"'Vengeance is mine; I will repay,' says the Lord. But 'If thy enemy is hungry, give him food; if he is thirsty, give him drink; for by so doing thou wilt heap coals of fire upon his head.'" ~ Romans 12:20, St. Joseph, New Catholic Edition.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if Snape had stayed unconscious in the Shrieking Shack. Perhaps it would have been alright if he had sufficed himself with only standing between him and Lupin's werewolf form. But no, Snape had go and physically restrain him from confronting Lupin as he and Sirius battled in their animal forms.

Harry felt a strange magic settle over him as he settled in the hospital wing. It felt wrong and cold, and it chilled Harry to the bone. He pulled the covers about him closer, and tried to close his eyes. He was tired from the adventure in the Shrieking Shack and wanted to sleep it off. He quickly drifted off into a dark twilight, half dreaming about the previous days events. Secretly, he was glad Snape had chosen to save his life, despite the fact that that year he had come to hate the man more than anyone alive. In fact, having to choose between Snape and his previous impression of Sirius, Harry would have been hard pressed to choose who he hated more.

Severus paced in the Headmaster's office, back and forth, a formidable scowl on his face, one laced with worry.

"I'm sure it's not that bad, Severus," Albus soothed, though his voice belied his worry as well.

"I've felt the magic before," Severus ground out. "I'm not mistaken." He paused his pacing, closed his eyes, and folded his hands over his mouth and nose.

"Perhaps - " Albus began, but Severus cut him off.

"I don't want this," he said. "I never wanted this. I thought I was finished the night James Potter died."

"There is an optimistic view you could take," Albus said quietly.

"What's that?" Severus spat.

"You're in James' position now," Albus pointed out. "Prove to me that you can be a better man than James." Severus raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you mean," he said blandly. Albus looked at him pityingly, and Severus felt his cheeks burn. He hated it when people looked at him that way. He didn't need their pity; he didn't want it. No matter how many times he swallowed his pride, it never made it any easier.

"Severus," Albus said softly. He rose and rounded his desk, putting a sympathetic hand on the younger man's shoulder. Severus lowered his head and shrugged Albus' hand from his shoulder. "I know James was cruel to you. I know, and I'm sorry."

"You don't know," Severus murmured, almost too softly to be heard.

"But I believe you can do better, given the same situation," Albus continued.

"I'm not sure why you think that," Severus swallowed.

"Because I don't think you have it within you to do to James' son what James did to you."

"And what if my temper runs away with me?" Severus gasped, stepping away from Albus and looking out the window at the clear night sky.

"You are a Slytherin, and therefore prone to an abuse of power," Albus grossly generalized. "You are also a good man, at heart, and you know to guard against that. James didn't."

"What am I going to do?" Severus almost sobbed, sinking into one of Albus' large, purple armchairs, bracing his elbows against his knees and covering his face with his hands. "Doesn't he belong with his relatives?"

"Yes, he does," Albus said, nodding. He resumed his position, sitting behind his desk. "The blood wards. Is there anything stopping you from simply not doing anything?"

"What do you mean, 'not doing anything'?" Severus asked, looking up.

"Just continue like nothing's happened," Albus suggested. "Do not speak to Harry of this. No one need know. Harry can spend the summer with his relatives as planned, and you can prepare for the upcoming school year." Severus dragged his hands over his face wearily.

"And if there's a problem with this?"

"Then come speak to me, and we'll see what we can do."

"Alright," Severus agreed. He sighed and relaxed into the chair, stretching his legs out a bit.

"Lemon drop?" Albus offered casually.

"You're just waiting for the day that I'll accept," Severus smiled as he leaned back, laced his fingers behind his head, and closed his eyes. "And I love to be difficult."

"That you do, Severus," Albus chuckled. "May I ask a personal question?"

"Ask," Severus approved, cracking an eye open, "but I retain the right to refuse to answer."

"How did Lily cope with the situation?" Albus asked.

"She never knew," Severus replied softly, a shadow passing over his face. "We never told her. It was better than way."

"Undoubtedly," Albus agreed. "So she didn't know of anything?"

"Nothing," Severus confirmed.

"What did she think of your status as a Death Eater, then?" Albus asked.

"She thought I chose it of my own volition," Severus explained. "I never spoke to her, and James never told her." His voice felt sluggish, and a calm feeling of sorrow enveloped him.

"Why didn't you tell her then?" Albus asked. "I'm sure she would have understood." Severus sighed.

"She had stopped speaking to me the previous year," he murmured. "I couldn't bear to speak with her."

"Severus, I know she would have forgiven you if you had asked for it," Albus soothed. Severus' eyes snapped open and he sat forward.

"I did ask," he snapped. "She refused."

"Given some time, though - "

"What was I supposed to do after?" Severus cut his mentor off. He rose and stood opposite Albus' desk. "What was I supposed to say? What could I tell her?"

"The truth?" Albus asked.

"'Hello, Lily,'" Severus began, in a mocking tone, as he held his hand out to Albus. "'I know we haven't spoken in a few years because of my lack of a filter. Now, despite the fact that you've shown no interest in speaking to me, I'm here to apologize once again, because sleeping outside the Gryffindor common room wasn't enough.'" Severus paused, as though listening to an imaginary reply. He had pulled his hand back, and braced himself against Albus' desk. "'Oh? You still don't want to talk to me? Why on earth not?'" Severus paused again. "'My Dark Mark? Oh, you misunderstand! I didn't want to take it. It was forced upon me.'" Pause. "'Yes, forced. You must believe me! I was ordered to take it.'" Pause. "'Who ordered me? Your husband, of course. For the good of the Order.'" Pause. "'Yes, James, and no, I'm not exaggerating.'" Pause. "'What power does he have over me? I'm his bloody slave!'"

Severus hung his head and his shoulders shook silently.

"Is that what you wanted me to tell her?" he finally asked. "I couldn't bear the humiliation, even if she did accept my explanation."

"Severus," Albus murmured, reaching out to touch his hand. Severus didn't react other than to heave one shuddering, incriminating breath. "I just want you to know that you've done a lot of good for the Order, even though you hate your Mark." Severus just shook his head, unable to respond. He waited a moment.

"Killed Lily," was all that was understandable. Severus stood, and kept his eyes on the floor. He turned and left, pulling his cloak about him. He felt chilled to the bone.

Severus made a side trip to the infirmary where he stood at the foot of a bed. The bed belonged to a messy-haired, shivering, third year student. Severus watched him sleep as he mulled over their new relationship.

He didn't regret saving Potter's life, no, but he regretted the fact that Potter hated him enough for this to happen. The slave bond only instituted itself in specific circumstances, and it was very rare. Magic was a funny thing. Most of the time, when a life debt was incurred by someone, it was a debt owed to a relative, or a close friend. Such life debts never caused a slave bond, because it was assumed that such people would find a way to pay the debt due to their positive relationship.

It was different with enemies. If the saved person hated the savior, then a slave bond was formed to force the saved to repay the savior. Severus crossed his arms and pursed his lips as he studied the sleeping form. So apparently Potter hated him enough that the bond had finally formed that night, when he had saved the boy's life from the wolf. Severus could only imagine that it hadn't formed in the first or second year because Potter hadn't hated him enough. Chances were good that the ill-timed comments regarding the boy's father had been the thing to tip the scales far enough to trigger the bond.

The bond was tricky. Having only been on the receiving end of it before, Severus didn't understand what he would be in for now, but he did know what Potter would be experiencing, at least in part. Potter's free will would remain, though there were ways to make it harder to disobey if the master was determined. Potter could still defy him, but only at great cost to himself. Severus knew that from personal experience. Like a house elf, Potter would feel an irresistible urge to punish himself for any infraction, and also like an elf, Potter's punishments to himself would likely be worse than what the bond would otherwise demand from him. But as long as he didn't give the boy any orders, the bond shouldn't demand any recompense, should it? Severus didn't know. James had never not taken advantage of the bond, asking and demanding everything he could. Almost everything he could.

He had never known a kind master, and he didn't know how the bond would react if he tried to circumvent it. He knew that as a slave, there was little he could do about the situation.

He would have pitied Potter, if he didn't know just how humiliating this would be for the boy. It should make the school day interesting, if Potter was kept in the dark about the situation. Perhaps he would explain it at the start of the school year. That way, Potter could have one more slave-free summer. It wasn't much, but it would be something at least.

Potter sighed in his sleep and comfortably stretched out in the bed, not shivering anymore. Severus noticed his own chill had passed as well. The bond was formed.

Harry stepped off the train and saw his relatives waiting for him. He felt his stomach slip to his feet as he realized how much trouble he would be in for being late. They didn't like waiting. He murmured some quick goodbyes to Ron and Hermione, and darted off to where he could see Uncle Vernon impatiently tapping his foot.

"You're late, boy," Vernon snarled at him, and Harry tried not to wince.

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," he murmured.

"What was that?" Vernon snapped, grabbing Harry's jaw and forcing eye contact. Harry panicked and flailed a bit, but then remembered not to fight.

"Said I was sorry," Harry clarified, a little louder, but no less scared.

"As well you will be, freak," Vernon hissed maliciously. Harry just nodded, bowed his head and put his trunk in the boot of the car. He slipped in the backseat with Dudley, but didn't look at the other boy. Harry was scared of Dudley and his gang, and he was feeling weaker than usual. Harry hoped he would still be able to outrun them. What if he wasn't? He knew Piers was a terrible person and had no inhibitions. Harry sneezed suddenly. Dudley punched him, hard, in the stomach. Harry moaned.

"That's what you get for being such a freak," Dudley murmured in his ear.

"Sorry for existing," Harry shot back, and Dudley smacked him across the face. Harry glared at the other boy, a tingling beginning behind his eyes, but he knew better than to fight back. Dudley was always in the right, and he was always in the wrong, no matter how much it was the other way around.

And so his summer began. Harry looked up at the car roof and wished to the God that might or might not exist that he would survive.

Severus shuddered as for the third time that hour, a distinctly unpleasant sensation rushed down his spine.  The closest thing he could think of was the tingling of fear that was sometimes described in trying situations.  He had never experienced that, though.  This phenomenon was becoming more and more frequent.  It had started with the end of the school year.  Perhaps once a day, then two or three times.  After a week, it was probably at a dozen times.  After two weeks, it was every hour.  Now, three weeks into the summer, he wasn’t even able to concentrate on his duties.  It wasn’t exactly painful, at least, not in the way he was used to, with Cruciatus curses and beatings, but now that it was affecting his functionality, it seemed reasonable to do something about the condition.

Of course, Severus knew the cause.  It had to be the slave bond, since otherwise, he was in perfect health.  It must not like the fact that he was ignoring Potter.  Much as Severus would have liked to continue that very plan, even at personal discomfort, he couldn’t afford to lose his usefulness.

Albus had given him permission after the passage of two weeks that it was acceptable for him to collect Potter from his relatives.  Two weeks was all the blood wards required to maintain their effectiveness.  Severus personally doubted their necessity, should word of the slave bond get out.  Bonds were a long held tradition, to the point that a magic so ancient protected it that not even Albus or the Dark Lord could break it.  Anyone who dared lay a harmful hand on his slave without his permission would suffer instant death before their hand or spell had ever reached its mark.  The bond would dissolve any harm from an unapproved outside source.  Additionally, no one could force a master to resign a claim on his slave.  The bond refused to recognize decisions made under duress.  The Dark Lord would be unable to force him to hand Potter over, though his refusal to do just than could reveal his loyalties.  In some ways, perhaps, the bond was more protective than the blood wards.

Damn it, there was that sensation again.  Severus slammed his quill on his desk and rose, grabbing his cloak as he prepared to make his way to Privet Drive.  There was no getting around it; he had to collect Potter and explain this whole miserable situation to him.  And along with that went all the legal matters as well.  While slavery was explicitly outlawed in every way that it could be, the Ministry would be hard pressed to legislate a lack of hatred or require persons to not save each other.  How could someone be imprisoned for saving someone’s life?  Additionally, even if they could be, how would it help?  The bond would be formed anyway, since the magic creating the bond was beyond the control of any wizard or group of wizards, stretching back to the earliest documents.

Severus knew the Ministry couldn’t take any action against him for the bond; they certainly wouldn’t against Potter.  It didn’t mean there wouldn’t be legal snafus though.

Before he knew it, lost in his musings, Severus was at the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive.  He knocked, half distractedly, as he tried to rehearse his justification for claiming Potter midsummer.  The door opened, and a short, round, blonde boy answered.

“Hello?” he asked, a bit stupidly, Severus thought.

“I’m here for a Mr. Harry Potter,” Severus said, getting directly to the point.  “If you would be so kind as to let him know to pack his things, and be ready as soon as possible.”

“Dad!” the boy screamed back into the house.  “Mum, where’s dad?”  Petunia came around the corner.

“Who is it?” she asked, wiping her fingers on a towel she carried.  She looked up in horror as she recognized the stranger.  “Snape!  What do you want now?”

“I’m here for Mr. Potter,” Severus repeated patiently.  “I need him to come with me for the rest of the summer, back to the school, and so he should be notified to pack as soon as possible.  I have a busy schedule, so the less waiting - ”

“Vernon!” Petunia called.  “One moment,” she told Severus.  She stepped around the corner and seemed to call down to the cellar.  “Vernon!  There’s one of them here!  Get the boy presentable!”  Severus couldn’t hear the reply.

“Move,” he muttered to the round one as he stepped through the door, closing it behind him.

“That’s not my problem!” he heard Petunia call back.  “Do whatever’s necessary!”

“Is something the matter?”  Severus had crept up behind Petunia soundlessly, and she screamed at the sudden proximity of his person.

“What are you doing in here?” she accused.

“Did you expect me to wait outside for what could be several hours, very reasonably, on your doorstep, dressed in very un-Muggle-ish clothes?”  She looked at him darkly, but didn’t contradict him.  “I assume Mr. Potter has been altered to the knowledge of my presence then?”

“It will all be taken care of,” Petunia muttered as she stepped away from him.  There was a clomping coming up the steps, and then the door burst open.  Severus was glad he was outside the radius of the door, or he feared he would have been hit with the sudden motion.

Potter stumbled - scrambled, rather - up the stairs, frantically, as an older version of the boy who answered the door followed him.  As usual, Potter’s hair was a mess, but that wasn’t what caught Severus’ attention first.  It was the boy’s current shirtlessness, revealing the markings of a very recent, very thorough beating.  Severus stared at Potter in shock, his mouth slightly open as his eyes widened.

“I’m sorry,” Potter whimpered pathetically, giving no notice to the stranger in the room.  “I’m sorry!  I don’t want to be sick!”

“Get a shirt on, before someone sees - ” Vernon growled.  Harry screamed in agony suddenly and clutched his head.  “What is it now?” Vernon sighed.  Harry screamed again.  Understanding dawned on Severus.  He stepped forward into Harry’s line of vision.  He wasn’t sure what he expected Harry to do, but close his eyes and whisper, “No,” was certainly not it.

“Potter, kneel down,” Severus ordered shortly.

“Oh, my God, Snape,” Potter ground out.  “Are you mental?”

“I’m serious, Potter,” Snape warned urgently.  “Your headache will go away.  Just do as I say.  Kneel.”  Probably unable to bear the pain anymore, Potter did as ordered, but his expression didn’t change.  “Kiss the hem of my robe,” Severus continued, more quietly.

“What do you think I am?” the boy snapped suddenly, and his headache climaxed.

“Potter, just do it!”  Potter slowly did as he was told, and his facial expression slackened, as his headache vanished.  “Rise.”  Potter stood up and looked at him, with a combination of confusion, gratefulness, and humiliation.

“Why are you here?” Potter asked civilly.

“Your presence is required at Hogwarts,” Severus replied smoothly.  “I’m here to collect you.  Pack your things, and we’ll be on our way.”  The boy hastily darted past him.  Severus’ eyes narrowed as he watched Potter disappear.  The bond was supposed to protect his slave.  His gaze shifted to Vernon, as he speculated the possibilities.

“What do you think you were doing?” he asked, and a heavy silence fell on the whole room.  His calm demeanor was only a way to ensure that he did not lose his temper after seeing the effects of what must have happened in the Dursleys’ cellar.

“None of your business,” Vernon grunted.

“Actually, I think it is,” Severus replied coolly.  “But just answer the question.  Do you make it a habit to beat the boy?”

“Only when he needs it,” Vernon dodged.

“What did he do to deserve it this time?”

“He’s been lazing about the last three weeks,” Vernon said hurriedly.  “Claims to be too tired to work and he’ll make himself throw up and everything to make us believe it.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he really was sick?” Severus asked curiously.  While he wouldn’t put it beyond Potter to be abundantly lazy and even fake being ill if the situation arose, he doubted that such a ploy was strategic given the apparent circumstances.

“He’s never been sick a day in his life,” Vernon snorted.

“He couldn’t afford to be, apparently,” Severus commented ildy.

“It’s not like we willingly took him in!” Vernon objected.  “You and your kind pushed him on us!  You made him our responsibility, and we can take whatever action we want!”  Perhaps the bond did recognize that argument, and that was why Vernon Dursley stood before him, still breathing.  Perhaps the bond interpreted Potter’s presence there as his consent to be disciplined by the boy’s uncle.  Potter came stumbling down the stairs, trunk banging down each step as he dragged it behind him, his owl in her cage in the other hand.  He had found an appropriately oversized shirt.

“I’m ready, Professor,” Potter said.

“Kneel as before if you wish to avoid another bout of that headache,” Severus instructed mildly.  Potter looked at him skeptically, glared at his relatives, as if daring them to say something, and then knelt and kissed Severus robes again.  “Rise.”  Potter scrambled to his feet, and Severus turned wordlessly, shrinking Potter’s things into his pocket and exiting the house without so much as a “good day,” and Potter followed suit.  None of the Dursleys expressed any sort of farewell either.

“What was that all about?” Harry demanded as soon as they were outside.  He glared at Snape.

“This is not a conversation I wish to have on your relatives’ doorstep,” Snape said curtly.  “We’re going back to the castle, and I will explain everything there.”

“You know something,” Harry accused.

“I know lots of something’s,” Snape quipped.  “Take my arm, and we’ll apparate back to the castle wards’ boundary.”  Harry did as instructed, not prepared for the nauseating feeling of apparation.  As soon as he was back in one piece, Harry fell to his hands and knees and vomited what little bile was left in his stomach.

“The feeling will pass momentarily,” Snape said.  “The first few times a person apparates, such reactions are not uncommon.”  Harry gagged one more time, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.  He nodded and cautiously stood up, visibly weak.

“Better,” Harry said.  He was surprised that Snape hadn’t made some snarky comment about his getting sick.  He’d been doing that a lot lately.

“Come along,” Snape said, and Harry trotted obediently beside him.  They walked up to the castle in silence, Snape keeping a brisk pace.  By the time they entered, Harry was panting from the strain of keeping up.  Snape looked at him curiously, as Harry leaned against the wall for support.  He didn’t say anything.  He just waited there for a moment while Harry caught his breath.

“Where are we going?” Harry gasped, as he pushed himself off the wall, feeling he had held Snape up long enough.

“My chambers,” Snape answered, and Harry’s jaw almost hit the floor.

“I haven’t earned a detention yet, have I?”

“Not strictly speaking,” Snape said.  “As I said, I will explain everything once we settle down.”  It puzzled Harry as to why Snape was being so decent to him.  Cold, perhaps, mysterious, yes, but not outright mean spirited.  Harry noticed that Snape had slowed his step a bit, giving Harry a more relaxed pace to match.  After a short walk, Snape was inaudibly reciting the password to his chambers.  He cracked open the door and motioned Harry through.  Harry looked around at the dark entryway.  There were books and potions ingredients everywhere.  Parchment lay about in the oddest places with quick, little notes written on them.  In his wonderment, Harry almost forgot Snape’s presence.

“Potter,” Snape addressed him, “I try to be a forthright and mostly honest man.  I think any conversation we will have should be had now.”  Harry nodded.  “You’ve been sick lately?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, eyeing Snape skeptically, looking for a trap.  “I’ve been exhausted and sicking up and in a lot of pain.  I never meant to be such a problem that you’d have to come - ”

“I was unaware of your physical condition,” Snape cut him off.  “That had nothing to do with my decision to collect you from your relatives, though I dare say you will be better off away from anyone who takes their sort of reaction to legitimate illness.”

“They thought I was making it up though,” Harry defended.  “Don’t know why you don’t too.”

“Watch your tone,” Snape warned.  Harry just narrowed his eyes.  “I know why you’ve been feeling so ill.”

“You do?” Harry echoed, his eyes growing wide.  “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Snape explained.  “How much do you know of ancient magic?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Harry admitted, perhaps a bit too proudly.

“Then let me broaden your mind,” Snape continued.  “There is a magic, more ancient than history itself, which bonds individuals under certain circumstances, in various sorts of bonds.”

“Like marriage?” Harry interrupted.

“There is an ancient marriage bond, yes,” Snape agreed.  “When the right circumstances are met, such marriages are permanent even beyond the grave.”

“What sort of circumstances are those?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Nothing that concerns this discussion at the moment,” Snape deflected.  “There are also less well-intentioned bonds.  It seems that you and I have contracted one of those.  I have known about the bond from the moment it began to form, but tried to ignore it.  That doesn’t seem to be working out well for either of us, which is why I came to collect you, because I have been unproductive for the last several days due to my own inabilities.  Potter, you are now, legally and magically, my slave.”  Harry’s face contorted into a confused smile.  He laughed a bit.

“I’m your what?” he asked, not believing what he had just heard.

“Slave,” Snape provided again.  “As in, I’m your master, and you’re my slave.  I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept?”

“But...but...isn’t that illegal or something?”  Harry was still chuckling nervously occasionally, but Snape’s glare was disconcerting.

“The ancient magic cannot be controlled,” Snape explained.  “It only happens when a life debt is formed between two people where the saved sufficiently hates the other.  I saved your life at the Shack, and the ancient magic read your hatred of me as sufficient grounds to form the bond.”

“So...” Harry said, frowning, still not quite understanding.  “I’m your property now?”

