Bonds of Affection

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



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



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



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



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



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



“What?” he asked.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



“Yes,” Harry said. “I asked for it.”



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



Harry just shook his head.



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



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



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



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



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



“How is it, Harry?” Hermione asked.



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



“That\'s not what I mean,” Hermione said. “How is it... with the bond... waiting for it to form, to set... how does it feel now?”



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



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



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



Harry mumbled incoherently and buried his face in the pillow.



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



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



“Who?” Ron demanded.



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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