Shattered Souls (end) by:Eriador117

Author: Eriador117
Website:http://eriador117.insanejournal.com
Email:annette.gisby@which.net
Permission：
Yes, you can have permission to repost the stories on your board if you want. :)

take care,
Annette
(Eriador117)




Summary: Written for the Harry/Snape Dawn to Dusk wave VIII challenge: No Man is an Island. When Harry and Snape are forced to be bonded in order to protect Harry from the Dursleys, can Snape help him come to terms with his demons without falling under the spell of his own? Warnings: angst, depression, non-con, child abuse, eating disorder, teacher/student.
Characters: Harry/Severus
Genres: Angst/Tragedy, Romance, Drama, Mystery/Suspense, Horror/Supernatural
Rating: M+
Warnings: Violence, Adult Language, Sexual Situations, Chan, Non-con (rape), Character Death, OOC-ness


Chapter 1: Shattered Souls
Chapter 1

Harry had never been alone in the house with his uncle until now. Always before, his aunt and cousin had been a buffer between the two of them. But now that they were alone, Harry could actually feel the hatred radiating from the man, hatred at what he saw as Harry’s condition. Harry’s abnormality. Harry could do magic and there was nothing so frightening and alien to Vernon Dursley than that.

The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck were standing on end. Vernon was watching him again, while at the same time pretending he wasn’t. Harry tried to concentrate on just washing the breakfast dishes which were in the sink. But he knew it was only a matter of time before it happened again. Vernon had never left him alone for so long before. The bruises from their last encounter still hadn’t healed.

There was a dishwasher, but Harry wasn’t allowed to use it. He wasn’t allowed to use anything electrical in case he would contaminate it. Harry wondered where the Dursleys got their strange ideas about magic from. It wasn’t contagious as far as he knew. He rinsed the soap bubbles off and set the plates in the drying rack. A few more days. A few more days and his aunt would be back.

He never thought he’d see the day when he would look forward to seeing Petunia, but something had to happen. A few more days and then this strange tension between himself and his uncle would dissipate.

Even before his aunt and cousin had left on their trip, Vernon had been acting weird around Harry, snapping at him for the littlest thing and squinting at him as though Harry were a bug under a microscope. Harry didn’t even need to see his uncle to know when he was being stared at. The goose bumps on his skin were warning enough. Harry didn’t know why his uncle had started this strange game and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Once the last plate was dried and put in the cupboard, Harry jumped when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Harry,” said his uncle and alarm bells began to ring in Harry’s head. His uncle rarely used his name. Usually he was called ‘boy’ or more often just ‘you’. “What age are you now, boy?” asked Vernon, as though he didn’t know. Harry was just as sure that Vernon did know, counting up the years that they had to bring up the ‘ungrateful brat’, another of his uncle’s wonderful endearments.

“I’m not a boy!” snapped Harry. “I’m sixteen in two days.”

“Yes,” agreed Vernon with a strange glitter in his eyes. “Hardly a boy anymore, are you?” Vernon stroked his chin absently as if thinking of something else. “But you’re not yet a man, so you have to do what I say. This is my house and you will obey my rules. On your knees boy!” Vernon’s nails dug into Harry’s shoulder as he was forcibly pushed almost to the ground. Harry guessed there would be marks there later.

“What?” gasped Harry as he tried to stop his uncle from pushing him even further down.

“You heard me,” said Vernon, using his weight and bulk to push Harry right down to the floor. The tiles dug into his knees even through the jeans. Harry wobbled, off balance with Vernon holding onto one shoulder.

“Now, undo my trousers.”

Harry gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. He couldn’t have just heard what he thought he heard. This was some weird dream he was having, right? It could not possibly be real. But the sharp fingernails digging into his flesh were real enough, as was the door handle on the cupboard pressing against his back when Vernon pushed him roughly against it. Harry struggled to get up, but he was no match for Vernon’s size and just the sheer mass of the man. It was like trying to move a mountain.

“You will do as I say, boy!” Vernon used his free hand to slap Harry across the cheek. Harry’s cheek stung but he wouldn’t give Vernon the satisfaction of crying out. “Or you might just find that bloody bird of yours can no longer fly! Very delicate, bird wings. Very…breakable,” Vernon cupped Harry’s chin in his hand and made him look up.

“You can’t do that!” roared Harry, his heart thudding so wildly in his chest he was amazed that it hadn’t somehow burst through and escaped his flesh. Threats to himself he could handle. He’d had plenty of practice after all. He couldn’t let Vernon do anything to harm Hedwig, though.

“Oh, can’t I?” asked Vernon silkily. “You’d be surprised at what I can do when I put my mind to it. Now, open my trousers and get to work. It’s time you started paying us back for all we’ve done for you. Do it!” Vernon yanked Harry’s head up by the hair. Harry yelped, more in surprise than pain.

His face was burning with shame as he unbuckled Vernon’s belt. His hands shook as he started on the zip, already a task made difficult by Vernon’s erection straining at the fabric, blue polyester trousers that made his hands itch. Harry’s stomach was coiling itself in knots and he swayed a little on the tiles. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, that he was letting Vernon do this to him. He should never have let them take his wand at the start of the summer holidays. He should have hidden it better. This was worse, much worse than what Vernon usually did.

Harry lowered the zip and looked away from Vernon’s groin. “Pull them down, boy,” instructed Vernon. Harry did as he was told, pulling the trousers all the way down past Vernon’s knees, shuddering as he did so. Harry felt faint and tried to will himself into unconsciousness.

“Now, use your mouth,” commanded Vernon.

“What?” asked Harry stupidly.

“Are you really that naive, boy? Don’t you know how to give a blow-job? I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice at that freaky school, haven’t you? Do you beg for it? Are you their little slut, Harry? Time to show me what you’ve learned.”

Harry shook his head, silent tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Please, uncle Vernon. Please don’t do this.” But pleas to Vernon had never worked before and they wouldn't work now.

“Stop your snivelling, boy! If you get snot all over me I’ll give you something to cry about! All you have to do is suck it. Go on, do it!” Vernon pulled Harry’s head close to his groin and held him there. There was no escape, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to do what his uncle wanted. He kept his mouth resolutely shut and thought that would be the end of it.

But no, Vernon had other tricks. He didn’t need magic. Vernon used his free hand, the one not holding Harry’s head, to pinch Harry’s nostrils shut. Harry couldn’t breathe and he had to open his mouth and Vernon used the opportunity to thrust between Harry’s lips.

The taste and the strange feel of it made him gag and Harry tried to pull away, but Vernon had both hands on his head now, holding him in place. Harry knew that what was happening wasn’t his choice, that he hadn’t wanted it. It was something that was being taken from him, not given. But on some level he couldn’t help but wonder if it was his fault? Had he done something to inadvertently lead Vernon on?

The thrusting in his mouth stopped and Vernon pulled his head away. Harry took a deep breath, curious as to why his ordeal had ended so soon, but relieved all the same. His relief was short lived. Vernon lunged at Harry, toppling them both to the floor. Harry banged his head against the cupboard and the pain was so intense he almost blacked out. Spots were dancing in front of his eyes and he wasn’t sure he could move.

Vernon was sitting astride his thighs, staring at him like a cat would a mouse. A predator stalking his prey. Harry felt almost naked beneath that gaze and he tried to look away. Vernon had hold of his head again and it was an impossible task.

“Oh no, you don’t! You’re going to look at me and you’re going to know that it was me who took your innocence away.” Vernon’s hands left Harry’s face and began to fumble with the fastenings of Harry’s jeans.

“NO!” screamed Harry, trying to buck his hips and away from Vernon’s prying fingers, but it was no use. Vernon was far too heavy and Harry couldn’t move his lower body at all. His legs were going numb. If only he had his wand! It was all so surreal. He was about to be raped on the kitchen floor with sunshine streaming in the window and birds singing outside. A perfect summer day.

“NO! I WON’T LET YOU DO THIS!”

“Oh? And how are you going to stop me?”

Harry didn’t know how. He just knew that he wasn’t going to lie here and let this happen to him. He’d put up with being starved, being beaten, being locked in a cupboard, but he would not put up with this. His virginity was something that belonged to him, something he wanted to give to someone special when the time came. It was his to give and a short, fat uncle was not going to take it from him by force.

“Well?” taunted Vernon. “You can’t do magic without your wand!” Vernon crowed triumphantly as he finally managed to undo Harry’s belt buckle. A wave of despair washed over Harry at his uncle’s words, for they were true. His wand was locked away as were all of his school things. He glared defiantly at his uncle.

“What about Aunt Marge? And the snake at the zoo?” asked Harry and felt a surge of power when he saw Vernon pale. Harry had used wandless magic before and Vernon knew it. Harry remembered how angry he had been both times. So angry in fact, that things happened without his control.

Could he control his anger? Funnel it towards Vernon? Harry concentrated hard, thinking of everything Vernon had ever done to him, channelling all his anger at the fat man perched now on his chest, squeezing the breath from Harry. “Lumos!” panted Harry and watched Vernon’s eyes widen in fear as all the lights in the kitchen flickered in and out of existence.

Vernon shuffled his body forwards, his bobbing erection poking Harry in the cheek and leaving a damp trail.

“I don’t care what fancy tricks you can do with the lights,” said Vernon, although Harry thought he still looked a bit fearful. “You’re going to suck me off until I come and then you will swallow every mouthful, like the little whore you are. And after that your skinny arse is going to get some use. Do you hear me?” Vernon slapped him again but didn’t bother waiting for an answer, just pushed his engorged cock so far down Harry’s throat that he almost choked.

He could hardly breathe and the musky smell was making him feel sick. Vernon’s thrusts were erratic and Harry had no chance of timing his breathing to the rhythm. Harry didn’t suck, didn’t lick, his mouth was just a receptacle. Vernon was raping his mouth, that’s what it felt like. That’s what it was, for Harry had not agreed to this. Harry’s stomach was doing flip-flops and he was getting increasingly light-headed due to lack of air. Maybe if he did faint, the torment would be over sooner. But no, he dreaded to think what Vernon might do to his unconscious body.

Harry’s whole body was tense, his throat raw and aching. He lifted his arms in a futile attempt to push Vernon away from him. Vernon moved and pain flared in Harry’s chest, he thought he’d heard a rib crack. Harry would have screamed if he wasn’t effectively gagged by Vernon thrusting into his throat. The light was fading. Everything was growing dark and he was dimly aware of speeded thrusts and his uncle’s growl of triumph before he was welcomed into blackness.

The blessed oblivion didn’t last long. He stirred, finding himself being repeatedly slapped harshly around the face. His whole face was throbbing.

“Don’t think you’ll get out of it that easily, boy,” said his uncle, looming over him. “Stand up!”

Even though Vernon was no longer sitting on his chest, it still hurt to breathe. Harry was almost sure now that he’d broken a rib. Harry stood up on legs as shaky as a new born kitten. He grabbed the breakfast bar for support. Bitter salt burned the back of his throat and he gagged, remembering what it was. He found enough strength to make it to the sink before he threw up. He retched until there was nothing left except sour spittle. The stainless steel was stainless no longer. He turned on the tap to rinse the vomit away and then stuck his mouth under the tap, not bothering with a cup or glass.

“You’re disgusting!” snapped Vernon. “Nothing but a filthy brat! Sex is all you’re good for, Harry Potter. Harry Potter the whore, just like that bitch of a mother!”

It all happened so fast, that Harry wasn’t even sure what he’d done. He just knew that one minute he was listening to Vernon berate his family and the next he saw red. Literally. Blood was pouring out of the tap now, thick with a distinct smell of copper and Vernon was no longer talking.

Harry turned and saw Vernon foaming at the mouth, eyes bulging out of their sockets. He looked like a toad that was about to explode. He clawed at his collar as though choking. He gurgled something that might have been “help me” or “stop” or some other such entreaty.

For an instant, Harry felt the power surging through his whole body. He didn’t just do magic. He was magic. He knew that Vernon’s life was in his hands and only his. He could let his tormentor die. It would be so easy, so very easy. Just to let the pressure on Vernon’s windpipe increase would be but a second’s worth of work for his mind.

“Finite Incantatem,” Harry watched with horror as his uncle slumped to the ground. Unconscious, but not dead. He had almost killed him. Harry had almost become a cold blooded killer. No, he would not do it. He had made the right choice, hadn’t he?

Harry was no dark wizard to take pleasure in death, but as he watched his uncle, he wondered.


TBC

Chapter 2: Shattered Souls
Chapter 2

Harry knew it would only be a matter of time before the Ministry of Magic caught up with him for using magic while he was still underage and away from school. If he hadn’t been in so much pain, he might have been tempted to stay at Privet Drive and await his fate.

As it was, he knew he needed medical attention, Muggle or Magical, he didn’t care. What if the cracked rib had pierced a lung? He could be bleeding internally right now. He could be dying.

Harry wanted someone to hug him, someone to tell him that things were going to be all right, even if they weren’t. He wanted a mother. But he’d never had a mother, only other people’s memories of her. He never knew her, never knew what it was like to be held in her arms. No, when Harry thought of “mother”, it wasn’t Lily Evans Potter who sprang first to his mind, it was the face of Molly Weasley.

Harry buckled his belt with great difficulty, his fingers were stiff and swollen and felt as though they belonged to someone else, and stumbled out of the kitchen. He struggled upstairs, stopping every few steps to catch his breath.

When he made it to his bedroom, he pulled up the loose floorboard at the foot of his bed and rummaged in the hole until he found what he was looking for. A small wooden box, unmarked except for his initials carved on the lid. Inside the box was a note from Ron along with an early birthday present for Harry; a blue china cup with white spots. Harry read the note again, just to make sure he remembered what it said.

Dear Harry,

Thought this might come in useful if the Muggles get too much for you. It’s a new type of Portkey that Dad’s been working on. It isn’t timed. You just use it whenever you want and it should take you straight to the Burrow. I know it’s early, but Happy Birthday.

Ron.

Harry set the box on the floor and reached in to touch the cup. As his hand made contact with the handle, he felt the familiar tugging behind his navel and he was whooshed away from Privet Drive and his uncle. It wasn’t as dizzying as travelling by Floo, but he was glad when he finally landed face first on the Weasleys’ kitchen floor. He groaned, the hard landing causing fresh darts of pain in his ribs and shoulders.

“Harry!” shrieked three voices, but he was hardly able to discern them. He heard chairs being scraped back across the tiles as their occupants dashed over to his aid. A hand stroked his hair back from his face. “Harry, are you all right?” asked Molly Weasley, still stroking him.

“No,” croaked Harry. “I think my ribs are broken.” He could barely move now, the pain was getting so bad. It felt as if his chest had been run over by a juggernaut.

“Ginny, go and fetch my kit,” said Molly. “Ron, can you help me get Harry onto the sofa?”

“Of course, Mum,” said Ron, and sank down on his haunches next to Harry.

“Right, Ron. You take his feet, I’ll take the top half. Gently, now,” said Molly. Harry couldn’t help but cry out when he was moved, but he was just so grateful that something was being done to aid him that he tried to suppress any other noises he might make. Two sets of hands did indeed move him and set him down gently on the sofa.

“What happened, Harry?” asked Molly, as she took some bandages from Ginny. She set them down on the sofa beside Harry and then began to unbutton his shirt. Harry panicked. He didn’t want Ron nor Ginny to see the bruises and marks that he was sure covered his body. “Please,” he whispered, hoping she would understand.

“Ron, Ginny, wait outside,” said Molly. Ron frowned and opened his mouth to protest, but his mother cut him off. “Let Harry have some privacy.”

“Come on, Ginny,” said Ron, tugging his sister’s arm. They left without further protest.

“Don’t worry, Harry. I’ll have you fixed up in no time. Did you know that I’m a qualified Medi-Witch?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” wheezed Harry.

“Here, drink this,” she handed him a glass that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The liquid was similar in colour and texture to pumpkin juice, but that’s where the similarities ended. It tasted vile and Harry had to force himself to swallow rather than spit it out, which was his first instinct.

“It’ll help with the pain,” said Molly with an indulgent smile, on seeing his face as he drank it. Once the glass was drained, she resumed undoing his shirt. Harry didn’t want her to see, didn’t want anyone to see. It took all of his willpower not to hold the shirt closed with his hands. Molly gasped as she pushed the shirt away from his shoulders. Harry knew she must have seen the finger shaped bruises. There was no way he could pretend this was an accident.

“Oh, Harry,” said Molly softly. “Your uncle did this, didn’t he?”

Harry nodded trying to will away the tears that trickled down his cheeks. He wasn’t weak, he shouldn’t be crying over this. He wasn’t even in pain any more, the potion was working its magic on his body, but it was the ache in his heart he couldn’t handle. He felt so betrayed.

“You are never going back to that house, Harry!” Molly began binding his ribs with the bandages. “I don’t care if they are your only family, I won’t allow it! What was Professor Dumbledore thinking?” Molly carried on in much the same vein, Harry didn’t really think she was looking for answers, just thinking out loud. Once the bandages were finished with, she rubbed some salve onto his bruises. It felt hot and cold at the same time, but it did ease the throbbing somewhat.

“There,” said Molly, putting the salve on the floor. “Can you sit up now, Harry dear?”

Harry gingerly pushed himself upright on the couch, buttoning his shirt as he went. He felt a little light-headed, but surprisingly free from pain. Molly obviously knew what she was talking about.

“Here, drink this,” said Molly, handing him another glass. Harry was sure it was some other vile concoction, this one tasted a lot like milk, but a lot sweeter. He could almost feel his teeth ache at the syrupy taste. “This is Calci-Mend,” said Molly as Harry swallowed the liquid. “It helps bones to mend quickly, but you still shouldn’t do anything too strenuous for a while. No Quidditch with Ron for a few days.” She smiled at him and tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear. The gesture was so tender and so unexpected that Harry felt tears prick the corner of his eyes.

“Mrs. Weasley, thank you. I’m sorry if I get you into trouble with the Ministry, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Harry, you are always welcome here. Always. And what has the Ministry got to do with any of this?”

“I used Magic. To stop - to stop my uncle. I’m underage, I shouldn’t have done it. I’ll probably be expelled now.”

“Harry, no-one is going to expel you. You haven’t broken any rules. Yes, generally, underage wizards aren’t allowed to use Magic outside of school, but there is a small bylaw, the en extremis rule.”

“I’ve never heard of that,” admitted Harry.

“Well, it isn’t very well known, but underage wizards are allowed to used Magic to defend themselves or others from danger.”

“So I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No, Harry. You didn’t.” Molly patted his head. “Since you’re feeling better, why don’t you go and catch up with Ron? There’s something I have to do.”

Harry didn’t ask what it was, but he thought he had a fair idea.


TBC

Chapter 3: Shattered Souls
Chapter 3

Harry’s intuition was right, Molly had indeed sent word to Dumbledore and the Headmaster arrived by Floo later that evening. Once the younger Weasleys were in bed, Arthur and Molly joined Dumbledore and Harry around the kitchen fireplace. Although everyone else was supposed to be in bed, Harry had a suspicion that Fred and George’s Extendable Ears would soon be getting another outing.

Dumbledore looked tired, his face grey and drawn. His eyes had lost their usual twinkle and he kept glancing at Harry, as though appalled at what he’d allowed to transpire at Privet Drive. No-one asked Harry if there had been anything other than physical abuse and he did not bother to tell them. He was ashamed of the things Vernon had done to him, had nearly done to him. Harry refused to call the man ‘uncle’ any longer. Not after what he’d done.

“He can’t go back there!” shrieked Molly for what must have been the tenth time. “I won’t allow it!”

“I’m sorry,” said Dumbledore. “But the wards protecting Harry when he’s away from Hogwarts only work if he is with his family. I really am sorry, but Harry must return there next summer.”

Harry felt sick. He didn’t want to go back there. Ever.

“There may be another way to protect Harry,” mused Arthur, steepling his fingers under his chin. “You say Harry needs family in order for the wards to work. Well, what if he had a new family? Harry could live with us.”

“No, Arthur. You should know that an adoption wouldn’t work. It has to be a blood relative or -” Dumbledore broke off and smiled at Arthur. “Arthur! You’re a genius! We had of course considered that option when Harry first came to school, but we thought he was much too young then. But Harry will be sixteen in a few days, quite an appropriate age I always thought. Sixteen isn’t too young, is it?”

“Too young for what?” gasped Harry, getting annoyed at the way they all seemed to be talking as if he wasn’t there.

“Harry, dear,” said Molly. “You need to get married!”

Harry gaped at the three of them, his mouth opening and closing but no sound emerging for quite some time.

“What?” squawked Harry. “Why?”

“Because once married, your spouse will become your new family and the wards will still work. The safety, however, will not be as strong as the blood bond, but if you would prefer not to go back to the Dursleys' house, it is our best option.” The Headmaster peered over his glasses at Harry.

“But I’m too young to get married!” protested Harry, despite his initial hope on hearing that the might never have to go back to Privet Drive. But married? It was insane. And who on earth would want to marry him?

“Nonsense,” smiled Dumbledore. “Sixteen is a fine age to wed. You needn’t worry, Harry, I’m sure we can do without the consummation in this instance. It isn’t a love match after all.”

“Consummation?” Harry felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn’t even thought of that.

“But Headmaster,” said Arthur. “If the marriage was to be consummated, wouldn’t that strengthen the bond? Give more protection to Harry?”

“You would of course be right, Arthur, but in this instance it isn’t necessary. Harry has been bonded quite strongly to someone for quite some time, isn’t that right, Harry?”

“What?” Harry just gawked at the two men. “I don’t understand. I - I haven’t been with anyone like that,” he added.

“No, I didn’t think you had, Harry. The bond I speak of isn’t a love bond, it’s quite beyond that actually. When a wizard saves another wizard’s life it creates a very strong bond. To sacrifice yourself is the strongest magic that there is. Nothing can defeat it.”

Harry nodded, remembering his mother and how her sacrifice had let him live.

“You and the other wizard I spoke of have saved each other countless times, Harry. There is no need for a love bond, but the marriage still needs to go ahead to give you the utmost protection.”

“Wizard,” said Harry slowly, the words only now sinking in. “You mean I have to marry a man?”

“Not to worry, Harry. Your - er - your husband will be looking after you more like a guardian figure. As I said there is no need for consummation.”

Harry felt sick and dizzy. Everything was happening so fast. Vernon. Marriage. He didn’t want to get married, but he didn’t want to go back to the Dursleys’ either.

“And who - who am I supposed to marry?” asked Harry, although from the butterflies who had decided to take up residence in his tummy, he was sure he knew the answer.

“Harry, my dear boy, you are to marry Professor Snape.”

The words seemed to reach him from a long way off. They seemed to go straight through Harry and settled somewhere in his midriff like a lump of lead. Snape. They wanted him to marry Snape. He might have laughed if he could be sure that if he opened his mouth he wouldn’t be throwing up. It was all some strange dream. It had to be. Dumbledore couldn’t have just told him that he was to marry Snape in order to keep him safe.

Harry’s next thought was who was going to protect him from Snape.

Snape hated Harry. Snape detested Harry.

What on earth would it be like to be married to the bloke? Harry wondered if perhaps marrying Snape would turn out to be worse than staying with his relatives. Then he remembered what Vernon had done to him and he shuddered. Nothing could be worse than that.

“Well, Harry?” asked Dumbledore. “What do you say?”

“Okay,” said Harry. “I’ll marry him.”

“Excellent. Excellent. I’ll just let Professor Snape know and then things can be arranged. See you tomorrow.”

“So soon?” blurted Harry.

“Yes, I’m afraid so, Harry. We need to get you married as soon as possible. At the minute you are unprotected and if Voldemort should somehow discover that you aren’t at Privet Drive…” Dumbledore trailed off and looked at Harry intently. He didn’t need to say anymore. Harry could guess what might happen. “I’ll send Professor Snape along before the ceremony so you can - er - discuss anything.”

Harry couldn’t imagine a time in this universe or any other where he had anything he would want to discuss with Snape, but refrained from voicing that opinion. After all, they were doing this to protect him. The least he could do was be grateful.

“Okay,” said Harry. “Thank you, Professor.”

“Don’t mention it, dear boy. Goodnight, Molly, Arthur.” With a small bow, Dumbledore took a pinch of Floo powder and disappeared from the fireplace amid emerald flames. Harry started shaking the minute he left, cold sweat trickled down his back and he wondered if he might faint.

“Harry, dear? Are you all right?” asked Molly. “You’re awfully pale.”

“I think I need to lie down,” admitted Harry.

“Of course you do, it’s been a long day. Go on up to Ron’s room. I’ll check in on you later.”

“Thanks,” said Harry.

“Oh, Harry?” Arthur’s voice stopped him as he reached the foot of the stairs. “You do understand that this marriage has to remain a secret? If You-Know-Who ever found out…”

But Arthur didn’t need to elaborate. Snape was still spying on Voldemort for the Order. If Voldemort found out that one of his alleged Death Eaters was married to his sworn enemy, Harry could almost guess the rest. Harry briefly wondered which would annoy Voldemort more, that Snape had actually married Harry or that he hadn’t received an invitation.

Harry disliked hiding things from Ron and Hermione, but he knew in this case it was a necessity. Ron talked in his sleep and Hermione had a way of wangling secrets out of Ron. Ron wouldn’t be able to resist talking to Hermione about it even if his life depended on it. Or Harry’s. Or Snape’s.

“Okay. I won’t tell anyone,” promised Harry and bade them both goodnight before climbing the stairs. Ron was already asleep, snoring softly. Harry was glad, it meant he wasn’t immediately assailed by a barrage of questions from his friend, but on the other hand he wanted to talk to someone about what had happened. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk to Ron, but he couldn’t.

He wanted it all to have been a strange dream. He would tell Ron all about it and Ron would laugh and say, “They wanted you to marry Snape? Can you imagine!” Then they would both giggle again before getting on their broomsticks and playing Quidditch in the paddock. Yes, that what’s Harry wanted to happen. But he was mature enough now to realise that things didn’t always happen the way you wanted them to.

No, it wasn’t a dream. No matter how much he wanted it to be.


TBC

Chapter 4: Shattered Souls
Chapter 4

Harry knew he was dreaming, but at the same time he knew this was no ordinary dream. Things felt too real, too solid. He was in a cavern of some sort, he could feel rough stone against his bare back. His hands were chained high above his head, attached to the wall above his head by a metal rod. His shoulders ached and he struggled fruitlessly to get free.

It was so cold in the cave that his breath was nothing more than a mist of silver. Shivering, teeth chattering, he glanced down at his body and discovered to his horror that he was completely naked. Vulnerable. This was not going to be a good dream. He tried to will himself awake, visualising his warm bed at the burrow, but nothing happened. The cavern refused to dissolve. Maybe if he had his wand…

“Looking for this, Potter?” hissed an unseen voice. Unseen, but not unknown. Harry couldn’t tell from which direction it was coming from, so he stared in all the directions he could reach.

A soft mist appeared almost directly in front of him, growing more solid by the moment. Voldemort stood before him, a wizened old man with gnarled knuckles holding firm to Harry’s wand. Red eyes glared at Harry and Voldemort licked lips which were dry and peeling. Harry could hardly bear to look at the disgusting creature in front of him.

“It’s just a dream,” Harry said to himself. “My wand’s still in Privet Drive.”

Voldemort cackled. “Is that what you think, boy?” hissed Voldemort. “Silly Muggles. Your uncle didn’t do as well as I’d hoped, Potter. It’s always a little risky controlling Muggles from such a distance. The Imperius is imprecise, but oh so beautiful, don’t you find?”

Harry gaped at him. “It was you! You made my uncle do those - do those things to me?”

“Of course, you don’t think he’d have thought of it on his own?”

“But the wards! The protection! You can’t hurt me there! The bond of blood!”

“Tut, tut, my boy. When will you ever learn? That protection left you as soon as we shared blood. That night in the graveyard, I have your blood in me now, remember?”

Oh, Harry remembered it all right. He remembered Cedric lying lifeless on the grass. He remembered the betrayer, Wormtail cutting him. He remembered blood and pain and a host of other things besides and none of them pleasant.

“Unfortunately, Harry, your blood is not enough. I have a body now, yes, as you see, but the body of an old man is no use to me. I need more than your blood. I need your life-force Harry, such a simple thing your uncle was to bring me. Surely a sample of your essence shouldn’t have been that hard to come by?”

“My - my - essence?” asked Harry blankly.

“Yes, Potter. Your life-force, your essence. Without it I will remain in this frail body and my plans will be thwarted before they’ve even begun. I need to be young again. Strong again.”

“You need more blood?” Harry wasn’t sure he could face another bloodletting watched by this - this vile creature. He still found it hard to think of Voldemort as a man.

“Oh, no, Potter. I have enough of your blood in my veins for my purposes. I need something else from you now.”

Harry stared at him, realisation dawning as to what exactly Voldemort wanted from him.

“NO!”

“Oh, yes dear boy. I need your seed.”

“NO! I won’t let you do this!” Harry struggled against the chains holding him once more but he only succeeded in chafing his wrists and hurting his shoulders.

“Dear boy,” said Voldemort, tilting Harry’s chin up and cupping it in his hands, an awful parody of a lover. “Whatever gave you the impression you had a choice?”

“NOOOO!!!” shrieked Harry and woke himself up. The blankets were a sweaty tangle around his legs and he kicked frantically trying to free himself. His scar was a burning brand on his forehead and any minute now he thought he might be sick. Just a dream he tried to tell himself as his heartbeat calmed. Just a dream, despite feeling so real.

“Harry? You all right?” yawned Ron, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Yeah, just a nightmare,” said Harry as he flung the blankets aside and tried to get out of bed. He was stopped by Ron’s shout of alarm.

“Harry! Are those bruises?” gasped Ron. At first Harry was confused. He had slept in a t-shirt, there was no way Ron could have seen the bruises on his back and shoulders.

“Your wrists, Harry! Look at your wrists!” Feeling sick and faint all at once, Harry obeyed. His wrists were red raw, marred with purple and yellow swellings. Almost as if he’d struggled against chains or manacles.

It was impossible.

It was only a dream.

Wasn’t it?

Harry stared hard at his hands, as if by staring long enough the answer would reveal itself. Was it real? The dream was real? That Voldemort could get to him in his dreams? Harry found himself hoping that he would never have to go to sleep again.

“Ron?” there came a tentative knock on the door after Molly Weasley had spoken. “Harry? Are you awake dear? Professor Snape is here to see you.”

“So soon?” Harry saw Ron’s eyes widen in surprise when he realised that Harry had been expecting Snape.

“You knew he was coming? What does he want to see you for?”

“I’m not sure,” said Harry. “Probably something to do with my Occlumency lessons.” Why had Snape arrived so early? Harry hadn’t expected to see him until just before the - wedding - marriage - ceremony. What was it called when two wizards married anyway? He had no idea why Snape was really here but he guessed it probably wouldn’t be anything good.

Molly Weasley entered the room without further knocking, obviously thinking that one warning was enough. “Ron, your father is taking you and Ginny to Diagon Alley to get your school supplies. I’ve made a list, so you can get Harry’s as well.”

Ron stared at his mother, then Harry, then back again. “Isn’t Harry coming too?”

“No, Harry isn’t well and he has to see Professor Snape.”

“Why?” demanded Ron. “Why is Snape interested in Harry all of a sudden?”

“Professor Snape,” admonished his mother. “And it is none of your business, Ronald Weasley! Now hurry and get dressed! Your father is waiting and your breakfast is getting cold!”

“Okay, okay,” mumbled Ron, lurching from his bed to the wardrobe.

“Harry, dear,” said Molly. “Why don’t you go and have a shower before breakfast? And after that - and after that you can see Professor Snape?” Molly was misty-eyed as though she was about to cry.

“Er, thank you, Mrs. Weasley. I’d like that.” Harry wondered if she was deliberately giving him some time to prepare before he had to face Snape. He liked to think she was.

Twenty minutes later, feeling refreshed after the hot shower, Harry towelled his hair dry and glanced in despair at the clothes he’d worn the day before. Even just looking at them brought the events of the past twenty four hours flooding back and he was afraid his knees might buckle.

There was nothing else for it. He was going to have to wear them, the rest of his clothes were still stuck in Privet Drive. He was going to have to wear the torn shirt and jeans that to Harry’s mind, still smelled of Vernon. Just as he was about to pull on the shirt, it and the jeans vanished from sight. They were replaced a few seconds later by a pair of black dress trousers, a crisp white shirt and a plain black robe. A note settled on top of the new pile of clothes.

“Harry dear, thought these might be more comfortable for you.”

How had she known? Had Molly Weasley somehow guessed what had happened between himself and Vernon? Wiping his face with the back of his hands, he grabbed his glasses from the nightstand before donning the new outfit.

Everything fitted perfectly, even the robe. Most of Harry’s other school robes had all been a bit long, and he’d hemmed them with magic. This one was just right. The sleeves draped just slightly past his wrists, hiding the bruises. He wondered why he didn’t want anyone to know what had happened, but he couldn’t dwell on it.

He had to go and face Snape.

After a brief breakfast of tea and toast (which Harry only ate because Molly stared at him the whole time to make sure he ate something), Harry was ushered into a room which had to be the parlour. Harry had never been in it before and it had an unused air about it, as though the Weasleys never used it that much either.

Two straight backed brown leather sofas sat at either end of a large brick fireplace. Early morning sunshine cast shadows on the floor, dust motes swirling in an unseen breeze. Standing to one side of the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, stood Professor Severus Snape. His gaze narrowed at Harry and Molly quickly left the two of them alone.

“Potter,” he snarled once she was out of earshot. “I suppose the Headmaster has told you all about this idiotic plan of his?”

“Idiotic?” repeated Harry and gulped. Oh, dear. He hadn’t thought of this. He’d agreed to marry Snape, but hadn’t wondered what might happen if Snape didn’t want to marry him.

“So - so you don’t want to go through with it?” asked Harry.

“Oh, do be quiet, Potter! It constantly amazes me the rubbish that comes out of your mouth. Of course I’m going through with it. The Headmaster has reminded me that I have certain - obligations.” Snape paused and stared at Harry, his eyes like coals, raking his gaze over the younger wizard in front of him. “At least your dress sense has improved somewhat.”

Harry returned the stare, willing himself not to look away. This man no longer scared him (much). The Potions Master was dressed in his usual garb of black trousers, white shirt and billowing black robe. Harry hadn’t at first noticed, he was so used to seeing similar outfits on the teacher. He was only now taking notice because the fact was that they were both dressed almost identically. Harry’s outfit was smaller, of course, as Snape was quite a few inches taller than him. Had Molly chosen the outfit deliberately, having seen what Snape was wearing?

“Now, Potter, since we are to go through with this charade, I have a few ground rules. Do you have any objections?”

“No.”

“Good. First of all, I am doing this for Dumbledore, not you. It is a marriage of convenience, as I hear the Muggles call it. There is to be no lovey dovey talk or declarations of undying love, is that clear?”

“Y-yes sir,” stammered Harry, wondering when he would ever have the nerve to say anything of a lovey dovey nature to Snape!

“Second, you will continue to call me Professor or Sir, but under no circumstances are you to call me by my given name.”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry, more confident now. Basically, just because they were getting married, didn’t mean that things would change. Snape would still treat him like dirt and Harry could do nothing about it. Nothing new there, then.

“Third, no-one, I repeat, no-one besides those who know already must hear of this marriage. Fourth, you will be treated exactly the same as any other student of mine-”

Harry opened his mouth to protest that Snape had never treated Harry like any other student, but on seeing Snape’s glare he quickly closed his mouth again without speaking.

“Fifth, the Headmaster feels you ought to begin your Occlumency lessons again and has roped me into tutoring you. Believe me it was not my choice, Potter. You are never, never to look into my pensieve ever again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” said Harry, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry about the pensieve.”

“Sorry, are you Potter? Sorry that you invaded my privacy? Sorry that you violated my mind? Do you think an apology is all it takes? That I’ll suddenly forgive you? What you did was shameful and I will never forgive you for it! Never!” Snape slammed his fist down so hard on the mantelpiece that Harry was surprised the wood didn’t splinter into pieces.

His stomach was a bundle of knotted nerves. He’d known it was wrong to look, but curiosity got the better of him. He wished he could somehow take back what he’d seen, or that he’d never looked in the first place. The scenes he’d seen were so private that it was no wonder Snape was mad at him. Harry deserved it. Snape was still so angry about it, but was still willing to marry Harry to save him from Voldemort? It didn’t make any sense, but then things in Harry Potter’s life rarely did.

“Those are my terms, Mr. Potter. Do you accept?” Snape’s voice was calmer now, but he held his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Harry wondered at the man’s control.

“Yes, Professor,” said Harry quietly.

“Good. Professor Dumbledore will be here tonight to perform the ceremony. Bring your wand.” Snape swirled his robes about him as he was leaving.

“But, sir, my wand is still at Privet Drive. It’s locked in a cupboard.” He didn’t add that he used to be locked in the same cupboard for ten years.

“Potter, don’t lie to me! Molly Weasley told me you’d used magic to prevent your uncle - from damaging you.”

“I did use magic,” agreed Harry. “But without my wand.”

Snape stared at him, making Harry feel like he was a specimen in one of Snape’s jars. “And have you used wandless magic before, Potter?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, well. Isn’t this a turn up for the books? It seems the famous Harry Potter isn’t content with being the saviour of the wizarding world, he has to be even more than that. Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You’re a wilder.”

“A wilder sir? What’s that?”

“As the name implies, Potter, a wilder is a witch or wizard who has no need of a wand when they perform magic. Sometimes they don’t even need charms or spells; their will can be strength enough. However, wild magic is uncontrolled and very dangerous for both the wizard and anyone else who happens to be in the vicinity when he casts a spell. It is very rare, but not unheard of. Professor Dumbledore will no doubt want to be informed of it,” Snape sat down on one of the sofas. He didn’t look as if he was going to be leaving anytime soon. “Close your mouth, Potter. I have no desire to see what you consumed for breakfast.”

