Power\'s Pendulum

Disclaimer: All things in the Potterverse belong to J.K. Rowling, I just like to play with her toys.

SS/HP (age 16) Post OotP, Power Play and Powers Pawns

NC-17 – Torture, Death Eater party boys, Aurors, Snapeywhomping.
Beta by DementorDelta, keeper of Spelling and Grammar Charms!
Will write more for feedback!!!

Power’s Pendulum

By Mortifyd

“Harry! Oh, it’s so good to see you!” cried Hermione, letting go of Ron’s hand long enough to give Harry a huge hug as he met them in the common room. “Are you okay?” she whispered in his ear; he blushed a little and nodded as she stepped back.

“All right then, Harry?” asked Ron with a smirk. Harry nodded again. Grateful to see his friends, to be alive, maybe even to have someone to talk to, at least in Hermione - it had been her Horrible Idea after all.

“All right then, Ron?” he replied with a grin of his own. He had so much to tell them, but the common room was loud and noisy as ever; the students had returned from the holidays and were chattering away about gifts and showing them off. Things felt normal for the first time in weeks.

It was Sunday evening. They would find no privacy here, they well knew, but Harry already h con contingency plan. Hermione was sweeping her gaze around the room authoritatively; Ron just snickered, though whether it was at or or him, Harry didn’t know.

“Come on then, settle down a bit; we have classes tomorrow. First and second years, up to bed,” he finally called over the racket; growing up in a large family had its advantages; no one was paying any attention to Hermione. Once he had their attention, Ron looked at Hermione, she shooed the smaller children to bed quickly and the room was only filled with a dull roar.

“How do you do that?” she asked in a slightly irritated tone.

“Weasley gift, I guess; ask Mum for some pointers,” he said with a grin. “Maybe she’ll recommend a book,” he teased. Harry just snickered; things were truly back to normal and all felt right with the world.

Neville wandered over to them and said hello, then headed up to the room the boys shared. Dean and Seamus were busily playing Exploding Snap by the fire, watched by a few third years. Ron challenged Harry to a game of chess; Hermione settled into her favourite chair near them with a book, as usual. After being beaten for the third time, Harry begged off, though he had surprised Ron a time or two, using some of the moves Sev had taught him over the holidays.

“Barnabas, in forty,” Harry said quietly to Hermione and she nodded; Harry jerked his chin at Ron and they went upstairs to their room. He needed alk alk to them desperately. The boys went upstairs talking and laughing, pleased to notice when they got upstairs that Neville was already in bed and snoring regularly. Harry pulled out his cloak; not being a prefect had its disadvantages sometimes.

They returned to the common room and Harry slipped out the portrait hole; there was still thirty minutes before curfew for sixth years and he could slip up to the Room of Requirement in peace. He wasn’t sure exactly what to tell them, or how to tell them about how he spent his holidays, but he knew he needed to talk.

Sev had cautioned him strongly not to saythinthing at all, though Snape knew full well that would never happen. He also made it clear to Harry he was not to drop by uninvited; there was too much at stake. He paced before the stretch of wall and entered the room quickly, once he had made sure no one was lurking.

The room was smaller than when he had held classes here last year - three chairs and a cosy fire, tea and some biscuits at the ready, the perfect place for friends to catch up. He settled into the centre chair and waited happily for his friends to arrive.

They slipped into the room at the appointed time and took their places; Harry poured for them and they settled back.

“D’you want to do that Memory Charm then, Harry? Ron asked, a look of concern on his face. “Hermione poked around a little in the Order library and we found a few that might work all right.”

“No need for a Lockhart, Ron; I’m good,” he said with a smile. “Really, I’m fine,” he added at their incredulous stares.

“You’re mental, you are,” Ron said, shocked. “Letting that greasy git…” He shuddered and blushed until he matched his hair. “Why would you want to remember that?” It was Harry’s turn to blush. Need to work on that, he thought.

“He didn’t hurt you, or anything then,” Hermione asked quietly, trying to appear businesslike but dying of curiosity. Harry shook his head and smiled.

“No, Sev didn’t hurt me at all.”

“SEV?” Ron nearly shouted. “You’re calling him Sev now and he hasn’t hexed you into next week?” He shook his head in wonder. “Mental, both of you.” He shot a dirty look at Hermione. “This is all your fault you know,” he huffed. “That’s just…wrong, Harry.” He looked slightly disturbed.

“He’s not so bad, is he?” Hermione asked with a satisfied smirk; she ignored Ron completely and turned to face Harry. “D’you think he’ll be…” she trailed off as he shook his head.

“No, I think our Potions master will be the same evil git he always was; it’s his life, you know,” he said with a sigh. “He’ll probably give me more detentions than ever.” This is what he wanted to talk about, how to balance what had happened with being at school and appearing normal, or at least as normal as he could be. “He did give me an excellent Christmas present though,” he said, laughing at the look of shock on Ron’s face.

“He did what? Next you’ll be saying you fancy him or something,” he joked nervously. “Sure you don’t want me to…?” He waved his hand in the air as though he was holding his wand, lowering it at the odd look in Harry’s eyes.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about; I think I need a little help sorting it all out. It was fine; he was really actually…nice and stuff. I had no idea he could be like that.”

“What did he, er, do, Harry?” Hermione asked, face matching Ron’s hair.

“He gave me a little scotch and a potion; we talked a little… He’s funny when he wants to be, even.” He took a deep breath and continued. “Then we, er, got that bit out of the way, you know… and went to sleep.” They were all blushing now, but he wasn’t about to tell them all the details; Sev would hex him into next week without a second thought; he’d been very clear about that.

“You slept over?” Ron asked with a shudder.

“Well, I was hardly about to drag myself back to the tower Ron,” he said a little irritably. “I was kind of tired.” Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all, he thought with a sigh. His mental Snape sneered at him, Just noticed, did you? “We had a talk with Dumbledore the next day, the day I sent Hedwig. He invited me for tea on Christmas and gave me a journal. He wrote about… about my parents. And we played chess.”

“He did? Harry, that’s positively…sweet,” Hermione said softly and Harry nodded.

“What did he say about them?” Ron asked, uncomfortable but curious. That explains how he’s better at chess at least, he thought wryly. He didn’t want to think they might have been shagging or something and tried to look casual as he stared into the fire.

“It’s all about them at school; he tried really hard to make it sound pretty good though. He even tried to say something sort of nice about… about Padfoot.”

“I don’t believe it; Snape is human?” Ron shook his head, clearly not wanting to see that as a possibility. “I mean, er, he’s so…Snape,” he finished lamely at the dirty looks he got from both of his friends. “Well, he is!” he mumbled a little petulantly. “How many times have we sat and moaned about what an evil wanker he is? Even after we knew he was in the Order.” He crossed his arms; this was just too weird.

