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: 234353 Published: 26 May 2017 Updated: 31 Oct 2017
Chapter 28 by chrmisha

Harry sat at his table, head in his hands, trying to stay awake. History of Magic was just as boring when being narrated by Hermione’s notes as it was when Professor Binns gave the lecture. His mind was wandering when a loud pop brought him to full attention.

“Harry Potter, sir,” said a squeaky but deep voice that he knew very well. “It is Dobby, sir. Dobby brought Harry Potter some chocolate biscuits, sir.”

“Thanks, Dobby,” Harry said.

“Dobby brought Harry Potter some Gillywater and pumpkin juice as well.”

“You’ve thought of everything, Dobby.”

“Is there anything else Dobby can be doing to help Harry Potter, sir?”

Harry had the distinct impression that Dobby desperately wanted Harry Potter to need him. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out a task for the elf to do. “Well,” Harry said, knowing that he’d live to regret this but his friends would get a good laugh, “as I can’t see my clothes these days, I am finding it difficult to pick out ones that match. Perhaps you could put some outfits together for me so I know that I will look alright when I put them on.”

“Dobby would be most honored to match Harry Potter’s clothes for him, sir.“

“Great,” enthused Harry, anticipating the many odd looks and comments of the few people who would see him. Luckily, most of his socks were either black or white, but he was sure he’d be wearing one of each daily. He heard the elf in the background, happily rummaging through Harry’s wardrobe and putting together who knew what combinations. If Dobby’s mismatched socks and numerous, multicolored, toppling hats were any indication, he was in for a real treat. Or at least those around him would be.

Harry felt a tap on his elbow. “Harry Potter, sir, Dobby is not finding many clothes. Dobby knows where there is extra clothes at Hogwarts. Dobby will be right back.” And with that there was a pop.

“Er…” Harry was left to stammer to himself. He knew Dobby couldn’t do too much damage with the clothes that Harry had, but turning the elf loose in the castle to find extra clothes was another matter entirely.

Dobby returned with a pop. “Dobby has found the perfect clothes for Harry Potter, sir!”

The elf sounded so excited and pleased with himself that Harry didn’t have the heart to rein him in. Resigned, Harry said, “That’s great, Dobby. Well done.”

Harry returned to listening to Hermione’s notes, but he couldn’t concentrate. He tried to switch to Herbology, but without being able to see the sketches of the plants, it was no use. Thirty minute later, with nothing to show for his efforts, Harry gave it up as a bad job.

“Dobby, I am going to go and take a shower. Do you think you could give me a complete outfit to wear right now so I can change into it when I’m done?”

“Yes, Harry Potter, sir,” Dobby said with glee, “right away, sir.”

In moments, Harry felt a pile of clothing being laid on his lap where he sat.

“I hope Harry Potter is happy with Dobby’s choices, sir. Dobby could not find many matching sets, but Dobby did the best he could, sir.”

“I am sure you did an excellent job,” Harry said, reaching out to pat the elf in gratitude. He connected with a pointy ear and slid his hand down to Dobby’s shoulder.

“Harry Potter is too good to Dobby,” the elf nearly sobbed.

Harry scooped up the piles of clothes, thanked the elf again, and went to shower.


Feeling that it would be too suspicious if both of them failed to turn up for every single meal, Hermione and Ron had started taking it in turns. Lunch fell to Hermione today and, as had become their custom, she went to McGonagall’s office to Floo to Harry. It was the most private and she didn’t have to worry about questions from other students as she would if she tried to use the Floo in the Gryffindor common room.

“Hi, Harr…” Hermione called, before interrupting herself. “What in the name of Merlin are you wearing?”

“It’s all the new rage, Hermione, straight from Paris.” Harry stood and twirled. He couldn’t see Hermione’s face but, from her silence, he imaged she was shocked or appalled, maybe both.

“Well,” Hermione said, “it’s certainly… unique.”

Harry burst out laughing. “Dobby wanted to do something to help me, so I let him put together some outfits for me. And then, he said I didn‘t have enough clothes, so he went and got some extras for me from somewhere in Hogwarts.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione breathed.

“I thought we could all use a good laugh,” Harry said, smiling. “So, what am I wearing?”

Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, for starters, you have one lime green sock with purple Snitches on it, while the other is puce with white lions.”

“Puce?” Harry repeated.

“Your trousers are bright red, and your top is a violent shade of yellow with vertical gold stripes and red buttons.” Hermione paused. “I think he was going for Gryffindor.”

“Well,” Harry said with a laugh, “don’t tell Ron. I want to hear his reaction.”

