessly... I could never hope to compete with him. But I got him back, you see. I got him back.” Pettigrew petted Harry's head again. “Lean into my touch, Harry. Relax.”

Harry obeyed automatically, shutting his eyes, allowing the repulsive touch to soothe him. A wave of nausea reached his throat, but he forced it away.

“How did you get him back?” Harry asked neutrally.

“By doing what I do best. I attached myself to the group... and I destroyed the original intended trio. You see, there were the other three that were meant to be together. Lily Evans, James Potter and Severus Snape, were meant to be the trio of light. Just imagine... the love of Lily Evans... the courage of James Potter... the intelligence of Severus Snape... those three would have defeated Lord Voldemort back then, if they had been allowed to be together. But I, I did not let them,” Pettigrew stated with pride. “Since I could not have my own destined trio, I destroyed Potter's.”

“You got my father and Severus to feud,” Harry said incredulously. “How?”

Pettigrew chuckled. “You will be surprised at how easy it is to manipulate people who think they are in the right. A few well-placed environmental cues, a few hints and nudges here and there... and oh my. The drama unfolded. I was afraid, however, that the old Headmaster would interfere. So I took the liberty of leaving something in his office. A part of myself.”

“Rat droppings?” Harry asked venomously, and tensed slightly, expecting a blow, or Crutiatus. But Pettigrew just cackled at his words.

“Something like that,” he said peaceably. “A part of my essence. Something like a festering wound... ready to reopen at any time... Something that clouds the judgment of those who are a part of the original trio... makes them... lose faith... Locks them into a course of action filled with folly and resentment. I was given to understand that when your father and Severus tried reconciling in Dumbledore's office, they ended up fighting worse than ever. With James driving Severus right into the Dark Lord's fold. Astonishing, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said tiredly. “It really is.”

Suddenly, it made sense - all of it. Even the fact that Severus had let him drink Voldemort's potion now made sense. Pettigrew's subtle influence had lingered in Dumbledore's office, for over two decades, waiting for another chance to attach itself to Severus, or Lily and James... or the next best thing to them, Harry Potter.

“I destroyed what was meant to be,” Pettigrew said smugly. “Severus Snape was meant to be your parents' confidant, their best friend, their defender, their secret-keeper... your godfather. Instead, he is your Master and owner... who started fucking you before you even finished growing up. I created a new path for him, and you. I hope it meets with your approval.”

Harry buried his face in his knees and choked back a sob. Desolation lay all around him, with him at the center of it... living out the rest of his life amidst the ashes of his parents' destiny. Pettigrew stroked the back of his head with sickening gentleness.

“Get up, Harry,” Pettigrew commanded, almost kindly. “Get down on all fours. Lean down on your elbows. Bow your head.”

Mindlessly, Harry obeyed, positioning himself as ordered. For one brief moment he had considered attacking his tormentor, but then remembered Lucius' warning - that Severus would be held accountable. With a low growl, he pressed his head to the floor and waited. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pettigrew pointing his wand at him.

“Such a proud boy,” Pettigrew said with a strange look in his eyes.

A spell was cast, and then another, and then another. For a moment, nothing happened - but then, Harry's entire body shuddered in pain. His back was covered in welts, and his backside was throbbing violently from the agony of a violation that never took place. He gasped and collapsed on the floor, feeling blood trickle down his back and his thighs.

“Get out of here,” Pettigrew said calmly. His voice sounded almost sane as he spoke. “Collect your clothes and leave.”

Harry lifted himself off the floor, in a daze. His entire body was a knot of agony, but he had not been touched - and he felt something akin to gratitude.

Trembling from indescribable torment, Harry gathered his clothing off the floor. He could not even think of dressing himself - ever move hurt beyond words.

“Goodbye, Harry,” said the voice of the last Marauder. “Try not to come back.”

He just pressed the bundle of his clothing to his chest, and walked out, unsteadily and slowly, heading down the hallway, hoping to find Severus. Harry thought he heard his voice in a distance, and he followed the direction of that voice, even as his vision began to blur. A few long minutes later, he stood at the doorway to the Main Hall. Voldemort was not there, but he saw Bellatrix, Lucius and Severus, sitting down. Severus lifted his eyes and looked at Harry's battered body. His face was completely expressionless, but the black eyes glared dangerously. Harry stumbled forward, and knelt down at his feet, burying his head in his lap with a stifled sob.

“Master,” he sobbed quietly, unable to utter any other word. “Master.”

Severus looked at Harry's battered body, as the boy knelt at his feet, face pressed against his thigh, weeping bitterly. Severus placed his hand on Harry's head and said in a quiet voice: “Shush. Calm yourself.” Harry's sobbing subsided almost instantly under his touch.

Severus lifted Harry into his lap. Harry threw his arms around Severus, and melted into his embrace. Severus covered him up with his robe, and kissed his forehead. Harry issued one final sob, and rested his chin on Severus' shoulder.

“So dependent,” Bellatrix hissed gleefully. “So weak and needy...”

Lucius, however was watching Harry with something akin to concern. “The injuries,” Lucius said slowly.

“Yes,” Severus intoned coldly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “With the healing spells not available, they can easily become infected. And then you wonder why the Dark Lord has chosen me as Harry's Master... None of you have the necessary self-control, or foresight. Not even you, Lucius. You see a bundle of submissive teenage flesh, and go berserk, forgetting how important this particular body is to our plans.”

Lucius glared at him dangerously. “Fine,” he said, rising to his feet. “Enough of this. Playtime is over. Patch him up.”

“I will need some potions and ointments,” Severus said indifferently. “You can pick them up for me tomorrow morning. There are a few stores in Diagon Alley that will carry them...”

Lucius shrugged. “Afraid not, old friend. The lockdown will not be lifted. You will have to make do with what you brought... and knowing you, my dear Severus, I believe you've brought a lot more than you are letting on.”

Severus nodded without any expression. He reached for Harry's clothing, piled on the floor, then stood up, and carried Harry back to their quarters.

Once there, Severus laid Harry on the bed, face down, and surveyed the damage, trying not to lose his cool. Harry's skin was broken in a few places, and blood - the blood on his backside...

“It's not what you think,” Harry said tiredly. “He hadn't touched me. Just used a spell...”

“What?” Severus snapped, in surprise. “Why would he do that?”

“Don't know,” Harry muttered. “He told me not to come back.”

“Well,” Severus mused. “This little stunt pretty much assured he, or anyone else, would not be allowed to .. play with you again.”

“Maybe I should get him a thank you card,” Harry said bitterly, and buried his face in the pillow.

Severus sighed deeply, gave silent thanks for the Untedectable Extension Charm, and produced the healing ointment. As cautiously as he could, he rubbed the substance into Harry's injuries, and the cuts began to close almost immediately. Harry shuddered slightly under each touch, and finally, wept again, bitterly, quiet despair ringing in every sob.

“Harry,” Severus said with gentleness. “Beloved... What is it?”

“It was him,” Harry whispered. “It was him all along. Pettigrew made it all happen. He ... he was there to destroy you, and my parents. You were meant to be together. Like me, Ron and Hermione. You were supposed to be three. But Pettigrew made you feud... and then, my father drove you to Voldemort... and then... Peter attached himself to us, through Ron, and we, well, I drove Draco to Voldemort...”

Severus swore under his breath. “Harry... listen to me very carefully,” he said as calmly as he could. “You did not make Draco join Voldemort. That was his choice. Just like becoming a Death Eater was my choice. Your father did not make me do it. It's impossible for someone to control another person's soul.”

“Yeah, right.”

“That's right,” Severus said gravely. “There are spells, potions, magical means that can influence and even control people's moods, thoughts, actions... but nobody can make another person Dark. It's a philosophical impossibility for someone to magically manipulate the soul of another. Trust me on this.”

Harry lifted himself on the elbow and smiled at him through the tears. “If you say so.”

Severus lay down beside him. Harry turned on his side, his battered back turned to Severus, pressing against his chest. Severus held on to him with all his strength.

“Harry,” Severus said softly. “Tomorrow, when the Order attacks, I want you to go with whoever Albus sends for you.”

Harry stiffened against the arms holding him. “I know you do,” he said softly. “Just as you know that I won't go. I intend to stay until I can get to Nagini.”

Severus clenched his fists, stilling himself against the violent surge of anger and despair, merged into one. “Does my word mean nothing to you?” he asked sternly.

“Your word is everything to me,” Harry whispered. “It sustains me... guides me.. even when I am alone, you are always with me... there's just one thing that means more than your word... it's who you are. Your example. I know that if you were in my place, you wouldn't leave. I can't either.”

Severus muttered something spiteful about teenage martyr complex. Harry moved in his embrace, and turned around, coming to face him. “Please,” Harry pleaded quietly. “Don't force me to go against you... It will destroy me. I can't bear it... I need you.”

Severus gave him a small nod, and drew the boy to his chest. Harry pressed himself into him with gratitude.

“I love you,” Harry said serenely. “You are my everything.”

“You are my life,” Severus said softly. “Don't let me lose you.”

“No,” Harry murmured, and fell asleep almost instantly, his head resting on Severus' arm.

Severus fell asleep as well. That night he once again, dreamed of the graveyard, and Luna Lovegood.

In his dream, he was standing above the familiar open grave, his eyes fixed on the coffin lying beneath his feet. Behind him, a tender melodic voice hummed a familiar melody.

I await no boons of fate, regretting

Not the past, for that is buried deep.

Ah, to find true freedom, true forgetting

In the calm of everlasting sleep!

Yet I dread the cold and clammy fingers

And the leaden, icy sleep of death.

Would that life within me, dormant, lingered

And I felt its warm and balmy breath;

Would that love's own voice, my ear caressing,

Night and day sang joyful song to me,

And an ancient oak, my slumber blessing,

Swayed above my head eternally.

“Harry,” he called, not expecting an answer.

“He's not here yet,” Luna's voice said behind him. “But he will be soon.”

“Is there no way to prevent this from happening?” Severus demanded. “There must be a way...”

“No,” Luna said firmly. “Once the prophecy is uttered, the course is locked. This event is unavoidable. This grave is waiting for him.”

Severus turned around and stared at her. She gazed at him serenely, her eyes glowing in the dark, and her blond hair cascading down to her shoulders.

“Tell me,” she murmured, “Where is this place?”

Severus shook his head tiredly, unable to lift his eyes. All he could see was the rough, slightly uneven surface of the wood in the depths of the unearthed grave.

“Look around you,” Luna insisted. “I know it's hard to take your eyes off something like this, but you should.”

Severus complied, and turned around. He saw other gravestones, and he recognized some of the names. The nearest gravestone, however, belonged to James and Lily Potter.

“Godric's Hollow cemetery,” Severus said. “Right next to his parents.”

“Yes,” Luna murmured in agreement. “This is the beginning of the end; and the last of the prophecy.”

“I can't lose him,” Severus said stubbornly. “He is my life.”

“Yes,” Luna said. “He is. And you, his oak, that will bless his slumber.”

The following morning, Harry and Severus were barely awake when the first sound of attack shook the decrepit castle. Tremor went through the walls, and Harry felt the bed and the floor underneath them shift slightly.

Severus shot up to his feet, just as the door opened, and Lucius strode in.

“Severus, come,” he snapped. “We are under attack.”

Severus adjusted his clothing and threw on his robe in haste. Harry continued to lie in bed quietly, pretending to be half-asleep. Lucius, however, would have none of it.

“On the floor, duckling,” Lucius said, pointing his wand at him. “Put your collar on.”

Harry bit his lip, but complied without argument. The collar locked on its own, and he was now chained to the foot of the bed, still stark naked, without any means of escaping the room, and warning the Order that Nagini was not here, that they had to call off the attack.

Then, as if him being secured to the foot of the bed was not enough, Lucius locked the door behind them, as he and Severus left.

Harry growled in utter frustration. He did not even have a wand... Harry was quite certain that Severus still had it on his person. Harry took a deep breath and calmed himself as much as he could. He attempted to move the bed - but, of course, it was bolted to the floor. He examined the links of the chain, one by one, looking for weakness, finding none. He even reached back to the lock on his collar, and tried to open it - but it was sealed seamlessly, and Harry swore again. Eventually, he managed to reach for the pile of his clothes on the side of the bed, and dressed himself, while listening to the noise coming from outside.

The roar of attack was getting louder and nearer. It appeared that the defenses of the Castle were buckling. Eventually, a wave resonated through the walls and the floor, and Harry guessed that the perimeter had been breached. He sat on the floor and waited. He did not have to wait long.

Only a minute later or so, the door to his room opened with a blast. Harry lifted his eyes and saw Bellatrix Lestrange, standing over him, pointing her wand at him.

“Ready to go?” she asked smugly, her voice harsh and unpleasant, as ever.

Harry stared at her in disbelief.

“Harry, for the love of God!” Bellatrix exclaimed. Harry watched, with his eyes wide open, as a strand of her black hair changed color - to white, pink, purple, and then back to black.

“Tonks!” Harry whispered. “Listen to me, you have to call off the attack. Nagini isn't here.”

“What!” She almost jumped at the news. “Fine - as soon as I get you out.” Her wand pointed at his collar, but he covered it with his hands.

“No! I can't come!” Harry insisted. “I need to stay with Voldemort, until he brings me to where Nagini is.”

She hesitated momentarily, but then shook her head. “Harry, you are coming with me. Albus ordered - said no matter how anything else goes, get you out of here.”

Harry almost spat in disgust. “Why? So that I could die in three weeks, and become a living zombie? Without ever having a chance to destroy Nagini and Voldemort? Come on!”

She looked at him suspiciously. “Three weeks... Harry, what are you talking about?”

“I drank something that will kill me in less than three weeks,” Harry hissed. “It will wipe my mind. You didn't know?”

From the incredulous look on her face, it was obvious that Dumbledore hadn't bothered to mention that detail to her; and she was having difficulty believing him.

“I am not lying! Look into my mind, if you want to,” Harry offered. “I don't care. But please... don't take me back now. Look... Remus died destroying one of the Horcruxes... don't let his death be for nothing Please?”

She hovered over him, gazing at him thoughtfully. “Harry,” she asked softly. “How will we know - when...”

“When Voldemort finally sees fit to bring his remaining Horcruxes together, and Nagini is with me?” Harry completed the sentence for her. “I am not sure. But I'll send a message somehow. Or maybe I will kill Nagini myself. Trust me. Just go. Please?”

“God help us all if I am making a mistake,” Tonks whispered. “Are you sure about this?”

Harry nodded. “Get out, please, call off the attack, before our people die for nothing.”

She swore quietly and fled the room, leaving Harry alone. He sat in silence and listened. A few minutes later, he heard the sounds of the Order retreating in haste. He breathed a sigh of relief. Once more, he waited. Not even half an hour later, Severus and Lucius came to gather him. The adrenaline rush from the nearness of attack, and his argument with Tonks had faded, leaving Harry slightly dazed, and disoriented. His back and backside were still aching from last night, and he shifted on the floor painfully.

“We need to evacuate,” Lucius said in a harsh voice. “This place is no longer safe, now that the Order knows we are here.”

“You certainly have the knack for stating the obvious,” Severus said dryly.

“Amazing how they found us,” Lucius mused, undeterred. “Also amazing how they left right away - almost as if they realized that something they were looking for, was not here. Any ideas, Severus?”

Severus shrugged. “I don't suppose one of Draco's friends...”

“Don't be an idiot,” Lucius snapped. “Draco did not know this location until I Apparated him here. No, I think it is something else. I am willing to make a bet that someone has tagged your little duckling. I am guessing, tracking charms,” Lucius' gaze was fixed on Harry's face, and then, Lucius pointed his wand at Harry, uttering a Legilimency spell. Harry summoned all of his Occlumency skills, and fought back furiously.

Lucius growled. “Tell him to stop resisting me!” he demanded. “What the hell is wrong with your slave?”

Severus shook his head, a disdainful expression on his face.

“My slave is trained to resist others trying to enter his mind, unless I explicitly tell him he must permit it. A reasonable precaution, don't you think?”

Lucius spat on the floor. “Tell him to open his mind to me.”

“Let go of him, Lucius,” Severus said contemptuously, placing his hand on Lucius' wand, causing him to lower it. “Your Legilimency skills are so pitiful, you couldn't read the mind of a bitch in heat. Let me.”

Severus pointed his own wand at Harry, and uttered Legilimency spell. Harry relaxed into his touch and gazed at him trustingly.

The tracking spells must come off, Harry heard Severus' voice in his mind. Lucius had guessed.

Can't you just remove some of them, and keep one or two? Harry asked.

No, Severus answered. They function as a unit. Once placed, they interlock and become inseparable.

I understand.

He understood all to well. Without the tracking spell, there would be no way for the Order to locate him, once he found Nagini.

“You were right, Lucius,” Severus said grudgingly, lowering his wand. “Dumbledore's tracking spell. I will remove it now.”

Lucius chuckled. “I'd better do it myself.” His wand pointing at Harry he uttered an incantation that Harry was not familiar with. The sensation that followed them was unnerving - it was as if an invisible layer of something that had been previously attached to Harry's very skin was rent from his body sharply. His vision blurred, he saw a glow of energy hover before his eyes, and then, vanish.

“Impressive,” Lucius said very quietly. “That was quite the tag. Tracking spells this deep require the person's consent...” Lucius shook his head with disapproval. “And I can see from the amount of energy that the tag is fresh. No more than four or five weeks old. Meaning, that he got it after he drank the potion. For your sake, Severus, I hope there is a good explanation.”

Severus sighed deeply. “I am sad to say, there is. It appears that soon after drinking the potion, before the slave-bond was fully set, Harry went to Dumbledore, who had convinced him to permit this... tagging. Subsequently, the old bastard Oblivated Harry, ensuring that he would never feel the guilt of his wrongdoing, or make a confession. The memory is going to begin returning now, that I have removed the blocks...”

Lucius chuckled quietly. “I almost - almost pity him. This is the ultimate betrayal of the Master, you know; nearly causing your death. The slave-bond will require a punishment that will have to be nearly... lethal. It seems that we will need to ... brutalize the tender teenage flesh once more.”

Harry bowed his head, staring at the floor under his feet. He felt a tremor go through his entire body.

“Not we, Lucius,” Severus said impassively. “Just me. I've told you before, your touch means nothing to the bond. The punishment will have to be at my hand.” As if to demonstrate, he placed his hand on the back of Harry's neck, who bowed his head even lower, and whispered, in a barely audible voice:

“Your hand, Master.”

The group Apparated to another remote location - near an abandoned mansion, that apparently had ant-Apparition wards on it, given that they had to walk for about five minutes to reach their destination. Their new dwelling was similar to the first in atmosphere, but smaller and simpler. The mansion looked no older than two centuries old. Voldemort had gathered them in the large room, with wooden benches and old chairs placed near the walls. All eyes were fixed on Harry, whose hand was clasping that of Severus with desperate force. Lucius had briefed them all, spitting out the words with disdain.

Bellatrix laughed in the usual harsh, grating voice, staring at Harry with gleeful hunger.

Pettigrew's face held a satisfied expression. “Why bother punishing him at all?” he asked with a smile. “His mind is not necessary to our plans. Let him just go insane from the mental anguish.”

Severus shrugged coldly. “Well, it will certainly save me the trouble of wielding the whip, or cleaning up the blood afterwards. I am getting too old for this.”

“Liar,” Voldemort laughed, his voice both tender and amused. “You adore this. The harsher the lash, the greater the joy.”

“Indeed,” Severus murmured agreeably. “Still, I favor duty before pleasure. Peter makes perfect sense. We cannot afford to damage his body severely if we are to preserve your Horcrux for a substantial length of time...”

Voldemort stared at Severus, unblinking. “Punish him,” he demanded in no uncertain terms. “Make him bleed. Have him suffer as much as you can. Just make sure you don't let him die - just yet.”

Severus nodded curtly. “Of course, My Lord.”

He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and looked into his eyes. Harry smiled at him a little, and then, his eyelashes fluttered and lowered slightly. Severus gazed at him, not allowing his face to betray any expression, not daring to as much as place a kiss on his forehead at the time of the punishment. Harry saw the look in his eyes and knelt down before him, pressing lips to his hand, caressing his palm with his tongue.

“Master,” Harry whispered into his hand. “I am yours.”

Draco issued a brief laugh. “This must be the most beautiful moment of my life. Potter, begging to be punished for betraying Our Lord...”

Lucius chuckled as well. “Stranger than fiction, as Muggles say.”

Severus withdrew his hand from Harry's lips abruptly and ordered, “On your feet. Strip.”

Harry complied instantly, shedding his clothes without any hesitation, revealing the slender body that still bore faded marks from the day before. A moment later, Harry stood, fully disrobed, in full view of the sneering, contemptuous faces of others. He never even glanced at any of them, as if they were not even there. His eyes were fixed on Severus, looking to him for direction.

Lucius came up and stood in front of Harry, surveying him with satisfaction.

“I will get you started,” he told Severus smugly. His wand pointing at the ceiling, Lucius uttered a series of spells, that resulted in two lengths of chain coming down, with shackles attached to the end of them.

“Thank you,” Severus said evenly, and then, nodded to Harry.

Harry lifted his arms obediently, restraints coming to encircle his wrists and lock around them of their own accord.

Then, Lucius came close, and before Severus could open his mouth to utter a single word, took off Severus' robe, and folded on his arm. He then removed Severus' overshirt and undershirt, stripping him down to his waist. “Just like the old days,” Lucius whispered intimately, stroking the old scars on his torso. “Nothing to constrict your movement... nothing to interfere.” He carried his clothing away, piling it in another corner of the room.

Severus cursed mentally, as a sickening knot of tension formed and grew inside him. He had been planning to use a few soundless spells to ease the experience for Harry - but with his wand across the room, it was no longer possible.

Another spell from Lucius, and Severus saw that he was holding something... something dreadfully familiar to him, but something that Harry had never seen before, not even back at the Manor. It was a whip with a sturdy handle, and eight leather tails; but the tips of two of the tails had sharp pieces of metal embedded into them. Lucius grasped the leather tails in his fist and brought them to Harry's face, dragging them along his cheek, allowing the metal to leave faint scratches on Harry's skin.

“We call this the Scorpion,” Lucius said in a voice that was both sinister and intimate. “You know why? Six legs, two claws. It will cut through your skin, through your muscle... it will chip away at your bones. In wrong hands, it could easily kill you - but you should feel comforted by the thought that Severus is an expert at using this tool. Several years of practice, you know.” Lucius patted Harry's head affectionately. “Let's see how the little duckling deals with a few scorpion bites,” he chuckled.

Severus nodded absently, surveying Harry's body in a calculating way.

“Thirty-five,” Lucius demanded. “Five weeks of disloyalty... One lash for every day of unconfessed betrayal in your household... actually, might as well make it forty.”

“Might as well,” Severus echoed absently, and ran his hands over Harry's body, fingers probing his back, chest, buttocks, and thighs, trying to guess where the lash would be least likely to cause damage. He almost swore under his breath, seeing how unbelievably lean that body was - some muscle, not an ounce of fat, ribs visible at the sides, spine and shoulderblades protruding visibly and vulnerably. As much as restraints allowed him, Harry arched his back out, and pressed himself into Severus' hand.

Without further deliberation, Severus took the scorpion whip from Lucius and took a step back, coming to step behind Harry. A moment later, the first lash that fell on Harry's back. The metal tips tore through his skin effortlessly, cutting across the faded welts from the previous night, and blood began to trickle down instantly. Harry issued a loud gasp, and grasped the restraints for support. Severus delivered several more lashes, masking his dismay at every pair of cuts across Harry's skin, at every shudder from his body, at every groan and violent hiss of pain falling from his lips. Lucius was watching the scene with a contented smile.

When Severus decided that Harry's back and shoulders could no longer withstand another blow, he moved the punishment to his buttocks, and then, to his thighs, and legs. The metal tips cut through the top of his legs, and Harry finally cried out loud, and then, continued crying out with every blow.

Severus heard a sharp, loud laughter.. He turned around to see his godson, leaning back in his chair.

“Enjoying yourself?” Bellatrix inquired with a noxious sneer on her face.

Draco flashed her a crooked smile. “Not as much as I would be if I were doing it myself, but - yes.”

“Don't get distracted now, Severus,” Lucius purred. “You still have eight more to deliver.”

Severus turned away, and walked around, coming face to face with Harry. Harry glanced at him painfully. Sweat was running from his brow, mingling with tears streaming from his eyes. His lower lip was bleeding from him biting through it. Severus shuddered inwardly, as the knot of tension inside him burst, becoming a web of terror that ensnared his entire being.

I love you, Harry mouthed soundlessly. Severus felt his heart clench with dread and guilt.

“Make him scream,” Lucius demanded.

Severus struck against Harry's chest, quick blows leaving deep red trails in the previously unmarked skin. Harry screamed, and continued to scream without ceasing, even as Severus delivered the remaining lashes.

The last hoarse cry died in Harry's throat, and Severus tossed the scorpion whip on the floor. Harry hung limp in his restrains, sobbing with every breath he took. Heavy drops of blood were falling rapidly on the floor under his feet.

In silence, Severus went to the corner of the room, and began to dress. The undershirt, the overshirt, and then, the robe again. Across the room, Lucius was releasing Harry from the restraints. Harry stood on his feet, unsteadily, and then, a few seconds later, fell to his knees with a sharp cry.

Lucius lifted Harry off the floor by the elbow. “I'll go lock him up downstairs,” Lucius said, turning to Severus. “You can heal him at your convenience. Right after this, Bellatrix and I will be leaving to prepare the new place. Peter, Draco, keep an eye on the entrance - even though the lockdown will only be taken off for a few minutes when we leave, and when we return, I don't want to take any chances.”

“Naturally,” Peter said quietly. Draco nodded and both he and Pettigrew left, heading towards the doorway.

Keeping his face absolutely impassive, Severus leaned back in the chair, and waited for Lucius and Bellatrix to leave the mansion - so he could go downstairs and heal Harry. It was only him and Voldemort in the room, and Voldemort's eyes were open, unblinking, and lifeless- as if he had fallen asleep forgetting to shut his eyes.

Suddenly, Severus felt a touch of a small hand on his elbow. He shuddered and turned his head sharply, to see Luna Lovegood's form standing in front of him. He opened his mouth, but she shook her head.

“Shhh,” she said. “Don't talk out loud. Just listen. You have to leave when Lucius and Bellatrix do. This is your only chance.”

No, he said wordlessly. I need to stay behind, and heal Harry.

She looked at him sadly. “No. You don't need to heal him. You need to visit his grave.”

Severus shook his head. This is insane.

She laughed quietly. “You are just as sane as I am,” she told him.

I can't leave anymore, Severus thought. My bond to Voldemort will kill me when I leave his sphere of influence.

“It should kill you,” she said. “But it won't. Voldemort isn't your life. Your beloved is.”

She was standing right next to him, her blond hair falling on her face, half-obscuring her eyes. He reached out to touch her, but his hand passed right through her. “Do it,” she said.

He stood up abruptly and exited the room. The hallway was deserted. Quickly, Severus cast several invisibility spells on all of his clothing, and pulled his robe over his head.

“Good,” Luna said softly. “Now wait.”

He waited. Lucius and Bellatrix returned shortly, and headed towards the exit, Lucius lifting the lockdown wards. Soundlessly, Severus followed both of them out of the mansion, unseen by either of them, or by Pettigrew and Draco who were guarding the doorway.

Outside, the sun had set, and the cold evening breeze was rustling the grass and the leaves on the trees.

Lucius and Bellatrix walked away from the mansion together, and Severus heard the faint sound of the lockdown wards snapping back in place, making it impossible for him to return - not until the lockdown was lifted again to allow Lucius and Bellatrix back into the mansion.

Severus felt a wave of nausea and panic hit, as it dawned on him that he had just abandoned Harry, bleeding, gravely injured, in the hands of the enemy... just to follow the voice of his hallucination.