“Precisely,” Snape agreed.

“I don’t believe you,” Harry replied.

“Do you believe the fact that you’ve been sick?  That is the bond trying to punish you for not serving me.  Likewise, the bond has been annoying me as well, trying to get me to stop ignoring you.  But with you, it has taken a more violent stand, actually sapping your energy and making you sick.  I expect, should it have been allowed to go on the whole summer, that your life force would have eventually been drained.”

“You mean I don’t have stomach cancer?” Harry gasped.

“You thought you had cancer?” Snape responded.

“I was so afraid I was going to die...”  Harry’s voice drifted off.  “You mean I’m not going to die just yet?”  His voice was hopeful.

“That would be the intention,” Snape drawled.  Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  He had been living in such fear that he wasn’t going to wake up the next morning that he relished that momentary joy.  “If you thought you had cancer, why weren’t you checked for it, and told you didn’t have it?”

“You think I was going to tell my relatives I thought I was dying?” Harry challenged.  “They would have rejoiced!  Hallelujah and praise the Lord that the freak is going to be gone permanently!  You saw what was happening this afternoon,” he continued.  “You can figure out that they hate me.  That I’m not making this up.  I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of knowing they might have finally succeeded in killing me.”  Snape was silent as he frowned at the floor, his arms crossed.

“Potter, I want you to know that if it were in my power to dissolve this bond, I would,” Snape began.  “I do not want a slave, and I certainly don’t want you.  That being said, I can’t dissolve the bond, nor even alter its nature.  I have choices I have to make, and I will respect your wishes in the matter.”

“What sort of choices?” Harry asked skeptically, all relief fleeing from him as he remembered the slave bond.  He knew Snape wasn’t lying to him.

“The bond demands the sort of greeting I told you to give me at your relatives’ house,” Snape explained.  “Thus when you didn’t notice me in the room, it gave you a headache until you did.  It will be required every time one of us leaves the other’s presence and then returns.”

“What?” Harry gasped, horrified.  He couldn’t imagine kneeling to Snape in the middle of class!  It would be mortifying.  He wished, for a moment, that he had stomach cancer.

“There is another option, and I will leave the choice up to you,” Snape continued.  “The purpose of the greeting is to demonstrate my claim over you.  If I demonstrate that claim in another way, it will free you of that obligation.”

“How else do you suggest?” Harry asked slowly.

“You won’t like it,” Snape began, “but I doubt you like the current situation.  Please keep in mind that I have not chosen these rules, and as such, I cannot un-choose them.”

“What would I have to do?” Harry pressed quietly.

“You would have to accept a brand and a collar,” Snape said, watching Harry carefully.  The boy was silent.

“Are there any other options?”

“No,” Snape said.  “It’s either what you’ve already experienced, the brand and collar, or an excruciating headache that will literally never go away.  I highly advise against the last.”

“How do you know those are the only options?” Harry asked skeptically.

“I have some experience with ancient bonding magic,” Snape dodged smoothly.  “If you want a suggestion, the collar and brand seem less obvious than the kneeling.”

“Where would the brand be?” Harry inquired.

“Wherever you would rather it be,” Snape answered.  “The right shoulder is customary.”

“And the collar?” Harry swallowed.  “What’s that like?  Do I have to wear it all the time?”

“Yes,” Snape said.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of well worn, brown leather.  It had a single iron ring over the throat, perfect for a leash or an angry master to grab him by.  Snape handed it to Harry, who took it and turned it over in his hands.  He felt despair wash over him as the physical reality of what Snape was saying began to sink in.  Harry turned quickly, the better to hide his quick blinking from the man.  It wouldn’t do to cry in front of him.  He heard Snape step close.

“I’m sorry, Potter,” he said softly, and Harry turned his head ever so slightly.  His breath hitched once, and Snape put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing else I can do?” Harry whimpered.

“There isn’t,” Snape murmured, not removing his hand.  “Whichever seems less repulsive to you.”

“Oh my God,” Harry breathed.  “I don’t want either.”

“I know.  But the bond demands something, and I want to know what you prefer.”

“Why aren’t you being horrible?” Harry asked, closing his eyes.  “Why aren’t you trying to humiliate me and grinding me into the dirt?”

“The bond will see to all the humiliation necessary,” Snape reasoned.  “I don’t have to add to it.  I imagine the thought of being a slave is paradigm shifting, and this shouldn’t be any harder on you than it is already.”  Harry weighed the collar in his hand.  “You can hide it under a turtleneck or dress shirt.”

“Will the bond be satisfied with that?”

“Yes,” Snape said.

“How do you know?  Will that be humiliating enough for it?”

“You will have a permanent mark on your body, and your clothing choices will be restricted if you wish to hide the collar.  It will disrupt your life enough to satisfy the bond.”

“Okay,” Harry said finally.  “The collar and the brand.”  Snape slowly took the collar from between Harry’s fingers and brought it up to his throat.  Harry lifted his chin, giving Snape full access.  Gently, Severus clasped the collar closed.  When Harry felt the cold metal snick closed against his skin, he couldn’t help a strangled sob.  He couldn’t help but feel that that quiet sound slammed the door on his life as he had known it.

"Stay still, Potter," Severus ordered. Potter lay on his bed, face down in the pillows, as Severus continued to heat the brand he made. It wasn't difficult to make; just some simple transfiguration. He was heating it in the fireplace as Potter awaited the searing pain and acrid smell of burned flesh. He could see the boy shaking in anticipation, unwilling to watch as he turned the brand over in the fire. Potter tried to still his tremors, but didn't entirely succeed. Not wanting the bond to think that the boy was disobeying him, Severus added, "Just do your best. Take deep breaths and try to calm yourself."

"Can't you give me some painkillers first or something?" Potter whimpered.

"I cannot," Severus replied, pulling the brand from the flames. "Any pain you experience at my hands is meant to be something you to are endure. If I gave you anything, which I am, of course, allowed to do, it would be entirely useless at best, and at worst, it would actually increase your pain. This goes for the brand and anything else that may happen down the road. Painkillers will work if you injure yourself, but not if there is something I'm forced to do to you."

"Forced?" Potter laughed wryly. Severus stepped closer to the bed, and sensing his presence, Harry flinched away. "Aren't you going to be enjoying this?" Severus grabbed Potter by the shoulder and roughly flipped him onto his back. His eyes flashed, and Potter looked terrified as his eyes rested on the red-hot iron in his hand.

"I know you hate me, Potter," Severus began through gritted teeth, "and the feeling, quite honestly, is mutual. That doesn't mean I enjoy seeing you in excruciating pain. You can always kneel to me in the middle of the Great Hall instead. Would you prefer that?"

"N-no," Potter stammered, cringing. Not that Severus would mind him groveling before him in public. He supposed he might even enjoy that, mostly because he had a greater appreciation for mind games than brutality, but Albus had already expressed his faith in him and Severus wasn't ready to betray that trust. His conscience also was quietly nagging at him that he should do better by Potter Junior than Potter Senior had done by him. Just because he was going to try to remain reasonable with the Potter brat didn't mean that he was going to be overly lenient either. He would simply make a conscious effort to not be crueler than strictly necessary.

"Then let's get on with this, shall we?" Severus prompted calmly, indicating that Potter should expose his shoulder again. The boy rolled over, covering the back of his head with his arms. His breathing became quick and shallow.

"Try to be as still as you can," Severus instructed in a soothing voice. Startling the boy any more than he already was certainly wasn't going to help make this process any easier on either of them. "Focus on a regular breathing pattern. Ground yourself." Severus placed his left hand on Potter's left shoulder; Severus had opted for the traditional placement of the brand on the boy's right. Potter hissed as his hand made contact with the still sensitive skin from the beating. Severus positioned the brand above Potter's shoulder.

"Three...two...one!" Severus pressed the brand into Potter's shoulder, ignoring the fact that the boy tensed under his hand and let out a stifled scream into his pillow. He ignored the fact that Potter was still screaming as the iron kept eating into his tissue. To the boy's credit, he kept still. Potter didn't flinch or struggle away at all. After what seemed an eternity to both of them, Severus pulled the brand away from Potter. The skin was charred and inflamed where the brand had touched, and Potter continued to sob into the pillow. Severus cast a quick "Agaumenti," and with a hiss, the brand became cool. He set it aside, and sat on the bed next to Potter.

"The area will become black and seep pus and fluid for awhile," Severus began calmly, as though he were simply speaking of the weather. Perhaps he felt a small twinge of pity, knowing what it felt like to have red hot iron pressed into flesh. "In the healing process, it will become itchy. I highly advise that you do not scratch it, or it will begin to bleed and take that much longer to heal, risking infection as well."

"It hurts," Potter sobbed, shaking slightly now that the branding was done. "It hurts so bad."

"I can try a lotion, if you like," Severus offered, not trying to be kind, but he realized it was something James had never thought to offer him. "It may do nothing, though since anything touching the burn at this point would be uncomfortable, I doubt it would change the intensity of the pain for the worse outside of the natural scope of things." Potter shook his head. They stayed there, silent, for some minutes, until Potter's display began to wear itself out. Finally, the boy stirred and began to sit up. He wiped his tear stained face with his hands.

"Here," Severus sighed, handing him a handkerchief. He couldn't stand such messy, unseemly displays of emotion.

"Thank you, sir," Potter replied, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose. Severus waved the thanks away wordlessly. "What does it look like?"

"You can look at it," Severus replied, knowing Potter spoke of the brand. He showed the boy to a mirror where Potter tried to look over his shoulder. He saw a circle, and within the circle, the letters "STS." The S's were slightly smaller than the T, which occupied the center of the circle and could take up the whole diameter. It would have been an elegant wax seal.

"What does it mean?" Potter asked weakly.

"Severus Tobias Snape," he replied. "How are you doing?"

"It hurts less," Potter admitted. "Sorry I'm such a baby."

"I can't imagine you're accustomed to the pain of a third degree burn," Severus dismissed casually. "It will take some time to feel completely better. I can dress the wound against infection, and then I advise you sleep for a bit. We can discuss more of the impacts the bond has upon your life after you're more rested." Potter nodded bleakly. "Well, go hop on the bed, and I'll be back in a minute with the dressings." The boy resumed his previous position on the bed. Severus left the room and went to a cabinet in the bathroom, where he kept various medical supplies; magic couldn't fix everything all the time.

After a minute, he returned, sitting on the bed as he had before. Dressing the burn was another thing that had never been done for him; his had become infected, and dealing with Potter's fever was not something he looked forward to. Better to prevent it in the first place. The boy lay still through the whole process of caring for the wound, and Severus was impressed at his stoicism. He didn't even cry out when Severus applied pressure to the extremely sensitive area. When he was done, Severus rose and gathered the unused supplies.

"You may stay here," he began. "Rest, and I'll wake you in time for dinner."

"Yes, sir," Potter acknowledged, and Severus left the room.

Harry drifted in and out of painful sleep the rest of the afternoon. He couldn't remember his dreams, but perhaps that was for the best. He couldn't imagine they had been good. Snape entered the room eventually, waking him from his light slumber.

"It's time for dinner, Potter," Snape said, after Harry had indicated his state of consciousness. Harry sat up and nodded. He winced when he flexed the muscles in his right shoulder.

"Could I put a shirt on?" Harry asked.

"Yes, just be careful not to jostle the bandages," Snape agreed. Harry grabbed his shirt from a nearby chair and carefully pulled it over himself, gingerly rotating his shoulder, getting used to the pain. Snape turned, and Harry followed him out to the kitchen. Snape sat down at the table, which was empty.

"So..." Harry stalled. "Do I sit on the floor or something? Is that where a good slave eats?" His voice was a fair imitation of Snape's own sneer by the end. If the man noticed, he didn't let on.

"No, and yes," Snape replied, and Harry had to mentally replay his questions to realize what the answers meant. "Typically, slaves are given whatever leftover food may or may not remain after the master and his family have had their fill. You are correct, that 'good slaves' eat on the floor. I will not require such a display, and you may also eat food from the kitchens as you would normally. The bond will not object, since it recognizes all the food the elves make as my 'leftovers.' Now, sit down." Snape gestured to a chair adjacent to his own, and Harry nervously did as he was told. Food appeared before each of them.

"Is there any sort of protocol I'm supposed to follow?" Harry asked, not touching his food. "Wait for you to give me permission to eat or something?"

"You seem to have a keen insight into how this bond works," Snape commented idly, but his eyes narrowed at the question. "Yes, I do have to give you permission to eat. If you do not obtain that permission, there will be consequences, though I hope you can appreciate that I will not look forward to your pestering me any more than you'll look forward to it!" Harry winced at Snape's tone. He knew that Snape would be annoyed at his constant presence, but if he thought that this was Harry's version of a good time, the man needed to have thicker glasses than Harry had in order to see the truth!

"Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"You may eat," Snape said, as he picked up his own fork. Harry did likewise, and began to eat cautiously, watching Snape's every move. They were silent for a bit.

"How much may I eat?" Harry finally blurted out.

"As much as you like," Snape replied. "While I could limit your food intake, I will not. It wouldn't be healthy for you."

"Oh," Harry eloquently said. Another silence fell over them.

"I assume you have questions?" Snape finally prompted.

"Yes, if I'm allowed to ask them," Harry answered.

"Go ahead," Snape said evenly.

"What am I going to have to do for you?"

"Menial chores," Snape replied. "Most likely things usually done by house elves, such as cleaning and cooking. I will likely have you assist me with my potions - assuming you aren't nearly as incompetent as you put on in class! - perhaps a few other things as they come up. Fetching things, and such."

"Will you be requiring any...other...favors?" Harry asked nervously. Snape narrowed his eyes at him. He didn't respond right away.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Snape finally said blandly. Harry felt himself turn scarlet.

"You have absolute authority over me now, don't you?" he asked instead.

"Yes," Snape replied, raising one eyebrow as if to ask, "What did you think slavery meant?"

"You can tell me to do anything?"

"Yes."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you'll be punished, and I advise against that as much as possible."

"What if you - I mean, if I have a serious problem with something you ask - "

"Stop stammering," Snape sighed. "Ask your question."

"Do you have to follow any rules when dealing with me?" Harry asked.

"No," Snape said quickly. "There are no laws regarding how a master may treat his slave, just as there are no laws regarding how I treat my potions equipment or my library. You are my property, an item, a luxury, and I can do anything I want with you or to you. You have no say in it."

"I don't have any rights?" Harry gasped.

"None," Snape confirmed. "Everything you owned must be transferred into my name, and you will be allowed to own nothing. I will allow you keep possession of those things which you need and you will be allowed to use them. It simply may not be legally owned in your name."

"Everything...?" Harry asked.

"Yes, even down to the Potter vault," Snape said. Harry nodded, feeling a bit sick.

"So, if I have no rights, and you have no rules, there's nothing stopping you from - from..." Harry trailed off, unable to finish his thought.

"From what?" Snape prompted impatiently.

"From doing whatever you want!" Harry finished finally.

"Exactly," Snape agreed, a calculating expression crossing his face. "You are mine, legally and magically, and I hold absolute authority, with no restrictions, and can do with you as I please at any given moment in time." Harry definitely felt sick, and it showed. He shoved his plate away, unable to stand the smell of food. "The fact remains, Potter," Snape continued, "that I will try to be somewhat reasonable when dealing with you." Harry watched him suspiciously.

"Punishments," he began. "What will punishments be?"

"The bond requires that the punishment fit the crime," Snape explained. "A public offense would require a public punishment; do try to not publicly disrespect me in the future. A private offense requires a private punishment."

"But what are they?"

"Usually some sort of corporal punishment," Snape continued. "They are the most effective when dealing with the bonds expectations."

"So you'll hit me?" Harry asked quietly.

"There are precious other forms of corporal punishment," Snape commented. Harry gripped the seat of his chair, trying to stay calm.

"Will you beat me?"

"Potentially," Snape asserted. "I will not abuse my power over you if I can help it."

"I only have your word for that!" Harry finally blurted out. "If you can make me do whatever you want, how do I know you won't tell me to do something impossible just so you can beat me to a bloody pulp? Or turn me over to Voldemort? Or...or...somehow else use me for your pleasure!" he ended lamely. Snape raised an eyebrow again at the implication. Harry was close to tears again because of the sheer strain of the conversation.

"Potter, I will not enjoy the act of disciplining you," Snape assured him quietly, "and in that light, I will not order you to do anything that would automatically require a punishment. If it helps, I will try to rephrase my orders as requests or suggestions. It may ease the bond's perception of my intentions.

"As for my turning you over to the Dark Lord, may I remind you that there is no Dark Lord to turn you over to? Additionally, I think that allowing you to fall into the hands of one such as Lucius Malfoy to be abundantly irresponsible. It would be difficult to explain that to Dumbledore."

"So you would hand me over to them, given the chance!" Harry accused.

"I never said that," Snape denied. "I simply meant that you have politics on your side. Since my word is obviously not going to ease your mind, I am attempting to give you another reason to believe that I will no such thing. Now, as to your last accusation, since that thought seems to be preying on your mind, you are correct, there is nothing stopping me from taking full advantage of your situation. On this, you will have to take my word for it, that you could not possibly hold any interest for me in that regard. I'm surprised that you even think you could."

"Sorry, I - " Harry stammered.

"I understand your concern," Snape cut him off. "It is warranted, considering the helplessness of your position, but entirely unfounded considering who I am. A child could hardly tempt me, no matter your current situation, and I also will not expose you to anyone else who may find the offer appealing." That thought hadn't occurred to Harry at all, and his mouth opened in horror as he began to realize just how far-reaching Snape's power was. He would have to be on his best behavior or Snape could change his mind on any of these promises. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself.

"I appreciate that," Harry said determinedly. "I don't suppose all slaves even get the promise made to them, much less can even hope that might be kept."

"You're right," Snape conceded quietly. "Not all slaves are that lucky."

"I wouldn't call it lucky," Harry commented. "More like fortunate." Snape nodded deferentially.

"Whatever you wish to call it," Snape agreed. "Potter, I will keep my word. If you think about it rationally, I have never broken my word, and I will not break it now. Simply try to concern yourself with not angering the bond, and hopefully our coexistence will not be entirely miserable."

"Just partially," Harry said, trying to surprise a sassy smile.

"Just mostly," Snape replied sourly.

"Professor," Harry began nervously, "will I be able to continue school?"

"Of course," Snape said. "Having an uneducated slave is worse than having a slave at all. You will retain your magical ability. It will simply be...restricted."

"Restricted? How?" Harry looked horrified.

"Your magic can only be used in certain instances where I allow it," Snape clarified. "I will grant you permission to use your magic in class, of course."

"But other times?" Harry pressed frantically. "Can't you just give me permission to use it whenever? What about self-defense? What if Malfoy attacks me in the corridor or something?"

"I cannot give you permission to use it whenever, since the bond would not recognize such a freedom, just like I cannot give you permission to eat whenever you like," Snape explained. "I notice you didn't have such an objection to that issue. I wonder why. Anyway, as far as self-defense is concerned, anyone who intends you harm who has not gotten permission from me to do so will be killed instantly. You have nothing to fear from any of your classmates. They will not dare to harm you."

"But if they don't know I'm a slave - "

"I doubt you will be able to keep it a secret for long, in all honesty," Snape cut him off. "There will be telling signs for those who recognize it."

"Like...?"

"Like your having to seek me out for permission to eat before every meal in the Great Hall. Your, hopefully, more respectful behavior of my person, and my subtle change in how I instruct you, since giving you an order to make a potion correctly could be disastrous considering your abysmal abilities. Your house mates will likely see your collar if not your brand - "

"No, they won't; they can't!" Harry gasped, as his face became more horror filled at every reason Snape ticked off. Naturally, he was right, but Harry hadn't had time to think everything through yet.

"They can, and they will," Snape continued pitilessly. "You had better accept that. But I haven't even gotten to the most telling sign. Once again, you have a choice, but I have a strong hunch about what you will choose. It is not important to decide until the beginning of the school year, though, so you need not make an immediate decision."

"What's that?" Harry asked suspiciously, a flock of butterflies not helping his nerves at all.

"Try to imagine how slavery might have worked hundreds of years ago," Snape began, in an almost storytelling voice. He leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its back legs, as he laced his fingers behind his head, demonstrating his full control of the situation. "It is quite natural that slaves should hate their masters. The bond accounts for that. Slaves would try to murder their masters during the night, when they lay in unsuspecting slumber. The response to this was to require that slaves be tied while their masters slept."

"Tied? Tied how?" Harry's voice was very quiet.

"The bond isn't fussy," Snape shrugged. "Some masters were known to be as cruel as they could be and take full advantage of all the pain they could inflict."

"And for me?" Harry whimpered.

"A leash should be sufficient, as long as you can't remove it," Snape concluded.

"Is there no other way?" Harry pleaded, sounding truly desparate.

"Other ways include giving you to someone else to tie up, or not doing it at all and then you would receive a beating every morning to pay for those hours of 'freedom.' I highly encourage you to not choose that option. You wouldn't allow your body enough time to heal, and eventually you would have to let me tie you up anyway. You won't be able to hide the situation from your classmates, even though you endure such beatings. It's rather pointless."

"Why can't I hide it?" Harry demanded quickly. "When I need time off from the beatings, I could just let you - tie me up - " he almost choked on the words " - for a few nights and then we could go back to the old regimen." His stomach twisted in anticipation of what the beatings would be like.

"That would work very nicely if you were in your upper years, perhaps sixth or seventh," Snape replied patiently. "It would certainly work if you were of age and of normal public status. In light of the fact that you are not, we must take into account that a much closer eye is kept on the younger students. Your absences would be noted and investigated. Additionally, it would be unseemly for you to spend the night with a professor without a further explanation to at least the faculty, if not the student body."

"Fine," Harry muttered, heat rising in his cheeks.

"So your choices are as follows," Snape began. "You may choose to sleep in your dorm as usual, and then I will have to punish you appropriately every morning, until you can't stand it and accept the usual humiliation of being tied up. I may instruct one of your classmates to see to the leash in your dorm. Or, you may spend your nights here, in my chambers, and I will see to it. In each scenario, the entire school will learn of the news within a week, a promise you, even the first."