“Well, tomorrow he’ll be just like he always was; you can go right back to hating him, Ron,” he said a little sharper than he intended. “He…he tried to save my parents, you know. I need you two to help me keep my head straight so I don’t act like an idiot.” He sighed. Ron looked exasperated; Hermione nodded sympathetically. “Since he’s in the Order, we kind of hold his life in our hands. He’s got to be a git to survive. I’d never forgive myself if I kill someone else.” Especially not him, he thought.

“Er, I didn’t think about that, Harry,” Ron admitted.

“We’ll do our best, Harry,” Hermione said firmly, shooting a look at Ron, who just looked confused in return.

“We should go; we do have classes tomorrow,” Harry said. They checked the Marauder’s Map and slipped from the room, a pair of prefects and an invisible boy.

Ron and Harry were waiting for Hermione outside the Potions classroom; they went in together as usual and took their places quietly, waiting for the show to begin. The door banged behind them as it always did, though the thrf thf them jumped just the same.

“Settle down,” Snape hissed irritably, making his way up the steps to his lecturing spot near the board and glaring at them; nothing had changed in his demeanour at all. He quickly explained the potions they would be working on, then flicked his wand at the board and the instructions appeared. It was a fairly complex potion, one that might appear on their N.E.W.T. examinations; the ingredient cabinet banged open and he told them to begin. “You have one and a half hours.”

He made his way to his desk, allowing them time to get started before he would wind his way through the ranks to critique their work. He was tired and had not slept well; he suspected it was the emptiness of his bed that made it difficult to sleep. Potter had spent more than just the two nights with him, though they had refrained from the more athletic pursuits of those evenings.

Mostly they had played chess and talked about feelings, something he would generally never admit to even having, much less talking about. Harry was struggling with the concepts of sexuality - that it wasn’t as simple as straight or gay. He lacks a certain sense of the subtle, he thought sourly; Of course, that explains why he’s so pathetic at potions.

He caught a whiff of something not right in the air; if he was lucky one of these hopeless brats would create something truly explosive one of these days and he could have the quick death he longed for. Since the potion they were working on was not dangerous, it wouldn’t be today. He strode quickly over to the desk; a bitter orange smoke was billowing from it, filling the room. “Evanesco!” Snape said sharply, emptying the offending concoction before it ate through the metal.

Harry nudged Ron under the table and shot him a look that clearly said ‘told you so’ while Hermione stifled a smile. Unfortunately this attracted Snape’s attention and he glided over to their desks.

“Something amusing, Miss Granger?” he asked coolly, fixing her with a glare while Malfoy smirked at them from his worktable.

“No, sir.” She fought the urge to fidget or stare back, knowing either option would only make it worse for all of them, but particularly Harry. Snape narrowed his eyes and quickly surveyed her cauldron, but moved on, finding nothing to really criticise.

The rest of the class went fairly smoothly; they bottled and labelled their samples; Snape assigned two feet on the uses of belladonna in potions to be turned in during the next class and the bell rang. They bolted.

The return to classes had been intense in its own way, they were buried in schoolwork. It was nearly eight o’clock when Harry realised it was Thursday; he had Occlumency. He wasn’t sure if it would be any different from Potions, but there was still a bit of a spring to his step as he made his way to the dungeons and Snape’s office.

He knocked and entered the room; Snape was waiting for him behind his desk. This time however, a small table sat before the chair he usually took.

“Good evening, Professor.” He had a bad feeling about this all of a sudden; Snape was ignoring him again.

“Potter. Sit down.” He gestured to the smaller table absently, absorbed in a parchment that had unrolled off the edge of his desk, dangling pathetically in mid-air. Harry sat in the chair and waited, while Snape continued to read.

“Now then,” he said, rolling the parchment up efficiently with his long fingers. “It is imperative that you devote more effort to your lessons, as you now have more to hide from the Dark Lord.” His mouth twitched into a small frown. “Clear your mind of all distracting thoughts that may be in there and we will begin.” He drew his wand and Harry took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to clear his mind placing his own wand on the small table. “Legilimens!” Snape hissed sharply.

Immediately he felt the room swirl around him, a kaleidoscope of gruesome things in coloured liquids as he fought against the invasion, but even as the room started to clear, Snape pushed harder. He was in the prefect’s bathroom towelling off and shaking, then in the tower getting into his pyjamas, fingers shaking as he buttoned them; he was under his cloak walking toward the dungeons, sitting in the middle of a huge bed breathing heavily with fear and anticipation. He pushed back with a strangled gasp and felt something give.

He was pacing back and forth before a fire in a grey nightshirt, glass of scotch in hand, knocking on the Headmaster’s door, stomach roiling; he was on his knees in front of Dumbledore begging him not to allow - The room came back into focus and Harry leaned his head onto the table with a groan.

“Enough for the moment, Harry,” Snape said softly, trying to catch his own breath. “That was better than I expected.” They sat and looked at each other for several minutes, before starting again. “Legilimens!”

The room danced again, but this time he anticipated Snape pushing harder and beat him to it. He was looking at a younger Snape’s broken face in a mirror, black hair full of leaves and dirt, lip split, eye black and nose broken; he was running through the darkness, wand out, vision blocked by something on his face, arm on fire; a groan filled the air as Harry felt himself mentally slapped away.

He was trying to carry Dudley home, shaking under his weight, Mrs. Figg by his side; he was in the circular room in the Miny ofy of Magic, looking for the way out; he was clutching Cedric’s body as the sickening tug of the Portkey began; he slapped back. Snape uttered a small cry and the room came into focus once more.

Snape was leaning on his desk, clutching his left arm. He groaned and waved Harry toward the door.

“Go. Just go now, hurry.”

“Should I tell Dumbledore?” he asked, instinct bringing him from his chair to help. Snape nodded, backing away from him. The lines in his face seemed sharper now - dark eyes bright with pain.

“GO! Do not touch me!” Harry ran. Snape breathed heavily and composed himself, then went to his rooms and retrieved his mask and a small object in a velvet bag, a Portkey to a field in Hogsmeade he could Apparate from. He removed the stone from its cover and felt the tug of the Portkey; he was gone.

“Sugar Quill!” Harry gasped, holding the stitch in his side as he flew up the stairs to Dumbledore’s office pounpounded on the door. “Professor! Professor!” The door opened and he ran headlong inside, heedless of the delicate tables and objects in the room.

“What is it, Harry? Has something happened?” The Headmaster rose behind his desk, clearly unsettled by Harry’s sudden breathless appearance. Fawkes trilled a soft greetingm him his perch.

“Snape…” he panted, “lessons, his arm… told me to come…tell you…” He was panicked and growing more agitated by the second. He had no idea what a Death Eater’s summons might entail, but it horrified him to think Snape was out there with Voldemort, exposed. Severus at risk again was unthinkable.

“Ah. He was summoned then.” Dumbledore came around his desk and took Harry by the shoulder, steering him into a chair. “It’s all right, Harry, he must accept the summons from time to time, lest Voldemort grow suspicious of him.” He looked at Harry carefully. “Did you sense anything? Was the connection between you and Voldemort active?” Harry thought carefully before shaking his head.