In front of him, Luna was gazing at him serenely. “Go,” she urged him. “His grave is waiting.”

He did not know how long he remained unconscious. It could have been hours, or minutes.

When Harry came to, he was lying naked in a cell, face down on the cold stone floor, a metal collar around his neck chained to the wall. His back, backside, chest and legs felt as if they had been ripped open. Without opening his eyes, he touched his backside, fingers finding deep cuts, unevenly torn skin, and blood, some still trickling down his body, some, beginning to dry.

Severus was not here. He was told he could heal him, and he hadn't come. Harry buried his face in his arm, and sighed deeply.

He groaned quietly, turned to his side, and lay motionlessly, in an attempt to relieve the pressure from his injuries. Pain stabbed through him brutally with every breath, and he shut his eyes, hoping to drift off into mindless oblivion once more.

He heard faint voices, probably no more than a figment of his imagination, he thought.

“Hurry it up!”Ron's voice.

Then, Hermione's. “I am doing the best I can, so may be you can forgive me for actually scanning the door to ensure that we are not going to set off some ward or charm and have Voldemort come after us.”

“He's bleeding!!”

“Shhhhh.”

Ron's voice again: “I thought you had scrambled the audio surveillance spells...”

“Someone upstairs might still hear us, so keep your voice down.”

Harry attempted to open his eyes, but his eyelids were glued together from the sweat and tears. He rubbed his eyes furiously and finally opened them. He saw no-one.

“Hermione? Ron?” he asked hesitantly.

He heard a sound of someone moving and, struggling against the pain, reached for the sound, his hand grasping something that felt like a piece of clothing.

A loud gulp answered him, and he saw the familiar shimmer of Invisibility Cloak being lifted. Hermione and Ron stood above him, smiling uncertainly.

“Hi,” Harry said hoarsely. “You two are the best hallucination of my life.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered with dread.

He blinked, and stretched out his hand. She took his fingers and squeezed them firmly.

“You are real,” he whispered in disbelief. “How...”

“Let's take a look at your injuries,” she said softly. “Can you sit up?”

“I'm not moving,” Harry said sullenly. “It hurts.”

“Don't then,” she offered. She sat on the floor next to him, and surveyed his cuts thoughtfully, wincing at the sight. Ron joined her as well, and his face went absolutely pale, making his freckles stand out darkly against his skin.

“Who did this?” Ron demanded.

“Severus,” Harry said reluctantly. “He had no choice. If he hadn't,... they might have killed us both.”

Hermione sniffled. “What did he use? The cuts... metal?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. “A whip... it had pieces of metal in it.”

“Well,” she muttered. “Thank goodness for the Undetectable Extension Charm.” She started pulling out vials and jars from her pockets, setting them on the floor in a neat, orderly row. “Let's fix you up, shall we.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “Have you forgotten one little detail? That only the Master can heal the injuries he inflicts? You know, the slave-bond and all.”

Hermione shook her head. “I haven't forgotten... but I think that it will be fine.”

Harry glanced at her sceptically. “How do you mean?”

“Well,” she said softly, rubbing an ointment between her palms. “I mean... the bond responds to the Master's will... What if it is the Master's wish that you heal yourself? The real question is, would Severus want you to be healed, or to remain bleeding or injured? If it is the Master's wish that you are well, I don't think the bond will punish you. So you tell me...”

Harry smiled sadly, surveying his battered body. He still did not know why Severus hadn't shown up to help him. “He means for me to be well,” Harry said quietly.

She nodded with her head to one of the vials on the floor. “The smallest vial - drink that,” she said. “It's a numbing potion.”

Harry complied instantly, and felt the agony become bound within him, as if surrounded by a barrier, still there, almost tangible, but unable to come in contact with his nerves. Hermione started applying the ointment into his wounds, it still hurt, but not nearly as bad as he had thought it would, and he lay on the floor quietly, allowing her to work on him.

“You know, it's not half as bad as it could have been,” she told him. “Not a single blow to your spine, or your ribcage. Even the tissue and nerve damage is minimal. You'll be alright...Apart from the scarring, but we'll take care of it later, when everything is over.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered.

She applied another layer of ointments to Harry's skin, and he felt his cuts beginning to close. She had him drink a few more potions, and his thoughts cleared.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “So... tell me. How did you find me?”

She shook her head. “I would rather not, not yet. For your safety, and ours. But we've been with you since the beginning.”

“You were back at the first hideout?” Harry whispered furiously.

“Yes,” Ron said quietly. “ We entered at the same time you did, under the Invisibility Cloak. Unfortunately, once we entered, we were stuck, until.. well. We knew Nagini wasn't there, but we couldn't get out and warn the Order.”

Harry looked at Hermione and Ron in wonder. “And to think... I had no idea... that you were around.”

Hermione blinked furiously, her eyes glistening with tears. “I told you we'd always be with you. I told you you wouldn't be alone.”

“I thought it was... like a metaphor or something,” Harry said.

She smiled at him through the tears. “Or something. Who do you think made Draco get sick when he was trying to Crucio you? I also placed a spell on your mind. To help you.. you know... stay sane.”

“I thought I heard your voice in my mind,” Harry muttered. “Thanks.”

“By the way, sorry about Pettigrew,” Ron said quietly. “We couldn't enter the room ... the door shut too quickly. We ended up outside. I kept trying to place him under Imperius, without him noticing but...”

“I think it worked to some extent,” Harry mused. “I mean, he didn't touch me physically. And, he talked more than anything. Told me things he probably wouldn't have otherwise... Did you hear him talk? About us and Draco, and...”

“I heard,” Ron said tersely. “Draco is still a damned twit, and whatever happened between us, he started it.”

Harry chuckled unhappily.

Hermione sniffled slightly and pointed her wand on his collar, uttering revealing and scanning spells. Harry looked up at her with curiosity.

“Damn it,” she swore. “We can't remove it.. . Can't detach it from the wall. It will set off every charm and ward in this place.”

Ron sighed. “So much for busting you out of here.”

Harry sat up and hugged his knees. “Well... for what it's worth, I should stay anyways. I think I am near the end of my journey. Next stop, Nagini.”

Hermione looked at him fearfully. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I overheard Lucius talking. They are setting up the new place. Don't know where.”

Hermione hugged him tightly, and Ron as well. They sat on the cold stone floor, merged together as one.

“We should go,” Ron said finally. “We can't afford to get stuck here. We need to be ready to leave when Bellatrix and Lucius return...and the lockdown is lifted.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed miserably. “I know... Harry - listen, if we leave now, we might be able to find you again... Just try to make sure that you stay above ground, literally, okay?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “I'll do my best. Well... goodbye.”

“See you later,” Hermione whispered, collecting the vials and jars from the floor, and placing them into her pocket that appeared to be nearly bottomless.

Ron nodded to him and they wrapped themselves into the Invisibility Cloak. They left shortly, having removed all evidence of them having been there. He would have thought it had been a dream, if not for his body, that was now healed - with only faint traces of ache reminding him of the torture that had taken place a short time ago.

When Severus Apparated to the cemetery of Gordic's Hollow, the physical agony overtook him without any warning. He stumbled mindlessly, using the nearest gravestone to support him. Luna was standing next to him, her tranquil gaze never wavering.

Severus looked around - and saw nothing. The tombstone next to the grave of Harry's parents belonged to someone else. He had come for nothing, he thought.

“Unearth it,” Luna demanded.

Severus pointed his wand at the grave, and used a series of spells to levitate the dirt away from it. It had gone on for a while, and finally, at the depth of about ten feet, lay a coffin.

“Wingardium Leviosa,” Severus commanded. The coffin levitated and rested on the edge of the grave. Agony stabbing through his entire body, Severus knelt before it, and traced it with his hands. This coffin... it looked just like it had in his dreams. The rough, uneven surface of the wood with a faintly familiar smell, the smell that reminded Severus of the enslavement potion. The lid of the coffin was burrowed with extraordinarily thin, long grooves, and Severus touched them, over and over again, even as his tears fell on the wood.

He reached to open the coffin, but it was locked.

“Don't,” Luna said softly. “It's empty anyways. For now.”

“When?” Severus asked bitterly.

“Ah,” Luna murmured. “Too soon.”

He continued weeping, kneeling over the wood - unable to think, unable to bring himself to move. The agony of the bond's punishment still stabbed through him, but he could endure it for eternity, if only he knew that this could be avoided.

“It can't,” Luna said bluntly. “The prophecy must be fulfilled. You must do your part, and fulfill the last of it.”

“I can't,” Severus cried out, all self-control and restraint abandoned. “No! Not like this...”

But Luna was whispering something with terrifying gentleness and haunting cruelty, and he yielded to her voice, even though it went against his every rational thought and his every impulse and instinct.

Before he left, he lowered the coffin back into the depths of the grave, and covered it up, removing all evidence of having been there.

X x X

When he Apparated back to the location near the mansion, it was not a moment too soon. He saw Lucius and Bellatrix, about to enter the mansion. The Invisibility spell on his clothing was still functional - he raced as quietly as he could, and entered the Mansion right behind the two of them, just in time, a few seconds before the lockdown was back in place.

iHarry, /i he thought in instant panic. Severus found an isolated room and quickly removed the invisibility spells from his clothing, and then exited, intending to head downstairs to find Harry. However, when he left the room, he came face to face with Lucius.

“Well, now,” Lucius purred. “Did you heal the duckling while we were gone?” he asked.

“I placed a few basic spells,” Severus lied quickly. “I need to go back and complete the healing.”

“Procrastinator,” Lucius chuckled. “I will bring him up for you to finish the job. Wait for me in the dining hall.”

Severus nodded absently and walked into the dining hall, where Bellatrix, Pettigrew, Draco and Voldemort were standing together. Severus stood aside, waiting, dreading the sight that was about to be presented to him. When Lucius finally showed up, he was carrying Harry in his arms, and the boy appeared to be sound asleep. But to Severus' utter shock, that he almost did not manage to suppress, Harry's nude body, even though carrying traces of blood, was healed - and looked whole. He did not know what to make of it - and whether it was a good omen or not.

“You are too modest,” Lucius said wryly. “The boy is fine. And a few scars here and there won't make a difference to our plans.”

“Of course,” Severus nodded agreeably.

“Surrender your wand,” Voldemort commanded suddenly.

Severus spun around to face him. “My Lord,” he whispered quietly, “Is my loyalty in question?”

“Not at all,” Voldemort said evenly. “Obey.”

For a second, Severus considered fighting. But the odds of winning against the five of them were nonexistent, and he didn't want to abandon Harry alone with them. Severus bowed his head, and handed his wand to Lucius.

Lucius chuckled and tucked it away. He then nodded to Harry's sleeping form and said to Severus:

“Dress him.”

Severus complied, collecting the clothes from the floor, and putting them on Harry's body. Lucius watched him with a benign smile.

“Your loyalty isn't in question, Severus,” Lucius purred. “I am, however, concerned, that you have grown attached to your pet, and might act emotionally, once you find out what we intend. Simply put, we don't want to take any chances.”

Severus snorted derisively. Lucius chuckled. “You will thank me later.”

Lucius walked over to a corner of the room, and opened a small trunk, producing a set of chains. Quickly and skillfully, he created a chain harness that completely immobilized Harry, binding his arms to his body, and restraining his legs. Severus watched him with dread.

“Isn't that a bit of an overkill?” Severus asked in a bored voice.

Lucius chuckled. “Interesting choice of words, Severus... yes, I suppose... it is!”

Bellatrix issued a harsh giggle. Draco's face held an expression of perfect confusion.

“Well then,” Lucius murmured softly. “Pick him up, Severus.”

Severus did, cradling Harry's body in his arms. His head was thrown back, and he was breathing evenly and deeply. Even asleep, his body seemed to melt into Severus' arms. Lucius noticed it and chuckled.

“Shall we proceed to our final destination?” Lucius asked gently. “Or perhaps, I should say, Harry's final destination?”

Severus swallowed hard, feeling a lump in his throat. “As you wish,” he forced out a response. They left the mansion together, and headed towards the gates, where Apparition restrictions were lifted.

Carrying Harry's chained, sleeping body in his arms, Severus felt nothing but pure terror. It was still before dawn, and the cold wind beat against them, making Harry shiver in his sleep. Severus cradled him tighter, pressing his own body against Harry's, hoping to impart some warmth to him. As discreetly as he could, Severus rocked him, and applied some pressure to his arms, and shoulders, hoping to wake him - but Harry remained sound asleep, as if under a spell, or under effect of a sleeping potion.

They Apparated to the intended location together, and Severus shuddered inwardly, when he recognized the place. They stood by the grave that he had seen a few hours earlier. Pettigrew cast an invisibility charm around them. Lucius pointed his wand at the grave and began to unearth it. The grave was opened soon, and Lucius lifted the coffin out, setting it on the ground. He unlocked it, and lifted the lid. Severus stood motionlessly, still cradling Harry's sleeping body in his arms, not wanting to believe his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge Lucius' intent.

“You mean to bury him alive,” Severus said incredulously. And he was about to become a part to it...

Voldemort spoke softly: “Change of plans, Severus. I have decided that it is too risky to have the boy with us. He has been nothing but trouble so far.”

“Oh?” Severus asked absently, not even stopping to consider that he was arguing with the Dark Lord. “Forgive me, my Lord, but how is this going to help you? Harry's body will die, and the Horcrux will be destroyed.”

Lucius smiled smugly. “Don't you recognize the type of wood this is, Severus? With your sharp sense of smell, you should be able to...”

“Wailing Willow,” Severus whispered. “So?”

“So,” Lucius said, still smiling. “Remember, the bark binds itself to two things: human soul, and wood of its own tree. Once Harry's body relinquishes its hold on his soul, and the fragment of Our Lord's, the wood will draw the Wailing Willow Bark essence to itself. The soul, bound to the Wailing Willow Bark essence, will embed in the wood. Harry's tomb will become the Dark Lord's new Horcrux... no spell, no effort... just a natural transfer of energy.”

“I see,” Severus said absently. “That's... clever.”

“Put him in,” Lucius demanded. Severus complied, laying Harry's body in the coffin, adjusting his limbs to give him at least some comfort, even in his wakeless slumber. Harry stirred slightly in his sleep, and smiled faintly as Severus' hand brushed against his cheek.

“Beautiful,” Lucius murmured. “So peaceful.”

Lucius flicked his wand, and uttered a few spells: a silencing spell, and an obscuring spell, ensuring that if Harry woke, he would have no vision, and no voice.

Severus crossed his arms on his chest. He had never been so helpless in his entire life. “Not afraid of grave robbers, Lucius?” he taunted lightheartedly.

Lucius laughed sincerely. “Now who is being paranoid? No, not at all. No-one will think to search here. As far as people know, this grave belongs to someone else. And even if, by some miracle, someone finds this ... entombment in the next little while - so what? The spell on the lock will kill little Harry, should someone other than the Dark Lord attempt to open, or break this coffin.”

“How much oxygen does he have?” Draco asked with genuine curiosity.

“Two hours, give or take,” Lucius told him. “He will be dead before dawn.”

Severus nodded briefly, as despair gripped him, and settled into his body. Severus caught the last glimpse of his beloved face, just as Lucius slammed the lid shut, and locked the coffin. Using his wand, Lucius lowered the coffin down, and it rested in the depths of the grave.

“Cover it up,” Lucius ordered.

Severus hadn't moved. He just stared numbly at the wooden coffin underneath his feet, knowing that Harry was in there, in chains, asleep, deprived of vision or voice.

“I'll need my wand,” Severus said absently.

“Not just yet,” Lucius murmured. He flicked his own wand, causing a simple shovel to appear. “Go on, Severus. We don't have all day.”

Severus bit his lip. Once again, he considered fighting a losing fight - at this point, he had nothing left to live for.. nothing, apart from destroying Voldemort and Nagini. He would, Severus vowed to himself - no matter what it took. He would play along, he would come with them, he would find a way to kill the two of them... somehow. Then, he would return to the graveside, and destroy this final Horcrux. No matter what, he would ensure that something like this never took place again, for anyone alive.

Still, he could not force himself to move.

Lucius laughed tenderly. “I see that you are hesitant. As I said, your loyalty was never in question. Only your ... unwarranted affection towards meaningless, trivial things. Now, begin.”

Severus picked up a shovel, and threw the first lump of soil into the grave. It fell onto the lid of the coffin with a faint thud.

Draco watched him intently. Next to him, Lucius chuckled. “You really should thank me, Severus. I am helping you... build character, you know.”

“I know,” Severus echoed listlessly, and threw some more soil in. The coffin was soon covered up, and obscured from his view.

“Enough,” Voldemort said suddenly. “Finish this.”

Lucius uttered a spell, and covered up the grave almost instantaneously. A few more spells created a cover of grass above it, making it look like it had been undisturbed in years.

With a smirk, Lucius spoke again:

“Severus, being a half-blood and all, I know you appreciate Muggle poetry. Here's one for you:

“To die is natural; but the living death
Of those who waken into consciousness,
Though for a moment only, ay, or less,
To find a coffin stifling their last breath!
Humanity would shudder could we know
How many have cried to God in anguish loud,
Accusing those who a wrong had wrought,
Beyond the worst that ever devil thought.”

“It really would be something if he were to wake up and find himself like this,” Draco mused. Severus glanced at his godson briefly - his face no longer held the usual expression of disdain or teenage cruelty - it was completely blank.

“Yes,” Lucius murmured gently. “But we are not entirely... inhumane. The sleeping potion is strong. He'll never wake up... never grasp the horror of his own death. He will die alone, without ever knowing it.”

Harry awakened with a start. He was lying on his back, on a hard, wooden surface. He opened his eyes - but saw nothing. It was more than just pitch-black darkness - it was something else. He was blind.

He shifted slightly, and realized that he could not move his arms, or legs- they were bound with lengths of chains, as far as he could tell.

Where the hell was he?

He opened his mouth to cry out to anyone who might hear, but no sound came out of his throat, not even a faint whimper. He had no voice.

Panic surged through him briefly, but he willed it away. He shifted on the floor slowly, inch by inch, until his feet struck against another firm surface. He pushed himself against it, and inched his way back, this time, the top of his head striking against the wood. He attempted to sit up, but wood was above him, as well.

Panic returned, in full force. He had been buried alive. That was the prophecy. To be sealed in the tomb. He remember Severus telling him about his nightmares... He should have listened, Harry thought bitterly, but he never had. He just pushed the fears away, and pretended that it was nothing. Perhaps if he had listened to Severus, he could have figured something out... could have been ready for something like this... but now... now what?

He sniffled quietly and moved a bit, inch by inch, bending his legs in the knees as much as the chains permitted.. He then struck out, as hard as he could, making his boots impact against the wall of the coffin. It had not budged.

Not that it would matter, Harry thought with despair - what if he did manage to break it? All that would accomplish, would be soil pouring into the coffin to suffocate him. Harry twisted and turned his body, attempting to slide out of the chains that held him - without any success. The chains formed a type of net, or harness, that was locked onto him.

For a moment, he had a faint hope returning - perhaps Hermione and Ron would find him... with whatever tracking magic they were using. But then, he remembered Hermione's warning, for him to stay “above ground”, and hope dissipated again.

He lay quietly on his back, attempting to calm himself. He twisted his wrists slightly, and pressed his palms against the wooden surface. His fingers felt the uneven, rough texture and his fingernails scraped the thin grooves in the wood. He picked at one of them slightly, and ended up driving splinters into his fingers.

The complete darkness, the feeling of the wood beneath him, against his head, and by his sides, the sensation of being trapped and utterly helpless filled him with unspeakable terror - and he screamed without sound, straining his throat only to emit a noiseless cry of horror. His unseeing eyes flooded with tears and he sobbed silently, even as his body convulsed in chains with every sob. He started feeling short for breath, and for a brief moment he thought he was suffocating - already. He forced himself to calm down, as much as he could, and his breathing returned to normal. He was not sure how much air he had, he was guessing about an hour.

He had no idea it would come to this. But - he thought suddenly - maybe Severus did? Maybe he left him a way out... But what?

He remembered Severus saying: “Your wand will be available to you when it's time to fight.” Harry smiled in the darkness of his captivity. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps, somehow, Severus had snuck his wand in.. but where? Harry twisted in his restraints again, hoping to feel it on him. But he felt nothing - other than the clothing and his own skin. He suddenly remembered his conversation with Severus, the morning after Harry's disobedient escape from overnight bondage:

We've been reading ahead. Hermione helped teach too - she knows a lot of really obscure spells. Like the Undetectable Extension Charm... that's neat.

You think so?

Yes. Properly applied, it can be really helpful. Theoretically, there is no limit to how much stuff you can cram into a small space with that charm.

His fingertips, barely able to move, trailed the long thin grooves in the wooden surface again. One of those grooves must contain his wand, Harry thought. Now, to figure out where it was, so that he could focus his thoughts on it...

Trelawney's voice echoed in his mind again. For just above the heart of gloom, Lies trace of fire, in wood entombed.

This was the heart of gloom, he thought. And just above, in the lid of the coffin, buried in one of the thinnest grooves in the wooden surface, with use of Undetectable Extension Charm, was the Phoenix feather, encased in holly - “the trace of fire, in wood entombed.”

He imagined it, believed in it, and focused on it...It was all he needed. He did not need to see it, to feel it with his hands. He did not even need his voice. He had learned to get by without any of that.

Relashio! He commanded voicelessly. The chains around him fell off, as if struck off by an invisible force.

In the darkness, underneath the ground, he smiled.

Finite Incantatem!

He felt a tingling run across his eyes and his throat.

“Yes!” he cried out loud in triumph, and lifted his hands to touch the lid of the coffin. He was still anxious, almost to the point of delirium, but the despair was gone.

He thought about what spell he could use to escape. He went through the possibilities in his mind. He wasn't too keen on trying to levitate the coffin out of the ground, and then using Allohomora - if his concentration wavered, he could plummet right back in. And, knowing Voldemort, the lock was probably hexed, too... eventually, he decided on Apparating right out of his entombment.

He wondered if he could Apparate while leaving his wand behind. How deep was the grave? Six feet? Ten? Fifty? He swore under his breath, and cursed himself for not pestering Severus about the details of those nightmares. Just one well-placed question, such as, How deep was the grave, anyways? would have saved him a lot of trouble at this point. He decided to simply try for the height of fifteen feet.

Harry took a deep breath, stilling himself against the nervous tremors going through his entire body.

He thought of Severus, and then, of Ron and Hermione; then focused his mind on the wand once more.

“I'm on my way,” he whispered.

They had left Gordic's Hollow behind, and Apparated at an unplottable location. The old castle towered near a hill, grey stone walls contrasting against the cloudless sky. Voldemort and Pettigrew walked together, Lucius and Bellatrix, following closely. Severus trailed behind them, still without his wand, but no longer caring - at least, not especially. Alongside him, Draco walked absently, kicking dirt with his feet.

“That's a fucked way to die,” Draco whispered quietly.

Severus glanced at him briefly. “That's what happens, when you disappoint the Dark Lord,” he said noncommittally.

Draco flashed him a crooked smile. “Geesh, Godfather, for a few seconds there, I actually began to think that you cared for him.”

“Think again,” Severus said sharply. “People like us don't care. We go through the motions, we pretend that we do, and at times, we can even delude ourselves. But at the end of the day, we are Dark. There's no goodness, or caring, or affection in us. Light and Darkness don't live together.”

Draco shrugged. “Whatever,” he muttered.

They continued walking. Severus thought of Harry again. The wand, buried in the top of the coffin was his only chance. He could have survived it, Severus thought - even being blind and voiceless, and bound. Even though Severus could not warn him, or explain to him what he had done - he was certain that Harry could figure it out. Harry knew the prophecy, after all. But the sleeping potion... that was an unexpected complication. That would keep him sedated, unaware of his predicament, until the air ran out... until he died in his sleep. Severus sighed deeply, as despair coursed through him once more.

Draco looked up at him sideways. “He was my age,” he said quietly.

“Two months your junior, actually,” Severus said automatically. “What does it matter?”

Draco bowed his head. “I didn't think it was going to be like this,” he muttered finally. “Not... you know... someone like... my age... going down like that...”

Unrestrained fury swept through Severus, and he allowed it, allowed nearly two decades of repressed emotions to pour forth. Enraged, no longer caring about his cover, he grabbed Draco's wrist and squeezed it harshly, nearly crushing it. Draco gasped from the pain, but did not cry out.

“Idiot,” Severus spat with contempt. “You stupid, dimwitted, arrogant, good-for-nothing... child! Running around with your Inquisitorial Squad... Bragging about your Dark Mark... spying, bullying, spewing your pathetic insults at whoever crosses your path... while pissing yourself in fear when someone actually gets an upper hand with you. What did you think it was going to be like here?” Severus' fingers dug into Draco's skin, leaving bruises. “Did you expect chocolate frogs? Basketfulls of puppies to pet? Or pretty girls, lining up to give you blow jobs? This is just the beginning of sunset. It will get darker. And you'd better get used to it. Because if you don't, iyou /i will be buried six feet under. And no-one will care, or shed a tear, or remember your face, or your name; not even your own father. Because he knows better than to love someone more than he loves the Dark Lord.” Severus released Draco's hand abruptly, and he clutched it with a stifled whimper.

Severus chuckled unpleasantly.

Draco's breathing became uneven and labored. For a moment, it looked like he was going to sob.

Severus glared at him coldly. “Don't worry, Draco. You will do fine here. You belong with the rest of us. I heard you laughing when he was whipped, bleeding, near fainting. Your hate... it's actually quite remarkable. He was nearly in a coma after barely spending an hour in the same room with you. You are a worthy addition to the Dark Lord's circle. Don't question yourself, I certainly don't. ”

“That's different,” Draco hissed.

“No,” Severus with certainty. “You only think it is because your sensibilities have not been trained yet to accept and enjoy the harsher realities of our life. But not to worry. You will adjust soon enough. A year from now, you will laugh at the thought of someone suffocating in their grave.”

Draco's lips moved soundlessly for a minute. Then he looked up at Severus, and said in a muted whisper,

“I want out.”

Severus stopped in his steps, looking down at Draco with a mixture of pity and disdain. He grabbed his sleeve and rolled it up, exposing his Mark.

“You think this is some sort of Muggle tattoo that you can remove at your whim?” he hissed viciously. “This is permanent. You can't run from it, no more than you can run from your own skin. This,” he said, pointing to the grey castle ahead of them, “is where you belong, for as long as the Dark Lord lives.”

Draco bit his lip and glanced own. “Help me,” he said pitifully. “Get me out of here. Save me.”

Severus chuckled. “You are asking me? Why don't you go talk to your father about your teenage identity crisis. I am sure he will help.”

Draco issued a deep breath. “If I talk to him, I may as well get ready to be buried alive myself,” he muttered.

“Perhaps you should run,” Severus said humorlessly. “See if anyone notices.”

Draco shot him a dirty look. “Are you going to help, or are you just going to taunt?”

Severus laughed a little. “What do you think?”

Draco sighed deeply. “Well... I think you are mostly going to taunt; and talk to me in a way that will enable you to deny sympathizing with me should something go wrong. But I hope you are also going to help.”

“You just keep believing that,” Severus said with a thin smile. “If you are lucky enough, maybe I'll make you some sleeping potion you can drink before being buried alive.”

“Thanks,” Draco muttered. “Just what I always wanted.”

“Naturally,” Severus said almost neutrally. “Most people want to die peacefully in their sleep.”

Draco glanced at him, and then whispered something under his breath... something that nearly made Severus jump out of his skin.

“What?” Severus snapped harshly.

“I said, I woke him,” Draco whispered. “Before we left.”

Severus could not believe his ears. “What?” he repeated.

“I'm an expert at nonverbal spells,” Draco said, a little tersely. “I just used Rennervate.”

Severus still could not believe it. “Why?” he demanded.

Draco turned away. “You wouldn't understand.”

