Lily's Lost Boys by chrmisha
Summary: SEQUEL to “The Last Will and Testament of Lily Evans” and “Lily’s Last Wish.” Harry is kidnapped and tortured, and Snape is left to try and pick up the pieces and prepare Harry for the final battle. This is the third story in the series.
Categories: Healer Snape, Teacher Snape > Trusted Mentor Snape, Parental Snape > Guardian Snape, Teacher Snape > Unofficially teaching Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Albus Severus, Draco, Hermione, Ron
Snape Flavour: Snape Comforts
Genres: Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Injured!Harry, Kidnapped!Harry
Takes Place: 6th Year
Warnings: Rape, Torture, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: Lily's Boys - The Saga
Chapters: 34 Completed: No Word count: 88197 Read: 105399 Published: 17 Aug 2017 Updated: 26 Jun 2018
Chapter 25 by chrmisha

 

<A/N: This is a very dark chapter. You might wish to skip it. The next chapter will be much lighter, what with Christmas and all J.> 


Severus awoke to Harry’s orange ball of light bobbing over his bedside table, but no Harry. He glanced over to see a piece of parchment beneath the light with one word on it in Harry’s messy scrawl: Downstairs. It was only 2am. If the boy had had a nightmare, it had been a silent one. Severus pushed reluctantly to his feet and made use of the loo before making his way to the ground floor.

He paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, taking in the sight before him. Harry was perched on the sofa, feet tucked up underneath him, leaning an elbow atop one sofa arm, his cheek resting on his hand. Flames from the fire cast dancing shadows across his face while the reflection of fairy lights glinted in his glassy eyes.

Severus slipped into the kitchen and made them each a mug of hot chocolate before joining Harry in the sitting room.

“Thanks,” Harry said, accepting the cup of cocoa and meeting Severus’s gaze only briefly in the exchange.

Severus took a seat in the chair nearest where Harry sat on the sofa and settled in to wait for Harry to speak his mind. As he sipped his hot chocolate, he contemplated the Christmas tree and all that Harry had accomplished so far.

Lessons hadn’t been typical by any means, but Harry’d unknowingly studied Herbology gathering plants for potions ingredients, as well as various materials from nature to use as decorations for the tree. He’d learned new charms and transfiguration spells to change and enhance those materials into ornaments. He’d prepared the ingredients and brewed the potion for the capture and upkeep of the fairies, and he’d successfully identified what the potion was to be used for with only the help of books and his own deduction skills. He’d had a lesson in Care of Magical Creatures with regard to the fairies and their natural habitat, as well as how to care for them. That left Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Snape had a plan for that, too, but Harry wasn’t ready for it quite yet. Maybe they’d work on that after Christmas.

Returning his gaze to the Boy Who Lived, Severus saw such sorrow in Harry’s eyes that it made him ache in places he hadn’t in years: not since Lily herself had been killed. Harry was still so young. Much too young for all he’d been through, and that was before he’d been kidnapped. Sighing, Severus set down his hot cocoa and leaned back in his chair. If Harry wasn’t ready to talk about what haunted him yet, at least he wouldn’t have to suffer alone.


Harry glanced furtively at Snape. Snape, who’d gotten up in the middle of the night to check on him. Snape, who hadn’t even complained about the interruption to his sleep once again. Snape, who brought him hot chocolate and now sat patiently waiting for Harry to tell him why they were in the sitting room at two in the morning.

Sighing, Harry said: “When I close my eyes, I see him.” His voice was nearly a whisper in the dark. He took a deep breath and shifted on the sofa, gazing morosely into the fire.

        Eyes.

        Pale blue.   

        Wide.

        Pupils dilated in terror.

“Sometimes he’s still there when I open them,” Harry added.

        Eyes that watched him.

        Waited for him.

        Eyes that accused him.

        Blamed him.

“It’s what drove me to the shed that night. I couldn’t get him out of my head, couldn’t get away from him.”

        Eyes that haunted him.                              

“And tonight?” Snape asked.

“He’s here,” Harry said softly. “His eyes are the twinkling blue lights of the fairies. His face moves in the flames of the fire.” Harry turned a pleading gaze toward Snape. “I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t even help myself.”

“Tell me what happened,” Snape said, his voice soft, inviting, non-judgmental.

“It was my last night in the cell. The night before I was… before you rescued me.” Harry clenched his hands together and gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to talk about this, but he knew he needed to. He closed his eyes, remembering.

“Sometimes there were lights in the cell, other times not. Bad things happened regardless, but it was worse in the dark. The uncertainty of what they might do next was terrifying.” Harry shuddered, remembering the feel of unwelcome hands on his cold flesh.

“That night, the last night, they tortured him first. Before me, I mean.” Harry knew he’d never be able to forget the man’s tormented screams. “After awhile, he went quiet. They didn’t come for me right away. I heard them moving around his cell, but I didn’t know what they were doing. It took them so long, I thought maybe they’d leave me alone that night.”