“No, Professor, I didn’t feel anything, but he was hurt. His arm…he was clutching it like it burned; he told me to stay away.” He would have felt foolish, but Snape had told him to come to Dumbledore. “I…I touched it the morning…” he stumbled, “when we woke up. He was…upset about it; it woke him up when I touched it.”

“He will probably be fine, Harry.” He sat down himself and leaned forward, his eyes kind. “It is his choice, Harry; you must not interfere, despite the feelings you may have for him.” He held up a hand as Harry’s mouth opened in protest. “It is a danger to him for you to become distraught. If Voldemort suspects that you have a connection to his inner circle he does not control, I fear for Severus’ life. You must calm yourself.”

“But he’s in danger! Voldemort could…hurt him again,” he whispered.

“Severus understands the risks he takes, Harry. You must respect that. He is exceptional in his strength and ability; you must trust that to protect him.” He patted Harry’s hand gently. “I fear I have laid another heavy burden upon you in an effort to keep you safe,” he said quietly.

He rose and went to his desk, writing quickly on all all scrap of parchment and handed it to Harry. It was a single word. ‘Mercy.’ After Harry read it he took it from him and it vanished into the air with a small pop. “Go to the tower and collect your cloak, then wait for him to return. If he is injured, send for Madam Pomfrey, but do not leave him alone overlong tonight.” He looked as though something inside him had broken, but all he said was, “Off you go.”

Severus pulled his hood up over his head and placed the mask upon his face, then Apparated to the Dark Lord’s side, leaving a lone pair of boot prints in the snow behind him. He did not think; he did not feel; he simply existed, a blank face in a circle oank ank faces. When the Dark Lord faced him he knelt anucheuched the hem of Voldemort’s robes to his blameless porcelain lips.

“My Master,” he murmured. There were many gaps in the circle around Voldemort this night. He steadied himself and thought only of his Master, the inner mask as blank at the one that trapped his breath. They stood in a clearing in some dark forest; it was silent and sullen, no sign of habitation or the encroachment of mortal hands.

“Rise, Severus. I have need of you,” that cold voice whispered, red eyes shining in anticipation. They promised pain and glory, beauty and suffering. Snape rose fluidly to his feet, neither eager nor afraid. He had navigated these shallows far too long to allow himself to fear; he merely accepted what was his.

Harry returned to the tower, shaken bryinrying to maintain his calm. He went upstairs, dressed for bed and asked Ron to send Hedwig to him in twenty minutes.

“Where are you off to,n?” n?” he asked under his breath, then added, “Never mind, don’t want to know,” at the look in Harry’s eyes. Ron went downstairs and through the portrait hole, letting Harry out a few minutes later under his cloak. “Be careful, will you?” he muttered as he returned to the common room; Harry fled down the corridor to the dungeons.

“The boy. How is he?” Long spidery fingers caressed his mask; radiating cold and dark and bitterness.

“He is as ever, my Lord, prote and and ignorant.”

“It is more difficult to find his mind,” he hissed. “Do you know why this is?”

“No, my Lord, I do not.” At that moment, he did not know; his own thoughts and memories were buried so deeply he could not find them.

“Perhaps he is growing stronger. Are you aware of any changes in him?”

“No, my Lord, except that perhaps he is…learning to fear you.” It was a risk to speak so directly, but it would satisfy Voldemort and be an accurate, though incomplete statement.

“Do you teach him fear, my servant?” he growled malevolently.

“In all things, my Lord.” He dropped his eyes, almost seductively.

“My faithful Severus,” he purred. “You are ever an example to your fellow Death Eaters.” He caressed Snape’s mask again, tracing one cold finger along the underside of his jaw. “Show me your obedience.” There was a stir in the circle; all eyes were fixed upon him. It was the anticipation of spectacle in their midst that moved them; they did not envy him.

“It is a privilege to serve you,” he whispered. He dropped gracefully to his knees and once again touched the hem of Voldemort’s robes to his cold lips.

Harry reached the door and whispered the password, entering Snape’s darkened chambers. He slipped off his cloak and climbed into the bed, shivering in the dark room and wondering when Severus would return. The tap at the window reminded him and he flicked his wand, letting Hedwig in the high narrow aperture; she ruffled her feathers irritably at the cold. Finally he went to the grate and lit a small fire and returned to the bed to wait.

Strong hands closed around Snape’s shoulders, bringing him to his feet. He was guided to stand between two trees. He allowed them to remove his mask and cloak and waited for his Master’s attention.

One of his fellows, most likely Malfoy - he knew that arrogant stance intimately - flicked his wand and his arms were drawn from his sides, invisibly bound to the trunks. He felt his body rise, suspended in air, he allowed his head to fall back in submission, exposing his throat.

A flick of a wand and he was naked; his pale flesh glowed like marble in the moonlight. The hulking form that was Macnair moved closer to him with a nasty chuckle. He preferred to use manual means to his ends; magic was too…impersonal for his tastes.

The whip cracked in the night, leaving a new web of fine lines across the old scars on his back. Severus made no sound, allowing his body to sway with the force of the blow. By the third blow the cuts began to ooze and burn; the bitter winter air did nothing to soothe the heat. At the fifth blow his breath came in ragged gasps, little silver clouds of life from his lips. On the seventh his body began to show strain; the tendons in his neck, arms and legs stood out, his back arched, his prick hard. He screamed as the lash bit for the twelfth time, a long high wail that echoed between the trees; tears streamed down his face, glittering jewels for the Dark Lord’s pleasure.

“Oh how you suffer for me, Severus,” the Dark Lord cooed, a mockery of lovehe lhe lash bit again and again; blood ran down his legs and dropped from his toes, ribbons of red that glistened and tied him to the earth. Voldemort raised a hand and the blows stopped, allowing Snape to catch his breath for a moment. “You wear your pain so beautifully.”

“Only for you, my Master,” he moaned. “My joy is only for your pleasure.” His voice was hoarse from screaming; agony washed over every nerve as his blood flowed. Even in the midst of his humiliation he felt the purity that Harry had gifted him with, a secret strength to carry him through these agonising moments.

Other hands grasped him now, holding him tightly as Voldemort approached. He felt the bonds raise him higher and knew his power would be taken, his agony intensified. He did not struggle, he endured. He could not recoil from that touch; his life depended on his stillness, the illusion he wove of servitude and longing. He focused on the nails and rough hands that spread the agony across his body, digging into his flesh, anything to forget the monstrosity that touched him so intimately. He surrendered to the terror of beauty, blacking out as he came. Harry awoke from sleep with a scream.

Snape awoke on the ground, alone in the moonlight, his shirt and robes glued to his flesh with his own blood. He was weak, but managed to Apparate back to the field in Hogsmeade, then used the Portkey to return to his rooms.