Harry closed his mouth with a click as his teeth clashed together and he winced at the sudden pain.

“Well?” continued Snape. “I’m waiting for whatever inane question is going to pop out of that mouth of yours. I presume you have questions?”

Oh, Harry had questions all right, he just didn’t know which one to ask first.

“Were - were my parents wilders?” he asked and shrank back when he saw Snape’s shoulders tense.

“No,” said Snape softly. “And before you ask, neither was Tom Riddle. It was just something you were born with. You didn’t get this gift the same night you got your scar.”

Harry didn’t say anything for a while, just glared at the floor. He felt as if his whole world had shifted on its axis and was still spinning. His stomach was tying itself in knots and one side of his head felt as though a blacksmith was using it as an anvil. A wave of nausea engulfed him and he swayed a little on his feet. The room was growing darker and there was a mad rushing in his ears. Starlight bloomed behind his eyelids as the ground rushed up to meet him.

“Are you all right?” The voice sounded distant, as though he was hearing it through a tunnel. Harry opened his eyes but snapped them shut again when fierce sunlight pierced his pupils. “Sorry,” said the unknown voice and Harry heard retreating footsteps and a swish as the curtains were drawn. His fainting fit had done nothing to ease the pain in his head and he groaned in agony, clawing at his head as though he could perhaps tear the pain away by sheer will alone.

“Here, drink this,” said the voice. Harry opened his eyes, thankfully to a now dim room. The light had hurt his eyes and his head, like lances going through his skull. A large glass of clear liquid was held in front of his face by a large slender fingered hand. Snape’s hand.

Harry sat up and tried to scramble away from the Potions Master, but the movement only made the pain in his head worse. “You’re trying to poison me!” gasped Harry, thinking through the pain that it was true. His head felt as though it was trapped in a vice and someone was squeezing and squeezing until he felt barely conscious.

“You have a migraine, Potter. Since I occasionally suffer them myself, I know which potion is most effective. I am not trying to poison you. Look,” Snape commanded and Harry found himself obeying. Snape tilted his head back and took a few swallows of the liquid. Harry watched the man’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he drank.

“I don’t get migraines,” whispered Harry, not quite willing to believe that the Potions Master wasn’t trying to do something to him.

“It’s probably brought on by stress,” said Snape and proffered the glass again. This time Harry took it. “It will help, really.”

Harry brought the glass to his lips and sipped tentatively. His head probably wanted him to consume the lot in one quick gulp, but Harry was still a little wary. When nothing untoward happened, no burning in his throat or anything, he risked a bit more. He downed the rest until the glass was empty. Snape frowned at him.

A few moments later, everything felt strangely lighter, as if he could float away on a cloud. He giggled. Everything seemed very funny to him right then. And the pain. The pain was gone. He giggled again. “I’m going to marry you,” he smiled at the man, feeling nothing but love for the man who had made all the pain go away. “It’s going to be great!” He laughed and clapped his hands like a five year old at his first party. Snape rolled his eyes, something Harry found so hilarious that the laughed himself off the couch, tears of mirth staining his cheeks. He banged his left elbow and groaned.

“Ow!” he complained and held out his injured limb to Snape. “Aren’t you going to kiss it better?”

“Potter!” spluttered Snape. “You took too much potion! You weren’t supposed to drink the whole glass!” Snape leant down and for a wonderful moment, Harry thought that Snape was going to kiss him. But no, Snape deliberately kept his head turned away from Harry and Harry pouted. How was he supposed to get a kiss like that? He felt strong arms around his waist and he was hauled bodily to his feet. “Let’s get you back on the couch,” said Snape in what to Harry sounded like a sexy invitation.

“Oh, yes!” purred Harry and protested no further as Snape set him down and put a blanket over him.

“Sleep it off, Potter. I will see you tonight.”

“I’m not sleepy,” mumbled Harry, although his eyelids did feel kind of heavy. Maybe a little sleep wouldn’t hurt. Then he’d have more energy to - to - to do something with Snape. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with Snape, but knew that kisses would probably be involved somewhere. Lots of kisses. He sighed and snuggled deeper under the blanket. He wondered why he’d never thought of it before.

Severus Snape seemed an very kissable man.


TBC

Chapter 5: Shattered Souls
Chapter 5

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was about to become the Boy Who Got Married to Snape. It still seemed so unreal, like some strange dream he couldn’t wake up from.

There were five people in the Weasley parlour and the door was warded against any interruptions. Ron was eager to find out why his parents and Harry were being so secretive, but none of them could tell him. Molly and Arthur would be the two required witnesses, for although the marriage was to remain a secret to the wizarding world at large, the wedding had to be witnessed to give Harry the maximum magical and legal protection. Snape looked sullen, as though this was an unwelcome chore. Harry supposed that it was. Dumbledore smiled at him and asked if he was ready.

How could he ever be ready for this? Harry had always thought of Snape as an island. An island full of jagged rocks and surrounded by shark infested waters. He was now expected to navigate those waters without a raft or a paddle. He was going to drown. How could he do this? How could they expect him to do this?

Harry was shaking with nerves. He was about to get married. He was about to get married to Snape. Surely there was another way? “I- I - I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this.” Harry tried to bolt from the room, but the wards wouldn’t move until the ceremony was completed. There was no way out. He pounded on the door with his fist and tried not to sob. “Please. Let me out. I can’t do this.”

Behind him he heard Snape laughing, a bitter sound that sent shivers down his spine. Harry didn’t even bother to glance back, just stared at the grain on the door hoping that if he just stared long enough the door would somehow open.

“Where’s that famous Gryffindor courage now, Potter?” sneered Snape.

Harry felt trapped, just like he’d always felt trapped ever since Voldemort had marked him. The prophecy hinted that Harry had to kill Voldemort or he would die himself. At that moment, Harry wasn’t sure which idea was more preferable.

“Harry, you have to do this,” said Dumbledore softly. “It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

Harry whirled round and glowered at them all. “Don’t any of you understand? I’ll never be safe! Not from Voldemort! Not from my uncle and not from him!” Harry glared at Snape who glared back with equal fury. Neither would back down. It became a silent battle of wills and they each wanted to be the victor.

“Enough!” roared Dumbledore. Harry and Snape both blinked at the same time and Harry wondered if the command had been magic. “Severus, please assure Harry that you have no designs on him in that way. For that is what you are worried about, isn’t it Harry?”

Harry flushed to the roots of his hair. “Yes, sir. I just don’t want anything like that to happen…” He left out the ‘again’ which had been on the tip of his tongue. No-one needed to know about that. Ever.

If Harry thought Snape’s glare had been cold before, it was positively glacial now.

“Potter, you are a child! Rest assured Mr. Potter that my interest in this marriage is to keep you alive long enough to face your destiny and that you are educated to the best of my abilities. I have no designs on your body,” sneered Snape and Harry let out a sigh of relief. Snape hated him and he hated Snape. They were on firm ground here. Things would go on as normal.

Yeah, right, said the little voice in his head. You thought the man was kissable a few hours ago! Harry chose to ignore the voice, but that was little protection against the blush he could feel staining his cheeks. “Thank you,” said Harry. Snape didn’t reply.

“Right then, everything settled?” asked Dumbledore, but he didn’t seem to be expecting an answer. “Harry, please stand opposite Professor Snape and we will begin.”

Harry struggled to obey. His feet felt like lead in his shoes. When he reached the required position, he couldn’t look at Snape. Couldn’t bear to see those obsidian eyes boring into him. Dumbledore began speaking the words of the ritual and Harry had to concentrate to hear.

“Do you both stand before me of your own free will and free from any impediment that might prevent this joining?” There was a long pause before both of them answered yes at the same time.

“Severus Snape, do you take unto yourself Harry Potter, to be yours in this world and all others? Do you claim him and only him? Do you accept his magic, his past and his future?”

“I do.”

Dumbledore turned to Harry, his face a blank mask as he intoned the ritual words. “Do you Harry Potter, take unto yourself Severus Snape to be yours in this world and all others? Do you claim him and only him? Do you accept his magic, his past and his future?”

“I do,” said Harry and was just about to heave a sigh of relief when Dumbledore spoke again. “Do you have the knife and rope, Arthur?”

“Yes, Professor,” said Arthur, handing the items to Dumbledore. Harry’s breath hitched as he remembered another night, another rope and another knife.

“Relax, Potter,” hissed Snape. “It’s just part of the binding ritual.” Snape noticed he was scared? Noticed and tried to ease him? Harry tried to relax, thinking that Dumbledore had never done anything to hurt him. At least not intentionally anyway.

Dumbledore reached the two of them and held the knife out to Harry. It was a small silver dagger, very light, with a ruby on the hilt. “Make a small cut in the palm of my left hand,” said Snape. “And then I do the same to you.”

The gesture sounded terribly intimate and Harry was reluctant. They were to cut each other? The idea held little appeal, but this was a wizard ritual and from what reading Harry had done, he knew that most rituals had an element of blood or sacrifice to them.

Swallowing nervously, Harry grasped Snape left hand with his, holding the dagger in his right. Both of his hands were trembling. Snape’s hand was as steady as a rock. Harry drew the dagger across Snape’s skin and watched fascinated as a thin red line followed in its wake. Snape was silent the whole time.

When Snape reached out his right hand for the knife, Harry gave it to him without further thought. He realized that he wanted to be cut. He wanted the intimate touch of the blade on his skin, wanted Snape to mark him. Wanted to be marked as Snape’s as he had marked Snape as his.

Snape took Harry’s left hand in his right and without warning, drew the blade across the palm of his hand. The blade was sharp and it took a few moments for the stinging sensation to penetrate. He gasped as he watched the blood. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so painful or - or - arousing. He hoped his robes were enough to hide that fact. He wondered if Snape had felt the same but he didn’t dare look.

Dumbledore was beside them again and used the rope to bind Harry’s left hand to Snape’s, so that their blood intermingled. Harry’s hand throbbed where it came into contact with Snape’s, but most especially in the cut. Dimly he could hear Dumbledore chanting.

“By blood you are both bound. Only by blood can you can be unbound.” The throbbing in Harry’s hand increased tenfold, as did the throbbing of his cock, as if the two were connected somehow. The pain was spreading like an ache up his arm but he couldn’t pull away because of the ropes that bound them together. He stared at their joined hands unable to tear his eyes away.

Their hands were glowing, there was no other word for it. Their joined hands were glowing, flashes of blue and gold dancing around the tips of their fingers. Harry’s whole body began to tingle. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, could feel every beat of his heart, could feel every breath of air as it entered his lungs. He’d never felt so alive before, so conscious of what it meant to be alive. He felt complete. Whole. That a part he didn’t know he was missing was suddenly found. He could feel it throughout his whole body. The protection. The care. He would be safe. He knew it now.

“Damn it, Albus!” snapped Snape and the flickering lights on their hands vanished as did the wonderful sense of safety. Harry blinked and glanced around the room. The sun was just beginning to set and the Weasleys looked exhausted. Harry blinked and glanced around the room. How long had he and Snape been in that daze? Dumbledore chuckled and bent to untie their bonds. The cuts had healed, but a thin silvery scar remained. Harry rubbed at it in wonder. He still felt a little groggy, but at least the arousal had dissipated.

“Damn it Albus!” said Snape again, pouncing on the Headmaster. “You didn’t tell us it was going to be the full binding ritual! A marriage of convenience, you said!”

“And so it is, Severus,” smiled Dumbledore. “This changes nothing.”

“It changes nothing. No, except for the fact that neither Harry nor myself can…” Snape trailed off on seeing Dumbledore’s warning look. Harry wondered what they were trying to hide from him but he was a little too tired to care.

“You know what to do to complete the ritual?”

“Of course,” muttered Snape. “I just didn’t know we were going to do it.”

“Well, then. It seems congratulations are in order,” Dumbledore squeezed Harry on the shoulder and patting Snape on the back.

“Come along, Potter,” said Snape angrily.

“Where?”

“Hogwarts, you fool,” snarled Snape. “I’m now officially your guardian and you will be staying with me until term starts. Hogwarts will be your home from now on.”

Harry couldn’t stop the smile. He had always thought of Hogwarts as his home, but now that he was married to Snape, it was official. He grinned even wider and went to join Snape by the fireplace.

He was going home.


TBC

Chapter 6: Shattered Souls
Chapter 6


If Harry had given his wedding night any thought at all in the past sixteen years, never would he have imagined that he would be spending it in the dungeons of Hogwarts with Snape. Married to Snape. That thought would never even have occurred to him.

“You’ll stay here until term starts, Mr. Potter,” said Snape, removing his cloak and hanging it up on a hook by the door. Harry did the same. “Would you like something to eat? To drink?”

Harry shook his head. He didn’t feel hungry at all, just a little hollow.

“You should drink something. The binding spell, the sharing of magic can sometimes dehydrate you.”

“Um. Okay. Thanks.” Harry’s voice was barely more than a squeak. Why was he being so nervous? Hadn’t Dumbledore and Snape both told him that there would be nothing like that here? But Harry was on uncommon ground here. It appeared that Snape was worried about him, concerned after the ritual and was determined to look after him.

“Sit down then,” snapped Snape, back to his old self and Harry almost smiled. This Snape he was used to. “These are your rooms now too. At least until term starts.”

Harry sat down on the green leather sofa, feeling the buttons dig into his back and he shifted trying to get comfortable. Snape quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why are you wriggling like an eel, Potter?”

“The buttons were hurting my back. The bruises,” he flushed as he said it.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” said Snape before disappearing through one of the three other doors which lined the space. Harry took the opportunity to glance around the room. From the lack of frills compared to his Aunt Petunia’s decorating, he could tell that it was a man’s room and no woman had ever been in this space. There were no ornaments or other bric-a-brac scattered about. Besides the furniture and a few wall torches, there were only two personal items in the room. Two sliver framed photographs sat on the mantelpiece.

Harry could make them out even from his seated position on the sofa. One was a very young Snape, about four or five years old. He was smiling and waving at someone who was taking the picture. Harry wondered who it was? His mother or father perhaps? The other photo was a formal school portrait, a teenaged Severus Snape perched uncomfortably on a stool in front of a green and silver Slytherin banner. He was scowling. What was it that had turned a happy four year old into the sullen man he was today? Were all four year olds happy? Before they knew what the world was really like?

To outsiders, Harry guessed that it must have seemed like he had a terrible childhood. Parents murdered, an orphan sent to live with relatives who hated and mistreated him. Starved, beaten, locked in a cupboard, almost… but he wouldn’t think of that. Not anymore. He would never have to go back there. He was safe. He was safe. He was safe…

“HARRY!” the voice boomed in his ear. Harry blinked and looked up. He was lying prone on the sofa and looking once again into the eyes of Severus Snape. Snape was hovering over him with a large glass of water in one hand and a jar of something in the other.

“Did I fall asleep?” asked Harry, confused. He didn’t even remember lying down.

“No, your eyes were open, but you couldn’t hear me. You’ve been out of it for more than half an hour. I thought I might have to take you to the infirmary. Drink this,” Snape handed him the glass of water. Harry took it gratefully and couldn’t stop the sigh of contentment when he’d drained the glass. The water was a cool relief to his throat.

“Have you had these blackouts before?”

“No, I don’t think so. What’s that?” Harry indicated the jar in Snape’s other hand.

“Salve, for your bruises. Molly should have told me you needed tending.”

“Why are you so interested?” demanded Harry, stalling for time. He did not want Snape to see the abused state he was in. He didn’t think he could bear to be pitied by the Potions Master.

“It is my job to look after you, Potter. This arrangement means that I am now your guardian.”

“Look after me? You make me sound like a child.”

“Until you are seventeen, Mr. Potter, in the eyes of the wizarding world you are a child. Until that delightful milestone, your welfare is my concern. All of your welfare. I will be watching you like a hawk and if you break any school rules, Potter, I will decide the punishment. Not the Headmaster, not the other teachers. You will answer only to me for any infractions.”

“That’s not fair!” protested Harry, wondering what dreadful punishments Snape would come up with, just because he could. Harry would have to be on his best behaviour if he didn’t want to end up spending the next school year in detention or worse.

“No-one ever said life is fair, Mr. Potter. Something you’d best get used to. Now take off your shirt and turn over.”

“Shirt?”

“I may be a wizard, Potter, but even I can’t put salve on your bruises unless you remove the aforesaid garment.”

“Oh - okay, can you turn around, please?” gasped Harry, realising that there was no way this could be avoided. He wouldn’t be able to put the salve on his back by himself.

“Shy, Potter?” smirked Snape, but he turned away so that Harry could remove his shirt in relative privacy. Once he took it off, he folded it and set it on the floor by the sofa before turning over and resting his head on his arms. His feet touched the other end of the sofa and he wished he’d had the foresight to remove his shoes He didn’t want to get mud all over Snape’s furniture. “You can look now,” said Harry.

He was aware when Snape did from the hairs standing to attention on the back of his neck. It was not quite the same to how he felt when he knew Vernon was staring, this was more - intense. As if Snape saw Harry as a puzzle he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

Harry cried out and arched off the sofa as the first salve covered finger traced a pattern on his back. “Did that hurt?” Snape stilled his fingers.

“No. Just cold.”

Snape mumbled a warming spell and continued rubbing the salve into Harry’s skin. The random patterns he made were soothing, the salve itself tingling as Snape rubbed it into the bruises. Harry felt as if all the tension he’d been under for the past few days was flowing out of him, even as the salve was being absorbed by his skin. Snape was making it all go away. He was drowsy and content and almost asleep when Snape said briskly, “There. Done. You can put your shirt back on.”

Harry found himself reluctant to get up from the languid state he found himself in, but he obeyed anyway and pulled his shirt back on. As he was doing up the buttons, he happened to glance at Snape who was trying to put the lid back on the jar. His hands were shaking and he wouldn’t meet Harry’s eye.

“What has Dumbledore told you concerning this marriage?” asked Snape. “Had he mentioned anything about the binding ritual at all?”

“No, just that you’re now my guardian and I don’t have to go back to the Dursleys’.”

“Typical of our dear Headmaster, to tell you only half of a thing. Harry, as you probably gathered, Dumbledore performed the full binding ritual, which binds two wizards together. Do you know what that means?”

“No, not really,” admitted Harry, surprised at hearing his given name coming from Snape’s mouth. Since when had he become Harry rather than Potter?

“It means that we are bound only to each other. We will have to spend time together, eventually we may even be able to feel each other’s emotions and thoughts, even talk to each other without words. But the first thing we must do is complete the binding. The ceremony was only part of it. In order for the binding to be completed, we have to spend this first night, our wedding night, in the same bed.”

“NO!” Harry shook as he stood up and backed up towards the wall. “You promised! You both promised that we wouldn’t have to do that! I won’t let you touch me like that! You can’t make me!” Harry sobbed and sank to the floor, hugging his knees tight against his chest, the terror that his uncle had wrought in him coming back a hundred fold. He wanted to curl up in a small ball somewhere so that there was less of him to hurt. “Please don’t,” he whispered to his knees.

Harry heard the rustle of cloth as Snape knelt down on the floor in front of him. He reached out and tilted Harry’s chin up. Harry tried not to flinch. He was so unused to being touched with anything other than an angry fist. Snape looked sad. Not angry or disappointed. “Harry,” Snape stroked along Harry’s jaw and Harry keened. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Harry burrowed his face against the chest of the man in front of him and just bawled. He couldn’t help it. Snape’s touch had been like a dam bursting inside his chest and he just had to let it out, let everything out. Voldemort, his uncle, Sirius dying, his terror that he could die too at any moment. Snape’s arms went around him and rocked Harry gently against his chest. “Ssh, Harry. It’s all right. It’s all right,” soothed Snape over and over again. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”

Harry cried until he felt drained and sore, his hands were clenched in Snape’s shirt and he found that he couldn’t let go. His knuckles just refused to move. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against Snape’s shirt, although for what he wasn’t sure. Snape tugged Harry closer, so that Harry was lying in Snape’s lap and could rest his head on Snape’s shoulder. He clung to the man like a shipwreck survivor would cling to a floating log. His body still shuddered with the after effects of his sobbing.

“Harry,” began Snape, rubbing a soothing circle on Harry’s lower back. “How did you get those bruises?”

“You don’t know?” whispered Harry. His throat was hoarse.

“No, Harry. No-one told me you were injured.”

“My uncle,” said Harry.

“And did your uncle do - other things?” Harry could feel the anger coming off the other man. Snape would be angry with him, for what he’d let Vernon do.

“Please. Don’t ask me.”

“Very well, Harry. But if at any time you feel you want to talk, please know that I am willing to listen.”

Harry almost cried again at that but held off. It was nice to be held in someone’s arms, a sensation that he was not used to at all. He’d never been offered comfort before. It didn’t make much sense to Harry, why was Snape concerned for him? Did he take his duties as Harry’s guardian that seriously? They both sat silently for a while, Harry resting his head on Snape’s shoulder and Snape rubbing his back.

“Harry, about the binding…” Harry tensed and almost tried to move, to get away. “I didn’t explain myself very clearly. We only need to share the same bed to sleep in, nothing else needs to happen. We have to take a potion so that we share the same dreams on our wedding night to complete the binding spell. That’s all. It has nothing to do with sex, I assure you.” Snape stopped rubbing his back and just held him. Harry was quiet for a little while longer.

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” he said finally.

“And I’m sorry I scared you. That was not my intention.” Snape stood up, but Harry was still on his lap and Harry found himself in the strange position of being cradled in someone’s arms like he’d never been since he was a baby. Snape set him down on the floor and looked at him. “Harry, your things are in the bedroom. Why don’t you go and get ready for bed and I will join you shortly?”

“Er, okay,” said Harry, a strange squirmy feeling in his stomach whenever Snape looked at him like that. “Sir, the other teachers?”

“Have been informed that I am your guardian, but not that we are married. That is how things are to remain.”

“Yes sir,” Harry turned away from him, swaying slightly. He was a bit light headed. “The bedroom?” he mumbled, realising he didn’t know where it was.

“Second door on the left,” said Snape and Harry turned back round. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw the ghost of a smile playing on the Potions Master’s lips. Harry nodded and made his way to the bedroom.

A large oak four poster graced the centre of the room, hung with silver and black drapes. The coverlet was green silk with an embroidered silver snake along one side of it. Slytherin colours. Harry was to spend the night sleeping under Slytherin colours. He laughed, but he didn’t feel at all mirthful. Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes free from the tears he had shed in Snape’s living room. In Snape’s arms. He could hardly believe he had done that. He could hardly believe that Snape let him and didn’t tease him about it.

A very familiar owl hooted nearby and Harry replaced his glasses. “Hedwig!” he dashed over to the alcove in the wall where Hedwig was perched, ruffling her feathers. Food and water were laid out for her, but not a cage in sight. The alcove was almost like a little house for her. Had Snape done this? Made this little home for Hedwig? Harry felt the tears threaten again but held back. He’d done enough crying for one night. Hedwig hooted again and arched her neck towards Harry, ready to be petted. Harry was only happy to oblige, before spying his trunk at the bottom of the bed.

He opened it and the first thing he saw was his wand. So Voldemort hadn’t taken it, but what about the dream? Had it been only a dream? How did he get the bruises on his wrists then? Harry stared at them again, Snape had never mentioned those when he’d been putting the salve on Harry’s back. Maybe he thought those were also a gift from Harry’s uncle. Harry replaced his wand and rummaged through his meagre outfits trying to find something suitable to wear to bed.

His relatives had stopped buying him pyjamas in fourth year, giving him Dudley’s old hand-me-downs which were far too large for Harry. But even they weren’t in his trunk. He found a t-shirt and decided to wear that with his boxer shorts (he’d bought his underwear himself after Petunia refused to buy him anymore) and hoped they would be modest enough.

There was a door which led to an ensuite bathroom, so Harry went in there to change, not wanting Snape to come in and catch him. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise when he saw his toothbrush and toothpaste sitting on the sink. He brushed his teeth and used the toilet before going back to the bedroom and climbing onto the large bed.

A few moments later, Snape entered, as though he knew exactly when Harry would be ready. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if that was true. Snape glanced at Harry, then took a pair of black silk pyjamas which had been sitting on a chair and went to the bathroom.

Harry lay on the bed as stiff as a board as he listened to someone else in there. It seemed strange to be waiting on someone else to share the same bed with him. His heartbeat felt like a drum in his chest and he could feel himself start to sweat despite the coolness of the dungeons.

Snape emerged from the bathroom towelling his hair dry. He was dressed in the pyjama bottoms but had yet to button the top. Harry tried not to stare, he really did, but his eyes seemed to be drawn of their own accord to the man’s chest. The voluminous robes had been hiding the body of an athlete. Muscles rippled as Snape dried his hair and Harry was fascinated by the small hairs spattering Snape’s chest. A few rivulets of water trailed a path down that smooth expanse and disappeared beneath the pyjama bottoms. Harry swallowed and shifted on the bed, that strange squirmy feeling in his stomach again.

Snape looked at him and their eyes locked. Harry blushed and looked away. Could this day get any more embarrassing? “I’m sorry, sir,” he said quietly.

“For what?”

“For staring at you.”

“You’re sixteen and you’re curious. It doesn’t bother me,” said Snape. It would bother Harry though. He didn’t think he’d want anyone staring at him when he was naked (or half-naked as the case may be). “Happy birthday, Harry.”

“What?”

“It’s past midnight,” said Snape. “It’s your birthday.”

“Oh. I’d forgotten all about it in the excitement,” replied Harry.

“You thought it was exciting? Marrying me?”

“Yes, didn’t you feel the magic?” There was an odd pain in Harry’s chest at the thought that Snape hadn’t felt it at all, that perhaps it had all been in Harry’s imagination.

“I was doing this out of necessity, Potter and as a favour to Dumbledore. No other reason.”

“Oh,” said Harry in a small voice, worried that Snape was now calling him Potter again. It shouldn’t hurt this much, should it? To know that Snape had no feelings towards him besides responsibility? Snape left the room and came back with two small vials of potion. He handed one to Harry and kept one for himself. “We need to drink these and then tonight we will share the same dream. It will complete the binding spell and as long as you remain with me anywhere outside Hogwarts, you will be safe.”

Harry downed it in one gulp, wincing at the bitter taste. Snape downed his and then climbed into bed beside Harry. “Are you warm enough? Do you need another blanket?”

“No, thank you,” said Harry. If truth be told, he was rather too hot but didn’t want to mention it in case Snape suggested that he sleep without his t-shirt.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

“Nox,” said Snape and the room went dark.


TBC

Chapter 7: Shattered Souls
Chapter 7

Harry woke a few hours later from a dream he couldn’t remember, but the front of his boxers and the sheets above him were a sticky, damp mess. Great, just great. He groaned quietly trying not to wake Snape. Here he’d been, worried that he hadn’t had a wet dream yet and he had to have his first one in Snape’s bed. With Snape in it!

He tried to get out of bed without disturbing Snape, but rustling on the other side indicated that Snape was already awake. “Harry, what are you doing?”

“I - I didn’t mean to wake you but - um - I - um - I have to go clean up.”

“Clean up?” repeated Snape, pushing himself up on one elbow to stare at Harry.

“Yes,” Harry blushed, wondering how he was going to explain this without actually explaining it. He’d never discussed anything of this nature before and never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that he would have to talk to Snape about it. “I don’t remember the dream,” continued Harry. “But when I woke up - something had happened.”

“Scourgify,” said Snape and Harry felt his clothes and skin clean themselves, leaving him a little raw. Was it his imagination, or did Snape smile as he said the spell?

“Oh, one of those dreams. Must have been a good one,” Snape grinned at him. The man actually grinned. Harry wondered what other surprises he was going to be in for.

“I don’t know, sir,” admitted Harry. “This is the first time I’ve - er - had one like that.”

“Probably won’t be the last, though, will it? The joys of growing up. Don’t be embarrassed, Harry. It’s perfectly natural.” Snape lay back down. Harry sat up and hugged his knees. This conversation might go easier if he wasn’t looking at the man.

“Er, sir - does it bother you that you have to talk to me about this sort of thing? Would it bother you if I ask questions, you know, about sex and stuff?” Harry was sure his face must be the colour of a tomato by now. Hogwarts did not have a sex education class, as most wizarding families were very open about sex, but Harry’s relatives were not.

He’d received a leaflet from Madame Pomfrey in third year entitled, You and Your Body: What Young Witches and Wizards Need to Know, but it hadn’t been very enlightening, just a few hints that their bodies might be changing, but nothing at all on what they might want to use those bodies for.

“Wouldn’t you rather talk to one of your friends? Miss Granger perhaps? I’m sure she has read extensively on the subject,” Snape added dryly. Harry thought Snape was right, Hermione was bound to have read up on it, but he wanted to talk to someone who’d already been through it, not rely on books. Ron was probably subject to the same rumours as Harry himself was. He wanted facts, not rumours.

“I’d rather talk to someone older. More experienced.”

“You think me old, Potter?”

“I don’t mean it like that! I mean, you’re bound to know more than a teenager, aren’t you?”

“I suppose so. So is there anything in particular you wish to discuss?”

“No, I was just wondering if I could talk to you when the time comes.”

“All right, Mr. Potter. I will allow you to talk to me about any concerns you have regarding growing up or sex in general. But what I will not allow is for you to discuss anything I tell you in here with your friends. Anything discussed in these rooms stays here, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir.”

“Now try and go back to sleep. I think we still have a few hours before sunrise.”

Harry wondered how Snape knew that when there were no windows in the dungeons, but the thought was fleeting. As soon as he lay down on the pillow again, he fell fast asleep almost as if he’d been spelled into it.


TBC

Chapter 8: Shattered Souls
Chapter 8

After that first night, Snape transfigured the sofa in the living room into a bed for himself. Harry hated to admit it, but he had enjoyed the closeness of having someone else in the bed with him.

After a week of waking up from nightmares which featured either his uncle or Voldemort doing unspeakable things to him, Harry gave in and wandered out to the living room. He wanted to be held and comforted, but he wasn’t sure of the reception he would receive from the Potions Master if he woke him.

Harry gazed his fill of the sleeping form, for Snape would never allow such scrutiny if he was awake. Snape’s face was smoother in repose, all lines of worry eased as he relaxed. Harry wondered if the man could ever truly relax while he was awake. Harry wondered how Snape could do it, could go willingly and spy on Voldemort. Harry would be terrified that his thoughts would give him away.

Harry took one last look and then lay down on the floor, curling up in front of the fireplace like a kitten. Snape was breathing softly and Harry listened as he tried to still his too fast heart, the adrenaline from the nightmare still surging through his blood. Snape’s breath was almost like a lullaby to him. He had no more nightmares that night.

“Harry, why are you sleeping on the floor?”

Harry sat up and peered blurrily at the Potions Master. He’d left his glasses on the nightstand in Snape’s bedroom.

“I had a nightmare. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you are sleeping on the floor when there is a perfectly good bed in my bedroom.”

“I couldn’t get back to sleep in the bed.”

“Why not?”

“It - the bed scares me.” Harry flushed and looked away. He was hoping Snape would not ask that.

“Why does a bed scare you, Harry? Or is it the fact that it’s my bed? You think you’re too good to sleep in a Slytherin bed, is that it?” Snape stood up and glared down at Harry, his eyes glittering with anger.

“No! It’s not that! It’s just - in the nightmare - they had me tied to the bed, your bed, and they made you watch.” Harry stood up and headed back to the bedroom to get his glasses. He felt oddly naked without them. Snape followed him so silently that Harry almost bumped into him when he turned round.

“Harry, please you need to talk about what happened at your uncle’s. Maybe if you talk about it the nightmares will stop. This is about your uncle, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, wringing his hands. He wasn’t sure he could talk about it. Snape would be disgusted with him. He wouldn’t even want to remain married to Harry if he knew the things that Harry had let his uncle do to him.

“Harry?” prompted Snape softly and sat down on the bed. He patted the coverlet, a silent invitation for Harry to join him.

“I can’t tell you! I can’t tell anyone!”

“Harry, please. I only want to help. I think I can guess what happened, but you need to say it. You won’t get over this unless you can say it.”

“You’d never guess this! It’s disgusting! I hate him! I hate him!” Harry tried not to cry, his breath hitching with every word.

“Very well, Harry. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. Just remember that if you ever do want to talk about it, I’m willing to listen.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Madame Pomfrey needs some more potions for the stores, I wondered if you would like to assist me?”

“Me sir?”

“Do I see anyone else in this room?”

“No, sir. I’d like that.”

And so that’s how the rest of their holidays passed by. In the mornings Harry studied and in the afternoon he helped Snape prepare the less volatile potions. Harry enjoyed the easy silence between them as they worked. Unlike in class, if Harry ever made a mistake, Snape didn’t shout or scold, but patiently showed Harry where he was going wrong and watched until Harry got it right.

It seemed to Harry that there were two Snapes, the Potions Master who terrified and bullied everyone who wasn’t a Slytherin, and the calmer Severus Snape who Harry had come to know that summer.

The first of September was drawing ever nearer and Harry found to his surprise that he wasn’t looking forward to going back to the dormitories. The dungeons had become his home in these last few weeks and he did not want to leave. Gryffindor Tower had never seemed so unappealing.

They played chess together on Harry’s last night in the dungeons. Harry’s mind wasn’t in it and he lost three games in a row. They were playing ordinary chess, Snape refused Wizard’s Chess on the grounds that he saw too much violence in real life to have to watch it on a chess board.

“You’re very quiet tonight, Harry.” Snape moved one of his pawns and looked expectantly at Harry. Harry sighed. The rest of the students were returning tomorrow and this strange idyll between himself and Snape would be gone. He didn’t know if he could bear it.

“I don’t want to go,” he blurted out.

“Go where?”

“Back to Gryffindor Tower. I want to stay here with you.”

“Harry, I’m sorry, but that is impossible. You know this arrangement has to remain a secret for your protection. You can’t live in our rooms during term time. People will begin to suspect something.”

“I know, I know, but I’ll miss you.” Harry swallowed nervously. “Professor, since it’s our last night here, would you spend the night with me?”

“Harry, no!” Snape was looking at him with horror etched on his features. “I’m your guardian, Harry. You do not need to offer me your body in order to be sure of my protection. There are no strings attached.”

“Offer you my body?” Harry flushed, realising that the professor thought he was being propositioned. “I don’t mean that, sir. I mean just to sleep, like that first night.”

“I don’t know that it would be considered appropriate, Harry.”

“Please sir. Please,” said Harry.

***

It was the ‘please’ that did it. How could he refuse Harry when he begged so earnestly? Harry had hardly ever been give anything he wanted, but just this once couldn’t Snape relent and give Harry what he wanted?

He knew it wouldn’t exactly be like their first night together, for Snape had conveniently not told Harry the whole truth about that encounter. But Harry was looking at him now with such trust in his eyes that Snape wished he’d told the whole truth from the beginning.

“Do you truly wish me to spend the night in your bed, Harry?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. Since it is our last night down here together, I will allow it just this once.”

“Thank you sir,” said Harry and dashed into the bedroom to get ready for bed.

Snape sighed. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a conscience and at the moment it was very vocal on the reasons why he under no circumstances should be spending the night in the same bed as Harry Potter. For Snape was finding himself drawn more and more to the young man with deep green eyes.

He’d found himself making potion after potion, even when the infirmary stores were overflowing, just so that he could continue working with Harry. Unfortunately, spending so much time working in close proximity left him in an agony of frustration. Potions over, he had to resort to taking comfort in a long soak and the caresses of his hand. He’d never cared for cold showers. And now here he was considering sharing a bed with Harry. Madness. Utter madness.

Snape knew that Harry’s request had been totally innocent, but if he knew the thoughts which were going round the Potions Master’s head he would be horrified. Snape didn’t want to do anything which would hurt or scare Harry (despite what he allowed Voldemort to think) and he tried to calm himself down before he entered the bedroom

Due to the late summer heat, Harry had forgone his usual t-shirt. Snape could just about see the waistband of a pair of white boxers peeping out from beneath the sheet. Harry’s chest was hairless still, but Snape found his eyes drawn to it just the same. Cream pale with darker nipples, Snape was fascinated by the rapid rise and fall as Harry breathed. He was nervous.

Snape too wished he could sleep only in underwear, the heat was stifling, but decorum demanded that he at least tried to be respectable and he reached for one of his black nightshirts.

“It’s too hot sir,” said Harry. “You’ll be uncomfortable. I don’t mind if you don’t wear one tonight.”

God, did the boy have no idea what he could do with that voice? Was Potter flirting with him? No, the boy was too innocent for that. He probably was only worried for Snape’s comfort. Harry turned away to give him some privacy, Snape supposed and he had to stifle a groan.

Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on your point of view, in the act of turning over, the sheet which had hitherto draped Harry’s body had slipped. Snape was treated to the view of a very well muscled back, the knobs of the boy’s spine visible through his skin. Harry was still too thin but now that Snape was his guardian he intended to remedy that. Snape’s eyes were almost magnetically drawn to the curve of his lower back, modestly covered by the boxer shorts.

And then, oh dear God, Harry wriggled as he tried to get comfortable on the bed. Snape’s mouth was drier than the Sahara. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to embarrass himself by coming in his trousers. Snape gasped and headed to the bathroom. There was no way he could get into bed with Harry with his body in this state. It was time to give nature a helping hand and hoping that it would be enough to stave off his arousal for the rest of the night.

Once in the bathroom, Snape managed to catch a glance of himself in the mirror. His normally sallow skin was flushed red and his eyes seemed glazed. At he thought of Harry in his bed and that expanse of cream flesh his groin tightened even further. He knew it would take very little to set him off.

He unbuckled his trousers and stepped out of them, discarding his shirt as well but leaving on his undershorts. Snape caressed himself through the silk and groaned, imagined it was Harry’s inexperienced hand which touched him. Harry would be nervous, tentative, stroking softly at first, so that’s what Snape did. He felt little darts of pleasure throughout the whole of his body and he felt the pressure build. He needed to come and was no longer in the mood for teasing himself.