Even though relief and hope were flooding him, Severus regarded his godson with loathing. “I suppose I can guess. You wanted your rival to spend the last moments of his life in terror, clawing at his coffin from the inside. Nicely done.”

“Sure, whatever,” Draco said tiredly. “I'll just leave you alone.” He hastened his pace, leaving Severus behind.

Severus grunted a little, and then caught up with him, placing his hand on Draco's shoulder.

“Tell me,” he offered, a little sardonically.

“Respect,” Draco said. “That's all.”

“Respect,” Severus echoed. “For the love of Merlin, Draco, you can do better than that. You've spent the entire past year at Hogwarts hunting him down, trying to cause him as much misery as humanly possible...”

Draco shrugged. “You only hunt what you respect. You hunt lions and bears. Nobody hunts slugs or worms.”

Severus stared at his godson speechlessly. Draco returned his gaze without wavering. “If it was me down there, I would have preferred to just sleep through my own death. I would not want to know. I wouldn't want to spend my last hour pissing myself from fear, knowing that I am suffocating. Potter would want to know. He doesn't care about being afraid. He would want to know if he was dying, and how. Even if it scared him shitless.” Draco lowered his eyes and shrugged. “I guess I should be talking about him in past tense.”

Severus did not reply. He squeezed Draco's shoulder slightly, and they hastened their pace, to catch up with the rest of their party, walking in front of them.

Harry found himself Apparated, but not above ground. Apparently, one could only Apparate so far with the wand being left behind. Good to know, he thought. For next time he was buried alive...

He felt soil shifting around him to accommodate his body. Not knowing how far he was from the surface, he kept his mouth shut and clawed desperately, thanking heavens that the soil was loose, as if recently upturned. He finally felt a thicker layer of earth above him, that did not yield easily to his fingers. He struck at it desperately, and scraped against it until finally, one of his hands reached out of the ground. He forced another hand out, and spread the soil apart, worming his way out into fresh air. He gulped, and breathed deeply, crawling out of the ground, lying on top of the wrecked graveside. The first of the sunrise touched his face, and he laughed out loud.

He lifted himself up on his elbows, scarcely believing he'd made it. Then, as the euphoria faded, he realized that his wand was still buried underneath. He had considered using his bare hands to dig up the grave, but then realized that, were he noticed by Muggles, it would probably result in him being arrested for defiling the grave, or something along those lines. He stood up, shook off as much dirt off his body as he could, and decided to walk to the village, and look for a wizard household, and ask them to use the Floo, to place a firecall. Or maybe, just get someone to come with him, and help him unearth the grave.

He had been walking for about ten minutes, when he saw a shadow on the ground right above his position. Then he heard his name.

“Harry!”

He looked up instantly, to see the Weasley flying car, with Hermione at the wheel, and Ron waving at him, leaning out of the car so far that he was nearly falling out.

Harry jumped up and down, waving back. The car descended, and Ron hopped out, running up to Harry, and nearly slamming into him. For a few seconds they just stared at each other in silent amazement, and then, erupted into a flurry of jumping and triumphant shouting.

“I can't believe I am seeing you!” Harry cried out loud. “This is bloody amazing!”

At the wheel Hermione was looking at Harry with a satisfied smile. “Hop in, you two,” she called.

Then, they both climbed back into the car, Harry into the front seat, and Ron, into the back.

“Take me to the graveyard!” Harry demanded without a preamble. “Right next to my parents' grave. My wand is there. It's buried.”

Hermione nodded and the car headed back. Ron looked at him with his eyes wide open. “Why is your wand buried?” he asked. “Why are you covered in dirt?”

“Long story,” Harry said. “Brief version: Voldemort buried me alive, Severus slipped the wand in. I got out of the grave, but the wand is still there.”

Hermione gasped, and her hands clutched the wheel. “No wonder we couldn't find you until you got out. Oh, Harry... How horrible! I said sending you to Voldemort's hideout was a stupid idea. But nooooo, why should anyone ever listen to me; what harm would it do to spend two days with Voldemort,” she mocked.

Harry laughed again and patted her back. “Stop whining and tell me how you found me,” he demanded.

“Fine,” Hermione agreed. “Well, Harry - remember when we were staying with you and Sev... - Snape at the Manor? How we went shopping every day?”

Harry nodded. How could he forget?

“Well, we didn't exactly do it to give you two privacy. We decided that we wanted a backup plan for tracking you - but something that would likely go unnoticed by Voldemort and others. Something... non-magical. So, on our shopping trips, we researched and purchased some new Muggle technology. The best GPS tracking system we could find. The implant, the mobile phone, the receiver, and the solar-powered charger... I mean, we didn't know how long we would be following you, and most places in the wizarding world don't have electric outlets... By the way, that's why had to leave so soon after we healed you that day - we needed to recharge the battery...”

Harry blinked. “What the... how does all of that work...?” he stammered.

“Well,” she said, with not a small measure of satisfaction, “First of all, the implant goes in your body...”

“Stop right there,” Harry said. “You placed an implant into my body? Where? How? When?”

She snickered a bit. “Remember the tongue piercing? When I applied the numbing and healing spells, I took the liberty of implanting the GPS tracking chip right into your tongue.”

“Oh,” he muttered. “You two are nuts. You got your tongues pierced just so that you could goad me to do the same...and then microchip me?”

“Yup,” Ron said, completely unapologetic. “It worked, didn't it?”

Harry laughed, with just a trace of disbelief in his voice. “I've been microchipped like a cat.”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said with amusement. “A cat would have been a lot more difficult to microchip. You've been microchipped like a... turnip.”

“Okay,” Harry said, not sure whether to be irritated, amused, or simply deliriously grateful. “So. I have the microchip. How does it work?”

“Basically it's a data-pusher. Same technology parents use to track their kids, or ..conservationists use to track endangered animals...”

“Which one am I?” he asked with a smirk.

“A little bit of both,” Ron muttered.

“I thought Muggle technology didn't work in the wizarding world,” Harry said, still not believing his own ears.

“Well, some places have anti-electricity spells, and some locations have too much natural ambient magic that interferes with Muggle technology,” Hermione said. “And many locations are Unplottable, as you know, invisible to detection by Muggle means. But that doesn't matter. The Wizarding world is embedded within the greater world, so the GPS logs the position within the Muggle world near the entrance to the wizarding world where you are located... and then all we need to do is find the entrance and follow you in.”

“So -...” Harry mused. “If I was going to Diagon Alley, the thing would have told you my last location as Charing Cross Road, and then you would have been able to follow me in, right?”

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed.

“Bloody brilliant!” Harry exclaimed. Hermione and Ron, using magic and Muggle technology at once, putting the best of both worlds together, to track him and find him, wherever he was.

“Well, actually, it's not fool-proof,” Hermione said sadly. “We got the best unit we could find, but it still works only partially indoors... and not at all, underground. Your last location was logged somewhere near Godric's Hollow, but ... we would have never found you in that grave, if you hadn't escaped on your own.”

Ron twitched a bit. “Can't believe it. Harry... this is fucking insane.”

“Wait,” Harry said suddenly, as a suspicion dawned. “The GPS tracking stuff? Isn't it expensive?”

“Kind of,” Ron confirmed, a bit reluctantly. “But we figured it out.”

Harry looked at him with even more suspicion. “You didn't rob a Muggle bank, did you?”

Hermione laughed. “No, Harry. My parents are dentists, remember? They make quite a bit of money in Muggle terms.. they gave me a car as an early birthday present. I just can't drive it yet. Anyways, on our first shopping trip, we sold it.”

“You sold your... car?” Harry asked pitifully. “You could have just asked me for money, you know.”

“We didn't want you to know something was up,” Hermione said reasonably. “We've told you nothing for a reason. If Voldemort had managed to look into your mind, and you hadn't been able to withstand him... well... bottom line is, I think he'd be seriously pissed, to find a Muggle tracking chip in your tongue.”

Harry shuddered at the thought. “He probably would have ripped my tongue right out...”

“Yes,” Hermione mused. “And as we all know, Severus is quite fond of your tongue.”

Harry found himself blushing furiously. Ron snickered, then covered his mouth.

“All I am saying,” Hermione continued serenely, “Is that he seems to enjoy it when you speak your mind.”

“Oh.”

Soon, the car landed near the graveside Harry had pointed them to. They ran to the grave, and Hermione and Ron opened it quickly, and lifted the coffin out of it. A quick Revelio spell later, they found the wand, embedded into the wood, and picked it out. Harry took it and tucked it away.

“Now, on to Hogwarts,” Hermione said, opening the door of the car. “We need to go to Dumbledore.”

“No,” Harry said firmly, not moving. “We have to go after Severus.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” Ron asked sceptically. “He's not microchipped...”

“I thought of microchipping him, too,” Hermione admitted, “But couldn't pull it off without him noticing... and was afraid that his Dark Mark would be aware of something foreign entering his body...”

Harry stayed silent for a while, thinking - and feeling an inner urge that was driving him somewhere; he could not quite tell where. He did not know how, or why, he only knew, with absolute certainty, that the destination his instinct was pointing him to, was where Severus was, too. He felt a small shudder of dread go through him.

“I can find him,” Harry said. “I can Apparate us to where he is.”

Hermione looked at him dubiously. “How?”

“I don't know how,” he admitted. “I just know that I can.”

“No,” Ron protested. “No more nonsense. We have to go to Dumbledore, have him assemble the Order, and ...”

Harry knew that it would have been more reasonable to do it that way. But the dreadful feeling within him intensified.

“I don't think there's time,” Harry whispered. “I think something is wrong...I have to go after him.”

“We will,” Hermione said firmly. “As soon as we have backup.”

“No,” Harry said with finality. “Now. Hermione - you and Ron go to Hogwarts, and... well, find Dumbledore, or whatever. But I have to go after him right away. I can't not to.”

Ron slammed his fist against the car. “Dammit, Harry ...”

Harry sighed a bit. “Ron.. Hermione... I can't. I have to go there.”

“But you don't know where it is!” Hermione snapped. “You have an urge to Apparate somewhere, but you don't know where - and how do you know that it's Severus on the other end of this...urge?”

“I just do,” Harry repeated. “I don't know how I know. Maybe the slave-bond knows where he is, and is telling me.”

Ron shook his head with loathing. “No, Harry, the slave-bond doesn't know any such thing,” he said. “It's impossible.”

Harry felt his temper flair up instantly. “And how would you know? How many times have you been slave-bonded?”

Ron opened his mouth, clearly to say something spiteful, but Hermione stopped him, placing her hand on his shoulder.

“Timeout,” she said. “Fine. Harry obviously feels strongly enough about it, to go with or without us. So let's go together. Let's Apparate there together. Once there, the GPS will tell us where we are. Then, before we cross the lockdown barrier, we will send out a Patronus with a message to Dumbledore.”

Ron nodded in agreement.

Harry looked at both of them with gratitude. “You know... maybe you shouldn't come with me this time. I mean...”

Hermione smiled a little. “No. This is a job for three, not one. Let's go.”

At the entrance to the Castle, Voldemort stopped, and extended his hand to Lucius. Lucius passed something into his hand quickly - Severus did not see what it was, but he instantly suspected that it was his wand, that Lucius had confiscated from him earlier. Then, Bellatrix, Pettigrew and Voldemort entered the Castle. Draco hesitated briefly.

“Go inside, and stay there,” Lucius snapped. Draco nodded briefly and went in.

Severus made a move to follow him, but Lucius shook his head. “Not you, old friend,” he said. “Not this time.”

Severus stood still, his arms folded on his chest. “What do you mean?” he asked calmly, however, in his mind, he already suspected what the answer was going to be.

“What I mean, Severus, is that you are not welcome where the Dark Lord and Nagini reside,” Lucius murmured with feigned sadness.

“Alright,” Severus said dryly. “I suppose I'll just go back to my so-called normal life then, and prepare for another year of teaching potions to dimwitted brats.”

Lucius laughed unpleasantly. His wand was pointing at Severus, and a quick spell later, Severus found his hands restrained behind his back.

Lucius pointed, with a mocking bow, to a little enclosure outside of the castle - a small wooden structure, with a simple entrance. “Go,” he said, in no uncertain terms.

Severus complied, with a brief shrug.

Inside, there was no furniture, no windows, no fireplace - nothing at all, but a single set of chains, hanging from the ceiling, and a Scorpion whip, lying on the floor casually.

Severus rose his eyebrows slightly and pursed his lips into a disdainfully thin line. If Lucius was attempting to intimidate him, he was failing rather miserably. Lucius saw his smile and reciprocated it.

“Yes, yes,” he purred. “You are the stoic one. You are not afraid of anything. I get the picture.”

Severus shrugged again. “Well, why should I be?” he asked calmly. “We are old friends, after all. You know me better than anyone.”

“Yes,” Lucius murmured. “But now... now I know you even better. Now that I have examined your wand, Severus.”

Without saying anything, Severus lunged at him, with the intent to knock him off his feet. Even with his arms bound behind his back - he thought he stood a chance, maybe he could bite through the artery in his throat. Lucius, however, was ready - and hit him with a body-binding spell. Severus fell hard, onto the floor, feeling a bone in his arm crack, and agony stab through the injury.

Lucius stepped away from him, with his wand still in his hand. He used his wand, and spells, one after another, to lift Severus off the floor, raise his arms above his head and lock them in restraints, held by the chains hanging from the ceiling. Then, restraints went around his ankles, anchoring them to the floor. With one final spell, Lucius stripped Severus of his clothing, casting all of it aside. Done, he smiled smugly, satisfied with his victim's helplessness.

“Shall we talk now then, old friend?” Lucius murmured.

Severus cast a disdainful glance at him.

“The night of your pet's punishment,” Lucius murmured, “You mentioned that you had used a few healing spells on him... and then, that you still needed to complete the healing. Of course, had you actually attempted to cast any healing spells, you would have quickly discovered that our second dwelling, even though set up in tremendous haste, had the exact same restrictions on it. No healing spells work there, either. So I wondered, what an odd lie... rather random... I examined your wand, old friend. Not a single healing spell. However, plenty of other spells had emerged from your wand recently. Some scrambling spells, apparently to terminate the audio surveillance in your quarters... why? What were you training your pet to do, that you did not want us to know about?”

Severus gazed at him speechlessly. He had considered making up a plausible lie - but the look in Lucius' eyes told him that it was too late.

“Now then,” Lucius murmured. “You spent a major part of that night to ... levitate things? Why? What were you doing, Severus? I would like to know.”

Severus pressed his lips tightly shut.

Lucius laughed indulgently. “Ah, the mysteries. I love a good mystery, Severus. Even though it seems to be pointless at this point, I would like to find out... the true reason behind those spells. I intend to ... work with you for a while here.”

Lucius paused for a bit, and circled around him, hands tracing his body, fingers probing in intimate places. Severus nearly shuddered from revulsion.

“Of course,” Lucius sighed. “It's just too bad that your Occlumency skills are so formidable. It is also equally unfortunate that you, the potions master, have made yourself immune to Veritaserum. I am afraid that you are your own worst enemy, my dear, for now, only one way remains to ... lift your inhibitions, and make you more susceptible to a well-placed Legilimency spell.”

Severus glanced at the Scorpion whip, still on the floor. As if on cue, Lucius went to pick it up.

“I assure you, that your body is of no value whatsoever to our mission. For that reason, I will be significantly less...gentle with you, than you were with your little duckling.”

Severus took a deep breath to still himself. Losing his focus, and letting Lucius slip into his mind, was simply not an option. There was no way he could permit Lucius to find out that Harry might still be alive. But he told himself, he had nothing to worry about. He was used to pain by now - and this would not be worse than what he had already endured - as Voldemort's bond punished him, time and again, over the years, for his unfaithfulness.

Still, when the first blow struck against his back, the agony took him by surprise. It was like a serpent's bite, like a stabbing wound, like a fire setting to his body. He hissed violently, feeling a trickle of blood run down his back. For a moment, he convulsed furiously, not being able to utter a single sound. Eventually, he regained his voice and spoke:

“Careful, Lucius. You will open the veins and have me bleed to death, before you have a chance to enjoy yourself fully.”

Lucius laughed gently. “Ah, but we are outside of the Castle, old friend. The healing spells work here. I could do this for days, if I wanted to... destroy your body, heal it, and destroy it again...” The fingers of his torturer touched Severus on the back, probing the fresh wound, deepening the agony. “Surrender yourself to me, Severus,” Lucius whispered with tenderness. “Yield, and I will give you a clean death. Something... peaceful. Lower the barriers of your mind, let me see everything that is there. Submit, and I will make your pain go away. Forever.”

Severus glanced at him with incredulity and pity at once. “How can I state it delicately, Lucius? It will be a cold day in hell before I submit to you.”

Lucius' hand clasped around his throat, constricting his breath. “Guess what, Severus?” he said furiously. “You iare/i in hell. And you have a blizzard heading your way.”

More furious, vicious blows fell, spreading agony throughout his body. Severus fought the pain, then, yielded to it, riding it out, waiting, simply waiting; and nothing else.

Lucius paused several times, to cast Legilimency spells, and when they had no effect, he resumed the torture. While his body convulsed in agony, being torn apart, losing blood, Severus kept his mind still, closed, focused, not allowing a single thought to penetrate the barrier that he had kept for years - the wall that no longer was his salvation - but now became Harry's.

Perhaps he had known pain worse than this, Severus thought, but he could no longer remember. Still, his lips were locked into a contemptuous grimace that never faded, and he could tell that Lucius was growing more and more infuriated by it. The torment intensified, and he found himself near fainting, but each time his mind drifted off, Lucius had cast a spell to bring him out of unconsciousness, to ensure that Severus came awake for more.

His vision obscured by red fog, he saw Lucius stopping suddenly, and staring at his own Dark Mark, as if listening to it. Finally, Lucius spoke, one final time:

“Pity. It appears that The Dark Lord decided that the details of your betrayal are inconsequential. It's time to end this.”

Severus laughed softly. The end, he thought - finally, the end to it all; the end to pain, the end to double life, the end to being an instrument of suffering at the hands of the Dark Lord... and the end to Harry's enslavement, as well. For the remainder of his life, Harry could be a free person, free of the slave-bond, free to live out his last days as himself.

Lucius was staring at him thoughtfully, as if waiting for him to acknowledge his fate. Severus did not mind. He nodded slightly, and opened his eyes to face his death.

Lucius pointed the wand at him, and uttered the Killing Curse.

The green light enveloped Severus, and held him. For some reason he had been expecting to see his parents, or perhaps, Lily and James Potter at the moment of his death - but he saw nothing. Still, he had no regrets - just the satisfaction and pride in knowing that he had not betrayed his beloved.

For a brief moment, Severus stood on the edge of the abyss, balancing precariously, as if suspended between life and death. Then something gave way, and he fell.

Under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione, Ron and Harry Apparated near a location that was unfamiliar to them. Hermione held the tracking device in her hands.

“Where are we?” Harry asked instantly. The feeling of dread within intensified, threatening to overwhelm him. He felt almost nauseous, but he stilled himself and forced out a weak smile.

She frowned, looking at the display. “South-West, Devonshire,” she murmured. “I believe this is where the Warrington Estate is?”

“What are the Warringtons doing, hosting Voldemort?” Ron muttered. “They were never the Death Eater stock, as far as I could tell.”

Hermione sighed. “Maybe they are under Imperius. Voldemort couldn't quite set camp at the Malfoy Manor at this point, could he? That would be the first place where the Order would look...”

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

Harry flicked his wand and conjured his Patronus - and a glowing form of a stag appeared in front of them. “So what's the message?” Harry asked. “Voldemort is at Warrington Estate right now; not completely sure about Nagini, will inform as we know more.”

Hermione nodded. “Sounds good to me. Okay, let him loose!”

The stag galloped away, and vanished in a burst of light.

“Brilliant,” Ron muttered wistfully.

“Shall we go?” Hermione murmured, looking to Harry for direction. “Where to?”

Harry looked around, feeling fainter than ever. He felt a dull wave of pain in his chest and stumbled a bit. “There,” he said, pointing to a small wooden structure near the castle. Pain stabbed again, harder this time, and he fell to his knees. Ron grasped his shoulder, and steadied him.

“What happened?” Hermione whispered.

Harry got off his knees, using his friends for support. “Let's see,” he said quietly. They headed towards the structure, walking together, merged as one, under the Invisibility Cloak that was almost too small for the three of them at this point.

They approached the entrance and looked inside. The sight in front of them stunned them. Hermione almost let out a scream, but covered her mouth with her hand just in time. There was blood... little pools of blood collected on the floor, trickling down from the lifeless body that hung, suspended by chains.

Lucius Malfoy was surveying the sight in front of him with satisfaction, tucking away his wand. Harry bit down on his lip, and lifted his hand, urging his friends to be silent. Without uttering a single sound, pointing his wand at Lucius, Harry hit him with a stunning spell, causing him to fall on the floor.

They shed the cloak. Ron and Hermione rushed towards Lucius, while Harry made his way to Severus. He released the restraints, and caught his battered body in his arms, lowering it to the floor as gently as he could.

“He's not breathing!” Harry whispered furiously. “Hermione, I need you!”

Hermione was casting one binding spell after another at Lucius, and then, pulled out his wand from under his robe. She cast the Finite Incanantem on it, and paled slightly.

“Harry,” she whispered. “He... he hit Severus with Avada Kedavra,” she said, almost sobbing. .

“No,” Harry shook his head. “No way... you are wrong.”

“She's not wrong,” Ron said darkly.

Harry knelt by Severus and stared at him with dread. The black eyes were still open, as if looking at him through eternity. Harry stared back into them, unsure whether there was life in them, or not. “Hermione, dammit, do something!” he demanded.

Having satisfied herself that Lucius was restrained without a chance of awakening, or escaping, she made her way to Severus and Harry, sniffling slightly, covering her mouth. “Harry,” she whispered. “I don't think it's medically possible to survive ... something like this... He's ... I mean, even without the Killing Curse...”

Harry felt a surge of blind rage and grabbed her by the elbow. “Do something!” he demanded again furiously.

She looked at him with anguish. “Remember the last time I tried to help? This is the same. It's his Master's punishment, even if Lucius delivered it. We can't heal it...”

“Maybe Lucius can,” Ron said dangerously. “Maybe we should wake him and kick him in the groin until he does.”

“No Lucius,” Harry almost shouted. “I don't want that damned bastard to utter another spell in his life. Snap his wand.”

Ron did, crushing the wood with his fingers, and pulling out the dragonstring core out of it. He tossed it on the ground, and Hermione incinerated it with a brief spell. Harry sat next to Severus on the floor, and stroked the cold, pale face with his hand.

“Okay, Hermione,” Harry said finally. “Talk to me. He's not breathing, but his heart is still beating. What can you do?”

She sniffled slightly, and gulped, as if in an attempt to suppress a wave of nausea. “I can restore his breathing, and deliver oxygen to his brain. I have some ointments on me... I can try to close the wounds and stop the blood flow... if his slave-bond to Voldemort will let me... But - his mind... his soul.. Harry!”

“Get started,” Harry snapped. “Ron, watch Lucius, and the door.”

He was barking orders like he never had, not even while heading Dumbledore's Army, but once he took charge, they obeyed instantly, without any arguing. Hermione uttered a spell that restored Severus' breathing to normal, and went to work on his injuries.

Harry simply sat on the floor, placing Severus' head in his lap, and stroking his hair.

“Severus,” he said. “If you are there, somewhere, please come back. I am sorry I didn't come in time to stop this. Thank you for the wand. I don't know how you knew, or how you managed to sneak it in - but thank you. I am sorry I didn't listen to you... I am sorry I never fucking listen to anyone who is obviously smarter, but I promise that ... if you only wake up...you can put me in detention for the rest of my life...and I'll collect Dittany leaves every day... and I will let raise our kids to be sorted into Slytherin...”

He sniffled slightly, and stroked his hair again.

“I never - ever thought I could feel so much for someone... but it's like... when I was with you, I recognized something in you... something that knows me. When you look into my eyes, I feel like you know something in me that nobody else does, or can... I feel like you recognize something in me that belongs to you, and only you... I want to belong to you... I want to be yours...I want you to wake up... I need you to wake up.”

Hermione's hands moved delicately, but quickly, closing every wound, stopping the flow of blood, healing the horrible injuries. When she was finally done, she looked at Harry questioningly.

“What do you want to do?” she asked. “Try to use Rennervate, or see if he wakes up on his own?”

“Rennervate,” he said quietly. “But I will do it myself.”

He got up and rummaged through the pile of Severus' clothing, finding his robe, and covering him up. Last thing he wanted was for him to feel humiliated upon awakening - on top of everything else. He knelt beside him, and kissed his forehead, hoping that he was not wrong about this... this time. He then pointed his wand at Severus and uttered the spell.

It was dark; but he realized that he had stopped falling. He was lying on the ground, on his back, breathing deeply. Pain was gone, but utter darkness surrounded him.

Severus heard a faint familiar voice in the distance, singing softly:

Long nights allow me to feel I am falling I am falling The lights go out Let me feel I'm falling I am falling safely to the ground The voice got closer and he recognized its owner.I'll take this soul that's inside me now Like a brand new friend I'll forever know I've got this light And the will to show I will always be better than before

“Miss Lovegood,” he said.

“Not really,” Luna murmured. “I keep telling you, I am not her. I am just a part of your own mind. The part of your mind that knows death.”

“What happened?” he asked.

She laughed with warmth in her voice. “You fell safely.”

He attempted to sit up, but her hand on his shoulder stopped him. “I wouldn't move if I were you. It's dark here. It's neither life nor death. You don't want to be lost, do you?”

“No,” he agreed in a quiet way. “I thought I would see someone... anyone. Where is everyone?”

“Ah,” she whispered. “The dead. They are near. Always near. You can't hear them, can you?”

“No.”

“I can,” she told him softly. “They have so much to say.”

He shifted slightly, but her hand stilled him again. “Don't move,” she said with kindness. “Be still. Don't wander off.”

“Who is here? What do they say?”

Her silver laughter rang in the darkness. “Everyone is here. Everyone is speaking, Severus. Yourparents, Lily and James, Sirius and Remus... And so many more. All the people who ever loved you, or were meant to, but never did. So many voices, so many messages...” Her voice trailed off and faded away.

“Tell me,” he offered.

“Shhh,” she whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. “I am trying to find the message that you need to carry back.”

He waited patiently, until she finally spoke again:

“The message for the three: Use his Boggart against him; Look into his mind; Memorize his curses; Accept his servant's offer, for the two are expecting the third.”

Severus sighed. “More mysteries. Have you ever considered just... speaking clearly and unambiguously?”

She appeared to be deep in thought, and for a moment he wondered if he had offended her. But then she answered him: “There is a benefit to puzzles. They focus the mind, and instill faith. People rarely follow clear, unambiguous instructions. If you want something to be seen, you should hide it. If you want something done, you need to put it in a riddle.”

And then, as if to emphasize her point, her delicate, small fingers touched his open unseeing eyes.

Vision returned suddenly, as if a burst of white light blinded him. Severus blinked furiously, and focused his gaze on the face that was hovering above him.

“Harry?” he asked with hesitation “Harry!” Severus grabbed his hands.

Harry nodded furiously, as their fingers locked in an unbreakable grip. “Severus... how are you feeling?”

Severus considered the question carefully. “Alive,” he said, absolutely astonished. He moved slightly, finding himself covered with his own robe. He wrapped it around himself fully and closed it, trying not to feel too disturbed by the realization that his naked, bleeding, bruised, lifeless body had just been discovered and healed by three Gryffindor students. Still, he twitched slightly and glanced at Hermione and Ron, who were standing over Lucius' unmoving form.

“Is he dead?” Severus asked instantly.

“No, just knocked out,” Ron said from the corner. “Do you want us to kill him?” Ron asked the question as casually, as he would if he were inquiring about re-planting a Mandrake root.