“Severus! Oh, Severus, what have they done to you?” Harry cried, tumbling from the bed to catch the man as he staggered. Snape cried out as Harry’s arm crossed his broken flesh, but he did not pull away, allowing him to help him to the bed. He fell face first with a whimper into the covers; the mask dangled from one shaking hand. Harry took it and put it on the side table and searched for parchment, then wrote a quick note to Madam Pomfrey and sent Hedwig off.

He pulled Snape’s boots off, but dared not touch him further; his socks were stiff with blood. Snape groaned against the duvet, eyes half closed, face slack. Harry settled by his head, stroking his ice-rimed hair, eyes round with terror.

“Please don’t die Severus; Madam Pomfrey is coming; please don’t die,” he moaned, raging at his helplessness.

“Not going to die, just hurts,” Snape whispered. “In the bathroom, blue potion.” Harry slipped from the bed, careful not to jar it with his movements and retrieved the bottle, holding it up to Snape’s face; he nodded. He looked horribly pale - dark circles undis eis eyes, lips colourless, gasping painfully; it terrified Harry to see him helpless like this. That is his good graces… his memory whispered to him, echoing the conversation of their first night together. He had another reason to kill Voldemort, another reason to defy him. One more of how many won wondered.

Snape rolled very carefully on his side as Harry propped his head in the crook of his arm and brought the bottle to his lips, pouring steadily. Harry’s anger gave him sureness; his hand was steady as he held Severus and watched the lines smooth a little across his brow; the pain potion brought small relief but it was better than nothing. Snape rolled his body forward again as Harry stroked his hair.

The chamber door opened and Madam Pomfrey closed it quietly behind her, a small bag in her hand and a drawn, closed look in her face. She ignored Harry’s presence and asked Severus what he had already taken. Harry handed her the bottle mutely; she nodded and shooed him back, bringing out her wand. A quick flick and a murmur, he was bare from the waist up; Harry shuddered at the sight of him.

His back was crossed with what seemed like a thousand lines of red, puckered over old scar tissue from the shoulders into his trousers. Dark bruises were blossoming under his skin; the blood had congealed in the cold, ice glittered in the muddy redness.

“Get a wet flannel, not too hot, Potter,” she ordered, then began to heal his wounds. Slowly the cuts sealed themselves, shiny new skin laced over the old scars as Snape shuddered and moaned against the bed.

“I’ll never understand how you stand it, Severus,” she said quietly, taking the cloth from Harry and wiping away the mess. Snape hissed at her touch; the skin was tender and would be for several days, he knew from experience, but he thanked her softly all the same.

She handed Harry two small bottles. “He needs food, then give him the red one. Wait at least thirty minutes after he eats; make him eat if you have to, Potter, then the purple one; it will help him sleep.” Harry nodded; he had taken that one after the Triwizard Tournament. “I’ll have the house-elves send up some broth; I don’t think he can stand more than that.” He walked her to the door, anxious for any last minute instructions. “Take care of him; he needs it,” she said under her breath and left.

Snape rolled over onto his back with a grunt; he did not want Harry to see his shame any more; the look in Harry’s eyes hurt more than the lash had. Harry came back to the bed and crawled behind him, cradling his head in his lap, warm fingers tracing his face softly.

“Need a bath,” Snape whispered, “So cold…filthy…” He closed his eyes wearily.

“I’ll draw a bath when the food comes; I don’t want to leave you right now,” he replied, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I woke up; my scar hurt. I was so scared, Sev; I thought you had died.” He brushed a lock of hair away from Snape’s face. “I couldn’t stand it if I killed you too.”

Dobby appeared in the room with a crack, carrying a heavy tray.

“Harry Potter! I has food for Master Snape, sir!” he said cheerfully though his cheerfulness evaporated when he saw the pain in Snape’s face. “Them bad wizards hurt Master Snape again, they did,” he said darkly. “You is free, sir; why is you letting them hurt you?”

“You know I must, Dobby. Thank you for the food,” he replied heavily.

“Is wrong, it is, them hurting Master Snape; they is taking from you again!” he said shrilly. Dobby set the tray on the bed, his ears flapping angrily. “Eat now, eat! You needs your strength. Goodbye, Harry Potter; take good care of Master Snape!” He disappeared with a loud bang.

“Of course you know Dobby! He belonged to the Malfoy’s.” Harry soothed Severus’ face with idle fingers. “Has he helped you before?”

“He would bring me food or help me sleep when I have been injured before. That display was probably because of you.” Snape stretched a little; then sat up on the bed gingerly. “Now, I will try to eat if you will draw me a bath.” He lifted the cover off the tray and took a mug of broth while Harry trotted into the bath and opened the taps. “Pour a little of the purple oil in the water,” Snape called wearily. Harry did so and laughter echoed in the smaller chamber.

“Bubble bath?” he snickered. “Lavender bubble bath?” He stuck his head around the doorjamb. “You is a decadent wizard, Master Snape!” he said in a Dobby-like voice with a grin, watching Severus fondly as he sipped at his broth, a slab of bread in his other hand.

“Indeed. I suppose this spoils the ‘greasy git’ image I’ve worked to cultivate since before you were born,” he said with a small smile. It wasn’t any Muggle bath oil; the lavender and other ingredients would soothe his skin and help him heal faster. To heal himself completely would displease Voldemort greatly; he enjoyed Severus’ pain too much and had been known to summon him well before he had healed properly.

“I’ll never tell.”

“See that you don’t,” he mumbled around the last of the bread. He definitely looked more human; there were still dark circles under his eyes, but sleep would take care of that. “There are some chocolates here,” he said absently, rummaging around the tray, “I would think they are for you.”

“You eat them; they might help you feel better,” Harry called, taking Snape’s robe from the hook on the wall and bringing it to him. He was sitting up now, peeling off the sticky and stiff socks with small efficient moves, his face curled in on itself with disgust. Harry picked up one of the chocolates and fed it to him, then kissed him deeply. “Mmm, chocolate flavoured Snape,” he murmured, bringing a broken smile to Severus’ lips. “Here, don’t forget your potion,” he said, handing over the red bottle. Snape drained it with a grimace.

“Even chocolate doesn’t help that,” he grumbled. Harry kicked the offensive things under the bed as Severus removed his trousers; then he handed him his robe, frowning. Snape’s inner thighs were chafed and raw, his calves, thighs and hips bruised, his penis raw and abraded in places. Harry understood what had happened to him all too clearly; now what Dobby said made sense.

“He took from you, like you did from me,” he said quietly. “How can you allow him to…?” he asked, rage and jealousy rising within him.

“I’d like to think I was a little less…demanding of you,” Snape said, wounded. “How can I deny him; am I not his faithful servant?” Snape sighed bitterly, displaying the Mark on his arm. “If I defy him openly my life is forfeit and we will have no way of knowing what he plans. If I submit, you stand a much better chance of defeating him when the time comes.” He stroked Harry’s face. “We all must play our parts, Harry. Accept it. I know what I’m doing.”

“And if you don’t?” he muttered angrily, not quite under his breath.