Snape reached in and circled the shaft with his hand, his hand sticky and gliding over his skin. He closed his eyes, seeing Harry touching him, Harry stroking faster and faster as Snape’s hips jerked into the ring of his fingers. The orgasm seemed to start in his toes and work its way upwards until it reached his cock. He couldn’t hold back any longer and a scream escaped his mouth as he came, splattering the tiled floor in jets of pearl.

As the spasms subsided, Snape heaved a relieved sigh and opened his eyes. Looking over his shoulder in the mirror, he saw two green eyes wide with fright.

Damn! He’d forgotten to lock the bathroom door.


TBC

Chapter 9: Shattered Souls
Chapter 9

“I heard you scream,” said Harry before Snape could even get a word out. “I thought you were hurt.” Snape watched as Harry watched him, before turning his attention to the stain on the floor. Snape felt as though he’d been caught masturbating by his parents and he flushed. If Harry knew what he’d been thinking when he brought himself off…

“Sir - what were you doing?” asked Harry, his eyes as guileless as a newborn fawn. Snape stared at him. Was it true? That Harry had gone through the past sixteen years of his life without discovering the art of self-pleasure? It seemed impossible. Could Harry really be that naive?

“What did it look like I was doing?”

“I’m not really sure, sir.”

“You mean you really don’t know?” Snape adjusted his shorts and wondered how much Harry had seen and heard.

“You sounded like you were in pain,” explained Harry.

“I can assure you that pain was not an element, Harry. I was pleasuring myself.” He flushed as he said it. “Surely you know about that?”

“No sir, I don’t.”

“You’ve had wet dreams, haven’t you?”

“Just the one sir. That night.”

Oh yes, Snape remembered that night all right. But that didn’t make any sense. Harry hadn’t had any wet dreams since then? And the only reason Harry had one in the first place was because of…

“So are you telling me that you have never pleasured yourself? Never touched yourself there?” Snape waved in the general direction of Harry’s groin.

“Only when I’m washing,” replied Harry, blushing. “Why would I want to?”

“Because it sometimes feels nice. It can help to ease tension. It’s enjoyable. It’s practice for when you fall in love and want to touch them, or have them touch you. Have you never felt the urge to masturbate, Harry? What do you do if you get an erection that just won’t go away?”

“Um, I don’t really get them. I did have one though when Dumbledore bound us,” admitted Harry. He was lovely when he blushed, Snape thought absently. Harry’s cheeks seemed to have taken on a permanent rosy bloom for the moment. “I only had that one dream and I’ve never had any of these urges you keep talking about. I - I think there might be something wrong with me.”

“Why do you say that, Harry?” asked Snape. Harry didn’t answer but Snape could tell that the boy was worried, his brows creased in a frown. “Why don’t we continue this discussion in the living room, Harry? I’ll be there in a moment.”

When Harry left, Snape took the opportunity to clean himself with a spell and then splashed cold water on his face. Harry’s revelations had left him reeling. When he entered the room, Harry was perched on the edge of the sofa, wringing his hands. He looked as though he might take flight at any moment.

Snape stood by the fireplace, looking down at Harry and then wondered if that was too intimidating, or would Harry feel worse if Snape joined him on the sofa? He took the middle ground and sat on one of the armchairs. “Harry, what is this about? Why do you think there’s something wrong?”

“It’s me that’s wrong,” sighed Harry. “I don’t seem to have much of a libido. I’m supposed to think about sex, right? But I don’t really care. It’s as if I’m not maturing.”

Snape laughed and took Harry’s left hand in both of his. He rubbed circles over the back of it. “Oh, Harry. Don’t repeat what I’m about to say or they’ll be getting ready to cart me off to the closed ward in St. Mungo’s. You have matured a lot, you’re a brave young man who cares more for others than himself. You’re a loyal friend and you take responsibilities for your actions. How can you say you aren’t mature?” Snape looked into the jade depths of Harry’s eyes. One heartbeat. Two. Harry looked away and removed his hand.

“Er, Professor. That’s not what I meant,” Harry gazed at the floor. “I’m not maturing sexually.”

“But the wet dream?” asked Snape even though he knew it was silly to ask. He knew that dream had nothing to do with Harry’s own body.

“Was a one off and it was nothing to do with me, was it? It was the potion you gave me. You told me that we only had to share the same bed, but that wasn’t strictly true, was it?”

“How did you know?”

“I read up on wizarding binding spells, particularly the marriage ones. For the marriage to be considered legally binding in wizarding society, both parties had to have an orgasm in the marital bed, usually through consummation, but consummation wasn’t actually specified. And being a good Slytherin, you saw a way around that. You saw how scared I was and decided to do something else. Just the orgasms, not sex. What did you give me?”

“A mild aphrodisiac and mild sedative. It was meant to give you pleasant dreams, but you woke up too soon. I had intended to clean you up before you woke.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

“Considering your feelings towards sex, no.” Snape stood up and raked his fingers through his hair. He didn’t know what else to say. To say that Harry was frightened of sex would be the understatement of the century. But maybe that stemmed from the fact that he did not think he was maturing fast enough? “What makes you think you aren’t maturing, Harry?”

“A few reasons, the lack of sexual urges for one. I never even knew you could pleasure yourself. I haven’t grown in height since I was thirteen and my body hair has disappeared. It’s as if my body is regressing.”

“Disappeared? You mean you had it and it went away?” Snape didn’t bother to ask about chest hair as he could see Harry’s smooth chest for himself. “Facial hair? Underarms? Groin?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry stood up and paced the length of the room. “I’m a bit worried to be honest. What’s happening to me? It shouldn’t be going backwards like that, should it?”

“Harry, I think you should see Madame Pomfrey about this. I have never heard of anything like this before. Maybe there is some spell you are under. You should go see her tonight.”

“What now? It’s a bit late to disturb her, isn’t it?”

“Nonsense. It’s barely ten o’clock. Unless you want to wait until tomorrow when the castle will be full of students wondering why you are going to the hospital wing.”

Harry had little enough privacy as it was and Snape guessed correctly that he wouldn’t want anything about this to end up in the Daily Prophet. Snape could almost see the headline already, Boy Who Lived Hasn’t Grown Up.

“No, all right. I’ll go tonight. Sir - would you - would you come with me?”

“If you wish it,” whispered Snape, his throat hurting with the trust Harry was showing him. Remembering his actions in the bathroom, he felt sick at how he’d already betrayed it.


TBC

Chapter 10: Shattered Souls
Chapter 10

Harry fidgeted nervously as they made their way to the hospital wing. He’d dressed again in a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt which brought out his eyes. The t-shirt was threadbare and a few sizes too large for him. Every so often it would slip and reveal a pale shoulder. Snape knew he shouldn’t be staring, shouldn’t be remembering the pale chest and smooth back that the cotton now hid, but now that he’d seen it, he wanted to see it again. He wanted to run his hands over that body and hear it sigh in pleasure at his touch. He wanted - he wanted Harry. The one person he could never have.

He sighed as he pushed open the door to the infirmary, holding it while Harry walked ahead of him. Madame Pomfrey was straightening the beds when they arrived, getting everything ship-shape for the influx of students the next day. If past years were anything to go by, Snape knew the infirmary would house a few homesick first years and pupils who’d eaten too much at the Feast.

“I take it this isn’t a social call, Severus?” she said, smoothing down her apron, although there wasn’t a crease in sight. She glanced from Snape to Harry and then back again, arching an elegant brow. Snape shrugged and looked at Harry.

“Well, young man, what seems to be the trouble?”

“Er - um - er.”

“Honestly!” snapped Snape exasperated. Now wasn’t the time for the boy’s reticence. “Poppy, Harry’s body has recently undergone some changes.”

“Well, that’s perfectly natural for a boy his age.”

“Yes, yes, that’s the problem. He had reached puberty, but now he’s regressed. Losing his body hair and his sexual urges, almost like his body is reverting to that of a child again. Frankly we were a little worried about it. Is there anything you can do?”

“Well, of course. You know, Harry you should have come to see me sooner. Is this something Muggles go through, this regression? I’ve never heard of it but maybe it’s different for Muggles?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry. “My relatives. They never…”

“Yes, well the least said about them the better,” said Pomfrey briskly. “If you’d just get undressed and lie down for me, Harry, we can get started.”

“I - I have to be naked?” Harry glanced at Snape in alarm. When he’d suggested this little meeting, Snape had never even considered that. He’d never met anyone as uncomfortable in his own skin as Harry. Did he avoid showering with the other boys after Quidditch as well?

“I’m afraid so, dear. I can’t examine you properly otherwise. Not to worry, Harry. You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.” Harry’s face reddened and he looked desperately at Snape. Pomfrey seemed to sense the mood. “Would you like Professor Snape to stay with you for the exam?”

“Yes, please. That is, if you don’t mind Professor?”

Snape shook his head. Mind? “Whatever you want, Harry.”

“Thanks,” said Harry as Snape pulled the curtain across the bed to give the boy some privacy while he undressed. It seemed a little pointless when they were both going to see him naked in a moment, but he needed to do this for Harry. To show him that he could have privacy when he wished it.

What about in your head, Severus? You never give him privacy there, do you?
You have him writhing beneath you, don’t you?
You want him in your arms, your bed, your body.
But you’ll never have him.
Never.

“I’m ready,” called Harry and Snape shook his head to clear it of the thoughts which plagued him. When Pomfrey pulled back the curtain, Harry was lying stiffly on the bed, naked as the day he was born, his hands clasped over his genitals. Snape gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Pomfrey removed her wand and chuckled. His bruises had all but faded now and Snape quashed a pang of regret that he no longer needed to rub the salve on Harry’s back.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to move those hands in a moment, Harry. This needs to be a full examination after all. Just try and relax.” Pomfrey moved her wand up and down Harry’s body from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, Snape could feel the magic shimmering in the air and he wondered how he never knew how powerful Pomfrey’s was before. It was a fool who would underestimate the Medi-witch.

“Your hands, Harry,” she said softly. Harry unclasped his hands and moved them to his sides, clenching them into fists. He scrunched his eyes shut behind his glasses while the wand was waved over his groin. Snape watched, wondering what was going through Harry’s head. Embarrassment? Shame? Humiliation? Snape was no stranger to those, but he didn’t wish any of them for Harry.

“Now, Harry, if you’d just turn over and lie down on your side for me. I need to give you a rectal exam.”

“What?” Harry glanced at Snape, his face as pale as milk.

“Do you really think that’s necessary, Poppy?” asked Snape. Harry had never had a rectal exam before, he was almost sure and now was not the ideal time.

“Of course it’s necessary. I have to check everything, you should know that Severus. I need to see if there is any damage. Internally.” She exchanged a quick glance with Snape and he could almost read her mind. She knew. She knew about Vernon and thought what? That Harry had been raped? No, not that. Anything but that.

“Turn on your side, Harry and tuck your knees up. This will probably be a bit uncomfortable for you, but I’ll try to be quick.”

Harry did as he was bid. Snape knelt on the floor so that he was face to face with Harry. He held out his left hand. “Take my hand, Harry and squeeze it tight. Concentrate on my hand and nothing else. Just my hand, Harry. Just my hand.”

“What’s she going to do?” a frightened tear escaped from his left eye.

Snape watched over Harry’s shoulder as Pomfrey pulled on a pair of gloves and dipped her finger in the lubricant. Harry was so tense that Snape didn’t think it would help much. Harry’s grip tightened as Snape guessed he felt the first touch at his entrance. “NO!” Harry tried to wriggle away, but Snape and Pomfrey held him firm. “My hand Harry, squeeze my hand,” instructed Snape.

Harry obeyed and squeezed so hard that Snape would be surprised if his hands weren’t bruised. “It hurts!” protested Harry as he tried to get free of both of them again.

“Ssh, Harry, I know. It will be over soon. Ssh.”

Suddenly Harry went rigid, his eyes only showing white. He screamed and arched his back, before going limp on the bed again.

“What’s wrong?” demanded Snape, trying without success to rouse him.

“He’s just fainted, Severus. He’ll come round in a moment or two.”

“And was there - any damage?”

“No. Whatever happened at that house, it wasn’t rape.”

Snape didn’t bother to inform her that penetration wasn’t necessarily required for rape. He knew that only too well. Harry stirred on the bed, moaning. Pomfrey left to fetch him a glass of water.

Snape took it from her and handed it to Harry. The boy took two large swallows and then set in on the bedside table.

“So,” said Snape. “What do you think it is? Is it some sort of curse to keep Harry in a boy’s body?”

Harry’s hand shot automatically to his scar. Snape shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was - discomfited. The scar was a physical reminder of Voldemort, just like the mark on his arm, something he preferred not to dwell on.

“Yes, it’s a curse. Magical castration,” said Pomfrey. “It’s a temporary curse, we’ll just have to let it run its course. I’m more worried at Harry’s other physical condition.”

“You mean I have some sort of disease?”

“No, nothing like that, Harry. But you are severely underweight for your height and age. Unless you put on weight, your body may never mature sexually, curse notwithstanding. When you were with your relatives, Harry, they mistreated you, didn’t they? You are severely undernourished for a boy your age, they didn’t feed you very well, did they?”

“N- no,” Harry said shakily and Snape realised he was trying not to cry. What must it have cost him to keep all this hidden for years? “S- sometimes I ate spiders that were in my cupboard.”

“Your cupboard?” growled Snape. “What do you mean?”

“That’s where I lived,” explained Harry. “In the cupboard under the stairs. They locked me in at night and I was only allowed out to go to school and to do chores. Twice a day they let me out for the bathroom. But - sometimes I had accidents and then they beat me for being dirty.” He hung his head, whether from the shame of being dirty or being beaten, Snape couldn’t tell.

“They locked you in a cupboard? A cupboard?” screeched Snape. He was livid. How could anyone do that to a child? Any child? “I thought that was just a rumour you made up to make people feel sorry for you.”

“I never told anyone about the cupboard, sir,” said Harry softly. “Until now. I don’t know how you heard about it.”

Neither did Snape come to think of it, but he had heard taunting whispers in corridors directed at Harry, most notably from the Slytherins going on about how strange it must be to sleep in a real bed.

“And why would they keep you in a cupboard, Harry?” For Snape could not imagine anyone doing it, it was beyond his scope of experience and considering his colourful past, that was saying something.

“They hated me and they hated anything to do with magic,” said Harry, as if that was reason enough. “They kept me there until I got my Hogwarts letter, then they gave me Dudley’s second bedroom. I think the Headmaster knew and they were scared he would do something to them.”

“He did know,” agreed Madam Pomfrey. “He told me and asked that I keep an eye on Harry here, to make sure he was getting enough to eat.”

“Albus knew? And did nothing? He sent Harry back there every summer? To those people?”

“I’m sure he had his reasons, Severus,” said Pomfrey. “However, our main concern right now is to make sure that Harry keeps eating a healthy balanced diet. Those first ten years of neglect have taken their toll on his body. Harry has and still is suffering from malnutrition. I don’t see why though, he should be eating well here. All those Feasts.”

“He doesn’t,” said Snape only now realising what it was he’d been seeing. Harry’s friends, gorging themselves silly on all the wonderful food Hogwarts had to offer, but Harry playing with the food on his plate, even taking some of it and hiding it in his napkin. At first Snape had thought he was saving food to give to his owl later, but it was even clearer in his mind now. Harry was not saving the food. He was hiding it and hoped to dispose of it later.

“He doesn’t what, Severus?”

“Eat well. I’ve seen him in the Great Hall. Harry hardly eats enough to keep a bird alive, never mind a growing boy. I’ve seen him hiding food too.”

“You noticed?” gasped Harry.

“I notice everything, Potter.”

“Harry, how long have you had this eating disorder?” asked Pomfrey.

“I don’t. I’m just not hungry. I never feel hungry. Food makes me feel ill.”

“Harry, don’t you see, this is why your body isn’t maturing? Your body thinks there is a famine on and has shut down non-essential functions, which in this case happens to be your reproductive system. With your body thinking there’s a famine it senses that reproducing will not be high on your list of agendas. The body is using all of its energies on keeping you breathing. But this state cannot last forever, Harry. There is too much strain on your heart and lungs without any fuel, food. If you don’t start eating, you are going to die. You have to eat, Harry. You have to.”

“NO! I don’t want to be fat!” sobbed Harry, turning his head and burying his face in the pillows.

“Nor am I suggesting it. You are seriously underweight for your height, Harry and your age. You need to eat more and if you won’t do it yourself, we are going to have force feed you if necessary. It’s not pleasant and I only recommend it in the most extreme cases. You aren’t there yet but if you continue not eating I will have no other option. You are going to eat and gain weight, Harry.”

“NO!” Harry turned and faced them once again, cheeks tear streaked. Snape wanted to reach out and wipe them away. “I don’t want to end up like him!”

Ah, that explained it. The uncle, from what Snape knew of him was a rather large man. He’d never met him and had no wish to. Although if he met him right this moment, he would quite seriously consider using an Unforgivable on him.

“Poppy, perhaps I could have a moment alone with Harry?”

“Of course,” mumbled Pomfrey and marched into her office. Harry was curled up in a ball on his side, his glasses mashed against his face, it looked decidedly uncomfortable. His shoulders heaved with the efforts of trying to control his sobs and breathe at the same time. Snape draped one of the hospital gowns over him, knowing how uncomfortable Harry was about being naked. When he’d finished, almost of their own volition, Snape’s fingers reached out and caressed Harry’s hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Harry had looked so frail, so lost.

The boy beneath his hands tensed. “Please don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” said Snape and removed his hand immediately. The hand felt different to him now. Different now that it had stroked Harry’s hair. He wondered that he couldn’t see the difference in the skin. “I thought it would comfort you.” As if Harry would ever want comfort from him. Would ever accept it.

“It doesn’t. He used to do that.”

“Your uncle? Vernon?” he spat the man’s name. How dare he do this to Harry? Make him scared of another’s touch? Make him feel guilty and worthless because of something that wasn’t his fault?

“Yes,” Harry spoke to the pillow, not looking at Snape. Maybe it was easier for him that way. “Every night before he locked me in the cupboard, he would touch my hair. Just my hair. Especially the bit at the back that never lies flat. He would try and flatten it with his hand, spitting on his fingers and rubbing his spit on my hair. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like the way he was touching my hair. I told him he shouldn’t do it, that it was wrong. It felt wrong to me but I didn’t really know why. He just laughed and said that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, just touching my hair. He was allowed. It’s what uncles do." Harry's breath hitched.

“It was true, that was all he was doing, but I still hated it. I was a child but I sensed there was something - intimate about it. I didn’t know that word at the time though. It was the only time he ever touched me if I wasn’t in for a beating. And then - and then one night he came into my cupboard and sat really close to me on my bed.” Harry paused, his breath hitching on a sob as he buried his nose once more on the pillow.

Snape didn’t realise he was holding his breath until he let it out with a small sigh.

“He told me that since he had touched my hair, I had to return the favour and I had to touch his hair. I didn’t want to, but he was bigger than me and stronger. He grabbed my arm and put my fingers in his mouth and then made me comb my fingers through his hair. It was awful and I felt sick. Then he - then he -” Harry choked and could no longer speak.

Snape felt his insides twist uncomfortably. The tale Harry told was too close to his own for comfort. A metal band was squeezing his chest so tight that it was difficult to breathe.

“Harry, it’s all right. You don’t have to tell me this. Not if you don’t want to.” Dumbledore’s words to Snape, his now to Harry. Nothing ever changed, it was all a play and only the actors changed. Not the drama.

“No. Please. I want to. I have to.”

“Okay, Harry. Whatever you need.” He could do that, couldn’t he? He could listen to the boy’s story and not try to think of another dark haired boy who sobbed on Dumbledore’s shoulders. That boy was long gone and Snape often wondered if he had really existed. He didn’t see himself as the sobbing type. Not anymore.

“Then one night - he - he told me that he had hair in other places and that I had to touch that too. He pulled down his trousers and underwear and made me touch him there. I didn’t know what to do, so he showed me, using his hands to guide mine and made me get him hard. When he wanted to come, he would push me down and hold my hips until he came all over my stomach. I had nothing only the blankets to clean with, it was summer and they said I didn’t need pyjamas in the summer so I was always naked when Vernon came in. When Aunt Petunia unlocked the door in the mornings, she saw the soiled blankets and me with Vernon’s come on my stomach. She called me a filthy brat and - and made me lick the blankets before I washed them. Then she would scrub me with bleach, all over, but especially down there. Said I had the devil in me and the bleach would get it out. It hurt so much and I tried not cry, I really did. They treated me even worse when I cried.”

Snape’s hands clenched into fists as he listened to Harry’s tale. Harry still wasn’t looking at him, almost as if he was talking to himself. Snape didn’t know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth, but his anger was simmering just below the surface.

“Bleach? What’s that?”

“A Muggle cleaning fluid. It’s usually used for toilets and drains, sometimes on clothes to make them white again.”

“Chemical composition?” He told himself he was only interested because he was a Potions Master and chemistry was the basis for Potions.

“Not sure of all of it, the brands are all slightly different. Some of them have hydrogen peroxide.”

“But that’s not meant to be used on skin!” exploded Snape.

“My aunt didn’t care.”

“And how old were you, Harry?”

“Seven or eight when it first started.”

“But you were a child! Surely she knew the semen didn’t come from you! Didn’t she suspect anything?”

“She didn’t suspect, she knew. She knew that he locked me in every night. Who else could it have been? I think she was just relieved that he left my cousin alone.”

“And did he? Your cousin?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“Harry, I am so sorry this happened to you. I - I know what it’s like to suffer unwanted - attentions.”

Attentions? Is that what you’re calling it now, Severus? How many were there that night? Fifteen? Twenty? And you thought you’d been so clever? Ready to take whatever Voldemort could dish out? And you had to pretend that you liked it, that you wanted it, didn’t you?

“Harry,” Snape shook his head as he tried to get rid of the unwanted memories crowding his brain. This was about Harry. Only Harry. The past was a foreign country, one that he did not want to visit again, but he would bear it if only to help the boy on the bed. “I’m sorry, Harry, but I have to ask you. That last night, before you went to the Weasleys. Your uncle went further, didn’t he?”

Harry nodded his head, but didn’t move from his position on the bed. He was clinging to the pillow, his knuckles white from the strain. “He was going to rape me. But first - he - made me suck him until he came. He came in my mouth, down my throat. I passed out after that and then I almost killed him.”

“Why didn’t you? He deserved it after what he did to you. What they all did to you.”

“I chose not to,” Harry’s voice was stronger now, as though he had finally got his tears under control. “I didn’t want to be a dark wizard.”

“I’m not sure that becoming a dark wizard is ever by choice, Harry. At least not exactly. Did he succeed?”

“In what?”

“In raping you?”

“No, I escaped to the Weasleys before that happened. What he did to me was bad enough, I wasn’t going to let him rape me too.”

“But he did rape you, Harry. He raped you of the chance for a normal childhood, the main reason Dumbledore left you there. He raped you of trust. He was in a position of power over you and he abused that trust time and time again. I should have been firmer about this. Me and McGonagall, neither of us wanted you to stay with those Muggles.”

“You didn’t?” Harry at last looked at him. “You thought about me?”

Why was the boy so surprised? Did he think no-one cared for him? No-one at all?

“Of course, Harry. I even suggested we be bonded when you first came to school, but Dumbledore always said you were too young until this year. Your parents betrothed you to me shortly after you were born.”

“Do you mean to say I could have been living with you all this time? Away from them?”

“Yes, Harry. We were always destined to be married. It was just a pity that Dumbledore took so long to realise it.”

“Yes,” echoed Harry in a hollow voice and Snape could well imagine what the boy was remembering.

For he could remember it too.

TBC

Chapter 11: Shattered Souls
Chapter 11

Snape and Harry spent the night in the large four poster, each lying as far away from each other as possible without actually leaving the bed. Harry wanted to cuddle up next to that body, wanted to be held and told everything was going to be all right, even it wasn’t. But after their return from the infirmary, Snape had been prickly and Harry wasn’t sure he would be welcomed. So he stayed firmly on his side of the bed and Snape on his. It was amazing how alone you could feel even with another person there with you.

In the morning, Snape made Harry eat a breakfast of porridge and three helpings of scrambled eggs before Harry’s stomach rebelled and he dashed to the bathroom to throw up. The breakfast came up a lot quicker than it went down. Harry groaned and leaned his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl. He never wanted to eat again.

“Harry?” Snape paused in the doorway. “Did you just make yourself sick?”

Harry couldn’t look him in the eye. How could he think he could fool Snape? The man was a spy, he was trained to look out for things. He noticed the little things. That was his job, wasn’t it?

Harry flushed the toilet and wandered over to the sink to brush his teeth. His legs were shaking and he could feel Snape’s eyes on him the whole time, an unwelcome heat on the back of his neck, reminding him uncomfortably of Vernon.

Teeth brushed, mouth rinsed, he finally looked at the Potions Master. He didn’t know what to say, what he was going to say, but his mouth opened almost of its own accord. “Please,” said Harry. “Please help me.” He slumped to the floor and hung his head in his hands.

Snape knelt down and folded Harry in his arms, rocking him as though Harry were a child and incredibly fragile. Harry felt fragile, as fragile as a piece of glass and any moment now he was going to shatter into a thousand tiny fragments.

“Harry, I am going to help you get better, I promise. You’re not the first student here to suffer from an eating disorder. You probably won’t be the last either.”

“It was the eggs,” Harry mumbled to Snape’s shirt. “Vernon always smelled of eggs.”

“Oh,” said Snape. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you eat them. But you have to eat something, Harry. This can’t go on.”

“I know, but it’s so hard. I hate - I hate eating. I hate the way food feels when it goes down my throat and settles in my stomach. Food makes me feel dirty.” How could he explain the horror to this man in front of him? At what the Dursleys had done to him? Starving him for days at a time and then when they did finally feed him, locked him in the cupboard and he had to sit there in his own filth until they opened the door? There wasn’t even a bucket. At age ten, Harry had realised that if he didn’t eat, he would no longer soil himself.

“Harry? Is this about what the Dursleys did? The bathroom, your accidents while you were in the cupboard?”

Harry nodded, but unable to look at the man in front of him. “I’m so dirty. I don’t want to be like that!”

“Harry, you are not like that. Children have always had accidents like that, even those with decent homes. It is nothing to be ashamed about. Nothing your body does is ever a cause for shame. It’s all perfectly natural. You don’t want to eat because you’re still afraid, like that little boy in the cupboard. But you’re not in there anymore, Harry. You’re free now. You can eat as much as you want, you can go to the bathroom anytime you want. No-one is keeping you there, Harry. Except yourself.”

“I know. Sometimes I feel as if I’m still in there and that everything else is a dream. That I’m not really here talking to you, but that I’m imagining it.”

“And do you really think your imagination would have come up with me?” Snape smiled down at him.

“Hmm, maybe not.”

“Harry, getting better is not going to be easy, but with the right support you can do it. First we must get you eating and then talking. Therapy.”

“I don’t want to talk to some stranger!” protested Harry.

“What about me? I’m not a qualified therapist or anything, but I’d rather you talk to someone even if it is me. I won’t judge you, I’m just here to listen to anything you want to say.”

“You would do that for me?” Harry didn’t think he deserved everything Snape was doing for him and he felt ashamed, remembering how much he thought he’d hated the man and going through his Pensieve.

“If you’d let me,” said Snape. “Now, we have to think about what you can eat. Can I make you something else for breakfast?”

“Something light,” said Harry. He wanted to at least try to keep the food down this time. “Cornflakes?”

“I am not familiar with those, a Muggle breakfast?”

“Er, yes,” said Harry.

“Very well, I shall have to go shopping. You must make me a list of the foods that you do like, Harry and I will ensure that our kitchen is stocked with them. The meals in the Great Hall should be no problem, as you are ever only served what you like, isn’t this correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Make me that list, Harry and then you had better get down to Hagrid’s. Take some toast before you go, and no throwing up this time, eh?”

“Hagrid’s?”

“Yes, don’t you want to go to the station with him to meet your friends from the train? It’s a fair walk even in this weather.”

“Yes, sir, thank you sir.”

Harry finished his shopping list and left it on the desk in Snape’s office. It took longer than he thought, for once given the choice, he really had no idea what he actually liked to eat. Food had been the enemy for so long that he wasn’t sure he could just start eating again just like that. There were no eggs on his list.

He did eat one slice of toast, with a generous helping of butter washed down with a glass of water. He wanted to be sick, he felt the urge but Snape was there watching him with beady eyes that missed nothing. The urge faded a little, but he knew if Snape hadn’t been watching him so closely, he would have been heading for the bathroom rather than Hagrid’s hut.

Hagrid tried to ply Harry with tea and rock cakes, but Harry declined politely saying he’d had a large breakfast.

“Snape treatin’ ye well, then Harry?”

“He is,” said Harry in all earnestness. Surprising how much you found out about someone when you were married to them. “I like staying with him.” Which surprised Harry as well. Hagrid, as one of the staff, knew that Snape was Harry’s guardian but nothing more. The students were not to know, especially the Slytherins.

“Thought that must be it. Haven’ seen you roun’ much this summer.”

“Oh, Hagrid. I’m sorry. Things just happened so fast, I’ll try and visit more this term, I promise.”

“You probably won’ have time ter visit me this year, Harry. Not with all that’ll be happenin’ up at the school.”

“Not another Triwizard tournament?” gasped Harry. One of those was enough for his lifetime.

“No, ye’ll just have to wait an’ see.” Hagrid glanced at the large clock on his mantelpiece and picked up his lantern. “Time we got to the train, Harry.”

They walked in silence to the train station, a journey that took a good few hours despite Hagrid’s large steps. Most of the time Harry found himself doing a sort of half run just to keep up.

He waited expectantly with Hagrid on the station, excited about seeing his friends again, but sad too that he couldn’t share everything that had happened with them.

“Here it comes, Harry,” said Hagrid, patting Harry on the shoulder and almost knocking him flat on the ground. Harry grinned as he watched the light get nearer and nearer to them and then the train stopped along the platform. Doors slammed as students emerged, juggling trunks and animal cages.

“Harry!” screeched Ron and Hermione together as they both bolted from the train. They flung their arms around Harry in a three way hug. It had never felt so good to be held in someone’s arms. Harry hugged them back fiercely, never wanting to let go. He glanced around and waved goodbye to Hagrid, who winked, even as he led a terrified group of first years to the boats.

Harry, Ron and Hermione managed to nab a carriage all to themselves, but none of them spoke until they’d returned to school and settled down in front of the common room fire. The Feast would be starting at any moment and Harry wasn’t looking forward to it. Snape had already warned him that he would be watching Harry eat. A notion that Harry found strangely disconcerting.

“Harry,” said Ron at last, glancing at Hermione first who glared at him. “Tell me it isn’t true. I kept pestering Mum why Snape had been to see you and she finally told me that Snape is to be your new guardian?”

“Ssh,” hissed Hermione. “No-one else is supposed to know, Ron. Your mother told you that too.”

“It’s not true, is it?”

“It is, Ron.”

“But Snape. I mean Snape. How can you stand it, Harry?”

“Actually, he’s treated me better than the Dursleys ever have. He doesn’t mistreat me, Ron. He gets angry with me sometimes, but I usually have deserved it. He’s not a saint, but he’s never beaten me or locked me in a cupboard.” Harry stared at the floor.

“A cupboard?” gasped Hermione. “That was true? They really did that?”

“They did. That and more. But I really don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay, Harry. We understand.” Hermione nudged Ron in the ribs.

“What? Oh, yes. We understand, Harry. Perfectly.”

Harry highly doubted that, but he was grateful that they’d said it anyway. How he’d missed his friends. The bell rang shrilly, summoning them to the Feast.

“I’m not really hungry,” said Harry. “You two go on without me.”

“Harry Potter!” snapped Hermione in what seemed a good approximation of Molly Weasley. She even had the hands on hip stance down pat. “We are not going anywhere without you. Come on.” Hermione grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the armchair; she was stronger than she looked.

“Okay, okay,” conceded Harry as the trio made their way to the portrait hole.

“Good,” beamed Ron. “You’re not going to want to miss this. It hasn’t happened since Charlie was here, but he told me.”

“Told you what, Ron?” asked Harry as he followed the two of them. Harry belatedly realised that they weren’t heading in the direction of the Great Hall. “Where are we going?”

“Didn’t you read your Hogwarts letter, Harry? The sixth years have to go to the Transfiguration classroom first,” said Hermione.

“No, I didn’t get one. Your Dad got my supplies, didn’t he Ron?”

“That’s right. He must have forgotten to give it back to you that night.”

Little wonder, Harry thought, as that was the night he was marrying Snape. “So what did I miss in the letter?”

“Just that the sixth years have a meeting with McGonagall and Dumbledore before the Feast.”

“What for?”

“You’ll see,” said Ron, tapping the side of his nose.

“Honestly, Ron. You don’t know anymore than I do.”

“I do so, Hermione! Charlie told me and why would he lie?”

“Well, what he told you just seems so far fetched. I mean sacrificing virgins? It seems like something out of the Dark Ages.”

“Sacrificing virgins?” squeaked Harry, looking from one to the other and feeling that he was a spectator at some strange tennis match. “What are you two on about?”

But neither of them spoke as the three of them made their way into the classroom and sat down by some empty desks. The other sixth years had been chatting amongst themselves but quietened down when they saw Harry. “I wonder who he’ll pick?” he heard someone whisper which confused him even more.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were already there and as the class settled, McGonagall clapped her hands for order. “Welcome back, sixth years. As you know these are dangerous times for us all and we need every advantage we can get in the fight against darkness. We need all of you to fulfil your utmost potential and to do that this school year we are going to bring back the Spring Rites.”

There were murmurs and gasps from the gathered students. Harry had no idea what the Rites were, but Hermione looked thunderstruck and Ron was grinning at her in an ‘I told you so’ way.

“However, there are those among you who will no longer be able to make that sacrifice for Hogwarts, so when I call your names you will leave with Professor Dumbledore and return to the Feast. For those of you who remain, I will explain the Rites and what is required for those who are willing.” McGonagall read out a list of names, mostly Slytherin, but not Draco Malfoy, who for once looked as confused as Harry felt. From their own house, Seamus, Dean and Neville were called, along with a few girls he didn’t know. Four Hufflepuffs and three Ravenclaws were also dismissed.

As the students followed Dumbledore out, Harry whispered in Hermione’s ear. “Why did they have to leave?”

“Because they aren’t virgins anymore,” she whispered back.

“What?” asked Harry, louder than he intended. It was true? They really meant to sacrifice virgins?

“Mr. Potter? Is there something you wish to share with the rest of the class?”

“No, professor. Sorry.”

“Very well, then. To start with, the Spring Rites are very old, a welcome of Spring where new blood was welcomed into the land. A virgin was selected from the village and sacrificed to give the land new life, her blood bringing forth spring.”

“Human sacrifice?” asked Hermione, appalled.

“I’m surprised at you, Miss Granger. No, the girl sacrificed the blood of her maidenhood, her virginity, not her life. Virgins have enormous magical energy stored in their bodies, one of the reasons why unicorns are so drawn to them. They can sense the energy. But this energy is unusable. It’s there, but it cannot be accessed. The only way to access this magic is in the joining of two bodies. When the gift of virginity is given willingly, not taken, both parties will share the magic of the other, giving them both more power than they ever had on their own. The joining of two bodies in love is one of the most powerful magics that exists. However, for a wizard to take another’s virginity by force is a terrible crime in our world. The victim’s magical energy will be ripped from them and absorbed by the aggressor. But no return magic will be forthcoming and the victim will never be as strong magically as they could have been.

“For those who are willing, we ask that you sacrifice your virginity on the same night, Beltane. Afterwards you will be a more powerful witch or wizard than you have ever dreamed of. You will be formidable opponents.”

There was complete and utter silence at the witch’s words. Harry’s mind was swarming. An army of young witches and wizards, made more powerful because they’d had sex. He could almost guess that this wasn’t something which was taught at Muggle schools. Is this why the Death Eaters had used rape as one of their weapons? Steal the magic before it got a chance to fly free? Sex could make you more magical? Willing sex, his mind reminded him.

“Do you mean an orgy?” asked a Ravenclaw boy who Harry didn’t know.

“No, I do not, Mr. Stephens,” McGonagall pushed her glasses up her nose. “I don’t know where you young people get your ideas from. It will all be very discreet. The only reason it even wants to be on the same night is that there will be a lot more magical energy released due to the - er - sexual energy involved with a group. If any of you want to participate and find a willing partner, you will visit the head of your house, privately and tell them that you wish to participate in the Rites. You must also give the name of your partner, it’s best if you discuss this with each other beforehand. We will be checking that everyone is willing. There will be no coercion or love spells, which I might remind you are illegal. No Confounding either.” McGonagall smiled at them and brought her hands together.

“There will be a Beltane Ball on the thirtieth of April. And -”

“Professor,” Malfoy interrupted her. “Who are we allowed to ask to be our partner?”

“A very good question, Mr. Malfoy. You may partner anyone who is willing in sixth year and above, as long as both of you are sixteen or over. It is usually recommended that you pick someone who is more experienced than yourself. But that is not actually required, it is up to you. Teachers have been approached in the past and while it is not forbidden per se, I strongly recommend that you do not go that route. It would be uncomfortable for all concerned. Any other questions?”

“How can we be discreet if there’s a ball?” asked Ron. “Everyone will know!”

“Mr. Weasley, the Ball will be for everyone. All anyone else besides your partner will know is that you have attended the Ball. At midnight, those who have agreed to the Rites will be magicked away to a place of their choosing for the - ah - consummation.”

“What? Anywhere? You mean I could go to Disneyworld?”

“I’m not exactly sure where that is, Mr. Weasley. But yes, anywhere you and your partner have decided on. At the same time, those who are not participating in the Rites will be magicked to bed and spelled asleep. No-one besides your head of house and your partner will know anything about who was involved. So, Mr. Stephens, you can see that it is nothing like an orgy. Now if there aren’t any more questions, you may rejoin the Feast.”