“As much as it pains me to say this, no,” Severus told him. “The Dark Marks inform Voldemort when a servant dies... we don't want to attract too much attention to ourselves.”

Harry was watching him with concern. “Severus... Voldemort's bond... is supposed to start punishing you now, right? I mean.. you are outside of his household? And we healed you without his... permission...”

Severus took a deep breath, and realized to his shock that his body felt surprisingly well. He still had traces of ache where the metal-tipped lash had fallen a short while ago, and a lingering dull pain where the broken bone had been set, but apart from that - he was fine.

“Presumably, yes,” Severus admitted. “But I feel no discomfort, or any indication that anything of the sort is about to happen. I have a vague feeling that when my so-called Master had chosen to strike me with the Killing Curse, he in fact, terminated the bond. Speaking of which - how did you bring me back? It should not have been possible.”

“We don't know how,” Hermione said. “I'm thinking - maybe... Is it possible that Lucius didn't really mean it, when he cast the Killing Curse? Maybe in the last split-second, he felt guilty - or... hesitated?”

Severus said nothing to that, but chuckled in amusement at the sentiment. Harry was hugging him tightly, but as Severus looked around, he realized quickly that their time was running out.

“Whatever we do, we must act at once,” Severus said, freeing himself from Harry's embrace and standing up abruptly. “Lucius is expected to return to the castle at any moment, after .. putting me down, so to speak. Voldemort is inside, so is Nagini, and incidentally, I believe that Voldemort has my wand on his person.” Which makes me absolutely useless, he almost added, but didn't. “We need to decide whether we retreat, and wait for the Order to arrive, or go in after Voldemort and Nagini right now.”

“We go in now,” Harry said decisively. “This may be our only chance. If they suspect something is wrong, if they flee now, we may never be able to track them down again. How do we get in?”

“Once the lockdown is in place, nobody can enter or leave,” Severus said. “The lockdown will only be lifted if an authorized person is about to enter. Sadly, I am no longer... authorized.”

Ron shuddered slightly. “So.. do we wake Lucius and put him under Imperius?”

Hermione shook her head with regret. “I knocked him our pretty good. Used some spells that won't respond to Rennervate, and will have to wear off on their own. Should take about an hour or so...”

“We don't have a bloody hour!” Harry snapped irritably. “We have a few minutes...”

“Okay,” Hermione murmured, pacing around nervously, glancing at Severus. “So.. Invisibility Cloak will mask us from Surveillance spells, but won't grant us access... Polyjuice doesn't work, does it? Voldemort's spells can see through it?”

Severus nodded.

“Transfiguration, then,” Hermione said. “If I am able to Transfigure Harry into an exact duplicate of Lucius, he should be able to gain access to the castle.. in theory.”

“In theory,” Ron repeated venomously. “Why does this not instill any confidence in me?”

She glared at him. “I can do it, you know.”

“No, you can't,” Severus said, more irritated with her than he ever had been in his entire life. “Even animal transformation is extremely dangerous. There is a reason that there is only a handful of registered Animagi in the entire wizarding world. And actual transfiguration into another human form is near impossible...”

She stared at him defiantly. “I've always had top grades in Transfiguration!”

Severus felt an urge to begin tearing at his hair from frustration. “This isn't Hogwarts, miss Granger! This is real life. You can end up scrambling all of his internal organs into a quiche, while bleeding yourself of all of your magical energy for a month, if not longer...”

But Harry was already delirious with hope. “You really think you can do it?” he asked. “Hermione?”

She nodded. “Though I have to warn you: I can only maintain it very briefly...”

Harry looked at her with suspicion. “How briefly?”

“Well... fifteen seconds,” she said reluctantly. “Maybe twenty. I'll transfigure you as we are about to enter. As soon as you enter the castle, you'll have to hide under the Invisibility Cloak with the two of us... and hope nobody notices.”

Harry nodded. “Severus,” he asked quietly. “You'll... watch Lucius, right? Won't let him wake up and alert Voldemort, or anything like that?”

“Not to worry, Harry,” Severus said absently. “Even if all the binding and stunning spells wear off at once, now that neither of us has a wand, it'll be a fair fight.”

“ A fair fight?” Hermione smirked. “Now, that's just boring.” She reached into one of her pockets, clearly spelled with the Undetectable Extension Charm, and produced something that almost, but not quite, looked almost like a... Muggle firearm, Severus realized with a start. Hermione just gave him a satisfied grin. “Capture gun, loaded with tranquilizer darts,” she said smugly.

Severus nodded, returning her smile. The trio of friends headed out towards the door. At the exit, Harry turned around, as if on impulse, and looked at Severus. “Is there anything else we need to know before we go in?”

Severus remembered instantly then.

“A message for the three of you. From someplace else.”

Unseen, under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, the three of them approached the castle.

“Okay,” Hermione whispered nervously. “So here's the plan, as I see it. Harry: on the count of three, I Transfigure you into Lucius. Then, you enter the Castle. We are right next to you. As soon as we enter... Ron, you'll have to scramble the audio surveillance spells, like I showed you. I won't be able to do any magic after this - I'll be not much better than a squib for quite a while.”

Harry winced, feeling an instant pang of guilt, but Ron just squeezed his shoulder and shook his head slightly. “It's fine,” Ron said.

Hermione continued quietly, “Okay, now, if there's nobody inside, Harry - duck under the Cloak... if there's someone inside, find the nearest empty room and make a mad dash for it. Hopefully, if you are seen as Lucius, nobody will question you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “Let's do this. On the count of three.”

“One,” Ron said.

“Two,” Harry added.

“Three,” said Hermione, pointing her wand at Harry. It was an odd, unsettling sensation, almost painful, as he felt his body transform, change, his height increase, long blond hair fall down his shoulders. He stepped out of the Invisibility Cloak and walked towards the entrance. The massive doors unlocked before him of their own accord, and he stepped through. Only a faint brushing against his right arm let him know that Hermione and Ron were walking right next to him. Unfortunately, just as they were about to enter, Peter Pettigrew had stepped right into their path.

Harry was about to cast a stunning spell, when Ron lifted the cloak and pointed his wand at Pettigrew.

“I accept your offer,” Ron said. Harry stared at him in absolute confusion.

Pettigrew's eyes widened, and he shook his head mutely. “No,” he whispered. “You can't...It can't be...”

Ron's face was frozen into a stern mask. “Where's the nearest empty room?” he demanded. “Take us there. Now.”

Harry was already beginning to feel a new wave of transformation beginning to well within his body - as if it were an ice sculpture beginning to melt from within, or a house of cards, ready to collapse at any moment. Pettigrew, however, moved fast, and pointed to an inconspicuous door a few feet ahead.

“There!” he said, and led the way. Harry ran after him, feeling his height beginning decrease and his body fall back into its usual form, even as he ran. He ducked into the room, not a moment too soon, but still wondering why Pettigrew was helping them, all of a sudden; and whether he could be trusted. Under the cover of the Cloak, Hermione and Ron flew into the room as well, and locked the door behind them.

Scramble surveillance! Hermione mouthed without sound to Ron, and Ron nodded, casting a soundless spell.

“Bloody hell,” Harry whispered. “Seventeen seconds, Hermione!”

She shot him an indignant look. “I'll have you know, it's a nearly impossible feat as it is. Now - Ron! What have you done! Imperius?”

Ron shook his head. Before him, Pettigrew was kneeling on the floor, with his head bowed. His expression was crushed, defeated beyond words.

“I - I didn't think it was still possible,” Pettigrew said bitterly, resignedly. “It's been three years.”

“Yes,” Ron agreed. “But back then, I didn't understand your offer. I do now. ”

Hermione's eyes shot wide open. “That was the offer of a slave-bond!” she nearly cried out, and covered her mouth.

Harry was still shell-shocked. “What? When?”

“At the Shrieking Shack,” Ron said, in a quiet voice, still regarding Pettigrew thoughtfully. “When Sirius and Remus were going to murder him. Remember him pleading with me? Asking me to take him back, promising to be a good pet, and all?”

Harry snorted. “He was pleading with everyone,” he said. “He was crawling before Remus and Sirius too.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “But I'm the only one he called Master.”

Harry shrugged. “So? It doesn't mean anything.”

Hermione smiled with just a bit of sadness. “Harry... coming from you or me it wouldn't have meant anything if we called Ron Master. But... someone like Pettigrew... who was already marked by slavery ... for him, in the face of death, to proclaim someone as Master, begging them to accept him, to own him, really does offer a slave-bond to that person...”

Pettigrew, pale and distraught, was still shaking his head. “But.. it's too late. My bond to The Dark Lord was disrupted then... but now... he is back... I belong to him now.”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “But the bond to me is now present as well.”

Hermione looked at them both with dread. “You know what this means don't you?”

Pettigrew's face paled even further. “A paradox... The conflict between two slave-bonds... within one body... it's lethal, is it not? No matter what happens...” He glanced to Ron, whose face betrayed no expression, and then, to Hermione.

She nodded slightly, and almost apologetically.

“You've killed me,” Pettigrew said to Ron incredulously, still kneeling. “My owner... My Master...You've killed me.”

Ron was returned his gaze, and then, as if on an impulse, reached out to touch him. Ron's hand ran across Pettigrew's thinning, matted hair, that almost looked like rat fur. Pettigrew glanced at that hand in terror and wonder.

“I've set you free,” Ron told him in a quiet voice. “No matter what you do, you will die, very soon. But now, you can choose freely, without being controlled by your fear of death. You can choose what you really want to do... serve Voldemort... or fulfill your life-debt, and be forgiven... received by the two who are waiting for you.”

Peter glared at him. “They abandoned me,” he hissed. “They betrayed me. They were meant to be Dark - they were meant to be with me. But they chose another...”

For a moment, Ron was at a loss for words, but Harry interjected, speaking with confidence. “No, Peter. Remus and Sirius were not intended for Darkness. iYou /i were intended for Light.”

Pettigrew's eyes shot up in disbelief. “How do you figure?” he demanded.

“Because everyone is intended for Light,” Ron whispered very quietly. “It just that... some wander off too far.”

Pettigrew bowed his head low. “Master,” he said softly. “What would you have me do?” His greying face was already beginning to contort with suffering.

“Take us to Nagini,” Harry demanded. Pettigrew looked to Ron for direction.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Do it. Harry - do you have a plan?”

Harry shrugged apologetically. The cryptic message about “Voldemort's Boggart” had something to do with Voldemort's fear of his own death... that perhaps Harry could use against him. But he had no actual plan - just hope that at the right moment, inspiration would strike.

“God help us all,” Hermione murmured. “This has got to be be the most poorly-planned assassination attempt in wizarding history.”

“Let's go,” Harry cut her off, ducking under the invisibility cloak.

Pettigrew looked at Ron with a plaintive expression. “So afraid,” he said pitifully. “All my life, I have been so afraid of death...”

Ron gave him a strained smile. “It won't be so bad,” he said, attempting to sound reassuring. “Remember all those nights you spent as Scabbers, sleeping on my pillow?”

Pettigrew nodded silently.

“It's just like that,” Ron said, squeezing his shoulder briefly. “Just like falling asleep, with someone's hand on you. And when you wake up, you'll be someplace else.”

“Yes, Master,” Pettigrew whispered, lowering his eyes.

He rose to his feet, and slowly, unsteadily, walked out of the door, and down the dark hallway. The three followed him closely, stepping soundlessly under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak.

Together, they were walking towards Voldemort.

Under the Invisibility cloak that was too small to hide the three of them comfortably, struggling to remain concealed, the three of them followed the aging man, whose form was beginning to look even more shabby, even greyer than usual.

Harry watched him with remorse, feeling guilty for forcing someone who was so painfully and wretchedly scared, to walk to his own death. Ron saw the expression on Harry's face and squeezed his hand firmly to reassure him. Harry glanced at his friend with surprise. Ron was not callous, but it seemed that standing witness to Voldemort's darkness had changed him, and enabled him to accept death as necessary evil, rather than something to be avoided at all costs.

Pettigrew walked slowly, as if every step hurt; but he continued walking nonetheless, leading the way through the dark hallways, and then, down spiraling stairways, through multiple sets of massive doors that opened before him on their own, and then locked behind him almost instantly. They could have never found their way there on their own, Harry thought.

Pettigrew stopped by the final set of doors and waited for them to catch up.

“You know, we can't go in like this,” Harry said quietly. “The cloak is too small for the three of us. We can barely walk - and don't have any freedom to maneuver.”

Hermione looked at him with an expression that was near loathing. “It's just fine. We were fine outside.”

Harry shook his head. “Outside, nobody was looking for us. Nobody noticed the ripple effect of the cloak stretching too much, or beginning to slide. But inside - it's a smaller space... and the faintest shimmer can give us away. Only two of us can be under the Cloak at a time. Come on, Hermione, you know this as well as I do.”

She was still shaking her head in denial, but Ron stopped her. “Harry is right,” he told her. “It's like wizard's chess. Someone has to be sacrificed if we want to make it across the board. I'll...”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said, and before either of them could protest, stepped from underneath the Cloak, coming next to Pettigrew. Out of the three of them, Harry thought, he was the only one Voldemort had any interest in, and the only one who stood a chance of not being struck instantly by Voldemort's Killing Curse.

“Bring me to him,” Harry demanded.

Pettigrew cast him a doubtful glance, but placed his soiled, aging hand on Harry's shoulder, and tapped the wall next to the massive set of doors. The doors slid open, revealing Voldemort's inner sanctuary.

Not seeing Hermione or Ron, but confident that they were following him, Harry allowed Pettigrew to guide him inside the Hall. Voldemort sat on a chair resembling a throne.

Only three of the Death Eaters were with him - Harry saw Bellatrix, Yaxley, and Dolohov. At once, their wands pointed at Harry, whose own wand remained out of view, tucked under his belt under his shirt.

Under different circumstances, the astonishment on their faces might have been amusing; and if Voldemort's face could have registered surprise, the expression it held now was rather close to it. The yellow, reptilian eyes fixed on Harry, and he asked:

“What is the meaning of this?”

Inspiration struck, and Harry stepped forward with confidence, kneeling before Voldemort.

“I am yours, Master,” Harry said calmly. “My former Master is dead. As you were his Master, the slave-bond has been transferred to you.”

The Death Eaters acted fast, casting spells on Harry that restrained his arms behind him, and his ankles together, while he was still kneeling. Completely immobilized, he made no attempt to escape or struggle, but just continued staring ahead without expression.

Voldemort's eyes scrutinized him carefully. His hand reached to Harry's face, fingernails running across his cheek, leaving scratches on his skin. Harry did not flinch or waver, and held himself absolutely still. Voldemort gazed at him coldly. “How did you escape?” he demanded.

“I don't remember, Master,” Harry improvised. “I only remember being drawn here. When I came here, I sensed that my former Master had died, and then, I was drawn to find you.”

Voldemort dismissed Pettigrew with a curt nod; and the man left promptly.

Still kneeling, Harry glanced around the room circumspectly, looking for Nagini, but not seeing her.

Voldemort's eyes were focused on Harry, and then, Harry felt the Dark Lord's presence coil around his mind, seeking out information, probing, exploring, forcing its way , Harry summoned all of his Occlumency training, hoping to withstand the probing.

Control your emotions, he heard Severus' voice in his mind. Calm yourself. As much as possible, Harry did - and then, the torrents of anxiety, anger, and fear dissipated, leaving only a calm, untroubled nothingness in their stead.

In an instant, Harry gathered and released everything he did not want known to Voldemort away - Severus loving him, Severus making promises, Severus being alive, Harry's friends following him, finding him, healing him... all of those memories took flight and disappeared out of his awareness altogether. Instead, Harry summoned other memories - the memory of him weeping on the floor of the Manor, the memory of Severus whipping him with the Scorpion, the memory of Severus casting his wand into the fire at Lucius' demand. When Voldemort probed Harry's mind around the events of his escape, on an impulse, Harry generated a vague, faded, as if half-forgotten image of Bellatrix, casting spells to release Harry out of his entombment. Voldemort pulled out of his mind - and an instant later, cast the Killing Curse.

Bellatrix collapsed on the floor without a sound.

“She betrayed me,” Voldemort said gravely, his cold gaze fixed on Yaxley and Dolohov. “See that you avoid making the same mistake.”

The two of them nodded hastily.

Harry continued kneeling before the Dark Lord, feeling a slight tremor of dread, but willing it away. Bellatrix... he could not even cast the Cruciatus curse on her the day killed his godfather. And now... now he had caused her death. He felt a knot in his stomach, but willed it away again. He was guessing he did not have much time left. Once again, his eyes scanned the room, looking for Nagini.

And then, he saw the enormous serpent moving slowly through the shadows, moving towards something that only she could see. Harry nearly gasped out loud realizing that Nagini could sense his friends, even under the Cloak.

Without reaching for his wand, Harry focused on it, and then, on the serpent. Without uttering a sound, he thought just one word, directed at Nagini:

Imperio.

The massive serpentine form slithered across the floor, changed directions, and lunged without a warning.

Rushing past Harry, barely touching him, it struck out at Voldemort, the enormous jaws snapping at his throat. Voldemort struggled furiously, attempting to throw it off. Still kneeling and immobilized, Harry kept all of his mental focus on Nagini.

Yaxley and Dolohov jumped, and rushed to Voldemort, attempting to pull Nagini off him - but to no avail. Her jaws were latched onto his throat. Dolohov and Yaxley attempted to pry her jaws open, but were rewarded by bites to their hands that sent them to the floor in agony, that did not last long.

A second later, Nagini's jaws were at Voldemort's throat again. Harry saw dark blood flowing, and he heard the sound of bones cracking. He winced, but maintained his focus, struggling against the wave of nausea that was threatening to overtake him.

And then, just as Harry had hoped, Voldemort acted on instinct and impulse, guided by fear of death, rather than logic or reason - and uttered the Killing Curse against Nagini, destroying his own Horcrux. Nagini's lifeless form lay on the ground, unmoving. Voldemort did not move either. His gaze became stiller than ever, and his breathing became shorter and more labored, as dark blood flowed from the wound in his throat.

Harry focused on his wand again, and uttered a Relashio, releasing himself from the bodybinding spell.

Rising to his feet, he spun around, and saw Ron, his wand pointing at Voldemort, uttering a Legilimency spell. Hermione was looking to him expectantly.

His eyes focused, Ron said quietly: “Hermione - these are the curses that Voldemort had used on Marvolo Gaunt's ring. We'll need them to save Dumbledore. Memorize them: “Acerbo. Vermeno. Veneno. Inficio. Exuro.”

She was repeating them, over and over again, as Harry stood next to them, with his wand drawn, ready to strike out at Voldemort if he ever regained consciousness. He never had, and finally life fled his eyes altogether.

“I think it's over,” Hermione said quietly.

“It is,” they heard a voice behind them. “And just a few minutes earlier, I took the liberty of lifting the lockdown from the Castle. You shouldn't have any trouble getting out.”

They turned around and saw a single human form standing at the doorway. He was not flesh, but not spirit either - something in between; as if someone who no longer belonged to this world, but had not quite entered the next, either.

They barely recognized him - Peter Pettigrew looked young again; in fact, he looked just like he had on the old, faded photograph of the original members of the Order. His face was fresh and clean, he had a full head of hair again, and his expression was kind and tranquil.

“Well then,” Peter said with a smile that looked only slightly sad. “Time for me to go. You should know that all of my influence ... all of the shadows, all of the fog that clouded the judgment of the destined triads - all of that is gone as well. Nothing is left behind this time.”

“I'm ... sorry I killed you,” Ron said with hesitation.

“Please don't be,” Peter answered. “It's the best thing that anyone has ever done for me.”

“Are you forgiven then?” Ron asked with just a small note of urgency in his voice.

“Not quite yet,” Peter said, but his voice was untroubled. “I've done some rather terrible things - they can't be erased in one day. But the other two are waiting for me - and that's all that matters now. Nothing is as powerful as the bond of the three. It can defeat the Dark Lord, it can wipe out transgressions ... it can do amazing things. You'll see more of that in your future, I am sure.”

Giving them one parting nod, Peter walked away, and disappeared in the shadows.

“Well,” Hermione said. “We should be on our way, too.. Harry, there are still Death Eaters all around the Castle, so get under the Cloak, please... ”

“In a moment,” Harry told her.

He walked over to Voldemort's lifeless body and searched it, recovering Severus' wand. Before they left the room, Harry cast a Fiendfyre spell. The flames burst forth, took shapes of horrifying creatures, and descended on the bodies of Voldemort and Nagini, consuming them, and wiping them out.

“Now, we can go,” Harry said.

Their hands joined together, the three of them made their way out.

The tranquilizer gun trained on Lucius Malfoy, Severus sat on the floor of the wooden enclosure, wanting more than anything, to be looking for a way inside the Castle, but not daring to leave Lucius unattended - for the fear he might wake, and alert Voldemort.

Just as his last thought in the face of death had been of Harry, his every waking thought was also filled with him. In his entire life, Severus never held this much admiration and respect for any single person, Albus Dumbledore himself included.

Lucius stirred slightly on the floor, and Severus discharged a single dart into him, hitting him in the shoulder. With a low grunt, Lucius passed out again. Severus glared at his sleeping form with loathing. This man had caused Harry more grief and anguish than anyone else alive - including probably Voldemort himself. Lucius was the Dark Lord's muse - the instigator of Harry's enslavement, the producer of the slave potion, and the irreversible, untreatable Termination Ingredient...

And yet, Harry withstood Lucius' attempts at destroying his soul, his spirit - so far.

Throughout their bonding, Harry somehow ... managed to remain himself. He submitted - but retained all of his pride, all of his dignity, all of his unique personality that made him who he was. He still teased, he joked around - and he even threatened to defy his Master when something was important to him. This was not a typical behavior of someone under the slave-bond; but of course, Harry was remarkably strong-willed.

Suddenly, Severus felt something change. It was as if a shadow was lifted from his mind, or as if a fog clouding his vision, had dissipated. And it was then, that Severus remembered that one more unsolved mystery remained. While Severus had abandoned Harry, bleeding and near death, in the hands of the enemy - someone else had healed him. Someone other than Severus. And that, simply put, was supposed to be impossible. Not just unlikely - impossible. Some parts of slave-bonds were rather mechanical and unbendable, and that was one of them. The slave-bonds were designed to instill maximum dependency on the Master. Whenever an injury had been delivered by the Master, even by accident, only the Master's personal touch could bring relief and end suffering. And yet... Harry had been healed - and suffered no ill effects. Therefore...

Severus' eyes shot wide open, and he smiled. Therefore, there was no slave-bond.

Excitement surged through him instantly, and he allowed himself to complete the line of reasoning:

Therefore, Harry never drank the slave-potion.

Therefore, Harry never consumed the Termination Ingredient.

Severus smirked, then laughed out loud. No wonder the brat had been pulling his hair and pushing him around in the kitchen... Severus covered his mouth with his hand, trying to erase the idiotic, delirious smile from his lips. He failed, of course.

Still, more mysteries remained. Somehow, someone had fooled Voldemort's tracking and surveillance spells that had been placed on the potion. But how? And more importantly, who? Severus did not know the answer to that, but as he recalled more and more details from the last two months, Severus became convinced that Albus held the answer.

He remembered how ... distraught ... Albus was when he observed Harry's public displays of affection towards Severus. Obviously, Albus knew there was no bloody slave-bond, and hadn't been expecting them to become physically intimate... The old bastard damn nearly fainted when he saw Harry sitting on the floor, the boy's head in Severus' lap.

No wonder Albus had called off the search for the information on the Wailing Willow Bark and told Minerva it didn't matter. Of course it didn't matter - Albus knew that Harry had never consumed the mystery ingredient.

And still, the old manipulative bastard had allowed them both to believe the worst, for the past two months, Severus thought, with both loathing and admiration at once. Not that they didn't deserve it - breaking into his office, and stealing the potion... but still...

He finally heard a distant sound of Castle doors opening. He looked - and saw Harry running towards him, as if in bid to win a race. Hermione and Ron were following him - but not running, just walking quickly, Ron's arm wrapped around Hermione, supporting her.

Severus tucked the tranquilizer gun away, and ran towards them, forgetting all about appearances and personal dignity.

When Harry reached him, he handed Severus' wand back to him, and then, flew into his embrace, holding on to him desperately. “He's gone. He's gone,” Harry repeated, over and over again. “And Severus! Ron found the curses that Voldemort had used on the Marvolo Gaunt's Ring... we can now go back and save Dumbledore!”

For a minute or so, Severus could not tell whether he was crying or laughing, as he was holding Harry in his grip. Ron and Hermione caught up with them finally and smiled hesitantly.

“Harry, I have something to tell you, too,” Severus said quietly. “Promise you won't attack anyone...”

Hermione and Ron were looking at Severus nervously.

“I promise,” Harry said without conviction. “Severus - what is it?”

“There's no slave-bond,” Severus said. “I just finally realized it. You never drank the ... enslavement potion. You are not dying.”

Harry stiffened in his arms. “You sure?” he asked quietly. Severus nodded. “But how... what...who... the surveillance spells on the potion... how?”

“I don't know how,” Severus said. “But I am sure we'll find out soon enough. Won't we, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley?”

Harry turned around and glared at Ron and Hermione. “You knew, didn't you?” he demanded. “You knew there was no slave-bond! That's how you knew that being healed by someone else other than Severus wouldn't harm me... that's how you knew that slave-bond couldn't tell me where Severus was...” Harry's glare was ready to incinerate them. “You knew I wasn't dying, you knew I wasn't slave-bonded, and you've told me NOTHING? What kind of friends are you?”

“Sorry,” Hermione whispered contritely.

Severus placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. “They couldn't tell you,” Severus said calmly, with regained confidence. “It's not that they weren't eager to throw caution to the wind and blab it out, but they were physically and magically unable to do so. My guess is that there is a Fidelius charm involved, with Albus Dumbledore as the Secret Keeper. Perhaps we should find our way back to Hogwarts and get some answers.”

“Tell me!” Harry demanded, staring at his friends. “What happened? How? Tell me!”

Ron and Hermione smiled sheepishly, but did not say anything.

“They can't,” Severus repeated, very patiently. “Stop tormenting them. They can only confirm what we already know. They cannot reveal any new facts. The Fidelius protects the information. Let's walk towards the Estate boundary, shall we? From there, we can Apparate to the Manor, and then Floo to Hogwarts.”

Hermione smiled at Severus gratefully.

“Fine,” Harry said, almost mollified, and took Severus' hand in his, squeezing his fingers slightly. “So, Severus, how did you figure it out? Is it... because ... someone else healed me, and I didn't go insane from mental anguish?”

Severus nodded. “Yes. But truly, I should have guessed much sooner, Harry. Among other things, I should have paid more attention to the Third Prophecy of Sybill Trelawney.”

Harry glanced at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“They say that no word in the prophecy is random, or superfluous,” Severus said, smiling wryly. “Remember the wording Trelawney used? She did not mention any bonds of slavery in her prophecy. Just... bonds of affection.”

Harry looked up at him, returning his smile. “I think I can live with that.”

Severus led the way to the boundary of the estate. Hermione, Ron and Harry trailed about a dozen feet behind, and Harry continued to hound his friends with questions. Finally, Hermione snapped at him,

“Stop that, Harry, right now!”

“Or at least,” Ron mused, “Ask us something we can actually answer.”

“Fine,” Harry muttered. “Hermione... the truth...How long have you known?”

She looked at him apologetically. “I suspected from the beginning, but then... later thought I had been wrong... when your relationship... with Snape... began to... evolve...”

“You. Suspected. From. The beginning.” Harry said pointedly. He resisted an urge to give her a sound smack on the back of her head.