“I won’t,” Hermione said, “I just need to remember to bring my sunglasses this evening.”

“So what’s for lunch?” Harry asked, still smiling.


Harry was sitting on the sofa in the study, Earl Grey curled up on his lap, when Snape returned from classes. Harry heard Snape’s entrance, his footsteps, and then, his silence.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said, and Harry had the impression the man was choosing his words carefully, “where on earth did you find such stylish attire?”

“Dobby,” Harry said with a smirk.

“Pardon me?”

“Dobby was bored,” Harry replied, “so I let him pick out clothes for me.”

“You let that elf dress you?” Snape exclaimed.

“I think it’s sweet,” Covey said. “Dobby adores Harry, aye?”

“Dobby,” Snape replied, “is off his rocker.”

Harry burst out laughing.

“Aye,” Covey said, laughing as well, “but he means well.”

A cup of tea was set beside Harry on the end table.

“Tea, Sevvie?”

“Please,” he replied.

“How was yer day?”

“A second year Hufflepuff blew up a cauldron,” Snape replied. “I had to send three students to the hospital wing.”

“Ouch,” Harry said.

“Indeed,” Snape replied. “Then, a sixth year Ravenclaw played a prank on another student, causing her potion to shoot up in flames, scaring everyone in the class and leaving a burn mark on the ceiling.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “What did you do to him?”

“Detention for a month,” Snape replied. “And we won’t even mention your class,” Snape said with menace in his voice.

“Ah Sevvie,” Covey said, “yer days are always so entertainin‘.”

Severus growled and Covey’s laugh tinkled across the room. Then Severus groaned loudly and Harry suddenly felt hot. He didn’t know what they were doing as he couldn’t see, but he suddenly wondered if he should go to another room.

“Yer shoulders are always so tight,” Covey said. “Ye need ta relax more, Sevvie,” Covey said.

“You work with that lot of dunderheads and see how relaxed you are,” Snape retorted.

Prompted by their banter, Harry realized with surprise just how relaxed he’d become here, in Snape’s quarters, with Covey and Snape around. He leaned back against the sofa, eyes closed, and continued to stroke Earl Grey, who purred appreciatively. He reveled in the unfamiliar feeling of comfort and home and hoped that for once, unlike most everything else in his life, it wouldn’t turn out to be too good to last.


The next morning, Hermione and Ron had both come for breakfast, and Ron had come for lunch.

“So, rumor has it that Umbridge is in Azkaban,” Ron said with relish.

“Really?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. I don’t think it would have happened except for this one kid in Hufflepuff. Umbridge took a special dislike to him because he’s a Muggleborn and he grew up in an orphanage,” Ron said around a mouthful of food.

“See, it just so happens that there’s this pureblood family,” Ron continued, “and the chap gives loads of money to the Ministry. Meanwhile, his wife is into these charitable causes, and one of them is orphanages for magical kids. She volunteers there and visits all the time, and she knew this kid. When she heard what Umbridge did, she had a right fit. Pressured her husband to see that justice was served.” Ron loudly gulped down his juice. “I suppose Fudge had to pick between the two and, since the money that bloke gives the Ministry makes what the Malfoys give look like Knuts, Fudge put Umbridge on trial.”

“Wow,” Harry said. “Serves her right.” He felt a weight slide off his chest. He never expected Umbridge to get her comeuppance, what with her connection to Fudge and all. It was nice to see that justice was actually served sometimes, even if the reasoning behind it was skewed.  


“Potter!”

Harry jumped, his glass of pumpkin juice slipping from his fingers. He hadn’t heard Snape come in but more than that was the man’s tone of voice, as if Harry had done something terribly wrong. The tumbler hit the stone floor and the sound of breaking glass and sloshing liquid echoed throughout the stone chamber.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, squatting down automatically to clean up the mess. He reached out a trembling hand, intending to feel around for the broken glass and gather it into a pile.

“STOP!” Snape’s voice bellowed.

Harry froze.

“What in Melin’s name do you think you are doing?”

Harry started to shake. He couldn’t see the man before him, but he knew that tone of voice. That was the voice of anger, the one his uncle used just before he beat Harry senseless.

“I was going to clean up my mess,” Harry mumbled.

“You stupid child!” Snape roared. “You can’t even see!”

Harry rocked back, as if slapped by Snape’s words.

“Stand up this instant.”

Harry stood, waiting for the blows to come.

Evanesco,” Snape said and, although Harry knew that the mess was gone now, he felt no relief. Fear coursed through his veins. Why was Snape so angry? What had Harry done? He thought they’d been getting along all right.

Harry instinctively felt Snape’s hands coming toward him and flinched away.