There were a few mumbles and murmurs but no-one seemed to have any more questions and so they were all ushered out the door. Harry didn’t feel like eating. He felt as though a lump of lead had settled in his stomach. He wanted to pretend that the last hour hadn’t happened. Why did it always have to come down to sex in the end? He didn’t care what power would be made available by the “joining of two bodies”, but he knew he should. Wouldn’t he need his full potential if he was ever going to defeat Voldemort? Then he remembered his nightmares and didn’t want it. Any of it.

He sat down at the Gryffindor table and hung his head in his hands. He was shivering, hot and cold at once, muscles feeling weak and achy. Maybe he was coming down with something. He told himself it wasn’t fear, that he wasn’t frightened, but deep down his body didn’t believe the lie. He was terrified. Flashes of his uncle’s abuse and his nightmares of Voldemort rampaged across his eyelids, like his own private horror film and he just wanted it to stop. All of it to stop.

When he risked a glance at the top table, Snape was already staring at him and jabbing his fork pointedly at his plate. Harry glared back and managed to down three helpings of roast beef and two of trifle before he started to feel sick. It seemed to be a constant state of being for him lately and he wondered if he would ever feel normal again. Had he ever felt normal? He wasn’t entirely sure.

The food settled like a stone and he knew he would not be able to sleep unless he made himself sick, but he was aware of Snape’s eyes on him. How could he get to a bathroom without arousing the man’s suspicions? He’d have to wait until the Feast was over and all the students would be making their way back to the dorms. Snape couldn’t keep an eye on everyone, and he would be in the dungeons tonight, Harry would be in the Tower. He could wait, he told himself, just for a little while.

“Harry,” Ron was shaking him, a little to forcefully, as if he’d been doing it for quite some time and Harry hadn’t noticed. “The Feast’s over, mate. You were miles away.”

“Sorry, Ron. I was just thinking.”

“And I bet we know what, eh?” Ron nudged him in the ribs and Harry looked at him in surprise. He doubted very much any of them knew what he’d been thinking.

“Honestly, Ron! Is sex all you ever think about?”

“No, Hermione, sometimes I think about Quidditch. Sometimes I think about sex and Quidditch together. Haven’t figured out yet how we’d manage to stay on the broom, though.”

“Oh, Ron!” Hermione giggled and leaned against Ron’s shoulder. It was a revelation to Harry. The two of them could talk about sex, could discuss it, could even laugh about it, as though it wasn’t something shameful and dirty. As though it was perfectly normal. As though it was nothing to be afraid of. No prizes for guessing these two would enter the Rites together. He would be surprised if half the school didn’t know.

Even if he had wanted to enter the Rites, there was no-one he trusted enough to ask. And being married to Snape certainly complicated matters a bit. Harry remembered their vows only too well. They were bound only to each other and Harry was sure something bad would happen if he was unfaithful.

As Ron and Hermione climbed the stairs to the dorms, Harry took a detour to the boys’ bathroom. He wasn’t really surprised to see Snape already there waiting for him.

“Are you following me?”

“Yes,” said Snape folding his arms. “If you keep making yourself sick, you’re not going to get better.”

“How do you know I just wasn’t going to use the bathroom?”

Snape arched an eloquent eyebrow, which said a lot more than any words. Harry was convinced the man was a mind reader and didn’t need Occlumency to do it. He seemed to know Harry’s intentions only too well. “Can you stay with me for a while?” he asked instead. “Just until it passes?”

“You need a distraction?”

“Please. If I can get through the next hour, maybe the urge will go away.”

“And what distractions can you find in a bathroom, Potter?”

Harry took out his wand and waved. “Accio, cards.”

A few seconds later, he and Professor Snape were ensconced on the floor playing exploding snap.

“I hope you don’t expect me to let you win, just because you’re feeling fragile, Potter,” said Snape austerely.

“No worries, Professor. I’m the Gryffindor champion at this, you know.”

“If you put as much effort into studying as you do with this silly game, you might have me believe that there’s a brain under that unruly mop.”

Harry glanced up, but no retort was forthcoming. Sitting on a bathroom floor playing snap, somehow Snape’s barbs didn’t sting as much as they used to.


TBC

Chapter 12: Shattered Souls
Chapter 12

Harry found it difficult to get to sleep that first night back in the dorm. He was so used to the silence of the dungeon rooms, not the noise five sixth years made discussing their holidays. No-one asked him about his, as if they already knew something and didn’t want to mention it. Harry wondered if Ron had told them about Snape being his guardian, but surely even Ron knew they had to keep that secret.

He had no nightmares that night, but his sleep was restless and he tossed and turned all night trying to get comfortable. He was used to Snape’s large bed now, and the dorm bed seemed far too small. Harry was afraid that if he turned suddenly he would fall out onto the floor.

The next morning he managed to eat a small breakfast and keep it down. His tummy gave a little jump when he looked at the top table and Snape smiled at him briefly. He felt an insane desire to please the man by eating well, just to show him that he could.

McGonagall kept him behind after Transfiguration. He wasn’t really surprised. His attempts at trying to Transfigure a block of wood into a chair had been dismal to say the least. He just couldn’t concentrate. But it wasn’t shoddy spell work she wanted to talk to him about.

“Harry, last night I received over a dozen letters from your classmates intimating that they would like to partner you for the Rites. Have any of them discussed this with you personally?”

“No, Professor. I don’t think I’ll be taking part.”

“I see. So you knew nothing of any of these letters? No-one has approached you directly?”

“No. I think I would have remembered that.”

“Thank you, Harry. That will be all. You’d best hurry along so that you won’t be late for your next class. Potions, isn’t it?”

“Oh, no!” Harry looked quickly at his watch and ran out of the classroom without even saying goodbye to Professor McGonagall. He was five minutes late already and he knew Snape hated tardiness. Harry ran all the way to the Potions classroom in the dungeons, but he didn’t stand a chance.

“I see you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence, Mr. Potter,” sneered Snape as Harry entered the room. Harry felt his heart sink to somewhere near his shoes. “Detention. Tonight. Six o’clock. Don’t be late for that.”

“But sir-”

“Do you wish points to be taken as well, Mr. Potter?” Snape’s voice could have cut glass.

“No, sir.”

“Then kindly take your seat. And do not arrive late for this class again or you will be out of it. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry sir,” said Harry in a small voice. Had no-one told Snape that McGonagall kept him behind? It wasn’t his fault he was late and he now had detention. Ron gave him a knowing look and shrugged, as if to say, “Snape’s still treating you the same, then.”

That’s what was bothering Harry, he realised. Not the detention. But the fact that Snape could so easily go back into sneering mode, putting Harry down. As if the summer had never happened. As if Snape had never held him while he cried. Where was the Snape he’d shared the summer with? The one who cared about him? Harry sat throughout his Potions class silently seething. How dare Snape do this? How dare he pretend like nothing had ever happened between them? That they were still the same enemies. He couldn’t go back to being like that. He just couldn’t.

He stalked to detention that night, five minutes to six and pounded on Snape’s office door. He was so angry it was burning a hole in his chest. Just as the door swung open, Harry opened his mouth to rant and rave at Snape but the room was empty. Snape was nowhere in the office.

Harry went in and hovered near the door to Snape’s private rooms, but went no further. Snape had said they were his rooms too, but at that moment, Harry wasn’t sure that he wanted them to be. Everything felt like it belonged to Snape. That nothing was his. Not anymore.

While he was dithering, Snape opened the door and stood there grinning at Harry. Oh dear. What sort of punishment was he in for if Snape was grinning at him? Snape had forgone his usual robes and was wearing a plain cream shirt, the top button undone and a pair of forest green wool trousers. He seemed to be dressed very casually for someone who was about to give a detention.

“Why are you waiting out there, Harry? Come in. I told you these are your rooms too.” Snape moved away from the door to allow Harry to enter the living room. Harry stopped short at what he saw. In front of the fireplace, a small flame flickering, stood a small table set for two. China plates, crystal goblets, silver cutlery and two green napkins folded in the shape of swans. Harry gaped. He was stuck for words, but one managed to emerge.

“Sir?”

“Sit down, Harry. Dinner will be ready in a moment.” Snape left through the door that Harry now knew led to the kitchen. He sat down as Snape returned levitating covered serving dishes and spoons.

“You cooked?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Harry. Potion skills come in quite handy in the kitchen.”

“So I see. But, sir, what about my detention?”

“This is your detention.”

“What? Dinner with you?”

“Yes. Unless you’d like to spend the time scrubbing cauldrons or chopping up flobberworms? I’m sure it could be arranged.”

“Er, no, thank you. I’m just a little surprised.”

“And upset? Don’t think I hadn’t noticed you glaring daggers at me all through Potions, Harry. You thought it was unfair of me, right?”

“Yes. It wasn’t my fault I was late. Professor McGonagall wanted to talk to me.”

“I guessed as much, but I had to do something to get to talk to you alone. Giving you detention seemed the easiest way to go about it and the least suspicious. Draco Malfoy can never believe that we are anything other than enemies. Don’t you see, Harry? It was all an act. I can’t very well ask you personal questions in class now, can I?”

“I suppose not,” said Harry. “You’re really taking this guardian thing seriously, aren’t you?”

“Of course. If you ever need someone to talk to Harry, I’m it. Just remember that while we are in public, we must pretend to loathe each other. That I’m still a good little Death Eater at heart.”

Harry winced at hearing the bitterness in his teacher’s voice. How could he stand it? To go to all those meetings knowing that the wrong word or action could give you away? That your very thoughts could sign your death warrant? He didn’t think he could be that brave. Spying on Voldemort for the Order seemed such a dangerous task for so little reward.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry.

“For what?”

“That you have to spy for Dumbledore.”

“Can we talk about something else, please? There are some things I would prefer not to discuss, Harry and my work for the Order is one of them.”

“Yes, of course,” said Harry. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended. Just unwilling to talk about it. Eat,” said Snape, lifting the lid from one of the dishes. “Shepherd’s pie. I hear from the house elves that it is your favourite.”

“Yes, it is. Thanks,” said Harry and served himself a small portion. It had been his favourite, back when he thought food was something to be enjoyed, not endured. Now he wasn’t even sure he could manage the small portion which sat on his plate. He stared at it and moved it around with his fork.

“Harry, I know this isn’t going to be easy. You’re not going to get better overnight, but things will get easier with time. Can you just try a few bites? For me?”

Harry nodded and brought a forkful of potatoes and meat to his mouth. It smelled wonderful, but still his stomach recoiled at the thought he was going to fill it with food. He slipped the fork past his lips, Snape’s intent gaze on him the whole time. Harry allowed the food to linger in his mouth a moment before chewing. Just tasting it, feeling the texture and flavour.

It didn’t feel bad to have food in his mouth, just odd and unexpected. Normally if he was forced to eat, he swallowed quickly, not allowing himself to taste it and nearly always made himself sick afterwards. He swallowed the dinner, his throat fighting him all the way and he tried not to gag. Once the first mouthful was down, he took a sip of water from a crystal goblet and it got easier after that.

Soon he’d finished what he’d put on his plate.

“Would you like some more, Harry?” asked Snape, but adding a good few servings onto his plate before Harry had a chance to reply. Harry devoured it like a starving man and wondered why on earth he thought food was horrible. This was delicious.

“Not too much at once, Harry. Your stomach has to get used to food again.”

Harry slowed his intake of food, contenting himself instead with watching Snape eat. If the sounds from him were anything to go by, it seemed that Snape was enjoying the meal. Enjoying the meal a lot. His eyes closed as he tasted every mouthful, soft “mmms” emerging from between his lips. Harry had forgotten how enjoyable food could be. That it could be a pleasant experience. That you were allowed to enjoy it.

“I think that’s all I can manage for now, Professor,” said Harry, feeling slightly bloated but tonight he didn’t seem to have the urge to throw up at all. Snape glanced at Harry’s plate which still held a few morsels.

“You’ve done really well, Harry. How do you feel?”

“Full. A bit too full, really. I think I ate too much. But I don’t want to be sick.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so. When it happens…when I make myself sick…I hate the throwing up part, that just feels awful and I feel terrible about doing it. But afterwards, for a few minutes I feel so relieved. It was something I did. That I could do.”

“You were in control?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s it. I needed to get some control back. My whole life has been controlled by someone else. Voldemort, the Dursleys, Dumbledore. I had nothing of my own and then because I was so stupid and stubborn I go and get Sirius killed!”

“Harry, that was not your fault. You were in the middle of a pitched battle.”

“But the reason we were there was because I couldn’t tell a real vision from anything false that Voldemort tried to send me. I’m hopeless.”

“Harry, please, stop torturing yourself over this. You know your godfather and I did not get on, but I know he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself for something that quite clearly is not your fault. Dwelling on things that cannot be changed is a useless exercise.” Snape, the Potions Master was back, brisk and efficient. Harry found himself liking both and not wanting to leave. He could talk to Snape about things that he wouldn’t even dream telling Ron and Hermione.

“Is there anything else you wish to discuss, Harry? It’s getting late, perhaps you’d better go back to your dorm.”

“No, not yet,” pleaded Harry, realising he probably sounded like a petulant child who wanted to stay up past his bedtime, but not caring as long as he could spend some more time with Snape.

“Well, what would you like to do? Chess? Exploding Snap?” Snape grinned and Harry shook his head, remembering how soundly Snape had beaten him at both games.

“I don’t want to play a game,” said Harry. “I just want to spend some time with you. We don’t have to do anything.”

“In that case, perhaps you would like to join me on the couch for a pumpkin juice?”

“Thanks,” said Harry and began gathering up the dishes. His aunt Petunia always made sure he tidied the table immediately after they’d eaten.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“Just clearing the table.”

“Have you forgotten you’re a wizard, Harry?” Snape waved his wand, muttering something Harry couldn’t hear under his breath as the table and its contents vanished. As they did so, two large glasses of pumpkin juice appeared in his hands. He handed one to Harry and then sat down on the sofa. Snape patted the space beside him in silent invitation.

Harry was only too glad to obey and settled himself in comfortably. It was almost like the summer again, he and Snape together. No-one else. He smiled to himself as he sipped his drink, both of them silent. Sometime between their forced marriage and now, he felt that he and Snape had become friends of a sort. They were still hesitant with each other, but Harry knew it would take time for both of them to get beyond the hated teacher he thought Snape was in first year.

Snape was giving off more heat than the fire and Harry shifted restlessly. He could hear Snape’s every breath, ragged and shallow and the click of his throat as he swallowed the orange liquid. Snape’s hands around the glass were white as he gripped it hard.

“Professor?” asked Harry, concerned and reached out a hand and touched the sleeve of Snape’s shirt. Snape yanked his arm away as if Harry had burned him.

“Harry,” rasped Snape. “You must go. Now.”

Snape refused to look at him, but the hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end anyway, as though he was being under scrutiny. There was no clock in the room and Harry was surprised to hear a loud ticking before realising that he was hearing his own heartbeat thunder in his ears. The tension in the room was suddenly unbearable. What was wrong? Had he done something?

“Professor?” he tried again.

“Harry. Please. Just go.”

Harry heard the pleading in the man’s voice and something else that sounded remarkably like a warning.

He went.


TBC

Chapter 13: Shattered Souls
Chapter 13

There were no more strange detentions with Snape, but Harry found himself wishing there were. He missed their chats. Missed the confident presence of the older man. Ironically it was only with Snape that he felt safe.

He still saw Snape in Potions and at meals and Harry waited patiently for the day that Snape would resume his Occlumency lessons. At least then he knew he would get to spend time with Snape alone. But no mention of them were forthcoming and Harry wondered if it would be very presumptuous of him to ask. He didn’t want to risk it though, didn’t want to risk the memory of him seeing Snape’s pensieve and shatter the little trust they had between them now.

Because he knew Snape was watching, and strangely because Harry found himself wanting to please Snape, Harry began eating properly again. He still had his bad days when throwing up after eating gave him some sense of control, but they were getting fewer now.

By Halloween he’d grown two inches and put on some weight. Hair again sprouted under his arms on his groin, but maddeningly no facial hair and his chest remained stubbornly smooth. He wondered if there was a potion you could take to make it grow faster. Snape would probably know, but he found himself reluctant to ask him. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t want Snape to know just yet that puberty had finally decided to pay him a return visit.

Harry’s shoulders had broadened and he’d fleshed out, he no longer looked as though you could play a tune on his ribs. He stared at himself in mirrors, surprised at the young man staring back at him. Another part of his anatomy was bigger now too and sometimes he felt a heavy ache between his legs at the most inopportune moments.

He hadn’t quite got anything resembling an erection yet, but he guessed it would only be a matter of time. He didn’t quite know what he was going to do about it when he did finally have one. What if it happened in front of Hermione? Would she be disgusted with him? What if it happened in front of one of the teachers? McGonagall or Flitwick? Oh, Lord, what if he had an erection in front of Dumbledore? Or Snape?

A strange, wriggly, squirmy feeling leapt low in his belly as the thought of Snape. Was that a twitch? Did his cock just twitch when he thought of Snape? Harry felt his face suffused with heat and glanced quickly round the common room. It was late and there were only a few other inhabitants besides himself. He didn’t think any of them could read minds, but still, he felt a little odd to be thinking of Snape that way. He was a little ashamed that he had, they were friends now, weren’t they? And you didn’t go about thinking of your friends like that, did you? He resolved to think of something else. Anything else.

He put away his Transfiguration homework and was just heading off to bed when Professor McGonagall entered the room. “Mr. Potter. Professor Dumbledore wishes to speak to you.”

All heads turned to stare at Harry and he could almost guess what they were thinking. What had Harry done now? He must be in trouble, why else would the Headmaster want to see him so late?

When Harry arrived in Dumbledore’s office, McGonagall quickly left them alone. Tea and biscuits were laid out on Dumbledore’s desk. Dumbledore urged him to sit in an armchair so soft and deep he almost drowned in it. Harry declined the tea, but watched as Dumbledore took a sip of his.

“Well, Harry? Is there anything you wish to tell me?”

“Tell you, Headmaster?”

“Yes, who have you chosen for the Spring Rites? I haven’t heard from you or your partner.” He was smiling, but his eyes weren’t twinkling as usual.

“I haven’t entered the Rites,” mumbled Harry.

“I see. And would you care to enlighten me as to why?”

“I’m - um - I’m just not comfortable with sex,” said Harry. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

“That’s as maybe, Harry, but perhaps you don’t quite understand what is at stake here Harry. The future of all Wizardkind is in your hands, Harry. Virgin hands. Your body holds enormous magical energy, but as a virgin you will be unable to access that power. We need that power from you. You need it to defeat Voldemort. I’m sorry, Harry, but I must insist most strongly that you enter the Spring Rites this year. You may of course choose your own partner.” Dumbledore set down his cup and glanced over the rim of his glasses at Harry.

“I thought we only had to participate if we were willing?” Harry’s knuckles clenched around the arms of the chair, white showing through pink. How could he ever have thought that anything in his life was his to control? It had never been his. Not since that night that Voldemort had marked him as orphan and saviour in one.

“In this case I am making an exception. You are too important not to do this, Harry. I hope you understand. As Professor McGonagall has already told you, for the act itself you must be willing or that power will be forever lost to you. You will still have the magic you have now, but no more. You will never gain your full potential.”

“And will you accept my choice of partner?”

“Of course. As long as they are willing too.”

“I need to think about this,” said Harry.

“There is nothing to think about, my boy. It has already been decided. You will take part in the Spring Rites or Voldemort will win. And you don’t want that, do you, Harry?”

“No, sir. Then there’s nothing more to say, is there?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry left the room silently, he couldn’t even muster up a goodbye. He was seething inside, interspersed with a few doses of plain old terror for good measure. He was terrified of sex, pure and simple. How could he go to the Rites willing if he was so bloody scared?

Harry hadn’t even realised he had a destination in mind until he found himself standing outside the Potion Master’s office. He knocked softly on the wood, feeling the tingle of magic as the wards recognised him and the door swung open.

Snape was sitting by his desk, grading papers. He looked up when the door opened and then stood up, tying the sash around his dressing gown a little tighter.

“Harry? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Please. I need to talk to you.”

“Of course, go on into the living room.” Snape stood and hugged him. “You’re shaking like a leaf, Harry. Are you having nightmares again?”

Harry couldn’t answer, just let himself be guided and settled on the sofa. A few moments later, Snape handed him a glass of amber liquid.

“What is it?”

“Brandy.”

“I don’t drink,” said Harry.

“It’s medicinal. It’s good for shock. Take a sip, Harry. You’ll feel better.”

Harry sipped and felt it burn his throat and settle like a warm weight in his stomach. He didn’t care for the taste, but it did make him feel slightly calmer.

“Harry?” prodded Snape, kneeling on the floor in front of Harry, a hand resting on Harry’s knees. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It isn’t a nightmare,” replied Harry. “It’s Dumbledore.”

“Is he hurt?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“What then?”

“Dumbledore has informed me that I must participate in the Spring Rites, whether I am willing or not. Apparently my powers are too important to waste on keeping such a trifling thing as my virginity.”

“But that’s preposterous!” spluttered Snape. “The Rites are only for those who are entirely willing, Harry. If you aren’t willing, then your powers will be lost to you anyway.”

“I know,” said Harry. “I’m terrified of it, but I know that I have to do it if I am to have any chance of defeating Voldemort.”

“And did you mention to Dumbledore that your body is not ready to have sex yet?”

“My body is ready,” admitted Harry. “Things have started happening again.”

“I see,” said Snape. “And why couldn’t you tell me, Harry? Am I that much of an ogre? I thought we had come to some sort of understanding.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. It just seemed so personal and I felt a bit embarrassed. But I think Dumbledore knew, that’s why he told me tonight.”

“And did Dumbledore also take into account our wedding vows, or has he conveniently forgotten that he bound us to each other completely? No matter who you choose for the Rites, Harry, it will be unbearably painful for you. As it will be for me. Our blood and magic is bound to each other and it will be painful for both of us if either of us are …intimate with someone else.”

“I guessed that. From the vows,” said Harry. “That’s why I want it to be you. I want you to be my partner for the Rites.”


TBC

Chapter 14: Shattered Souls
Chapter 14


Snape didn’t speak for about half an hour. He downed the rest of Harry’s brandy and leant the back of his head against the mantelpiece. Harry had just come to him and offered him his heart’s desire on a plate. Harry. One part of him wanted to gorge himself silly on that proffered plate, but the more rational part was trying to explain his objections. Both to Harry and to himself.

“Harry, I’m flattered. I am, but I don’t think it can be considered appropriate. I am your teacher. Your guardian. It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of you in that way.” If only certain parts of his anatomy would forget how exciting it would be to take Harry exactly like that, for Harry to give himself completely.

“You’re also my husband,” said Harry. “It’s right it should be you. You know about my uncle and the nightmares. You understand. You’ll be gentle with me. I know you won’t hurt me. I trust you.”

“You do?” the last surprised him. “And would you also trust me if you knew that I pleasured myself while thinking of you? Would you still trust me then? To know how I’ve defiled you time and time again in my head?”

“Yes,” Harry said, blushing bright pink. “I want you to do this, and now you’ve said you want me. I want it to be you. Only you.”

“Oh, Harry. What am I going to do with you?” Snape sighed and looked at the young man on the sofa. For he was a young man now, there was no denying it. Snape had tried to keep in mind the child Harry had been, as if that would somehow stop the wanting of things he was certain he had never deserved. He didn’t deserve Harry. Harry was an angel and if not quite a demon, Snape felt he was sometimes soulless. Voldemort had stolen his soul a long time ago.

“Do you really think you’re ready for this, Harry?”

“No, but things will get better with time, won’t they?”

“I dare say. Now, I don’t want to scare you, Harry and I think that just going straight to the Rites is not the way to avoid that. We should start off with other things.”

“Other things?” Snape thought he heard Harry gulp. Despite what his uncle had managed to do to him, Harry was still an innocent in so many ways. He didn’t seem to know how things could or should progress. It made Snape glad that he would be the one to instruct the boy in pleasure. So unlike his own initiation. That had more to do with blood and pain than any thought of pleasure for him.

“Yes. Other things. Kissing. Touching. To see what you like and enjoy. I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Harry, or of anything we might do together. I want it to be pleasurable for you. If I ever do something you don’t like, tell me and I’ll stop. I promise. We will only ever go as far as you want to.”

“Except for the Rites,” Harry’s face was white.

“Yes, except for that.”

Harry stared at him, mouth opening and closing, but no sound emerging. His lips were the colour of strawberries, seeming so much redder now against the pale face. Harry was still trembling, but seemed determined not to give into whichever fear was uppermost in his mind at the moment.

“Harry, I would like your permission to woo you, is what I am trying to say.”

“Woo?” asked the boy, as if he’d never heard the word before. Maybe he hadn’t. It was such an old-fashioned term after all, but he didn’t know what the modern equivalent would be. He had been alone for far too long.

He wanted to take things very slowly with Harry. Wanted to show him with kisses and soft touches that being intimate didn’t have to mean being scared and in pain. That he was allowed to feel pleasure. That it wasn’t wrong.

“Yes, woo. Although the wooing stage usually takes place before the wedding.”

“Oh, you mean like going on dates and stuff?”

“Harry, if it takes me twenty years I am hoping to remove the word ‘stuff’ from your vocabulary. And what is a ‘date’ exactly? I thought it was a type of fruit?”

“It is, but it’s also when people who are in love go out together. To dinner, or theatre or something.”

“I see. Well, then, would you like to join me for dinner tomorrow evening?” Snape pointedly ignored the ‘in love’ part. No use thinking of that. No use hoping that Harry would ever fall for him. Snape was just the easiest means to an end.

“Where?”

“I thought in…” Snape had been about to say ‘our rooms’ but realised that the forced intimacy of that setting might not be entirely fair on Harry. “There’s a new restaurant in Diagon Alley I’ve been meaning to try, but I dislike dining out alone.”

“Great!” beamed Harry as if Snape had just given him a wonderful present. Could it be true? That Harry was really looking forward to spending time with him? “It’s a date!”

Snape arched an eyebrow at him but declined to comment. He didn’t care what Harry called it as long as he accompanied him.

“What will I tell the others?” asked Harry.

Snape, unusually hadn’t thought that far ahead. Despite being his secret husband, Harry was also his student and the boy who lived. The gossips would have a field day if they saw Harry Potter out on a date with his professor. Harry couldn’t go anywhere in the wizarding world without some reporter popping up out of nowhere.

“We could go somewhere else,” suggested Harry softly. “Somewhere Muggle?”

“That would be acceptable,” said Snape. “Meet me in our rooms, say around six?”

Harry nodded. “I’m really looking forward to it. Goodnight, sir,” Harry paused by the door.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

Snape stared at the door for a long time after Harry had left.


TBC

Chapter 15: Shattered Souls
Chapter 15

After his visit to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione on Saturday morning, it was straight to Quidditch practice. After Umbridge’s departure, Dumbledore had appealed to the Ministry and Harry’s ban was lifted. He never thought he’d be able to play again, but Dumbledore had a way of making people do the things he wanted them to.

The practice was a disaster. It was freezing cold and rained non-stop. Harry couldn’t concentrate, his mind was on his date with Snape that evening. Twice he’d almost been knocked off the broom by bludgers, but he found he didn’t really care and had a silly grin that nothing seemed to shift. When Harry failed to catch the snitch after a miserable three hours, Angelina called a halt.

“If you play like that in the match, Harry, we’re doomed! What’s the matter with you today?” she demanded.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“He’s in luurve,” someone sing-songed, but Harry couldn’t see who. Harry tried to think if that was true. Was he in love with Snape? He liked the man, had grown to respect him over the past few months, he missed him when he wasn’t with him, but was that love? He realised he was excited about their date, as he would be if he was going out with someone he fancied.

His heart sped up as he imagined what Snape might wear in Muggle attire. Snape wouldn’t have robes to hide his body behind tonight. Harry lingered in the changing rooms, wishing everyone would hurry up so that he could take his shower alone. He still wasn’t comfortable with other people seeing him naked. After the last team member left, Harry locked the door behind them.

He undressed quickly, discarding his Quidditch uniform over a bench and making his way to the showers. Harry turned the water on as hot as he could stand it, almost but not quite bordering on pain. Soaping his hands, he began as always by washing his neck and shoulders, then his chest. He felt a tug low down in his abdomen when he accidentally grazed a nipple with his nail. He did it again, deliberately this time and gasped at the strange sensation. It seemed that his nipples were directly linked with his cock, and Harry played some more. He had no idea it could feel like this.

Harry was hardly aware of the water pelting on his skin, so caught up was he in these new feelings and sensations. It was almost like flying on the broom, a sense of euphoria that he never thought he would be able to feel on the ground. Is that what Snape meant when he talked about touching Harry? Would Snape roam those fingers all over his skin? His nipples? His cock? The thought sent his head reeling and his cock to fill with blood. Harry leant his head against the tiles of the shower, panting as needles of hot water darted against his skin. He shuddered, desire and fear overwhelming him. Closing his eyes, he conjured an image of Snape standing beside him in the shower, as Harry’s hand trailed a fine line down his stomach.

He stopped short of actually touching his cock, it felt so heavy and alien and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. Was it supposed to come naturally? Did he just touch it and see what felt good? Harry reached out a tentative hand and stroked along the length with his index finger, his stomach lurching when his cock jumped. That didn’t feel too bad, so he tried it again, but he got the impression that there was something more, if only he knew what it was.

He sighed and continued washing, limp once again, his thoughts however still revolving around Snape. Did Snape even want to touch him, or had his admission that he pleasured himself while thinking of Harry just a lie to try and scare him off? Was he only doing this because Harry had asked? And why would he even do anything just because Harry had asked it?

Harry was so confused. He knew he liked Snape, had dared to even imagine the man touching him. But Harry was scared too. Scared of what they might do together but deep down he knew it aroused him as well. Did that mean that he’d enjoyed what his uncle had done to him? For if he liked men, liked Snape, did that mean that he should have enjoyed his uncle’s attentions?

Harry shook his head to try and clear it of the thoughts which seemed to have no answer and he was giving himself a headache. The heat and steam of the room wasn’t helping; he switched off the shower and dried himself quickly, before heading back to the dorm and getting ready for his date with Snape.

He smiled as he pushed open the dormitory door and then faltered before he entered. Harry had no idea what one would normally wear on a date. He’d worn school robes on that disastrous Valentine’s Day with Cho, but he couldn’t very well wear those tonight. No point in drawing attention to the fact how much younger he was than Snape.

Ron was the only other occupant of their dorm, he was one of the first who left straight after Quidditch. Ron didn’t need to use the showers, he could use the Prefects’ bathroom. His face was flushed and his hair slightly damp. Ron glanced up when Harry entered, a copy of Quidditch Monthly open on his lap.

“Hi, Harry.”

“Hi, Ron. Er - can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?” Ron flicked over to the next page.

“Erm, I wondered if you could give me some advice? On what to wear for a date?”

Ron’s eyes widened like two blue saucers. “Harry? You have a date?”

“There’s no need to sound so surprised!”

“Well, you just didn’t seem to be interested in girls this term. I thought you were concentrating on studying or something. Like Hermione.”

“I’m not,” Harry blushed.

“What, studying? Or interested in girls?”

“Girls,” said Harry flatly.

“I see,” said Ron. “Well, it’s about time you figured it out.”

“You knew? How did you know?” Even Harry hadn’t known until recently.

“Hermione told me. After Cho told her.”

“What did Cho tell her?” demanded Harry. Dear God, did the whole school know everything about his personal life?

“That you kissed like someone who wasn’t really enjoying it. That she thought you would prefer it if she had been a boy. That you treated her as though she was a bloke, talking about Quidditch and all, and never once complimented her on how she looked. She thought you were gay.”

Cho could tell that about him? From one kiss?

“Does it bother you, Ron? That I like blokes I mean?”

“No, why should it? I come from a very open-minded family, Harry and anyway Mum has always said that most people are bisexual and just have a stronger preference one way or the other. Love’s love, Harry, no matter where you find it.”

Harry wasn’t exactly sure that Ron would echo those sentiments if he knew that Harry’s date was with Snape.

“Is it your first date?” asked Ron, bounding from the bed and rummaging around in his trunk.

“Yes.”

“They recommend smart casual for a first date.”

“Who do? And what on earth is smart casual?” But Ron didn’t answer him straightaway.

“Aha! Found it!” Ron said and pulled out another magazine. The title flashed neon pink and green at five second intervals. It wasn’t helping Harry’s headache any. A Young Wizard’s Guide to Personal Grooming.

“A present from Hermione,” said Ron. Of course, it would be. Harry couldn’t imagine any of his male friends ever buying such a thing. Ron rifled through the pages and stopped at the centre pages. “Here, have a look,” he thrust the magazine towards Harry.

Harry stared at all the wizard models, there were five in all, ranging in age from about twenty to thirty, all wearing some form of robe in different colours. Some had collars, some had not. Some were short sleeved, some were long. The models smiled and waved at him from the photographs.

“But we’re going somewhere Muggle,” protested Harry. “I can’t wear robes.”

“Oh, you should have said,” replied Ron. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the magazine. Harry quickly deposited the magazine on the bed. He still didn’t quite trust Ron’s wand. “Translatore!” commanded Ron and the models clothes all changed into various ensembles of Muggle clothing.

Harry looked at the model who was now wearing dark blue jeans and a pale blue shirt. “Pity I don’t have a blue shirt,” said Harry. He could always wear one of his white school ones, but the blue looked well with the jeans, and he had plenty of those.

“Me neither,” said Ron. “I know, we can Transfigure one of your school shirts.”

“I don’t know, Ron. Professor McGonagall told us that clothes are very tricky and we haven’t even done the spells yet.”

“I know the spell,” said Ron. “It’s worth a try, though, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” agreed Harry. Anything to avoid wearing his uniform.

When Ron took out one of Harry’s shirts and performed the Transfiguration, he was stunned. Instead of his plain white cotton shirt, there now lay a pale blue one, with even paler buttons. Harry lifted it up, the material flowing like water through his fingers. “Silk! Wow, Ron, I didn’t know you could do this!”

“Even Hermione doesn’t know that spell yet,” said Ron proudly. “But when you’ve been living on hand-me-downs you learn how to Transfigure clothes. Bill taught me. The Transfiguration is only temporary of course, but it should last long enough for your date.”

“Thanks, Ron. I really appreciate this.”

Harry changed into his jeans and then put on his ‘new’ shirt. He shivered as the silk caressed his skin, rubbing teasingly against his nipples. He remembered his shower and felt himself growing hard at the memory, hoping Ron wouldn’t notice.

“Oh,” breathed Harry. “That feels weird.”

“Never worn silk before, have you Harry?” asked Ron, grinning. “Feels good? Doesn’t it? Just wait until someone else touches you through it. You’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven!”

Harry felt his whole body aflame as he imagined Snape doing just that. How on earth was he going to get through this date? He’d been teetering on the brink of desire and arousal all day and an evening in the man’s company was only going to make it worse. Harry fervently wished he’d known how to do more than just tease himself in the shower. He felt like a tightly coiled spring and any moment now he was going to snap in half.

“What time is it?” he asked Ron, so nervous that it never even occurred to him to look at his own watch.

“Quarter to six.”

“Right, I’d better get going. Don’t want to be late.” Harry walked to the door.

“Oh, and Harry?” said Ron.

“Yes?”

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him.”

“Thanks, Ron,” smiled Harry as he left.

He took the most convoluted route to the dungeons he could think of, doubling back time and time again. He missed Filch a couple of times and finally made it to the corridor outside Snape’s office.

His arousal fled as if he’d just been doused in ice cold water. Emerging from Snape’s office was Draco Malfoy with a very self-satisfied smirk on his face. He looked like the cat who’d got the cream and he licked his lips before turning away. Harry’s stomach lurched but not from desire.

Malfoy spotted him and his smirk got even wider. “Potter! What are you doing here?” he demanded in the tone of voice of one who expected an answer. In the tone of voice of one who felt they had a right to know what went on in the Potion Master’s dungeons. What was Malfoy doing there?

“Mr. Potter has a detention, Mr. Malfoy. Now please return to your dorm. Early I see, Mr. Potter. I wasn’t expecting you until six.” Harry couldn’t tell much from Snape’s expression other than the fact that he was angry and trying to rein in his temper. His face rarely gave anything away, it was always his hands and that’s where Harry drew his gaze next. Snape’s hands were fisted in his robes, jerking spasmodically, as though he wanted to strangle someone and his robes were suffering instead.

“In my office, Potter! Now!” He barked and Harry wasted no time in obeying the order. It had been a while since he’d heard that tone of voice from his professor, but he knew the consequences couldn’t be good. Snape mumbled something to Malfoy that Harry couldn’t hear before following Harry into the office.

Snape slammed the door shut so forcefully that a few of the glass jars on the shelves rattled. He glared at Harry, who instinctively took a step backwards, only stopping when his progress was impeded by the edge of Snape’s desk. Snape looked furious, almost as angry as when Harry had looked in the man’s pensieve. This was not good.

“I can’t believe you did it!” snarled Snape, pacing up and down.

“Did what?” asked Harry shakily. He was truly at a loss.

“Mr. Malfoy has just been telling me about his trip into Hogsmeade this morning. A trip where he also saw you! I did not give you permission to go to Hogsmeade, Harry! I would never have signed that form!” Snape was almost screaming now. “How did you do it? That damn cloak, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Harry, but he didn’t apologise. Snape was angry because he’d sneaked out of the castle without permission? “I went with Ron and Hermione. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? No big deal?” screeched Snape and Harry hoped the rooms had adequate silencing charms on them. Snape seemed in danger of giving himself a heart attack at this rate. “THERE ARE NO WARDS IN HOGSMEADE!!!!” roared Snape before striding across the room and seizing Harry in a fierce embrace.

“Do you have any idea what could have happened? You were unprotected, Harry. Oh, God, Harry. I could have lost you.”

