MINDSCAPE - The Healing Journey by chrmisha
Summary: When an Occlumency lesson goes wrong, Snape learns more about Harry’s past than he ever wanted to—and it changes everything. But change doesn’t come easily, especially for two who have spent five years loathing each other’s very existence. Can Snape and Harry come to a mutual understanding of sorts to defeat their greatest enemy—themselves? Spring of 5th year, A/U. Completely written and posted in chapter installments.
Categories: Healer Snape, Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Hermione, Original Character
Snape Flavour: Snape is Angry, Canon Snape, Snape Comforts, Snape is Kind, Snape is Stern
Genres: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Injured!Harry, Snape-meets-Dursleys
Takes Place: 5th Year
Warnings: Abusive Dursleys, Physical Punishment Spanking, Neglect, Rape, Romance/Het, Torture, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 40 Completed: Yes Word count: 98424 Read: 234314 Published: 26 May 2017 Updated: 31 Oct 2017
Chapter 13 by chrmisha

Harry took a deep breath and leaned against the infirmary bed, feet still on the floor. Madam Pomfrey came out of her office just as Snape was leaving. Snape indicated Harry with the direction of his gaze and then gave Pomfrey a curt nod. Harry assumed that meant that Snape had given Madam Pomfrey the okay to release Harry.

Thus, when Madam Pomfrey came over, Harry assumed it would be to kick him, Ron, and Hermione out. Instead, and much to everyone’s surprise, she said, “Mr. Potter, I will be in my office, should you need me. You three take as much time as you need.”

The trio glanced at each other. Hermione spoke first. “Harry, what’s going on?”

“And why was Snape here?” Ron asked indignantly.

It was Ron’s Snape-bashing that brought things back to normal. Harry gave a half-smile, feeling very thankful for his friends.

“Snape,” he said, “and Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore and a Healer named Coventry Cook are all helping me.”

Hermione looked concerned, Ron, just confused.

“Helping you what, mate?” Ron asked.

“Heal,” Harry said in a single word. And for the first time, he realized just how true that was. “Along with you two.”

“Us two?” Ron asked.

“Yeah,” Harry said, stretching.

“Heal from what?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“The Dursleys.” Harry paused and steeled his courage. “There’s a lot more to it than you know.”

“More than them starving you?” Ron asked.

Harry nodded.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said. “I’m so sorry. I always wondered…”

Harry shook his head. He wanted to tell them it wasn’t as bad as they thought, or that it wasn’t really a big deal, but he couldn’t. He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“I don’t remember most of it,” he admitted. “I blocked out most of the memories.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, but Hermione gasped. “Oh, Harry,” she repeated.

“What does that mean? Blocked them out?” Ron repeated.

“It means,” Hermione said, ever the book-smart one, “Harry sort of boxed up his memories and stored them high up on a shelf in his mind. They are still there, but he can‘t remember them consciously.”

“Why would he do that?” Ron wanted to know. Harry was content to let Hermione explain so he wouldn’t have to.

“To stay sane,” Hermione said. “Sometimes, it’s too hard to remember everything, especially really bad things. So, in order to keep living, you have to box them up and hide them away.” Hermione looked to Harry, her eyes glistening with unshed tears for Harry’s suffering. “Am I right?” she asked in a whisper.

Harry nodded. Ron cracked his knuckles menacingly.

Hermione put her hand over Harry’s and squeezed gently. “You can tell us anything, Harry.”

“Yeah, mate,” Ron agreed, “You wouldn’t mind if I went and cursed the Dursleys to Hades, though, would you?”

Harry laughed softly.


It was a cold, rainy day; one that Snape didn’t mind spending in front of his fireplace with a good book. He’d finished grading student essays first thing that morning so he could spend his afternoon relaxing before Potter’s next healing session. He stretched languidly, contemplating a particularly convoluted argument the author had made, when a voice interrupted him.

“Sevvie, are ye there? I need ta talk ta ye…”

The face speaking out of the fireplace was welcome, albeit surprising. On second glance, he leapt to his feet and knelt before the fire.

“Covey? What is it? What’s wrong?” Snape asked, observing the fresh tears tracks lining Covey’s ashen face.

“I canna do Harry’s healin’ today,” Covey said around a sob. “Somethin’s happen’d and I canna do it. I’m sorry.”