Hermione sighed deeply. “Harry... listen to me. I don't like slavery. I mean.. playing around is one thing, but - real enslavement? No. I don't even like to see house-elves enslaved. So ... when I was helping you, you know, to get emancipated and such, I only did it because I thought for sure Dumbledore would never let it happen. I was certain Dumbledore would rather burn the entire school to the ground than let one of his students drink something that Voldemort had concocted. Especially with a mystery ingredient! I was sure that Dumbledore would hide the potion, or switch it for something else - or something! I thought the worst that would happen, you'd drink something else, spend a few weeks of your summer away from the Dursleys, then realize that you are not enslaved, and ... well... what harm would that do?”

Harry grumbled quietly under his breath. Hermione's reasoning was... logical. Of course.

“And then?” Harry prodded.

“Well, Harry, then, when Ron and I came to visit you... we saw... the ... you know..” She lowered her voice slightly. “After he had caned you... it was so horrible... Then ... then I became convinced that I was wrong, and that there was a slave-bond, after all...” she smiled sheepishly. “I never in a million years thought you'd ... you know... ask for something like that on your own. For no reason.”

Harry found a deep blush spreading through his face. “Surprise,” he said dryly. “And then?”

She took a deep breath again. “Well.. then I was fully convinced that there was a slave-bond... So I went to search for the information on that mystery ingredient... I was fully convinced there was a bond, until Ron and I came to stay at the Manor with you two... then it was just an emotional rollercoaster. One moment, you two were almost egalitarian with each other, you know, teasing each other, and everything seemed normal.. and I'd become convinced that there was no slave-bond. Then you'd show up with something like that damned slave-brand, and I'd think that for sure there was a slave-bond...” she sniffled pitifully. “I really didn't know what to think...”

“That's when she had a nervous breakdown,” Ron muttered. “She totally melted down on me. It was spectacular.”

“I thought Harry was going to lose his soul and die!” Hermione cried indignantly.

“And that it was your fault, for helping him with his stupid plan to drink the potion,” Ron said helpfully. “Serves you right, Hermione, you know. Always trying to be ten steps ahead of everyone else.. guess what everyone else's game is, and beat them to the punch.”

She gave him a defiant glare. Harry laughed softly and patted her back. “You must have really gone nearly mad, Hermione,” he said peacefully. “All this time... the ambiguity... not knowing if I was dying or not... thinking that if I was dying, it was partially your fault... you really are too smart for your own good.”

She muttered something almost spiteful under her breath, but then laughed out loud. “I suppose,” she said meekly. “Anyways... after I had the meltdown... we went to Dumbledore... and he saw that I was on the verge of guessing, and saw that we both were completely miserable... so he told us everything. Before we had a chance to guess. But then, we became unable to tell any of it to you.”

“Of course not,” Harry mused. “Do I dare ask who placed the Fidelius charm on all of this?”

Hermione smiled apologetically.

“Right then,” Harry smirked. “You know, you could have saved yourself a great deal of anguish, if only you had listened to me. I kept telling you two that I didn't feel any slave-bond... You just couldn't believe me, could you?”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, the bond was supposed to be imperceptible, right? And... you know what they say. Actions speak louder than words.”

Ron nodded agreeably. “You know, Harry, all kidding aside, your feelings for Snape are unusually strong. And sudden... And the differences between you two... So really, what were we supposed to think?”

Harry could see that his friends had a point. He himself did not quite know what to think - the intensity of his feelings was absolutely overwhelming at times; in fact, so overwhelming that he himself hadn't questioned there being a slave-bond of some sort. His feelings for Severus defied all reason, all logic - and yet, they were there. He really did want to belong to him, to be his.

Harry lowered his eyes. “I'm not sure where those feelings came from,” he said finally. “Maybe it's just the Imprint.”

Hermione looked at him doubtfully. “Maybe,” she murmured. “But that raises another question: Why did you imprint on him?”

“What do you mean?” Harry muttered.

“What I mean, Harry,” Hermione said patiently, “Is that Lucius' ramblings aside, you are not a duck, or a goose. You are a person. You shouldn't have imprinted on Severus, without some kind of... predisposition to it.”

Harry looked at her with amusement. “Let me say this again, Hermione: you really think too much. You can't find answers for everything in the universe. Who knows why two people fall in love, or become attached to each other? Personally, I am just glad it happened the way it did.”

She smiled a little and nodded to him. “Me too, Harry. All in all, the obvious weirdness of the situation aside, I think you two are good for each other.”

They reached the boundary of the Estate where Severus was already waiting for them. Along the boundary, having received the message carried by Harry's Patronus, teams of Aurors, and some members of the Order were beginning to Apparate, ready to storm the Castle and capture any remaining Death Eaters. Severus spoke to the Aurors briefly, and pointed them to the wooden enclosure that still contained the incapacitated Lucius Malfoy.

While he was still speaking to them, Harry started tugging on his sleeve impatiently. “Stop dawdling,” Harry demanded. “Come on, we've done most of the work for them already. They can take it from here. Let's go save Dumbledore's life and get some answers.”

Severus smirked. “Patience is a virtue, Mr. Potter,” he said, the familiar contemptuous sneer already returning to his lips.

Harry threw his arms around Severus' neck and whispered in his ear:

“I will be sure to remind you of that next time I am 'deigning to pleasure you', Severus.”

Half an hour, two Apparitions, one Floo trip, and one firecall later, everyone was gathered in the Headmaster's office. Albus and Minerva occupied the large wooden desk together, and Severus, Harry, Ron and Hermione sat across from them. For a minute or so, they all eyed each other cautiously, and finally Ron broke the silence:

“We found the curses Voldemort had used on the Marvolo Gaunt's ring. You won't die.”

The expression on the Headmaster's face changed from benign to slightly distraught.

“You just couldn't leave it alone, could you?” he asked with just a note of despair in his voice. “You realize, this complicates things considerably.”

Minerva darted a venomous look at Albus. “Don't tell me that you are this eager to die!” she hissed at him in an almost feline manner. “And don't tell me that being with me is so intolerable to you, that you would rather die of Voldemort's curses, than...”

“I am saying no such thing,” Albus said peacefully. “I am just saying that ... it complicates matters, that is all.”

“Look,” Harry cut them off abruptly. “Maybe we can help you troubleshoot your marriage problems later... after you tell me what happened? I obviously did not drink Voldemort's enslavement potion. What did I drink?”

Albus looked at him in amusement. “What you drank, Harry, was a scented, but neutral potion base, used as a solvent. It has no effect on human physiology, or mind, whatsoever. I had refilled the beaker with it once I had .. disposed of Voldemort's potion.”

Next to Severus, Harry was blushing deeply; but Severus ignored his discomfort for the time being; as a new suspicion was beginning to form in his mind, and he felt a knot in his stomach again.

“Albus - how did you dispose of it?” Severus asked in a very quiet voice, looking at him with a sudden dread. “It had a tracking spell on it. It couldn't just be flushed down the toilet, or used to water Mandrake plants. It had to be drank. By a person. By a human being. It's not possible to fool the tracking spell...”

Albus returned his gaze without wavering. “As you said, Severus... someone had to drink it. But surely you must know that there was no way I would let anyone under my care drink something that Voldemort had sent.”

“You drank it yourself,” Severus whispered defeatedly. “Albus - are you bloody insane? How could you!”

“It seemed like the logical thing to do at the time,” Albus said serenely. “I've lived long enough to have heard rumors of Termination Ingredients. I had suspected the potion may have included something along those lines... and given that my life was already forfeit, it seemed .. reasonable.”

“Alright,” Severus asked. “How did you fool the visual surveillance spell on the potion? The spell activates when it's about to be consumed, and it cuts through Polyjuice, or any superficial disguises...”

“It does, doesn't it,” Albus said dryly. “In theory, however, there is one way to fool such a spell. Transfiguration. Do you see anyone in this room who is skilled in Transfiguration?”

Severus glanced at Minerva McGonagall, a transfiguration Professor of several decades, and a registered Animagus. She gave him a brief unhappy smile.

“You are both absolutely and utterly insane,” Severus uttered finally. “You had transfigured yourselves into duplicates of Harry and me to trick Voldemort's visual surveillance spell, and... had the greatest wizard alive drink Voldemort's enslavement potion? I don't even have the words for you.”

“A word of thanks to Albus would be most appropriate,” Minerva said dryly. “But that said, as much as it pains me to see Albus in this .. predicament, I must say I agree - better him, than Harry.”

Severus shook his head, and glanced at Albus guiltily. “Well... yet another mystery solved. Minerva is the one who had placed the Fidelius Charm on everything, making you the Secret Keeper of your own bond... and she is then your... partner in this?”

“I believe the word you are looking for is Mistress,” Albus said with a twinkle in his eye. “Yes, Severus. And next time, when you notice an aged, homosexual wizard develop an unlikely relationship with a woman fifty years his junior, perhaps you will become suspicious... but I will not hold my breath.”

Severus chuckled unhappily. “So.. after you drank the potion, you replaced it with the neutral solution... why?”

“So that nobody would notice it was gone, until I had a chance to speak with you and Harry again,” Albus said reasonably. “Of course, by the time I was ready to speak to you, you two had already broken into my office and drank it. And as much as it pained me to conceal the truth from you, I decided that it was the golden opportunity, so to speak. With neither of you knowing the truth, and with the information being protected by Fidelius charm, there was no chance of Voldemort finding out his plan had failed.”

“And now?” Severus asked with dread. “The war is over... and ... you ...”

“Well,” Albus mused. “There really is nothing to worry about. Given that I am past the age of seventeen, this particular Termination Ingredient does me no harm whatsoever. And as for the rest...” the aged headmaster shrugged nonchalantly. “I admit, I could think of more dignified ways to spend the rest of my life... but none that would be so... exciting.”

Severus smiled again, eying his mentor with remorse and gratitude. Albus did what he had done best - step in and rescue people from themselves... and this time, he had succeeded. At a dire cost to himself, but he had.

“Thank you,” Severus said in a barely audible voice. “For everything. A million times, thank you.”

Albus nodded to him with a peaceful smile. “Well then,” the Headmaster mused. “Looks like we can all go and live happily-ever-after.”

“Almost,” Harry said quietly.

“What do you mean, Harry?” Albus asked, watching him with concern.

“What I mean,” Harry said calmly, “is that I'm still a Horcrux. We've destroyed Voldemort's corporeal form, and Nagini, but for as long as I am alive, he can return. In order to assure his final defeat, I still have to die.”

A long silence followed, with Albus regarding Harry thoughtfully.

“Harry... do you trust me?” Albus asked finally.

Harry glanced at him in surprise. “More than ever. Why do you even ask?”

“I am going to say something that will seem very counter-intuitive to you, but something that I am absolutely certain of,” Albus said softly. “Please listen, without interrupting, and try to understand. Okay?”

Harry nodded mutely.

“I've lived long enough to know that evil can never be destroyed - only contained. If it's not Voldemort - it will be someone else. I assure you that we will be watchful and vigilant. As soon as someone makes a move to bring Voldemort back, the Order will intercept them. But we will not condone an innocent life being taken deliberately in order to ward off evil. Light does not operate this way.”

Harry stared at him in astonishment. “So what... you expect me to just ... what? Go on living, while knowing that I am Voldemort's Horcrux? Knowing that there's something evil and dark inside me, something that could destroy everyone I love?”

Albus nodded. “Granted, it's not the easiest way to live, Harry,” he said softly. “But ... many good people have darkness within them that would astound and terrify the rest. Severus can attest to that, I am sure.”

A small hopeful smile appeared on Harry's lips and lingered.

Severus reached out for Harry's hand and took it in his. He stroked Harry's palm with his thumb, eliciting a slight tremor from the young body.

“Listen to me, Harry” Severus said softly. “I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we'd rather take our chances with Voldemort again, than give up on you. You'd feel the same way if it was me, or Ron, or Hermione who was a Horcrux.”

“I guess,” Harry admitted sheepishly. “Still.. it's rather scary.”

“Life usually is,” Albus said peacefully. “But the terrors of life can be easily overcome - if you stay in the light, and don't wander off into the shadows for too long.”

When they returned to the Manor, Severus and Harry stood together in the living room, holding hands, staring at each other in disbelief.

“We made it,” Harry said in wonder. He still could scarcely believe it. It had been less than a week since they closed down the Manor and departed in response to Voldemort's summoning, and yet, it felt like an eternity had passed.

Harry stepped even closer to Severus, and buried his face in his chest.

“Are you .. alright?” Severus asked hesitantly.

“I think so,” Harry said. “Just... I don't know. It seems so weird... that life should be so normal again. Almost feel like I don't deserve anything normal anymore. You know?”

“I know,” Severus said softly. “But that's not true. Just that... after spending so much time in the dark, it takes time to get used to sunshine again.”

Harry glanced at him timidly and smiled a little. “Then we should get started right away.”

They walked into Severus' bedroom together. Harry shed his own clothing first, and then reached to undress Severus who protested slightly. Harry paid him no heed, and removed his robe, his shirts, and his trousers, revealing the disfiguring scars that had been inflicted by Lucius.

“Why was Lucius torturing you?” Harry asked with dread.

“Because he's a sadistic bastard,” Severus said with a wry smile. “But really.. I am well. It's nothing to worry about.”

“Tell me why,” Harry demanded, his fingers clasping around Severus' wrist. “Please.”

“He had examined my wand... and became suspicious,” Severus said with reluctance.

Harry sat on the bed and stared at Severus guiltily. “You've ... gone through all of this, just to keep it a secret that I was still alive?”

Severus' upper lip curled slightly into a familiar sneer. “You certainly do have a penchant for melodrama, Mr. Potter,” he said dryly. But Harry was already grasping his hands, and pulling him onto the bed, drawing him into embrace, and showering his face with kisses. He touched the scars where the metal tips of the Scorpion had ripped the skin apart and dug into the flesh - and shuddered in disbelief.

“Thank you,” Harry said simply, before the lump in his throat made it unable for him to say anything else. He looked down in shame, and when Severus started stroking his head, he both tensed, and pressed against his palm, as if he were a stray alley-cat, who was not used to affection, but who longed for it, just the same.

Under his gentle touch, Harry felt himself ready to cry, and he lifted his arm, pressing it against his eyes.

“I am sorry,” Harry whispered. “I am sorry that ..”

“Me too,” Severus said softly, his hands trailing the scars he had inflicted on Harry while in Voldemort's keep. Harry lowered his eyes, feeling mortified beyond all reason by that memory. He remembered Bellatrix taunting, Draco laughing at him when he cried, and he remembered Lucius directing everything.. playing both him and Severus as puppets for the Dark Lord's enjoyment. He winced at the memory of himself crying out and screaming.

Harry sniffled quietly and leaned against him. “Do you think we can ever be ... what we were to each other before, before any of this?”

“If that's what you still want. Do you?”

Harry nodded furiously. “Yes. Yes. I want to be yours. I want you to guide me, to correct me, to teach me. I want to do everything for you... I want to give you everything you need, or want. I want to belong to you...” He looked up at Severus timidly. “Want to know something else?” he asked with hesitation.

Severus nodded wordlessly.

“Back then... when... Lucius ordered it... I just almost died from humiliation... and I was so scared... But then I thought - what if I could just keep myself together ... and make you proud of me. Proud to own me.” Harry smiled in embarrassment. “It didn't quite work out that way... I recall myself howling like a cat being skinned alive, but... it's the thought that counts, right?”

“You didn't howl like a cat,” Severus said quietly. “For what it's worth, you are the bravest person I have ever met. Proud to own you? Harry... I am proud just to know you.”

Harry blushed, then issued a deep sigh, and stretched himself on the bed face down, burying his face in his arms.

Severus went to stroke his back and sides with both hands, his palms mapping out his entire body. Soft lips descended on Harry's back, and delicate tongue ran along his spine, making him shiver and laugh. Silky hair trailed along his back as well, caressing his skin, delivering the subtle, tender sensations that his body had forgotten while in Voldemort's keep.

He felt his arousal awaken again, and gasped in wonder.

“I didn't think,” he whispered quietly... “Didn't think anything could ever feel this good again.”

The tongue continued it's path along his body, stopping to circle the small of his back, and Harry whimpered quietly at the sensation.

He felt strong hands take a hold of his hips and part them with gentleness, and he complied, opening himself obediently. He felt the fingers stroke the inside of his thighs, and then, knead his buttocks, and part them. The tongue stroked his cleft with gentleness, and Harry issued a plaintive sound, pressing his face deeply into the pillow. When the tongue began caressing his opening, Harry gasped loudly, and barely managed to hold himself still. But then, the tongue entered him, and proceeded to tease and caress the sides of his channel, and Harry issued an astonished yelp.

Severus lifted one of his hands from Harry's thigh and slid it under his belly, stroking his aching member, and Harry found himself thrashing furiously, in a torrent of pleasure, trapped between the tongue and the hand, until he finally spilled himself into that hand with a loud cry that echoed throughout the manor.

Severus laughed benignly, and patted his buttocks affectionately.

Harry turned over, and pulled the blanket over them both, and then, hugged Severus tightly, inhaling his scent - the scent of dried grass and autumn leaves, the scent of life and curse, mingled together as one.

“I love you so much,” Harry said quietly. “Tell me I am yours.”

“You are mine,” Severus said instantly. “I love you.”

The following morning, Harry brought breakfast back into the bedroom, and they stayed in bed simply talking. They told each other the missing parts of their misadventures. Severus laughed slightly, when he heard that Harry had been microchipped “like a turnip”, in words of Hermione Granger. Severus, having been out of touch with Muggle technology since his father's death, could not quite understand how the GPS tracking worked, and Harry could not explain, finally giving up and saying, “Just think of it as Muggle magic.”

When Severus told Harry that Draco was the one who had woken him while he was buried alive, Harry groaned quietly and buried his face in the pillow.

“Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse,” Harry muttered.

“What do you mean?” Severus asked.

“I owe a life-debt to Draco-fucking-Malfoy!” Harry cried out. “Do you have any idea what it's like to owe a life-debt to someone who absolutely despises you, and makes your life miserable every day, and...”

Severus chuckled softly at the irony of that statement. “Well, Harry... I'll grant you that, when you are sixteen, you really do believe that there's nothing worse in life. But... when you are thirty-eight, with a Dark Mark on your forearm, you realize that, in the grand scheme of things, it's a rather trivial matter.”

Harry snickered slightly. “I guess you are right,” he said peacefully. “I won't let him get to me.”

“Good,” Severus said seriously. “Make peace whenever you can.”

Harry snorted. “You begin to sound like Dumbledore. Freak.”

“Brat.”

“You love it,” Harry said with certainty, and pushed him on the bed, face down. Severus allowed himself to fall, and Harry straddled his hips, summoning a jar of massage oil, splashing it generously on his back. The strong, young fingers caressed his back, seeking to ease the tension and the ache of the past week. Severus found himself wincing slightly, when Harry pressed against certain spots.

“What's wrong?” Harry asked.

“Nothing. Just a little bit of soreness, I think,” Severus said absently. Harry withdrew his hands instantly.

“You sure?” he asked with hesitation.

“Positive,” Severus said, even though the soreness began to intensify slightly.

Harry nodded and let him go, but watched him with concern throughout the morning and afternoon.

By the late afternoon, Severus already knew what was wrong. The soreness had turned into burning and stabbing pain that was spreading around the Scorpion injuries. Hermione Granger had done a great job stopping the blood flow and healing the superficial damage, but apparently, Lucius had inflicted some tissue and nerve damage that did not become apparent until the effect of the numbing potion wore off. Severus said so out loud, and Harry paled slightly.

“St. Mungo's,” Harry demanded. “Right now. Let's go.”

Severus did not even protest. He already felt fever coming on, and spreading throughout his body, and he was in no mood trying to brew home-made potions and attempting to heal himself. And really, he said out loud, he had too much to live for, and too much happily-ever-after to catch up on, to be inconvenienced by something this trivial.

“It's not lethal, is it?” Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly. “Severus...”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Harry, it's nothing. I am sure of it.”

However, when they arrived to St. Mungo's, the look on the healer's face, once he heard the details of the injuries, and completed the scans, told them otherwise.

“The tissue and the nerve damage aside, the tool that was used to torture you was laced in cockatrice venom, presumably to ... ensure maximum suffering.” The Healer said sternly. “You do realize that it can cause severe complications if left untreated for more than a day?”

“The tips of the Scorpion,” Severus whispered with dread. “Harry!”

The healer cast several scanning spells on Harry, while Severus watched and waited in absolute, mindless terror.

“The boy is fine,” the healer said finally, and Severus chuckled in relief. Apparently, the venom was Lucius' special touch just for him. Not that he was overly surprised - Lucius was exquisitely creative in his approach to tormenting people.

“You, on the other hand..,” the healer spoke abruptly. “Why did you not come to the hospital right away? It did not occur to you that after being tortured by the Dark Lord, it would be a good idea to request a full physical check-up?”

Severus was going to say something spiteful, but the faintness spreading through his body left him weakened and almost disoriented. “Now what?” he asked finally.

“I am going to place you in a healing coma for the next six hours,” the healer said, and looked at Harry. “Are you his next of kin?”

“Yes,” Harry said instantly.

“Very well. You may pick him up in six hours. He will need two days of bed rest, and I do mean, absolute rest. If you are not able to provide that for him, I will simply keep him in the healing coma for two days instead.”

“I can do it,” Harry said instantly. “I'll take him home. Severus?”

“You don't have to, you know,” Severus mumbled weakly, while the healer was already stretching him out on the hospital bed, taking off his shirts, and beginning the preparations. “This isn't life-threatening, and I am sure you have better things to do with your time during your summer holidays...”

Harry's fist clenched the pillow right in front of Severus' face, and then, Harry knelt before him, until their faces almost touched. Harry looked like he was fighting to subdue a temper outburst, and finally succeeded, because when he spoke, his voice was almost calm, with just a touch of hurt in it:

“Severus - I want to. It's no chore. Anything I can ever do for you - you don't even need to ask. Please, just let me.”

Severus nodded agreeably. “If you like. Just don't feel like you have to. If you change your mind, it's fine...”

Harry leaned to silence him with a kiss, and Severus returned the kiss weakly, feeling himself drifting off. Harry's hand caressed his hair, and his lips lingered against his cheek.

“I'll be waiting for you when you wake up,” Harry whispered in his ear. “I'll take you home. I'll cook for you, I'll dote on you, I'll read to you... I'll water your stupid plants... I even promise I won't pull your hair for the whole two days...”

Severus smiled wryly. “Now, Mr. Potter. Don't make promises you can't keep.” He drifted off to sleep, with Harry's hand still on his head, and Harry's lips still pressed to his cheek.

When Severus was still asleep, the healer kicked Harry out of the ward unceremoniously, and told him not to be back until six hours had passed. Harry nodded, and went into the waiting room. He spent an hour waiting, doing nothing, until finally his restlessness grew to the point of being unbearable, and he walked out of the hospital, right into the street of Muggle London. He roamed the street aimlessly, killing time, until he bumped into two tall men, wearing Muggle clothing, but with Auror badges attached to their shoulders. He recognized the first man as Kingsley Shacklebolt. The second man was unfamiliar. Next to them, stood purple-haired Nymphadora Tonks.

“Hello, Harry,” said Tonks. “Do you mind if we go... for a coffee and talk?”

His hand was already on his wand.

“How do I know you are Tonks?” he asked reasonably. She chuckled, her hair changed pink, and her nose momentarily acquired the familiar beak-like shape, causing Harry to smirk.

“Fine,” he said sheepishly. “Sorry. Guess I'm still a bit jumpy.”

“Understandable,” Tonks said reasonably. “Harry, you've already met Kingsley Shacklebolt, I am sure. And this is James Williamson, also from the Auror office of the Ministry of Magic.”

“Nice to meet you,” Harry said politely.

“Likewise,” Williamson muttered, clearly uncomfortable.

“Well,” Tonks said finally. “Let's go sit down somewhere. Maybe we can get some hot chocolate or something.”

They found a Muggle coffee shop, and placed their orders. Harry sat down first, with a cup of tea, and the rest of them joined him shortly. He felt oddly nervous, around the three of them.

“Look, if this is about me casting an Unforgivable on Nagini...” Harry started saying, but Kingsley shook his head.

“Not at all, Harry,” he said calmly. “You haven't done anything wrong.”

The anxiety should have receded them, but instead, it only intensified.

“Well.. what is it then?” he asked.

Williamson looked at him thoughtfully. “Mr. Potter - it's not about what you did. It's about what you are.”

Harry bowed his head, and stared into the teacup. For some reason, he heard Trelawney's voice in his mind, ringing with her final prophecy:

Seven times born, once he shall die.

“I am Voldemort's Horcrux,” Harry said firmly. “I need to die... so that Voldemort can be dead, once and for all. Is that it?”

Silence answered him, and Harry smiled bitterly. He sipped his tea and found it both scolding and revolting. There was a lump in his throat again, and he wanted to scream from frustration. Just when he had come to believe that he might actually have something resembling a normal life - this caught up with him.

He wondered idly who had informed the Ministry. The only people who knew were the Dumbledore's Army, the members of the Order of the Phoenix, and the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters would not tell anything, Harry was sure - him being a Horcrux was their last chance of bringing Voldemort back. He was quite certain that no member of Dumbledore's Army would tell anyone either.

Harry glanced at Tonks, whose face was a little paler than usual. “You told them?” Harry asked. He couldn't blame her, not at all. Remus Lupin had died destroying one of the Horcruxes. It would not surprise him if she had not wanted his death to be in vain. But when he looked at her, she shook her head.

“No, Harry,” she said quietly. “My loyalty to the Order takes precedence even over my loyalty to the Ministry of Magic. I have told nothing. But once they knew, I have been asked to... mediate... and see if we could reach an agreement.”

“Agreement,” Harry repeated. “What do you have in mind?”

Tonks took a deep breath. “Not all of the Death Eaters were at Warringtons Estate when we attacked. Some are still on the loose,” she said quietly. “We are certain that they will attempt to bring Voldemort back sooner, rather than later. We are not sure how much time we have - we are trying to track them, but...”

Harry nodded slowly. “What's the timeline?” he asked almost calmly.

“A couple of days,” Tonks said. “Not more than that.”

Harry looked at her. “So what's the plan? Two days from now, you just expect me to show up at the Ministry Office and turn myself in? Or do you want me to just go jump under a Muggle train to save the world?”

“Actually,” Williamson said coolly, “What we would really like is for you to come with us right now. The Minister is ready to issue a warrant for your arrest, and...”

“Arrest,” Harry repeated pointedly. “You just said I haven't done anything wrong.” He was not even sure why he was arguing anymore, but he still was, just out of habit.

“That's right,” Williamson said bluntly. “Arrest. We will be authorized to use any force necessary to bring you in, for the safety of the...”

“Enough!” Tonks snapped. “You try and force him, and I will fight you myself. I've told you - I will not support anything that Harry himself does not choose to do. If you think you and Kingsley can take the two of us on - I invite you to try.”

The Muggle barista was casting dubious looks at them, and Tonks lowered her voice again:

“Harry,” she said softly. “You need to decide what you want to do about this. You have a choice. You have plenty of choices. You can fight this legally. You can leave now, and go to Dumbledore - he might have some ideas. Or perhaps there are some other options that I am not seeing...”

Harry nodded mutely, staring into his teacup again. He lifted it to his lips and sipped again - this time, the tea was almost bearable.

“What's the plan if I come with you?” he asked finally. “Are you just going to cast Avada Kedavra on me, or... what?”

Kingsley spoke next, taking a deep breath. “Harry - the truth is, we don't know exactly. The DADA researchers have been experimenting with modifying the Fiendfyre spell - in hopes that it could simply destroy the Dark piece of the soul, and leave the rest of the ... receptacle... intact. But - I don't know how far along they are, and whether or not it will be successful.”

Harry nodded quietly, not at all reassured that his body was now thought of as 'receptacle'. But he knew no other options of destroying the last Horcrux either. “Alright,” he said. “It's.. fine. I'll come with you. On my own.”