Snape was trembling against him, holding him tight and it was only after Harry felt wetness dampen his neck that he realised Snape was actually sobbing on his shoulder. Crying over Harry, what might have happened to him.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” he said softly, unsure how to comfort the man in his arms.

“Severus,” he croaked. “My name is Severus.”

The gift of his name caused Harry’s chest to constrict and he hugged Sn - no, Severus even tighter as he felt his own tears begin to flow. He didn’t know how long they stood there like that, sobbing in each other’s arms. It felt weird and comforting at the same time. They clung to each other for a while, neither of them moving even when the tears stopped, as though reluctant to let go. Snape pulled away first.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Harry was stunned. He’d known that Snape desired him, desired his body, lusted after him. But the worry, the fear for Harry’s safety, that seemed to go beyond lust and desire, beyond being a guardian. Harry didn’t know for sure and he doubted that Snape would ever tell him, but he thought that Snape might love him. Might even be in love with him. His heart sped up at the thought.

“Severus,” he whispered, breaking the silence. The name sounded foreign on his tongue. The man still seemed like Snape, even in his thoughts. Snape glanced at him but his eyes were hollow, as though he was looking but not actually seeing anything. He blinked and shook his head.

“Harry, please forgive me. I am not usually so emotional. There was a - meeting last night and it was - intense.”

Harry did not ask him what went on at the Death Eater meeting, he didn’t want to know. He knew enough to know that they left Snape drained and snappish, but he would not pry. “There’s nothing to forgive, Severus. Please don’t apologise for showing your feelings to me. I shouldn’t have gone to Hogsmeade,” said Harry. “I’m sorry.”

“Promise me that you won’t go again unless I accompany you.”

“You’d go with me?” asked Harry, hope flaring in his chest.

“Of course. I’m not an ogre,” Snape grinned at that. “Though I suspect you had your suspicions in your first few years here?”

Harry laughed then, the tension in the room dissolving as though it had never been.

“I do not object to you going to Hogsmeade, Harry, but you aren’t protected away from Hogwarts unless I am with you. The reason for the bonding in the first place. What’s the point of them if you go off on your own? Now, give me five minutes and I will endeavour to get ready for our date.” Snape paused when he reached the door to the private chambers. “That is, if you still wish it?”

“Of course,” smiled Harry. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

Snape nodded in return, but he didn’t smile, and went to get changed.

When the man returned, Harry was surprised he managed to control himself and his body’s reactions. His jaw wanted to drop onto the floor and his jeans were getting uncomfortably tight again. Snape was wearing black trousers. Black leather trousers which moulded to every curve of the man’s legs and the space between them. The forest green shirt Snape wore shimmered in the light and Harry wondered if it was silk too. Ruffles down the middle hid the shirt’s buttons and his fingers itched to undo them. He wanted to reach out and touch the shirt, feel Snape’s skin through it. Harry knew he was staring but he couldn’t help it. Snape had pulled his hair back away from his face and tied it at the nape of his neck with a black ribbon. He looked like a pirate and Harry so wanted to be plundered. He flushed. Did he really just think that? He did and for the first time ever he felt the heat of desire without the accompanying fear and shame.

Snape was rummaging about in one of the lower cabinets when Harry came back to himself. “Here it is,” he said almost to himself. “I knew I had some somewhere.”

Harry managed to tear his gaze away from Snape and glance at the grey powder in the jar Snape now held in his hand. Floo powder.

“Do you have any potions for travel sickness?” asked Harry. He hated travelling by Floo, it always left him feeling dizzy and sick. “I’m not very good with Floos.”

“Well, we can’t Apparate from Hogwarts and you haven’t got your licence anyway, so I’m afraid it will have to be Floo.” Snape stared at Harry for a long moment, as though thinking of something. He sauntered over to his desk and pulled out one of the drawers. When he lifted his hand, he was holding a plastic wrapped packet of what looked suspiciously like Muggle biscuits.

“I confiscated these from Hufflepuff yesterday,” explained Snape as he handed them to Harry. Harry took them without really knowing why.

“Go on, then,” urged Snape. “Eat one.”

Harry glanced down at them and then back to Snape.

“They’re ginger. Good for nausea,” said Snape as if talking to a five year old.

“Oh, right,” said Harry absently and nibbled on one. It was stale and he wondered if that would matter. Snape was looking at him intently and it took a while for Harry to figure out what was going through Snape’s head. He thought Harry might go to the bathroom and throw up. Not now, although after the Floo trip he couldn’t promise anything. After Harry finished his biscuit, he offered them to Snape, who shook his head. He left and returned with a glass of water for Harry.

They both went into the living room and paused by the fireplace. “You go first, Harry,” said Snape handing him the Floo powder. “The address is 50 Melton Place.”

Harry took a pinch of grey powder and stepped into the fireplace. He was careful to enunciate every word very precisely, remembering only too well when he’d ended up in Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley. Almost instantly he was hurled through the network, his head and stomach both spinning wildly.

He was thrust rather abruptly out flat on his back and stared up at the room around him. It looked like a library. Bookshelves from floor to ceiling. There were tiered walkways going around the room with metal ladders at various intervals to reach them. Harry had never seen so many books before, not even at Hogwarts. Hermione would be in heaven.

A muttered curse from behind him (the profane, not literal kind) alerted him to the fact that Snape had also arrived. Harry turned to watch his husband climb out of the fireplace, still regally upright but looking a bit the worse for wear. Soot decorated his face with dark smudges and some tendrils of hair had escaped their bonds, trailing delicately over his cheeks. Harry thought he looked adorable, even with the scowl as he muttered something uncomplimentary about the parentage of the purveyor of low grade Floo powder, all that was available at Hogwarts.

“Where are we?” asked Harry, once he’d ascertained that Snape had calmed down enough and wasn’t going to bit his head off for asking anything.

“My London house,” replied Snape. “Although technically it is our London house since we married.”

“You don’t live at Hogwarts?”

“I spend most of my time there, but it is not my home. Sometimes even the dour Potions Master likes to escape the miserable brats he has the misfortune to teach.”

“Especially me?” Harry grinned.

“Oh, yes. You are the most insufferable brat of the lot.” Snape didn’t grin, his face hardly changed at all, but Harry could detect the small shift in his eyes that told him Snape was joking. He’d learned to read the little nuances of Snape’s body over these past few months. He wondered if Snape had done the same of him.

Snape showed Harry where the bathroom was so he could freshen up and Harry felt such a surge of trust when Snape didn’t follow him in. Harry washed his face and hands free of soot and attempted to flatten his hair. The mirror snorted and Harry stuck his tongue out at it. “Well, I never!” squeaked the mirror and blanked itself out.

“Er, I think I upset your mirror, Severus,” said Harry when he emerged.

“I’m not surprised, having to look at that ugly mug.”

And Harry felt steel bands around his chest and on his throat. He couldn’t breathe. There was no air and he gasped trying to get something that wasn’t there. His arms and legs were falling asleep and his tongue had swollen in his mouth. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but sink to the ground and hope he would faint soon. Everything was spinning away from him and he felt queasy as well as faint. He didn’t know which his body wanted to do first. Pass out or throw up.

“Oh, shit, Harry! I’m sorry.”

Hands were on him trying to get him to sit up and he tried to swat them away. Cool liquid was forced down his throat, but most of it dribbled out and down his chin. He coughed and spluttered but finally some of it went down. Water. Refreshing him, making him feel less sick.

“Harry? Can you hear me?”

No. Don’t want to. Want to stay in the dark.

You ugly stupid boy! You’ll regret that! Take it! Take it in your mouth!

“Harry? Please. Say something.”

“I - I - feel sick. Oh, God!”

“Harry?”

“It wasn’t the first time,” said Harry softly. Obviously there was a lot his mind had been hiding from him and Snape’s words had brought it all back. He’d just turned twelve then, the summer after his first year at Hogwarts. Dudley’s birthday party, but of course Harry hadn’t been allowed to attend. He’d been sent to his new room, Dudley’s second bedroom when his uncle had come in and gave him a slice of birthday cake. Too hungry and surprised to resist the food, Harry had taken it, not noticing until a few moments later the way Vernon had been looking at him eating the cake. Hungry.

“He made me suck him with the cake still in my mouth. I could hardly breathe, I thought I was going to choke. I didn’t remember it until now. I thought - that night, that it was the only time he did that. He called me an ugly stupid boy as he came.”

“Oh, Harry. I am so sorry, I should never have said that to you. I was only joking, but I still shouldn’t have said it. I guessed it was something like that.”

Snape paused and knelt down to give Harry a hug. “You are not ugly, Harry. Never think that. You are beautiful,” he whispered in Harry’s ear. Harry shivered and leant his head on Snape’s shoulder. “Do you really think that?” he mumbled to the man’s shirt.

Snape tilted Harry’s head up so that Harry was looking into his eyes. “I do, Harry. You are the most beautiful boy I have ever seen.”

“I don’t feel beautiful,” he sobbed and hung his head again. “How can you stand being around me? You must be disgusted with me. With the things I let him do to me.” Harry was sobbing now, wondering if he would ever stop. He just felt so awful sometimes and nothing seemed to help him. Nothing but Snape’s arms.

“Harry, you did not let him do anything to you. You were a child, he was a grown man who abused you. No child is ever to blame for that. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was. It must be, why else would he do it? I must have provoked him, led him on or something. I’m dirty,” said Harry almost to himself. “I have bad thoughts.”

“Harry? What do you mean?” Snape tried to get him to look up again, but Harry refused to meet his gaze. He tried to wriggle away from Snape’s embrace but the man wasn’t letting him go anywhere. “Harry, talk to me. What do you mean, bad thoughts?”

“I - I sometimes think of things that I shouldn’t be thinking.”

“Like what?”

“Things that I want you to do to me. I’m sorry.”

“Do you mean fantasies? Sexual fantasies?” asked Snape in an even tone.

“Yes,” said Harry. “But if I’m thinking about that, doesn’t that mean that it was my fault? That I wanted him to do those things to me?” Harry hiccupped as he tried to sort out the tangled weave that his brain had knitted around his emerging sexuality. He was so confused and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Oh, Harry,” Snape said against his hair. “Has this been worrying you? You think that because you are having sexual thoughts and feelings that you wanted what had happened?”

“Yes.”

“Harry, having sexual thoughts are normal at your age and do not mean that you wanted abuse to happen. Making love and rape are two totally different things. There is nothing wrong about you feeling sexy.”

“It feels wrong,” persisted Harry. “I shouldn’t be feeling like that after what he did to me. I shouldn’t want to - do anything like that.”

“And you do? You want to?”

“Sometimes,” Harry admitted. “But I don’t know what to do. Can you teach me?”

“Teach you what, Harry?”

Harry flushed, but made himself look his husband and Professor in the face for his next question. He owed the man that at least. “Can you teach me how to masturbate?”

Snape gaped at him. “Er, not right now,” added Harry hastily. “Sometime, I mean.”

“You’ve never?” asked Snape, sounding genuinely curious.

“No. I tried in the shower but I had no idea what I was doing. So will you? Teach me?”

“Far be it from me to hinder your education, Mr. Potter, but I believe it may not be considered an entirely appropriate lesson. However, let me think on it and we shall see.”

“Thank you,” said Harry, pulling away and standing up. He chuckled.

“Something amusing you, Harry?”

“Yes. Why do all our serious discussions take place with both of us on the floor?”

“The laws of gravity,” said Snape wryly and ushered Harry out the front door and on to their date.


TBC

Chapter 16: Shattered Souls
Chapter 16

Snape had worried a little after Harry’s revelations in the house about his uncle’s ongoing abuse and wondered if maybe they should return to Hogwarts at once. But he guessed that the best thing for Harry right now would be to do something normal and try and let him forget. There was also the boy’s request for a lesson in masturbation, something that Snape found himself very eager to teach and berated himself for it. He wanted to do it because it was an exciting thought, but also because he did want Harry to know what it was like, that he could in fact have control over his own body. That he was allowed to feel pleasure, that it wasn’t something dirty or shameful. Curse the Dursleys for instilling such abhorrent thoughts in the boy’s head.

Walking to Leicester Square, only a few streets away from his house, Snape marvelled at how unworldly the boy was, considering how long he’d lived in the Muggle world. Harry was fascinated by everything, from the electric street lights to the cars and motorbikes zooming along. He stared enraptured at the buskers and street entertainers, eyes glazed over at the ice-cream parlour that would have put Florean Fortescues to shame. Snape was forced to see everything anew through Harry’s eyes and everything seemed so much brighter now that Harry was alongside him.

They dined in an Italian restaurant, where Harry even managed to eat a few bits of dessert before declaring himself full and pushing his plate away. Snape was immensely pleased and very proud and smiled at his young husband.

After their meal had been paid for and they headed out into the cold again, Snape declared that the evening was young yet and they should go to the cinema.

“Really? I’ve never been to the cinema,” said Harry, his face lighting up.

“Never?” Snape shouldn’t have been surprised, not really. Not considering Harry’s relatives.

“No, they didn’t usually take me anywhere where I might actually enjoy myself. They only took me to the zoo that time because they couldn’t find anyone to mind me and were worried I’d wreck the house while they were gone.”

Snape didn’t reply, but he noticed that it was the first time Harry had spoken of his relatives without visibly shaking. He knew that Harry would not get over everything straightaway, but the sight had him thinking that Harry was well on the road to recovery.

“Well, Harry? What film would you like to see?” Snape glanced at the electronic board which flashed random movie titles intermittently at them along with starting times and prices.

“I have no idea. You choose.”

“Hmm, let’s see. King Arthur?” suggested Snape. It was the only one he thought he might know something about, having studied Merlin extensively in History of Magic. Harry nodded, his smile seeming brighter than all the neon lights around them. Snape was determined to see that smile more often.

“Sir, sir, can I help you?” came a disembodied voice. Oh, they’d reached the front of the queue. “Sorry, may we have two tickets for King Arthur, please?” Snape handed over the correct money, earning him an appraising look from Harry. Snape edged closer to him and whispered in the boy’s ear, “Not all Slytherins are incompetent when it comes to things Muggle.” Harry blushed and moved away from him. Snape cursed himself for his own stupidity. Of course he was making Harry uncomfortable, the boy was not ready for anything as intimate as whispers in the ear in the middle of a crowd. He took the tickets and handed one to Harry as they made their way inside.

“Harry, is something wrong?”

“No, sir,” replied Harry, but his gaze was riveted on the floor. Snape didn’t press the matter. Harry had already broken down once already tonight.

“Would you like some popcorn? Sweets?” He didn’t know why he was asking, he knew Harry wouldn’t want any food.

“No, thank you,” Harry still didn’t look up. Snape had the impression that he had committed some terrible faux pas but didn’t have the slightest idea of what it might be.

“What about something to drink?” He willed his brain to stop him asking such inane questions, but his mouth didn’t seem to be listening.

“Okay, I’ll have a Sprite, thanks.”

Snape nodded, not even sure if Harry saw him and wandered to one of the glass fronted fridges. He smiled to himself at the names Muggles gave to their products. Sprite! They’d probably wet themselves if they ever came across a real one.

Once the lemonades were paid for, he rejoined Harry and they made their way into the auditorium to find their seats. They were right in the middle and quite high up. Snape had never been in a cinema this large before. Snape sat on Harry’s right and set the bottle of Sprite in the cup holder at the end of the armrest.

“Harry, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Snape whispered. There was just something about a cinema that made talking at full volume seem out of place.

“Um,” said Harry and shifted in his seat. Snape happened to glance down to the boy’s lap and saw a ridge there, bulkier than the material of his jeans. Oh. Realisation dawned. Whispering and standing too close to Harry had caused him to become aroused, no wonder he was uncomfortable! That had not been his intention tonight. Harry glanced up and saw Snape looking. He instantly brought his hands to his lap to hide himself.

“It’s all right, Harry. That happens sometimes. Don’t worry about it.”

Harry nodded but refused to look at him and moved so that he was sitting on the farthest edge of his seat, away from Snape. He wasn’t surprised that Harry was uncomfortable, he was upset that he had caused it. He should have known better. Hadn’t he been the same for months afterwards? Flinching at the slightest touch from anyone, no matter how innocent? It had taken Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey the best part of a year to help him come to terms with what had happened. He had never been healed, not exactly, but he found the strength from somewhere to go on living, rather than just existing. He just hoped he would be able to do the same for Harry.

He settled down in his seat getting ready to watch the film and trying to ignore the urge that insisted he should hold Harry’s hand.

Harry fell asleep sometime during the last half hour of the film, his head seeking out Snape’s shoulder with unerring precision. Snape let him sleep and relished the closeness, even if Harry was asleep. It had been too long since the boy had seemed well rested. The shadows and lines under his eyes testified to that.

He didn’t wake up even when the house lights came on and the other patrons left. He didn’t stir when the staff came in to clean the floor of popcorn and spilled fizzy drinks. “Harry?” said Snape softly and caressed his cheek. No response. He called the boy’s name again and again but Harry didn’t stir. It took him a few moments to realise that Harry wasn’t breathing.

“HARRY!” he bellowed and one of the staff gave him a startled look. Snape spared her little notice, he was too busy shaking Harry by the shoulders, trying to scare some life back into him. Perhaps he did shake Harry a little harder than he intended, but he was not thinking straight. He was bloody petrified that he’d gone and died in the middle of a Muggle cinema.

At last, Harry whimpered and tried to struggle out of Snape’s grasp, but he found himself unable to let go of him.

“No! Please, Uncle Vernon! I’ll be good, I promise! Please don’t make me!” Then Harry opened his eyes, glazed and unfocused, they stared at Snape but didn’t really see him. Harry looked terrified and once again struggled to get free from his grasp. Snape let him go and felt as though someone had just kicked him in his stomach. He felt it fall to his shoes. Harry was scared. Harry had been scared of him. His mind tried to remind him that Harry had been in the grip of a nightmare and it wasn’t really Snape he was scared of. But what if it was?

“Harry? Are you all right?”

“Fine, sir. Just a nightmare.”

“You weren’t breathing,” said Snape.

“No, I have sleep apnoea. I sometimes stop breathing in my sleep. I’ve had it since I was a baby.”

“And you were never treated for it?”

“There isn’t any treatment for it, is there?”

“Perhaps not a Muggle one. I think it’s high time I took you to St. Mungo’s for a full medical examination, Mr. Potter. Your health seems to have been fairly low on the priorities of your relatives.”

“I’d rather not, sir.” The boy glared defiantly at him and Snape almost laughed. Harry seemed well on the way to turning into a miniature version of himself. Perish the thought. The world didn’t need two.


TBC

Chapter 17: Shattered Souls
Chapter 17

“Well, Harry? What did you think of the film?”

Harry put down his glass of water and glanced up at the Potions Master through his fringe. The nausea still hadn’t abated from the Floo ride home and he would rather not do anything that required opening his mouth, including talking. The butterflies had left his tummy, now it was a herd of elephants having a party in there. He groaned and held his head.

“It was okay,” he said miserably, not really caring about anything else besides lying down and sleeping. “They missed out the magic, why did they do that?”

“Apparently it was considered more realistic. Thinking that magic wasn’t real.”

“I still think they should have left it in.” Harry took another small sip of water.

“I agree. The Merlin in the film was nothing like the one I was taught about at school.” Snape shot him a thoughtful look, no doubt taking in Harry’s pallor. He could almost feel that his face was white. “Are you still feeling sick, Harry?”

He held out a hand to touch Harry’s forehead. Harry willed himself not to flinch from the touch. It was nothing. “A little, sir.”

“Severus,” he was reminded gently. “You feel a bit feverish. Perhaps you should stay down here tonight? We don’t want you collapsing on the way back to the dorm, do we?”

“Thank you, Severus. I’d really like that.” Harry hoped that Snape would remove his hand sometime soon. He did feel feverish, both hot and cold at once, but he didn’t think it was due to illness. The reason for his temperature fluctuations was standing in front of him with warm hands on his skin.

Snape eyes locked with Harry’s and then his gaze moved to his hand, where it was still pressed against Harry’s forehead. He seemed surprised that he was still touching Harry. He removed his fingers and stood up, stretching out. Harry pointedly ignored the stirring in his groin at the sight of the leather clad legs rippling under the material.

“I shall take the sofa,” said Snape and Harry voiced no objections.

Later he would regret not insisting that they share the bed.

***

Snape didn’t bother with transfiguring the couch, he was too tired and just wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep with Harry, wanted to curl around him and protect him, if he had been asked. But Harry didn’t ask and Snape knew better than to push Harry towards any intimacy that he didn’t want. How on earth he was going to get through the Rites, he had no idea, he just hoped that Harry would lose his fear of it and soon.

He summoned a pillow and blankets from his wardrobe and set about making up his makeshift bed. From the bathroom, he could hear the shower and he allowed himself a moment of shameful indulgence as he imagined a very wet and very naked Harry Potter. What he wouldn’t give to be the sponge! He groaned and put his head underneath his pillow. There was no use thinking of things like that, it only left him frustrated.

It took a few moments for the noise to penetrate his pillow. Harry was screaming. Snape grabbed his wand from the floor where he’d left it and ran to the bedroom. He flung the door wide and cast a Lumos in the room. Harry was lying on top of the covers, still damp from his shower and dressed in only a pair of dark blue boxer shorts. He was stretched out the full length of his body, his wrists gripping the slats of the headboard so hard that his knuckles stood out white against his skin.

There were strange bruises on his wrists and his chest. There were other marks on his chest and legs too, but these Snape recognised. Whip marks. Belt marks, he could make out the imprint of a buckle just beneath Harry’s left nipple. What on earth was happening? Where had Harry got those marks from?

Another ear-piercing scream issued from the boy’s mouth as his body arched completely off the bed, bending him like a bow. Blood dribbled from his nose and ears, pink spittle from his mouth. Cruciatus. Harry was under the Cruciatus curse. Snape had seen it and been on the receiving end enough times to know. There was no relief until the wizard casting it stopped. But it should have been impossible. The target needed to be conscious for the curse to take effect, to feel the agony of what was being inflicted upon them.

Harry’s breath caught and he slumped back down on the bed. A few seconds later his body was in torment once more. “Finite Incantatem!” screamed Snape, but nothing happened. Harry’s wrists were making strange movements on the headboard and it took a while for Snape to figure out what he was seeing. It seemed as though Harry believed his hands were bound and he was trying to escape his bonds.

“Harry! Wake up! Wake up!” He was screaming and sobbing now as he sat down on the bed and tried to shake the boy awake. He pried Harry’s hands away from the headboard, the knuckles and wrists red raw, scabs covering wounds that he was sure hadn’t been there earlier in the evening.

Harry, still in the grip of the nightmare or whatever the hell this was, bucked against him, pummelling his chest so hard that Snape wheezed as the breath left him. “No!” shrieked Harry. “I won’t let you do this! You can’t make me!”

I can and I will. We will meet again soon, Harry Potter.

Snape knew that voice, heard that voice, even though he knew no-one in the room had spoken it. And just like that, the spell broke and Harry lay limp in his arms like a rag doll. A bloodied rag doll who whimpered and clung to him through the after effects of the curse.

Snape felt as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, yanked out by Voldemort, minced beneath his heel and then put back in his body, where it was nothing more than a mush of meat beneath his breastbone. How could he have been so stupid? How could they all have been so stupid?

To think that bonding to Harry could have done anything to save him? For Harry was already bonded to Voldemort, connected darkly to him by the scar and by the blood they now shared. A connection that Voldemort was now using to get to Harry in the one place they thought he’d be safe. His dreams. Voldemort was more of a skilled Legimens than they knew. To cast Cruciatus while Harry had been asleep, that in itself was unheard of. But the marks that littered Harry’s body told another terrifying truth.

“Professor,” gasped Harry. “You’re hurting me.”

Snape glanced at the boy in his arms and realised he’d been holding on tight to the boy’s already injured wrists. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Wait here.” Snape gently eased Harry back onto the bed, wincing in sympathy even as Harry did it. He returned a few moments later with salve and painkilling potion. He made Harry drink the whole bottle before he even attempted to put salve on the wounds. Snape knew only too well how fragile the nerve endings felt after that curse, even a gentle caress would be agony on the skin.

Harry had sat up to drink the potion, now he sat on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling over the edge. He looked at Snape, then quickly looked away again, as though ashamed.

“Harry,” Snape knelt down on the floor in front of him. “I’m not angry with you. Please don’t think that. I’m just worried that you couldn’t tell me about this. You can’t keep bottling everything up, Harry, it isn’t healthy. These aren’t ordinary nightmares, are they?”

Harry shook his head, but still wouldn’t bring his eyes up. “No. It feels like I’m really there, that all those bad things are happening to me and when I wake up I have the bruises and it hurts so bad that sometimes I just want to die so that it will finally be over.”

“Oh, Harry,” sighed Snape and moved to gently hug him, mindful of the bruises. “Why didn’t you tell anyone you felt like this? What was happening to you?”

“I was so ashamed,” he mumbled against Snape’s shoulder.

“Ashamed? Whatever for?”

“That I’ve let everybody down. That I couldn’t even cope with a few nightmares. Harry Potter, the wimp. I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.” A few tears dripped onto Snape’s shoulder and they burned his skin.

“Ssh, Harry, it’s all right. Lie back down and let me rub some of this salve on you, it will help you feel better.” Snape suited actions to his words and eased Harry down onto the bed.

“Okay,” said Harry in a voice of such despair that Snape felt his hands shake on the jar. It was as though all the fight, all the spirit had gone out of him and he was just happy to let fate do what it would.

He wondered how long Harry had been having these nightmares. Had Harry been living with the pain of these as well as what his relatives had done to him? It was a wonder Harry hadn’t been carted off to St. Mungo’s and placed in a padded room. Harry hissed as his back came into contact with the mattress.

Snape was as gentle as he could be applying the salve over all the hurts the boy’s skin had received. Harry whimpered a little, but Snape saw him bite his bottom lip as though to stop himself from crying out. “Harry, it’s okay to cry,” said Snape, looking up from where he’d been applying the salve on the boys knees.

“Boys shouldn’t cry,” said Harry stiffly. “My uncle -” and he refused to say anymore.

“And do you really want to do anything your uncle said?” demanded Snape. “I want you to cry Harry, cry for me. Cry for you.”

Much to his surprise, Harry did, great wracking sobs that made it difficult for Snape to place the salve on his skin, but Snape knew Harry needed to do this. He needed the tears to salve his soul just as Snape was salving his bruises.

When Harry’s tears had tried to clear tracks on his cheeks, Snape told him to turn over and he worked the ointment into his back and the backs of his legs. Finished, Harry turned over and winced with pain again. “Harry? Are you hurt somewhere else?”

“My - um - my bottom, sir,” said Harry, his face going a shade darker than one of the Weasleys’ hair.

“Your bottom? He didn’t -”

“No, sir. The belt and the whip. Some of the lashes missed my back.”

“Very well, turn over, please,” said Snape in a voice that was anything but steady.

Once Harry had obeyed, Snape pulled down the boy’s shorts and couldn’t stop a pained gasp from emerging. The flesh of Harry’s buttocks was red raw, welts and scratches marred the skin from the small of his back to the top his thighs. Cuts, bruises, the boy’s whole backside was a painting in pain and he wanted to kill the artist. With his bare hands. There was hardly a spot which wasn’t marked. Snape did not believe for one second that this was an accident. Voldemort had aimed for his back and missed? Unlikely. No, this was where Voldemort wanted the boy marked. He was staking a claim on territory he thought was his.

Snape felt his anger seeping into his every pore and out with every sweep of his fingers as he rubbed the salve on Harry. Harry sighed his relief into a pillow. “Mm, that feels so good, Severus,” he moaned. Snape’s groin tightened at the words, his body regaling him with images of what other touches might have Harry saying words like those.

He hastily finished and screwed the lid back on the jar, trying not to look at those delectable globes of flesh and failing miserably. Harry was so tempting it wasn’t funny. How could he even think of sex now after what Harry had just gone through?

“There,” said Snape and yanked Harry’s underwear back up. “You should be able to get back to sleep now.”

Harry turned over and sat up. Snape could see the terror in his eyes plainly with the lumos spell that still hadn’t gone out. “Please, Severus, won’t you stay?”

“Here? In bed?”

“When I’m with you, it’s the only time I don’t have nightmares.”

“Harry, we’ve only shared the bed twice. Are you telling me you have these every night?” Merlin, how could the boy stand it?

“Almost,” he said softly. “I know I’m a freak, I can’t even have normal nightmares. Mine have to come true.”

“No, Harry. They aren’t nightmares.”

“It’s real? Voldemort was here?”

“No, he’s using his mind to attack you while you sleep. It’s very difficult to do, to impose your will on another while they sleep. Voldemort thinks of things he wants to do to you, how he would like to hurt you and it happens. In his mind, he whips you, but your body feels it as if it is actually happening to you. The same with the Cruciatus curse, although I have never heard of that being cast on anyone who was unconscious or asleep. He is using the connection you have in your scar. You are most vulnerable while you are asleep, so that’s when he attacks, when your defences are down.”

“And how do I stop him?”

“By getting better at Occlumency. I think we need to resume your lessons. Do you feel up to it?”

“Tonight?” asked Harry shakily.

“No, I think Monday will be time enough. If I stay, do you promise to get some sleep, Harry? Have you been getting any sleep at all?”

“Not much. After - after the dreams, I can’t go back to sleep. And sometimes, sometimes afterwards I feel -”

“Feel what, Harry?”

“I sometimes feel aroused after the bad dreams. I’m sick, aren’t I?”

“Of course not, Harry. You’ve just been through an intense experience, and from what I’ve seen tonight, you have been the victim of the Cruciatus curse, which causes pain in every nerve ending in your body. After your body is released from the curse, your body starts to recover, and sometimes as blood is flowing back, it flows back to your genitals as well, making you aroused. It’s perfectly natural.”

Snape climbed into bed and lay down on his back, staring at the ceiling. Five inches away from him, Harry was doing the same. It may as well have been five miles that separated the two of them. He could hear Harry’s hitching breathing, as though he was trying not to cry again. Snape felt his heart break for the child that Harry had never been allowed to be. Too much rested on him for them to allow him to be a child.

“Harry?” he asked softly. No answer, except for a small sniffle. “Harry? Come here,” Snape turned to his side and held his arms out. It was a few hesitant moments before the boy moved, but he snuggled against Snape’s chest. Snape absently stroked Harry’s hair and his back, whispering comforting words he couldn’t remember into the boy’s ear. The stroking and the words seemed to soothe Harry, as Snape felt the tension leach away from the boy’s body. The sobs and whimpers gradually ceased as the boy cried himself to sleep.

Snape however lay wide awake. Sometimes they all forgot how young Harry was. Snape thought that Harry was much too young for the burden placed on his shoulders and if he was being honest with himself, much too young for the Rites. Although legally over the age of consent, Snape wasn’t sure that Harry was ready for that level of intimacy yet. There were still too many demons, his uncle’s abuse and Voldemort’s nightly terrors or whatever they hell they were. Harry had too many people controlling him and Snape did not want to be one of them, but he knew he had to be. It didn’t make it any easier.

He fell asleep just before dawn dreaming of a silver snake with bright green eyes…



TBC

Chapter 18: Shattered Souls
Chapter 18

Harry’s mumblings woke him, the boy was talking in his sleep. “Dirty… so dirty … I told you… no-one wants you… disgusting brat… no please!”

“Harry,” Snape shook him gently by the shoulder. Harry shot off the bed like a startled rabbit. He scuttled backwards along the floor, resting his back against the wall. His eyes were open, but Snape didn’t think he was awake. Harry tucked his knees up against his chin and wrapped his arms around them, rocking backwards and forwards. It was a defensive posture Snape had seen him in too many times. Harry gazed unseeing at the other side of the room.

“Harry? Can you hear me?” asked Snape from his position on the bed. He didn’t really expect an answer. Harry remained mute. Snape didn’t know where Harry went during these trances but he guessed it was some sort of coping mechanism. If things were happening that he didn’t like, rather than face them, Harry went somewhere else. Somewhere safer. But he wasn’t safe while he was unconscious. Voldemort could get to him. Even as Snape thought it, Harry’s body arched in a rictus of pain and he screamed.

Snape tried to shake him awake but it wasn’t working. He scooped Harry up in his arms, knowing as he did so that he was causing Harry pain due to the curse, but he had to do something to try and get him awake. Snape set Harry down in the bottom of the tub, holding him upright with one hand while the other turned on the shower, cold.

“Aaah!” screamed Harry and wriggled out of Snape’s hold on him. “What are you doing? The water’s freezing!” He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, glaring daggers at Snape. “What happened?”

“You were in a trance. I had to get you awake somehow, Voldemort cast the curse on you again.” Snape switched off the water and handed Harry a towel.

“No, leave it. I may as well have a shower now I’m here. But I think I’ll have some hot this time as well.” He smiled at Snape, a genuine smile. Mentally cataloguing the items in the bathroom, anything that might be considered a danger or a temptation, Snape reluctantly let Harry have his shower. Snape didn’t posses any razors, much preferring to use spells for shaving, and the only potions in the cabinet wouldn’t do any harm, even if Harry drank more than one. Snape could not forget how last night, Harry had said he wanted to die.

“Okay, I’ll leave you to your shower.”

Snape didn’t normally consume alcohol in the mornings, but that day he was sorely tempted to drink himself into oblivion. What was he going to do? How could help Harry? How could any of them?

Pounding on his outer office door brought him back from his reverie. It was barely seven, who would dare to disturb him at this hour? It couldn’t be good news. Good news was not delivered at barely past daylight. He wrapped a silk bathrobe around himself, tying the sash as he went. It couldn’t be the Headmaster. He normally Floo’d if it was anything important.

It would have to be a student and he wondered which unfortunate had been hexed this week and came running to his Professor for help. He would deal with him as he dealt with the rest; a stern lecture on standing on their own two feet and send them on their way. Of course, it might have been Malfoy, imparting some intelligence from his father or Voldemort and Snape sincerely hoped it wasn’t. He was in no mood for Malfoy Junior’s power games today.

He flung the door open, mustering up his best game face, the scowl which had most students and the rest of the staff running for cover. “I warn you, this had better be imp-” his words stopped in surprise. Standing outside his office door on a Sunday morning were two Gryffindors. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Without so much as a word, Ron pushed past him and into his office. Snape was too dumbfounded to protest at this blatant breach of his privacy.

“Good morning, Professor,” said Hermione, giving Ron a pointed look. At least she had manners even if her companion did not.

“Well, come in then, Miss Granger, unless you want the whole of Slytherin here to know your business? I presume you do have business here?”

“Yes, thank you sir,” said Hermione and stepped inside.

“Well?” prompted Snape after he had closed and warded the door again.

“What have you done with Harry?” demanded Ron without preamble.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What. Have. You. Done. With. Harry,” said Ron, slowly and carefully as if he were talking to an imbecile. “We know he was here last night.” Ron retrieved something from his pocket, a faded piece of parchment that seemed familiar, and waved it in Snape’s face.

“What is that?”

“It’s a map of Hogwarts, Professor,” explained Hermione. “A special map that shows everyone in the castle and where they are.”

“And where did Mr. Weasley come by such an item?”

“It belongs to Harry,” said Ron quietly.

“You stole it?”

“No. It wasn’t like that. I was worried when Harry didn’t come back last night, so I took it out of his trunk to see where he was. The map showed Harry in your rooms last night, your bedroom in fact. It showed you there too.” Ron stopped and glared at him. “You filthy, perverted bast-”

“Ron!” snapped a voice, cutting him off. The three of them turned round to see Harry standing by the inner door. He was trembling and leant against the doorframe for support. Snape knew he couldn’t have been back to his full strength after such a night. “Stop talking about things you know nothing about,” continued Harry, glaring at his friend.

“Oh my God!” wailed Ron. “I can’t believe I helped you! Your date was with Snape? You slept with him on a first date? I would never have taken you for a slut, Harry!”

“RON!”

“WEASLEY!” roared Hermione and Snape together. None of them were looking at Harry now and when Snape turned round, Harry was swaying on his feet. He barely registered the faraway look in Harry’s eyes before he strode across the room and caught Harry by the waist before he fell to the floor. Snape held him firm against his chest and half walked, half carried Harry into the living room of his quarters.

“Weasley, Granger, follow me!” he commanded. He didn’t look back to see if he was being obeyed, he was too worried about Harry. After setting Harry down on the sofa, he pulled himself to his full height and glowered at Ron. “You are an unutterable fool, Weasley and you don’t deserve a friend like Harry! How dare you even think such a thing, never mind say it! Fifty points from Gryffindor for maligning a fellow student.”

“But-”

“One more word about it and I will make it a hundred, are we clear?”

“Yes, sir,” said Ron miserably.

He waved for them both to sit down while he went to check on Harry’s pulse and breathing. Both seemed fairly steady and if it wasn’t for the unfocused eyes he could almost convince himself that Harry was just resting. Not caring that the other two Gryffindors could see, he placed a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead and stood up.

The looks on their faces were priceless. Hermione was staring at him as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing and Ron just looked livid, as if he had been proven right.

“Do you have any idea what Harry has been going through?” he demanded. “Hasn’t he told you? His two best friends?”

“Told us what, sir?” asked Hermione.

Snape glanced at the silent Harry on the sofa and debated whether or not to tell them. Too many things had been decided without Harry’s knowledge or consent, too many things had been done to him without his consent. Could he add more to that burden? Snape however could not imagine that Harry wouldn’t want his friends to know, and no matter his own thoughts on the students in front of him, he knew they were Harry’s friends. He would tell them and suffer the consequences if Harry found out.

“Were either of you aware that I was appointed Harry’s guardian this year?” Both of them nodded and looked guilty. Fair enough, none of the students were supposed to know. “Do you know why?” He walked to the bureau next to the fireplace and brought out a scroll tied with a red ribbon. He handed it to Hermione, who would know exactly what it was.

“It’s a wizarding marriage contract,” she said. “You’re bonded to Harry?”