Severus frowned. Covey looked caught between anguish and panic. Preferring to have this conversation in person, he said: “Can you come through?” When she hesitated, he added, “Covey, please, step through.”

Covey’s head disappeared, and then her slender body stepped out of his fireplace. She stood forlorn before him, head bowed, arms wrapped around herself, tears streaking her face.

Snape lifted her chin with his hand. “What happened?”

“Glenny,” she uttered. “He was a little waif I was workin’ with. Such a wee little bairn.”

Snape watched her expressive face, willing her to continue.

“He was just 4 years old,” Covey said around a sob.

Gently, Snape asked, “What happened to him?”

Covey dashed tears from her cheek. “His da killed him. We were supposed ta be keepin’ him safe, but we failed.”

Snape took Covey into his arms and let her weep against his shoulder, her words echoing in his mind: We were supposed to be keeping him safe, but we failed. It could have been Potter who had died, and he would have been the one who’d failed. That thought twisted in his gut as he consoled the witch in his arms.

“Shhhh…” he murmured as he rubbed Covey’s back. If he’d have imagined this beforehand, he would have thought this scenario would be awkward at best. But it wasn’t. It suddenly seemed like the most natural thing in the world to be here comforting her. In fact, he was amazed at how right she felt in his arms.

“I am sure you did the best you could,” Snape whispered against her hair. “Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control,” he continued. He felt her soften some against him as he continued babbling a litany of inanities he hoped she might find consoling.

“I tried ta help him,” she said in a defeated voice.

“You did help him,” Snape assured her. He knew that if she was involved in the child’s life, that she surely had been a great help to him. He lifted her chin gently and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You are an amazing healer. I’ve seen your work.”

He gazed into her shimmering eyes, his own brimming with emotion. Without really thinking, he placed soft lips to hers. “You are amazing,” he whispered against them.

She made an anguished sound and then suddenly they were kissing. Their lips and tongues came together in a way that was as unexpected as it was welcome.

Snape hadn’t seen it coming, but like everything else when it came to this witch, it was enchanting and beguiling. He gripped her to him tighter, and fought the urge to deepen the kiss, to take all that she was offering and so much more. Merlin knew, he wanted her.

But he wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t regret this later, when she came to her senses and realized that he just happened to be the most convenient outlet for her despair, the most available distraction at the moment. And so he steered their enthralling kiss to a close and pressed her to his chest, unable to look into her eyes for fear of what he might see there.

“Sevvie,” she breathed as she melted into him. “I…”

“Shhh….” he said, hushing her. He pulled back to place a chaste kiss on her lips, the tip of her nose, the space between her eyes, her forehead, and then held her to him once more, not wanting the moment to end.


“Harry!” Colin Creevey called, his voice full of excitement. “Harry, I have a message for you from Professor Snape.”

Harry took the proffered parchment and smiled knowingly as Colin shuttered when speaking Snape’s name. Once Colin had left, Harry unfurled the scroll, Ron and Hermione looking over his shoulder to read along with him.

“I wonder why your healing session for today has been cancelled,” Hermione remarked.

“Wonder why Snape wants to see you in his office,” Ron commented darkly.

“Dunno,” Harry replied, but he was secretly relieved. While he understood he needed healing, the newfound memories were starting to wear on him in a way he didn’t think he’d be able to hide much longer.

The flashbacks were getting worse, the nightmares had turned into night terrors, and his ability to concentrate on school work was at an all-time low. “But he wants to see me in 20 minutes. Hopefully it won’t take long.” Getting up from his seat, he said, “I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

“Do you want us to go with you?” Hermione asked.

“Nah,” Harry said instantly, before he’d even seriously considered the offer. He knew he could talk to his friends about anything, knew they’d listen. But did he really want to burden his friends with this? Weren’t their lives hard enough just being friends with the boy-who-lived? The boy-who-Voldemort-wanted-to-kill? Which also meant that just being friends with him put them in danger.

And the memories were so horrific that just the thought of them made him want to vomit. The gut-level shame, the helplessness. He wanted to push the memories back into the box they’d slipped out of. And the thought of who knew how many more sessions of healing—sessions that led to as much pain as they relieved—was beyond daunting.

Finally arriving at Snape’s office, he knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Snape’s familiar voice called.

Harry came to stand before Snape’s desk. “Sir,” he said, “you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter, have a seat.”

Harry did as instructed and waited for Snape to explain why he’d requested to see him.