"I'm strong, Professor," Harry stated defiantly. "I can take a beating every day for a week and still be fine."

"I don't doubt that," Snape assented, "but I'm sure your classmates would be intrigued by the fact that you would rush to my chambers every morning even before breakfast and then have difficulty sitting back in your desk for the rest of the day, don't you think?"

"They're all bad choices," Harry muttered.

"Yes, they are," Snape agreed casually. "Take your time deciding. I only need a response by the start of the school year. In the meantime, you will be spending your nights here and I will see to the leash."

"That makes sense," Harry agreed quietly. "There's no one to hide it from."

"My thoughts exactly," Snape conceded. "It would be worse than useless to aggravate the bond for such little gain."

"But I was able to fall asleep on your bed without any problem!" Harry objected suddenly.

"You were the one sleeping; I wasn't," Snape pointed out. "It isn't about your sleeping schedule. It's meant for my protection, from you."

"Alright," Harry murmured, eyes cast down. "Thank you, for letting me have as much say in this as you are. You could be a lot worse about it, and I realize that."

"You're welcome," Snape replied.

"I'll get back with you about the decision soon," Harry promised. "I just want to think it over for a bit."

"Understandable," Snape agreed.

"What do you think the others will say about it when they find out?"

"Purebloods are much more likely to take offense at your situation than a half-blood or a muggleborn," Snape analysed. "Purebloods have been raised with a philosophy which would be very sensitive to the social stigma of slavery, even if I am trying to keep it to as much a token slavery as I can. Some half-bloods as well, I believe, would fall in that category. Muggleborns would be much more likely to side with you and take pity on your situation; I doubt you want that either."

"No," Harry whispered. "So basically this is going to isolate me."

"It's a distinct possibility," Snape agreed quietly. "Hopefully your friends are not as superficial as all that."

"How do you know so much about this bond?" Harry asked quietly. "How do I know you're not just making up all these stupid rules?"

"You know the bond exists, or you wouldn't have let me take measures against your continual public humiliation at my presence," Snape pointed out, careful not to mention the word "brand" or "collar," for which Harry was actually grateful. "You felt it make you honor me, and you know you've been sick with no cause in the past three weeks. As for the rest of what I've told you," he continued, "I see no reason for you to doubt me."

"I want to speak with Dumbledore!" Harry demanded. He felt a twinge of magic through the bond.

"Apologize now, or there will be a higher price to pay," Snape instructed quietly, but forcefully.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, his gaze dropping. Another sign the bond was real. "May I speak with Dumbledore, please?" There, now the bond was happy.

"The bond will require you be respectful to me at all times," Snape explained, ignoring Harry's question. "It judges the severity of the infraction and requires like compensation. This was a rather minor infraction, and thus only required an apology. You may not always be so lucky if you don't watch your mouth. It does have a habit of...running away with you sometimes."

"I said I was sorry, sir," Harry replied sullenly.

"Indeed, you did," Snape agreed thoughtfully. "And to answer your question, yes, you may speak with the Headmaster. He already knows about the situation. I informed him the night it happened. Did you want to see him tonight?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"Very well," Snape agreed, rising and walking to his floo. "I'll send you through to Albus' office, and you two may have a lovely chat about whatever pleases you." Harry winced, but in a moment, he found himself in Dumbledore's office.

"Harry!" Dumbledore greeted him, smiling, as soon as he stepped through the fireplace.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted him nervously, not returning the smile. "I wanted to speak with you about the bond." He gestured to his collar. It was beginning to itch.

Severus sat in front of the fire, doing absolutely nothing while he waited for Potter to finish with the headmaster.

He hated Potter. That much was certain. He wished the boy had never played a role in his life. And unless he was going to outright kill the Boy-Who-Lived, it seemed like they would be stuck with each other for quite some time. Severus shuddered to think of himself as an old, crotchety man with Potter at his side.

With any luck, one of them would die before the war would be done. Severus didn't much care who. Did it matter? Severus just wanted to be free, once and for all. Potter's slavery was as much his shackle as the boy's. Perhaps that wasn't quite fair. Potter did have the short end of the stick, but Severus still wanted no part of it. He'd had enough of it while Potter Sr. was alive.

Naturally, James hadn't intended to induce a slavery bond when he had saved his nemesis' life back at the Shack. Ironic, wasn't it, that it was at the same Shack, with the same werewolf, where his son's bond was formed? But while James hadn't had any intention of becoming Severus' slave-master, he hadn't balked nearly as much as Severus had expected. The pure, noble, self-righteous Gryffindor had become a hard task-master. They learned things about the bond the hard way, often. Trial and error. Occasionally, Dumbledore or an old text was able to provide some insight. The vast majority of information Severus had on the bond came from personal experience. He knew very little about the master's end of it, though, since he and James had never communicated more than strictly necessary.

No one knew about Severus' slavery bond, save, of course, himself and James, Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. As soon as James realized what had happened, he went to Albus with the situation. As a pure blood, James recognized the situation for what it was and the reactions that he was having to it. Albus had summoned both of them to a private meeting to discuss the ramifications of the bond. Severus remembered receiving the letter asking for his presence in Albus' office, wondering what it was about, wondering if, perhaps, Potter and his gang were going to expelled for their offenses. But no, it couldn't be, because if they were, then he would have had to leave school as well. Severus' doubted Albus' desire to expel the Marauders at all, but even if he had, it would have proven impossible.

Albus made James promise to keep it a secret. Secrets aren't secrets from one's best friend though. Before sundown, Sirius knew all about the bond, and Severus had received orders to obey Sirius' commands as though they were James'. It was almost as bad as having two masters, then. Severus wondered if James had intended that, or if it had simply been out of careless inconsideration. Perhaps it was neither. Perhaps James knew what he was doing, but didn't bother about Severus' feelings on the matter, since it was certainly convenient to pawn Snape off whenever James didn't want him around.

For the end of sixth year, they worked it out awkwardly. There wasn't any system because neither of them understood exactly what the bond wanted. But it was only the last week of term before holiday, so it didn't much matter. It was that lack of organization that led to Remus finding out. Once, in unused girls' bathroom on the second floor, when James was giving Severus a beating for his lack of being tied that night, Remus stumbled in on the pair. Holding the Marauders' Map, he looked at the two of them.

"What are you doing?" Remus asked, unclear whether he was asking James or Severus. Severus was in no condition to reply, so James did.

"It's a long story, Remus," he sighed. "Do you have a few hours?"

Personally, Snape didn't see what the big deal was. How long did it take to explain? But no, James had to put in every detail. Thankfully, though, James told Remus, in no uncertain terms, that word of this bond was not to get out. It would have bad implications for James as an aspiring Auror, since there were so many Muggleborns there. They would never understand the sort of magic that went into a bond, and they might well reject James' application solely on the fact that he owned a slave.

Severus remembered his impassiveness when Albus told him he couldn't go home for the summer. Instead, he had to stay with the Potters to appease the bond. It wasn't like his family had ever appreciated him, so that wasn't any great loss, yet he thought it might even prefer his them to the Potters. Pure bloods were hyper-aware of the social impacts of a slavery bond. It was a brutal summer, but at least Severus didn't have to worry about his peers discovering his humiliation for those three months. James tied him up most nights, which saved him those beatings, though James hardly waited for an excuse to exact full punishment when there was an opportunity. Secretly, Severus thought that James sometimes gave him impossible tasks simply to watch him in agony when he failed.

The next school year, James and Severus met every morning in the Room of Requirement to deal with his daily punishment. When his body couldn't take it anymore, James tied his slave in the Room of Requirement where they would both sleep for two or three nights. As seventh years, no one much cared where or when they slept, for which Severus was grateful. It meant his bond could continue to go unnoticed. There were benefits to being socially invisible sometimes. James, on the other hand, spread rumors far and wide that he was visiting lady friends on his absent nights.

James had let Sirius "borrow" him on regular occasions. Ostensibly, it was because Sirius was pathetic at potions and needed someone to do his homework for him. Severus shuddered.

The floo flared to life just then, and Potter came stumbling back, jolting Severus from his morbid thoughts.

"Are you satisfied?" Severus snapped at the boy.

"Yes, sir," Potter replied.

"Then start chopping the potions ingredients on the table in my lab."

"Yes, sir." Potter left the room quietly without a word of objection. If anything, the boy looked meek and accepting at the moment. Severus snorted inwardly. Like that attitude was going to last. It would certainly be boring if it did, he realized.

Harry pulled a stool up to the lab table and sullenly pulled out a knife. He hissed to himself as he started the menial work. He supposed that Snape could have given him a worse job to do, but it was still infuriating to be ordered to do this sort of thing, simply because the man had saved his life. Harry didn't ask for his life to be saved! He would have preferred to die.

Idly, Harry wondered if that option was open to him. If things got bad, he wondered if he could simply end his life. Would the bond allow such a thing to happen to his master's property? Harry felt his throat constrict as he thought of himself as that, property.

He wasn't even really a person anymore in the eyes of the ministry. He was a thing, a commodity. If people called him Harry Potter, it was by convention. He didn't have a legal name. The moment the bond formed, Harry Potter ceased to exist. Ministry records updated themselves to that status. The Ministry hadn't noticed the alteration yet, but chances were, when the bond became public knowledge, that he would still go by that name. In previous eras, a slave's former name was no longer used at all. Once again, being the Boy-Who-Lived would make him an exception.

Harry shuddered at the thought of the pity that some would give him. Naturally, the Muggleborns would take his side, like Snape said, but he didn't want them to pity him! He might be wallowing in a pool of self-pity at the moment, he realized, but that didn't mean he wanted others'. He and Dumbledore had talked about keeping the bond secret; Dumbledore had said no. The reasons were much the same as Snape's. Dumbledore also told Harry to trust Snape, because the man certainly would not overstep his bounds. Harry snorted derisively at that, which earned him a disappointed look from the Headmaster.

"You don't know how keenly Severus will be able to feel your pain," Dumbledore said.

"He can't feel anything!" Harry laughed maniacally. "He doesn't possess feelings!"

"Perhaps you're wrong there," Dumbledore contradicted quietly. "Sometimes, those who seem to feel the least do so because they've felt too much in the past."

Harry didn't know what Dumbledore meant, and, quite frankly, he didn't care. He found himself chopping the potions ingredients rather enthusiastically as he let out his pent up frustrations. Every click of the knife on the countertop accentuated words in Harry's mind.

I - don't - want - to - be - here.

Sullenly, a stray tear leaked out of Harry's eye, but he shoved it away angrily. He wasn't going to give Snape the satisfaction of seeing how unhappy he was. The man would probably get off on seeing him this miserable. It would make him ecstatic to know that Harry would rather die than continue an existence like this. And Harry wasn't going to give up that easily.

Hours passed, it seemed, and Harry was still chopping potions ingredients. He was getting tired, but knew better than the venture out and ask Snape if he could go to bed. Harry felt sure that good slaves just did what they were told even if they wanted to do something else, just like he had done at the Dursleys. So he kept chopping.

Then, quite suddenly, Harry had a strong urge. It was the most bizarre urge he'd ever felt, and it scared him. It made him slightly nauseous. He wanted to take the knife and chop off his fingers. He knew that was a terrible idea, but it didn't lessen the urge.

Terrified, Harry threw the knife across the counter and backed away from it. He still felt the urge, and in fact, it was getting stronger. It was almost like he was being made to do it against his will, except that at this point, Harry's will was still the stronger of the two. He sat down on the cold, stone floor, and pinned his hands under himself. He wasn't going to chop off his fingers no matter how much this insane bond decided to try to make him do just that. He would be the stronger of the two.

He began to rock back and forth as he fought the bond's urges with every ounce of this will. He began reciting a mantra of "No, no, no!" but it didn't make things any easier. Harry closed his eyes to try to forget that there was a knife on the other side of the room. He mantra soon became audible.

Harry didn't notice when the door opened, and he didn't notice when Snape came and stood next to him. He did notice when he was roughly brought to his feet.

"What's wrong with me?" Harry gasped suddenly, holding his hands out to Snape. The man grabbed Harry strongly by the wrists, for which Harry was grateful. It meant that he wouldn't be able to do anything he regretted as long as Snape forced him not to. "The bond is telling me to cut my fingers off, and I don't want to lose them!" Harry was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check, and by the end, he was half sobbing. "Please don't make me cut my fingers off, please!"

"You won't lose your fingers, brat," Snape growled. Harry risked looking up, and saw that his expression was grimly dark, but Harry was heartened to hear that he could keep all his appendages. "And even if you had hurt yourself, self-induced injuries repair themselves over time. It's the nature of the bond."

"Can you stop it?" Harry cried. "It's just getting stronger, and I don't want to lose them, even temporarily! Please help me! What's wrong with me?"

"Potter, I fell asleep," Snape admitted. "I didn't realize how tired I was, and this is the result of your being free while I was unconscious."

"It's not my fault you fell asleep!" Harry argued pitifully.

"Of course not," Snape agreed.

"It's not fair to punish me for something you did!"

"There's lots of things in life which aren't fair!" Snape shouted back at him. "Haven't you learned that yet? Do you think it's fair that you have to put up with your relatives?" Harry blinked momentarily, but didn't respond. Snape looked like he regretted saying that, because he moved on. "You have no idea how unfair life can get, Potter! No idea, do you understand? Good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. We almost never get what we deserve, and it's time you started accepting that. This bond isn't about fair. It's about humiliating you and doing everything it can to break you!"

"And you want to see that happen!" Harry shot back.

"Humiliate you?" Snape snorted. "Of course. Break you? Not really. Broken people are quite boring. I've never wanted to break you." Harry screamed in frustration. The urge just kept getting stronger.

"Can you make me better?" he sobbed. His knees began to feel weak.

"There's only one way I know of," Snape replied quietly.

"Then beat me already!" Harry snapped. Then he whimpered, "Just make me better, please." Harry lowered his head till his chin rested on his chest and his breath began to hitch dangerously. Snape led him into the living room, where there were no knives. The urge receded a little, to a more manageable level. Harry suspected that it was only a temporary respite though.

"Take your shirt off, Potter," Snape instructed quietly, releasing Harry's wrists. The man turned and left the room for a moment. When he returned, he was carrying a thin wooden switch. It had a black leather handle, and the other end looked well worn. There were even some dark spots on it. Harry thought they looked like blood. By then, Harry was shirtless, feeling vulnerable.

"Stand by the wall," Snape instructed stiffly. Harry did so, bracing himself as he knew how. "Potter, I want you to understand. I don't want to do this to you."

"So said my uncle!" Harry half sobbed. The fear was eating him alive, knowing how capable a man Snape was. His uncle would get tired after a few minutes, usually, and Harry could catch a respite. He doubted Snape's endurance was as pathetic as his uncle's.

"This is only to help you!" Snape hissed back.

"That's what Uncle Vernon said!" Harry protested, abandoning his previous stance next to the wall. "To help me get rid of my magic! He said he didn't want to do it, but he did! He enjoyed seeing me in pain!" Harry wasn't sure why he was spilling any of this to Snape, but perhaps it had something to do with how scared he was.

"I will certainly not enjoy this, if that helps you at all," Snape drawled. "I would enjoy it if we were equals and I could win fairly. This is hardly a competition. You wanted me to help you; let me." Snape summoned an old rope and tied Harry's wrists. The rope was rough, and Harry realized that, as he undoubtedly would fight his bonds, his wrists would soon become red and chafed. Snape hooked his hands over a coat hook.

"Try not to put your whole weight on the hook," Snape instructed. "You can let yourself go a little bit, though, if you need to." Harry nodded, the bile beginning to come up in the back of his throat.

"Please don't hurt me more than you have to," Harry whimpered pathetically.

"I won't," Snape promised quietly. Senses heightened by stress, Harry heard every movement behind him. He heard Snape take off his outer billowing robes and pick up the switch. He heard Snape raise the it above his head and he heard the switch sing as Snape brought it down against his naked back. Harry stiffened and groaned. It hurt worse than with his uncle, probably because Snape was stronger. A second, a third stroke later, Harry began to let out strangled sobs. After a fourth time, Harry screamed into his arm.

"Stop, please stop!" Harry begged, as tears flowed from his eyes.

"Potter, I know exactly how far I have to go for this sort of offense," Snape said coldly. "A minimum of ten." Harry sobbed, but didn't reply. Five. Harry didn't even react, except to cry harder. Six. Seven. Harry began to feel weak and disconnected as he realized there was a warm trickle of blood down his back. He began to shake, trying to stand.

Snape must have seen how he was struggling, because the man gently unhooked his hands and let him fall to the ground in a heap.

"Three more, Potter, then we'll be done." Harry nodded into the carpet. Eight. Harry screamed again and writhed on the floor.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry!" Harry cried. "I won't do it again!" Nine. "I'll be good! I promise!" Ten. The switch fell next to him immediately.

It took Harry some time to collect himself. By the time he did, his open wounds had crusted over. He looked up, eyes still red and puffy, throat sore from screaming, and saw Snape sitting in his armchair with a tumbler full of amber liquid. A half empty bottle sat next to him. Apparently Snape had been drinking for awhile.

"I'm sorry," Harry sniffed, trying to stand, and failing. "Is there anything you want me to do?" Snape quaffed his drink before answering a slurred voice.

"Just come sit over here," he said. Harry recognized the words as being those from an intoxicated individual. It scared Harry, because he didn't know what Snape would do next when under the influence. Defying him was certainly not a good idea, though, so Harry gingerly crawled over to where Snape sat. He was in agony, and knew better than to ask for anything. He was sure he'd get an answer of how remedies would only make it worse. Harry sat at Snape's feet.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Snape slurred, reaching down and running his fingers through the boy's hair. It wasn't lost on him that Snape had to be drunk to use his first name. The touch felt good though, and Harry didn't fight it. "I didn't want to hurt you like that."

"You would have jumped at the chance to hit me earlier," Harry accused. "I mean, before the bond." Snape nodded.

"I know how much that switch hurts," Snape continued. He consumed another several mouthfuls of his beverage. "I never would have wanted to do that to you."

"If you knew what you would be doing to me, why did you do it then?" Harry challenged.

"Because I knew how many times I had to hit you that way," Snape explained, his voice slurring even more. "I learned how to tell when James was overdoing my punishment and when he wasn't. Ten was always the minimum the bond demanded."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked. "James? My father?" Snape nodded.

"Yes," he vocalized.

"Why...?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Snape snapped. "How do I know everything about what you're going through? How do I know all the rules?"

"You were my father's...?"

"Slave, yes. And he took every opportunity to torture me. Is it any wonder I hate him? That I still hate him?" Snape still ran his fingers across his scalp. It helped relax Harry. "Albus told me I could be a better man than James was. I'm not sure I can. Harry, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," Harry whispered. "You didn't want to. It was only to keep me from chopping my fingers off. You didn't enjoy it."

"That's just the problem," Snape said. "I did. I never knew...the bond makes it pleasurable."

"Oh..."

"That explains why your father would set me up for punishment." He drank again.

"That's how you knew about the brand and the collar," Harry stated dully.

"Yes," Snape agreed. "That was the collar I wore. I have a brand, not unlike yours, which reads 'JCP'."

"If you already knew about slave bonds, why did you save my life?" Harry whispered.

"I didn't know you hated me that much," Snape whispered back. "I'm sorry."

"Can I get cleaned up?" Harry asked. His back felt dirty and sticky from the smeared blood. Even if he couldn't take painkillers or do a healing spell, it seemed logical that he would be allowed to wash a bit. Snape hissed at the question.

"Of course, you idiot boy," Snape replied, setting his glass down. "I'll clean you up." The man tried summoning a wet cloth from where he sat, but instead, just brought a mop and bucket instead.

"Damn alcohol," Snape swore, as he stumbled to his feet to get the cloth manually. Moments later, Snape came back into the room. "Hop up onto my bed," he instructed. Harry groaned as he rose, but didn't dream of disobeying a direct order.

When he had stretched out, Snape sat down next to him, and ran the cloth over his bloodied back. It was cool, and while it stung, in the end, Harry knew he would feel better. Snape's touch was gentle, and Harry knew the man could have made the process much more painful if he had desired. Harry was surprised at how careful Snape must have been to possess that much gentleness in his clumsy, drunken state.

"You're all cleaned up," Snape slurred a few minutes later. "I feel like I'm about to fall asleep again."

"Then, by all means, please, tie me up," Harry replied weakly. Snape retrieved the leash and hooked it on Harry's collar, then tied it around his own bedpost.

"I'll find a more appropriate spot tomorrow," Snape mumbled. He drew his wand and tried to transfigure a mattress. First, he got an artist's canvas. After swearing profusely, he tried again and got a wooden casket instead. Snape threw his wand across the room in disgust.

"I could do the transfiguration, if you give me permission," Harry offered nervously.

"Alright, do that," Snape agreed, getting Harry's wand from the other room. Harry transfigured the mattress nicely, and dragged it near the foot of Snape's bed, so the leash wouldn't be pulled taught. Snape threw him one of his own pillows and a blanket. It was almost better than what he had at Privet Drive, Harry smiled ruefully, curling up in a little cocoon.

Snape went into the bathroom and changed, only to flop into his bed without another word.

"Good night, sir," Harry called quietly.

"Good night, Harry."

Harry woke early in the morning, as he was accustomed to at Privet Drive.  He had to have breakfast ready by the time Uncle Vernon was up for work.  Harry always wondered how they managed without him during the school year.  He never resented doing his chores, not until he found out what life could be like without them.  Ron never had that many chores to do.  Sure, he had to degnome the garden and things like that, but he never had to work the whole day.  And Hermione didn’t have to do chores the whole day either.

Even though he was awake, Harry didn’t sit up.  Snape was still snoring, his liver probably still filtering the last of the alcohol from his system, and Harry couldn’t do anything till he woke up.  He just watched Snape sleep, hoping he’d wake up soon.  Harry had to pee something awful.