“Then I die,” he said quietly, a finger across Harry’s lips as he opened his mouth. “But it will be my fault, not yours. I put myself in this position; I was not forced or coerced from either side; my choices have been made freely. Sometimes the price we pay for being young and foolish is very, very high.” He slipped the robe on and went into the bath, Harry following close behind.

Harry took the robe and Snape slowly forced himself into the water, laying his head back against the lip of the clawfoot tub with a groan. Harry took a fresh flannel and dipped it in the steaming water, bathing Snape’s face, arms and chest with soothing strokes. He took a pitcher and wet Severus’ hair, lathering it gently with jasmine-scented shampoo, rinsing several times until it shone.

Severus lay back and simply allowed this attention, relearning the simple pleasure of it; no one had touched him like that since he was a tiny boy. When the water began to cool he rose from the tub as though newly born. Harry took one of the great towels and dried him gently, wrapped his hair tightly in another, then slipped off to get the old fashioned nightshirt.

He rummaged through Snape’s dresser and found a pair of forest green silk pyjamas; he brought those instead. He helped him dress, buttoning him in slowly. Finally he slipped the black robe over Snape’s shoulders and drew Severus back into the bedchamber. He guided him to the edge of the bed and freed his hair, then stroked it with a heavy silver handled brush until it shone like liquid night.

Harry replaced the brush in its place on the dresser and simply looked at Severus for several minutes studying him. The deep green silk brought out a rosy tone in his skin; his eyes were calm. He had lost that pinched look of pain, his features noble in rest. He was struck again by the austere and angular beauty of this man and the strength that resided in him.

“You are beautiful, Severus,” he said. “You should get rid of those awful nightshirts; the pyjamas are much better,” he muttered with a grin. “And take the other potion; it’s supposed to help you sleep.”

“I don’t need it.” His lips twisted in an effort to suppress a smile. “I am well aware of what it does; I made it, after all.” He stood and removed the robe and turned back the bed. “I think all I need to help me sleep is you. Come to bed, Harry.”

Harry smiled at that and crossed to the bed, laying his glasses on the table before climbing in. He waited until Severus settled himself, then wrapped himself around him. He wanted more of him; to crawl inside his skin, his very soul and make it all go away, but already Severus was drifting away from him into sleep, mumbling ‘Nox’ as he closed his weary eyes.

Snape drifted, warm and safe, in and out of consciousness. He hurt, but it was almost pleasant; the dull aches and twinges made him feel alive and aware. Harry was snuggled in the crook of his arm, one arm draped across his stomach, rubbing his toes against his leg like a cat, not ready to let go into sleep.

So much has changed, he thought, from adversary to lover, even a surrogate father; does he realise the depth of feeling he inspires in others? He smiled to himself in the darkness. Probably not yet, but he will; he is his father’s son after all. All the bitterness he carried inside him was ebbing away; James had unwittingly given him a gift; there was a purpose in James saving his life after all. He fell asleep with the knowledge that his debt would eventually be paid, a hope he hadn’t allowed himself to consider since that night fifteen years ago. He didn’t sleep long before he started to dream.

He had to hurry; he had to get to Albus. He had to tell him; he could not fail. He slipped the mask from his face, a quick whisper and it shrank. He tucked it in a pocket as he ran, long legs flying as fast as he could make them, chest afire, blood boiling. He was focused on his goal; he was intent in his righteousness; he never saw them. Snape moaned low in his throat; his narrow feet twitched under the covers as the dream dragged him along.

His body failed him, his limbs like lead; in slow motion he watched the ground approach and kiss him. Pain exploded though his face, his teeth knocked loose, cheek scraped raw on the pavement; he could smell the blood that ran from his nose, feel the needled shards of porcelain dig into his leg where the mask had broken in the fall. Severus whimpered and tossed his head back and forth against the pillow, struggling against the spell that bound him. He heard their footsteps, heard the malice in their low voices, he could not move; he had been Stunned. Rough hands turned him over; low mean laughter rang in his ears.

“Look at what we have here, boys; look what we have here.” They loomed over him, rough hands ran through his robes, took his wand, poked and prodded and pinched. A boot connected with balls; he couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t scream. He couldn’t do anything.

“No,” he whimpered, “no, please, I’m trying to help,” he gasped. Something held him down, pinned him close; he was trapped, sinking deeper.

“We have a little holiday booked for you, Snape, you’ll love it. All your fucked up friends are going to be there soon.” The boot connected again; the sick feeling welled in his chest; he was going to drown in his own vomit while they laughed. He wanted to scream, to grab them and shake them, to tell them where to find Voldemort, but he lay there and waited to die.

“Fuck. Enervate!” He rolled on his side and was gagging sick, curled in and cupping himself in agony. A high, keening note broke from his lips. His head swung back and forth, fighting the weight that pinned him down while he struggled.

“James…Lily, got to…” he whispered. The boot connected with his face; all he saw was stars and pain.

“t yot you say their names, filth. Don’t you dare!” He felt ribs cracking, a handful of hair ripped out by the roots. He struggled against them, but there were too many; their minds were made up.

“Let me go, please; get Albus; let me go!” he moaned. Hands on his face, he jerked away with a groan. They were taking him now, he knew, bound and screaming silently, taking him to Azkaban.

“SEVERUS!” Harry bellowed; voicvoice echoed around the room. He was all legs and arms and flying fists, tangled in the duvet and Harry, mad and strong in his nightmare. He sat on his chest, shaking him, shouting at him and dodging blows, ready to slap him into wakefulness when his eyes snapped open, though he did not see. “You’re dreaming, it’s all right,” he said thickly. Snape had caught him across the face in his panic.

“No! I can’t…” he groaned, awareness dawned. He was in his rooms, in his bed at the school, safe. He couldn’t breathe; he realised it was because Harry was sitting on his chest. He stopped struggling and lay still, trying to catch his breath. “Get off, can’t breathe,” he wheezed. “Harry, get off, I’m awake now.” Harry crawled off him and moved to the edge of the bed, both of them panting heavily.

Harry wouldn’t look at him, even when he called his name softly. Snape sat up and scooted over to Harry’s turned back, meaning only to put an arm around him when Harry stood up and went into the bath without a backwards glance. He surveyed the bed and saw the droplets of blood. I hit him, oh Merlin; I hit him and now he’s gone. The ache of his body was nothing compared to the ache of his heart. Slowly he pried himself from the bed and shuffled to the bath, knocking on the door.

“Harry? Please, Harry let me in. I…didn’t mean it.” Slowly the door opened; one green eye peered out the crack at him reproachfully.

“You should have taken the potion,” he said finally.

“I know.” He stood quietly, unsure of what to do now, but at least the boy was speaking to him. The door opened a little wider; Harry had a flannel pressed to his nose, a wet paon ton the front of his pyjama shirt. “Is it broken?” Harry shook his head.