“Very astute, Miss Granger.” Ron looked as if he’d just heard that the moon was really made of cheese.

“It’s the only way Harry could be protected away from the castle’s wards, isn’t it? A blood bond or a marriage bond?”

“Correct again, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. Mr. Weasley, do you have nothing to say?”

“You’re married to Harry? That’s what all the secrecy was about over the summer? My parents knew?”

“They were the required witnesses, so yes, they knew.”

“They forced Harry to marry you and now you’re forcing him to do things!”

“That’s enough, Ron,” said Hermione. “Honestly, how can you be so stupid? Professor Snape is protecting Harry. He didn’t do anything to Harry. Haven’t you noticed how happy he’s been this term, knowing he won’t have to go back to his relatives? They did something to him, didn’t they Professor?”

“Quite a lot, I’m afraid to say. This summer he was almost killed and that’s when the decision was made that we should be bonded.”

“What did they do to him?” asked Ron, his face white.

“I do not think it is my place to tell you that, is it? Let us just say that Harry has a lot of issues, quite a few of which concern intimate matters and you, Mr. Weasley have just put his recovery back by calling him a slut.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were married.”

“And if we hadn’t been? You would consider his behaviour sluttish?”

“Well, he said it was your first date and I didn’t think that Harry would do - do that with anyone on a first date.”

“Do you wish to know what happened here last night, Mr. Weasley?”

“Er, no. It’s not really any of my business.”

“No, it isn’t. But I’m going to tell you anyway. Harry fell asleep, whimpering in my arms, in agony after he’d been hit with the Cruciatus curse several times by Voldemort in his sleep! Do you know what else Voldemort did? Shall I show you Harry’s scars?” he spat.

“But, sir,” protested Hermione as he knew she would. “That curse can’t be cast while the subject is asleep or unconscious.”

“Really? Then perhaps you’d like to tell Harry that the next time he’s writhing and screaming in agony! Neither of you have any idea what that curse is like, do you? You’ve never felt it, never been on the receiving end. Your whole body is nothing but pain. It feels as if your skin is on fire, from the soles of your feet to your eyeballs. You’d scratch your eyes out if you could just to get some relief. You can feel your bones breaking, then mending only to break again. When your spine snaps, there is relief for the few seconds it takes before the nerves flare again. Every organ in your body shuts down and you think you might die, you want to die to stop the pain, but they work again and stop again over and over until you don’t even know your own name. You just want it to stop but it won’t stop, not until the wizard who is casting the spell stops it. There is no relief until then, even though you’re screaming for it, begging to die. That is what happened to Harry last night.” Snape stopped, choked and turned towards the fireplace so that they wouldn’t see his tears. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now, not ever.

“Oh my God!” gasped Hermione. “I had no idea the curse did that!”

“Are you aware of the story of Prometheus?” asked Snape, his voice steadier than he expected it.

“Yes. He was cursed by the Gods and every day his liver was eaten by eagles while he lay bound to a cliff.”

“Ugh, that’s gross!” supplied Ron. “Wouldn’t he die though?”

“No, every day it grew back and the eagles came again. It was an eternal punishment. That’s what the Cruciatus is like, Ron. Things happening to you that should normally cause you to die, but you don’t, just have the same punishment over and over again. We had no idea, Professor.” She turned to Ron. “Why didn’t you say anything? Harry’s in your dorm, you must have heard him screaming!”

“We all have silencing charms round our beds because of - you know -”

“Spare me your blushes, Mr. Weasley. I am quite aware of what hormonal teenage boys get up to. However I can assure you that Harry’s silencing charms are for another reason entirely. He didn’t want to wake you with his screams. I don’t know how Voldemort is doing it, but somehow he can manage to attack Harry while he is asleep.

“Whatever happens in the dream becomes real on Harry’s body when he wakes. I am afraid that if one night during one of these attacks that Voldemort manages to kill Harry in a dream, Harry will also die in real life.”

“There must be something you can do,” insisted Ron. “Some Dark magic that you could try. You’re a Dea-”

“Ron, shut up!” hissed Hermione.

“The only thing we can do is to strengthen his mind and hope it will be enough to repel the dreams and nightmares.”

“Professor? What’s wrong with Harry now?” asked Hermione quietly. “Did he faint?”

“No, when things get too bad that Harry doesn’t want to face it, he just goes away.”

“I’ve read about that in Muggle Studies, psychology,” said Hermione. “Dissociative states. Apparently it happens a lot with people who are suffering from depression or post traumatic stress.”

“A very good term for what is wrong with Harry, Miss Granger. Harry has been through enough traumas that most of us don’t see in a lifetime. Are there any other things that have been attributed to this post traumatic stress?”

“A few,” said Hermione. “Nightmares, flashbacks of the traumatic event, eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, feelings of worthlessness, guilt that they were somehow to blame, depression, panic attacks. That’s all I can remember.”

“Shouldn’t we wake him?” asked Ron.

“Technically, he isn’t asleep. It’s like he’s in a trance, Ron,” explained Hermione. “And I have the feeling he doesn’t want to come out just yet.”

“You are quite right, Miss Granger. I believe Harry will emerge when he is ready. Do I need to stress that what we have spoken about here is to remain confidential?”

“No, sir, we understand,” said Hermione.

“Can I ask you both to keep an eye on him when I am unable to? I do not think he should be left alone.”

“What? You don’t think he’s really suicidal?” asked Hermione.

“What else would you call it if someone told you they wanted to die?”

“So you think he really is suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome?”

“I do, Miss Granger. The only problem is, what do we do to cure it?”

“I’ll try and find out for you, Professor,” said Hermione and Snape could almost see her brain working, wondering which books to try. “Thank you for telling us,” Hermione stood up and Ron followed soon after. “I hope Harry gets better soon,” said Ron before they both left.

As soon as they were gone, Snape knelt down by the sofa again. Harry’s eyes were closed, it seemed he had fallen asleep after all. He brushed Harry’s hair away from his forehead, revealing the scar as livid red. Snape kissed it softly. “Harry,” he whispered. “Please come back to me.”


TBC

Chapter 19: Shattered Souls
Chapter 19

Harry’s eyes felt glued shut. A couple of times he tried to open them, but to no avail. He let the darkness claim him once more. When he finally managed to wake, he saw the fire flickering in the hearth, giving the room a soft orange glow. He could hear the scratch of quill on parchment and the low breaths of another in the room. He tried to move, to see the source of the sound, but his muscles felt like soggy spaghetti.

“Severus?” he called, feeling unfounded panic well up in his chest. For who else would be in Snape’s rooms? “Severus?” he called louder this time.

“It’s all right, Harry, I’m here.” Snape had moved in front of him and Harry felt tears of relief in his eyes. He angrily scrubbed them away. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t like him, all these tears. He wasn’t a girl to get upset over every little thing. Only he did and he hated it.

“Would you like something to eat?” asked Snape.

“What time is it?”

“Just after eight. You’ve been asleep all day. I think your body needed the rest.”

Harry wasn’t really hungry but neither was he in the mood for a lecture on what he was or wasn’t eating and if he refused, that’s what he would get. “Maybe some soup?” he suggested and Snape nodded, summoning a house elf and making the request. Snape hadn’t asked if he wanted to go to the Great Hall for dinner and he was grateful.

Snape sat down on one of the armchairs as Harry pulled himself up from the sofa. Harry felt as though his whole body had been torn inside out and not quite put together properly. He looked across at Snape, who was staring at the fire. Silence reigned until the house elf, one Harry didn’t know, popped into the room and arranged a bowl of tomato soup and a crusty roll on Snape’s desk. “Thanks,” said Harry and the elf disapparated without a word.

He stood up, stretched and made his way to the desk. Steam misted from the bowl and he made the mistake of looking into it. The soup was a very dark red, and the consistency of blood. Harry could almost imagine that it smelled like blood. There was no way he was going to be able to eat it.

“You’re not eating,” said Snape, stating the obvious.

“No,” said Harry, crossing his arms over his chest and daring Snape to disagree.

“Can I ask why not?” Snape asked from his chair.

Harry didn’t know where the rebellious streak came from, but even before Snape had finished speaking, Harry lifted up the bowl and threw it at the wall. “Because I don’t fucking feel like it!” he ground out. The bowl shattered and the soup dribbled down the stone, staining it crimson.

Snape didn’t say a word until he had magically cleaned up the mess Harry had made. There were no stains on the wall and Harry wished all stains were that easy to remove. He felt soiled, as though his whole essence was dirty and no matter how many showers, how many baths, he didn’t think he’d ever feel clean. He had never been innocent and he so much wanted to be like other people, but knew it was impossible. With the Muggles, he was different because he was a wizard and in the wizarding world he would always be different because he was the Boy Who Bloody Lived!

“Did that make you feel better, Potter?” asked Snape and Harry realised he was in trouble, now that Snape was back to calling him Potter. “I would thought you would have grown out of childish tantrums by now.”

“That wasn’t a tantrum!” protested Harry. “I’ve never had a tantrum! I’ve never been childish because no-one has allowed me to be a child.”

“You think throwing food at the wall isn’t childish?”

“No. I was angry.”

“Hence the tantrum,” said Snape smugly. “But if you think that throwing food around the dungeons will be tolerated, you are sorely mistaken. You will eat, Potter, even if I have to feed you myself.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Harry, but he was a little worried.

“No? I will not stand by and watch you starve yourself.” Snape summoned a house elf again and ordered two chicken salads, which appeared with the elf a few moments later. Snape conjured up a small table and set the food on them. He pulled out one of the chairs and gazed at Harry. “Well?”

Harry knew he had no choice, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He sat down and scowled at his Professor. His mouth tasted like ash and he had no appetite. Why couldn’t Snape accept that sometimes he just wasn’t hungry? Harry lifted the fork and poked the lettuce as though it might at any moment come to life and attack him. Bringing the food to his mouth, he closed his eyes and swallowed quickly so that he wouldn’t have to taste it. He didn’t chew it.

He ate half of what was on his plate, which seemed to satisfy Snape for the moment. Though Merlin only knew how long that would last. Snape seemed to change mood as often as the tides.

“I suppose I should be going,” said Harry quietly.

“Go where?”

“Back to the dorm.” His throat was tight. He was not going to cry. He was not going to cry just because they’d had an argument over his eating habits. Again.

“After what you told me, do you really think I will allow you to sleep in the dorms anymore?”

“What I told you?”

“About your nightmares, Harry. Since you don’t seem to have them while I am with you, then we will sleep together in the same bed.”

“The Headmaster would never allow that, sir.”

“The Headmaster will not know about it and neither will anyone else. You will go back to your dormitory, Harry, temporarily of course. You will wait until your housemates are asleep and then you will make your way down here with your invisibility cloak. You will leave at six and return to you dorm, hopefully before anyone wakes up.”

The offer was tempting, Harry might even get some sleep. He wondered if his emotional outbursts could be attributed to lack of sleep, because he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep.

“Thank you,” said Harry. “I’d like that.”

***

Harry returned to the dungeons just after midnight. The wards recognised him and let him in to Snape’s quarters. Snape was sitting in an armchair reading. He didn’t look up when Harry came in and Harry used the opportunity to stare at the Potions Master to his heart’s content. It felt as though he was breathing through fire, just to look at the man. Snape was wearing a pair of grey silk pyjama bottoms, but was bare-chested. Harry wanted to rest his head against that expanse of ivory skin. Wanted to do things, but he didn’t quite know what they were. He blushed as he remembered their conversation about teaching Harry to pleasure himself. It had been very bold of him and he wondered if he could even go through with it.

He must have made some noise, or maybe Snape could sense him, for he looked up and smiled lazily at Harry. “I was just thinking of you,” said Snape, closing his book and marking his place with a bookmark in the shape of a snake. “Time for bed, Harry?” Snape held out his hand. There was no trace of his earlier anger and Harry accepted the hand eagerly.

Snape climbed into bed and pulled the covers down so that Harry could get in. Harry gulped down air as though he was drowning and for the first time in his life, he undressed in front of someone. He wanted to hide, wanted to run to the bathroom and undress there, but he held his ground. He would have to do this at some stage eventually, may as well get used to it. If they were going to be sharing a bed for the foreseeable future, which Harry hoped they were, then it was time he acted like he wanted to be there.

He could feel Snape’s eyes on him the whole time, a hot gaze that he wanted to melt in. Harry could feel Snape’s desire like a shimmering thread binding the two of them, but he could also sense that Snape was holding it in check. He wanted Harry, but he was prepared to wait until Harry came to him. Harry didn’t know if he would have the nerve to make the first move.

Fully divested of his clothes, except for his boxers, Harry climbed in beside Snape and laid his head on Snape’s shoulder. Snape’s arms wrapped around him and held him tight. It didn’t take long for Harry to fall asleep, knowing that he was safely embraced by the man’s strong arms.

Harry didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, Snape didn’t seem to possess a clock, just seemed to have an innate ability to tell time. What had seemed a haven when he’d fallen asleep was now a prison of flesh and bone.

For it was Harry’s dream which had woken him up. A dream he couldn’t quite remember, but there were flashes of a naked Snape and groaning. Lots of groaning. Harry had woken up harder than he could ever have imagined and since his whole body was trapped against Snape’s, so was his erection. It was pressing against Snape’s silk clad thigh and every time Snape moved even slightly, Harry felt the urge to press even deeper, even harder.

He tried to extricate himself before something happened, but every time he tried to move away, the sleeping Snape would crush Harry’s upper body even harder against his chest and in the process press Harry’s erection tighter against his thigh. Harry felt like he might explode at any moment and dreaded the lecture Snape would give him if that happened. His hands were trapped so he couldn’t even discretely try and move his erection away from Snape’s leg. Snape growled in his sleep and moved again sending bolts of electricity throughout Harry’s body and settling in his groin. The friction of his cloth covered erection straddling Snape’s leg felt wonderful and his hips seemed to move of their own volition and he didn’t want to stop. Whatever was happening was too good to stop. He couldn’t stop a few moans from emerging. His eyes fluttered closed, sensations so intense he thought he might pass out.

“Harry? What are you doing?” came a sleepy voice.

“Oh, sir, please!” gasped Harry, his eyes opening wide again to stare into the face of the man so close to him. “It aches! I don’t know what to do!”

“You want to come, Harry?” asked Snape gently, beginning to stroke his back. Harry arched into the touch of those fingers on his skin.

“I do, but I don’t know how. Can you show me, Severus?” he was almost breathless, but he needed to say this. “Can you show me how to come?”

“You’ve never…?”

“No, I told you already.” But did he? His brain was turning to mush, had he imagined that conversation in Snape’s London house? “I want to. I want to come. Please let me. I-” he broke off and wailed as Snape deliberately thrust his thigh tight against Harry’s cock. “Oh God! I’m going to die!”

“You won’t die, Harry. Well, maybe just a little.” Snape smiled at him and continued rubbing Harry, a firm pressure that Harry rubbed equally frantically against. He felt as though he was diving headlong over a cliff but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to reach the ground. Harry closed his eyes and grabbed Snape’s waist, he could feel an echoing hardness against his stomach. Snape felt enormous and he couldn’t prevent a shudder of fear, but Snape thought it was excitement. “That’s it Harry, just let go. Come for me. I want you to come.” Snape kissed his neck, just where it joined his shoulder. It was too much for Harry. Harry arched against the man in front of him and came in a flood of heat against Snape’s leg. He cried out at the unexpected orgasm, feeling as though his whole body was on fire.

He was trembling with aftershocks as Snape held him and whispered in his ear. “Harry, are you all right?”

“I - I don’t know,” he admitted. “I didn’t expect it to be over that quickly.”

“Sometimes it is. It depends on how excited you were to begin with. And you were excited, weren’t you, Harry?”

“Yes. I - I had a dream. Not a nightmare. About you and me.”

Snape arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Really? Interesting.”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry.

“Whatever for?”

“For it being over so quickly.” Harry buried his face in the crook of Snape’s shoulder. He didn’t want to let go. The truth was that he was absolutely shocked at what had happened. How could his body have lost control like that so quickly? In his nightmares, Voldemort had yet to touch Harry there, but Harry was horrified at the thought that one touch from the monster and he would be lost.

“Why did you say I might die a little?” he asked from his niche on Snape’s body.

“Le Petit Mort, the little death. It’s what the French call an orgasm.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He gradually became aware that Snape was stroking his hair. Every so often his hands would wander and he would stroke Harry’s neck, shoulder and back. Snape was being very careful, mindful of Harry’s injuries, but Harry hardly noticed them now, concentrating as he was on the sensations Snape was bringing out on his skin. He felt the now familiar tingling and heaviness in his groin and realised he was getting hard again.

“Harry?” was whispered into his hair.

“Yes?” Harry mumbled thickly. Snape’s attentions were making him aroused all over again.

“How did it feel when you…?”

Harry lifted his head to peep at him. “It all happened so fast, I’m not really sure what I felt. I do know however that when you kissed my neck it felt as though I was flying, only ten times better. It was like I couldn’t stop, couldn’t stop until something happened.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes,” Harry’s whole body flushed. His cock twitched against Snape’s leg, who laughed. Snape’s own hardness hadn’t diminished.

“Would you like to try something else, Harry?”

“What? I don’t want - I don’t want anything inside,” said Harry firmly, even though his voice was a tad shaky.

“No, not that,” agreed Snape. “You mentioned you wanted some lessons in - ah - pleasuring yourself?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“Well, how about if I showed you what I do and then you could do the same?”

“You want us to watch each other while we touch ourselves?”

“Only if you want to.”

Harry groaned and pushed himself up so that his face was level with Snape’s. He dived in for a kiss, the first kiss on the mouth he and his husband had ever shared. Harry had been kissed once before on the mouth, a very wet and very brief collision of lips between himself and Cho Chang. It did little to prepare him for what a real kiss from Snape would feel like. For although Harry had at first kissed him, Snape very quickly took control.

Snape’s kisses were insistent, demanding, each one a claim on Harry and he wanted to be claimed. Turning Harry over, so that Snape was draped above Harry, one thigh pushed between Harry’s legs, twining deliciously against his groin, Harry couldn’t help moaning. Snape nibbled on Harry’s bottom lip, soothing the bites with a soft swipe of tongue. Harry felt as if all his bones were melting as he was moulded to the mattress by Snape’s body on his. Every kiss, every touch of lips and tongue from Snape seemed to be connected directly to his cock and he was already achingly hard. He could barely breathe between the kisses and the weight of the man above him, but he didn’t want to stop.

The weight was comforting as well as arousing and he certainly didn’t want the kissing to stop. Snape teased his tongue against Harry’s teeth and Harry gladly opened his mouth, it felt like he’d received an electric shock when their tongues touched for the first time and he bucked up towards the body on top of him. Snape made a sound low in his throat, something between a growl and a moan and Harry felt his hips jerk in response to the raw need he heard there.

Not breaking their breathless kissing, Snape moved so that both his hips straddled Harry’s legs, Harry’s legs in between both of Snape’s and pushed down against Harry. When Harry felt the heat of Snape’s erection next to his own, he had to pull away, panting for breath.

“Naked,” Harry gasped. “I want to feel you naked against me.”

Snape wasted no time in divesting himself of his pyjama bottoms. Harry made himself look, despite his fear. Snape was indeed enormous and Harry swallowed with an audible click. It sounded awfully loud in the room. Snape, spy that he was, seemed to know that something was wrong.

“Harry? What is it?” Snape sat with his back against the footboard of the bed, sitting cross-legged. His prick stood to attention like a large purple staff. Snape wasn’t just long, he was wide and Harry was terrified. His arousal fled as if it had never been. He was completely flaccid by the time he found enough courage to answer.

“It’s - it’s just so big,” he waved between Snape’s legs. “How can it ever fit in there?”

“Harry? Has this been worrying you? Intercourse? I told you, we won’t have to do that until the Rites.”

Harry nodded and looked down, counting the threads on the coverlet. He felt so awful that he’d led the man on and now was too scared to do anything further.

“Harry, look at me,” commanded Snape softly. “You were forced into this marriage, Harry, just as I was, but I have a feeling that no-one even asked you what orientation you are. Are you even gay, Harry?”

“What?” That was not the conversation Harry had been expecting.

“Maybe you’re frightened of intimacy with me, with men because you are not attracted to men at all. Not attracted to me,” Snape added sadly. He draped a sheet around the bottom half of his body and Harry knew it was because he’d made the man uncomfortable due to his hang-ups.

“I am attracted to you,” whispered Harry hoarsely. He moved down the bed until he was sitting beside Snape, leaning back against the footboard. “I’m - I’m in love with you,” Harry finally admitted. When no Unforgivables were headed in his direction, he shifted slightly closer to Snape. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Leave you? Oh, Harry,” sighed Snape, stretching his arm and draping it over Harry’s shoulder. “How could you think I would ever leave you? Never! I love you, Harry. I’ve been falling in love with you ever since we wed, but I hardly dared hope that you would love me too.”

“I do,” Harry insisted. “I love you, Severus Snape. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before and it terrifies me. I’m so confused.” Harry snuggled up to his favourite place, just underneath where Snape’s arm joined his shoulder. It was as though that niche had been made especially for Harry to rest his head there.

“Confused about what, Harry?”

“That if I’m gay, which I am, did that mean that I wanted my uncle to do those things to me?”

“No, Harry! No! Never, ever think that! If a heterosexual woman is raped, does it mean she wanted it? Just because she would normally accept a man as a lover?”

“No. Rape is different than making love. If it was rape, she didn’t want it.”

“It is different, Harry. I want to teach you the difference. Making love is two people being together because they want to be. Who want to make love as an expression of their feelings for each other. It has nothing to do with fear, intimidation or power over another person. It’s sharing, a partnership.”

“Thank you,” croaked Harry. He could feel tears dripping down his cheeks and then onto Snape’s chest. Neither of them moved to wipe them away. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“It must make you very frustrated when I back out.”

Snape tensed beneath him. “Harry, didn’t I tell you we would only ever go as far as you wish? I don’t care how far we’ve gone, if you don’t want it, say so and we’ll stop.”

“But,” Harry tentatively reached out a hand and stroked Snape’s still firm erection.

Snape chuckled against his head. “I won’t deny that you excite me, Harry, for you do, but I am not a young man beset by hormones anymore. I’ll calm down eventually and if not, well I’ve always been on good terms with my hands.”

Harry was sure his whole body blushed at the image of his dour Potions Master pleasuring himself. “Never worry about me, Harry. I’m fine. I’m more worried about you. I would like to help you get over your fears, if you’re willing to let me teach you?”

“Yes, please,” said Harry, still sniffling a little. Couldn’t he do anything but cry lately? “I want to be with you, Severus. I want you to make love to me for the Rites, but sometimes the memories are too much and I’m scared that things will happen too fast or that I won’t be ready or that I’ll let you down.”

“Why would you let me down, Harry?”

“Because I’m inexperienced and I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s where the teaching part comes in, Harry. You don’t have to do anything but be yourself. I love you. Don’t you remember our vows? I accepted your past, present and future. We’ll help you get through this together, Harry, I promise.”

“I believe you,” said Harry. And he did.


TBC

Chapter 20: Shattered Souls
Chapter 20

For the next week, Harry barely saw Snape. His scar burned frequently as it did every time Snape was summoned to a meeting with Voldemort and he spent the nights back in his dormitory. The dungeons were just too quiet without Snape in them and Harry couldn’t bear to be in the large bed without his husband there to hold him.

On the third night of Snape’s absence, Harry woke up with both of his scars throbbing painfully. Was the scar on his hand hurting because Snape was in danger? Did the same scar on Snape’s hands alert him whenever Harry was in danger now? Or when he was about to do something reckless?

Harry tried to study and concentrate on his classes, but the constant pain was making it impossible. Snape still hadn’t returned and by the fifth day of his absence, Harry was in so much agony from his scar that he collapsed in the corridor on the way to Transfiguration.

He knew he was in the infirmary long before he could open his eyes, he could smell the antiseptic. When his eyes finally managed to open, he was staring not at the face of Madam Pomfrey, as he expected, but at the blue eyes of the Headmaster.

“Professor!” gasped Harry, struggling to get up from his prone position. “Severus! Voldemort-”

“Calm yourself, Harry. Professor Snape is perfectly safe. He has gone on an extended mission for the Order. It will be a week or two before he can return. Unfortunately your bond is such that both of you will be in considerable pain until you can be together again. You won’t get better until Professor Snape returns.”

“But I feel fine now,” said Harry. It was true, he was free of pain from both scars.

“That’s because you have been giving a very strong calming draught, but the relief is only temporary.”

“So, I’ll just need to take some more when this dose wears off, won’t I?”

“You were given the last bottle, Harry. Professor Snape is the only one who knows how to brew it. The potion is a speciality of his.”

“So what can be done?”

“Not a lot I’m afraid, Harry. You will have to stay here under sedation until Professor Snape returns. The potions Madam Pomfrey has at her disposal are not as strong as the calming draught, but should give you some relief.”

“Did you know about this?” demanded Harry.

“Know about what, Harry?”

“That our bond would hurt is if we were apart?”

Dumbledore didn’t reply, but his silence was all the answer Harry needed.

“Get out,” he said coldly and turned to face the wall.

“Harry…”

“Get out,” Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming at the Headmaster. He heard footsteps as Dumbledore shuffled away. How dare he do that to Severus? Not only would Severus have to cope with whatever Voldemort threw at him, he had to endure the agony of their bond as well. And Harry was pretty sure that wherever Snape was on his mission, there wouldn’t be any time for calming draughts and sedatives.

How would Severus cope with the pain and hiding it from the other Death Eaters? Would they know what the scar on his hand was? Harry could hardly bear to think of the man he loved in so much pain and almost as if his thoughts had willed it, the scar on his hand burned his flesh.

His screams were loud enough to wake the dead.

***

“Let me see him!” demanded Snape, prepared to push the Headmaster out of the way if necessary. Harry heard the man long before he saw him and he struggled to free himself from the deep sleep the sedatives had kept him under for the past fortnight.

Not only that, but once asleep, Voldemort had cast the curse on him again and the sedatives weren’t enough to keep him from trying to claw his own skin off in his agony. He couldn’t even tell Madam Pomfrey what the problem was, the curse had stolen his mind at the time and the only thing he could do was scream.

For the past few days, he’d been tied to the hospital bed so that he couldn’t damage himself. It didn’t matter. Voldemort had been able to damage him anyway.

“Severus, please calm yourself. You will be no good to Harry if you allow yourself to get in such a state,” Harry heard Dumbledore say. The Headmaster finally moved aside and Snape could enter the room.

“Remove those restraints at once!” commanded Snape, and Harry realised at once that Snape would knew exactly what had happened to him while he was sedated.

“We can’t, Severus,” said Poppy at his side. “We tried sedating him after the calming potion ran out, but he tried to hurt himself, kept clawing at his own skin, as if he was trying to rip it off. He’ll only hurt himself again.”

“Is he sedated now?” asked Snape, sounding calmer this time.

“Yes, but nothing seems to calm him.”

“Give him an antidote, Poppy and wake him up.”

“But…”

“I’m awake,” said Harry so softly that he wondered if anyone could hear him.

“Harry?” said Snape and stalked towards the bed. “He should not have been restrained or sedated!” Snape snapped at Madame Pomfrey.

“What else were we to do, Severus?” she replied calmly. “He was in agony due to your bond.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said Snape.

“Severus, this is me you’re talking to. I’ve treated enough wizards to know when their bond-mate needs them.”

Harry saw Snape glance at the Headmaster, who smiled but shook his head. “I did not tell her, Severus, she guessed.”

“There is more going on here than a missing bond-mate. Voldemort has been casting the Cruciatus on Harry in his sleep, that is why he should never have been sedated. His sleep was uncontrolled and Voldemort saw his chance. Harry could have died.”

Harry thought he heard the man’s voice catch on the last word, but he couldn’t be sure. He struggled to hoist himself upright as the three of them argued over what should and shouldn’t have been done for his care.

“Poppy, we should leave Severus and Harry alone for a while,” Dumbledore finally said. Just what Harry wanted, he needed to talk to Severus, needed to feel him, to know that he was really here and not still with Voldemort.

Once they were gone, Snape quickly undid the restraints, unbuckling them gently from Harry’s skin rather than use magic. He kissed Harry’s abused wrists and ankles as the leather fell away. “Harry, I’m sorry. I know how much you dislike being bound.” He helped Harry up in a sitting position, fluffing the pillows behind Harry so he could lean back.

A wave of nausea engulfed Harry like a tide and he mumbled thickly, “Sick…I’m going to be sick.”

Snape dashed off and returned a few moments later with a shallow silver basin. Harry retched, trying to empty his stomach of what little there was in it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten or drunk anything, but the urge to throw up was still there. Madame Pomfrey had been giving him nutrients through a magical drip, which was barely keeping him alive and he knew it. He would have to eat soon and that thought brought on another round of dry heaves.

Finally his spasms subsided and he glanced up at Snape, who was rubbing his back in soothing motions as Harry tried to get himself back under control. “Severus, are you really here?”

“I am,” said Severus. He pushed Harry’s fringe out of his eyes and traced the lightning bolt scar, sending a strange shiver through Harry’s body. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” agreed Harry. “Not until he tells you to.”

Snape didn’t deny it, Harry hadn’t expected him too. They both knew their lives were not their own and there was no point in bemoaning what fate had dealt them. They would just have to deal with it like everyone else. Snape sat down on the chair next to Harry’s bed and set the basin on the floor at his feet. He took Harry’s left hand in his and tenderly rubbed the thumb across Harry’s palm, his fingers and the back of his hand. Harry saw both their hands glow blue and gold, like the first time they’d been bonded and realised that Snape was renewing their connection. He sighed and sank back against his pillows.

“I missed you,” said Harry.

“And I you,” said Snape, but did not stop touching him. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better, now that you’re doing that.”

“Good, for I have no intention of stopping for a while. This will renew our bond, Harry and you will feel better in a few days. We should never have spent so much time apart. But some things we have no control over.”

“I know,” said Harry sadly. His muscles still felt weak from the after effects of the curse and he was glad he was lying down. He didn’t think he’d be able to walk properly for a while. “Severus,” he began hesitantly. “Do you think - could I have something to eat?”

“Harry Potter, did I just hear you admit you wanted food?”

“You did. But can you get me out of here? I want to be with you in our rooms, please Severus. I don’t want to spend another night here.”

“Maybe it can be arranged,” said Snape and left to find Madame Pomfrey.

When Snape returned a few moments later, it was almost as if he had a thundercloud over his head and Harry felt his heart sink. He couldn’t go, Madame Pomfrey had insisted he remain in the infirmary. “She said no, right?”

“On the contrary, Mr. Potter. She said yes, with a few conditions. You are to rest, and I am not to be feeding you spicy food! What does she take me for? I am a master of potions, even Neville Longbottom would know not to give spices to someone who has just been sedated with potions for the past fortnight! And why is that, Mr. Potter?”

“Because some of the spices may have been an ingredient in the potion and an overdose might be fatal?”

“Very good, Harry. Ten points to Gryffindor,” Snape grinned and helped Harry stand. Harry needed the support, his legs felt as though he’d been hit by lots of Jelly-Legs hexes at once. He stumbled with Snape as they made their way to the fireplace and floo’d back to the dungeons. Thankfully, the trip was brief and with Snape holding tight to him, Harry for once didn’t fall flat on his arse when he arrived at their destination.

Snape walked with him to the sofa and insisted that Harry lie there and put his feet up. Harry didn’t object and that said something about how fragile he was still feeling, normally he would have been appalled at any attempts to mollycoddle him. But it felt so good to be looked after by Snape and he gave Snape what he guessed was a goofy grin.

Snape summoned a house elf and ordered them both a light supper. A few moments later the elf returned with two bowls of chicken soup, soft bread rolls and butter, crackers and the largest selection of cheeses Harry had ever seen. His aunt had only ever bought bland cheese slices, Harry had never tasted real cheese until he came to Hogwarts.

Snape handed him one of the soups along with a spoon. Harry tried to feed himself, but his hands were trembling so much that he kept dropping the spoon and splashing soup all over himself and the sofa. He left it in the bowl after his fifth attempt at feeding himself.

“Here, let me,” said Snape, who pulled his chair over to the sofa so that he was sitting beside Harry and he lifted the spoon.

“I’m not a child,” Harry pouted.

“I know, but you are ill and you need to eat. Your muscles will sort themselves out in a while, Harry, but until then, please let me help you.”

“Okay,” said Harry reluctantly and opened his mouth. It felt odd to have someone feed him, feeling the soup and the cold metal of the spoon in his mouth, out of his control. He didn’t like it and wondered how long it would be until he was back to normal, or as normal as he could ever be. But eventually the soup was swallowed and Snape handed him a roll. Harry bit into it, but not really tasting it. His eyelids were beginning to droop and all he wanted now as sleep. Preferably one where the Dark Lord didn’t share his dreams. “So tired,” he mumbled, leaning his head against the back of the sofa.

“Well, then, let’s get you to bed. Do you want some Dreamless Sleep?”

“No, just want you,” replied Harry and then blushed to the roots of his hair. He hadn’t intended that to sound so blatantly sexual. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all, but it sounded as though he’d been flirting.

“You have me,” said Snape and held out a hand to help Harry up from the sofa. Harry’s knees buckled as soon as he stood up. Snape scooped him up in his arms and carried him to the bedroom. Harry had never felt so adored as he felt that night in Snape’s arms. He snuggled against Snape’s neck and whimpered at the loss of contact when Snape set him on the bed and stood up.

“Don’t go,” said Harry.

“I won’t, Harry. I’m just going to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

***

He did indeed go to the bathroom, but only so that Harry wouldn’t be able to see his face. Would Harry be able to tell? Was the betrayal etched onto his skin? He surveyed himself in the mirror, but he didn’t seem to look much different. Same sallow skin, with just a hint of red at the cheekbones, eyes as dark as coal, hair the same lank mess. It didn’t matter how he looked, he knew what he was: a traitor.

And this time there would be no redemption.

His chest and throat constricted at the thought of what he had to do.

It didn’t matter that it would be on Dumbledore’s orders, that it would be his last mission for the Order. His last mission full stop. No matter that Dumbledore and the other Order members insisted that it wasn’t really a betrayal at all. After all, what was one life when measured against millions?

It didn’t matter that Snape knew he had no choice, he was a pawn in the larger game, as was Harry. This had all been engineered, ever since Snape had turned against Voldemort and Harry had been caught in the web that Dumbledore had woven.

Snape sank to his knees, resting his head against the side of the sink. He could hardly breathe, the knowledge of what he had to do settling like rancid food in his stomach. It was another layer of guilt to add to the rest on his shoulders, which he wore like a cloak. That cloak was choking him now, choking him of life, of decision.

It was quite some time before his breathing eased to something even resembling normal. He stood up on shaky legs and made his way back to the bedroom. Harry was already asleep, curled up in a tiny ball on one side of the bed. It reminded Snape uncomfortably of how Harry had at one time been made to fit in such a small space. His hands curled into fists and he struggled once more with the demons in him that wanted to find Vernon Dursley and flay him alive. Not for him the mercy of Avada Kedavra.

Harry shifted and mumbled in his sleep, he turned over and his hand automatically reached out, as though seeking the warmth of another in the bed. His hand grasped nothing besides another pillow and he curled his hand around it, the fingers looking so small in slumber. Snape wanted nothing better to climb into that bed and wrap his arms around Harry, as if that would be enough to keep the boy safe. As if that would be enough to keep them all safe. But his feet refused to move any further towards the bed.

He could not bring himself to lie in the same bed with the boy he was going to betray.


TBC

Chapter 21: Shattered Souls
Chapter 21

It went downhill ever since that first night when Harry awoke to an empty bed. Harry never asked what Snape’s mission had been, nor what he’d been made to suffer at Voldemort’s hands. But he knew something had happened.

Snape became even more distant than usual and would only talk to Harry in class or during their Occlumency lessons. As Harry’s skill improved, the nightmares lessened, but Snape’s mood seemed to worsen the better Harry got, and never again did Snape share the bed with Harry.

He still spent his nights in the dungeons, but Snape insisted on sleeping on the sofa. Harry wasn’t having the nightmares any more, but he still missed the comfort of the other man in bed with him, and if he was honest with himself, he missed their intimate touching too. But he had no idea how to broach either subject with a Snape who seemed to be growing even more unstable as the weeks passed.

They’d just had their first Occlumency lesson during the Christmas break, a time Harry normally looked forward to, but not if Snape was going to be so distant with him. Before he was sent on his way after his lesson, Harry decided it was time he told the man how he felt.

“Professor?”

“Yes, Harry? What is it?”

“I - I just wanted to let you know that I’m looking forward to the Rites.” It was true, Harry was finding himself thinking of it more and more. Thinking of how Snape would finally take him, make him complete, and he blushed just thinking about it.

For a long time, Snape never said anything. He just stared at Harry. And then he stared some more. He marched over to his desk, opening and banging drawers as if he was looking for something, but he couldn’t seem to find whatever it was. Finally he glanced up and Harry was treated to a cold glare, one that hadn’t been sent in his direction for a while. Harry gulped.

“I think it is time you returned to sleep in your dormitory, Potter.”

“What did I do?” asked Harry, shocked. For he was certain that he must have done something in order to merit the punishment of being sent away. The only punishment he really feared.

“Do? You haven’t done anything except to have exceeded my expectations at Occlumency. So since you are no longer plagued by the nocturnal visits of the Dark Lord, there is no reason for you to stay here anymore.”

“What if I want to?” Harry wished his voice didn’t sound quite so small.

“Potter!” Snape slammed his fist down on the desk, quills and parchment flying onto the floor. “Go back to your dormitory, I am not going to argue about this with you!” Snape strode from the desk and flung open the door to his office, his body mere inches from Harry’s own. He held the door open and Harry shrank back from his gaze. Harry felt like a specimen in one of Snape’s jars and he felt the tears threaten at the back of his throat.