Trying to distract himself, Harry replayed some of the promises Snape had made.  Assuming Snape wasn’t going to break them, which Harry figured was a real possibility, he would have about as good a life with Snape as he had with the Dursleys, all things considered.  Yes, Snape’s beatings were worse.  His back could certainly attest to that!  Harry didn’t even want to move it hurt so badly.  But he would get food and a pillow.  Snape had said he wouldn’t limit Harry’s food, so he might not have to starve.  Even in Snape’s drunken state, he had tossed Harry a blanket and pillow.  It surprised Harry that the man had thought of that when by all rights he should be passing out.  Maybe Snape wasn’t quite as bad as he thought.  To be honest, Harry had expected the man to sadistically torture him, laughing, grinding him under his heel.

The urge to pee was just getting stronger.  Harry had his wand.  He didn’t know a spell that would relieve himself, but he did know a cleaning spell.  It occurred to him to simply piss his bed and then clean it up.  Snape hadn’t given him permission to do that sort of magic, though.  The bond would probably make him spell his eyes out or something for that sort of disobedience.  He didn’t know what to do.  He thought of waking Snape, but dismissed that thought from his mind immediately.  Snape was going to have a royal hangover, and Harry didn’t want to be the one to bring that around any sooner than necessary.  He could imagine the man was going to be straight up unpleasant (like he was ever pleasant!) but worse than normal when he woke.  He’d probably blame Harry for it too.  If it wasn’t for Harry, he wouldn’t have gotten drunk in the first place.  It was always Harry’s fault.

It didn’t help his pissing problem, though.  Harry hissed in determination as he continued to hold it.  Finally, he grabbed himself, trying to force it to stay in.  He whimpered a little bit, the pain becoming worse.

He let himself go, and he peed the bed.  The sharp smell of ammonia assaulted his nose.  Snape moaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head, but he didn’t wake up.  Harry was glad that he didn’t.  It would have been a double whammy if he messed his bed and woke Snape.

Now in wet clothes and in a wet bed, Harry did the only logical thing he could think of.  He rolled on his stomach and positioned himself over the spot where he peed.  He could stifle the smell a little bit that way.  It was bloody uncomfortable, laying in his own pee, but he’d done it before, and it could well happen again.  The Dursleys just used a bunch of air fresheners in their house to avoid the stench that came from his cupboard, and later, his bedroom.  Whenever he was locked in longer than he could hold it, he had to piss somewhere, and it was better to pee his bed than the floor.  If he messed the floor, he’d have the Dursleys on his case for wrecking the house.  If he messed his bed, they couldn’t care.  They never fed him enough for anything but his piss to be a problem.

He was always allowed to use the bathroom once a day.  If he was good, twice.  The morning was his usual time.  He always carefully watched how much he drank to make sure he wouldn’t find himself between a rock and hard place.  It wasn’t Snape’s fault that he hadn’t been able to hold it.  Snape didn’t know that he typically used the bathroom in the morning.  He’d know when he woke though!  Harry knew Snape wasn’t going to miss the smell once he regained consciousness.  Damn, Snape would probably kill him.  He could just hear Snape lecturing him, see Snape beating him, for his ungratefulness, telling him that a good slave wouldn’t destroy what his master had so generously given him.

Snape had been generous in giving him a bed.  Harry didn’t suppose that all masters did.  Snape could have made him sleep directly on the floor, and a stone one at that.  He didn’t want to lose his mattress entirely.  Maybe he could convince Snape to let him keep it.  Maybe if he started using the bathroom before he fell asleep instead.

He didn’t want to lose the only good things he had left.  He had food and a bed.  That was worth the beatings, wasn’t it?  If he got Snape mad enough at him, though, Harry figured he could still find himself cold and hungry at night instead.  Involuntarily, he imagined what it might be like, chained to the wall of a dank, wet dungeon, hungry and thirsty, as Snape locked the door for the night, and finally, Harry broke down and cried.

It had been a long time coming, he supposed, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore.  He might have been an almost fourteen year old adult, but he still didn’t have good enough control over himself to make himself not cry.  Maybe that was because he wasn’t nearly the adult he wanted to believe he was, a small voice told him.  He was quiet about it though.  He hardly made a sound, but the tears made small puddles on his pillow.  Not that Harry minded much.  Tears were much less problematic than pee.

“Damn, what happened?” Snape groaned, sitting up in bed, glancing down at Harry.  Wallowing in his misery, Harry hadn’t noticed Snape wake up.  His flood of tears stopped immediately.

“I - I’m sorry,” Harry stammered immediately.  He felt deeply ashamed, and his cheeks flushed bright red.  “I just couldn’t hold it anymore - ”

“I can smell that,” Snape snapped, his voice scathing.  “Why are you balling like I took away your candy though?”

“I didn’t mean to bother you, sir,” Harry replied.

“Answer - the - question,” Snape annunciated.

“Iwasafraidyou’dtakeawaythebedandfoodsir,” Harry rushed.

“What?  Slower,” Snape said.  “I just woke up, and I have a killer headache.”

“I was afraid you’d take away the bed and food, sir,” Harry repeated.  “For messing the bed.  I’m really sorry.  I didn’t mean to.  Please don’t punish me.  It won’t happen again, I promise.”  Snape sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  After a moment, he grabbed his wand and cleaned the mattress and Harry’s clothes, so that not a whiff of ammonia was left.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry began.

“Shut up,” Snape cut him off impatiently.  “I don’t want to hear it.  Just shut up.”  Harry snapped his mouth closed, and nodded, not wanting to upset Snape any more than he already clearly was.  There were no promises that he could keep the bed or the food, Harry noticed.  Snape hadn’t assured him of the permanency of those.  Harry tried to resign himself to the idea that tonight, he might well be alone, cold, and hungry.  Not that that was much different from the Dursleys though.

Snape unclipped the leash from Harry’s collar, but didn’t even bother to look at him.  Harry felt as though he had been slapped.  He wished he had been slapped.  Snape’s cold indifference was worse, he thought, than the physical violence.  His back begged to disagree though, as Harry scrambled to his feet, and followed Snape out of the room.

He quickly set about, looking for the kitchen.  Finally, the look on his face was so lost that Snape took pity on him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, perhaps a bit sharply.

“The kitchen, sir?  How should I make your breakfast?  What do you like?  Do you want coffee?  Cream or sugar?”  Harry wanted to make sure he got all the important questions in.

“The house elves are in charge of meals,” Snape dismissed, his voice suddenly going a bit quieter.

“The bond will be alright with that?” Harry questioned.

“I believe so,” Snape replied.  “Let me know if that is not the case.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied.  “I’m sorry, sir, about this morning - ”

“I told you I didn’t want to hear about it,” Snape cut him off again, his voice hard.  “Just drop it!”

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled.

“Go take a shower,” Snape instructed.  “You reek.  And it’s not from your accident.”  Any reply caught in Harry’s throat, so he just nodded, unable to speak.  Snape silently summoned a towel and thrust it at him.

“Here,” Snape said.  “Get going, now!”  Harry quickly turned and darted off in search of the bathroom.  It wasn’t hard to find.  He closed the door quietly, stripped, and started the water.  He set it for cold, as he was used to, and five minutes later, was much cleaner, and much wetter.  He thoroughly dried himself with the towel Snape had given him.  It was a soft, fluffy towel, and Harry liked it.  Then he noticed a small “SS” embroidered in the corner, and realized Snape had given him one of his own towels.  Harry cleaned up any trace of his shower, handing the towel on the towel rod.  After dressing again, he went out to see Snape.  It hadn’t even been a full fifteen minutes.

“What are you doing?” Snape barked at him.  The man had a meal from the house elves and was reading the Prophet.  “I thought I told you to take a shower.”

“You did, sir,” Harry replied nervously, “and I did.  My hair is still damp.  See?”  Snape inspected the boy’s hair skeptically, but just snorted when he found it clean to his satisfaction.

“Clean up the bathroom, then,” Snape dismissed.

“I did, sir,” Harry explained.  Without saying a word, Snape stood up suddenly, the chair shrieking as it skidded back, and the man stalked off to the bathroom.  He almost seemed to deflate once he saw its immaculate condition.  It didn’t look like anyone had taken a shower recently, save for the wet towels hung on the rod.  Harry followed him.

“Is it alright, sir?” Harry asked quietly.

“Yes, of course,” Snape mumbled.  “Why isn’t it warmer in here?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry stammered.

“Usually when someone takes a shower,” Snape explained impatiently, “the room remains warm for a few minutes.”

“I...used cold water, sir?” Harry explained, hoping to not make the volatile man any angrier than he already was.

“Go take a proper shower then, with hot water!  No wonder you have hygiene problems if you don’t shower with hot water!”  Harry wondered who he was to comment on someone’s hygiene, but he kept that comment to himself.  “What possessed you to use cold water?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to use hot water,” Harry whispered.

“I told you to take a shower!  What did you think I meant?”

“Clearly, I thought you meant I was to use cold water,” Harry snapped, but the bond twinged, warning him for his tone.  “Sorry,” he amended.  “I’ve always taken a cold shower.  It’s all I was allowed at the Dursleys - five minutes of cold water.”  Snape eyed him for a moment, but didn’t say anything.  He nodded once and left.

Then he called back, “Don’t forget to use hot water, and take as long as you need to to actually get clean!”  Once again, the shower turned on, and Harry got wet, careful this time to use hot water.  It felt strange, but he liked it.  It stung the welts from the night before, but Harry was used to that.  It wasn’t anything new.

Several minutes later, Harry emerged from the bathroom, once again slightly damp, but the bathroom was just as immaculate as the time before.  Snape nodded once in approval as he eyed the boy critically.  He gestured to Harry to sit down.  Doing so, Harry scooted his chair close to the table, glancing up nervously at Snape.  A plate of food popped into existence in front of him.  It was full of the usual breakfast foods - eggs, bacon, some toast.  After one last look at Snape, who nodded permission, Harry dug in, and was pleased to not hear Snape shout at him for how enthusiastically he was scarfing down his food.

“I hope you realize that no one will take your food away from you,” Snape said casually.  Harry froze and cautiously looked at the man.  He finished swallowing what he had in his mouth and eyed Snape warily.  Harry felt a cold fear come over him, and he wanted to protect his food, in case Snape had any thoughts about taking it away, despite what he had just said.  “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Sir,” Harry replied, but couldn’t find words for anything else.

“Do you?” Snape pressed.

“I know that you said so,” Harry admitted grudgingly.  He took another bite of his eggs and glared at Snape, as if challenging him to break his word.  Snape, if he recognized Harry’s thoughts, didn’t react in any way other than to shrug and go back to his paper, but every so often Harry noticed Snape’s cold gaze sliding over to him as they ate in silence.

When breakfast was finished, Snape cleared his throat loudly.  Harry looked up.

“Go begin your summer homework,” Snape instructed.  “Ask me if you have any questions.  I’m sure I can handle third year of any subject easily enough.”  Caught a little off guard, Harry didn’t know what to say right away, so he nodded.

“Thank you, sir,” he eventually choked out.  For a moment, Harry thought he might want to say something about how he was never allowed to do his summer homework before, to clarify exactly what his thank you meant.  He couldn’t find the words.

“Well?  Get along!” Snape barked, and Harry lost any will to explain.  He scuttled off to where he trunk had been shoved in a corner of the sitting room.  It was almost part of the room where they had eaten, and perhaps it would have been considered the same room, except that in the dining room there was a wooden floor, and the sitting room had carpet.  Harry rummaged in his trunk and found his list of summer homework, the list he thought he would never be able to touch.  He scanned it and frowned.  He felt the bond begin to itch as he delayed his master’s instructions.  Harry had to make a decision quickly, because it felt like the bond would explode soon if he didn’t do something.  It was becoming more and more demanding, and Harry began to panic.

He didn’t think he could deal with another of Snape’s beatings so closely behind what he endured the previous night.  And it wasn’t like he had even done anything wrong.  If only the bond would understand for once!  Suddenly, realizing what he had to do, he rushed over to where Snape was ignoring him.  Harry felt tears spring to his eyes, tears of fear, because he didn’t know if his idea would work.  Quickly, he sank to the ground and lay prostrate before Snape.  Snape watched silently.

“I can’t do my homework, sir,” Harry sobbed.  “It all requires the fourth year texts and I don’t have those yet.  Please don’t punish me.  Please, please, don’t.  I’m sorry!”  After a moment of eyeing the boy thoughtfully, Snape threw his paper aside and grumbled quietly to himself, but didn’t say anything to Harry.  Momentarily, he returned carrying a worn book.  Harry scrambled to his feet as Snape stepped close, and when he handed him the book, Harry accepted it gratefully.  The bond seemed satisfied with Harry’s self-humiliation for his unintended delay of obedience.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.  “I’ll get my books as soon as possible - if you’ll let me.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Snape said stiffly.  “In the meantime, treat that book well.  It was mine when I was in fourth year.”  Harry nodded.

“I’ll be careful.”  Snape gave him a curt nod, as was becoming a habit of his, and he went back to the table.  Harry sat down and began his potions essay.  The bond was satisfied now, and Harry felt relatively comfortable, as comfortable as one who had received a harsh beating the night before could.

Sometime later, Snape’s voice brought Harry out of the world of potions and back to reality.  It wasn’t Snape’s usual tone.  It was softer, gentler, than Harry was used to.

“Why don’t we get your books now?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed, swallowing, feeling a bit nervous.  It felt like the calm before the storm, in his opinion.  He didn’t trust Snape to be nice at all, even for a simple question.  But he got up, set the potions book (which had lots of helpful notes in it) aside, and followed Snape to the fireplace floo.

“Let’s floo together,” Snape suggested, hesitatingly putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.  Harry flinched, but didn’t object to the contact.  In his mind, Harry knew that Snape wasn’t going to harm him by touching his shoulder.  It was just the leftover reaction from the beating.

Severus tossed the floo powder into the fireplace and called out his destination as “Diagon Alley!”  Then, together, they stepped through and emerged into a busy pub.  The talking stopped and everyone stared at them.  Harry felt his face flush as dozens of prying eyes watched Snape steer him through the crowd.  It was silly, Harry knew, but he felt like they could see right through his shirt at the collar and the brand he wore.  His head drooped, and he realized why the bond accepted such a substitution for bowing and scraping.  Even if others didn’t know that he wore a collar and a brand, he did, and others’ ignorance didn’t make the humiliation any easier.

Harry’s mind was numb throughout the whole proceedings, and he was grateful that Snape didn’t demand his participation in social interactions.  It was almost like Snape knew he couldn’t process what was happening around him, and respected that.  By the end of the morning, Harry had all his school supplies, and they were back at Snape’s chambers in Hogwarts.  Harry ate mechanically, still reeling from all those people who had looked at him.  Did they already know?  Or was it that they were just staring at the Boy-Who-Lived, and not some slave?

“You’ve been unusually quiet,” Snape observed at the end of the meal.

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled.

“Is something on your mind?”  It was like Snape was making a conscious effort to be nice.

“Sorry to bring up old memories, sir,” Harry muttered.  “I know you don’t want to be saddled with me.”  Snape’s brow creased.

“While a true statement, what do you mean, ‘bring up old memories’?”

“You know...” Harry’s voice drifted off, as he raised his eyes and began to fear that he had said something wrong.  “You talked about it last night.”

“Wait...I talked to you last night?” Snape sputtered.

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” Harry stammered.  “You - you talked about what it was like - before - with -  I didn’t pry, sir.  You volunteered it.”  Snape’s eyes narrowed and he glared at Harry.

“Sure,” he groused, and Harry wasn’t sure if Snape believed him or not.  “Don’t speak to anyone about that, including me.  That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered.  At that moment, Harry realized that he had harboured some hope that that would have been something of a positive relationship between him and Snape.  It could have been something that no one else would understand, save the two of them, the pain and humiliation of a slavery bond.  If Snape wasn’t open to discussing it though, if he wasn’t even open to Harry mentioning it, then how could it ever be something that they could use to smooth over the difficulties of their past interactions?  “I’m sorry.”  Snape huffed, but gave no indication that he understood just how far Harry’s apology had been intended.

The day was quiet for Harry. He stayed out of Snape's way, and Snape stayed out of his. Eventually, evening rolled around, and Snape began to yawn.

"I think we should go to bed," Snape suggested finally, after another yawn.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied immediately. Snape rose and motioned for Harry to follow him to the bedroom. Snape looked at the mattress on the floor for a moment. Taking out his wand, he made the mattress disappear. Harry winced, but Snape's actions were to be expected. Surely Snape didn't want to reward him with a bed when all he had done was mess it.

Then there was a pop in the far corner of the room. There was a nice bed frame, a mattress, and a box springs besides. The bed was made with a nice set of sheets and even had a blanket besides. Harry looked at it with wonder. What was this?

"Go use the bathroom before you go to bed," Snape instructed.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, sounding confused, but he did what he was told without any hesitancy. After a moment, when he got back, Snape was already changed for bed. He had the leash in his hand, and motioned Harry over to the newly transfigured bed.

"Is this for me?" he asked in wonder.

"Of course," Snape snapped. "You're asking stupid questions."

"Sorry, sir," Harry backpedalled.

"Last night was a mistake, and it won't happen again," Snape continued, not looking at Harry, even as he attached the leash to his collar and the bed post.

"No, sir," Harry replied. "I'll be careful."

"No, Potter," Snape said sternly, grabbing Harry's chin and forcing the eye contact. Harry flinched, and he was terrified. "I was the one who made the mistakes. I fell asleep; I got drunk. It won't happen again; I won't let it happen again. I swear it. It was not your fault. You will not be punished for that which is not your fault when I can help it. This is your bed, and you should make a habit of using the bathroom before you go to bed. If you find you still need it at night, though, wake me up. That's why you're in my room. You can call to me if you need help with anything."

"But - but - " Harry stammered, climbing onto the bed.

"I never expected this to be easy for me either," Snape sighed. "Try to ask for the things you need if I happen to overlook something or am indisposed."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, laying down and pulling the covers over him. It was the most comfortable bed he'd ever been in. It was even better than the ones in the dorms. Snape finished pulling the covers up to Harry's chin, and he squeezed Harry's shoulder reassuringly. Then he crawled into his own bed.

"Good night, Potter," Snape called.

"Good night, sir," Harry called back.

Severus deeply regretted the events of the previous day, and had been aloof because of it. He hoped that transfiguring the bed for Potter would help make up for it, but he could tell he still had a long way to go before Potter could hope to even start to trust him. "Is this for me?" What sort of a question was that? Did he really expect to sleep on the floor for wetting a bed? Maybe he did.

He knew James Potter would have made him suffer that and worse if it were back during his days as a slave. Perhaps it wasn't unwarranted that Harry Potter fear the same from him. Severus vowed again that he would be a better man than James, and do right by the same's son. Last night was not what he had hoped it would be, and like he promised Potter, it would not happen again. He would stay awake if it killed him, and he would make sure to remind the boy to use the bathroom before tucking in for the night.

Tucking in for the night. What had that foolish demonstration been? Pulling the covers up and squeezing Potter's shoulder? It was probably just an apology, Severus reasoned. He was regretting the night before, and wanted Potter to know this one wouldn't be as bad.

Snape rolled over and fell asleep.

Bright and early at 5:30 AM, Harry's eyes snapped open, and he realized he had to use the bathroom, despite having used it the night before. Some things were trained into a body, and using the bathroom first thing in the morning was one of them for Harry. He had lived for so long making breakfast for his relatives that he couldn't unlearn it overnight.

This time, though, Harry was determined not to wet his bed. Snape had been so kind to him already. Snape hadn't made him sleep on the floor; instead, he had given him this nice bed. He wasn't going to anger the man by destroying the few nice things he had.

"I can just wait," Harry told himself. "If I try hard enough, I can just hold it." And he tried. The minutes seemed to turn into hours, and Harry began to feel the urine back up into his kidneys. In reality, not that much time had passed at all, but that didn't make it any easier. He bit his lips to try to keep from crying out. Instead, he whimpered. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to focus on something else. How much time passed, Harry wasn't sure.

Suddenly, "Get up! Go use the bathroom." Harry's eyes snapped open, and he saw Snape had undone the leash and was motioning for him to use the loo. Harry quickly slipped out of bed and did as instructed. When he came back, he saw Snape still standing next to his bed.

"I told you to wake me," Snape rebuked him. Harry felt the bond twinge a little.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry replied. "I didn't mean to disobey; I thought I could hold it. I didn't want to disturb you." The bond still felt displeased. In a desperate effort to appease the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, Harry fell to his knees. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again. Please forgive me." Understanding dawned on Snape's face.

"It's alright," he said patiently. "Just try to wake me next time." The odd feeling in his stomach went away. The bond was satisfied. "I suppose we should get up then," Snape continued. "It's such an ungodly hour."

"If you want to go back to sleep, I can be okay by myself now," Harry suggested. "Just tie me up again. I'll be fine for the rest of the day even. It's just in the morning that I need to use the bathroom."

"I won't be able to go back to sleep," Snape dismissed, but he didn't seem particularly upset about it. "Why do you only have to use the bathroom in the morning? I specifically had to send you last night."

"That was the only time my relatives let me use it," Harry murmured quietly. He felt ashamed at having to admit that, but it was a direct question. Harry wasn't sure how the bond would feel about him avoiding a question from his master. "I'm sorry, sir. I had to get up early to start my chores and get breakfast made in time for Uncle Vernon to get to work. I always got up before they did, and I used the bathroom then. No one complained as long as they didn't know I was doing it. They probably figured out what I was doing, but they never had to see me use their resources, so..." Harry's voice trailed off and he shrugged. Snape continued to stare at him expectantly. "They never liked me using their things," Harry continued to explain, feeling nervous about being under Snape's piercing gaze. "Like the shower, or food and water, or bathroom privileges."

"Bathroom privileges, my ass," Snape interjected suddenly. "The bathroom isn't a privilege; it's a necessity."

"That's what they called it," Harry defended. "And it was a privilege for me."