“Healer Cook had a personal situation arise that has made her unable to assist you today,” Snape reported.

“Is she okay?” Harry asked.

“She is,” Snape said. “She will be able to work with you next weekend as planned. For now, though, I wanted to ask you how you are managing the return of your memories.”

Harry shifted under Snape’s scrutiny. He didn’t feel like admitting to the man just how much he was struggling.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, leaning forward, “It would be ludicrous to expect that you would not be experiencing some degree of difficulty with all that has happened. It is not a question of IF you are struggling, but rather to what degree you are struggling.”

Harry looked away, unable to meet Snape’s gaze any longer. “I am having trouble sleeping,” Harry said quietly.

“Nightmares, I expect?” Snape inquired.

Harry nodded.

“What else?”

Harry sighed. He’d known Snape wouldn’t let him off the hook that easy. “I flinch all the time now,” Harry admitted. “I don’t mean to,” he quickly added, “it just happens.”

“That is due to body memories. The good news is, as your mind integrates the memories, that automatic reaction, or reflex you might say, will diminish and disappear.”

Harry was relieved to hear it, but he wished he could speed up the process. It was awkward to explain and he wasn’t sure how much longer his ‘lack of sleep’ excuse was going to work.

“What else?” Snape pried.

“I am having a hard time concentrating on my studies, sir.” Harry waited for the nasty comeback that he knew Snape would have, something about his mediocre talent, or undisciplined mind, but none was forthcoming.

Instead, Snape responded, “That, too, is to be expected”

Harry looked up, surprised, but Snape just raised an eyebrow and before continuing.

“If you need additional time to finish your coursework, I am sure your instructors will accommodate you, myself included. That said, though, you don’t want to fall too far behind or that, in and of itself, will become a further stressor on you.”

Harry nodded; he understood that all too well.

“What else?” Snape repeated.

Harry stared at his feet. “Flashbacks,” he mumbled. When Snape didn’t respond, Harry looked up to find the potions master staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to go on. Swallowing, Harry admitted, “They are the worst. They come without warning. After they are over,” Harry shuddered, “it’s like I just relived that horrible event, whatever it was.” More to himself than to Snape, he added, “I’m surprised I don’t wake up covered in blood.”

At this, he saw Snape frown before running a hand through his hair. “Flashbacks are not pleasant,” he conceded. “Anything else?”

Harry shook his head.

“What about panic attacks?” Snape asked.

“Sir?”

“Episodes where you feel like you can’t breathe, your heart is racing, you feel like something terrible is about to happen.”

“I didn’t know they had a name,” Harry said, feeling unaccountable embarrassed.

“Indeed they do,” Snape replied. “Have you felt the urge to self-harm?”

Harry was taken aback at the thought. “No sir,” he said.

“Any thoughts of suicide?”

“No.”

“They may come,” Snape said. “And if they do, you are to come to one of us for help immediately. It is not uncommon for someone in your situation to become overwhelmed and consider such a permanent solution to a temporary problem.”

Harry grimaced. With his lack of sleep, inability to concentrate, and the constant images of what he’d suffered at the hands of the Dursleys, he could see how one could get to that point.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape called, and suddenly Harry realized it was not the first time that Snape had addressed him in an effort to get this attention.

“Sorry sir,” Harry said.

Snape nodded without comment. “If thoughts of suicide or self-harm come to you, I have your word that you will let a staff member know immediately?”

“Yes.”

“Your word, Potter.”

“Yes,” Harry said, “you have my word.”

“Very well,” Snape said, shuffling some papers into neat stacks on his desk. “On to some other housekeeping issues, then. First, I have a few potions you may take as needed. The first is a dreamless sleep potion, the second a mind-strengthening potion, the third is a potion to help you focus, and the fourth is a calming draught. None of these can be used long term, but they can help you get through the more traumatic periods. As they can be addictive if used excessively, I encourage you to use them sparingly as I will not give them to you freely.”

Harry felt the intensity behind Snape’s stare and nodded in understanding.

“Use them with great care and only when most needed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Second, Healer Covey and I have located a source of Muggle therapy for you. We have found a married couple that does therapy together for individuals in your situation. They prefer the model of counseling together as they can then provide male and female input, as well as stand as positive male and female role models for the children who lack them.”

“Sir,” Harry interrupted. “I understand why a Muggle therapist was suggested, but I’m not sure it’s that simple.”

