Bonds of Affection

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



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



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



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



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



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



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 And just as Harry found himself about to relax and melt under the touch, the hands were withdrawn.



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



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



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



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



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



Harry shook his head. “No. Why?”



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



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



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



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



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



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



“Harry. Look at me.”



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



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



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



“What now?” Snape demanded.



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



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



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



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



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



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