"Please don't hesitate to use the bathroom whenever you need to," Snape concluded. "And don't make me make that an order, because I will make the bond make you use the bathroom or wake me up if I need to. Do it of your own volition because I asked you to and I won't have to order you to."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, confused. Snape was going to make him use the bathroom and make him wake him up if he didn't do it on his own. Harry supposed the fewer actual orders he had, the better, because there was less chance of screwing up it up and earning a beating. "Yes, sir. I'll wake you up if I need anything, and I'll use the bathroom when I need it. You don't have to order me to do it."

"Good," Snape said. "I don't want to have to resort to that, but I will for your own welfare if I have to."

Severus was troubled by Potter's hesitancy to wake him up to use the bathroom. Sure, it was a bloody inconvenience to have to get up at 5:30 in the morning to unleash him, but he specifically told Potter to wake him up when he needed to use the bathroom.

Didn't Potter have enough respect for the bond to follow his instructions?

Realization dawned on Severus suddenly. Potter feared the bond. But the boy feared him more. For whatever reason, Potter feared him, Severus, more than he feared the bond. Perhaps it was because the bond was new, whereas Potter had lived with his abusive relatives his entire life. Even if Severus didn't know many details, it was obvious that the abuse had been severe. It didn't take a genius to deduce that after seeing Potter being beaten by his uncle, the lingering scars and malnutrition, not to mention Potter's sheer terror and reaction to things, the boy did not come from a loving home. It had been a rude awakening for Severus, seeing Potter scrambling up the steps at Privet Drive, shirtless, beaten, with his whale of an uncle behind. The signs were unmistakable, even for someone as blind as Severus had been, and damn it all if the Muggle hadn't admitted to beating him for being sick. Blind didn't equate to stupid. Severus admitted he had been blind, but after having it shoved in front of him so blatantly, even he couldn't find an alternate explanation for the evidence.

From Potter's perspective: What good could come of angering him enough to become as abusive as his relatives in addition to slave bond? It was probably better to risk the bond's anger than his anger, and Severus couldn't imagine waking someone as being something that won any rewards or kind words in Potter's previous situation. It probably went against everything he'd been trained to do, and Potter was torn. Should he do as he was told and appease the bond, or should he believe everything he'd be raised to understand, that under no circumstances should he wake someone, and ensure his master's good temper?

Severus decided to be patient with Potter, even if it killed him, and retrain the boy to speak up when he needed something.

Harry's days blurred into one long hell. He would wake up every morning with the leash attached to his collar. He never wet the bed again. For the next few nights, Harry had to wake Snape to let him use the bathroom in the morning. Slowly, his body began to grow accustomed to using the bathroom at other times of the day, and Harry began to wake Snape less and less. At least, he woke Snape less and less on purpose. It didn't take Snape long to figure out that Harry had regular nightmares, and he almost always woke for those.

"Wake up, Potter," Snape hissed at him, shaking him awake. It was only the second night he was in Snape's care. "You're having a nightmare. Snap out of it."

"Huh?" Harry mumbled, regaining consciousness. He caught sight of Snape still leaning over him. "Oh, my God, I - I - "

"Try to go back to sleep," Snape cut him off, more patiently than Harry had envisioned. Then Snape turned and stalked across the room, back to his own bed.

"I'm sorry," Harry blurted out. "You can move me somewhere else. I can manage on my own." Snape was climbing into bed himself before Harry finished his offer.

"I don't feel like moving your bed tonight, Potter. Good night."

But Snape didn't move his bed the next day, or the day after. Instead, Snape always came over and woke Harry from the nightmares, and every night, they had the same conversation. And Snape never brought it up the following days, and never suggested moving the bed.

So, wake up with a leash, eat a meal, study all morning, eat another meal, study most of the afternoon, do menial chores the rest of the afternoon, eat another meal, and then evening was free time. Snape didn't care what he did in the evening, as long as he was quiet and stayed out of the way. Harry was usually bored, because there wasn't anything child-friendly in Snape's apartment. Harry took to lying on the carpet and thinking while he stared into the fire. Eventually, Snape must have figured out that Harry was bored, and their usual pastime became a game of chess. Or rather, multiple games, because Harry found that Snape's skill was such that the games were quite short. Then, at the end of the day, Snape would tie the leash, and Harry would start the cycle all over again.

It wasn't pleasant, but it could have been a lot worse. Harry hated his life, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the Dursleys. Ironic, wasn't it, that it took slavery to improve his life?

Snape rarely spoke to him, except to give him directions about something or when waking him from a nightmare. He didn't even say good morning. He never looked at Harry if he could avoid it, even when they played chess. His gaze was always locked on the pieces. At first, Harry tried to talk to Snape. He said good morning, and even tried to make some small talk, but all his attempts were met with indifference or entirely ignored. And so Harry stopped. He still watched Snape carefully though.

Harry managed to avoid any more beatings so far. After that first incident, Snape had been scrupulously careful to never fall asleep. Harry noticed an increased number of pepperup potion bottles lying around.

All in all, life wasn't too bad. He had a bed, and he had food. But it was still hell.

"What would you like to do for your birthday?"

"What?" Harry asked, so startled that his fork stopped midway between his mouth and his plate.

"What would you like to do for your birthday?" Snape repeated.

"Um..." Harry stalled, setting down his fork. "I dunno." He shrugged and watched Snape warily, waiting for a trap of some sort.

"I would have thought there'd be something you'd like to do," Snape drawled.

"No, I'm fine," Harry said, more confidently this time.

"A cake? Presents?" Snape suggested.

"A cake would be nice, I suppose," Harry said, trying to hide his hopefulness, "but it's okay. I don't mind. And Ron and Hermione might send me some presents, if you'll let me have them."

"I mean, what would you like for your birthday?" Snape pressed. Harry gave him a puzzled look.

"Are you going to get me a present?" he asked finally.

Snape raised one eyebrow as if to say, "Well, duh."

"Oh," Harry said, clearly sounding surprised. He thought for a moment. "I don't think you can give me what I want," he finally said, sadly. Snape's lips pulling into a thin line.

"You know I would give you your freedom if I could," he said quietly. "And it wouldn't have to be your birthday."

"I know," Harry said. He believed Snape. He knew Snape didn't want him around, slave or no. "But I can't think of anything else I want."

"A trip somewhere? Visit your friends?" Snape finally suggested with a sigh. "I thought that would be what you would ask for."

"You'd take me to visit them?" Harry gasped.

"I asked you what you wanted, didn't I?"

"Well, I didn't know..." Harry trailed off. He meant to say, "I didn't know you actually wanted to know."

"You didn't know what?" Snape pressed calmly.

"I don't know," Harry sighed, looking down at his plate.

"You didn't know that I was looking for a truthful answer? I wouldn't have asked if I wanted you to lie." Harry nodded, but didn't say anything. "So you want to visit your friends, then?"

"Yes," Harry admitted. "If they'll see me. I mean, I don't know how they'll react..." He trailed off again, and pointed to his collar.

"If they really are your friends, they will see it through," Snape replied. "It is a risk. Do you want to take it? You may see an ugly side of your friends, or you may not."

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I want to see them, but - but I don't want to lose them either."

"If you never speak to them again, you will lose them. If you wait until the school year, you will simply delay the reaction they would have now. If that is your fear, then perhaps it will be best to get it over with now, however it will resolve itself."

"Alright," Harry agreed. "I'd like to see them."

"I will ask the Weasleys to contact Miss Granger, and I will take you to them on your birthday then," Snape promised.

"How are you going to explain the situation to them?" Harry asked. "The Weasleys don't know I'm with you, do they?"

"They don't," Snape admitted. "I can say that I was charged with your care over the summer, and let it go at that. They won't question me. It will be up to you to explain." Harry looked sad.

"Hey, guys," Harry said nervously. Snape and Harry stepped out of the floo into the Weasley house. Harry wore his school uniform, which effectively covered his collar. He put a change of clothes in his bag, in case it were to become appropriate that could wear cooler clothes. The summer was beastly hot, and he didn't want to spend the rest of the day in long sleeves and a tie. Unconsciously, he hung back next to Snape.

"Yikes," Ron said when he saw Harry's uniform. "He makes you wear your uniform even when you're not in school?"

"No," Harry said quickly. "This was my nicest set of clothes." Ron was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, as was Hermione.

"I'm sure you'd rather not spend the rest of the day standing in the fireplace," Snape interrupted. "Why don't you go do whatever you and your friends do when you're not getting into mischief?"

"Yes, sir," Harry gulped. The trio left the room and escaped to the backyard.

"Severus," Molly said, once they left. "Please, have a seat." She offered him a chair at one end of their long dining room table. "Any tea?"

"Yes, please," Severus said. "Sugar, no cream." She quickly poured him a steaming cup. Arthur sat across from him, and Molly sat next to her husband.

"So what's this about Harry?" Molly questioned.

"What do you mean?" Severus replied, sipping his tea. It was quite good.

"Why are you in charge of Harry this summer?" Arthur clarified. "Albus knows we'd be happy to look after him."

"Mmm, yes, well," Severus stalled. "That is a delicate matter. Mr. Potter will be perfectly safe with me. As you can see, he's in a perfect state of health at the moment."

"I don't suppose you'd be bringing him to see Ron and Hermione if you weren't looking after him," Molly admitted.

"Hardly," Severus agreed. "It would have been infinitely more convenient not to contact you at all. Convenience is not always the most important concern."

Suddenly, all the adults heard a noise from outside. Ron screamed. Molly and Arthur were on their feet. Severus stayed seated, and sipped his tea one more time.

"It's nothing to be concerned about, I assure you," Severus said. "Stop gawking and sit." Despite Severus' stern suggestion, both of the Weasleys still looked out the window. They saw Harry and Hermione sitting under a tree, and Ron standing up. Any further conversation was inaudible. "If you don't let them have their privacy," Snape continued, "you might as well just go out there and listen to what they are talking about."

"You know what's going on," Arthur accused. "But you won't tell us."

"I won't," Severus confirmed.

"We're loyal members of the Order," Molly huffed. "Even if it hasn't been active for the last few years. I don't see why you have any right to doubt anyone."

"I don't doubt you," Severus replied without ruffling a metaphorical feather. "There is more than one reason to refuse to hand out information. One is that it isn't yours to hand out."

"Harry's relatives died?" Molly gasped.

"Unfortunately not," Snape denied. Molly glared at him. He smirked into his tea. "Do you know what they were like?"

"They weren't nice to him," Molly answered. "Harry never talked about it much, but he always asked us to come help him if we could. I'm sure you remember the embarrassing flying car incident last year?"

"Of course," Severus confirmed.

"The twins stole that car during the summer to get Harry from his relatives because he wasn't answering Ron's letters. They found him with bars on his window. That's what Ron and the twins said. Harry never mentioned it. Do you know anything more?"

"Nothing of consequence," Snape dodged. "Bars on the window. Interesting. Likely not to keep anything out, but rather to keep something, or someone, in."

"Happy birthday!" Hermione said when they got outside. "That was really nice of Snape to bring you to see us. But why are you with Snape?"

"How's that going?" Ron asked.

"Do you really want to know?" Harry asked the two of them.

"Of course," they said. Harry sat down under a tree, and Ron and Hermione did likewise.

"Please, try to understand," Harry swallowed, growing a bit pale. "It's really hard already."

"Yeah, having Snape look after you would be," Ron sympathized. Harry shook his head, unable to trust his voice at the moment. Instead, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt.. It revealed the leather collar underneath. Ron screamed and scrambled to his feet.

"Harry!" he gasped. Hermione had no reaction. "How - how did that happen?"

"How did what happen?" Hermione demanded. She looked suspiciously between Harry's collar and Ron's horrified expression. "Sit."

"Hermione," Ron said, breathless. "That's a slavery collar."

"A - a what?" Hermione blinked. Ron sat down again. Hermione looked at Harry. "Is he right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, swallowing visibly. "It's okay if this changes anything," he continued quickly. "I understand. It might be rather difficult for you."

"I'm confused," Hermione said.

"It's ancient magic," Ron explained. "You mean you haven't read about bonding magic?"

"No," Hermione said.

"Strange," Ron commented. "Maybe they wrote the books for people who were raised in wizard society and grow up knowing about it. Anyway, bonding magic is what it sounds like. It bonds two individuals together in some way, and there's a slavery bond."

"It happened when Snape saved my life," Harry explained. "At the Shack. It's because I hated him so much. The bond is trying to make me pay back the life debt."

"That's stupid," Hermione said.

"I know," Harry murmured.

"Can't Snape just set you free then?" she pressed.

"No," Harry and Ron said together. "It's not something he can change," Harry continued. "He can't just forgive a life debt, even if he wanted to."

"Hmph," Hermione grunted as she sat against the tree and a dark look crossed her face.

"Snape treating you okay?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. Except for the brand and the beating in the beginning, Snape hadn't raised his hand against Harry the entire time. The brand was necessary, and Harry figured the beating was forgivable. It was much less violence than he would have had to deal with at the Dursleys. So, yes, Snape was treating him okay.

"That's hard to believe," Ron observed. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah," Harry said again, more assertively this time. "He's been fine. He mostly ignores me, and I ignore him. It works. Neither of us like it, but we make due."

"Professor Snape wouldn't have brought him here if he were torturing Harry," Hermione pointed out. "He was under no obligation to give Harry a birthday present."

"I suppose," Ron agreed slowly. "It'll make school pretty hard for you." Harry nodded.

"I think this is truly barbaric," Hermione said. "Why would this affect his school?"

"Hermione," Ron said patiently, "not all wizards are as open minded as muggleborns. The pure bloods especially are very sensitive to this sort of thing. Even the half bloods. The bond represents justice, and very ancient, very powerful magic. It's a social stigma that is built into wizarding society."

"And how do you feel about it, Ron?" Hermione spat.

"I don't like it any more than you do!" Ron shouted back. "But I know how the others will react. I'm not stupid. Slavery bonds might not be common, but they're talked about."

"Will you be able to continue your education at all?" Hermione asked.

"Snape says I'll have to," Harry replied. "So...so you'll still talk to me?" he asked hesitantly.

"Harry!" Hermione gasped.

"Yeah," Ron said.

"I'm shocked that you'd think I'd stop talking to you over this," Hermione continued. "You mean you think this is something that should alter our friendship?"

"I'd hoped it wouldn't, but that didn't mean I wasn't worried," Harry muttered. "Ron?"

"I said yeah," he repeated. "It doesn't change who you are. You're still Harry."

"Thanks," he said, smiling weakly. "You're good friends."

"I hope you had a good time," Snape said when they flooed back to Hogwarts.

"I did, thank you," Harry replied. The three of them talked for some time more. Then it was time for dinner. After that, Molly had a huge cake, and Harry opened his presents. Hermione gave him some fancy parchment and an enchanted quill. Ron gave him some Quiddich trading cards. Molly and Arthur gave Harry a pair of socks. At that, Harry almost choked. Hermione and Ron saw his reaction, understood, and helped cover for him. They doubted Molly or Arthur had noticed anything. Lastly, Snape gave him a present too. Harry wasn't expecting anything. Snape already brought him to see his friends; wasn't that present enough? It was a photo album of Lily when she was young. Snape was in some of the pictures too. If Harry had almost choked at the socks, he did choke at the album. He began to blink quickly and felt his throat constrict. If he wasn't careful, he was going to cry in front of everyone, and that would be humiliating. So he put on a good face and smiled. Then, shortly after, Snape and Harry said their farewells and left.

"I did have a good time," Harry said again.

"Good," Snape approved. "It would have been a waste of time if you hadn't. Your friends took the news well then?"

"As well as could be expected," Harry shrugged. Snape nodded.

"I hope you had a happy birthday," he finally said. "I'm sorry for the circumstances."

"I did, and that's okay," Harry said. He wasn't smiling, but he was sincere. He did have a happy birthday, and he understood that Snape regretted the bond as well. He clutched his presents to his chest. "And you'll let me keep them?"

"Yes," Snape confirmed. "I've never actually taken anything away from you."

"I know," Harry said, backing up a step.

"You don't have to believe that I won't," Snape said. "But it's true. I won't take your things."

"But you can," Harry said. Snape nodded.

"But I won't."

"I can't know that."

"But perhaps eventually you can come to believe it."

Severus Snape was a miserable excuse of a human being. He was beginning to realize just how terrible a person he was. He couldn't help but blame himself for everything that had happened that summer. After all, it had been his antagonism that had caused Potter's hatred of him to flourish so violently. Lily would curse his soul to hell if she were alive. How had he been so stupid? This was all his fault, and now Potter was made to suffer for the rest of his life.

The school would find out. Severus didn't want them to, but they would. The only reasons his slavery had been kept a secret was because he was already older when it happened, his master was a fellow student, not a teacher, and he wasn't the Savior of the Wizarding World. It was going to be impossible hide this for long from the school.

In retrospect, it had been very dangerous to have kept Severus' slavery a secret from the school. It put all the other students in danger. If any of them had raised a hand against him, they would have been killed, without even knowing why. Thankfully, that had never come to pass. The only bullies Severus ever had to worry about were James and Sirius. Remus was never so bad. He just stood by and watched. He never actually participated.

Severus wasn't about to take the same risk with Potter. If he kept the slavery a secret, Draco would be dead in a week, among a few others probably. Not only would this raise many questions and cause the secret to escape, but their deaths would be useless. Severus couldn't take the responsibility for more deaths.

The only reason he was a respected wizard was because no one knew about his past, save Albus and Remus. Albus was willing to hire a lot of people with sketchy pasts, even the werewolf, even the former slave. Albus didn't view the social stigma of slavery the way the rest of the world might have. Remus never interfered with things. He also wasn't stupid. If he ratted on Severus, Severus could easily tell everyone that he was a werewolf. Severus had taken a risk dropping the hints that he had during the last school year, and finally at the end. But if a man with a condition as dangerous as lycopathy simply forgets to take his medicine, putting students in danger... James Potter was dead. The dead tell no tales. Black was in Azkaban for twelve years, and now, who knew what Black would do? Severus was aware that Black could tell a few people now that he was free. Admittedly, only the Order members, but word would get around soon enough if he chose to say anything. Severus trusted Albus to deal with Black. Severus never wanted to see or speak to Black again. Having been put in his care for those years after school had been equivalent to torture. Being a Death Eater was a relief, comparably.

The only reason Black hadn't said anything about the bond while he was still enslaved was because James made him promise not to. While much of society upheld the stigma of the bond, there were those Muggleborns in the Ministry who would have judged James Potter instead of Severus. That would have seriously damaged James' ability to become an Auror, especially since James also was not allied with powers like the Malfoys. In order to be approved as an Auror, the applicant had to pass a board inspection. Since officially there was no discrimination against Muggleborns, (the only discrimination coming from those who as individuals were Death Eaters or sympathizers), this faction of wizardry had a representative number in official Ministry positions. It would definitely have been possible to become an Auror without courting the good will of the Muggleborns, but then it would require an affiliation with the largely Death Eater pureblood population on the board. James Potter was not about to bow and scrape to the likes of the Malfoys, and without their support, his only hope of becoming an Auror was to convince the Muggleborns and halfbloods of his candidacy. And the Muggleborns would never have gone for him having a slave. They were too...influenced...by their Muggle upbringings to understand the functioning of wizarding society. They probably thought slavery should be illegal, too. So, with the purebloods not being his allies, he had to seek out the halfblood and Muggleborn support in order to achieve his career goals, and a slave would not help him garner any support from those demographics. After impressing it deeply upon Black's impulsive mind that he was not to reveal this to anyone, because it would have destroyed James' job opportunities, Black had successfully kept his mouth shut.

Not least of all, James didn't want Lily to know. Perhaps even more important to him than what the board would do to him was what Lily would do to him. Lily, a beautiful Muggleborn, raised apart from wizarding culture, wouldn't understand everything that happened. Especially since this was her former friend. Even if she and Severus weren't speaking anymore, James knew some residual loyalty must remain. Lily would have been outraged. So he had to make sure she never knew.

And now Harry knew too. Through the mist of the hangover, Severus vaguely remembered ordering him to never speak of his past to anyone. It was something Severus felt sure Potter would never disobey.

Potter was suffering. A lot. And Severus didn't like seeing it. He remembered a time not very long ago when he purposely sought a rise from the boy, provoking him beyond any rational explanation. It wasn't necessary for his role as a spy. It was for his own vindictiveness. Seeing where that vindictiveness now lead made him almost sick. To think that he had been no better than James Potter, bullying someone until he hated his attacker so much that it caused a bond. It was history repeating itself in a perverse manner. Severus hated it. He failed to be the better man. His childish revenge had simply caused the cycle of pain all over again.

Every time he looked at Potter, it reminded him of his failures. Severus desperately wished he could do something to make amends for his actions. Even though he never expected Potter to hate him that much for his inexcusable actions, it was still entirely his fault. Potter bore no blame in the formation of the bond. It was entirely Severus' fault. His fault.

His own death would free Potter. But even if that happened in time to grant Potter a long life, the public shame would still remain. A former slave may be a human being again, and he may have rights, but that wouldn't stop significant portions of society from shunning that individual. Potter would never be entirely free of his bond, even with his death. The only way this could be avoided was if it happened before the school year started, and then there would be no need for anyone more to know about the sad episode.

Even though he regularly provoked other students than Potter, he never did it as much to them. He also never interacted with those students outside of the classroom. Any life threatening explosions from which he saved them wouldn't cause a bond when he was already their teacher and charged with the responsibility of teaching them potions. Even with Potter, a stray exploding cauldron hadn't incurred a bond.

Seeing Potter suffer now, to this extent, made Severus sick, and knowing how hard he tried to humiliate the boy in the past just made it all the worse. Be careful what you wish for, or you just may get it. And you might not have the stomach for it. Severus didn't. It was all too similar to his own enslavement.

Surely the boy blamed him as much as he was blaming himself. Their hatred would never change, even if they could grow to tolerate each other out of necessity. Severus still didn't like Potter, but he pitied him and sympathized. Pity and sympathy were not what he would have wanted, though, and so he tried to hide those feelings behind a mask of cold indifference. Potter didn't need tender displays from the man who condemned him to this in the first place.