“Good,” Kingsley said peacefully. “Harry - we will do everything in our power to ... attempt to preserve your life while...”

“...destroying the Horcrux,” Harry finished his sentence for him. “Yeah, I know. Can I call my friends... to say goodbye?”

“No,” Williamson said instantly.

Tonks shot him a venomous look. “Yes, Harry, of course you can,” she said softly. “Do you think you should?”

Harry thought about it for a minute.

“No,” he admitted finally. “They'll .. .freak... and just want to rescue me. Or talk me out of this. Best if they just don't know.”

He finished his tea unhurriedly, and thought of Hermione and Ron, who had gone to so much trouble to save him. He thought of Dumbledore and McGonagall, tied into a relationship that they would have never chosen, if not for Voldemort's designs on him.. He thought of Severus, sleeping alone in the hospital bed. Harry felt an instant pang of guilt at abandoning him, and breaking his promise to be there when he woke. But then, Harry reasoned, this was important. More important than Hermione's car, more important than Dumbledore's dignity, and even more important than Severus' happiness.

He stood up sharply and straightened his shirt. “Fine. I am ready,” he said calmly. “Let's just go.”

When Severus dreamed, he dreamed of Harry.

He dreamed of Harry somewhere where there was water. Severus saw glimpses of the grey sky, and dark - nearly black water with waves rising and falling, over and over again. The water bore the barely visible reflection of Harry's face, and the emerald eyes were piercing the darkness, gazing upwards.

In the dreams that followed, there were stone walls, covered by a layer of thin ice. Shadows hovered around, and when they moved in, warmth fled from their presence, leaving a trail of frost in its wake.

And then, there was bright light, bright light shining down from above, but even the light had no warmth in it; in fact it sent chill down his spine, and to the depth of his bones.

Severus awoke at St. Mungo's, with the realization of something being dreadfully wrong. He felt like he had slept for days, his body felt completely healed, but terror flooded him at the first waking thought.

“Harry,” he whispered quietly.

The Healer who had admitted him shook his head. “I am afraid your... next of kin never showed up. I have kept you in the healing coma for the past two days...”

Severus sat up abruptly, feeling instantly dizzy. “Where did he go?” he asked.

The Healer shook his head regretfully. “He did not say.”

Desperately, Severus attempted to calm himself down. Perhaps, Harry took his permission to heart, and simply went to spend some time with his friends. Or perhaps Harry decided that he had had enough of the relationship with his aging spiteful Potions professor, and simply bailed on him. He would not have blamed him if that were the case - in fact, deep down he was hoping for something along those lines.

Severus used the Floo to return home - and realized that Harry had not been there in two days, nor had he left a message. One by one, Severus firecalled Albus, the Weasleys, the Longbottoms, and finally, Lovegoods. No-one had seen Harry, or heard from him.

Despair mounting, he frecalled the Hogwarts library, Hog's Head, Three Broomsticks, the Joke Shop, and then, every business at Hogsmeade. He then called the Gringotts bank and asked if Harry had used his card recently. After a long argument with the goblins, he finally learned that Harry hadn't. That did not sound good either. Eventually, he gave up and firecalled the Ministry of Magic to place a missing person's report. The Auror took his information and assured him they would look into it immediately.

After the last call, the feeling of dread intensified, and Severus started pacing around the living room of the Manor.

He was still pacing like a caged animal, when a firecall came in from the Weasleys. Ron Weasley simply asked:

“Do you want to come over?”

“Yes,” Severus said instantly, and threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. A moment later he emerged at the Burrow.

Ron greeted him and pointed at the chair, and Severus sat down instantly.

“Do you think he is dead?” Ron asked.

“No,” Severus said firmly. “If he were, I think I would know.”

“How?”

“I don't know how,” Severus said irritably. “I just would.”

“Where do you think he is?” Ron asked.

Severus shrugged. He shut his eyes, trying to focus. Throughout the years, he used to be able to find Harry whenever he suspected the boy was in trouble - through combination of logic and instinct. But this time, logic was failing him, and instinct was insufficient.

“I don't know where he his,” Severus said softly. “But for some reason, I think- it's someplace cold.”

“Cold,” Ron repeated absently. “That's all?”

“That's all,” Severus said tiredly. He buried his face in his hands, to realize that his hands were shaking slightly.

“Did you have an argument? A fight? Did you do anything to...”

“No,” Severus said softly. “Last thing he said was that he would come back six hours later to take me home from the hospital. He never showed up.”

“That doesn't sound like Harry,” Ron said with confidence. “You know, even if he decided he didn't want to.. you know.. stay with you, I think he would have told you to your face. He wouldn't just.. leave.”

“I suppose not,” Severus conceded.

“We should go see Hermione,” Ron said. “Maybe Harry is with her.”

“Maybe,” Severus agreed, no longer believing it. They took off at once, Floo'd to the Diagon Alley, and finally, Apparated to the Grangers' house in Muggle London.

Hermione opened the door and her eyes widened in shock at the sight of the two of them.

“Harry?” she asked. They nodded, and briefed her on the recent events.

“Any ideas, Miss Granger?” Severus asked finally.

She shook her head. “He never contacted me either. Professor - have you ever... removed his GPS tracking device?”

“No,” Severus said, and hope reawakened. “Perhaps you can track him...”

She nodded and went to her room, Ron and Severus following her closely. At her desk, she pulled out the receiver and looked at the readings.

“He is no longer in Great Britain,” she said quietly.

“Well, where the devil is he?” Ron demanded. .

“I don't know,” she said, a little tersely. “His last position was logged as somewhere between Great Britain and Norway.”

“Norway,” Ron repeated. “What's the location? What's there?”

“Nothing is there!” she snapped angrily. “Just the Atlantic Ocean, Ron.”

“Maybe your stupid GPS device is wrong,” Ron muttered. “Why would Harry be cruising the Atlantic Ocean?”

Severus glanced at the small red dot on the grid of the receiver and felt his heart clench in his chest. “He is not cruising,” Severus said absently. “Don't you realize what part of Atlantic Ocean this is?”

“The North Sea,” Hermione murmured. “Professor...”

“Yes,” Severus said. “He is in Azkaban.”

“He can't be!” Ron blurted out. “He's a bloody war hero!”

Severus cast him a sour look. “Since when did that make any difference to the Ministry of Magic?”

Hermione was already packing her GPS technology, slipping it all into her pocket.

“Hogwarts,” Severus said instantly. “Let's go see Albus.”

Ron cast him a surprised glance. “Why Dumbledore? What does he have that can help us?”

“Well,” Severus said with desperate hope, “Among other things, he has the ability to Apparate into restricted areas. Including Azkaban.”

Harry was only slightly surprised, when he was made to board a small boat, while Tonks, Williamson and Kingsley followed him in. The boat moved towards a small speck on the horizon that continued to advance with every stroke of the oar, and with every rocking motion of the waves.

“You are taking me to Azkaban,” Harry whispered quietly, and shivered, remembering the look on his godfather's face when he first met him after his escape.

“It is the most secure facility in the wizarding world,” Kingsley said apologetically.

Harry forced a small smile. “Well, that's fine. Just... don't put me into the same cell with Lucius Malfoy.”

Tonks gave him a distraught look. “Harry... it won't be like this. You won't be treated like a criminal. There is a secure, comfortable room set up... You'll have ... well... books... chocolate...”

“I like chocolate,” Harry said absently and leaned over the side of the boat, to stare into the dark water. He saw his reflection staring back at him, and almost did not recognize himself. His face was thinner and shallower than he had ever remembered it, and with his prison-short hair, he already looked like he belonged in Azkaban.

Without prompting, Harry reached for his wand, and handed it to Tonks. “Here,” he said. “Keep it safe. Give it to Severus.. if...”

“Sure, Harry,” she said quietly.

The boat docked with the enormous monolithic building, and they disembarked. Harry expected to see something horrid, something wet and slimy and grungy when they entered the prison. Instead, the three of them walked through a brightly lit hallway, and finally, arrived to a spacious, bright, windowless room that was set up with a bed, a desk, and a bookshelf.

“I see you have been ready for this,” Harry said dryly. “You must have been just waiting to swoop in on me the moment I left Severus' side.”

Williamson shrugged unapologetically.

“By the way, I know who turned me in,” Harry said with absolute confidence. Tonks stiffened slightly.

There was just one person, Harry thought, who knew of him being a Horcrux - who was not a member of the Order, not a member of Dumbledore's Army, and who had no desire to see Voldemort return.

“Tell Draco he did the right thing, this time.”

How odd, Harry thought wryly, that Draco Malfoy would save the wizarding world from Voldemort's return by turning Harry Potter in to the Ministry of Magic. That was so... fitting. And more than that... so... Draco.

“Alright,” said Tonks. “I think he'll be... relieved to hear that.”

What a way to repay the life-debt. Harry would have smirked, but misery was coursing through him already, ringing in his ears, beginning to cloud his senses. The Dementors were near - he could feel them through the walls, through the ceiling.

Tonks patted his shoulder and told him she'd be around. He smiled bitterly.

“I guess I am your Scabbers,” he muttered.

She glanced at him in surprise.

“Back at the Warringtons Estate, I was a part to sending a man to his death. We weren't trying to be cruel - we just wanted to win. That's all. He was so afraid. But we did it anyways. I guess you can call it poetic justice.”

“Was he an innocent man?”

“No,” Harry said flatly. “But then again, neither am I. Not anymore, anyways.”

He collapsed on the bad, and turned his face to the wall, waiting until she left. He did not cry this time, but rather, he kept himself still, and deliberately let go of all that he was, and all that he ever wanted and hoped for. He had seen too much - and had done too much to be able to turn back and go back to normal life. Dumbledore's kind wishes aside, it just was not possible. Back at the Warringtons Estate, he had done things.. he got Bellatrix Lestrange killed. Not in self-defense, even - just as a ploy to buy himself some time. And Voldemort... Harry shuddered remembering the horrifying death he had inflicted on him. And what's worse, all his terror and dread and regret aside, he would do it all over again. Maybe Dumbledore, and Hermione and Ron were of the Light. He was not. He was not Dark, either, at least, not yet, but he had been in the shadows for too long. And the Horcrux... in someone like Harry... someone balancing on the line between the Darkness and the Light, could be the most dangerous thing in the world; because the Dark would always call to him, and the Light might not have the heart to destroy him, until it was too late.

For the next day and a half, he waited. Healers and researchers he had never met came in, scanned him, examined him, and left promptly. Tonks came and went, bringing chocolate.

Eventually, she and Kingsley showed up. Harry avoided looking at either of them. “Is it time, isn't it?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kingsley agreed.

“How did the research go?” Harry asked. “The modifications to Fiendfyre spell?”

“Not so good,” Tonks said, and sat on the bed next to Harry. “To be honest, I don't think there's much of a chance at all. We've run multiple tests... and...”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. “Well, it was a good idea, anyways. So what are my options now?”

Kingsley surveyed him thoughtfully. “Well.. there is the Killing Curse. There are also multiple potions that are completely painless... and it is no worse than falling asleep. The modified Fiendfyre is probably the most painful way to do it, but it's also the only one that stands any hope of...”

“I'll take my chances with Fiendfyre, then,” Harry said.

Tonks looked at him wordlessly for a while.

“Do you want to ... write a letter?” she offered suddenly. “You could write to your friends. Or Severus. Or Albus.”

He looked at her in surprise, but then understood her intent.

“A goodbye letter,” he clarified. He crawled deeper into the bed, and hugged his knees. “No, thanks.”

“Harry,” she started saying, but he cut her off:

“Look, Tonks. I did what you all wanted. I came with you. I didn't fight. We both know that the spell will not work as we hope. Whatever. Just don't try to make me ... do this. Write letters, say goodbyes. It's too much. I've never had so much in my life as I had in the day you three came for me. I had amazing friends. I had a partner who loved me like no-one else had. I had a safe home, finally. A hope of maybe having a family one day. I think... if I start writing, and saying goodbyes, and thinking about everything I'm leaving behind, I'll change my mind... and ... want to go back... and... it'll just be harder.”

Tonks did not argue.

“Shall we go then,” Kingsley said quietly.

“Sure,” Harry agreed. He still did not want to face death - but he was sick of waiting.

They went.

When Severus arrived to Hogwarts with Hermione and Ron in tow, it did not take them long to find Albus and Minerva. They met in Albus' quarters, and sat down at a large table together.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Albus offered gently.

Severus nodded and briefly recounted Harry's sudden disappearance, and his futile attempts to locate him. Albus listened, nodding thoughtfully.

“It's because he's a Horcrux, isn't it?” Hermione asked. “They found out. And they decided to kill him, before Voldemort has a chance to come back...”

“I am afraid it appears to be so,” Albus conceded.

Severus sighed deeply. “And I just filed a missing person's report with the Ministry... I hope it doesn't force their hand to... act sooner than they would otherwise.”

“Let's hope not,” Albus murmured. “Well.. shall we... think about the different options we have?”

“We can fight this legally,” Hermione said quickly. “We could demonstrate that there hasn't been due process...”

“Yeah, that'll work,” Ron said sardonically. “I say we assemble the Order and Dumbledore's Army, and storm Azkaban. Break him out of there.”

Albus nodded thoughtfully. “Well, if it comes to that - I could break him out. But then what? Will he be content to spend the rest of his life on the run, glued to myself and Minerva? And what happens once the two of us pass away?”

“We need to find a way to destroy the Horcrux, without killing Harry,” Minerva said softly. “It really is the only lasting solution. Albus...”

Albus sighed deeply. “I have been reading and re-reading the last prophecy of Sybill Trelawney,” he said. “I still cannot understand so many things. So many things are a mystery about this situation.” He glanced at Severus. “Can you tell me exactly what happened on the night of October 31st, when ...Voldemort raided Godric's Hollow?”

Severus nodded his head. “I was called to go with Voldemort that day. We found the place without incident. Voldemort opened the door to the house, and we entered. James Potter was the first one we saw. Lily stood behind him, with Harry in her arms. James drew his wand and aimed at Voldemort. He shielded Lily and Harry with his body, and cast the Killing Curse on Voldemort, but it had no effect. Voldemort then cast Avada Kedavra, and killed him. By that time, Lily already made it upstairs. We followed her.” Severus paused slightly, as the horrifying memories flooded him once more, but he pushed his emotions aside. “Lily was there, holding Harry in her arms. She looked at me... I am confident she wanted me to save her son. Then, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on Harry, but she turned away, and shielded him with her body. She died a moment later. And another a moment later, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on Harry... that's when the Curse rebounded off him, and struck Voldemort. And he vanished... And ... you know the rest.”

Albus nodded thoughtfully. “Severus... is there anything else you are not telling me?” he asked gently. “Anything at all? Anything... even if it is trivial, or seems unimportant... but anything that I don't know?”

Severus lowered his eyes, and took a deep breath. He had hidden that secret for sixteen years, but now, there was no longer any reason to hide it. The only thing that mattered was Harry - and whether he could be rescued.

“Albus... I was the one who had cast the Horcrux spell.”

The silence in the room was deafening. You could hear a pin drop. Minerva McGonagall froze in her chair. Albus rose his eyebrows and then pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Why?” Minerva demanded coldly.

“The Master's interactions with his Horcruxes are unpredictable. I had thought... I had hoped, that... the Killing Curse would rebound off Harry, if he were Voldemort's Horcrux,” Severus said very quietly. “I was right. It had.”

A deep sigh followed from Albus.

“You never saw fit to tell me this until now? It's been sixteen years, Severus. In the last sixteen years, you never thought it might be important to mention that little detail?”

“I am truly sorry,” Severus said in a quiet voice.

Albus regarded him thoughtfully. “Idiot,” he said finally, but without a trace of accusation in his voice.

“I know,” Severus agreed. “I just ... couldn't think of anything else at the time.”

Albus chuckled unhappily. “Oh, I am not talking about casting the spell. That was absolutely... brilliant. But - not telling me? For sixteen years? That was idiotic beyond words. You could have saved us a great deal of torment.”

Severus looked at him with a glimmer of hope. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Severus,” the Headmaster intoned patiently, “Is that, while the chances of a Horcrux being created accidentally are ... astronomical, at best; it is, in fact a philosophical impossibility to create a Horcrux on behalf of another person. You realize that you cannot magically manipulate the soul of another... do you not?”

Severus stared at him in disbelief. “But it worked. I did it. I cast the spell just before he attacked Harry - and he curse rebounded. Are you trying to tell me now that Harry is not a Horcrux?”

“Of course he is,” Albus murmured. “We've known that for years. And now we finally found out whose Horcrux he is.”

“Mine?” Severus whispered in amazement. “Impossible. I hadn't killed anyone that night.”

Albus gazed at him sternly. “I am not so sure of that, Severus. You had hated James Potter - hated him enough to kill him. And while you hadn't cast the killing curse yourself, you became an instrument of his death, by conveying the prophecy of Sybill Trelawney to Voldemort. Your soul splintered at the moment of his death... but by that time, you already saw Harry in Lily's arms, and wanted nothing better than to rescue that child. Yes?”

Severus nodded. “Then...what happened? How...”

Albus regarded him thoughtfully. “Difficult to tell, Severus. The magic of the three is a matter of great mystery. I can only guess that the moment you had a genuine and complete change of heart, you were reunited with the other two of your triad. The three became one again. It did not matter that you had hated each other for years, or that the two of you still hated each other, or that one of you was about to die due to the actions of another. The only thing that mattered was that now you three had a joint goal, a common purpose - to save what could still be saved, and set things right. And when the destined three work as one... anything becomes possible.”

“Even...”

“Yes. Even for the fragment of your soul, supported by Lily's love, and James' courage, to repel Voldemort's deadly curse.”

Severus sat in absolute silence, not daring to believe what Albus had just said. But then Hermione and Ron, started talking excitedly, interrupting each other, completely abandoning any vestiges of good manners the two of them may have had:

“You know, that explains so much!”

“Like - why Harry imprinted on Snape - it's because the fragment of Snape's soul was already in Harry... there's your predisposition, Hermione.”

“And why Voldemort died when he killed Nagini - if Harry was his Horcrux, Voldemort wouldn't have died from that wound!”

“And why Snape didn't die when Lucius struck him with the Killing Curse - he couldn't die! He had a Horcrux!”

“And how they could find each other without actually knowing how...”

“Like, Snape could always find Harry when Harry was up to no good - like he just KNEW when Harry was roaming the school after dark, or sneaking into the Shrieking Shack, or whatever...”

“... and the Hat wanting to put Harry in Slytherin...”

“But what about Parseltongue- Professor do you speak...”

“Of course he does, stupid, he's the Head of Slytherin!”

While they were still talking excitedly, Minerva stood up and walked over to the Foo, to open the connection to the Ministry of Magic. “Looks like we have finally figured it out, after all these years,” she murmured with deep satisfaction. “And resolved the crisis without having to do anything illegal, for once - now that is a miracle, if I have ever observed one.”

“Wait a second,” Ron said suddenly. “What about the connection that Voldemort had with Harry's mind? The dreams... and...”

“Well,” Severus mused, still slightly shell-shocked, “That is easy enough to explain. My bond to Voldemort gave him an ownership of my soul. Including the fragment that was inside Harry. My Occlumency skills ensured that no involuntary flow of information occurred between my mind, and Voldemort's, but the fragment within Harry was unprotected... and Voldemort had a rightful claim on it. That I believe accounts for the nightmares, the visions.. and some of Harry's more dramatic abilities - including his ability to speak Parseltongue... “

“You do not speak Parseltongue?” Hermione asked, sounding a little disappointed.

“No, Miss Granger.”

She sulked for a few moments while Ron smirked a little. “Well,” she said finally, “I think this gives us the opportunity to provide empirical proof for the Ministry that our theory is accurate. If Harry is your Horcrux, and not Voldemort's, then he should no longer be able to speak Parseltongue... now that Voldemort is gone.”

Albus laughed, very softly. “There truly is no limit to my foolishness, young people. I have trusted Sybill Trelawney enough to hire her, to keep her as a Professor all these years. I should have trusted her third prophecy implicitly. If only I had...” his voice trailed off slightly.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked curiously.

Seven times born,” Albus said quietly. “You see, had Voldemort created the full seven Horcruxes, he would have been born eight times, and not seven. Once, by his natural, physical birth, and once, each time a new Horcrux was created. But the prophecy said, Seven times born. Meaning, that there were only six Horcruxes of Voldemort's, all along.”

Minerva was still talking to someone in the Ministry via a Firecall, when suddenly, deep unspeakable terror overtook Severus, and he stood up abruptly.

“There's no more time,” he said simply. “Something is about to happen.”

Albus rose to his feet instantly and extended his hand to Severus. Before any of the others could react, the two of them Disapparated in a burst of fire, with the flames taking the form of the wings of the Phoenix.

Harry was led down the brightly lit hallway by a team of Aurors, with their wands drawn, accompanied by Williamson, Kingsley and Tonks. They reached a set of massive steel shiny doors that opened of their own accord, revealing a large grey room with soft light pouring from the ceiling.

“Step inside, please,” Williamson said impassively.

Harry ignored him, and looked at Tonks instead.

“Tell me what to do,” Harry asked her. She returned his gaze, looking more miserable and less sure than he had ever seen her.

“Go inside. The doors will close once you are in. They will not re-open until the spell had run its course. The Fiendfyre will be cast through the ceiling - you will see it coming. I am not sure what else to say.”

“That's enough,” Harry said quietly, and went inside. He then stepped away from the doors, which closed instantly, separating him from the rest of the world. He walked around the room, and finally, sat down on the floor, and waited.

He did not need to wait long.

With a loud hiss, streams of fire poured from above almost immediately, morphing into shapes of winged serpents, flying towards him.

When the first shape touched his face, his body and mind shuddered in protest. The fire was alive - it was aware of him, and it was reaching for him, treating him with all the hostility and vehemence and fierceness that had been intended for Voldemort by those who had cast the spell.

Tonks was right. The spell had not been modified as they had hoped. The fire was not seeking out and destroying some dark part of him - it was trying to destroy Harry himself - all that he was. He could feel the fire's determination - but still, against the agony and terror, he tried to force himself to surrender to it, with all the resolve he had left.

X x X

In a bright flash, Severus and Albus Apparated inside a brightly lit hallway at Azkaban.

“Where to now?” Albus asked instantly.

Severus pointed ahead. “Fifty feet.”

They Apparated again, coming face-to-face with a team of Aurors, who stood by a massive metal door with their wands drawn. Severus recognized Kingsley and Tonks instantly.

“Where is he?” Severus demanded.

Tonks looked at him in terror. “You are too late,” she whispered. “The spell had been cast.”

“He is not Voldemort's Horcrux. Open the door!” Severus demanded.

“We can't,” Tonks said in absolute terror. “No-one can, until the spell runs its course.”

“OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR!” Severus shouted on top of his lungs, grabbing Tonks by her throat. She made no protest.

“What she is saying, Mr. Snape, is that it is impossible to open the door,” Williamson said in a distant voice. “And I would advise you to stand down, because...”

“Albus!” Severus shouted, released Tonks, and spun around - but Albus Dumbledore was already gone.

Severus swore and pulled out his wand. Assisted by both Tonks and Kingsley, Severus continued to cast one spell after another at the damned door that never budged, and never responded to any of them.

Having run out of spells, Severus gazed at Tonks again. “What spell was cast on him?” he demanded.

“Fiendfyre,” she said quietly. Her voice shook noticeably.

He glared at her in disbelief. “You would kidnap a sixteen year old boy, and burn him alive, in order to save your little wizarding utopia?” She stared back pitifully. Her lips moved wordlessly, but no sound came out. “I congratulate you, Miss Tonks. You just brought Voldemort's way of life back. Because this isn't Light. What you have done is something else.”

X x X

Harry had not moved when the fire finally engulfed him. The heat was blinding, surreal, tearing him apart. The large red serpent coiled around him, and poised itself to strike.

Then, it struck out - but came to a halt, a hair-width away from Harry's face, as if it was frozen in mid-air, as if restrained by an invisible force.

Harry saw a faint shimmer of energy, as if creating a shield around him, and holding the serpent at bay. Right next to him, within the shield, stood Albus Dubmledore, measuring him with his eyes.

“Harry,” Dumbledore asked. “Do you know where you are?”

“Azkaban.”

“Very good, Harry. Do you know what moment this is?”

Harry shook his head. “Moment?” he repeated, and looked around himself, seeing the shapes of winged serpents, still, caught in mid-movement. “The moment of my death? Or just before?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?” Harry demanded. “Why isn't anything moving?”

Dumbledore smiled a little. “I froze it all. For a while.”

“You froze what... fire...? no... you froze time!” Harry gasped. “How?”

“Magic,” Dubmledore said peacefully. “Now, Harry - do you know why I am here?”

“To take me home.” Harry guessed. “But...”

“That's right,” Dumbledore said with kindness in his voice. “But for some reason, I am unable to move you out of this moment. It appears that this predicament is one of your own choosing.”

“Yes,” Harry admitted readily. “I came here on my own. I am a Horcrux. I can't leave. I need to die.”

Dumbledore was saying something else to him, but Harry could not see his lips when he spoke and Dumbledore's words never reached him.

“Harry,” Dumbledore said. “There is a reason you should live. Because of the nature of this moment, you are unable to hear me say it - but please - just trust me. You should come back.”

“I can already imagine what that reason is,” Harry said bitterly. “That someone loves me and wants me back... even if I am Voldemort's Horcrux..”

Dumbledore's smile was both painful and unreadable.

Harry smiled a little as well. “You'll have to do better than that, I'm afraid.”

Dumbledore spoke again, but once again, the words he uttered were lost between them.

“I just tried to explain, but I am magically and physically unable to do so,” Dumbledore said softly. “You see, this is - a pivotal moment. A moment when time stands still. No new information that can affect your decision may flow into it. It has to be a choice you make with absolute freedom, without coercion - either by physical force, or force of facts.”

“I can't leave,” Harry repeated.

“Why not, Harry?” Dumbledore probed with extreme gentleness. “Tell me.”

Harry shook his head. Dumbledore did not press. For what appeared like the longest stretch of time in Harry's memory, they sat together on the grey floor, each deep in his own thoughts.

“Too afraid...” finally Harry whispered in a barely audible voice. “Too afraid...that's why.”

“Afraid. Of what, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“Voldemort... what it means... if he comes back... It's darker than you think... you have no idea, what it's like. Those days with Voldemort - with them! ... you have no idea...” Harry was barely able to speak, as memories flooded him and terror seized him. “You would think it should be better, or easier if you go with someone else, but it's not... it's worse... you keep holding on to each other, because you feel like you are the last two people left in the entire world, but you are afraid to fall asleep together, because you don't know if he'll still be there when you wake up... you are afraid to fight back when they come to take you - because if you do, he will pay the price... And then, when he looks at you, you know that he's afraid to cry, afraid to say anything kind, and even afraid to touch you, because if he does, they'll either take you away from him, or do something worse... and all you do is wait, and play along, .. until you are just puppets on strings... and you start thinking you aren't real, and nothing is real... and the pain... what Lucius did to him... ” Harry sniffled quietly and buried his face in his knees. “I wouldn't mind so much, if it was just me. But... what if Voldemort returns again... and somehow, lays claim on his Dark Mark again, and Severus has to go through something like this again... it's too much... just too much... Don't ask me to go back, and live, and make something like that possible again. You can't. You don't have the right.”

Harry cried quietly then, even as the frozen flames stood still all around them, and the invisible boundary shimmered in the air.

“I can't,” Harry repeated softly.

Dumbledore nodded his head sadly

“I understand,” he said, but without accusation.

Harry watched, with his eyes wide open, as behind the invisible boundary, the flames began to shimmer again, very slightly.

“I am really sorry,” Harry whispered.

“Don't be,” Dumbledore said peacefully. “I am not surprised. It was, as they say, a long shot. These... pivotal moments... almost never work out.”