“I don’t think so; bloody hurt though!” he said, a little petulantly. He pulled the cloth away; his nose was red and a little puffy, but intact. “What were you dreaming about, Severus? You were moaning and talking. You said my parents’ names.” Harry waited.

“I was dreaming about the night…the night your parents were killed.” He sighed heavily, absently sweeping a lock of hair from his face. “The night I went to Azkaban.” He didn’t want to talk about this; he had enough of pain and self-loathing already this evening. “It’s late; we have classes tomorrow.” Harry just looked at him, his face unreadable. “You don’t have to stay, I’ll be fine now.”

“No, you won’t be.” Harry sighed, suddenly seeming much older than he was. “You never get enough punishment, do you, Severus?” he said wearily. “Go get in bed; I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned and closed the door, leaving Snape standing there in shock. He turned and made his way to the bed, sat on the edge and dropped his head into his hands. Harry was right, he knew; he just hadn’t expected to actually hear it. Finally Harry came out of his seclusion and sat next to him silently, then took one of his hands gently. He traced the palm and long fine boned fingers with one of his own.

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.” Harry laid Severus’ hand on his lap, idly playing with his fingers. “It might help to talk through it; it helped me when I talked about Cedric.”

“You were very brave that night.”

“What do you mean? I couldn’t save him; he just…died. I couldn’t help S-Sirius either.” A horrible feeling washed over him. “You…you were there, with the others under your mask, weren’t you? You were in the circle at Voldemort’s side.”

“Do not say his NAME!” he hissed. “Of course I was, Potter; it’s my job,” he sighed bitterly. “I was there in the Ministry of Magic too.”

“Why didn’t you help me?” he barked. “Why couldn’t you save them? I couldn’t and you were there and you HELPED him!” He shoved Snape’s hand away and stood in front of the older man, furious. “How can you be on our side and not help? How could you watch them die and do NOTHING?” he yelled.

“I DID HELP YOU, FOOLISH BOY!” Snape roared. “Don’t you think, Potter? I TOLD Dumbledore the Mark was coming back; he told me to prepare myself. I pumped Karkaroff for information, but he knew less than I did. I didn’t know about Moody or the Portkey; I didn’t know Wormtail was with the Dark Lord; I didn’t know he had truly regained his strength until the Mark burned. I went because I had to and because I…I feared you were gone. Cedric was already dead and you were bound to the headstone…” He lowered his voice and continued.

“You fought well; at least you learned something from that pathetic Dueling Club of Lockhart’s. No one, least of all the Dark Lord, was prepared for what happened with the wands. When you broke free, I hexed Death Eaters while you ran, hoping my enthusiasm to catch you would cover my poor aim. As soon as you had the Portkey, I told the Dark Lord I would return to the sc and and he bid me to go.”

“That’s why you weren’t there when I got back.” Snape nodded wearily.

“I had to tell Dumbledore about Barty Crouch. When we knew Mood- Crouch had taken you off we came to rescue you. You know the rest.”

“Where did you go when Dumbledore sent you away?”

“I went to the Malfoy’s to play my part, to determine if I had been discovered a traitor.” His dark eyes bored into Harry, pleading with him. “Now do you understand why I allow him to hurt me?” Harry nodded, his mind reeling with new knowledge. “I can help you up to a point, Harry, but once I am exposed, I will die unless you manage to destroy the Dark L” ”

“How many times have you saved me? How many times were you there to protect me and I didn’t even know?” he whispered, ashamed of his words and anger now.

“It doesn’t matter, Harry,” Snape said softly. “All that matters is that you stay alive.” He drew him close in a fatherly embrace, tousled his hair and kissed his forehead gently. “We have only a few hours to sleep; I suggest we use them; you’ll have to return to the tower before my charges wake.”

“How d’you manage it?” he asked sleepily. “How do you separate yourself so he doesn’t know who you really are?” Snape didn’t answer; he just squeezed him tighter for a moment. It felt so good to be held like this; tired arms wrapped around the slender warmth of Severus’ body, his steady heartbeat beneath his ear, hnchonchor in a sea of secrets. He was filled with peace and contentment despite the horror of what he had been told. A stab of guilt hit him as his thoughts drifted; would it feel like this to be held by his father? He retreated a little from the comfort of Snape, shaken.

“I don’t think he would mind. Don’t torture yourself with things you had no control over,” Snape said. It was spooky how he knew what he was thinking and feeling. “I was young once too, Potter. I remember wondering what it would be like to be held rather than beaten, to wish I had a different life. Do not feel guilt for wondering and dreaming; the time will come when you won’t have that luxury anymore, all too soon.” They climbed into the bed, drew the curtains behind them and went to sleep.

Harry was shaken awake as the pink edge of dawn showed through the high, narrow windows. Snape was already dressed except for his boots, brushing his hair as he urged Harry to get up. Harry roused himself from the warm bed, exhausted and bleary eyed, but found his glasses, slippers, robe and cloak all the same. Snape was finished with his grooming and putting on his boots by the fire, then stood and walked to the door. Harry slipped his cloak around him, about to pull it over his head when Snape reached out and drew him close, cradling his head against his chest with a soft sigh before letting go.

“Hold still, Potter.” Snape tugged the silky fabric around him until he was satisfied and opened the door. He waited for Harry to brush past him before he stepped through and sealed it shut. Harry slipped up the stairs as Severus turned and walked stiffly down deeper in the castle.

Harry slipped into his tower room; the closed curtains and snores of his roommates made his jealousy rise again. They could sleep and dream, unaware and uncaring about the horror in the world that was unfolding around them. They weren’t struggling with the burdens he carried or the destiny that he could not escape. They were innocent in a way he realised he hadn’t been for a long time, never mind the Horrible Idea.

As he tumbled wearily into his bed he had a flash of insight. He knew how Snape had become so bitter, so cold on the outside and sealed off inside. It wasn’t just his experiences that had moulded and twisted him, it was conscious choice, to pull into himself and protect what was left. He did not want to learn those secrets, but feared he would have to if he wanted to survive.

He decided he could bear it alone; he hadn’t talked to Ron and Hermione about his guilt over Sirius’ death or his confusion and longing for Severus’ touch, only reassured them he was fine. He wasn’t fine, not by a long shot and now carried more burdens than ever. He drifted away in the comfort of his bed, trying to catch another hour before facing the day.

Ron was shaking him awake. He groaned and reached for his glasses while Ron threw his clothes at him.

“We’re going to be late if you don’t hurry; breakfast is almost over.” He dressed quickly, tugging at his fringe with one hand and trying to pull his shoes on with the other, then they ran down the stairs toward the Great Hall.

Hermione was waiting anxiously; she had several pieces of toast for each of them wrapped in serviettes and they headed off to classes chewing furiously.

Snape went into the Teacher’s Lounge after his first class for a cup of tea, hoping to have the room to himself, but no such luck. Professor McGonagall looked up at him sharply as he took tea from the urn, a tight look pinched her face.

“Good morning, Minerva,” he said, slumping into a chair by the fire. She took a cup herself and sat in another chair near him, much to his surprise.