Tender displays aside, Severus had no intention of making this any harder on Potter than it needed to be. He deeply regretted ever having to raise his hand against the boy. It also stung to realize he would have relished an opportunity to strike Potter a year or two ago. He was a cruel, sadistic person. It was way past time to correct his personal faults, Severus realized. If he had noticed, if he had cared, a few years ago, he wouldn't be forced to face this ugly side of himself now. He wouldn't be forced to deal with another slavery bond. His hatred and anger were more trouble than they were worth. It was time to move on.

Severus was already making some improvement, he thought. He woke Potter from his nightmares. He woke early to let Potter use the bathroom. He drank an excessive amount of pepper-up potions. In fact, he was bordering on a dangerous amount of them, because he was such a narcoleptic. After years of dealing with his own enslavement, and then spy, Severus grew accustomed to catching little naps whenever he could. He never grew past that habit. Now, he was drinking more than was healthy to force him to stay awake for Potter's sake. The boy couldn't be tied up all day just waiting for him to fall asleep, and Severus feared the next time he would fail Potter almost as much as Potter must. Every day, Severus would wake up and wonder, "Is this the day? Is this the day I screw up and have to beat him again?" So far, the answer was always no.

"Sir?" Potter said one morning at breakfast. It was mid-August. These thoughts had consumed Severus for the last two weeks, growing more predominant every day. He was becoming sullen and morose. Potter was becoming quieter and more reclusive, avoiding him at every turn if possible. The last significant exchange between them, save for the nightmare episodes, had been at Potter's birthday.

"Yes?" Severus replied.

"I've made a decision," he said, sounding scared out of his wits.

"About what?" Severus prodded, bored and depressed.

"If - if it's okay with you," Potter stammered, "I think I'd like to sleep down here during the school year."

"Oh," Severus acknowledged.

"I understand if you don't want me down here," Potter continued hastily. "I wake you up a lot and things, and you need your sleep. I'm sorry. It's just that the school year is getting close and I thought I needed to tell you. It's okay if I sleep in the dorms. I guess Ron can tie me up. I won't be a bother to you that way."

"You can sleep here," Severus cut him off, afraid of more apologies. "I don't mind." His tone and expression declared his lack of enthusiasm though.

"But, sir - " Potter protested.

"It's alright," Severus said.

"You could move my bed." It was the first time either of them had alluded to the nightmares during the day.

"We don't have to move your bed," Severus dismissed. "It's fine where it is, is it not?"

"It would mean I wouldn't wake you up as much," Potter insisted. "I've gotten better at not needing to pee in the morning. You could leave me alone and I'd be fine."

"It's true," Severus agreed. "You rarely wake me in the morning for a bathroom visit any longer, but if your nightmares are as intense as they seem, don't you appreciate me waking you from them?"

"I do, but - " Potter cut himself off.

"But what?" Severus pressed, showing a slight interest in the conversation for the first time.

"But you don't appreciate it, sir, and I don't want to make you angry at me." Severus shrugged.

"I'm past being angry at you," he said. "You needn't worry about that. If you appreciate me waking you from the nightmares, that's the least I can do, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Potter asked, sounding confused.

"Potter," Severus sighed. "Harry. This is all my fault, and if waking up in the middle of the night is something I can do for you, it doesn't bother me."

"All your fault?" Potter questioned, sounding a little stunned.

"Yes, Harry," Severus swallowed. The boy's confusion mounted. "I shouldn't have antagonized you in school. I made you hate me, which formed the bond. It's pathetically insufficient, but I'm sorry. This was never something I intended or wanted."

"I know," Potter murmured. "It can't be easy having me around. I'm sorry too."

"That wasn't what I meant," Severus hastened to clarify. Potter wasn't going to be taking the blame for this. "I was the one at fault for provoking you. Not you. You responded naturally. I should have foreseen it, but I didn't. Your presence here is not a problem."

"But all the pepper-up potions..." Potter argued weakly. Severus realized he hadn't been very careful about hiding his potions bottles. Perhaps Potter had paid more attention in second year potions than he gave the boy credit for.

"Don't worry yourself about it," Severus said. "It's not your fault. I'll speak to your Head of House before the beginning of the school year about your sleeping arrangements, unless you would prefer to see to it yourself?"

"No," Potter whispered. "I'd rather you talk to her."

The first of September was quickly approaching, and Severus was experiencing an ever increasing anxiety. He hadn't talked to Minerva about Harry yet, because he didn't want to. He didn't want to admit to what he had done to cause this barbaric situation in the first place.

He'd been thinking about it for a month, and last night, he'd made his decision. It had resulted in a pathetically poor night's sleep. He didn't want to see Harry go through the pain and humiliation of a slave bond. Short of killing Harry, there was only one way to free him. Severus Snape, cold-hearted dungeon bat, would kill himself to free Harry. It wasn't really suicide, Severus reasoned, because this was practical. He was taking his own life as a means to an end. He didn't want to die, but he was willing to sacrifice himself to make up for his previous mistakes. It wasn't fair that Harry didn't have the ability to take his life; Severus knew first hand a slave couldn't commit suicide. He'd tried. After seeing the boy for an entire summer, skittish and terrified, Severus didn't think he could stand to see this for the rest of his life.

"I'll be going to the lab," Severus said, grabbing his cloak. Harry looked up at him from where he was sitting, studying. He looked confused. Probably because Severus never accounted to Harry where he went when he left.

"Alright, sir," Harry replied.

"Be good, okay?" Severus said, his voice shaking a bit.

"Is everything okay?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Yes, everything is fine," Severus lied. "If I'm not back in time for dinner, you can go see the Headmaster." That way, Albus would be able to explain what happened.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, still looking confused.

"Goodbye, Harry," Severus said, and he tried to smile a little.

"Goodbye, sir," Harry said, turning back to his work. Severus closed the door quietly behind him.

When he got to the potions lab, he immediately went to the drawer with the knives. Pulling out an appropriately sized blade, Severus sat next to lab table while he turned the knife over and over in his hand. He was scared, and he needed to build up the courage to go through with his plan. As with all the knives in the potions lab, this one was very sharp. He didn't even have to test it. Dull knives in a potions lab was a capital sin.

After some minutes of clearing his mind, Severus felt ready to slit his wrists. He'd bleed out on the floor, but it wouldn't be hard to clean up. A few quick spells from Albus and the room would be presentable for classes in a few days. They'd need to find a new professor though. And a new spy, if the Dark Lord ever returned.

Without a second thought, he closed his eyes and drew the knife across his left wrist. Then, still not opening his eyes, he quickly switched the knife into his left hand and slit his other wrist. Now came the waiting. Soon, he'd feel cold as all the blood rushed out of him and formed puddles on the floor. Then, he wouldn't feel anything at all as his heart labored to pump enough blood to his brain and extremities. Eventually, it would become so much work that his heart would fail, and his brain would be too oxygen starved to care, because he would have passed out long ago. Out of morbid curiosity, Severus opened his eyes to see the growing pools.

There weren't any.

Severus knew he'd slit his wrists. What was happening? He grabbed the knife and looked at it carefully. There wasn't anything special about the knife. His wrists were still perfectly intact. Severus trusted his sanity enough to not think he'd imagined slitting his wrists. He remembered the pain of it. Experimentally, he tried to cut his wrist again, this time watching what happened. As the knife dragged across his skin, he saw the cut form. But before any blood could escape, the cut healed again. Severus was alarmed, but didn't know what to make of it.

A strange thought struck Severus. He needed to go check on Harry immediately. If his guess was correct, he had just made everything worse...again.

"Harry?" Severus called as he ran back into his chambers, throwing his cloak on the floor. "Harry?" He wasn't in the chair. "Where are you?"

"Bathroom," he heard a small voice call. Severus rushed into the bathroom, knowing what he would see, but fearing it all the same. Harry lay on the floor, breathing shallowly, pools of blood forming around his outstretched hands. He had two cuts on his left wrist and one on his right.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry began. "I don't know what happened. I was studying, and..." His voice trailed off, and he sighed.

"Harry, give me your wrists," Severus said, pulling out his wand.

"I'm dying, aren't I?" Harry asked softly.

"I'm going to heal you," Severus explained, taking the left wrist first. He began an incantation. He hoped it would work. The bond had transferred his own suicide attempt to Harry, and maybe the bond would let him undo it. It wasn't like Harry had done anything to earn his ire. Maybe the bond would be merciful and let him heal the boy.

"Can't you just let me die?" Harry begged. Severus stopped mid-spell and looked at Harry for a moment, considering. Perhaps it would be for the best to let him die. Then Severus dismissed the thought.

"That would be highly irresponsible of me," he said, and continued the spell. Harry sighed sadly, but didn't argue.

Half an hour later, with Harry barely conscious, Severus finished healing the wounds. They were incredibly difficult to heal, but with enough pleading, the bond had relented and let him do what he wanted. Harry had lost incredible amounts of blood. Severus was impressed that he was still conscious at all.

"Sorry about your bathroom," Harry muttered, almost incoherently as his eyelid fluttered. "I'll clean it up."

"Don't worry about the bathroom," Severus said softly. "It can wait." Harry sighed again and seemed to fall asleep. Maybe he was, but maybe he was just tired and didn't have the energy to argue or apologize more. Severus moved Harry to a clean part of the bathroom floor. Blood smeared along Harry. He summoned a blood replenishing potion and administered it to Harry. Massaging his throat, the boy swallowed it. Severus summoned a wet rag, and began to wipe the congealing blood from Harry's hands, arms, face, and anywhere else it had collected. The boy had panicked, rushed to the bathroom, and in his hurry, got blood on everything. Then Severus cleaned Harry's clothes. He was still unresponsive, so Severus picked Harry up and brought him out to the main room. Laying him on the couch, Severus touched Harry's forehead. His temperature was low, but not dangerous. Then he summoned a glass of water and held it to Harry's lips.

Harry was not asleep. His lips parted and he drank a few swallows of water. Then he fell back into his unresponsive state. It was something of a risk, but Severus gave Harry a second dose of blood replenisher. This time, Harry swallowed it on his own. It was risky, but Severus felt that Harry had lost enough blood to warrant any risk that it incurred. Then Severus made to go tidy the bathroom, but he heard a small whimper.

"Harry?" he asked quietly.

"Don't leave me," Harry begged. "I'm sorry. Please."

"I won't leave," Severus promised, pulling his armchair close to the sofa, taking Harry's hand in his own. He squeezed it firmly, and he felt a pitifully weak squeeze returned. It was a good sign, that Harry was somewhat responsive now. They were silent for a long time, until it was growing close to nightfall, Severus sitting next to the couch, holding Harry's hand, while Harry lay there seemingly unconscious. The only sign that Harry wasn't was that every time Severus tried to get up, Harry's hand twitched a little bit. It wasn't like Harry was asking Severus to stay again, but it signalled that he was aware that Severus was leaving. So the man stayed by Harry, thinking. Thinking about how badly his plan had gone and blaming himself again.

"Why didn't you let me die?" Harry rasped resentfully, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Why didn't you let me die?"

"I'm sorry," Severus said. "I couldn't let you die."

"Some stupid bond rule?" Harry muttered quietly. "The healing seemed pretty hard, so it looked like the bond wanted me to die. For once, the bond was smart."

"No, not a rule," Severus said. "I just couldn't let you die. I'm sorry."

"You're so selfish," Harry accused. "I asked to die."

"I know," Severus sighed, still holding Harry's hand in his own. "I'm sorry."

"I hate you," Harry said. His body tensed suddenly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he screamed hoarsely. Or at least, it would have been a scream if he had enough energy. It was more like a strangled sob. "I'm sorry! I won't say that again. I promise." The bond's flare died down.

"Be careful what you promise the bond," Severus warned quietly. "The bond is dangerous and will hold you to your word. You would do well to make sure those words never pass your lips again in regards to my person or your punishment will now be that much worse."

"Ugh," Harry moaned. "I won't say it. Sorry."

"Good," Severus said. "I know you hate me, but I don't hate you." Slipping out of his chair, he knelt by Harry's head, and ran his fingers through the boy's hair. Harry didn't object.

"Yeah, you hate me," Harry said bitterly. "You hated my father, so you hate me."

"I still hate your father," Severus agreed. "But I can't hate you, not anymore. I'm so sorry. For everything I did to you before that led up to this, for the bond, for falling asleep, for beating you, for hurting you."

"Sure, you are," Harry groaned. The pain of the bond must have flared up at that point, because Harry suddenly started apologizing. "Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean it." Severus, still carding through the boy's hair, squeezed Harry's hand. Once again, Harry didn't object.

"I've been no better than your father." Harry went very still and he stopped breathing. "What's wrong?" Severus asked, afraid that Harry had somehow slipped into a comatose state. Maybe that second blood replenisher hadn't been such a good idea. But then Harry's breath hitched a bit, and the boy turned his face away, making it difficult to Severus to touch his hair. "Harry? Won't you tell me what's wrong?" Harry just shook his head. "Tell me."

"You told me not to talk about your slavery and now you're telling me to talk about it!" Harry blurted out. Then Harry started whimpering. "Punishing. Help." Reluctantly, Severus slapped Harry on the cheek. It was rather hard. There would be a bright bruise in the morning. Thankfully, one hard slap was sufficient, because Harry immediately relaxed. "You gave me two conflicting orders," Harry accused. "How was I supposed to deal with that?"

"I never intended to put you in such a predicament," Severus apologized. "I revoke my previous command: Speak. Say what you will. About any subject, including my slavery. I still ask you not to speak of that to anyone else, though, except perhaps the Headmaster, should he bring it up."

"Whatever you do, don't drink more alcohol tonight," Harry began.

"I won't," Snape promised. "I can control my actions that much. It was incredibly irresponsible of me last time. Drinking while upset never bodes well for anyone."

"I'm sorry you were my dad's slave," Harry continued weakly. "You told me he used to torture you on purpose. You've never done that to me. You beat me once, and this. Not on purpose. Not even your conflicting orders, because I don't think that was on purpose. It also wasn't that bad. Maybe because it was a first offence? This is so much better than the Dursleys so far." Severus thought the light punishment was probably more related to the fact that Harry had just suffered through his rash suicide attempt rather than because it was a first offense, but he wasn't going to point that out. The bond wasn't trying to kill Harry, so it wasn't going to require a punishment that was going to cause the death of Severus' property, unless Severus decided to go overboard. While that was certainly his prerogative, the bond would never require that he kill his slave by pushing punishment beyond the physical limits. It spoke to how much Harry had suffered that day.

"Why do you want to die?"

"I'm scared of the school year. I don't want to face everyone. And what if you change? I have no protection, no recourse. The summers would always end and I'd know I would be coming to Hogwarts."

"I will never try to hurt you, Harry," Severus assured him.

"You've been calling me Harry, and you're not even drunk." Severus let the comment pass. "What happened with my wrists anyway?"

"I was trying to free you," Severus explained. "I was trying to slit my own wrists. The bond wouldn't let me die at my own hand."

"You were trying to kill yourself? For me?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I don't want to see you suffer," Severus admitted. "I thought I was going to be helping you, not hurting you."

"What else did my father do to you?"

"You don't want to know," Severus sighed sadly. "I should get you cleaned up. You could use a sponge bath before you go to bed and sleep." He summoned another wet rag. "You've lost enough blood for one day." Harry sighed, and accepted the touch of the cool cloth wordlessly as he drifted towards unconsciousness again. In a few minutes, Severus was carrying him over to the bed. He laid Harry on it and pulled the covers over the boy. Then, attaching the leash for good measure, Severus lay down in his own bed and they both fell asleep within fifteen minutes.

The next morning, Harry woke before Snape, as usual. But now, he didn't feel the urgent need to use the bathroom, and so he waited, resting, still feeling unusually tired as he lay in bed, his eyes closed. He let his mind wander through the previous day's events, mulling over everything that had happened, sorely disappointed that he'd missed an opportunity to die.

He didn't suppose that was really an option, though. He might be a slave, but he was still supposed to kill Voldemort, right? Well, Harry wondered why he should even try to save the world from Voldemort. It's not like the world gave two shits about him, did it? It wasn't like society actually had a human view of this horrible magic. Harry wasn't sure why he should care about a world that didn't care about him.

Then, Harry thought about his friends. The Weasleys. Hermione. Remus. Sirius. Neville, Luna, Seamus, and Dean. None of these people deserved to have to suffer just because the rest of society was corrupt, did they? Hermione and Remus would be killed. Perhaps the Weasleys and Sirius would be spared, because they were purebloods, but their existence would be just as miserable as Harry's was now. Or worse.

Harry had to admit that Snape was being mostly decent to him these last couple months. Snape hadn't raised his hand to him except when the bond demanded it - except when Harry asked to be freed from the bond's requirements, in fact. Snape fed him. Snape clothed him. Snape gave him a bed. Snape woke him from his nightmares. Snape played chess with him. Now, Snape tried to die for him. Harry didn't understand everything that happened, but he understood that Snape tried to kill himself, for Harry's sake. The last thing Harry wanted was another person dying for him, even Snape. He would much rather just die himself. Let someone else kill Voldemort. But that wasn't an option, and Harry knew it. But if Snape killed him, he certainly wasn't going to be the one to object.

Looking at his wrists, Harry saw that there were just light scars now where the cuts had been. Invisible, unless you were looking for them. Reaching to his face, Harry felt his cheek. It was sore and smarted when he touched it. It was probably blossoming into a beautiful bruise, Harry realized. He'd had to take a look in the mirror when he got up. Maybe it felt worse than it looked.

Without realizing it, Harry drifted into sleep again.

Severus woke, earlier than he usually did in the summer, and glanced at Harry's bed immediately. The boy was asleep, a giant bruise forming on his cheek from the night before. Quietly, Severus rose and undid the leash. Harry could get up whenever he pleased.

After his morning ablutions, Severus sat down for breakfast. He unfolded his the Prophet and began to sip at some coffee. In a few moments, he heard the soft patter of feet.

"Good morning, Harry," Severus said, glancing up from his paper through guarded lashes. "Have a seat."

"Morning," Harry replied, seeming skittish, but taking his seat. Food appeared in front of him. Pancakes and bacon, with a glass of orange juice. Severus didn't say anything until Harry had mostly finished his food.

"I'm sorry for last night's...escapades," Severus began. He let the paper rest in his lap, temporarily forgotten.

"That's okay, sir," Harry replied.

"I had no idea the bond would do that." Harry was silent. "Your father - he wasn't given to inflicting self-harm. That wasn't one of his particular vices. We never had reason to explore that aspect of the bond."

"That's frustrating," Harry said, his voice strained.

"As much for me as it is for you," Severus drawled. "It didn't go the way I'd planned. You would be free this morning if the bond hadn't restricted me."

"You could kill me now," Harry suggested, slightly cheerful.

"Hardly," Severus dismissed. "I can't kill you."

"Sure you can," Harry contradicted. "I'm your property, right? You can kill your property. It's okay. I won't mind."

"Let me clarify, then," Severus sighed. "The bond will let me kill you. But I can't kill you."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I can barely manage to strike you when the bond is demanding it. You expect me to be able to take your life? It is beyond my ability. I would drop the knife, or the wand, or cut the rope, or pull your head from the bucket of water."

"You seem to have thought about it, at least," Harry observed. Severus shrugged.

"Not really. Standard executions." Harry nodded, a light going off.

"When you were with Voldemort?"

"Call him 'the Dark Lord,' if you would, please," Severus requested. "It's not an order."

"When you were with the Dark Lord?" Harry spat the name.

"Yes. But to the matter at hand. I cannot kill you. It is beyond my ability."

"You've killed other people, though. Why not me?" Severus winced.

"Yes, I've killed other people," he admitted. "Never a child."

"Oh," Harry said. "Can I kill myself?"

"No," Severus said. "The bond will stop you at the last minute, and then it will punish you mercilessly. I suggest you not try."

"Then I guess we're both stuck living unless someone else wants to kill you. No one else can kill me."

"I suppose."

"You tried, I gather?"

"Tried what?"

"Killing yourself."

"Mmm." Severus took a sip of his coffee.

"Is that a yes?" Harry asked, sounding more at ease than he had in awhile.

"Yes," Severus clarified.

"What happened?"

"I tried to drink poison. As the potion was about the cross my lips, I dropped the glass and it felt like I was put under the Cruciatus, but it wouldn't end, not until a further punishment was exacted. If you must know."

"Sorry," Harry apologized. "Didn't mean to pry." Severus shrugged.

"It makes you happier to know, I suppose?"

"I don't know that happier is the right word," Harry said. "Maybe less alone."

"I suppose I should try to make this as bearable as I can," Severus conceded. "It's a rather lonely state in life. I ask that you don't bring up my slavery to anyone."

"You mentioned last night," Harry said. "No one save the Headmaster, if he mentions it first. I'm not likely to forget."

"See that you don't," Severus grouched. "There are precious few people who were privy to that information when it was relevant and I don't want any more people knowing."

"I understand." He probably did. "Everyone will have to know about mine."

"I'm sorry."

"I know." They were silent for a few minutes. Severus picked his paper up and began to read again. Harry continued to pick at his food. "Will you tell me some stories?" Harry finally asked.

"What do you mean?" Severus snorted. "You want a bedtime story now?"

"I want to know about you," Harry swallowed nervously.

"What do you want to know?" Severus sipped his coffee again, and with a casual flick of his wand, he filled it up again. His eyes hadn't left the article, but he stopped reading. He was trying to give the impression of casual indifference and distraction. It probably wasn't working.

"How did it happen?"

"It's no secret that I hated your father," Severus began. Maybe the casual facade would work after all. "You know that he saved my life in the Shack. That's when it began."

"How did you find out?"

"He was a pureblood and I am a halfblood. We both knew what the magic was when we felt it."

"And what did you do?" Was Harry never going to get the hint? He didn't want to answer.

"We went to the Headmaster and explained the situation to him. He guided us through some preliminary explanations and research, like the brand and the collar."

"So the Headmaster knows, then," Harry observed.

"Obviously," Severus drawled. Sip.

"How many other people found out? Did my mum know?"