Harry looked at him in wonder. “Those moments... they are like... second chances?”

Dumbledore nodded slightly.

“You... you have created moments like this before?”

Dumbledore was nodding his head again. “Many times, Harry. For many people. But so few recognize them, and even fewer, take advantage of them. In fact, in the last three decades, only one person had recognized such a moment, and reached out to seize it.”

Dumbledore said something else, but once again, Harry could not hear him.

Harry bowed his head, deep in thought. Then, suddenly, he remembered Pettigrew's words:

I was given to understand that when your father and Severus tried reconciling in Dumbledore's office, they ended up fighting worse than ever. With James driving Severus right into the Dark Lord's fold.

“My mother,” Harry whispered. “She was the one, wasn't she? She was the one who recognized the moment... but my father and Severus hadn't... and ...”

Dumbledore nodded again.

“My mother,” Harry repeated. “How well did you know her?”

“Well enough,” Dumbledore said.

“If it was her in my place... just now... would she just go with you? Based on your word alone... without explanation, without a reason?”

“On my word alone, she might not have,” Dumbledore conceded gently. “But, if she had James waiting for her out there, wishing for her to come back, she would have. I am confident of that.”

Harry shut his eyes. The fiery wings of the serpent were trembling slightly, as if ready to burst into movement at any moment.

“He's really waiting for me?” Harry asked quietly. “Just a word away?”

“You know that he is.”

Harry bit his lip. Believing - knowing - that his Master was only a moment away, just a word away, should have changed nothing, but changed everything.

Finally, he uttered that word:

“Severus.”

And that was enough.

X X x

Severus and Tonks were still staring at each other silently when Albus Apparated next to them, holding Harry by the shoulders. Harry looked dazed, disoriented - but other than that, he appeared to be unharmed. At once, Severus rushed to touch his cheek. Harry was flushed with fever, but he smiled at the contact. “Master,” Harry said quietly, burying his face in Severus' palm.

Williamson pointed his wand at Albus and opened his mouth as if to utter a spell, but Albus Dumbledore lifted his hand and shook his head slightly.

“Don't even think about it,” Albus said gravely. “Right now, I am of the mind to cast an Unforgivable on the whole lot of you, and trust me, you do not want to find out which one.”

Tonks looked at Albus absolute wonder.

“Sir... how... what did you do... what are you?”

“Just an old man with too much time on his hands,” Albus chuckled. “Now, if you don't mind, I am going to take my two favorite students home.”

It took less than an hour at the Hogwarts Hospital Wing for Harry to be cleared to return home.

He spent the remainder of the day, the following night, and the next morning, in his bed, with Severus by his side the entire time. From time to time, Harry would wake, ask something, listen to the answer, and fall back asleep with a wide grin on his face, and Severus pressing his lips to his forehead.

“You know,” Harry whispered dreamily, in one of his waking moments, “I finally understand... whenever I felt like ... I was just a drop taken from the ocean... or a grain of sand from the seashore... separated, and just wanting to return home and belong... Severus - you are my home.”

“I must say, Harry, this gives a whole new twist to this.. relationship,” Severus said with a wry smile.

“You can say that again,” Harry murmured. “You know, that makes so much sense... No wonder you've been rescuing me all these years.”

Severus chuckled sadly. “Ah. I don't think though that this was the reason I was doing that, Harry. I think I was trying to rescue you because you are the sum of your parents - the people that I was meant to be united with in the first place. However, I do believe that having a fragment of my own soul in you was what made me despise you so much all these years. Almost as much as I had despised myself...”

Harry sniffled a little. “But then...”

“Well,” Severus mused. “Then ... when I overheard your conversation with your friends... you showed me something that helped me stop despising myself quite so much... and then... I could finally feel affection for you. In spite of the fragment of my own soul that was living in you.”

Harry squeezed his hand. “You know, I think that's how I always know what you want. That's how I can tell, just by watching you, or looking at you... I recognize it... and want to give it to you, everything.. so that I can belong to you...”

“You belong,” Severus said gently. “And you don't ever have to doubt that.”

Eventually, well past midnight, Harry was sound asleep; and the last thing he felt was the hand of his Master stroking his hair, soothing all anxieties and fears.

He woke up in the early afternoon, and stretched blissfully. He heard voices in the dining room - he recognized Hermione's and Ron's; and also Dumbledore's and McGonagall's. Harry smiled brightly, showered, got dressed quickly, and almost ran to the dining room.

However, the conversation he heard made him slow down his steps, and he felt a small knot forming in his stomach.

Dumbledore and Severus were arguing, quietly but furiously.

“What I do not understand, Albus,” Severus was saying in a vehement whisper, “is how a member of your Order so blatantly betrayed everything that the Light is supposed to stand for.”

“Severus, I will not deny that I am deeply disappointed in Nymphadora Tonks, and...”

“Disappointed,” Severus intoned viciously. “Disappointed. Harry could have died - no, would have died, and you are... disappointed? She reported him to the Ministry and then, she helped them kidnap him, a sixteen year old boy, knowing full-well...”

“Severus, perhaps...”

“Stop!” Harry said firmly, as he walked into the living room. Hermione and Ron glanced at him questioningly.

Severus was staring at him intently. “Harry - what is it?” He demanded.

“Tonks didn't betray the Order,” Harry said reluctantly. “Draco was the one who turned me in. So that Voldemort would not be able to return.”

Severus growled something under his breath.

“Bloody hell,” Ron whispered. “That... damned little ferret-faced coward...”

“It's all good,” Harry said peaceably. “Look - I think it's... fine. I owed him a life-debt, but I think now it's been repaid. And - no harm done. So...”

Hermione sighed. “If you are sure, Harry.”

“I am sure,” Harry said quickly.

“That still does not justify Tonks being a part to kidnapping a teenage boy, in order to have him burned alive,” Severus said furiously. “Albus, I certainly hope that...”

Dumbledore lifted his hand, stopping Severus in mid-sentence, and looked at Harry meaningfully.

Harry took a deep breath. “Severus... Tonks did not kidnap me. I kind of... volunteered to go with them.”

The silence in the dining room was absolute. Ron dropped a piece of his toast to the floor, without even noticing it. Hermione was staring at Harry in a calculating way.

“You aren't just saying it to get her out of trouble?” she asked cautiously. “Harry...”

“No,” Harry said reluctantly. “She... advised me of other options... told me I could fight it... she even offered to fight for me if the Ministry tired to take me by force. She told me I didn't have to come with them... but I chose to ... you know...”

He avoided looking at Severus - he was too scared to see the look on his face.

“Harry - why!” Hermione cried out. “How could you?! Without talking to any of us... without any warning to us... after everything that Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape have done to keep you alive, and safe, and free - you would do something like that!”

Harry shrugged miserably. “Look... all in all... if all it took to rid the world of Voldemort was for me to give up my own life - I didn't mind too much... I really believed I was doing the right thing, at the time.”

“No,” Harry heard a cold, but quiet voice. He looked up - McGonagall was staring at him from above her glasses. “Harry - you did not believe you were doing the right thing. If you were convinced you were doing the right thing, you wouldn't have gone behind our backs, in secret. If you were convinced that was the right thing to do - you would have been prepared to defend your decision and fight for it... but you chose the other way.”

Harry bit his lip and and fought back a burst of temper that welled up instantly.

“The truth, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently, “is that you had decided that you knew better than the rest of us put together. And that, my boy, is a dangerous way to think, especially for someone so young. It will serve you well to remember that two know better than one, three know better than two... and a community of people who care about each other knows even better. Simply put, we all need each other to solve the mysteries of fate and withstand the terrors of life.”

Harry nodded quietly - in the light of recent revelations, he could not argue with that simple statement.

Dumbledore rose to his feet, and offered his hand to McGonagall. “Let's go, shall we?” he said gently, and they headed towards the Floo.

“I suppose it is time for us to go as well,” Hermione said dryly. “We'll talk to you later, Harry.”

Ron nodded him a curt goodbye, and then, everyone departed quickly, leaving Harry alone with Severus.

Harry tensed - and glanced at Severus timidly, but his face was absolutely unreadable.

Long silence hung between them. Harry opened his mouth as if to ask something - or say something, but no sound came out. He continued standing in front of Severus, who was looking at him thoughtfully.

Eventually, Severus pulled up a chair, and pointed to it. “Please sit down, Harry.”

Harry sat instantly, clenching his hands. “Are you angry?” he asked. His voice rang with anxiety.

“No.” Severus stood above him, holding Harry's shoulders. Harry lifted his head and glanced at him dubiously. “Well, maybe just a little,” Severus admitted. “But I also realize that I shouldn't be.”

Harry did not look reassured a single bit.

“Do you trust me?” Severus asked as gently as he could. “Do you trust me to do what is good for you?”

Harry nodded without saying a word.

“Remove your shirt for me, please.”

Harry's fingers flew to undo the buttons on his shirt, but his hands were shaking - and he could not undo them. Finally, in frustration, he simply ripped the shirt open, tore it off his body, and threw it onto the floor. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and shut his eyes. His entire body was trembling slightly when Severus ran his hand over his back, the fingers trailing along his spine.

Harry did not move when Severus reached for his wand, and remained absolutely still, until the tip of the wand touched the markings of Harry's slave-brand, the wooden point coming in contact with the image of the Snargaluff grafted onto his skin. It was then that Harry leapt to his feet as if he had been burned.

“Severus... no ... what are you doing?” Harry asked with dread. “Master?... please...”

Severus laid his hand on Harry's shoulder and guided him to sit down again. Harry complied reluctantly, his eyes fixed on Severus, watching him intently.

Severus sighed and stroked Harry's head with gentleness. “I am un-doing a mistake, Harry - mine. A proud, brave, independent seventeen year old boy has better things to display on his arm than an image of a dead stump with thorny tentacles.”

Harry covered the brand on his shoulder with his palm protectively. “Why?...” Harry asked miserably. “I thought... ” he stammered and fell silent, as if he was short of breath. Finally, he managed to utter a pitiful plea: “Severus - I am sorry... I really am... Dumbledore was right..McGonagall too... you all were. I know that now! I shouldn't have decided something like that alone. I am sorry for going without asking you... But please - don't... don't reject me... ”

Severus watched in dismay, absolutely stunned, as Harry slid off the chair and knelt in front of him, grasping his legs, burying his face in them.

“Harry - calm down,” Severus said quickly. “I am not rejecting you. Just... please. Get up and listen to me. Would you?”

Harry shook his head, and made no move to get off his knees - he only pressed his face deeper into Severus' legs. “I can listen from here,” he mumbled weakly.

Severus stroked his hair again. “Alright... then...Harry. Listen to me. There are two ways to live this kind of life,” he said softly. “Both are valid, and both can be immensely enjoyable.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked weakly.

“Yes. One way is to simply be your own person, and live this sort of life on your own terms. You can play, you can make love however you want, and you can even surrender yourself to the other for a brief stretch of time, but at the end of the day, you only answer to yourself for what you do with your life.” Severus paused slightly, then continued: “Another way to do this, is to grant the person of your choosing a greater level of... control, if you will. It goes beyond playing. It involves deciding that someone else has a say in what you do, that someone else has a claim on your body, on your choices, on your very life. This way of life involves real punishments, real discipline, real obedience - even when you might disagree. It is not necessarily a better way. And I don't think that's what you want, deep down.”

Harry glanced up at him painfully. Severus gave him a small smile, and gently freed his legs from Harry's grip, lifting him to his feet.

“Let me tell you what I think will work best for us,” Severus offered. “I think you enjoy surrendering in love-making, and being on the bottom, so to speak. But I also think that you want to make your own choices, live your life on your own terms, and answer only to yourself. You want to belong with someone - but not to anyone. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. And I would not reject you, or love your any less because of this. Harry - you must understand, you don't need to be owned, in order to be loved.”

His explanation should have reassured Harry, or at least Severus was hoping that it would; but instead it caused his eyes flood with tears, and Severus swore inwardly. He reached to take Harry's face into his hands, and Harry shamelessly pressed his face into Severus' palms, sobbing quietly and dejectedly.

“Harry,” Severus called to him, but the sobbing did not subside. “Harry... you understand what I am saying, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered through the sobs.

“Then why are you crying? What's wrong?”

“Because... I am losing something,” Harry said quietly. “I really do want you to own me... not in order to be loved - but because I know you love me... more than I could ever love myself... That's why I need to be yours; and stay yours... I need you to speak into my life... every day, every time... and have a say in everything I do...” Severus only gazed at him speechlessly, as Harry's hands took his, and their fingers locked together.

“Back in Voldemort's hideout, after Pettigrew had me, or after Lucius ordered for you to punish me, why do you think I called you Master?” Harry spoke painfully but insistently. “Do you think I was playing? Or do you think I was trying to impress Bellatrix? I called you Master because it kept me going... knowing that in the midst of all of that, I was yours... in a secret way... in a way that none of them knew.. Knowing that when I got hurt... I could bring that pain, and put it in your hands... and you would take it and own it, along with the rest of me...”

Harry's hand was again curled around the slave-brand, shielding it from the wand. “Please don't,” he repeated, again and again. “Don't. Do something else - anything else. Cane me every day. Whip me. Find another way. Just don't give up on me...”

Severus sighed deeply and gathered Harry in his embrace, kissing the top of his head. Harry sobbed quietly, shuddering in his arms. “Please,” Harry repeated again. “There must be something I could say - some way I could beg to convince you...”

“You don't ever need to beg,” Severus cut him off, and drew him even closer. “Not for something like this.”

Harry laughed through the tears. “I thought you enjoyed it when I begged,” he said with quiet embarrassment.

“Of course,” Severus said softly. “But only for something you want. Never for something you need.”

Harry relaxed a little in his embrace. “You will let me stay... owned... then?” he asked with desperate hope.

“Yes.”

“You will .. punish me?” Harry asked, and there was a distinct tremor in his voice. “For real?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” Harry said faintly and buried his face in Severus' chest. Severus stroked his bare back, sensing the heat emanating from Harry's skin. Harry stood still next to him, as if not daring to move and lose his touch. Finally, Severus leaned, bringing his lips to Harry's ear and whispered in his best sinister voice:

“Detention, Mr. Potter.”

Harry was looking at Severus expectantly, grinning, as Severus pronounced calmly:

“The terms are the same as before. You will remain by my side at all times, unless told otherwise, until your detention is served.”

“How long will that be?” Harry asked, the wide grin never fading from his face.

“Until I am satisfied that you have acquired some common sense, or until we both die of old age - whichever comes sooner.”

They ate together, with Harry cooking the breakfast, and cleaning up.

“Now, I recall a certain someone pledging his assistance with, and I quote, my stupid plants,” Severus said with satisfaction. “Shall we proceed to the greenhouse then?”

Over the next three days, they spent long stretches of time in the enormous large greenhouse adjacent to the Manor. Together, they were harvesting Dittany leaves, collecting Jupiter Poppy pods, and and digging up Oily Tulip bulb. As Severus worked, Harry was watching him, copying his every move. From time to time, Harry took short breaks to molest Severus, sliding hands under his shirt, or pressing his face to his back. Severus made several half-hearted attempts to dissuade him:

“Mr. Potter, it is very difficult to focus on the work... when...you... insist on... engaging in... irrelevancies...”

Each night, they went to bed absolutely and utterly worn out, Harry placing his head on Severus' shoulder, before falling asleep.

“This is my favorite part of the detention,” Harry said dreamily. But truth be told, he did not mind any of it.

In the late afternoon of the third day of the detention, their work, as outlined by Severus, was complete. Harry stretched blissfully, and looked up, noticing that the sky above the glass cover of the greenhouse turned grey. Almost immediately it began to rain, the heavy drops pounding against the transparent roof.

“All finished,” Severus said quietly, setting the bagged harvested plants aside. Harry nodded silently, as he sat on the edge of the enormous flower bed, listening to the sound of the rain with a faint smile. Somewhere at a great distance a lightning flashed across the sky, and a faint rumble of thunder followed a few seconds later. Harry shivered slightly. “What's wrong?” Severus asked softly.

Harry just shook his head. “Not wrong,” he said tiredly. “It's beautiful... all of it... you... the smell.. the stupid plants... the rain; everything... so beautiful... I could do this forever...” He felt a lump in his throat and stared down at his dirty hands.

“And...?” Severus prodded gently.

“And I almost threw it all away for nothing,” Harry whispered resignedly. “That was beyond stupid.”

Severus sat down next to him, took his face in his earth-covered hands and kissed him. “Just the words I've been waiting to hear.”

Harry returned the kiss, first hesitantly and guiltily, then passionately. Then, as inspiration struck, Harry pulled out of the kiss, reached for his wand, and pronounced a single spell - “Propatulo ” - making the glass ceiling above them disappear.

Severus opened his eyes wide in shock, watching the heavy streams of rainfall engulf them and drench them both head to toe almost instantly. The torrents of rain smashed against the delicate leaves and flower petals, uprooting the most fragile plants, and breaking the thinnest blades of grass. Severus glared at Harry dangerously, but Harry just laughed. “Don't tell me you didn't want me to do this.”

“I most certainly did not want you to wreck my entire greenhouse!” Severus snarled, but made no move to close the roof, as Harry's muddied hands were already ripping off his wet shirt. As the rain water streamed down his face, Harry asked with a wicked smirk:

“Well - Professor, are you going to glare, or are you going to push my face in the dirt, and fuck me?”

Severus laughed out loud with cheerful self-abandon, like he never had before, to the best of Harry's recollection. He ripped Harry's shirt off in one swift motion, and then practically shook him out of his clothing. Without being prompted, Harry collapsed into the moist soil on his hands and knees, crushing the herbs and flowers, his forehead pressing to the wet earth. He felt the rain pound on his back, he felt Severus grasp his buttocks and caress them briefly, and then part his cheeks. A sleek finger entered him, then joined by another, and Harry pushed back against them furiously, with his elbows being firmly planted into the soil. Not a moment too soon, he felt an erect member enter him, and open him in one thrust, and he cried out as it struck against his prostate. He sank his fingers into the dirt, grabbing fistfuls of fragile grass in a futile attempt to steady himself, but the force of the thrusts continued to propel him forward relentlessly.

As the rain fell on them, Severus continued to move inside him, and Harry was overwhelmed by everything at once - the furious thrusts that shook his entire body, the muscles of his channel feeling every vein and slightest irregularity of the member buried within him, the smell of crushed leaves, the floods of water streaming around him, and the faint, dangerous sound of thunder in the distance. He cried out loud again and again, feeling his orgasm approach; and then, involuntarily, he felt it spill underneath him. A second later, having climaxed inside him, Severus stopped, and pulled out of him, holding his hips steadily with his hands.

Harry collapsed on his belly into the mud with a pitiful whimper. He lay quietly, breathing deeply, only now realizing that the rain had slowed down from a furious flood to an unhurried trickle falling measuredly from the darkened sky.

“How is it,” Severus whispered menacingly, grabbing the back of Harry's neck with his hand, “that you manage to get into mischief, and spread utter chaos even during your detention?”

“It's a gift,” Harry said serenely. Exhausted, they lay next to each other in the mud, as the rainwater trickled around them in rivulets, collecting into murky puddles. Small pieces of leaves, torn petals, and blades of grass floated in them, spreading the smell of crushed greenery in the air. Harry reached to embrace Severus and heard his heartbeat.

“You know why I do it, don't you?” Harry asked quietly. “Why I spread chaos, vex you, tease you... pull your hair?”

“Please enlighten me,” Severus drawled contemptuously. “For at this point, I am confident that this is my penance for the years of substandard, unenthusiastic teaching.”

“Those things I do ... they are like... our Secret-Keepers,” undeterred, Harry whispered in his ear. “They hide a secret... they hide something that nobody else can now... that I am yours... that you are my Master - in a way that nobody can understand... not really... no matter how many goddamn books they read ...”

“Oh yes, indeed,” Severus mocked, not at all mollified. “It is such a well-protected secret, that I myself find it difficult to believe on most occasions.”

Unconcerned, Harry laughed out loud. “Well, you could cane me if you wanted to...” he said, taking Severus' hand and placing it against his hip. “Severus -- if I ever annoy you for real, even a little bit - discipline me. Or discipline me just if you think I'm getting out of hand. Or if you simply think it's time.”

Severus sighed slightly and shook his head. Harry's heart clenched slightly, as he felt the long fingers caress his wet buttocks, trailing against the scars littering them.

“I can't,” Severus said softly. “Not after what you have gone through... Not after the part I had played in it. Harry - how could I ever lay a hand on you again? It would be a betrayal, if not worse...”

Harry glanced at him with a sad smile. “So what are you saying? No more chamber of secrets? No more canings?”

“Some things are best left behind, don't you think?” To Harry's surprise, there was no trace of regret in Severus' voice.

Harry moved around in the mud, leaning against Severus, and rested his head in the crook of his arm. “Whatever you choose,” Harry said firmly. “I really do want to be yours. On your own terms. ...” he shifted himself slightly and pressed his lips to the arm that supported him. “But - for myself - just like I would rather not have my last memory of cooking be for my stupid uncle and his family... I don't really want my last memory of being chained, or whipped to be in Voldemort's dungeons...” he rubbed his cheek against Severus' shoulder, leaving traces of mud on his skin.

Severus stroked his muddied back gently. “I don't want to create a distance between us,” he said quietly.

“You won't,” Harry whispered. “It's... when you do it, it's different. I mean.. pain is still pain, but when it comes from you, it changes meaning... and when you are first about to strike, the fear is like it's the most terrible thing in the world, but I still want it - and when it hits, in the moment it feels like nothing could possibly hurt more.. but then, when you touch me afterwards, it's like nothing could possibly feel better...” He buried his face in the crook of Severus' arm again. “I think I just talked my way into a fierce caning, didn't I?” he whispered with sudden dread.

“Perhaps,” Severus chuckled. “Or perhaps, something worse. Foolish little Gryffindor.”

“I know,” Harry groaned. “Don't laugh. It's not funny.”

“Oh, but I daresay it is.”

“I disagree. It's tragic, really,” Harry muttered, half-laughing himself.

“If you say so,” Severus said, lifting himself off the ground, and extending his hand to Harry. “Get up, brat.”

Severus collected the bags of recently harvested herbs off the ground, while Harry surveyed the wreckage of the greenhouse with dismay. “I really caused this?” he whispered with awe, staring at the crushed plants, and pools of dirty water around them.

Severus nodded gravely.

“Shit,” Harry said quietly. “This isn't good, is it?”

Severus shook his head somberly, even though the corner of his mouth was twitching into a smirk.

“Oh, fuck, it was worth it. I made you laugh.”

Author's Note: So these chapters are kind of “Deleted Scenes” - they were meant to be a part of the story, but the story got too long. Anyways, here they are: Read them or ignore them, as you wish.

The Golden Year

The rest of the summer flew by quickly.

Harry's seventeenth birthday was celebrated at Three Broomsticks with a great crowd of friends. To Harry's immense relief, nobody apart from Ron and Hermione knew the saga of the “enslavement potion” - and Draco, who was apparently shaken up by the events of the summer, was keeping his mouth shut about absolutely everything. Then again, Harry figured - with a few Death Eaters still on the loose, Draco was probably not too keen on it being widely known that he had caused the downfall of the Dark Lord by saving Harry-bloody-Potter's life.

September came, and when Harry boarded the train to Hogwarts, Hermione and Ron were waiting for him. Severus saw him off with a curt nod and walked away.

“Why didn't you just Floo in?” Hermione asked. “You don't have that much stuff - and...”

“But I love the train,” Harry said blissfully. “And you know, sentimental reasons - I've never had a family member see me off to school before. I thought it was ... sweet.”

“Snape being sweet,” Ron muttered incredulously. “Am I the only one who thinks it's totally creepy?”

“Yes, what about Se- Snape?” Hermione asked. “I would have thought he'd be in Hogwarts by now.”

Harry smiled slightly. “You would think so, but no.”

Hermione's eyes opened wide in shock. “He's not coming back this year?” she guessed. “Because of you... your relationship... yes?”

“Kind of,” Harry said. “But not just that. He said he's sick of teaching potions, he's taking a full year's sabbatical, and the only way he'll ever come back if he gets a DADA instructor position. Otherwise...”

“Oh my,” Hermione murmured. “That's truly wicked... that didn't leave Dumbledore much time to look for a new Potions Master for the year... how much of a notice did Snape give him?”

Harry shrugged. “Well, I think he'll be placing the firecall tonight - so I'm guessing ... twelve hours?”

Ron gaped. “That's just evil... and how long have you known?”

“A few weeks,” Harry admitted with a smirk.

“And you didn't warn Dumbledore?”

“Nope,” Harry said with satisfaction.

“Why not?” Hermione demanded. “That's.. plain mean! Harry!”

Harry laughed a little. “You know, Hermione, for the past six years, I've been telling Dumbledore that Severus Snape is evil, and not to be trusted. But every year, Dumbledore would give me the same response, oh, no, Harry, I trust Professor Snape implicitly, that's a private matter between Professor Snape and myself, and you don't need to be concerned about that! So... fine! Let him sort this out himself then.”

Harry pressed his forehead to the window and watched the scenery fly before his eyes, as the train started moving, taking him to school.

Severus Snape had more than a few reasons to want a sabbatical.

He had explained to Harry:

“Harry - the truth is, I want to do it because I want your peers to be able to call me by my first name when they visit you. I want to do it because I want to personally tutor you in any areas where you might need assistance, without there being any conflict of interest- so that you can ace your N.E.W.T.S - and choose any career path you want. And - after over a decade of teaching potions, I think my duty to Hogwarts in that regard is complete, don't you?”

“But I thought you liked teaching potions,” Harry mumbled in confusion.

“Think again,” Severus said contemptuously. “Stuck in the dungeons for hours each day, grease splashing into my hair... surrounded by arrogant Ravenclaw brats who think they can brew anything they want, stubborn Hufflepuff brats, who continue to stir even when it is blindingly clear that the formula had been botched, over-anxious Slytherin brats, who scream bloody murder whenever something bubbles the wrong way... but worst of all, stupid Gryffindor brats, who don't even flinch when something is about to explode int their faces. Teach potions again? I think not.”

Harry laughed a little at that. “So what will you do?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Believe me, I have ways of occupying my time. I have some independent research I want to do ... and I have been asked to assist in tying up some loose ends with regards to end-of-war aftermath...”

Over the year, Severus became involved in uncovering and taking apart old Voldemort's compounds - all of them. They uncovered various Dark Magic artifacts, some hexed objects, and some banned literature - but other than that, the missions had been 'routine', Severus had said, but without disappointment.

The year went by fast. Every weekend - every Saturday afternoon, after Quidditch practice, Harry Floo'd back to the Manor, where Severus was waiting for him, without fail. His face had acquired a light golden tan from the time he spent on the roads, and his raven-black hair grew longer than ever. Harry found himself breathless, and at loss for words when he looked at Severus with adoration.

“You are so beautiful,” Harry whispered in his ear every Saturday night as they went to sleep together. “I can't wait to graduate and stay with you.” Severus held him tightly, pressing lips to his forehead.

Harry aced the exams, did extremely well on the N.E.W.T.S., and selected the career path of his choice: he wanted to be a Care of Magical Creatures instructor. Severus rolled his eyes - but seeing the serious expression on Harry's face, nodded slightly, and assisted him with with enrolling in an apprenticeship program.

The following year, the DADA instructor post was still unavailable at Hogwarts, and Severus, true to his word, declared that he would not return. Harry just smirked under his breath - Dumbledore might be the most powerful wizard in the whole world, but Severus was definitely the most obstinate one.

They got married in September, five weeks after Harry's eighteenth birthday, in a small ceremony that had no-one present but Hermione, Ron, Dubmledore and McGonagall. When they returned home afterwards, Harry looked at Severus with renewed wonder and whispered: “You know ... it just dawned on me. We really made it. We are living happily ever after...”

Severus nodded with a smile. “Surprised?”

