About an hour later, the two saw Harry beginning to stir. He opened his eyes and then blinked slowly, looking around. Once his gaze found Severus, he immediately scrambled out of bed and to the floor in front of Severus, bowing low as he had that morning.

“Please accept my service,” he intoned.

Dumbledore rose and scooped up Harry’s glasses from the bedside table, then beckoned to Severus. “Come. We will perform the ritual in my office.”

Once they had stepped off of the revolving staircase, the two older men arranged themselves so that the three of them formed a sort of triangle in the middle of the floor before the Headmaster’s desk.

Once settled, Severus stated, “I accept your service,” then waited, having been told by Dumbledore that the geas would guide Harry, and by extension Severus, through the ritual.

Harry waited for a moment and then, with his head still angled downward so he met no one’s eyes, stated in a dull voice, “Make a slice across your palm.”

Dumbledore immediately conjured a knife and handed it, handle first, to Severus. Severus took it and sliced cleanly across his left palm, watching the blood well out.

“Draw a circle around my ankles with your blood,” Harry stated in the same voice.

Severus obeyed, kneeling before the standing Harry and smearing his blood in a circle completely around each of Harry’s ankles.

“Draw a circle around my wrists with your blood.”

Severus rose and repeated the process with Harry’s wrists, which Harry had stretched out, his palms facing the ceiling.

“Draw a circle around my neck with your blood.”

Severus suppressed a shiver at the expressionless voice and the strange ritual, obeying Harry’s instructions once again.

Then Harry pulled out his own wand and pointed it over his own left hand, sliding its point down his palm and leaving a deep cut in its wake. He pocketed his wand again and then slid the collar of his baggy shirt aside far enough to expose his right shoulder. Then he pressed his left palm to a spot on his collar bone, not quite to the shoulder, leaving a bloody smear behind.

“I present myself, Harry James Potter, to you, Severus Tobias Snape, as your slave. I will serve you for life. Do you accept my service?”

“I do,” Severus answered, his voice steady.

Then Harry cried out and collapsed to the floor.

Severus looked slightly alarmed, but Dumbledore stepped closer and raised his wand, levitating Harry onto a small loveseat by his fireplace.

“He will wake shortly, once it has fully taken effect,” he explained.

xxXxx

Harry woke to unfamiliar surroundings. He sat up slowly and glanced around, then became aware of a sharp pain on his right shoulder. He glanced down and could make out a small mark peeking out from beneath his shirt collar, perhaps a burn, but could not make out details without his glasses. His glasses were rather suddenly dangled in front of his face by someone, and he snatched them up and put them on, his surroundings coming into focus.

He saw Dumbledore standing near him, with Snape a few steps back. He was on a small couch in Dumbledore’s office. He tried to look up at Dumbledore’s face, but found that he could not meet his eyes, for some inexplicable reason.

"What do you remember of the last week, Harry?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

"I--" Harry thought for a minute, and then memories came rushing back. He remembered waking on his birthday with an intense desire to get to Snape, traveling to King's Cross and then using a combination of hopping trains until he was kicked off and working odd jobs to make enough money to buy tickets. He had hardly slept in the last few days. And then--

He glanced at Snape in horror, unable again to meet his eyes and instead looking somewhere around the man's chest.

“I’m a…” he trailed off.

“Severus, perhaps it would be best if you waited in the other room while I explain to Harry. Remember not to go too far though.”

Harry saw Severus nod, then turn and leave.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was clutching an untouched mug of tea with numb hands and staring unfocused at the opposite wall. Distantly, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be in shock.

I’m a slave. I’m a slave. I’m Snape’s slave.

The words were echoing in his mind. Over the past few minutes, Dumbledore had explained exactly what it meant, and how the geas would affect him.

He had to obey any command given to him by his master. It sounded as though he did not really have any choice in this; he would be compelled. His master could punish him in any way he liked for any offence. He could not look any free person in the eyes without being given permission by his master or by the individual person themselves. Dumbledore was not sure whether his master -- Snape -- would be able to just give him blanket permission in the morning or would have to give him permission in each new scenario. He did not truly own anything himself anymore, unless his master gave it to him. But even then, his master could always take it back, so it was a bit more like he might be allowed to use it or borrow it. Fortunately, his family vault and heirlooms were not forfeit to Snape, being held in trust for any of his future heirs, though he still had to request permission to use them himself. But anything that he was given or acquired in his own lifetime would be Snape’s. And if he never gained an heir, given that he had no living relatives in the Wizarding world, everything he and his family owned would go to Snape’s family when he died.

He also had discovered that there was a thick metal collar around his neck, resting at the base of his throat and on his clavicle, just above his sternum. It was rounded and about a half an inch thick, seamless and smooth and cold, but it fortunately did not hinder his neck movements or breathing or swallowing; there was about enough wiggle room between the collar and his neck for him to slip one or perhaps two fingers underneath it. He also had metal bracelets and anklets, around a quarter of an inch thick and a bit flatter than the collar, but similarly seamless and smooth. He presumed that the blood that Snape had smeared around those areas had somehow turned into them, although they looked like ordinary steel. He also had discovered that the mark he had seen on his right shoulder was in fact a brand of the Prince family crest. Fortunately, Dumbledore had assured him that although he could not remove them, he would be able to cover these marks of his servitude, although he did not relish the idea of wearing long trousers and long-sleeved and high-collared shirts for the rest of his life.

But certainly the worst part of his new reality was the restriction on his movement. He would be given relatively free rein of whatever place his master considered ‘home,’ but anywhere else he would need to be within fifty feet of his master. Dumbledore was not entirely sure of what happened if he did try to leave the fifty foot radius, but he had assured him that he would shortly begin researching the exact conditions of slavery.

His life was officially over. And what was worse, there was no way out of it. He could not be sold, the geas could not be broken, he would not even be physically able to harm himself unless it was in protection of his master. Nor could he harm his master in any way; he would be stopped before he could.

He did not even fully understand how slavery could still be possible. Dumbledore had explained all about the history of slavery in the Wizarding world, but he had only been partially listening, half of his mind numbly churning over his new status. Apparently slavery was illegal, but they could not do anything about people already under the geas, or something? He wondered what his friends, the students at Hogwarts, heck the Wizarding world in general, would think about this. He didn’t see any way it could be kept silent indefinitely, so they would probably know eventually. Would he even be able to go back to Hogwarts, were slaves allowed to be educated? His heart sank at that thought.

Dumbledore had left to retrieve Snape from the other room, but he returned now, the dark man trailing behind him. Harry looked up and met Dumbledore’s eyes, relishing in this small freedom, even if Dumbledore had had to give it to him.

“We will be returning to my home, Potter. Have you ever done side-along Apparition before?” Snape asked, his voice toneless.

Harry shook his head, his eyes now focused somewhere near Snape’s midsection. He stood, placing his lukewarm tea on an endtable.

Dumbledore clapped him on the shoulder, and Harry looked back up at the Headmaster. The older man’s eyes looked sad as he said, “It will be ok, Harry. We will figure out the best way for you to live with this. I know you two do not get along, but Severus is a good man.”

Harry only nodded at the reassurances, moving to follow his master out the door.