"Your dogfather and the wolf knew." Severus' voice dripped acid as he spat the word "dogfather." "I don't think your mother knew. I hope she didn't. She wouldn't have approved of your father's actions."

"Being cruel to you, you mean?"

"Yes, and of even being in that position in the first place. Like Miss Granger, also a Muggleborn, they are more likely to blame the master than the slave."

"How did he hide you?"

"Gave me to your dogfather when I was inconvenient for him." A long gulp. It burned his throat, but he didn't care. Harry was quiet for a moment.

"How was that?" he asked quietly.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Severus said quickly. "It's one thing to defame the dead. You never knew your father, and I wouldn't be interfering with a relationship you have. If I tell you what transpired while I was in Black's care, it would necessarily alter your view of him. I don't think you need to be drawn into our quarrels."

"So, he wasn't very considerate," Harry guessed. Severus bit back a derisive snort. It sounded like a strangled sob, but Harry didn't call him out on it.

"His care of me left much to be desired," Severus admitted. "Don't rush where angels fear to tread, Harry. These are not matters you should know about. I don't wish to speak of them, and it would only cause problems between you and him."

"There're already going to be problems," Harry said. "If he didn't treat you right, what's he going to think of me?"

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Albus?" Severus asked. They could still back out now if they wanted. It wasn't too late.

"Do you have a better idea?" Albus challenged. "I don't like this any more than you do. It's not like making an announcement at the welcoming feast is going to be the wisest move, and you know it."

"I'll have to give up my position as a spy, if he ever comes back," Severus pointed out.

"We've gone over this," Albus sighed. "You are welcome to all the protection Hogwarts offers you and Harry."

"So," the female reporter began, settling down in a chair opposite Albus and Severus. "What was it that you wanted to have an interview about?" Severus cleared his throat, but deferred to Albus.

"There have been some startling developments this summer," Albus began calming, the usual twinkle in his eyes gone. "It is important that everyone know what has happened."

"Please, do tell me about them."

"Severus?" Albus said. Fine. Give him the hard question. Or, not a question, but rather an invitation to explain what was even going on.

"According to the ancient bonding magic," Severus began, "Mister Harry Potter has been bound to me as my slave." It was a sentence he'd rehearsed in his head hundreds of times. The reporter dropped her quill. She looked at Albus.

"It's true," he confirmed. "It is unfortunate that this had to happen. As was established at the trials after Voldemort's fall, Severus was a spy for me, and should there ever be a resurgence of the Death Eaters, his position as a spy will be far too compromised for him to ever infiltrate again."

"So, Professor Snape will be taking care of Harry Potter then?"

"Yes, of course," Albus said.

"No, I mean taking care of him," the reporter clarified. "I mean good care. This is the Boy-Who-Lived, after all."

"Professor Snape has the authority to give whatever care he wishes to Harry," Albus said, "but I'm sure he is doing his best by the boy." The reporter threw Severus a dark look.

"Headmaster, how do you know that he is?"

"Severus is a good man," Albus smiled, the twinkle returning.

"I think I have enough for a story," the reporter announced. She was very pale.

"What is the meaning of this?" Minerva screamed, throwing the morning paper at Severus' face. "Why didn't I know before this?"

"I'm sorry," Severus replied, catching the paper. "By the way, Harry will be sleeping here during the school year, not the dorms. So don't worry at his absence."

"Now you tell me?" she shrieked. "He's one of my students."

"He's one of mine too!" Severus shouted back.

"You never cared about him!" she screamed, pointing a determined finger into his chest, causing him to back up a few steps. The Deputy Headmistress could be almost as intimidating as he was when she was angry. Severus was sure Harry was listening from the other room.

"That's not true!" he yelled back.

"Are you even going to let him attend school?"

"Of course! I'm trying to make this as normal for him as possible, and I'm failing miserably! It doesn't mean I'm not trying."

"See that you don't hurt him," Minerva growled at him. "It's unfortunate that this had to happen. I don't think you should make him suffer excessively. And I don't trust you."

"I've been a spy for many years, you know that."

"I trust that," Minerva spat. "It would be nice if you gave him the care that most people give their pets, rather than a slave."

"I'm going to treat him like a person, as much as I can," Severus snapped. "You ask for him to be treated like a pet, when you should be asking for him to be treated like a person." Minerva looked a bit startled.

"A person?" she questioned.

"Well? What do you think he is?"

"A slave, now. Legally, he's property."

"Legally," Severus repeated. "And the law is wrong. You can't take someone's humanity from him. That's not how it works. He still has feelings, even if the law says he doesn't. You can't change reality just by legislating it. He's still a little boy, and he's scared."

"Severus," the fireplace called.

"What do you want now?"

"Sirius Black wishes to come through," Albus replied.

"No," Severus replied without thinking about it. "I never want to see him again. You know that."

"It's about Harry."

"I don't care."

"I think he has a right to see Harry and speak to you about this," Albus said. "He is the boy's godfather after all."

"Will I have to see him? Yes. Now go. I don't wish to interact with him."

"Severus, let him come through."

"Yes, sir," Severus relented. He knew that tone. That was the "You - are - my - employee - and - don't - forget - that - I - kept - you - out - of - Azkaban" voice. The floo flared to life. Severus turned away and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Severus," a voice called.

"Why are you here?" Severus spat savagely, glaring at Sirius. "What do you want? Haven't you done enough?"

"I want to see Harry," Sirius said.

"Potter, get over here!" Severus hollered. Harry came running from the other end of the chambers. He saw Sirius, and smiled nervously.

"Hi," he said, fidgeting.

"Hi, pup," Sirius smiled back. He dropped to one knee and opened his arms for a hug. Harry's smiled widened and he rushed to Sirius, embracing him fiercely. "You look well fed."

"I am," Harry said. He backed away from Sirius, but the man held Harry's hands still. "It's not so bad, I suppose." The boy looked nervous. Maybe he was thinking about Severus' bond. Sirius inspected the collar.

"Huh," he grunted. "I see Snape made you take the collar and the brand?"

"I chose it," Harry said.

"He let you have a choice?"

"Yes."

"Are you satisfied that I haven't flayed him alive?" Severus cut in, his voice dripping sarcasm. "While this scene is very touching, I don't think my stomach can take any more of the syrupy sweetness."

"Determined to make sure he doesn't say too much?" Sirius spat.

"Harry, leave."

"Oh, it's Harry now, is it?" Sirius challenged darkly. Severus stiffened at the unspoken accusation. After slipping his hands from Sirius', Harry waved nervously at his godfather.

"Bye," he said, and left. Sirius rose quickly and rushed Severus, who backed up a pace, his eyes going momentarily wide.

"If I hear you're harming the boy, I'll - " Sirius cut himself off.

"You'll what?" Severus sneered, eyes narrowing. "You can't touch me anymore. You can't hurt me."

"What are you doing to Harry?" Sirius demanded. A wicked smile crossed Severus' face as an idea occurred to him. Just because he didn't want to exact his revenge on Harry didn't mean that he didn't want revenge. Refusing to allow Sirius to be in such close proximity, Severus began pacing around the room like a caged animal.

"Oh, everything you did to me," he said casually. Sirius glowered, and then went pale.

"Everything?" he asked. Severus smiled. It was a ghastly sight.

"I have a right, don't I?"

"But he's just a child!"

"So was I!"

"You were not!"

"Sixteen is hardly an adult!"

"Look, what do you want from me, Snape?" Sirius bellowed. "You want me to apologize to you? Want me to say I'm sorry?"

"I know you're not," Severus replied, his voice dangerously quiet. "Don't insult me. Back to 'Snape,' now, are we? What happened to our first name basis? The one you forced me to use, even late at night?"

"I don't want to see Harry put through that."

"Put through what?" Severus replied, his lips drawn in a straight line, challenging Sirius.

"Everything."

"What? What everything? Say it."

"No."

"Then I will," Severus ground out. "I beat him on a regular basis. You saw that bruise? Yeah, that was me. I did that to him. Because I felt like it."

"But you feed him apparently," Sirius cut in.

"I don't like a skinny whore," Severus hissed. "Unlike some people."

"Snape, you wouldn't..." Sirius said, looking pale.

"Didn't stop you, did it?" Severus shouted back, losing his loose grip on his self control. "You showed me no mercy, Sirius! You beat me, you raped me, you starved me! What didn't you do to me? You made James look like a kind master! Now what sort of a master do you expect me to become? Whose example do you think I should follow? A master I never had? They say karma's a bitch, Sirius, and now she's bitching."

"You don't have to punish Harry for what I did to you!" Sirius bellowed back. "Harry didn't do it! Harry isn't James, and Harry isn't me!"

"I can't get any revenge on James," Severus pointed out. "And this is my revenge on you. Imagine what horrors your godson is suffering at my hand. It wouldn't have been necessary if you had acted differently. You are responsible for this."

"You're as perverted as your reputation," Sirius spat.

"Oh, yes," Severus agreed silkily. Sirius' expression was priceless. This was worth every word, and Severus was going to enjoy torturing the mutt. "Do you want to know the details? Do you want to know how I hold him down every night? How I order him to cooperate with me, or the bond takes over and punishes him? How I order him to gasp and moan under me, and enjoy it? How I make him suck me off? I could keep going for hours. He's quite skilled you know. I passed on all the things you showed me. And you know what? He's got nothing to complain about. I try to make it pleasant for him. I'm considerate, I believe, is the word you used."

"We're not talking about Harry anymore," Sirius said hollowly. "You're talking about yourself."

"Oh, rest assured, I'm incapable of doing everything you did to me," Severus continued, rage boiling away any self-restraint he may have had. "I'm not an animagus. I can't turn into a dog."

"That doesn't comfort me any!"

"It shouldn't!"

"You can't do this!"

"I can! The law can't stop me. There is nothing stopping me from fucking him raw every night and then beating him occasionally in between. There's nothing stopping me from torturing him, mentally, physically, sexually, all I want. You taught me that. This is the chickens coming home to roost, Black, and you don't like them!"

"You're a sadistic bastard."

"It takes one to know one." They were quiet for a moment. Severus was breathing heavily.

"What can I do to convince you to treat Harry better?" Sirius swallowed. "I'll do anything you want. Anything."

"There is nothing you can do," Severus replied through clenched teeth. "You've already done plenty." Severus glanced over to the doorway and remembered that the two of them weren't alone in the chambers.

Damn it! Severus had entirely forgotten that Harry was even nearby, and they had been shouting at each other for some time. Even when they weren't yelling, their voices would have carried. How much had Harry heard? The boy could probably hear their words echoing everywhere. After all, Harry had heard him call earlier when he was studying on his bed.

"You. Leave. Now," Severus said. "You've seen him. You've had your questions answered. Leave my sight."

"Why, so you can 'fuck him raw'?" Sirius sneered.

"Get. Out. Now. This is none of your concern. Never ask to come here again." With that Severus handed him the bowl of floo powder, and Sirius disappeared in a poof of green. Severus rushed to the bedroom, and saw Harry sitting on his bed, absolutely still, staring ahead of him.

"I can explain," Severus began.

"Oh my God," Harry whispered.

"I can explain," Severus said again. Harry was deathly pale and breathing shallowly. "Would you like something to drink? Tea? Hot chocolate? A calming draught? I think a calming draught is in order." Quickly, Severus left the room and returned with the potion. He could have summoned it, but he wanted the extra moments to think of what to say. "Here." Harry drank it, but didn't relax.

"Oh my God," he repeated.

"I - " Severus began. "You don't have to worry about your safety. I won't harm you. That wasn't meant for your ears. I - I don't know what to say."

"Oh my God."

"Can you believe me, Harry? I won't do anything I talked about. I'm not that kind of man. I told you that when you first got here. Do you remember? You tried to skirt the topic, asking me what sort of favors I wanted, and I told you no?"

"Oh my God."

"You're in shock. Wrap up in a blanket.." He pulled a blanket from his own bed, and wrapped it around Harry's shoulders. "Breathe. Don't hyperventilate. I haven't harmed you that way in the past and I won't harm you now. I promise."

"Oh my God."

"I wouldn't have tried to kill myself for you if I was going to hurt you! Please believe me." Severus tapped a nearby nightstand with his wand, and a steaming cup of tea appeared. He shoved it into Harry's hands. "Drink this." Obediently, Harry brought the cup to his lips and sipped at the hot liquid. "That's enough." Harry stopped. His eyes were glazed over, and he was still staring at nothing.

"Oh my God."

"Please say something else," Severus sighed.

"I'm so sorry."

"Is there anything I can get you? Anything at all?"

"I had no idea."

"Do you need another calming draught?"

"I hugged him."

"I think you need another." This time, he summoned the bottle and handed it to Harry. He drank it.

"That's terrible."

"How are you feeling?"

"Sick. Going to be sick." Then Severus summoned a bucket, just in time, for Harry to lose what remained of his evening meal and calming draught. "Sorry." Severus banished the bucket and vomit.

"Don't worry about it," Severus dismissed. "Harry. I need you to communicate with me. Do you feel safe?"

"Safe enough," Harry replied. "I know you won't hurt me."

"Do you believe I won't hurt you?"

"I guess."

"That's a start. How are you doing?"

"I had no idea he did that to you."

"That's why I didn't want to tell you."

"You're going to let him think you're hurting me?"

"For a while," Severus shrugged. "It won't hurt him to have to actually imagine the kind of trauma he caused. I doubt he ever faced it before. The truth can be an ugly monster. And guilt is a strong motivator. Try to drink some more tea." Harry sipped.

"He did all those things to you?" Harry asked, sounding numb and hollow.

"What things?"

"Held you down? Made you enjoy it?"

"Yes. He was right. I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about me."

"No wonder you tried to kill yourself back then." Severus nodded.

"I didn't want you to know."

"I won't tell anyone."

"Not even the Headmaster knows. That secret was between Sirius and me."

"Why did they hate you that much?"

"Hate is what the bond is formed on, isn't it?" Severus explained. "Theirs was a vile, sadistic hatred. It was my hatred that formed the bond, but I wouldn't have hated them if they hadn't provoked me. Not unlike what I did to you."

"But why did they provoke you?"

"Because they could," Severus hissed. "Because I was there. There wasn't a good reason."

"I never thought...I mean, I didn't know he was capable of doing something like that. It's brutal."

"A society that tolerates slavery isn't civilized, Harry," Severus murmured. "You can't expect civility from a world that condones marginalizing anyone." Harry nodded.

"It's sick. He's always seemed like a nice person to me."

"He loves you," Severus explained. "The two strongest motivators are love and guilt. I was trying to evoke some guilt for what he did to me. He loves you, which is the other. The slave bond makes no difference to him, because he knows the bond doesn't change who you are. He doesn't want the bond to be true, so he's willing to believe that you have retained your humanity. He wanted the bond to be true for me, so he was willing to believe that I had lost mine. We believe what we want, and we rationalize it after."

"I didn't know he was a rapist."

"You're repeating yourself," Severus observed, sitting on the bed next to Harry.

"A dog? Really?" Severus went a little green at the memory, which he tried to repress.

"Let's not talk about the details, please," he said, his voice a little weak. Harry nodded.

"I understand," he said. Harry hesitated for a moment, but then he seemed to make a decision. He scooted closer to Severus and wrapped his arms around Severus' middle. "I'm so sorry." Severus, in a moment of tenderness, put an arm around Harry as well. Severus was touched. The last person to give him a genuine, voluntary, loving embrace was Lily, back in fifth year. He felt his throat constrict, but he held his face impassive.

"Thank you," Severus murmured softly. Harry squeezed quickly, signalling the end of that moment. Severus pulled his arm away from Harry, almost sad that it was over. Maybe it hadn't been all bad that Harry heard, he thought selfishly. Even if it did cost any future relationship Harry could have had with Sirius, Severus was willing to sacrifice it for that one moment.

"How - how are you still, you know, functional?" Harry asked.

"Your father insisted I be allowed to pursue my mastery in potions, since that had long been my goal, and it would have begged a lot of questions if I suddenly didn't," Snape explained. "And so he made Sirius let me 'tinker with potions' every afternoon. So, for a few hours every day, I was alone and James wouldn't let Sirius bother me. It was nice."

"That was it?" Harry asked, aghast.

"Yes," Severus replied. "During the afternoon, every day, I went to a lab and made potions in peace. Or slept, if I needed to. It was a reprieve and a light in dark places. For those hours, I didn't have to worry about my safety. The potions were what kept me sane. If I could just survive the night, I'd get another few hours in the lab."

"He probably didn't give you a nice bed..." Harry murmured, running his hand over his own mattress, the implication obvious. "But you gave me one."

"No," Severus said, trying to smile wanly, but failing. "I slept on the floor, 'like a good slave,' I believe, were your words. The quality of my sleep left much to be desired. Thus the naps in the potions lab."

"Sleeping on the floor isn't that bad though," Harry said. "You can get a decent night's sleep." Snape snorted.

"That's true," he said. "But Sirius would often cast a spell to wake me up every fifteen minutes. A lack of restful sleep kept me tame. If I didn't have the energy to fight back, it made his job easier. It also kept me from waking him up with dreams. If I fell asleep in the lab occasionally, I could catch a couple hours of real sleep." Harry's face darkened, but he didn't say anything. "Question?"

"Is that why - " Harry began. "Is that why you have to drink all those potions to stay awake now? Why you fall asleep at random times and wake up at night and things?"

"Basically," Severus replied. "Most of my insomnia and narcolepsy began with those years of torture. It was traumatic enough that my body hasn't adjusted to not being forced through that." Harry smiled sadly.

"Isn't it ironic," he said, "that the only time you've beaten me, you were forced to because of what Sirius did to you? If he had been decent, you'd have a normal sleep pattern."

"Let's not talk about that unfortunate incident please," Severus asked.

"But we have to," Harry pointed out. "I don't blame you, if that's what you're worried about. Not then, and certainly not now."

"I should have known that I would fall asleep."

"It's not your fault," Harry argued. "It's Sirius'. There's no reason for you to take the blame for something he's responsible for. It's like waking up early and messing the bed, right? That's what my body was trained to do. Thanks for not taking the bed away, by the way."

"I wouldn't have even thought of it," Severus dismissed. "I don't want you to suffer like I did."

"I won't," Harry said.

"I think it's time we both try to sleep, though," Severus replied. "It's getting late, and I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted, and I don't want to fall asleep...unprepared. Why don't you get changed for bed?" After they were both ready for bed, Severus clipped Harry's leash to his collar. Then Harry, who had been sitting on the bed, slipped off and put his arms around Severus again. Severus couldn't help a small smile appearing on his face. He rested a hand on the top of Harry's head. On an impulse, Severus bent down and scooped Harry up, holding him at his knees and shoulders, and dropped him into the bed. Harry screamed in delight. The action had been gentle and playful. Severus pulled down the covers and laid them over Harry, who was flushed and half giggling. Then Snape tucked him in and ran a hand through his hair.

"Good night, Harry," he said.

"Good night, sir," Harry replied.

Harry tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. Unlike Snape, he was decidedly not exhausted. His mind was racing with all the new information from earlier that evening. It was difficult to process all at once, which was why Harry couldn't get his mind to settle down enough to go to sleep.

It was impossible to deny the truth of what he heard. If Snape had been the one to tell him across the breakfast table that morning, Harry would probably have thought he was a liar. Harry had been disappointed that Snape hadn't told him more at that time, but now in retrospect, Harry realized Snape made the right decision in withholding that information. It wouldn't have gone well. But now, Harry couldn't call Snape a liar, even in his own mind. That conversation had only been for Snape's and Sirius' ears. They weren't doing it for him. Snape had no reason to accuse Sirius of anything that wasn't true, and Sirius hadn't even tried to deny it. He'd admitted to it. Harry had to believe that it was true.

He'd defended Sirius. He'd helped save the man from Azkaban. He'd hoped Sirius would look after him. He'd hugged the man. Just that day, he'd rushed in Sirius' arms and given him a hug. Even after all Snape had hinted at, about how bad his time with Sirius had been, he'd still rushed to Sirius like the puppy that he was affectionately called. Harry was horrified that he had been this close to someone capable of such horrible deeds.

You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat the living things that depend on them. Harry wasn't too pleased with what he was learning about Sirius. Usually, it was the house elves' treatment that Harry watched, like how Lucius Malfoy treated Dobby. But slaves counted too. Harry idly wondered how Sirius may have treated any house elves of his.

And this was why Snape was so angry and bitter. This finalized the reasons why Snape hated him so much. This explained why Snape's instinct was to provoke him. He looked like the man who had not only beaten him and trapped him into punishments, but surrendered him to another who showed him no mercy. Of course Snape would resent James for that as much as if James had done it himself. A lack of action is just as bad as the action. Even if James had never touched Snape, the fact that he allowed it made him just as responsible as Sirius. Snape was vulnerable and incapable of defending himself. To violate that vulnerability was unimaginable.

To have to see a kid every day who was the spitting image of the man who had caused all this could only be a continuation of the torture. Hadn't Snape said that every time he looked at Harry, he saw his failings? He probably saw more than that.

Actually, Harry fully understood what Snape had done to Sirius. He fully understood that the tirade was really to make Sirius think about his actions. Harry supposed guilt was a strong motivator, even though he rarely felt very guilty about things. He felt guilty about forcing Snape to remember his past every time he looked at his face, but that wasn't really his fault, was it?

And Snape seemed to be a good sport about it as well. Harry remembered being tossed into bed with a warm feeling. Adults never played with him like that. Strange that Snape should be the first. It was very difficult to hate a man who dropped him into bed and ran his fingers through his hair. Harry regretted the fact that they couldn't have gotten along without the slave bond in the first place. It would have been nice to be this familial with Snape while retaining his freedom. Maybe Dumbledore should have locked them both in a room and not let them out till they got along. That's essentially what this bond was doing. They were locked with each other for life, and they were learning to get along because of it.

He hoped Sirius suffered from what Snape said to him. He hoped Sirius thought long and hard about it and realized the depth of the heinousness of his own actions. It didn't matter if Harry was his godson. If it was alright to do that to Snape, it was alright for Snape to do it to Harry. And if it wasn't alright for Snape to do it to Harry, then it was equally wrong for Sirius to have done it to Snape. Truth is an ugly monster, but not as ugly as what Sirius had done.