“Very,” Harry admitted. “Although, in retrospect, I shouldn't be... you know, I just finally figured it out. We've never been in any real danger. Neither me, nor you.”

“Oh?” Severus asked sardonically. “Could have fooled me.”

“No, seriously,” Harry said impishly, stripping off his clothing, and nudging Severus to do the same. “Remember how no word of prophecy is random, or accidental?”

“Of course,” Severus said. “And your point is?”

“Remember what Trelawney called me? Traitor's groom? She wouldn't have, unless there was a wedding in the future...”

“Hmm,” Severus murmured, climbing into bed. “Perhaps you are correct.”

“I know I am,” Harry smirked. “But serves us right, you know... not trusting the word of a deranged, discredited, alcoholic fortune-teller.. honestly, what were we thinking?”

Fragment

The fall was upon them, and the smell of dried grass and faded leaves filled the air.

In the evening of October 31st, Harry was sitting in the living room, looking through the window absently, watching the last leaves fall from the trees, leaving the branches bare. A carpet of fallen leaves already covered the ground and Severus saw a nostalgic smile on Harry's face.

Severus looked at Harry with trepidation, dreading what he was about to do - but resolved to do it just the same. A year of searches through Voldemort's compounds and hideouts, a year of Herbology research, a year of clinical trials... the results of this year were all collected in one glass, the glass of clear fluid that Severus was holding in his hand.

Standing behind Harry, Severus placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. Instantly, Harry turned his head and pressed a kiss against his fingers.

“I love you,” Harry said quietly.

“I know,” Severus said gently. “Do you trust me?”

Harry tensed slightly at the question, but nodded quickly. “I don't always agree with you, Severus, but I do trust you. I trust that you would never want to cause me harm. Why?”

“There's something I want you to drink,” Severus said calmly. “I don't want you to ask questions... I just want you to do it. Simply based on your trust. Nothing else.”

Harry looked at him. “You make it sound so... ominous. What is it?”

“It's nothing that will harm you, Harry,” Severus said firmly. “I've ran over five thousand clinical trials, and have tested it on myself as well. It is nothing to be concerned about; but I do believe it will.. improve your quality of life in the long run.”

Harry nodded absently, extended his hand and Severus handed him the glass. Harry drained it in one quick gulp and returned it to him.

“Thank you, Harry,” Severus said softly.

“What was it?” Harry asked.

“Harry ... let's sit down and talk for a bit. I am going to do my best and explain.”

Harry looked at him questioningly, but nodded.

Severus pulled up a chair and sat across from him, facing him.

“You see, Harry, just over a year ago, I realized that Voldemort had been wrong all along. He was wrong about the nature of the Horcruxes, about what it means to create one.”

“Go on,” Harry said. His voice sounded a bit strained.

“Remember the words Trelawney used to describe Voldemort's Horcruxes? Seven times iborn/i?”

“Yes,” Harry said instantly. “And...?”

“And,” Severus continued patiently, “You see, Voldemort was wrong. When he came up with his Wailing Willow Bark plan, he was proceeding on the assumption that the fragment of the soul in the Horcrux is the same age as him - sixty or sixty five years old... However, that is not the case. In fact, each time a Horcrux is created, the fragment of the soul that goes into it, is born anew.”

“I see,” Harry whispered. “And...”

“There's a part of you that is about to turn seventeen tonight,” Severus said quietly. “The fragment of my soul that was placed in you on that night in Godric's Hollow. The night your parents were murdered.”

Harry's eyes opened wide and fixed on Severus. “I see,” Harry said. “So what you gave me to drink...”

Severus nodded slightly. “Wailing Willow Bark extract. Don't be concerned, Harry - I have spent the year researching it, and running clinical trials. You are over seventeen, and it is absolutely harmless to you personally. The only thing that it will destroy is the fragment of my own soul inside you.”

Harry looked at him with a bitter smile. “I see.” The smile lingered on his lips briefly, and then disappeared. His face became completely expressionless. Severus was watching him with concern.

“Well,” Harry said finally with resignation in his voice. “Do you mind telling me... why you wouldn't just ... ask me openly?”

“Would you have drank it if I had?” Severus asked.

“No,” Harry admitted. “Not in a million years.” He stood up and walked over to the window, pressing his forehead against the glass.

Severus came up to him, and took his shoulders in his hands. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispered. “Why?”

“Many reasons, Harry,” Severus said softly. “The most important one is that I don't want there to be a connection between us that is unnatural, based on a Dark Magic curse... a connection that was created by the murder of your father.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “Honestly, Severus, I don't think my father minds at this point.”

“Perhaps not,” Severus conceded. “But I do.”

“I thought you liked being my Master and owning me,” Harry said. “I thought you liked me submitting to you.”

“I did. I do.” Severus confirmed. “Harry - I can't deny that. I have never experienced so much beauty... So much warmth... I had never thought it possible. But we both know that underneath the beauty and bliss, there is a curse. Horcruxes are cursed objects, and the Dark Magic curse is tainting your life. You know this as well as I do, you've said as much yourself. And as much as I want you to keep loving me, and keep submitting to me ... there is just one thing I want more... it is for you to live your life free from that curse, free to be what you were always meant to be - not what I have turned you into.”

Harry's face betrayed no expression. “So... what do you think will happen now?” he asked.

“Well,” Severus said calmly. “I believe that once the fragment of my soul within you is destroyed, your need to be ... owned, to submit to me will disappear. I believe the imprint will be destroyed as well. Beyond that, it is difficult to tell. Perhaps you will wake up tomorrow morning in the arms of the man whose touch means nothing to you, and whose smell is repulsive to you. Or perhaps, some attraction will still remain - but it will be just a regular, human attraction, not caused by means of Dark Magic.”

“I see,” Harry said in a barely audible voice. “No more... intensity... no more .. ownership... Severus, has it ever occurred to you that I didn't mind being your Horcrux? That I liked having a piece of your soul in me? That something like this should have been my choice?”

“Of course it has,” Severus said impatiently. “But Harry... To be honest, you are in no condition to make this choice ... your ... pull towards me is clouding your judgment.”

Harry shook his head and stared ahead, without meeting his eyes. “I see,” he said again. “So.. what do you want me to do after this? To move out, and ... leave you alone? Or what?”

“We should re-evaluate tomorrow. See how you feel,” Severus suggested. “Your feelings might vanish - but if they do, I don't think you will feel any loss. Perhaps, as the fragment of my soul inside you dies, you will simply snap out from a daze and walk away, happy that you haven't wasted much more than a year of your life.”

“Is that how you expect to feel, too?” Harry snapped.

“No,” Severus said flatly. “I don't love the fragment of my soul inside you. It is you that I love. Whatever your feelings might be tomorrow, mine will remain unchanged. That much I am certain of.”

Harry continued standing in front of the window, looking ahead. Severus stroked his hair with gentleness, feeling him stiffen under his touch. To Severus' surprise, Harry took the revelation extremely well. He half-expected a tantrum, or a fight - but Harry was... calm. Shockingly so. Severus did not know why, but he was grateful for that. Perhaps Harry had come to the same conclusions, he thought, but did not have the heart to voice them due to the strength of his pull towards Severus.

“It's late,” Severus said tiredly. “Shall we go to bed?”

Harry shivered slightly. “Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight, I'll sleep alone, I think”

“As you wish,” Severus agreed peacefully.

He moved to walk away, but Harry grabbed his hand and held it.

“Tomorrow, though,” Harry said softly. “And every night, after that. If you'll still want me. I promise.”

Deconstruction of Dark Objects

On the first day of November, Harry woke up early. He got dressed, and departed to the Burrow, without waking Severus, or leaving him a note.

Hermione and Ron were waiting for Harry, of course. The three of them went to sit down by the little pond outside of the Burrow. Hermione was tossing pieces of bread into the water, and small ducks were snatching them with sharp cries.

“My kindred spirits,” Harry said unhappily, watching the birds eat.

Ron snorted derisively.

“You know that story where the duckling grows up to be a swan?” Hermione murmured. “You've grown to be a Hungarian Horntail.”

Harry collapsed on the ground face down, pressing his cheek to the frost-covered carpet of leaves.

“I am scared,” he whispered tiredly.

Ron patted his back. “Don't be,” he said. “We are right behind you.”

“Speaking of the devil,” Hermione murmured, looking into the distance thoughtfully. “Look who is here. He found you.”

“I knew he would,” Harry said weakly. “He always does.” He lifted himself on his elbow and watched, as Severus Snape walked towards them.

“We'll leave you to it,” Ron told him. “But we'll be nearby. Just holler if something goes wrong.”

“Okay,” Harry said anxiously. “Okay.”

Ron and Hermione walked away, and sat on the porch of the Burrow. Harry sat up on the grass waited as Severus closed the distance between them and towered over him.

“How are you?” Severus asked gently.

“Scared,” Harry said honestly. “Severus, I am really scared.”

Severus looked at him thoughtfully, and then sat down on the on the cold ground next to him. “What are you scared of?” he asked.

“I am scared that you don't really want me. That you got tired of me, of what I wanted, of me asking too much, or pushing too much. That this is your way of sending me away.” Harry buried his face in his knees.

Severus wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “Silly boy,” he whispered with sadness and amusement at once. “Do you really think that someone could only love you if you are their Horcrux?”

“It's not that,” Harry whispered. “It's that... you were always so scared, so worried whenever I wanted to submit to you. Like there was something wrong with me for wanting to do so.”

“Well,” Severus whispered in his hear. “That's just not the case. You part in this connection has always been pure, and beautiful. The only part that has been tainted, was mine.”

Harry lowered his eyes and sniffled slightly. He bowed his head and stared at the withered grass under his feet, covered in frost.

“Really? Do you... want me.. to...continue to submit to you? Really?”

“Yes,” Severus said firmly. “I am surprised you still feel this way, but I am also relieved that you do. I want you to be mine.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “You aren't just... saying it out of pity or...”

Severus snorted. “I am a Slytherin, Harry. I have no pity.”

“Right,” Harry laughed. “Silly me.”

Severs stroked his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Harry trembled in his embrace, but did not dare to look at him.

“You are not angry with me?” Severus asked finally. “For making you do something like that without explaining, or without a warning?”

“Angry?” Harry whispered. “No, Severus... not in the least. You are a Slytherin... I don't expect you to follow the same code of honor as the rest of us... When I married you, I had resigned myself to the fact that ... well.. I'd just have to be on my guard, and stay one step ahead of you at all times.”

Severus grabbed Harry's shoulder painfully and forced him face him.

“One step ahead?” he asked dangerously.

Harry forced out a smile. “Aren't you forgetting something? We had the same mentor, you know.”

Severus stared at him speechlessly.

“I'm afraid... I pulled a Dumbledore on you,” Harry whispered quietly. “I ... well... I knew what you were going to do... I mean... the year of independent research... quietly brewing stuff in your lab... the year of missions, searching Voldemort's old compounds... So... um... I kind of... broke into your stores, and switched your... concoction to the scented, but neutral potion-base...” Harry stammered as he finished the sentence.

“You did what?”

“You heard me,” Harry said defiantly. “I'm still your Horcrux, and I'll always be. And don't bloody act like it's the end of the world.”

They sat quietly together for a while. Harry was biting his lip stubbornly, refusing to break the silence that hung between them.

Severus spoke up finally. “Harry, I truly do not understand why...”

Harry cast him a pitying, almost disdainful glance. “You only don't understand because you are an idiot.”

“I beg your pardon?” Severus uttered slowly, apparently taken aback.

“Severus,” Harry said tiredly. “What is there to understand? That I don't mind being cursed, if it means that I can be owned by you? That I don't want to stop needing you? That I don't want to kill the best part of myself? Or that I don't want you to die before I do?”

Severus was shaking his head. “And here I thought, I could set you free from my darkness, once and for all,” he murmured..

Harry glanced at him unsympathetically. “Well, it's like Dumbledore said... many good people have darkness about them that will astound the rest of the world. So you are a former Death Eater, a Dark Wizard, you have a dungeon, and you have a Horcrux. Deal with it.”

Severus appeared to be at loss for words once more. A shadow of sadness crossed his shallow face briefly, and then vanished, leaving him looking calm and impassive again.

“Ah well,” Severus said at last with a soft chuckle of resignation. “A year of research goes down the drain. Just out of curiosity, Harry, you really guessed my intentions all by yourself?”

Harry shook his head mutely. On his own, he wouldn't have, he thought, not in a million years. But Ron, an excellent chess player, had guessed what Severus intended to do; and Hermione, the most brilliant witch her age, had instantly guessed the means.

“Your friends are really something,” Severus smirked. “Helping you maintain this ... unorthodox relationship just the way it is.”

“What are true friends for, if not helping you remain a Dark Object, if that's what makes you happy,” Harry said lightheartedly.

Severus took Harry's hands in his and asked him, more seriously now: “Won't you regret it? Ten years from now, twenty years from now? Being a Dark Object is not without a price, Harry. Remember how you said that death stalks whoever is around you, because you are a Horcrux? There is some truth to that. Some people believe that Horcruxes preserve the Master's immortality by reducing the chances of survival of those who touch them. Remember Tom Riddle's diary, Marvolo Gaunt's ring, the Cup..”

Harry nodded, remembering. Ginny's brush with death, Remus, Fred, Dumbledore himself.. and he remembered others close to him who had died: Cedric, and Sirius...

“Well, for what it's worth,” Harry said, “I don't think that's the case with me. I don't think that people die because they are close to me. I think... I am just drawn to people who are more likely to die, that's all. You know... people who are brave, loyal, people who are ready to take risks, people who are willing to fight for what's right.”

Severus eyed the forms of Ron and Hermione, seated at the doorstep of the Burrow. Hermione caught him looking and waved to him cheerfully.

“People like them,” Severus said softly.

Harry smiled. “Yes. People like you.”

15 Years Later:

Living Happily Ever After

Living happily ever after means different things to different people.

To Rubeus Hagrid, it means having his wand back, and being able to travel around the world.

To Nymphadora Tonks-Shaklebot, it means being reinstated as a member of the Order. She hadn't expected that, not in a million years. But lucky for her, Harry is a very forgiving person... and he also has a little bit of influence with the new Head of the Order.

To Albus and Minerva Dumbledore-McGonagall, 'living happily ever after' means a contented retirement, with no-one but the select few knowing their very private secret, that is still protected by the Fidelius Charm. Severus visits them frequently - and often wonders who scares him most, the old wizard who can freeze time, or the woman who holds his slave-bond in her hands. However, whenever Severus visits, life seems normal, and the two of them are largely unchanged. Albus Dumbledore is still the most powerful wizard in the world, and he decidedly does not act “enslaved”. The only odd thing that creeps once in a while is a gallant bow to Minerva, or addressing her as “My Lady” with a wink. But that could just be attributed to the old-fashioned Gryffindor chivalry.

To Draco Malfoy, 'living happily ever after' means knowing that the Dark Lord is not coming back. Nonetheless, more often than not, he wakes up in the middle of the night with a muffled scream, and a vision of a grave closing in on him. But his wife's hand is on his shoulder, and she whispers gently, “It's just a dream, Draco. Dreams don't mean anything, you know that.” He sniffles quietly and says, “Thanks, Luna.” But then he gets up, and walks down the hallways of the Malfoy Manor, and checks his kids' bedrooms, as if afraid that they might have monsters hiding in their closets, or under their beds. In the wizarding world, you just never know.

To Luna Malfoy, 'living happily ever after' means singing at her friends' weddings, rather than funerals.

To Hermione Granger, 'living happily ever after' means being married to Ron Weasley, raising their daughter (Rose), working on her Doctorate Degree in Transfiguration, being a registered Animagus, heading the Ravenclaw House of Hogwarts, and teaching. She loves teaching. She is patient, kind, and fair - to a fault. She never unjustly penalizes other houses, or favors her own. Her Animagus form is an otter.

To Ron Granger, it means seeing his wife happy, spending time with their daughter, and being close to his friends. The post as an Auror doesn't mean quite so much, but he still enjoys it - most days, at least.

To Sybill Trelawney, 'living happily ever after' means freedom from addiction, freedom from her enormous glasses, and freedom to use her gift - the gift of Divination. They found out soon enough after Voldemort's defeat that Trelawney was one of the most powerful seers in the wizarding world. Voldemort was intimidated by her power from the very beginning, and being too scared to kill her, he had bound her gift, hoping to make her look incompetent. He had almost succeeded, and he would have - if not for Albus Dumbledore, who had hired her, and kept her employed, throughout the years, in spite of everyone else telling him he was a damned sentimental fool for doing so. Still, even with her gift bound by the Dark Lord, she had managed to deliver three true prophecies, and that is more than anyone else can say for themselves. She still teaches Divination, and she heads the House of Hufflepuff. If anyone can teach young people about perseverance, that is her.

To Severus Snape, 'living happily ever after' means finally being able to do whatever the hell he wants. And as the Head of the Order of Phoenix, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and the Head of Slytherin, he does exactly that. He still teaches - Defence Against Dark Arts, all levels; he favors his own House shamelessly, and he thrives on intimidating little Gryffindor brats, even if three of them happen to be his own. And intimidation isn't all that difficult to achieve, when you are renowned former Dark Wizard. Having a Horcrux of your own doesn't hurt, either. Doing whatever he wants is true happiness, indeed. And well... if Severus Snape wants to spend all of his free time doting on Harry-bloody-Potter, who would dare to mock him? No-one with any common sense, that much is certain.

Sentimental fools who thought that love would change Severus Snape, and make him “mellow out” were wrong. All love did was help him let go of his guilt and self-recrimination, and enable him to be himself: an intimidating, sarcastic ogre - even more so than ever before. In fact, just about every day, he summons the young, unruly, insubordinate, and reckless Head of Gryffindor and Care of Magical Creatures Professor to his office and scolds him. Sometimes, for good reasons, and sometimes, just out of habit. Severus mocks him and berates him - for everything. For his tongue-piercing, for his messy hair, for him being idolized by stupid little Gryffindors, and for him somehow managing to become the icon of “coolness” for the entire school.

But the young CMC Professor is the only one in the entire school who can withstand the cutting remarks and the deathly glare of Severus Snape without flinching. He just throws his arms around the Headmaster's neck and whispers: “You are too cute when you are trying to look contemptuous.” This elicits a dangerous growl from the throat of Severus Snape - but the young hands already work their way into his hair, stroking it and pulling it (albeit very gently), and the young impudent lips latch onto his mouth - and Severus barely manages to cast a silencing and locking spell on his door, before he is bewitched, and before his conduct becomes completely and entirely unprofessional.. Damn that Harry Potter.

Harry Potter loves many things about his life. He loves teaching Care of Magical Creatures. He loves the creatures that are fierce, indomitable, wild. The wilder the better - he feels a bit of a kinship with them. Severus says that Harry will be the death of him, and that he is worse than Hagrid had ever been. But Harry just smirks. He knows what he is doing, and he even plays by the rules - most of the time. Because, when he doesn't, Severus Snape has a very quick , and very private way of correcting it. Harry still remembers being canned for smuggling a Dragon (Chinese Fireball) to Hogwarts grounds; and writing five thousand lines after taking third-year students to an unauthorized field trip to the Hyppogriff colony. But such occasions become more and more rare. In fact, just the other week, when someone in the Knockturn Alley offered Harry a litter of Nundu kittens, at a reasonable price of only five thousand galleons, Harry took one look at their fluffy striped tails, their razor-sharp fangs, their little claws with tiny pods of venom underneath, and their adorable blue eyes... and said, “Another time, perhaps.”

To Harry Potter, 'living happily ever after' means waking up every morning to the words, “I love you”, and falling asleep to the words, “You are mine.” It means watching his greatest love - his stern face, his deep dark eyes, his black hair that has only a few streaks of grey in it - and being mesmerized by the realization that no person can look so breathtaking, so glorious, so terrifying... and so ... human. And no person can elicit from him this much joy, this much fear, this much desire, this much frustration, and this much contentment, all at once.

To Harry Potter, living happily ever-after also means watching his children - their children, grow up. All of them, little Potters. Harry begged Severus to allow the children to be Potter-Snapes, but Severus just cast him a disdainful look and said that never, in his entire life, he had heard a more ridiculous last name. “Besides,” he added with a contemptuous sneer, “the rugrats were your idea, you take responsibility for them.” Eventually, Harry forced Severus to make full confession: “Potter is an ancient and proud bloodline in the wizarding world... it should continue as such. End of discussion.”

His Master had spoken, and Harry did not argue after that. The details did not matter all that much, he reasoned. All that mattered was that the Dark Wizard and the Savior of the Wizarding World were supposed to live happily ever after, and raise a herd of adopted children, all to be sorted into Gryffindor. It was only fair.

Everybody knew that.

Except the Sorting Hat.

During the Sorting Ceremony, seated at the Faculty Table, Harry Potter watched with trepidation as the Hat mumbled and shifted on the head of his youngest son, Albus Ronald Potter, otherwise known as “Al”. The pale, thin face of the boy was wrought with anxiety, but he was fighting it off bravely, biting his lower lip, and whispering quietly, as if a mantra: “Gryffindor, please Gryffindor, Gryffindor...”

“Gryffindor?” the Hat exclaimed. “I think not, Albus Ronald. I am afraid there are too many Potters in Gryffindor already.”

“Please!” Al insisted. “Gryffindor is where I want to be!”

The Hat mumbled something unintelligible.

Harry cast a pitiful glance at Hermione. “Any chance you could...”

“No, Harry,” she said patiently, “I've told you already, I can't cast an Imperio on the Sorting Hat. No-one can. It's not possible - it's ...you know... it's charmed, it's aware, but it's not sentient... it has no... intelligence.”

“You can say that again,” Harry muttered. He glanced at his son with sympathy and wondered if he would be able to pull off a Wilhelm Tell and simply shoot the Hat off his son's head, like the proverbial apple... But the rational Hermione Granger squeezed his hand gently and whispered,

“Relax, Harry. Have faith.”

Yeah, right.

The Hat began to mumble again:

“As I said, there are too many Potters in Gryffindor already. I don't know what it is about the Potter girls - but they all go to Gryffindor. I remember each and every one of them. Elaine Hermione - Gryffindor. Lily Luna - Gryffindor. Minerva Sybill - Gryffindor. Good grief. At this rate, we'll have more Potters in Gryffindor than Weasleys. No, I am afraid Gryffindor is maxed out with Potters, for now.”

“I suppose I could put you with your brother, Tobias James, in Ravenclaw. Now that is a very bright boy. But no, Ravenclaw would not agree with you. You are not the one to spend days with your nose in the books. You like a hands-on approach to things.”

“I suppose you would do well in Hufflepuff. Yes, Hufflepuff, with Fred Remus Potter.. Speaking of which, how is he doing, I wonder? He's another one who wanted to be a Gryffindor. What is it with all you, Potters? You think Gryffindor is some kind of promised land, and once you get sorted into Gryffindor, you can do no wrong? Never mind, don't even answer that. I really don't want to know.”

“Well, well, I see you are getting fidgety. I suppose it's time to make up my mind. It's easy enough, young man. You have been named after two people who know how to play a cunning game of chess, and how to do whatever it takes to win! And so will you. Finally, simply put, no Hogwarts House should be without a Potter. And for that reason - let you go to Slytherin!”

Rounds of applause followed from the Slytherin table. Al paled slightly.

In his spot at the Faculty table, Harry Potter was ready to pull out his own hair. Then he glanced at the Headmaster, saw the intolerably triumphant smirk on his lips, and issued a low growl. Hermione placed her hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed soothingly. “Shush, Harry. It'll be fine.”

“AL just got SORTED into SLYTHERIN!” Harry hissed furiously. “Please tell me, Hermione, HOW is THIS going to be FINE?”

“I don't exactly know,” she murmured.

Al hadn't moved from his chair. The Hat smacked the back of his head. “Stop hogging the chair and get going,” it advised him. “I told you, Slytherin.”

“Blimey,” Al muttered. “Really? You are not kidding?”

“I assure you, I am not kidding. Now move. See the young blond boy at the end of the Slytherin table? His name is Aries Malfoy. He's a very worthwhile young man. I should know, I just sorted him fifteen minutes ago. You go and say hello to him. Go now. I won't change my mind, you know.”

“I hate you so much,” Al muttered, making his way to his new table.

The Sorting was finished shortly, the Headmaster announced the feast, and Harry just continued sitting in his spot, his face buried in his hands. He felt a touch on his shoulder, and the Headmaster's silky voice, “Mr. Potter. Won't you join me in my office, please?”

“Of course, Sir,” Harry said tiredly, and followed him.

In the his office, Severus Snape sat down, leaned back in his chair, and locked his fingers. The smirk on his face became even more intolerable and blatant. He was loving it, Harry realized... the sadistic bastard was wallowing in it.

“You called me here just to gloat?” Harry hissed.

“Well, I must say - the words 'I told you so' never seemed so appropriate,” Severus said with satisfaction. “Albus Ronald is a Slytherin to the core. I have known for years. And I've told you, time and again. But do you ever listen to me? No, of course not.”

“Whatever,” Harry snapped. “You won. You were right. May I go now, Sir?”

Severus stood up abruptly and came up to Harry, closing the distance between them. He grasped his face with his hands, squeezing harshly, almost bruising his cheekbones with his fingers.

“Harry,” Severus with gentleness that did not match his cruel grip. “After all these years... don't tell me you still think that all Gryffindors are gold, and all Slytherins are irredeemably dark?”

Harry reached forth to place his hands on his husband's chest. He felt his heartbeat, and sensed the hesitation and hurt behind his words.

“Of course not,” Harry whispered. “The bravest and smartest and kindest and most loyal person I know is a Slytherin,” he said. “I'm not upset because Al went to Slytherin. I'm upset because he really wanted to go to Gryffindor and the Hat wouldn't let him do as he wanted...”

“That's all?” Severus probed gently.

Harry shut his eyes and sniffled shamefully. “I told him that... the Hat would take his personal preferences into consideration... and wouldn't sort him somewhere against his will...”

Severus' fingers dug even firmer into Harry's face. “Harry - why on earth would you say such a ridiculous thing to our son? The Hat never listens to anyone. The Hat does as it pleases.”

“The Hat listened to me!” Harry protested. “It wanted to put me into Slytherin; and I talked it out of it!”

Severus released his face and chuckled in amusement. “Oh, Harry... I don't know quite how to say this to you... but... the Hat didn't listen to your opinion.”

Harry glared at him. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, Harry...” Severus said patiently, “Is that the Hat had no intention of putting you anywhere but Gryffindor. You are the ... epitome of Gryffindor. You are a reckless, self-sacrificing, justice-seeking, underdog-protecting, sentimental moron. You could have never been a Slytherin. I am afraid the Hat was playing a practical joke on you that day.”

Harry glanced at him. “The Hat ... jokes?”

Severus nodded gravely.

Harry pressed his face into the Headmaster's robe with a stifled whimper. “I really hate that motherfucking Hat.”

Severus patted his back. “There, there, Mr. Potter,” he said in a tone of voice that was far from compassionate.

“And now... my son will end up being best friends with Aries Malfoy,” Harry muttered, still clearly displeased. “You know what that means... family picnics together... going to the Malfoy Manor for dinners regularly...” Harry shuddered. “Please tell me - how could it possibly be any worse?”

“Oh, I don't know,” Severus murmured, smirking again. “The Malfoys could have named their son Scorpius.”

Harry shuddered. “You have no idea how much you disturb me, Severus.”

Severus looked at him serenely. He took the young, face in his hands once more, and pressed his lips against the fresh, hot mouth. His tongue parted the thin, tender lips, and entered the warm moist cavern, mapping it out, claiming it, and subduing it, until Harry was melting under his touch, and trembling with desire.

“Really?” Severus asked very softly, pulling out of the kiss.

“Really,” Harry confirmed breathlessly.

Severus nodded, and a sinister smile played on his lips. “Then all is well.”

... The End...

---