“Good morning, Severus. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said stiffly. Her expression told him she clearly believed otherwise. He tried to sneer but hadn’t the energy for it at the moment. “Just a little tired, really.”

“Poppy told me,” she said softly. “Merlin,” she said and shook her head. “She also told me you had… a guest.” He froze; inside he cringed. This was just what he needed, Minerva McGonagall to tear into him about his bizarre relationship with Potter, though she was well aware of what had occurred on the Solstice. “I hope you realise what kind of position this puts us in,” she said, though not unkindly.

“Dumbledore sent him. He was there when I…returned,” he sighed. “I am well aware of the position it puts us in, Minerva,” he said, a little sharply.

“That’s not what I meant,” she snapped back. “He’s a child. He’s too young to…”

“You think I don’t know that?” he hissed. “You think I don’t cringe at the burdens I’ve helped place on him? You think I don’t regret every second of it more than most?” He closed his eyes and willed her to go away and leave him alone. NOW.

“You care for him, don’t you?” she asked. “It’s not just about protecting him anymore, is it?” He opened his eyes and saw concern in her face, something he’d never seen directed at him by her before, then shook his head slowly, feeling the burn of blood over his cheeks.

“No, it’s not just about protecting him anymore,” he whispered. He was so tired, aching all over inside and out; he did not want to talk about it, any more than he had wanted to talk with Harry about his nightmare or what he actually did. He was of the opinion that some things were just better left alone, including him.

“Does he confide in you? Has he come to you since the Solstice?”

“He’s been to my rooms for tea, Minerva, to talk and play chess - nothing more.”

She snorted. “I know of at least two other occasions he’s not slept in his own bed, Severus; I am his Head of House, after all.” She looked at him shrewdly, taking in the defeated look in his demeanour. “You’re not taking advantage of the situation, are you?\"

“What’s there to take advantage of? He’s not nearly as innocent or ignorant as we like to pretend he is,” he replied. “I spend time with him because…because he needs to talk to someone who understands what it’s like to be alone, to carry secrets that hurt. He’s trying to decide what kind of… of man he will become. Can you do that for him?” he asked.

“What kind of man are you planning to make of him?”

“Hopefully one that isn’t as bitter and twisted as I am,” he sighed. “We talk, we play chess, I tell him the truth when he asks it of me. I’m not turning him into a sordid plaything for my amusement. Dumbledore has shut him out because of the Order; he just wants…” He decided he didn’t know exactly what Harry wanted, any more than he himself did.

“He wants a father,” she said flatly, “though I ha thi think taking him into your bed is fatherly behaviour.” He whipped his head around, eyes narrowed and glittering dangerously.

“It’s not like that,” he hissed. “If you were him, wouldn’t you?” She nodded slowly, a bit taken aback by the forcefulness of his answer. “Do you know what those Muggles did to him? How they treated him?” His eyes locked with hers; she did. “I thought my father was a monster, but he never did anything like that to me. I don’t favour him, but I don’t bully him and I don’t take advantage of his trust, either. He comes to me because he chooses to.”

“You do favour him, you haven’t taken a single point from him this week,” she said with a small smile.

“I will be sure to remedy that Monday in my class, if not sooner. Satisfied?” He smirked at her, humour in his eyes. She laughed. They had never sat and had this much of a conversation in the entire fifteen years he had been a teacher; it was a novel experience.

“I suppose it will do. Just - ” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “Just be kind to him. I worry about him; he’s so much like his father, wilful and stubborn, always right in the middle of things he needn’t be concerned with.”

“He is and he isn’t, I think; believe me, I’ve thought about that a lot recently. If he were like James he’d be hexing Malfoy every second either of us had our backs turned. Merlin, how I used to dread seeing them in the corridors,” he sighed.

“Malfoy is nothing like you were. You were so…angry and sad all the time, even when you were a first year. You hexed everyone that looked at you the wrong way and more than a few that didn’t, if memory serves. I used to worry about you as well, you know,” she said, “I saw how they treated you, how your own House members treated you as well.” He hid a smile and ducked his eyes, torn by her words and pleased as well.

“He misses…the mutt terribly.” She glared at him a little reproachfully, but he continued. “He continues to blame himself, though I’ve told him it wasn’t his fault; there was nothing he could do. You’ve no idea how it pained me to say that and mean it.”

“Severus Snape, I do believe that you have finally started to grow up,” she said, her voice warm. “Would you like another cup of tea?” she asked, rising to her feet.

“I shouldn’t; I have children to terrorise, but thank you for offering,” he said with a smirk. He rose to his feet and returned his cup and saucer to the sideboard, then turned almost bashfully to face her. “Thank you for your company.” He turned on his heel and swept from the room, robes flapping behind him as he shut the door.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly to the empty air.

The next few weeks flew by; between their classes, the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw and the piles of assignments Harry, Ron and Hermione were exhausted. True to Snape’s word he had received no less than three detentions from the man and lost a good twenty points for the House. They were all looking forward to the weekend to rest and catch up on their sleep.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend, so Harry, Ron and Hermione queued up with the other students after breakfast and Filch checked their names against his list as always before letting them head off. They went shopping, stopping at Zonko’s and Honeydukes first; Hermione wanted to pup aup a new quill, so the boys walked down to save them a table at the Three Broomsticks and ordered a round of butterbeers while she shopped. They ordered and took their tankards to a small table in the corner, away from the rest of the crowd to talk quietly.

“So, er, do you have plans for tomorrow, Harry? Hermione and I were thinking we should go visit Hagrid.” Ron toyed with his butterbeer rather than drink it. He wanted to ask Harry what he thought he was doing, if Snape was hurting him or had some sort of weird control over him, but he couldn’t.

“I’m going to have tea, sorry. Maybe I could catch up with you two later?” Harry didn’t like the look Ron shot at him. “Look, you don’t have to like it, but…just try and understand. He talks to me like no one else will. He never lies to me and he treats me like an adult, most of the time.” He sighed as Ron snorted.

“Tea? Tea and chess and you creep back in at five in the morning. I’m your best friend, Harry, but I’m not stupid,” Ron hissed. “You sure he didn’t curse you or something? You’ve been really weird for a while now. You hardly ever talk to us anymore; you’re sneaking off and staying to yourself and…what happened to you?”

“I…a lot happened Ron. He understands what it’s like.”

“What what’s like, Harry? We’ve been with you through all kinds of things and you keep pulling away from us! We know you’re still upset about…about Padfoot, but it’s not your fault. But he’s not going to make that better by keeping you locked up with him down there doing Merlin knows what to you.” Ron’s ears were very red now, but he kept going; this was the first chance he had to say anything and he wasn’t about to waste it. “I mean, why not someone else?” he asked, a little indignantly.

“It’s not like that!” Harry hissed.

“I know what happened, Harry, remember? I was there when Hermione found the stupid parchment. I remember when you were all scared about it and now… you’re different.”