This wasn’t his Severus. This wasn’t the man who had held Harry while he cried, who had soothed him after Voldemort’s curses. This was Master Snape, the Potions Master who hated Harry. Harry could almost feel the hatred emanating from the other man. He was so angry with Harry that his whole body was shaking with the force of controlling his rage. Snape was breathing heavily and his eyes were wild. For a few awful moments Harry was sure the man was going to hit him and he hunched in on himself to make himself a smaller target.

“Go!” snarled Snape. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Harry ran out of the open door, feeling anguish pierce his heart. He’d thought Snape was different, had thought that he actually liked Harry. But it had all been pretend, he’d seen the anger in the man’s eyes, he just wanted to hurt Harry, not love him. It was all a lie. Snape didn’t love him back, he’d just said that.

Harry stumbled along the dungeon corridors, glad at least that all the Slytherins had gone home for Christmas. Harry had no home anymore. He’d thought he’d found one at last, in the coolness of the dungeons wrapped up in Snape’s arms.

Everything was a murky shimmery haze through his tears. Harry rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He wanted to talk to Ron or Hermione, but neither of them were staying at Hogwarts over Christmas.

Harry couldn’t understand it, why had Snape suddenly turned out so different? What had Voldemort done to him? Or had it all been an act all along? That Snape cared for him, looked after him? That first night when he’d returned, Snape had been so concerned, trying to renew their connection, even carrying Harry to bed. But it was a bed Harry had woken up in alone. Snape had told Harry that he wasn’t going to go anywhere, but he’d lied. Snape had gone somewhere deep inside himself. Somewhere where Harry couldn’t follow.

What had happened in those two weeks when Snape was with Voldemort, on a mission for the Order? Harry knew better than to ask, no-one except perhaps Dumbledore knew what Snape’s missions entailed, what he endured in his life as a spy. Harry was young, not stupid. He knew something had changed when Snape returned and it wasn’t for the better.

He found himself outside the kitchens, not even aware of where his feet had led him. Harry stared at the painting of the pear and felt waves of despair wash over him. How was he to get his Severus back? Absently, he tickled the pear and was granted access to the kitchen and was almost knocked off his feet by an over enthusiastic Dobby.

“Harry Potter! Dobby is most pleased to see you, sir! I is wanting to give your gift, sir!”

“Don’t worry about it, Dobby. I don’t need presents.” But Dobby didn’t appear to be listening as he rummaged about in a basket next to one of the large fireplaces. The basket was so large that Harry was afraid that Dobby would fall in and not be able to get himself out again. A few moments later, Dobby held up his prize with a triumphant grin.

He handed Harry a very badly wrapped squishy parcel in red and green paper. Gryffindor and Slytherin colours. Harry thought he might choke.

“You is not to open it until Christmas, promise?” squeaked the elf.

“I promise,” said Harry, his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. Severus didn’t want him anymore. Maybe he had never wanted him. But for the life of him, Harry couldn’t think what he’d done wrong.

“Dobby, may I have something to eat?” he finally asked. But it wasn’t hunger which had prompted the question. It was compulsion. Maybe he could drown out how he was feeling with food. Lots of food.

The elves were happy to oblige and Harry was treated to a one man feast, which probably could have fed ten. Harry ate everything they put in front of him, sandwiches, pies, pastries, sweets, pudding, glass upon glass of pumpkin juice until he felt so full that he would burst. His stomach wasn’t used to so much food at once and it recoiled. He was going to be sick, he knew it, the question was whether he would make it to a bathroom in time or whether he would vomit in one of the corridors.

The castle seemed eerily quiet, moreso than any other year he could remember and he never came across any of the ghosts on his way to the bathroom next to the Great Hall. The lights flickered on and off as he entered the first stall. Harry sank to his knees and retched until it felt like he’d torn his stomach and throat inside out. But it wasn’t enough. It didn’t make him feel better.

He rested his head against the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl and flushed it.

No-one wanted him.

You’re filth! Disgusting! Whore!
No-one would want you!
Take it in your mouth!
You love it, don’t you?
The boy who lived to suck cock!
Go back to your dormitory, Potter!

Severus didn’t want him, no-one would want him. Harry imagined he could still feel the food in his stomach and he wanted so much to get it out. He had to get it out. He tried his usual trick, two fingers at the back of his throat, he gagged a little but nothing solid came back up, just sour spittle.

He reached into the pocket of his robes and removed the knife he’d stolen from the kitchen.

***

Snape downed a glass of brandy after Harry left, his nerves so shot he wasn’t even sure the alcohol would even calm him at all. But gradually, he eased himself enough so that he could pretend that nothing was wrong and he started grading essays.

The work was monotonous, but in a way even the scrape of his red quill across the page served to calm him even more. This he could do. There were no green eyes to get lost in, no soft lips to distract him. He groaned as a vision of Harry floated just at the edge of his consciousness. A smiling, naked Harry. The bond was playing with his libido again and he tried to ignore what it wanted.

But then his feelings changed abruptly, a different sensation coming from the bond. Danger. Fear. Harry.

Snape ran from the dungeons, his robes billowing behind him as he made his way unerringly to the bathroom where Harry was. The bond did not let him know what sort of danger Harry was in, so Snape was unprepared for the sight which met him as he entered.

His young husband lay sprawled on the floor, half in and half out of one of the stalls. A pool of blood seeped from beneath his body. A bloodied steak knife lay next to him. Snape turned Harry over and gasped in shock.

Harry was completely white except for the gaping wound in his abdomen, where blood was still trickling from. “Coagulate!” roared Snape, wishing he’d got here sooner. Harry was too pale, too still. He was too late.

Snape lifted the boy’s body gently and rested it against his chest, cradling Harry like a babe. He didn’t know what to do. He, who had been a Death Eater and who had seen death in so many forms, didn’t know what to do.

Blood was staining the front of his robes, but he didn’t care. What did it matter now that Harry was gone? He walked with his burden to the hospital wing because he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know what else to do.

“What happened?” gasped Poppy as soon as she saw him.

“Harry - he - killed himself,” he whispered and the sob that erupted from his throat threatened to destroy what little sanity he had.

Poppy eased Harry’s body out of his arms, there was a brief struggle where Snape didn’t want to let go, couldn’t let go.

“Severus!” she said sharply and he looked at her, dazed.

“He isn’t dead, Harry isn’t dead.”

“But there was so much blood. He must be.”

“No, Severus, he’s weak, but he’s not dead. Sit down and let me look after Harry.”

Poppy lay Harry down on one of the beds and got to work. Harry’s robes and jumper were slashed across the middle, a fabric facsimile of the wound on his abdomen. Severus watched Poppy work, feeling as if he was watching one of those Muggle movies. Poppy poured a clear liquid across the wound and it healed instantly. Phoenix tears. She then dosed the still unconscious boy with what he recognised as one of his own blood thickening solutions and a sedative.

“He’ll be fine, Severus. He just needs to get lots of rest now. What happened?”

“I found him like that, on a bathroom floor. He was trying to kill himself. I thought he had succeeded.”

“Are you sure this was a suicide attempt, Severus? People normally cut their wrists, not their abdomens.”

Snape nodded. He was sure all right. It was his fault. What did he think was going to happen when he rejected Harry without an explanation? The boy had lost too many people close to him already and just when Harry was beginning to trust again, he’d flung it back in the boy’s face.

“It’s my fault, Poppy,” said Snape. “I sent him away.” But Poppy didn’t seem to hear him, she was too busy checking to see if Harry was comfortable. She glanced up at him and indicated he should go to her office. Snape nodded and did as he was bid.

When Poppy entered it a few moments later, she sat down behind her desk and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. “Now, Severus, will you kindly explain to me what is going on? I know you two are married and bonded, so no lies or evasions please. Why do you think it was your fault?”

“I’ve been having trouble with the bond,” began Snape. “At first I could control it, but it’s been getting steadily worse. The marriage has never been - ah - consummated. Dumbledore’s plan relies on us waiting until the Rites. I couldn’t handle being near him, Poppy. The bond is playing havoc with my libido in Harry’s presence.” Severus tried not to blush, but Poppy was one of his nearest friends and she had probably heard and seen things even more embarrassing that this. “I’m afraid that I might do something to hurt Harry if he stays anywhere near me. The bond was so strong this morning, insisting that I take Harry, whether willing or not.”

“No, Severus! You wouldn’t!”

“I almost did!” he ground out. “I sent him away, I had to.”

“Without explaining about the bond?”

“What was I supposed to say to him?”

“How about the truth, Severus? The marriage bonds have been designed so that they try and get both of you to consummate the marriage, the bond is not fully completed until consummation. These urges will only get stronger until that finally happens. How the two of you managed to function coherently up to now is a mystery! What was Albus thinking, making the two of you wait until the Rites? Why haven’t you done this already, Severus? That’s what the wedding night was for!” She sounded almost angry now.

Yes, it should have happened that night, but when it hadn’t and Severus explained to Albus what had happened, the Headmaster had come up with his other plan and was insistent that they wait until the Rites.

“Harry was terrified of sex, he still isn’t very comfortable and I thought I’d found a way around it.”

“Around what? Severus, you know that the bond is not complete until you make love with Harry. Intercourse,” she added, just to make sure.

“Harry was a nervous wreck after what his uncle had done to him. I couldn’t do it. He was nowhere near ready. I’ve been many things in my time, Poppy as well you know, but I was never a rapist.”

“I know, Severus, I’m sorry. Please go on.”

“The books only mentioned that we needed to orgasm in the marital bed, so that’s what happened.”

“Well, yes, that would work temporarily. But you know as well as I that marriage bonds are one of the oldest forms of magic, sex magic. Both parties have to be bodily joined for it to work properly!”

“I know, I know, but Harry wasn’t ready.”

“But he’s ready now,” insisted Poppy.

“How do you know?”

“Because of how you are reacting to his closeness, Harry is feeling it too. That’s why the urges are becoming overwhelming. Harry feels exactly the same as you. Well, probably not exactly, but he wants it to happen. The bond between you wants it to happen.”

“Are you sure about this, Poppy?”

“Yes, marriage bonds were set so that both partners had to be willing. Rapists don’t usually bother with marriage certificates.”

“So Harry wants this? You think he’s ready?”

“I do, Severus. Why does Dumbledore want you to wait until the Rites?”

And Snape told her. Told her of Dumbledore’s plan, how he would use Snape and Harry to destroy Voldemort. Poppy just stared at him, mouth agape. When he had finished, she finally found her voice. “I can hardly believe the Headmaster could allow that to happen. Is he even sure it will work?”

“No-one’s sure it will work, but we have to try.”

“And you, Severus, how do you feel about having to do it?”

“How do you think I feel, Poppy? I love him. I don’t want to see him hurt, but I have no choice. Dumbledore saw to that.”

“I’m sorry, Severus, I really am.”

“But what are we going to do about the bond in the meantime?” asked Snape.

“You mean since consummation is out of the question? Isn’t there a potion you could take? Sort of like an anti-aphrodisiac?”

“No,” said Snape, although he had thought of trying to invent one over the past few weeks. He could hardly concentrate as it was.

“Well, then,” smiled Poppy. “Have I ever told you about the therapeutic wonders of cold showers?”


TBC

Chapter 22: Shattered Souls
Chapter 22

Harry did not want to be in the infirmary again, but that was just where he had ended up. He seemed to be spending most of his time there lately. As full consciousness returned, he noticed a dull throbbing, both in his head and abdomen and wondered how long it would be before the painkillers in his system wore off completely. The pain was just about manageable for now.

But he had other pains, a sharp ache in his chest that he knew no amount of potions could ease. Snape did not want him. Had never wanted him. How was he to bear it? He was dead, he must be. No human could survive this and live.

The room was dark, the only light coming from moonlight and starlight filtering through the high windows. At one end of the room, a thin sliver of light cast shadows on the floor from beneath a closed door, Madame Pomfrey’s office. Harry had no idea what time it was and he was loathe to call out, unwilling to bring attention to himself just yet.

“Harry?” He ignored the velvet voice next to him, believing it at first to be in his imagination. For he could not conceive of one reason why the Potions Master would really be here. “I know you’re awake, Harry. The bond has already informed me of that.”

Snape sat in silence then, obviously anticipating some sort of conversation from Harry, but it was as though he’d been struck mute. Harry couldn’t utter a word to this man, this stranger who’d been masquerading as his husband.

“Poppy, he’s awake,” called Snape and Harry heard the door of the office opening. Snape moved away, further towards the nurse and Harry felt the absence like a physical ache, almost as if he’d lost a limb. He refused to acknowledge it. What was the point? Snape had made his intentions perfectly clear. He didn’t want Harry.

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter,” said Madame Pomfrey as she neared the bed. She carried a lantern in one hand and a potion bottle in the other. Harry wondered absently if Snape had made the potion. She set the lantern down on the bedside table and took a good look at him. Harry felt uncomfortably as though he was being perused for sale at a slave auction. “How are you feeling now, Harry?” she asked, feeling his forehead gently.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood and have been unconscious for a few days. We’ve been giving you blood thickening potion, which has helped, but you’ll still need to take it for about another week. If you’re not in too much pain from your wounds, with the phoenix tears, you shouldn’t be, I don’t see any reason why you can’t go home in the morning.”

“I don’t have a home,” said Harry.

“Of course you do! With Professor Snape,” she added with a smile.

“He doesn’t want me,” insisted Harry.

“Severus,” she called him back from the office. “Will you come here and kindly explain to your husband what has been going on? I have never met two more stubborn, foolish…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

Harry turned his face away when Snape joined the witch by the side of the bed. He couldn’t bear to see the hatred in the man’s face before he thought up a suitable lie. They had all lied to him and Harry was sick of it. Sick of everything. He didn’t trust any of them. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I should never have sent you away like that.”

“Oh? There was an even worse way you could have done it?” He hardly recognised his own voice, he sounded so bitter, so angry. Not what he was feeling at all. Or maybe it was. Maybe he was feeling angry with Snape over this.

“I deserved that,” said Snape. “I never meant to hurt you, Harry. I was trying to protect you by sending you away. You have to believe that.”

“Protect me? Protect me from what?” Harry turned around so that he was facing the Potions Master. He couldn’t see any signs of a lie in the pale face, just a hint of sadness and something else, hurt and sorrow. Harry ached that he’d been the one to cause it. “Protect me from what?” he repeated when no answer was forthcoming from Snape.

“From me,” said Snape and now he was the one to look away.

“You don’t mean that,” said Harry. “I know you would never do that to me. It’s the bond, isn’t it? It didn’t work that night, we were supposed to consummate the marriage after all?”

Snape nodded. “I didn’t know if I could control the…urges. The bond wants us to join as soon as possible. Have you been feeling anything similar?”

Harry blushed and wondered if he would ever get over his shyness about anything concerning sex sometime in this century. “Yes, but not as strong as you. I never felt as though I was going to be out of control. I was just thinking about what it would be like to make love with you.”

“It won’t be long until you feel exactly like me. The bond is like that, it’s the way marriage bonds were designed. It needs us to…”

“So - so if we make love, these urges will stop?”

“Yes, once the marriage bond is consummated, our desire should return to a normal level, not this overwhelming need. Think of the world’s most potent aphrodisiac, then multiply it by ten. That is how you are going to be feeling in the near future, Harry.”

“So why don’t we make love then?” asked Harry, beyond blushing now.

“The Headmaster wants us to wait until the Rites.”

“But why? It’s our bodies, our marriage.”

“He has his reasons. Reasons I am not at liberty to divulge.”

“I see,” said Harry sullenly. He was fed up of people controlling what he could and couldn’t do with his life.

“Harry,” Snape said softly. “Promise me you will not do something like this again.”

“What? Like open myself up with a carving knife?” He laughed, but there was no humour in it.

“I should have been paying more attention. I knew you were depressed and suicidal.”

“I’m not!” protested Harry vehemently.

“Then why did I find you almost bleeding to death from a self-inflicted wound? That was just for fun, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t fun, but I wasn’t trying to kill myself.”

“No? What were you doing then?”

“I - it wouldn’t come out. I’d eaten too much. I made myself sick but it still felt as though it was stuck there inside me. I had to get it out, don’t you see?”

“And you thought that a carving knife would help you in this endeavour?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really know what I was thinking when I cut myself. Everything went quiet after a while. I liked the quiet,” he admitted.

“Oh, Harry! What am I going to do with you?” Snape sat down on the bed and took Harry’s hand in his, caressing it.

“Take me home?” Harry ventured with a small smile.


TBC

Chapter 23: Shattered Souls
Chapter 23

The first few nights back in the dungeons, Snape still slept out on the sofa. On Christmas Eve, he finally relented and got ready for bed. Ready for bed with Harry, but not without some ground rules.

“We are only here to sleep, Harry. Nothing more.”

“What? You mean I don’t get a goodnight kiss or a cuddle?”

“Well, maybe that could be arranged.” Snape smiled and it was all the Christmas present Harry could ever need.

Harry snuggled up to Snape, resting his head on the man’s shoulder, feeling at long last that he was home. Nothing could be heard besides their breathing. Harry didn’t want to leave the comfort of these arms. Ever. Snape turned, his lips mere inches from Harry’s. It wouldn’t take much for Harry to initiate a kiss but he waited. He needed, no wanted Snape to make the first move. To let him know that he really was wanted. That the past few days had never happened.

His patience was rewarded as Snape moved his head those final few inches and claimed Harry’s mouth with his own. There was no passion in the kiss, no fire, just the giving and receiving of comfort. Harry drowned in that comfort and did not want to stop. He sighed against Snape’s lips, a deep sigh echoed back to him by Snape’s mouth. They kissed languidly for a few more moments, teasing, tasting, biting, knowing nothing except the bliss that was kissing each other. Harry would never get enough of kissing Snape.

Almost before either of them were aware of it, the kisses changed, become more heated and frantic with each touch of lips upon lips. And then Harry felt it, what Snape must have been feeling all this time. The bond, flaring almost like the opposite version of Cruciatus. A torture of pleasure that spiked up and down his spine, like quills trailing across his flesh. He was hard and aching, arching up against Snape, who was returning each kiss with equal fervour. Harry could feel Snape’s erection too, along his thigh. They stayed locked together for an eternity, but suddenly Snape pulled back and tried to soothe Harry’s frantic bucking. “Ssh, Harry. We have to stop.” Snape was breathing hard, his hair hung around his face, lank with sweat, his face redder than Harry had ever seen it.

“No! Oh, please,” begged Harry. He was so sore and he needed, God how he needed… “Please. Don’t stop! Please!” He was almost sobbing now, Snape couldn’t be so cruel that he would stop them now, would he? “I need you! I need you … inside,” gasped Harry. He felt so empty, he needed this. “I want you inside me.” He needed Snape, filling him, taking him, claiming him. Making him his.

“Oh, Merlin, Harry! You know I want to, but we can’t. We can’t. It’s the bond making you feel like this.” Snape stared at him for a few moments as if deciding something. “Turn over and lie on your stomach, let me ease you.”

Harry’s heart beat a frantic rhythm against his chest as he obeyed. Was Snape giving in? Giving Harry and the bond what was needed? He placed his arms under the pillow and rested his head there, settling himself against the mattress.

His erection was pressed into the mattress beneath him and he wriggled a bit against the sheets to give himself some needed friction. At the first swipe of a moist tongue on the back of his neck, Harry arched up into the touch. He was so sensitive on his neck and Snape knew it. He moaned as Snape continued his ministrations, licking his neck, his ears and then gliding his tongue down Harry’s back.

Harry was mindless with pleasure, only managing to grunt and gasp. Sentences were beyond him. He writhed on the bed, needing Snape to do something, to do anything. “Oh, please! Please!” he panted and arched his body up to Snape’s tongue once more. Snape’s kisses on his skin were enflaming him, not soothing him.

Snape didn’t say a word, just continued licking and kissing his way down Harry’s spine until he placed a very soft kiss at the very top of Harry’s arse. Harry could feel himself twitching, wanting to be filled, needing to be filled. But he was unprepared for what Snape did next.

He licked a swathe between the cheeks of Harry’s bottom and Harry screamed, not sure whether he wanted to push up into the tongue or down against the bed. “What…what are you doing?” he gasped faintly.

Snape removed his tongue, but Harry could still feel little puffs of air against his opening as he breathed softly against Harry’s skin. “Don’t you like it? Do you want me to stop?”

“NO!” exclaimed Harry, then realised he needed to revise that statement in case Snape thought he was answering the first question. “No, don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

“Your wish is my command,” said Snape and Harry was sure the man was smiling although he couldn’t see it. Snape’s head ducked down again, kissing the skin around Harry’s anus, nibbling as though feasting on some exotic delicacy. Harry had never felt anything so arousing in his life. Then Snape’s tongue licked all around and then… oh God the tongue was dancing inside. Snape’s tongue was inside him. Snape was inside him. Harry alternated between thrusting back up onto Snape’s face and down on the mattress. He felt a tightness in his balls and belly and knew he was going to come soon. He shrieked as the first tremors of orgasm ripped through his body like a tidal wave. He pulsed relentlessly, soaking the sheets beneath him, his limbs feeling weak. But Snape didn’t stop kissing and licking him there, Harry could feel himself twitch around Snape’s tongue, the muscles contracting in and out, as though reluctant to let Snape’s tongue go.

He was melting into the mattress, he would die of pleasure if Snape kept this up, but still he couldn’t bear for it to stop. He was getting hard again and Snape was eating him out like there was no tomorrow. The build-up this time seemed even more intense, focused as he was on the damp patch beneath his cock and Snape’s attentions to his rear end. He felt as though he might pass out. Harry gripped the pillow with both hands, rutting his body onto the mattress. He wanted to kiss Snape, wanted to be doing something with his mouth, but didn’t want to do anything that would make Snape stop what he was doing. He contented himself instead with biting the pillow, tasting damp cotton and imagined he was kissing Snape and tasting himself.

“OHHHH, OHHHH,” groaned Harry, lifting his head from the pillow, grinding himself hard against the mattress and then up onto Snape’s talented tongue. “I’m going to come! Oh, God! I feel so hard!” he sobbed as the second release of the night roared through him, not as copious as the first, but he came so hard that he was seeing stars.

Snape held his hips, kissing his entrance softly until the spasms subsided and then turned Harry over, a delighted smirk on his face.

“Oh my God!” smiled Harry. “What on earth did you do to me?”

“I take it you liked it?”

“Liked it? How can you even ask that? Why didn’t you stop when I came the first time?”

“I was having too much fun having you writhing beneath me. I didn’t want to stop, so I didn’t.”

“Do you - do you want me to do that to you?” asked Harry nervously. He didn’t think he would ever be as good at it as Snape. The man had a wicked tongue, even when he wasn’t being sarcastic.

“No, Harry. Tonight was for you. I wanted to show you pleasure. And did I succeed?” Snape trailed a finger across Harry’s cheek, looking deep into his eyes. For some strange reason, that gesture undid him and he felt his eyes filling up with tears. He tried to blink them away but too late, Snape had seen.

“Harry? What is it? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Did I scare you? I‘m sorry if I went too far.”

“You didn’t. I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. I just feel so…I don’t know how I feel. I never want to lose you.”

“You won’t, Harry. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” smiled Harry. “Do you want me to - um - take care of you?” Harry could only imagine how aroused the man must be feeling considering what the bond had done to him.

Snape giggled and pulled Harry closer to him and whispered in his ear. “No need.” And then Harry felt a damp trail across his thigh and realised that Snape had already come. “When?”

“When I was tasting that gorgeous arse of yours, I came just as you did the second time. Do you know how hot you sounded? Moaning like that, writhing against me and the bed? I’m surprised I lasted as long as I did.”

Oh, God, Snape’s description was getting Harry all hot and bothered again. He squirmed out of Snape’s embrace so that the man wouldn’t notice, but he couldn’t help the soft moaning whimper from escaping his throat. Snape’s eyebrows shot up so far that they almost seemed part of his hair. His eyes went straight to Harry’s groin, to an erection that seemed not to want to disappear. It felt painful now and Harry wasn’t sure he could even come again, never mind want to do anything about it.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to get you all excited again. The bond seems to be working overtime with you tonight.” Snape lay down on the bed and held out his arms. “Lie on top of me,” he instructed Harry. Harry did as he was bid and lay down between Snape’s legs, lining his throbbing erection up in the hollow of Snape’s hip. Snape grabbed both of his arse cheeks and began tugging Harry’s body towards him. Harry got the idea and began thrusting himself against Snape. Oh this was heaven. To be held like this, heightening the sensations throughout his body. He rested his head on the curve of Snape’s neck, breathing heavily in the man’s ear.

Snape tugged him round for a long deep kiss and it wasn’t long before Harry was seeing stars again and ejaculated against Snape’s thigh in three short, sharp pulses. Snape brought Harry to orgasm like that twice more that night, before Harry collapsed weakly against the man’s chest and tried to breathe normally. He was limp, exhausted and had covered the man in come, but Snape didn’t seem to mind.

He turned Harry over and proceeded to lick the small amount of come still sticking to Harry’s thighs and abdomen. It was very erotic watching Snape lick Harry’s own secretions of him. His cock twitched a few times at the sight, but thankfully didn’t get hard again. Harry didn’t know if his body could take anymore of this.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?” asked an amused Snape. Harry threw a pillow at him in mock anger. “Are you trying to kill me?” he demanded. “I’ll probably sleep for a week after that!”

Snape chuckled. “Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight, Severus.”

And for the first time in a long while, Harry slept without nightmares or visits from Voldemort.

TBC

Chapter 24: Shattered Souls
Chapter 24

Two days later the rest of the school returned after the Christmas break and Harry and Snape both decided that it would be best if Harry returned to his dormitory until the Rites. They were both exhausted, the bond had been playing havoc with both of them and they’d spent the past two days barely out of bed kissing and grinding against each other until Harry thought he would go mad with desire. They both knew what the bond wanted and needed for completion, that is, intercourse, and when that didn’t happen, racked their desire up even more so that they had no choice but to come and come until it felt as though there was nothing left.

Harry was still feeling weak after his stint in the hospital wing, but with the bond, neither of them were very good at resisting. They had to stay away from each other and maybe then they could cope with it.

That morning before Harry left, Snape handed him the blood thickening potion. “Remember you need to take it for five more days.”

Harry nodded and took the bottle from Snape’s hand. As he did, their fingers brushed each other’s for a fraction of a second. They both gasped as the desire coursed through them. “Go, Harry, quickly,” said Snape in a strained voice and Harry hurried to obey. If he didn’t leave now, they would very soon end up a sticky mess on the floor and how would he explain that to Ron and Hermione?

Harry took the steps to Gryffindor Tower two at a time, willing his erection away. This was getting ridiculous. He couldn’t be in a constant state of arousal until the Rites, he would go crazy! Why was it so important that they had to wait until then anyway?

At least the thoughts did their best to calm him down. He put the potion in the pocket of his robes before giving the password to the portrait and stepping into the common room. There was no point in drawing attention to it, he didn’t know how he would ever explain why he needed it.

He was disappointed that he and Snape would no longer be together until the Rites, but he knew deep down that it was the most sensible decision. Now that he knew the reason why Snape had sent him away before, he felt that he ought not to be disappointed. But what his heart and his head felt were two totally different things.

Ron and Hermione were sitting very close together on one of the sofas. They both looked flushed and a little disarrayed. Harry had the impression that if he’d come in a few moments earlier he would have caught them kissing.

“Harry! There you are,” said Hermione. “We were just going to look for you, weren’t we Ron?” she nudged the redhead in the ribs and he grinned at Harry.

“Sorry, Harry, got a little distracted! We haven’t seen each other since the break.”

Harry grinned at them. He was feeling very generous towards any lovers at the moment. Half the time he felt as though he himself was gliding along on a cloud and it was hard to reconcile this feeling he had with Snape. He wanted to be clasped in Snape’s arms, needed to be there. He wondered how much of his feelings were due to the bond and how much to himself. But did it really matter? For whether it was the bond or not, his feelings were real and so were Snape’s. It was going to be a very long wait until the Rites.

***

They didn’t have Potions until the Thursday after the Christmas break and Harry was a nervous wreck even before he set foot in the dungeon classroom. He wasn’t sure whether he was dreading or anticipating his first sight of his husband since the break. Snape had taken to eating his meals elsewhere, so that Harry hadn’t even seen him in the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione giggling together over something did their best to distract him, but his hands still shook as he took out his quills and parchment.

Ron sat down next to Hermione, bypassing his and Harry’s usual desk and shrugged apologetically at Harry. He just nodded at Ron, it was silly to feel angry just because Ron wanted to spend some time with his girlfriend, but that was just Harry felt then.

But when Snape glided into the classroom with a billow of black robes, Harry forgot all about Ron. Forgot about anything except the man in front of the class. Harry’s mouth was dry and he licked his lips, which did nothing except irritate them, for there was no moisture to be had from his mouth.

In the back of his mind, Harry was aware that Snape was speaking, but he couldn’t hear the words, so fixated was he on the tone of the voice. A voice that had brought him to countless orgasms over the holidays and he could hardly wait for it to happen again. He’d been hard ever since Snape had entered the classroom, he was just thankful that Hogwarts robes were so concealing. For a brief moment their eyes locked across the classroom and Harry’s groin tightened in response. Oh, he wanted to drown in those dark eyes.

He wished they weren’t in class. He wished they were alone and could kiss and touch and lick…

“Potter!” barked Snape and Harry’s head shot up so fast that the muscles in his neck creaked in protest.

“Sir?” gasped Harry trying in vain to quell his arousal.

“You are not paying attention, Potter. What potion are we making today?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know.”

“You are distracted, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, sir,” he almost whispered.

I can still taste you

Harry glanced at his teacher in alarm, his face flushed, but there were no outraged comments from his classmates. The voice was in his head, Snape’s voice, reducing him to butter with mere thoughts.

I want to bend you over that desk, kissing you everywhere, licking you everywhere until you are nothing but need and desire.

Harry’s cock throbbed at the thought. Oh, yes, how he wanted that. How he wanted Snape.

I want to be inside you.

The thought was too much for Harry, he came instantly, spurting helplessly against the front of his trousers, his knuckles clenching on the desk and biting the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from crying out in front of everyone.

Snape stared at him, but refrained from commenting about it, either out loud or in Harry’s mind. Harry was sitting shaking at his desk. How could they endure this torture until the Rites?

“You will write and essay on the brewing and the uses of the Merin Potion, Mr. Potter. To be handed in to me tomorrow morning.”

What, no detention?

Not tonight, Harry. I have something else in mind for you tonight.

What?

A lesson.

What sort of lesson?

Do you trust me, Harry?

With my life.

Cast a Silencing Charm around your bed. Set your alarm for three o’clock.

Why?

You will find out at three o’clock.

Could minds smirk? For Harry could almost see it. Snape’s mind withdrew from his and Harry felt strangely empty. He should be horrified that Snape could read his mind, could talk to him silently like this, but he was far from horrified. He felt privileged that they shared something so intimate as minds.

The rest of the class passed without incident. It was all a blur to Harry, he just couldn’t concentrate and surprised himself by not blowing anything up. He could hardly wait for the day to end so that he could get ready for bed and Snape’s lesson, whatever that might turn out to be.

***

Much to Harry’s frustration, none of the other Gryffindors seemed to want to go to bed any earlier than usual and it was well past midnight before Seamus and Dean finally made it to bed. Ron and Neville were already snoring softly, Harry was pretending to be asleep. He could no more sleep than he could fly to the moon on his Firebolt.

Harry lay listening as Dean and Seamus got ready and settled in quickly enough and at long last everyone else had fallen asleep. Harry had already cast his silencing charm and now all he had to do was wait. He didn’t bother setting his alarm, there was no way he could drift off now. His whole body was buzzing with adrenaline, almost as if he’d had too much sugar or caffeine. It was almost as if he would burst out of his skin at any moment. He fussed with the blankets, feeling hot and cold all at once. His skin felt almost too sensitive, as if ants were burrowing their way under his skin.

Harry.

And oh, there it was, The voice he’d been waiting for all night. Harry glanced at the alarm clock on his bedside table. One thirty.

You’re early.

I know. I knew you were awake. Why didn’t you sleep?

I couldn’t. I was too wound up. Do you know what you did to me in that class?

He wondered if righteous indignation sounded in mind speak as well as out loud speech. There was a soft chuckle.

Oh, yes, Harry. I knew. It took all my self-control not to do exactly the same. Seeing you there, your face flushed, a fine sheen of sweat on your upper lip that I wanted to lick off. Your chest heaving with the effort of controlling your gasps. You’re a siren, Harry. Sent to lure me.

No more than you.

Harry was breathless as his mind answer emerged, wondering how much more of this he could take before he came uncontrollably again. There was just something so erotic about that voice, like velvet covered chocolate that seemed to slide over his skin and down into his nerves, even his bones could feel it.

What are you wearing?

Wearing? A t-shirt and boxer shorts.

Details, Harry, details.

Details?

Yes. Colours. Textures. How it feels against your skin.

Um, a pale blue cotton t-shirt and white boxers. They’re cotton too. They feel cool against my skin, I’m so hot tonight. The front of my boxers are slightly wet.

Really? What naughty thoughts were you thinking to get yourself in such a state?

You. The way you looked at me in class, what we’d done the other night. How if the room had been empty, you might kiss me and touch me - oh - oh

Harry’s mind fractured as his hand sought to do what he’d been imagining Snape to do to him all evening. He squeezed his erection with his hand and thrust up, enjoying the friction.

Are you touching yourself?

Sorry. Harry removed his hand to the side of the bed, his hands clenching the empty air.

No, don’t stop. Keep doing it and tell me what you’d like me to do if I was there with you.

I’d want you to kiss me, kiss me like you’d die if you couldn’t press your lips to mine. I want you over me, pinning me to the bed with your weight, pressing me hard into the mattress. I want you to do it so hard that it’s difficult to breathe but it wouldn’t matter because my life would be in your kisses. I want you to bite my neck, mark me as yours. I want your kiss, your touch. Your everything. Mapping me, devouring me. I want to be your prey.

Oh Merlin, moaned Snape’s voice in his head. Touch yourself, Harry. Make yourself come. Please.

Harry moved his hand back to his groin, wanting nothing better than to obey that request. His cock had escaped the slit in his boxers and was weeping a few colourless drops as it waited eagerly for attention. Any attention.

Severus? Can you talk me through it? We never did get that lesson, did we?

No, we didn’t. Are you going to do exactly as I say? Every instruction obeyed without question?

Oh, yes! Please!

All right. First remove your t-shirt and shorts. I want you naked on those Gryffindor sheets.

Harry obeyed, stretching his body to its full length as he settled on the crisp white sheets beneath him. His skin prickled all over as he anticipated what Snape would have him do next.

Put your fingers in you mouth, suck them, make them wet.

Harry moaned as he sucked his own fingers, he didn’t know that could feel so erotic.

Now, stroke your left nipple until you can’t bear it, until you’re writhing on the bed and your cock is just aching to be touched.

Harry arched off the bed as he tentatively stroked his nipple. He couldn’t take it for much longer and was sure that it would be almost possible to come from this stimulation alone. It was as though there was a wire connecting his nipples directly to his cock, he felt the ache and the slickness leaking from the tip of it.

Oh, Severus please!

All right, Harry. You can touch your cock now. Make a fist with your hand and grip the shaft. Have you done it?

Yes, oh, God, yes!

Harry bucked up into his own hand. His whole body was taut, arched like a bow, only his feet and head were touching the bed. He was nearly there.

Touch the tip with your finger, spread the pre-come around it.

Harry touched his fingertip to the slit at the top of his cock and that added stimulation was enough, he came in ecstatic bursts, bucking wildly against his hand, screaming his release, his body contorted in pleasure as he milked himself dry. He was aching all over, but it was a good ache.

His heart was beating wildly in his chest as he came down, his body still shuddering with little aftershocks.

Oh, God!

I take it you enjoyed your lesson?

Oh, yes. Can we do it again?

I think you’ve learned enough to continue without instruction.

Please?

We’ll see. Goodnight, Harry.

Goodnight, Severus.

With that, Harry slept right through until seven the next morning, where he annoyed Ron and Hermione no end by refusing to tell them what he found to smile about so early in the day.


TBC

Chapter 25: Shattered Souls
Chapter 25

It snowed on Valentine’s Day, a soft white blanket covered the grounds, flakes still falling outside. Harry sat morosely in the common room trying to ignore everyone flirting with everyone else. There were surreptitious kisses and gropes in darkened corners and he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest.

He and Snape had mutually decided that it would be best if the did not spend any time together at all until the Rites as the bond was even stronger when they were just in each other’s company. Harry had a husband that he had to pretend to hate and couldn’t even spend time with today of all days and the romantic undercurrents floating around the room were depressing him.

It wasn’t as if the bond had completely dissolved, although his libido had seemed to return to something resembling normal. He had to masturbate before and after Potions though, just to take the edge off. Just being in the same room as Snape had blood rushing to his nether regions. They had agreed to see each other tonight, but only to talk. Harry wondered if the bond would allow them enough coherency just to talk.

The bond was affecting his health too, not just his libido. On the days when he didn’t have Potions, he was lethargic and suffered terrible migraines. He felt the beginning of one now and felt chilled and slightly sick.

“I’m going to have a lie down,” he told Ron and Hermione. They both looked at him concerned, but didn’t say anything. They’d all been in the midst of three way exploding snap, but Harry guessed they wouldn’t object to being alone. He was just glad that this year Valentine’s had fallen on a Saturday and he wouldn’t have to face classes.

Feeling decidedly out of sorts, Harry climbed the stairs to the boys’ dorm. He lay down on his bed fully clothed. Still lying prone on the bed, he lifted each leg in turn to remove his shoes and dropped them with a loud thud on the floor.

A sharp pain stabbed him above his left eye, the normal precursor to his migraines and he groaned. He turned on his side, curling up into a ball and breathing deeply to try and fight the nausea that accompanied the pain in his head. He was shaking and shivering now too, but he felt too hot and he fumbled with his buttons trying to remove his shirt. His hands wouldn’t work properly and he gave up. He could feel sweat on all of his skin, dampening his clothes, but he felt so ill that he didn’t care if he ruined them.

