Bonds of Affection

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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Harry looked at him in confusion.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Snape appeared to misread his expression.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



Snape\'s hand lingered against his cheek.



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



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



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



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