“Of course I’m different, Ron! How could I not be different? I’ve been different my whole life; why should I be anything else now?” he shouted angrily; several wizards and witches turned to look at them. He threw some sickles on the table and stood up. “Why don’t you just sit here and wait for your girlfriend, then. I’m going back to school.” With that he stormed off, leaving Ron gaping after him.

Harry completely ignored Hermione as he stalked past her coming out of the pub, even when she called after him. He didn’t know where he was going; he just struck out to walk off his anger. He was still muttering under his breath when he realised he was at the cave and stopped dead. The burn in his chest wouldn’t go away, nor would the anger; it just seemed to grow and grow inside him until he thought he would burst.

He slowly climbed through the fissure in the rock, into the relative warmth of the cave, sheltered from the winter wind and sat amongst the dust and snowdrifts. Here and there he saw there were great paw prints in the corners, bones and old papers scattered about the small cave. He sighed and a sob caught in his throat. His eyes burned; his heart ached; he began to sob in earnest, letting out all the misery he had been holding inside. He cried for Sirius, for his parents, for Cedric, even a little for himself and Snape.

He missed his friends, his simple life, when secrets were adventures, not burdens. He thought about the things that Severus had told him about his parents, about the world and the cost of things, wondering what the price would be for his youth and foolishness. Merlin knew Sirius paid high enough; Snape was still paying. He lay down in a depression in the earth and thought until he fell asleep, drd frd from his outpouring.

“Granger! Weasley! Come here at once!” Snape barked over the heads of the returning students. They exchanged glances and worked their way out of the crowd pouring into the Great Hall and over to a very angry looking Snape. “Where is Potter?” he hissed.

“We don’t know, sir,” Hermione said shakily.

“He said he was going to come back to the school, sir, after he left the Three Broomsticks,” Ron added.

“Why wasn’t he with you? Why did you let him go off by himself?” he snapped. “You three don’t go anywhere without being attached at the hip.” His eyes glittered dangerously.

“He was angry…” Ron whispered.

“About what, Mr. Weasley?” Snape hissed darkly, drawing himself up to his full height, looming over them.

“I…I don’t know; he was just angry all of a sudden, sir,” Ron answered weakly, refusing to look at anything but the polished stone floor. Dusk was now creeping over the walls of the castle, the last rosy remnants of sunlight sinking against the indigo sky and glittering snowdrifts.

“Miss Granger, do you have anything useful to add?” Snape hissed. She shook her head mutely, forehead screwed up as she tried desperately to think of where Harry might have gone. “Where was he headed when you saw him last?”

“He was headed away from the road back to the castle, sir, out into the fields…” she said quietly, then opened her mouth in an excited little O. “I bet he went to the cave!”

Snape looked at her thoughtfully for a second, then nodded sharply. “Twenty five points each for losing him and detention Monday with Filch, both of you. I shall go retrieve him myself.” He turned on his heel and was out the double doors into the growing dark before they could even begin to protest.

“What did you say to him, Ron?” Hermione snapped. “Just couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” She stormed off to the Great Hall and left him standing there, alone and hurting and ashamed. He turned and went to the tower, horrified. He’d seen a look in Snape’s eye he didn’t like at all. Snape was afraid for Harry and it was entirely his fault.

Snape ran across the grounds fast as he could, wand out. He knew the cave of course; he’d spent time alone there himself as a boy, but it wasn’t safe for Harry to be off the grounds alone, not now. His muscles burned as he ran, long even strides as he flew through the darkness. Sweat ran under his robes despite the cold; his shirt stuck to him irritatingly but he pushed himself harder until he reached the gates. Gasping for breath he concentrated and Apparated to the mountainside; then fixed his bearings and slithered into the crack in the stone.

“Lumos,” he hissed, his voice echoing in the small chamber. Harry lay curled in a ball on his side in the dirt, muddy streaks on his face. “Potter! Wake up, Harry!” he said urgently, reaching out with one long fingered hand to shake him, his wand held aloft. Harry stirred at his touch, disoriented and confused, his glasses askew on his muddy face.

“Sirius?” he asked softly, blinking slowly. He couldn’t see who was crouched over him, a dark blur in the weak light of a wand; he had been dreaming. He straightened his glasses and saw the sharp profile of the man looming over him against the wall. “Severus. I…he’s gone,” he whispered, broken.

“I know, Harry, I know.” He had been prepared to scream, to rage and sneer and belittle him for scaring the wits out of him, but he couldn’t. He dropped to his knees and gathered Harry into his arms tightly.

“Oh God, I killed him; I killed him and he’s gone and it’s all my fault,” he moaned, wrapping his arms tightly around Severus’ neck as he rocked him in his arms.

“No, Potter, it’s not your fault. I swear it’s not your fault.” He could hear the sobs starting, feel the young man in his arms quivering with rage and sorrow; he didn’t know how to fix this. “We have to go back now, Harry,” he said, loosening his grip to wipe away the tears. “Hush now, we have to go back.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’m not giving you a choice, Potter. We are going back. Now get on your feet and straighten yourself up; you’re filthy,” he said exasperatedly. “We can talk about it later, but right now we have to go.” He rose in a fluid motion and pulled Harry to his feet, looking around for something to make a Portkey out of; he finally settled on a fist-sized stone his his foot. Harry cast a weak Cleaning Charm that did nothing really for his dusty robes while Snape finished with the stone and held it out, wrapped in the edge of his robe. They touched the stone together and the sickening tug started, pulling them back to Hogwarts.

They appeared just outside the gates, the castle lit up before them. Snape had wanted to give Harry a chance to get himself together before the inevitable. He cast a Cleansing Charm himself, this one much more effective in removing the dust and grime from their robes and they began to walk across the snow blanketed grounds, Snape’s arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“How did you find me?” Harry asked as they walked.

“Miss Granger,” Snape replied. “You cannot go storming off by yourself, Potter; it’s not safe. What if it hadn’t been me who found you asleep and defenceless? You are hardly the first group of students to know of that particular cave.” He sighed. “What made you so angry? Weasley was acting very odd when I asked them why you weren’t with them.”

“We had a fight.”

“So I gathered. What was the fight about?”

“Er, you,” he answered quietly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“We were fighting because…he doesn’t trust you and I do. He said I was being weird because I would rather play chess with you than go with them to see Hagrid tomorrow.”

“I see. Did I not tell you to keep your mouth shut, Potter? Have I not made it perfectly clear that your little friends did not need to know every sordid detail of our experience?” he hissed irritably.

“I didn’t tell them about that, really. I just told them I was fine and…”

“And what?”

“I told them you were actually all right, that’s all. I didn’t tell them anything else, I swear.”

“We will have a little chat about this later, young man,” Severus muttered. They were close enough to the main doors that they could see two figures waiting for them; Professor McGoll all and Professor Dumbledore were silhouetted in the torchlight. Harry and Snape separated as they came into the light and made their way up the stairs.