“Harry? Are you all right?” asked Ron from the doorway. Harry could barely move in order to see his friend.

“Does he look all right?” demanded Hermione, as she stepped close to the bed. She placed her hand on his forehead and he saw her frown. Her perfume was making Harry’s nausea worse and he willed himself not to vomit over her. “He’s burning up,” said Hermione with a glance at Ron.

“Shall I fetch Madame Pomfrey?”

Harry heard the words, but it was as if he was hearing them from a long way off. Everything sounded muffled, as if he had a goldfish bowl stuck over his head.

“No, Ron. He needs Professor Snape,” replied Hermione.

“But -,”

“You heard me, Ron. That’s who he needs.”

Harry dimly heard Ron leave as Hermione conjured up a basin of cold water and a cloth. Harry lay drifting as she pressed the damp cloth against his forehead and he tried to wriggle away from her, her touch was too painful on his heated skin.

“Stop, please,” he begged.

“Miss Granger, why are you in the boys’ dormitory?” demanded a voice he hadn’t heard for days. Harry’s head jerked round at the sound of his husband’s voice.

“Severus,” he moaned from the bed, reaching out a hand, not caring that Hermione might see how much he needed the touch.

“Professor Snape,” said Hermione. “Did Ron find you?”

“No, I could sense Harry was in distress. What’s the matter?”

“I think it’s the bond sir. It’s making Harry ill. He needs to be near you. He’s been getting sick for weeks. I’ve never seen him this bad though.”

Severus moved closer to the bed and clasped Harry’s hand in his.

Almost at once, Harry felt better. “Miss Granger, can I rely on your discretion? I think I should spend a few hours with Harry.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll make sure no-one comes up to the dorm.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry weakly from the bed as Hermione left as quietly as she’d come in.

“It helps having a prefect for a friend,” commented Snape, smiling down at Harry. “Couldn’t wait until tonight to see me?”

“Something like that.” Harry struggled to sit up, Snape positioned the pillows behind his head to make him more comfortable. His head was still being used as an anvil by a giant and he groaned, trying to stifle the sound from Snape.

“A migraine?” asked Snape, rummaging about his robes for a potion bottle. “Drink this.”

Harry took the proffered bottle. “Have you got an apothecary in your pockets or are you just pleased to see me?” he giggled.

“Something like that. Just a few sips, Harry, not the whole bottle.”

“I know, I know. I remember what happened last time.” The memory didn’t embarrass him anymore, but he flushed a little remembering how kissable he’d thought Snape had been. Still was, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to start anything that they knew could not be finished. Harry finished the potion and handed the bottle back.

Snape settled himself on the side of the bed, but his hand didn’t stop holding Harry’s. “I think we strained the bond too much again,” said Snape. “We have to spend some time together so that you don’t get ill again.”

“Why does it seem to affect me more than you?” asked Harry.

“I don’t know, no-one really knows exactly how these bonds work, but it does usually seem to be the younger partner who suffers if the bonded couples can’t be together for any reason. Maybe because I’m older I can control it more, I don’t know.”

Harry glanced at Snape, at the face that somehow didn’t look sallow anymore, just pale, as if he hadn’t seen enough sun. Snape’s eyes glittered as he looked down at Harry. “Can I ask you something?”

“Harry, we’ve been over this. We can’t consummate the bond until the Rites.”

“No, it wasn’t that. It’s about - it’s about Voldemort.”

Snape’s whole body tensed, Harry could feel it through his hand. He’d wanted to ask the question for quite some time but didn’t know how to go about it. “Are you having visions, nightmares again?” Snape’s voice was a tad shaky.

“No, nothing like that. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but I’d really like to know. Why did you join Voldemort?”

Snape stood up and ran a hand through his hair, pacing the length of the dormitory as he did so. “Why do people do most silly things, Harry? Love.”

“Love?” That was not the answer Harry was expecting. “Not hate? For Muggles and non-wizards?”

“Yes, Harry, love. Not many people remember now, but I had an older brother, Sebastian. He was five years older than me and I idolised him, in my eyes he could do no wrong. Sebastian was best friends with Lucius Malfoy, they may even have been lovers, I don’t know. The year I turned seventeen, they were becoming more and more secretive and I was upset that they wouldn’t tell me what was going on."

“Eventually fed up with my pestering, they told me that they’d joined a secret society and that I was far too young to join. Well, naturally that irked me. I was seventeen, I was of age, how could I be too young? I demanded that I be allowed to join too.”

“Without knowing what it was?”

“I thought it couldn’t be anything bad, how could it be if Sebastian had joined? I thought it would be like one of the school societies, games and competitions, I had no idea what I was letting myself in for.”

Harry’s throat was hoarse as he listened to Snape’s tale and he could almost see the outcome already, unfolding sentence by sentence, like the petals of a flower soon to be crushed in a fist.

“Do you know what happens at a Death Eater initiation if you are a virgin, Harry? No, of course you don’t. Neither did I, but Sebastian did and he still allowed it to happen to me, his own brother. I found out later that it was a test of Sebastian’s loyalty to Voldemort, he was supposed to get me to join, Voldemort needed more virgins. Did you ever wonder how he got so powerful before, Harry?”

“Oh, God,” moaned Harry. “He raped you? To get your power?”

“Not just me, any virgin stupid enough to join his ranks. And not just Voldemort. He was the one to take our virginity, of course, to augment his power. But after he was done, he gave us to the other Death Eaters to toy with.”

Harry didn’t know if he wanted to hear anymore, if he could cope with hearing anymore but he knew it was his own fault for asking. He would listen if that was what Snape wanted. “Oh, Severus, I’m so sorry. So they all…”

“Yes, I don’t know how many there were that night, it might have been fifteen, it might have been thirty for all I knew. My mind shut down after a while. When the Mark was placed on my arm, I wasn’t even aware of it, it was only later that I’d discovered I was branded as one of them. A Death Eater. The Mark would not come off and I did the only thing I could.”

“You went to Dumbledore, hoping he could help you?”

“He was the most powerful wizard at that time, if anyone could help he could. But even he could not remove the Mark, nor the stain from my soul. I felt so soiled, Harry, so degraded, but then you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? I had only two options really, continue as a Death Eater or pretend to and spy for Dumbledore. I chose to be a spy, Harry. In order to keep my cover, I had to do evil deeds that no wizard should think upon, never mind do. To spy for the Light, I had to embrace the Dark.”

Snape sat down on Ron’s bed and hung his head in his hands. Harry didn’t know what to do to comfort him, if the man even wanted comfort. Harry’s uncle had abused him, yes, but he had never suffered that full violation that Snape had and he wondered if his touch would even be welcome.

They were a pair of shattered souls, but could either of them find the strength to heal the other?


TBC

Chapter 26: Shattered Souls
Chapter 26

Classes had been dismissed early on the day of the Beltane Ball, everyone was too excited to concentrate on learning anything. The younger years excited at the thought of finally being able to attend one of Hogwarts famous balls, and the older years nervously excited about the Rites.

Ron’s new dress robes were a deep purple shade, which suited him much better than the maroon ones he’d had in fourth year. Harry’s deep green robes still fitted him as he hadn’t grown much, but he’d magically added a silver collar. If anyone else noticed that his outfit was in Slytherin colours, they didn’t mention it. Ron tugged at his collar while they waited for Hermione in the common room.

“I can’t believe I’m so nervous,” he said.

“Don’t worry,” said Harry. “You and Hermione will be fine. Do you remember the words for the Rites?”

“No, but I’m sure Hermione does,” grinned Ron.

Just then Hermione swept down the stairs in robes of silver and gold, her hair swept up in a French twist. “Wow!” Ron and Harry both exclaimed together.

“Shall we?” asked Ron, holding out his arm. Hermione smiled and took it, holding out her other arm for Harry to take. Harry shrugged and the three of them made their way to the Great Hall as one.

The teachers were all there as chaperones, all of them in different shades. Harry glanced around for the black robes he was sure Snape would be wearing. He had never seen the man wear anything other than black when at a school function, but Snape didn’t seem to be in evidence.

He sighed, disappointed and sat down on one of the chairs lining the room while Hermione and Ron danced. Wasn’t Snape supposed to be here? Had he changed his mind? Maybe he didn’t want to partner Harry for the Rites after all. Harry found his shoes extremely interesting. That way he wouldn’t have to see how much everyone else was enjoying themselves.

“Not dancing, Potter?” asked a figure draped in a deep royal blue robe.

Harry looked up. Snape. Snape in blue?

“Sir. Robes. Black.”

“Quite coherent tonight, aren’t we?” Snape didn’t smile, but Harry had the feeling that was only because they were being observed by the rest of the school. Harry could almost imagine what they were thinking. What was the greasy Potions Master doing talking to Harry on tonight of all nights? He just hoped they wouldn’t guess the real reason.

Our rooms, Harry. Ten minutes.

But it isn’t midnight yet.

I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?

Harry nodded eagerly and watched as the man glided away. Ten minutes. Ten minutes and he and Snape would be making love. His cock stood to attention in the confines of his trousers and he wrapped his robe around himself to hide it. It seemed the longest ten minutes of his life.

He made sure no-one was watching and then ducked out of the Hall and made his way to the dungeons, passing through the wards of Snape’s office. Mentally girding his loins, which could not seem to stop twitching, he pushed open the door to the private rooms. The living room was empty.

“In here, Harry,” called Snape’s voice from the bedroom.

Harry stepped through the doors and it was as if he’d stepped into the pages of a fairy tale. The bedroom was gone, instead he stepped out into a forest glade. The bark of the trees looked silver in the moonlight. Dotted around were crystal bowls full of water, scented candles floating on them. Lanterns hung from the treetops. Harry had never seen anywhere so beautiful in his life.

In the centre of the clearing stood a large bed, draped in gossamer fabric which swirled in a soft breeze. Red rose petals were spread across the pure white sheets, like blood against snow. Snape stood to one side of the bed holding out his hands to Harry.

He’d known that wizards considered the giving of one’s virginity such a special occasion, but he hadn’t known that Snape would do this for him. Would make it so romantic. He didn’t know that men could be romantic with other men. He was awed and slowly walked over to his husband, who was smiling at him with such adoration that Harry felt his whole body thrum.

“Oh, Severus, it’s wonderful!”

“I’m glad you like it. It’s just a transfiguration spell, but I thought it would be romantic for tonight. I want to this to be so special for you, Harry.” Severus sounded sad, but Harry couldn’t figure out why. They were going to be together, joining their magic and bodies. What was there to be sad about?

Snape saw him looking at the rose petals. “It’s traditional, a symbol of shedding the blood of your virginity.”

“I won’t bleed, will I?”

“I should hope not! I promise to be careful, Harry. As long as you are relaxed and well prepared, it shouldn’t hurt too much, nor should there be any blood.”

Harry nodded, old fears welling up in him again, but he quashed them with a thought. This was Severus. His husband. His lover. This was not Vernon. This was not a rape, he was allowed to enjoy his body and the sensations Snape brought out in it.

“Undress, Harry and lie on the bed. We’ll complete the ritual first.” Snape removed his own robe and hung it on a handy tree branch. He was completely naked underneath and very aroused already. Harry’s hands shook as he removed his own robe and hung it up next to Snape’s.

He still had to divest himself of the Muggle clothes he wore underneath, it was a tad difficult trying to get his jeans over his aching erection. Snape smiled when he saw Harry’s condition and Harry revelled in the scrutiny the Potion Master was giving him. He felt desired. Wanted. Needed.

Harry lay down on the bed, feeling the crushed rose petals beneath his skin. They were so soft and he moaned a little at the touch. He set his arms down by his side, trailing his hand through the petals and waited for Snape to speak the first words.

“Do you come here of you own free will?”

“I do,” replied Harry.

“Is this gift willingly given?”

“It is.”

“Do you give me your heart, your mind, your magic, your body?”

“I do,” replied Harry and closed his eyes.

Snape placed a rose petal on his forehead and kissed him through it. “I accept your mind.” Another rose petal was placed against Harry’s chest. “I accept your heart,” and Harry was kissed again. The sensations were so intense he thought he might pass out. Desire coursed through him and he arched up from the bed, but he didn’t speak, not wanting to disturb the ritual. He felt a rose petal fall onto his left hand, against the scar of their first binding. “I accept your magic,” intoned Snape as he kissed Harry’s skin again. Were the petals magic?, Harry wondered. Every touch seemed heightened through the soft velvet of the rose’s skin. The last petal was placed on the tip of his cock and Harry almost cried out at the ecstasy of it. He would not last. His whole body was aflame.

“I accept your body,” whispered Snape and placed a soft kiss on the very tip where he’d just placed the rose petal. Harry could not hold on any longer and he came violently, screaming his release, feeling his come soak the petal, being absorbed by the silky material. Harry opened his eyes as he calmed down and groaned at the sight which greeted him.

Snape gave him a smouldering look, lifting the rose petal to his mouth and licking Harry’s come from it. Harry didn’t speak, knowing that the words to the Rites weren’t finished yet. Snape licked every drop and then gazed deep into Harry’s eyes. Harry felt as though he was drowning. He could barely breathe.

“I accept all of you, Harry Potter. Do you accept me?”

“I do,” said Harry, and finally the formalities were over. The words had to be spoken to ensure that whatever they did tonight would all be consensual. With desire still coursing throughout his body, Harry could not imagine it would be anything else.

“Please, Severus,” he implored. “Please touch me.”

***

How was he meant to ignore a plea like that? Not that he would be ignoring it tonight. Snape lay down on the bed next to Harry and took the boy in his arms. He was worried that Harry would be too nervous for the ritual, but he’d been so excited that it had all come naturally, like it should. He let his hand trace the contours of Harry’s cheek, stopping at Harry’s quick intake of breath, worried that he’d done something wrong. “Oh, yes, please,” groaned Harry, closing his eyes and sighing. Snape continued his caress, Harry’s skin hot under his hand. He was allowed to touch. Harry had given him permission to touch.

He was careful to limit his attentions to slow, soft, strokes, not wanting to frighten Harry, but he wanted to do so much more than touch. He was conscious of how much trust Harry had placed in his hands by allowing this. Snape did not want to go too far too fast. He wanted Harry more than ready when the moment would finally arrive.

“Harry, tell me if I do something you’re not comfortable with, okay?” he whispered against the boy’s ear.

“There’s nothing you could do that I wouldn’t like, Severus,” was the mumbled reply. Snape really doubted that. Harry didn’t know what was going to happen afterwards and he felt the guilt welling up once again. No, he had to forget about his betrayal and just think about Harry right now.

Snape sat up and gazed down at the beautiful young man lying next to him. He could hardly believe that this wonderful creature was in love with him. He didn’t know what he wanted to do first with the feast which was laid out so perfectly before him. Harry turned so that he was on his side, Snape lay down and took him in his arms. Harry was breathing hard, Snape could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against his own. He placed a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead, on the edge of his scar.

Harry’s eyes widened, unnaturally bright and Snape felt as if he was falling under a deep jade pool. “Oh, Harry,” he sighed before lowering his head and claiming Harry’s mouth in a kiss.

Harry’s lips were soft and pliable under his, but he kissed back a little hesitantly, as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do or perhaps he was just nervous, for Snape knew all too well that Harry was an excellent kisser. Snape teased him with soft sweeps of his tongue against Harry’s bottom lip and slowly, ever so slowly, Harry’s mouth opened under his caresses. Harry was soon returning the kisses with eager moans and shifted his body so that he was as close to Snape as he could get without both of them sharing the same skin.

Harry’s glasses were pressing into the bridge of Snape’s nose and they must have been uncomfortable for Harry too, but neither of them made any effort to remove them. Snape did not want to stop kissing the boy in his arms, but eventually he had to pause for breath. Harry moaned at the loss and tugged Snape’s body even closer. “Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!” Harry’s erection pressed into his hip and Snape stared down at the eyes so full of trust. Trust in him.

Snape smiled and swooped down on that luscious mouth again, nibbling on Harry’s bottom lip and then soothing the bites with his tongue. He didn’t know how long they kissed each other like drowning men sucking in air, but it didn’t matter. Time didn’t matter. Harry’s thrusts against his body were becoming more and more erratic and Snape knew that it wouldn’t take much to set Harry off again. Not only was there the bond to contend with, but also the magic lingering from the ritual. He stroked Harry’s side, easing his hand towards the boy’s hip, being careful to keep his movements slow, nothing that would startle him. He pulled away and asked, “Are you ready, Harry?”

His only reply was a wordless wail of ragged need and he had to take a few deep breaths to calm himself down. Harry’s voice was like an aphrodisiac to him.

“Harry?”

“Yes, oh, please yes!”

***

Harry felt a little nervous as he watched Snape spread some scented oil on his fingers, knowing where those fingers would shortly be going, but he didn’t feel frightened. He supposed the bond was helping with that, needing them to join for it to complete.

“It’ll probably be more comfortable for you if you go on your hands and knees, Harry,” said Snape.

“No. I want to see you,” said Harry, lifting his knees up in a blatant invitation. He blushed imagining the wanton picture he made, but at the moment he didn’t care. He felt wanton and wanted nothing better than for Snape’s cock to fill him to bursting. His cock ached with just the thought of it.

Snape nodded and circled his index finger around Harry’s entrance, not putting it in just yet, but teasing so much that soon Harry was desperate to be filled. “Please, Severus!” he gasped.

The oil made it easy for Snape’s fingers to penetrate him and much to Harry’s surprise he did not feel any pain at all, just a strange full sensation. He lifted his hips so that Snape could delve even deeper inside him, adding another finger then another. Snape flexed his fingers, stretching him and then brushed against something that made Harry cry out in surprised pleasure. “What did you do?”

“That, my dear Harry, was your prostate.” Snape continued to finger him for a few more minutes and Harry was writhing on the bed.

“Severus, please! I want you inside me!”

He didn’t have long to wait. Harry watched avidly as Snape spread more of the oil around his own erection. Harry closed his eyes and groaned as he felt the tip of Snape’s cock against his entrance. One thrust, then two and Snape was seated against him, he stopped moving, his breath a ragged gasp. It looked like Harry wasn’t the only one who was near the point of no return.

Snape gripped his hips and began to rock against Harry in a gentle rhythm. Harry didn’t want gentle. He wanted to be pounded into the mattress until he was nothing but feeling. Harry wrapped his legs around Snape’s back and began to tug Snape forward with his legs. “Harry! I’m too close!” he protested as he tried to slow Harry down.

“I know. I want you to come. I want you to come inside me,” breathed Harry.

Snape reached between their bodies and grabbed Harry’s erection, rubbing his hand up and down the length. The dual sensation of being filled and being stroked in time with Snape’s thrusts were wonderful. All too soon Harry felt the familiar tightness in his belly and sac and knew he was going to come, he tried to hold on for Snape but it was no use. He arched up into the body on top of him and screamed at the top of his lungs as the orgasm was wrung from him by Snape’s agile fingers, spilling himself on his belly and Snape’s fingers.

Snape stiffened suddenly, his body pressing down on Harry, he wailed and came, filling Harry with warm fluid. Harry kept his legs wrapped around Snape, unwilling to let go just yet. They’d done it. They’d made love and it hadn’t been terrifying or scary at all. He felt as though he was floating out of his body and then realised that they were floating, both of them, enveloped in a blue and gold glow.

Energy crackled in the air around them, seeming to light up the forest like their own personal lightning. “Wow!” said Harry. “What was that?”

“That was our magic joining,” replied Snape, wiping sweaty hair off his forehead and kissing Harry deeply. Harry was still shuddering from the aftershocks of his orgasm and wondered when they could do that again. “Now we have each other’s magic, shared magic.”

“I like the colours,” said Harry as he watched the blue and gold swirl about them. They gradually floated back down to the bed.

“They are our auras,” replied Snape. “Blue is mine, gold is yours.”

“So the bond is complete now?” asked Harry.

“That’s right.”

“So Voldemort can’t attack me if I’m with you?”

“Not unless I allow it.”

“What?”

But Harry was too slow. He didn’t hear the whispered spell until it was too late.

“Obliviate.”

TBC

Chapter 27: Shattered Souls
Chapter 27

Harry opened his eyes, disorientated. His head felt fuzzy and his mouth felt as though he’d slept with it stuffed full of cotton. He remembered nothing since he’d walked into the Great Hall for the Beltane Ball and saw Snape wearing a blue robe. His memory of the rest of that evening was completely gone. At first he thought he was having a nightmare, Voldemort was standing in front of him, cackling like the madman he was. He was surrounded by black robed and white masked Death Eaters.

Harry was manacled to that same damp wall in the cavern that had haunted his dreams for months but in only a few moments he realised this was no dream. Two of the masked men flanked Voldemort, one on each side. What had happened how had he got here? One of them was dressed in a royal blue robe.

No. No. It couldn’t be. Snape couldn’t have betrayed him. He couldn’t.

“You have done well, my pet,” said Voldemort, reaching out and caressing the cheek of the Death Eater to his right. The one in blue. He glared at the one on his left. “What have you to say now, Lucius? You were so convinced that Severus would betray us.”

Severus? Betrayal? No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

“Lucius, you may begin.”

Lucius threw a whip from one hand to the other.

“My Lord, I thought I…”

“You thought what, Severus? You thought I would allow a traitor to have some fun, did you?”

Snape went for his wand as soon as the words left Voldemort’s lips, but Lucius was quicker and stunned Snape before his hand even reached his pocket. A few moments later and Snape was manacled next to Harry on that same wall. What on earth was going on? Whose side was Snape actually on?

Harry. Trust me. Just play along.

Trust him? After Snape had betrayed him to the Death Eaters? To Voldemort?

“Why don’t I explain to your young husband, Severus? I bet he’s just dying to know,” said Voldemort.

“Husband?” gasped Harry. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. What, Severus? Did you think I didn’t know? Know that the fool Dumbledore had you married off to the boy, bonded to him? Ah, but you didn’t complete the binding, did you? Too worried about the boy’s mental state about sex, so you waited. Waited until the Rites, but the Rites take place at midnight tonight and here we are, barely ten o’clock.” Voldemort giggled and turned to face the rest of the Death Eaters. “Such an honourable man, our Severus. Unwilling to bed the boy until he was ready. But tell me, Severus,” Voldemort yanked Snape’s head up by the hair. “Where was your loyalty to me? After swearing that you would serve me? Was your betrayal of me honourable?”

“I never swore loyalty to you. After what you did to me, do you really think I would ever have served you?”

“This Mark says you serve me,” hissed Voldemort, lifting the sleeve of Snape’s robe and pressing gnarled fingers against the Mark. Snape howled in agony and Harry could feel an echo of Snape’s pain. He wished there was something he could do to help, but what could he do chained to the wall?

“I was Marked against my will and well you know it, Riddle,” said Snape softly.

“How dare you call me that! My name is Lord Voldemort!”

“And I’m the Emperor of China,” said Snape.

Harry couldn’t help giggling and then Voldemort turned his attention once again to him. He felt too exposed under that gaze. It didn’t help that he was naked.

Harry struggled against his chains and the Death Eaters laughed, the noise echoing like something inhuman. He couldn’t think of them as men with their masks covering their faces. They were animals on the hunt and he was the prey.

“I’m very interested in genealogy, Harry. Very interested in lineage as you are probably aware. Imagine my surprise when I discovered James Potter’s heritage, heritage that the Potters had kept hidden for centuries. Do you want to know what I found out?”

“Not particularly,” said Harry. “It’s just the rantings of a madman.”

The slap across his cheek was unexpected, moreso because it came from Lucius and not Voldemort. “You will not insult the Dark Lord!”

“Easy, Lucius. We don’t want the boy damaged. Yet.” Voldemort grinned, rotten teeth scraping against his lips. “What I discovered a few years after you refused to die, Harry, was that the Potters have a very unusual lineage. Every male in the Potter line carries Veela blood in their veins. Most unusual, most Veelas are female. It was thought to be a myth, a male Veela, but it is not a myth, Harry. You are the last in a long line of Veelas. I have your blood in me, Harry, but it does not carry the Veela gene. Do you know what else was considered a myth, Harry?” Voldemort paused and glanced round at his followers. They moved forward slightly, eager to hear what crazy wisdom their master was about to impart.

Harry felt ill and sore and betrayed and he just wanted it to stop. He couldn’t believe that Snape had brought him to Voldemort. Why had Snape brought him here? And why was Snape now chained as well? Was there some plan that he wasn’t aware of?

“You’re crazy!” roared Harry. Him, a Veela?

“Now, now, Harry, where are your manners? Don’t interrupt me again. Crucio.”

Harry screamed from the pain, his body twisting this way and that to try and get away from the agony but it didn’t stop until Voldemort wanted it to stop. As the curse finished, his nose started bleeding and he could do nothing to stem the flow.

“You may know that the Veelas are very sexual creatures, Harry and they mature much earlier than wizards, eleven or twelve usually. But I could not risk that happening to you. I cast a curse to keep you in a child’s body for as long as possible, but it was only a temporary spell and I was not yet strong enough to enforce it beyond the average age of puberty, fifteen or sixteen. I needed another way to make sure that you would not be interested in sex at all, so I put your uncle under the Imperius curse and it was easy after that. He had already harboured those thoughts, I just pushed him into doing something about it. He was most amenable to my…suggestions.

“He was to hurt you sexually, but not to breach you. I needed you a virgin, Harry. But then we had a little bump in the road, Dumbledore wanted to marry you off to get you out of your uncle’s reach. Your spouse would most likely expect their conjugal rites and I could not let that happen. Imagine my surprise when I found out that Severus volunteered for the task. Lucky for me, I have other spies at Hogwarts to ensure that you would not consummate the bond. I knew he was waiting for the Rites, I could hardly believe my luck. Even without deliberately doing so, Severus was already doing my bidding so that you remained a virgin until tonight. Can you guess why, Harry? Can you guess why I need your seed?”

Harry felt faint, both with the blood he was losing from his nose and these revelations. He was a Veela? That just sounded too preposterous for words. Snape had betrayed him, had betrayed them all. What did any of it matter now? He wanted to die.

You’re not going to die, Potter. Don’t be so melodramatic.

His inner voice sounded suspiciously like Snape at that moment and Harry wished he’d never met the man, never married him, never let his heart get stolen. The thief was hanging there beside him, his head hung in shame.

“The seed of a virgin Veela is the main ingredient in a potion called the Draught of Life. Do you know what it does, Harry?”

“It’s like the Elixir of Life, it renders the drinker immortal?”

“Very good, Harry. But unlike the Elixir, the potion only needs to be drunk once to gain immortality. You won’t need to remain a virgin forever.”

The Death Eaters broke out in titters like adolescents having their first sex education class. Harry’s nose had finally stopped bleeding, but he could smell the coppery taste of his own blood, sickly and cloying. He was going to throw up in a minute, he could almost feel it. “I’m going to be sick,” he announced, before throwing up all over Voldemort’s crimson robes. That earned him a few lashes from the whip Lucius was holding.

Voldemort cast a cleaning spell over both of them and his eyes sparked dangerously. “You will not do that again, Harry. Lucius,” Voldemort turned to his Death Eater. “You may begin.”

“Draco,” mumbled Snape. “Draco was the spy.”

“Yes, Draco. He overheard something quite interesting, Severus, when you thought you were alone with Madame Pomfrey. How you loved the boy. Loved him but refused to bed him, such an irony that, isn’t it? For if you had bedded him, he wouldn’t be much use to our Lord, would he?” Lucius chuckled like he thought the whole situation was funny. Perhaps to him it was.

Don’t worry, Harry. Albus knows where we are. Just get through this and then it will be all over.

How can it be over? If he drinks that potion he’ll be immortal!

Just trust me, Harry

Trust? You’re the one who betrayed me to him!

Harry shut his mind down, closing his end of the bond from Snape, feeling even more unsettled. His mind was different, he felt it. There was something missing, some memory he was sure that had been erased, but what could it have been?

“Lucius,” commanded Voldemort, bringing Harry out of his reverie with a bump. He’d almost forgotten where he was, what horrible situation he was in.

“Such smooth skin,” said Lucius, trailing the whip handle along Harry’s shoulders and down his chest. Harry shuddered. “I so want to mark you, Potter. See the blood welling up, hearing you scream. But that’s not for today. Perhaps later, if my Lord is pleased with me?” he turned to look at Voldemort over his shoulder.

“If you please me,” said Voldemort nodding. “You may have him to play with after I have finished with him.”

Harry knew exactly what sort of play they had in mind and there was nothing he could do about it. Lucius knelt down in front of him and Harry tried not to laugh. Lucius Malfoy on his knees in front of Harry Potter? The odd sensation of a mouth on his genitals didn’t register for a few moments and he tried to wriggle backwards, away from the unwelcome tongue.

“NO! Stop! You can’t do this!” he protested as Lucius just kept sucking on his limp cock until it finally hardened. His own body had betrayed him, wanting that touch, needing it. “No,” sobbed Harry, even as his hips thrust even further into Lucius’ waiting mouth. Desire coursed through him and he moaned and screamed at the unfairness of it. He didn’t want this, didn’t want Lucius to be doing this to him.

Pretend it’s me, Harry.

No, he wouldn’t defile what he and Snape had by pretending that Snape was the one doing this to him. It was nothing short of rape and he would not cast Snape in that role. He moaned anew, tears running down his cheeks at the utter humiliation of his body enjoying the violation. He tensed, knew he was going to come soon and Lucius removed his mouth, grinning cruelly. He would not beg. He would not beg for Lucius to make him come. Harry’s mouth remained firmly shut.

Lucius removed a jar of potion from his robes and with one hand he held the jar under Harry’s cock and with the other he stroked Harry’s length until he came in three short spurts, sobbing and crying as his release left him.

“My Lord,” said Lucius bowing to Voldemort. “Fresh, too.”

“Lucius.” Voldemort didn’t bother with thanking Lucius, he downed the potion in one quick gulp. Harry was trembling so much, the only thing supporting him were his chains.

He watched in horrified fascination as the old man before him suddenly started regressing at an alarming rate, skin smoothing out, hair becoming darker, turning dark brown. The regression did not stop until Voldemort looked to be someone human of twenty five or twenty six. Harry had never known such despair. The potion had worked. Voldemort’s reign would never end.

“My Lord, your hands,” began Lucius in a timid voice. Harry glanced at the creature despite himself. Voldemort’s hands were becoming wrinkled again, all of his visible skin crinkling up, becoming leathery, old. His hair went from black to grey to white before falling out entirely. Voldemort’s skin began to peel away from his skeleton and he screamed, a scream of outrage and disbelief. “You were supposed to be a virgin!” he yelled.

Now Harry. We have to do it now.

And Harry knew their destiny in that moment.

Wandless, not one of the Death Eaters perceived either of them as a threat.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” Harry and Snape screamed together.


TBC

Chapter 28: Shattered Souls
Chapter 28

Harry and Snape both lost consciousness as soon as the spell was spoken, so it was only later that they found out from Dumbledore what had happened. Their combined magic had done what others had failed to do, Voldemort was finally destroyed.

The spell was so strong that it had knocked out all the Death Eaters as well as themselves, the Order and the Aurors arrived a few moments after it had been cast and commenced rounding up the unconscious men. They were all currently awaiting trial in Azkaban. Harry tried to hide it, but he had hoped that the spell would have killed Lucius Malfoy as well, but it hadn’t. The man was still very much alive.

Severus fell into a deep coma a few days after they thought the worst was over. Harry hadn’t left his side for the past two weeks. School had been suspended after the fall of Voldemort, so he wasn’t missing any classes, but even if there had been, Harry knew he would still be in the infirmary with his husband.

He traced his hand along Snape’s left forearm, awed anew at the unmarked skin there. The Mark was gone, as was Harry’s scar. Snape stirred and slowly opened his eyes.

Harry glared at him, anger and relief becoming as one.

“Harry, I’m sorry,” were the first words out of Snape’s mouth.

“Sorry? Is that all you can say? After what happened? You took me to them. You took me to Voldemort!”

“It was the only way to destroy him, Harry. You were the only one who could.”

“So that’s what I was, eh? The virgin sacrifice?”

“Quite the opposite, Harry,” said Dumbledore’s voice from the door. “Do not blame Severus for any of this, Harry. It was all entirely my idea.”

***
Snape closed his eyes and wished he was anywhere but here for this conversation. He knew it had to happen, he just wondered how he could ever get Harry’s trust back after this when he knew the full extent of his betrayal.

“What do you mean ‘the opposite’?” Green eyes so full of questions, questions that Snape wished would never have to be answered.

“You weren’t a virgin, Harry. That was the whole point,” said Dumbledore. “Virgin Veela seed in that potion does indeed bestow the gift of life, but non-virgin on the other hand has a different effect when mixed with the potion, it bestows age and infirmity.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harry. “I am a virgin! We haven’t done anything! I’d surely remember something like that!”

Snape counted his heartbeat. Four, five, before Harry rounded on him, as he knew Harry would come to the realisation sooner or later. “You! You obliviated me? You stole my memories?” The boy paled considerably more than the sheets Snape was lying on and swayed a little by the side of the bed.

“I’ll leave you two alone to discuss things, shall I?” said Dumbledore and Snape had to admire the man’s sheer gall. Just dump a bombshell on Potter and leave Snape to pick up the pieces. Why did he ever think that Voldemort’s demise would change anything?

“Harry, I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare tell me you’re sorry about this! How could you? How could you do that to me?”

“I had no choice, Harry. Voldemort was too skilled a Legilimens, if he could enter your mind and see that memory, he would know you weren’t a virgin and would have killed you on the spot. You had to believe you were a virgin in order for him to believe it.”

“I just. I can’t believe this. My whole life’s been nothing but lies upon lies, everyone I ever trusted lied to me!” Harry leaned close to Snape’s face. “Was it a good memory?” he demanded.

Snape wanted to put his arms around him and hold him, but he satisfied himself with clutching his bedclothes tighter against his chest.

“Yes, it was a good memory, Harry. Your first time wasn’t rape.” Snape closed his eyes as he remembered that night, Harry so eager beneath him, trusting him. Ha! Tears trickled down his cheek. Trust? He did not deserve trust.

“But you stole that memory from me! And now all I’m left with is Lucius Malfoy violating me! You shouldn’t have done it, Severus. We could have found another way.”

Was there any other way they could have done it? Snape didn’t know, but he wished now that he’d told Harry the whole plan right from the beginning.

“We’re soul bonded Harry, the bond cannot be dissolved, but I’ll understand if you wish to remove yourself from me. Perhaps it would not be so painful now for you to seek solace elsewhere.”

“What?” demanded Harry. “Are you insane? You think I want anyone else? You think I could even think of being with anyone else? I’m angry at you, Severus, very angry and this is not going to be fixed with an apology or fixed very quickly but we’ll work it out. We have to.”

“Why?” Snape’s voice sounded strange and hoarse to his ears. “Why are you staying with me after what I’ve done?”

“Why do you think, you idiot! I love you!”

“No, you can’t,” although Snape wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince of that fact, himself or Harry. “After what I’ve done, you can’t love me anymore. I don’t deserve you. You should forget about me, Harry. I’m no good for you.”

“Will you stop that? I love you. I love you Severus Snape, I accepted your past, your present and future. Do you think I don’t take my vows seriously?”

“But Harry…”

“No, buts. I love you. That’s the end of it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We had an argument, it doesn’t mean I want to leave you.”

“It doesn’t?” Snape was surprised. He thought Harry would hate him after his betrayal, had expected and deserved that hate.

“No, it doesn’t. All couples have arguments, Severus. We’ll work things out. Together.”

Snape could hardly believe it. Harry wanted to stay? Harry wanted to stay with him? He struggled to get up, but his limbs didn’t seem to want to work properly.

“Severus, what are you doing?”

“I was trying to do this properly, but I can’t seem to get out of bed.”

“Well do it in bed, then. Do you need a bedpan?” asked Harry with a grin.

“Not that. I wanted to ask you if you Harry James Potter wish to be joined with me as my bond-mate?”

“You’re asking me to marry you? Again?”

“Yes, Harry. The works, big ceremony all your friends. Even Rita Skeeter can come. To let everyone know how much I want to be with you.” He allowed himself a small caress of Harry’s cheek, he was grateful when Harry didn’t pull away.

“Oh, Severus I’d love to!” Harry flung his arms around Snape’s shoulders and wailed in his hear. Snape hoped they were tears of joy this time. “So you weren’t an island after all,” Harry mumbled against his neck.

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone thought you were so aloof, a man unto himself. But you needed me like I needed you. We were meant to be together, Severus.”

“Your parents certainly thought so.”

“The old betrothal? I’ve often wondered why they did that. Didn’t my Dad hate you?”

“Well, yes, that was the reasoning behind most arranged marriages. They thought that I couldn’t harm you if I was married to you. It’s normally enemies who get married in the old families.”

“I see,” said Harry. “That makes more sense I suppose than finding out that you really were best friends with them.” Harry paused and took a deep breath. “There is one condition to marrying you again,” said Harry, his mouth close enough to kiss Snape’s skin, which he proceeded to do. Snape moaned and sank down onto the bed, pulling Harry on top of him and hugging him soundly.

“Oh?” he tried not to sound too worried.

“Yes, you don’t obliviate me after the wedding night!”

Harry was laughing now, great giggles as he lay atop Snape’s chest. Was it true? Could it really be possible that they could forgive and forget? That they could do such simple things as laugh about it? That the lost and abused boy Snape had comforted on their first wedding night could find happiness in the most unlikeliest of all places? Happiness with him?

“Harry,” he sighed the name into the boy’s ear.

“Severus,” was whispered in return and Snape felt something his shattered soul had not felt in twenty years.

Hope.


THE END



sequel:Shattered Hearts

论坛功能提示：allhp.fun（或app）搜索9676可直达本帖。

lomming

覺得結局有點太悲傷，雖然也不是說不好

基弃人

Shattered souls，破碎的灵魂相互依偎是否能再现完整呢