“How so?” Snape inquired.

“Well, the reason the Dursleys… did what they did… was because they didn’t want me to have magic. And I can’t explain that to Muggles. Plus, there’s that whole thing with Volde--” Harry stopped mid-word at the look Snape gave him. “with a mad man hunting me down to kill me, and telling a Muggle that would make me seem paranoid and crazy. I think. Sir.”

Harry watched as Snape seemed to consider this.

“Those are valid concerns,” Snape conceded. “However, I think with the Muggle therapists, if you focus solely on the abuse, and dealing with the memories that have been recovered, you will have plenty to talk about. Muggle and wizarding children alike are abused, and the reason for that abuse has to do with the abusers, NOT the children. Hence, I don’t think the reason really matters, unless, of course, you blame yourself for the abuse, and that, again, is something that the Muggle therapists can help you with.”

“And he-who-must-not-be-named?” Harry asked.

“If you would like to speak with someone about that situation,” Snape replied, “I am sure that can be arranged with a competent professional in the Wizarding world. Do you wish to pursue that as well at this time?”

“No,” Harry replied promptly. “I think I have enough to deal with at the moment.”

“I agree,” Snape said. “As your healing sessions are generally on Saturday afternoons, we feel it best for you to visit with your Muggle counselors on Sundays. Does this sound reasonable to you?”

Harry didn’t like it, but then again, he didn’t like any of it. He didn’t like the emotions and memories the healing brought up, he didn’t like that he’d been abused all his life, that his parents had died, that Voldemort and tried to kill him and was after him still now.

“What is on your mind, Mr. Potter?”

Harry jumped. “I was just…”

When he didn’t finish his statement, Snape said, “Spit it out.”

“My life is not my own,” Harry said, “and I don’t know if it ever will be.”

Snape sighed. “That, unfortunately, is something we have in common.”

Harry looked up, startled. Had Snape just said they had something in common? And something so personal?

“Do you have any more questions?” Snape asked.

“No,” Harry answered.

“Very well,” Snape said. “Come to my office tomorrow at 3pm and I will escort you to your first therapy session.”


Severus walked back into his private quarters to find Covey curled up on his couch, wrapped in a blanket, cradling a cup of tea, Earl Grey perched contently on her hip. Severus smiled at the sight of her. Simply put, she fit: In his quarters, in his life.

“How’d it go?” Covey asked, looking up at Severus.

“Fine.”

“Is he doin’ alright, then?” she asked.

Severus quashed the urge to shrug. “Mr. Potter is doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

Covey frowned. “He agreed ta see the Muggle therapist t’morrow, aye?”

“Yes.” Snape cleared his throat, and needlessly rearranged some of the knick-knacks on his mantelpiece. “I thought, perhaps, we might both escort him there, if you’re free tomorrow?”

He glanced up at her in time to see her smile. “O’ course,” she said, scooting to the middle of the couch and patting the place next to her. Earl Grey yowled at being displaced and stalked off toward the kitchen.

Severus sat where she indicated, between her and the arm of the sofa, wedged in and perfectly content. Promptly, she scooted next to him, leaning her body against his, side to side, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder. As he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, he reflected that he’d never seen a more beautiful sight.

“This is nice,” she murmured into his chest.

“Aye,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He let the heat of her body against his, and the warmth of the fireplace, wash over him. Her scent filled his keen nostrils; she smelled of spring rain and daffodils.

“Sevvie?”

“Hmm?” he inquired, lifting his head to meet her gaze. Swollen eyes and all, she was exquisite, like an exotic bird who’d flown in out of nowhere and slipped gracefully into his life.

“Kiss me?”

He felt his insides melt as he leaned forward and took her lips in a tender kiss. The angle was awkward, and soon she’d scooted into his lap, her bum planted firmly on his crotch. He fought the instinct to groan aloud as she wiggled herself into a more comfortable position, awakening him in ways he’d rather not advertise.

With her sitting the way she was, though, it was unavoidable that she’d notice. And with the way she was kissing him back, running her fingers across his face and through his hair, that awakening was an inevitability.

He kissed her ardently, hands gliding across her back, pulling her even closer as the kiss deepened. When she finally paused long enough to catch her breath, she leaned her forehead against his, eyes wide and guileless, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Maybe this was real after all. Thoroughly encouraged by that thought, he fit his lips to hers once more.

The End.


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