“Potter! Stand still!” Snape said, his voice ringing with impatience.

Harry stood, his heart racing. He felt something go over his head and settle around his neck and chest— a necklace of some sort. He ran his fingers along the chain, coming to rest on a piece of cool metal in the shape of an old fashioned key. He stopped the moment Snape hissed.

“That is an alarm beacon,” Snape said. “I am wearing an identical one. I will be in my lab. You are to rub the key like this,” Snape said, and Harry felt the pendant turn hot and vibrate, “if there is an emergency.”

Hard hands grabbed his shoulders as if to shake him. In a deadly voice, Snape sneered, “And you best not summon me for anything less than a dire emergency. Do you understand, Potter?”

“Yes,” Harry breathed, sweat running in rivulets down his back and his heart raced. What the hell was going on?

“Call on your friends or that infernal elf if you need anything. I am not your servant,” Snape said, and the harsh hands disappeared from his shoulders.

Harry gathered up every bit of courage he could manage, knowing that questioning the man now was not the best idea. Yet he needed to know. “Will…” Harry swallowed, feeling incredibly nervous. “Will Covey be coming tonight?”

“I surely hope not,” Snape snapped.

With that, Harry heard Snape’s footsteps pound away, the door to his private storeroom and lab slamming in the distance.

Harry felt shaken. What had he done to make the Potions master so angry?

Disconcerted, Harry abandoned his thirst and made his way back to his bedroom. He knew that he wouldn’t bother Snape for anything in the world with the black temper the man was in. He’d have to be dying, and even then he wasn’t sure he’d summon the man. Still trembling, he sat on his bed and tried not to let the tears slip down his face.


What started out as a bad day with Snape turned into a bad week. The surly wizard was hardly ever around and, when he was, the man was terse and angry. He didn’t touch Harry in his anger and for that, Harry was grateful, but he still wondered what he had done to break the fragile truce that had formed between the two of them.

Gone was the cordial, if not kind, wizard he’d begun sharing quarters with. In his place was the man Harry had grown to loathe over the years. He didn’t like this venomous version of Snape at all and he certainly didn’t feel safe with him.

His nightmares roared back to life, his panic attacks increased, and his flashbacks held him prisoner more often than he cared to admit. He spent little enough time with Ron and Hermione that, for the most part, he could fake it while they were present, but he suspected that even they were beginning to realize that something was wrong.

He felt himself spiraling down a rabbit hole of despair. But Snape had said not to bother him unless it was an emergency. And running out of Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep potion didn’t seem enough of an emergency to risk angering Snape over.


Covey was with him the night it happened. She’d been spending more time with him than with Snape lately, which Harry found odd. The only time he heard them together was some evenings after he’d gone to bed, and then, most times, they’d be arguing. At least their arguments were civil and verbal, and not the beat-your-brains-out arguments he had with his aunt and uncle.

Harry was sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, Covey in a chair beside him. She was reading aloud from a mystery spy novel and Harry, getting sleepy, snuggled up on the couch with a pillow, blanket, and a very content Earl Grey.

Covey’s voice soothed him. With her, he didn’t feel anxious or depressed. He felt accepted. She wasn’t quite a mother figure to him—more like a big sister. A sister who cared about him and had his best interests at heart. A big sister who could be a buffer between him and the thunderous black cloud that Snape had become.

Then, in a flash of agonizing pain, Harry cried out, his hands clutching his forehead. He rocked forward as vision upon vision assaulted him. Voldemort, pure rage and white-hot hatred. His servant had failed him. His servant needed to be punished.

Harry tasted that fury as if it were his own. Hatred flooded his veins as he raised spider-like long white fingers, his ugly wand outstretched.

“What good are you, potions master, if you can’t even make me a simple potion?”

“Master,” Snape’s voice rasped, “I am trying. It is a complicated endeavor. It is taking longer than I anticipated. But I will succeed. I just need more time.”

“You useless fool!” Harry bellowed in Voldemort’s ice-cold voice. “You are intentionally delaying me. You wish for my plan not to succeed. Is that it, Severus?”

“No, Master, never,” Severus whispered, his voice a plea for mercy.

“You worthless servant,” Voldemort spat. “Maybe this will remind you not to dally.”

Snape’s screams echoed through Harry’s mind, snapping him out of Voldemort’s grip.

“NOOOO!” Harry screamed, gripping his hair and pulling hard as if to dislodge the memory. “No, no, no,” Harry begged. He was on his hands and knees on the floor, rocking back and forth. It had been just like Mr. Weasley. “Noooooo,” he cried. 

The End.


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