Harry didn't feel less safe with Snape because of this. He'd always had reservations about the man, and those remained, but if anything, the incident caused him to trust Snape more. Snape knew what the bond would allow, knew what he could get away with, and for two and a half months, the worst thing he asked Harry to do was to chop potions ingredients. There was no reason to expect Snape to change his pattern now. If Snape understood what horrors these actions held for the victim, which he certainly did, he wouldn't feel inclined to inflict that pain on anyone else, even Harry, or he would have wasted no time in getting down to business.

Snape liked his revenge, but he wanted it on Sirius, not Harry. The best revenge Snape was going to get, though, was to mislead Sirius into thinking he was abusing Harry, all while not laying a finger on him. It was poetic, wasn't it, that the sweetest revenge was actually to do nothing at all?

A noise rudely interrupted Harry's musings. Sitting up on his elbows and looking over to Snape's bed, he saw the man pulling the pillow over his head, whimpering. Occasionally, Harry could make out a few words.

"Two years," Severus mumbled. "Fuck toy. Nothing more."

For a moment, Harry hesitated. What should he do? Then he made his decision. It was time to return the favor that had so long gone unexplained: He would wake Snape. It suddenly dawned on him why Snape was always so conscientious about waking him from his nightmares. He didn't want to become his master who refused to even let him dream.

"Professor Snape!" Harry called loudly. "Wake up! Professor!"

Sirius pulled at the metal hook on the collar, causing Severus to stumble forward. Severus wondered where he was being led to, but fear was keeping his mouth closed. He didn't like that his ownership had been temporarily, but indefinitely, transferred to the mutt. He hadn't even been given a chance to explore his new home yet, so he could hardly know what was coming, although he had his suspicions, his fears. Severus could deal with James, though he didn't like it, but Sirius was a different story. In the beginning, Sirius would make crude gestures that worried Severus, but even in private, it never went any further than touching. As uncomfortable as the clothed groping had been, Severus had a feeling that being in James' care had protected him. Now that he was alone with Sirius and no one was there to stop him, Severus wasn't sure how far it was going to go.

Severus stumbled the last few steps and was shoved on to the floor. When he looked around, he noticed that he was in a bedroom. He quickly sat up, and pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He tucked in his chin, and looked up at Sirius with a guarded expression.

Sirius closed the door. Severus didn't want to show his fear, but he knew he couldn't keep it out of his eyes.

"So," Sirius said, looming closer to Severus. "You're mine, indefinitely. Maybe forever." Sirius knelt down in front of his slave. "So, what to do with you?" Sirius had a mock curiosity in his voice. He reached out and moved a lock of hair that was blocking Severus' face back behind his ear. Severus bowed his head, trying to release his hair from Sirius' grasp. Before the end of the hair escaped, Sirius gripped Severus' hair along with his ear, hard, forcing Severus to look at him. Severus gasped.

"We're going to have fun."

Severus couldn't help the shudder that went up his spine at those ominous words.

"Since I don't really want you here," Sirius said, "you're going to pay for the fact that I have to be saddled with you. Remember that I did not willing take you in. You were pushed on me."

"What - " Severus tried to get more words out, but the fear parched his throat, making it hard to talk. Knowing what Snape was asking, Sirius smiled.

"You're going to suck me off, and then I'm going to fuck you." Severus gasped at that. He supposed he should have expected it, but fearing it and hearing it were two entirely different concepts. This couldn't be real. Why was he being punished like this? Never in his wildest dream did he think he would wish for James, but now he more than ever wanted his real owner back. He didn't want to stay with this sadistic bastard anymore.

"Is something wrong, Snape?" Sirius mocked. "Something you want to share?" Severus' head shot up from the floor.

"Nothing," Severus gasped out, his voice raspy from his sore throat. The bond began to burn a bit at the blatant lie. Of course there was something wrong. The answer may have been something Sirius knew, but "nothing" wasn't the truth.

"Hmm," Sirius said, putting his finger on his chin as if he were thinking. "I don't believe you." Sirius stood up and kicked Severus in the ribs with the ball of his foot. Severus gasped and fell over on his side.

"I'm sorry," Severus pleaded.

"Alright," Sirius sighed, as if put in a great inconvenience. "I'll forgive you this time, but you better not lie to me again."

"I won't. I promise."

"Now, on the bed."

Severus didn't even fight anymore. He didn't want to get punished by the bond, Sirius, and still have to go through this besides.

Sirius was going to rape him and there was nothing that he, or anybody, for that matter, could do about it. Slowly, Severus crawled towards the bed, still in too much pain to want to stand. When he got there, he lifted himself up and gasped at the pain in his side. Not wanting to earn any more violence against his person, Severus pushed through the pain and climbed on the bed. Laying on his stomach, Severus buried his face in the covers and waited for Sirius to come and take him. He couldn't help the shiver that once again coursed through his body at the thought of what Sirius was going to do to him.

"Look at me," Sirius' voice was so soft and tender that Severus opened his eyes in shock at the tone. "I don't want to fuck a corpse. You will participate. And you will enjoy it." Sirius leaned closer and kissed Severus. Severus, still shocked by the initial tenderness of how Sirius talked to him, didn't respond. Sirius broke away from the kiss and leaned back so that he could look at Severus.

"What did I just say?" Again there was the tenderness, but deep down, Severus could hear the mocking under it. Initial shock ebbing away, Severus saw how truly sadistic the man above really was. Forcing him to participate meant that it wasn't really rape. It wouldn't register in his subconscious that way. It would haunt him forever. He'd never recover. Sure, it was rape, but knowing it in your head was entirely different from knowing it in your heart.

"You're acting like a virgin, you know that?" Sirius taunted. "Acting like you've never kissed anyone before." Severus didn't respond to that. How could he? "Wait, you are? You haven't?" Sirius asked, thrown off a bit. A glimmer of hope passed through Severus as he thought that maybe...maybe Sirius would leave him alone.

"What do you think?" he replied, voice still hoarse. Then, fearing the bond's reaction to a non answer, he said, "Of course."

Sirius leaned back down and kissed Severus again, and the glimmer of hope died.

"I want to hear you call out my name. Do you understand me, Severus?" Severus shuddered at the sound of his name. He hated the vulnerability it represented, the familiarity it stood for.

"Yes, Black," Severus said.

"Ah," Sirius mildly chided. "Use my first name. I won't have you screaming my last name during these more...intimate moments."

"Yes, Sirius," Severus sighed.

"Very good." 

"You waited two years to do this," Severus accused.

"You will learn to obey me," Sirius growled. "This will be an everyday occurrence. So get used to it. You are my fuck toy. That is all you are. And that's all you ever will be. Nothing more."

Severus felt himself detach from his emotions. A fuck toy. Nothing more. Those words rang in Severus mind as Sirius continued to thrust into him.

"Professor Snape!" a new voice called. "Wake up! Professor!"

Severus woke with a start, and scrambled into a sitting position as quickly as he could, his breaths coming quickly and shallowly.

"Professor?" Harry ventured.

"Harry?" Severus called back.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked.

"Did I wake you?" Severus asked, ignoring the uncomfortable question. People didn't usually ask after his well being unless they were simply being polite.

"No, sir," Harry replied. "I couldn't sleep. I was just thinking. Are you okay, though?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Severus grumbled. "Do you want dreamless sleep?"

"No, sir, I'm fine too," Harry said.

"Alright," Severus sighed, falling back into his pillows on his bed.

"Are you going to get a dreamless sleep for yourself?" Harry asked.

"No," Severus murmured. "It doesn't react well with the pepper up potions. Can't take both." And then his breathing evened out again.

It wasn't an easy night for Snape, and therefore, not for Harry either. That was only the first of many nightmares that night. Harry snoozed lightly and woke Snape whenever he saw Snape expressing signs of distress. Snape always woke with a start, blearily thanked Harry, and fell asleep again quickly. Finally, it was early in the morning, and Snape seemed to have given up going back to sleep, because he got out of bed and undid Harry's leash wordlessly.

"How are you?" Harry asked, his eyes searching Snape's person for any clues. All he saw was exhaustion.

"Tired," Snape admitted with a shrug. He wandered to the bathroom and knocked back a potion. Harry saw that it was another pepper-up potion.

"Why are you still taking those?" Harry asked. "You said you couldn't take those and dreamless sleep, so just stop taking them." Snape snorted.

"I will not risk falling asleep at an unscheduled time again," he vowed. "I will give myself a heart attack on these things before I do that."

"No, please," Harry begged, "just take some dreamless sleep tonight instead. I'll just be really careful to make sure that if you fall asleep I'll tie myself up. Or you can take a nap and just tie me up then."

"Risky," Snape observed, but he didn't rule out the suggestion, which Harry took as a good sign. "Well, I'm awake now, so we might as well start the day."

They settled down at the breakfast table as some oatmeal, bacon, and apple juice appeared before them. Snape hadn't said anything more about the previous day.

"Sir?" Harry asked nervously, clearing his throat a little.

"Yes?" Snape replied calmly as he continued to eat, his eyes darting to Harry's face.

"Do you feel like - " Harry began, then started over. "I mean, would you - will you - explain more about your past? I don't mean to pry but..."

"I've never spoken of my time with Black to anyone, Harry," Snape began, a little coldly. "Why do you think I will speak of it now?"

"I've never spoken of my time with Black to anyone, Harry," Severus said, perhaps a little more coldly than he had intended. But it was a sensitive subject, so he excused himself. "Why do you think I will speak of it now?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "Sorry."

"I don't think I will be speaking of it to you or anyone else," Severus said. " I don't need to relive those days."

"Your nightmares are scary," Harry admitted quietly.

"My apologies," Severus said, quite sincerely. "I'm sure it wasn't child-friendly." Harry shrugged. Although curious what Harry had overheard, Severus wasn't about to ask.

"I didn't mind," Harry said. "What do you know of my nightmares?"

"Only what I hear," Severus evaded. Child-psychology was not his forte.

"And what is that?" Harry prompted.

"You begging for people to stop, I'm assuming your uncle to stop beating you, and assurances that you will be good," Severus replied, his voice tight. It was much the same as the words he had heard from Harry that night he had to beat the boy. It plagued him.

"Yeah," Harry said, "you're right." Severus yawned. He was tired despite the pepper-up potion, but he would pull through. He rose from the table, heading towards the door.

"I'll be in the lab," Severus said. "It might be a good idea to study for a bit while I'm away."

"Alright," Harry said. And Severus left.

As soon as Snape left, Harry grabbed his books, and fled into the bedroom. He set his things on the bed, and then leashed himself. He sat on the edge and began to flip through his books, but his mind was elsewhere.

Snape was clearly very tired, despite the pepper-up potion. Harry would only imagine that after taking so much of it, it was losing its potency with Snape. He had the distinct feeling that sooner rather than later, perhaps even today, Snape would fall asleep again, despite his best efforts. And while Harry didn't blame Snape in the slightest for this, he also didn't want to receive another beating.

Harry's dreams had been troubled the night before as well. It was a lot of information to take in. Harry couldn't imagine what Snape's enslavement must have been like. It made Harry all the more grateful for how Snape was treating him. It impressed upon Harry that Snape really was doing the best he could by him.

Even though Harry had never experienced anything like that himself, it wasn't beyond his imagination. He was always afraid that Dudley and his gang might do something to him, but they never had. The fear of it might not be enough to truly understand what Snape had gone through but it was enough for Harry to understand how it could warp a person's mind.

Snape had undergone some personality changes since Harry had first gotten to know him. The man was genuinely nicer now. Maybe nice wasn't a word that he would use to describe Snape, but he wasn't genuinely unpleasant anymore. Harry could see the efforts he was making to be a good person and deal with the bond in the best ways possible. It could be so much worse for Harry, and it wasn't. In fact, it was even better than he had had it at the Dursleys.

For a moment the previous night, Harry had even felt loved. The hugs from Snape, and then being playfully tossed into bed had melted a corner of Harry's heart in regards to his professor. It was the first time in his memory that an adult had done something caring, like a parent, for him. He dare not bring it up to Snape, or he was sure the man would feel it a blight on his dark and foreboding persona.

Amid these thoughts, Harry fell asleep.

Severus started. He glanced around the lab, panicking. Despite the pepper-up potion, he had fallen asleep over his lesson planning for the beginning of term. He rushed back to his chambers. Glancing around quickly, he couldn't see Harry right away.

"Harry?" he called, the worry apparent in his voice. "Potter?" There was no answer. Severus might have feared the boy was dead except that he knew the bond wouldn't allow it. He rushed into the bedroom, and saw Harry sleeping, leashed, on the bed.

"Oh, good," Severus sighed, leaning against the doorframe. Relief washed over him. Harry stirred.

"Oh, hello, sir," Harry mumbled through sleep.

"Harry, you leashed yourself?" Severus asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry confirmed, sounding a little more awake. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," Severus replied, still clearly relieved. "Yes, everything is fine."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"You were right," Severus conceded. "I fell asleep despite the potion. How did you know to leash yourself though?"

"I didn't," Harry admitted. "I just saw you were tired and thought it was better just in case." Severus sat on the bed next to Harry.

"Thank you," he said, giving the boy a quick hug. It spoke to how he felt that such a demonstration was initiated by him. It saved both of them another beating. He quickly ended the contact though.

"Sir?" Harry began. "Can I just stay tied up? Unless I need to eat or go to the bathroom or something?" Severus gave him a blank look.

"You're that afraid I'll fall asleep?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't want to have another beating, sir," Harry mumbled, turning a little red. "I don't mind. Really, sir."

"I'll just take a double dose of the potion and then everything will be fine."

"Are you sure, sir?" Harry pressed. "Please don't hurt yourself."

"I won't," Severus assured him. He felt a deep pang of guilt, that he couldn't be a better master to Harry. He was hurt that the boy felt he needed to be leashed at all times to avoid a beating, but Harry's wisdom had proved better than his own, as this incident had shown.

Sirius paced all night. He kept replaying memories of his time with Snivellous, imagining all those things now happening to Harry. Sirius remembered making Snivellous do all sorts of depraved things for his entertainment. He regularly made his slave strip slowly and suggestively, teasing him. Sirius recalled one time where he made his toy wear a dress and heels. It had made Snivellous feel even more vulnerable, with no clothing protecting him and unbalanced besides. He remembered tying his slave down to various pieces of furniture, in every position imaginable, as he made his victim scream his name and enjoy it. One of Sirius' favorite games to play with his toy was to suck Snivellous off. The look of guilt on his nemisis' face as he came never failed to get a rise out of Sirius. And there was nothing the law could do to touch him for it. Even now, if it became public knowledge, no legal authority would touch him. He had been within his legal rights to do what he did.

But now, he couldn't imagine Harry having to go through the same ordeal. As long as he was on the master's end of the bargain, Sirius was fine with how he had behaved. It was different with Snivellous. In Sirius' mind, though, this wasn't about what he had done to his property. It was only about Snivellous doing those things to Harry. His only regret was for Harry's sake.

"What is it, Sirius?" Albus said, as Sirius paced in his office the next morning.

"Albus," Sirius began, clearly stressed to the point of tears. "Albus, you have to do something about Snape and Harry."

"I can't, you know that," Albus said sadly.

"No, you have to," Sirius said. "You don't understand. Do you know what Snape is doing to my little boy?"

"What?" Albus asked, curious, the twinkle dimming a little bit. "What is he doing?"

"Albus, he's hurting Harry," Sirius sobbed, sitting in a chair. "He's using Harry to pleasure himself. It's awful. He told me the details. I can't get the thoughts out of my mind. He makes Harry suck him off. He holds Harry down and uses the bond to make him enjoy it. Every night."

"I have a difficult time believing that," Albus said, skeptical. He knew Severus to be a better man than that. "Severus doesn't seem the type to be a pedophile."

"Have you known him to be interested in anything else?" Sirius challenged, hands still covering his face.

"I can't say I've ever been very involved in the sex-lives of my employees." But perhaps Albus had misjudged him. He wouldn't dismiss the accusations out of hand.

"You should be involved with this one," Sirius insisted. "You need to take Harry away from him."

"Sirius," Albus said, and Sirius looked up, his eyes tear-stained. There was a moment of silence. The twinkle in Albus' eyes went out. "Even if Severus is treating Harry that way, there is nothing I can do. I cannot take Harry away from him."

"Kill Snape," Sirius demanded. "That will end this forever."

"Do you believe death is an appropriate punishment for this offense?" Albus asked mildly. But his thoughts were anything but mild.

"Anything to save Harry," Sirius begged. "Please, help him."

"I will have a talk with Severus," Albus agreed. "But I will not kill him." Sirius, on the other hand, Albus thought darkly, might not be so lucky.

There was a knock on the door, and Severus went to answer it. Harry was still tied to the bed. He didn't want to leave the security of the leash in case Severus fell asleep again that day.

"Hello, Headmaster," Severus said, upon opening the door. "Won't you come in?"

"Hello, Severus," Albus replied. "How are you?"

"Fine," Severus lied. He was sure he didn't look fine. "Have a seat," he continued, gesturing to the dinner table. "Tea?"

"No, thank you," Albus said politely, taking the seat offered him. "I'm here on a matter of business."

"Oh?" Severus prompted, taking a seat opposite Albus. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Is Harry here?" Albus asked.

"Indeed," Severus replied, gesturing to the bedroom.

"What is he doing in there?" Albus questioned, his voice wavering just the tiniest bit.

"We've been having some trouble with my narcolepsy," Severus admitted with a shrug. "He wishes to be leashed at all times in case I fall asleep. I've been trying to take pepper-up potions, but even just this morning I fell asleep despite them."

"Well, I doubt you will fall asleep while I am here," Albus dismissed. "Perhaps he can go make arrangements for this term with Minerva while we talk?" Severus shrugged, and went to the other room. He unleashed Harry and brought him into the room with Albus.

"Hello, sir," Harry greeted him. He looked a little scared.

"Hello, Harry," Albus replied. "Do you think you would be able to go to Professor McGonagall's office for a little bit while I speak with Professor Snape? I'm sure there are things you need to arrange for the semester, like moving your things from the domatory down here."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"You may have whatever she offers you to eat or drink," Severus interrupted.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said. Severus saw him to the door, and Harry left.

"So what's going on?" Severus inquired as he sat down across from Albus at the table.

"Sirius seems to be under the impression that you are hurting Harry," Albus began. "Is this true?"

"No!" Severus said emphatically, bringing a fist onto the table. "I told him that to torture his conscience. I haven't hurt Harry, not willingly. You have to believe me," Severus continued, almost pleading. "I haven't hurt him. I couldn't. I promised I would be better than James. Please believe me."

"I do, Severus," Albus said. "Don't worry about that. But why did you tell Sirius you were hurting him? He was quite specific about details."

"Personal reasons," Severus evaded. He didn't want to explain to anyone, Harry or Albus. "Not really of your concern. I'll tell the mutt that I'm not doing anything to Harry, and Harry will tell him the same thing. Then you can stop being bothered by our quarrels."

"No, Severus," Albus said quietly. "I don't think that will simply stop everything. Sirius won't entirely believe you, you know. You could have ordered Harry to tell him you aren't hurting him."

"And? I don't care what he thinks. It serves him right if he has to be haunted by those thoughts."

"It does," Albus said calmly.

If Severus had been walking, the equivalent of his reaction would have been to trip. But since he was just sitting there, what he did instead was to blink stupidly and tip his head to the side slightly with a puzzled look. He hadn't dropped any occlumency shields, he was sure.

"I glanced through Sirius' mind," Albus admitted. "Everything you told him was something he had done to you first." Severus stood up suddenly, and the chair shrieked loudly.

"That's not how it happened!" he shouted. "You must have misinterpreted it. You're getting senile; everyone knows that."

"Severus..." Albus said kindly.

"Nothing happened to me," Severus continued. "Maybe what you saw was what Black was wishing he had done since I misled him. Childish revenge."

"It's okay, Severus."

"I'll take back what I said. Black will forget eventually, and everything will be fine."

"Severus, Severus, Severus," Albus shushed. "It's okay. I know. You can stop denying it now." Albus stood up and gently took his employee by the shoulders. "I won't tell anyone." Severus stopped his tirade and looked at Albus a moment. He knew the old man spoke truly.

"You had no right!" he hissed, wrenching himself from the older man's grasp. "That was my secret! Black didn't tell you and I didn't want you to know! Keep your own mental nose in its own head next time. You're an old busybody."

"Severus," Albus said, very kindly, "please sit down."

"Sit down?" Severus snorted. "I think not." He began to pace. "I thought better of you, Headmaster." Albus caught Severus by the shoulders again. Although he looked daggers at the old man, Albus didn't back down.

"You're kept this to yourself long enough," Albus said. "Do you have anyone to talk to?"

"No," Severus said sternly.

"Have you ever considered talk to Harry about it?" Albus suggested.

"He's a child," Severus sneered. "You expect me to talk about my pornographic past with a child?"

"He may be a child," Albus agreed, "but he already knows some, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Severus admitted.

"Then don't you think he deserves to know what you've been through? The two of you are bound for life. I'm sure he would be eager to help you."

"I suppose I've already ruined his relationship with the mutt," Severus grumbled.

"Yes, you have," Albus confirmed, "but that is as it should be."

"I need to protect him from those sorts of things," Severus argued. "I won't do them to him, and no one else can without my permission. There's no reason why he has to know about it."

"Not telling him doesn't protect him," Albus pointed out. "Ignorance only begets fear and violence. When he understands you, he will trust you."

"Is there anything else you need, Headmaster?" Severus asked, eager to end the conversation.

"No," Albus said, "not really." Severus motioned to show Albus to the door. As he was about to show the old man out, Albus added, "I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't bother to mention to Sirius that you misled him." Severus gave the beginnings of a mischievous smile. "Talk to Harry, yes?"

"Alright," Severus sighed. Albus had thrown him the bone of extending his revenge, so in return he would have to talk to Harry.

"Good," Albus said, the twinkle back in his eyes. "See you later." And he left.