Harry sucked in a breath and fought back the remembered fear, the tears, the bile that rose in his throat when he thought about it. He vaguely felt the sofa dip beside him. A warm hand settled over his clasped ones. He grabbed Snape’s hand, holding onto it like a lifeline.

“They doused the lights in my cell. Then I heard the door scrape open and the footsteps of heavy boots. It was pitch black, so I couldn’t see anything, but I could smell blood.” He had smelled other things, too, piss and shit, but it didn’t bear mentioning. “They were arguing about something, but not in English, so I didn’t know what they were saying. Two of them sounded happy but the third one sounded upset. I heard the cell open and close again, and then footsteps on the stairs. One of them had left.”

Harry sucked in a breath. “I don’t know what they had exactly, pieces of wood or maybe bats, but they started swinging. I don’t think they could see, either, because sometimes their weapons got caught up in the chains that held me down. One of them lit a fag, which must have given them enough light to see by because the blows started landing more regularly.”

The hand holding Harry’s squeezed his and Harry was grateful for it.

“That was bad enough, but then the man with the fag decided it would be more fun to burn me, which is why I have the circular scars.” Harry reached automatically with his free hand to touch the burn scar next to his left eye. He shook his head, pushing away the memories of how he’d shouted himself hoarse and how they’d beaten him until he’d pissed himself. After all, the physical abuse paled in comparison to what came next.

“At some point, I must have passed out. Or maybe they hit me in the head until they knocked me unconscious. All I know is that when I woke up…” Harry’s voice broke and he faltered. “When I woke up… the cell was all lit up… and… and…” His throat closed and he began to tremble, shaking his head in denial.

“Get it out, Harry. It’ll be better that way, I promise,” Snape said, his voice soothing.

Harry felt Snape switch hands, taking Harry’s hand in his right one, while draping his left arm over Harry’s shoulder to pull him in tight, sheltering him from what was to come.

He was staring at me,” Harry breathed, fighting the urge to be sick. “His eyes were open… and he was… staring right at me.”

        Empty eyes.

        Frozen in time.

Harry gulped in air, his eyes squeezed shut as he forced himself to go on.

“They had… cut off his head,” he sobbed. “They had positioned me so that when I woke up, it was the first thing—the only thing—I’d see.”

        Dead eyes.

        Condemning eyes.

Harry buried his face in Snape’s chest and sobbed.

“I couldn’t save him,” Harry murmured desperately. “They tortured him to torture me.” Harry wailed in desperation. “They killed him because of me. All because of me.”

Two arms were around Harry now, holding him close and squeezing him tight. A deep voice was murmuring words of comfort into his hair, but Harry was sobbing too hard to understand them. Still, he clung to Snape like a man drowning, as if Snape could save him, could absolve him of his sins. For nothing else had been able to.


Harry was finally asleep. It had taken several hours and a couple of potions, and Harry had ended up in bed beside him, but the child slept. Severus, meanwhile, lay awake, feeling troubled. That Harry had survived such torture and remained sane was a testament to the boy’s strength. Yet how Dumbledore expected him to turn Harry into a killing machine was beyond him. Harry might be recovering, but he was nowhere near ready to face the Dark Lord and, if the boy was forced to, Severus feared Harry’s tentative hold on reality might snap altogether.

They’d already asked far too much of this child. Why did Harry have to be the one to kill the Dark Lord? Why on earth couldn’t someone else do it? An adult for instance. Snape cursed. Wasn’t that what the Order of the Phoenix and Aurors were for? Yet Dumbledore had refused to elaborate, insisting that it was absolutely essential that Harry be the one to do it. Well, Dumbledore never said the boy couldn’t have help. And if Severus could save Harry from having the stain of murder on his soul, Severus would gladly do it.

In the meantime, though, he had to come up with a way for Harry to put his guilt over that Muggle to rest. It had taken him most of the night to come up with a workable idea and, if Harry was amenable, it might just work.

Severus closed his eyes and willed sleep to come.


When Severus next opened his eyes, Harry was lying on his back staring numbly at the ceiling. Dark circles shadowed his eyes and he looked pale and drained. Any hope that the conversation of the night before had lanced an infected wound drained away.

Severus rolled to his side to face Harry, who was clear on the other side of the bed. “Can you still see him?” There was no need to specify who he was.

Harry shrugged.

Severus took that as a yes. “I thought of something that might help.” When Harry didn’t respond, Severus explained his idea at length. Although Harry remained motionless, aside from breathing and blinking, Severus knew he listened. “What do you think?”

Harry turned to look at Severus, his eyes troubled. “It’s worth a try.”


Harry stood beside Snape in the kitchen, a shallow porcelain bowl of potion on the table in front of him. Snape had walked Harry through the complicated steps of making a temporary Pensieve, but Harry’s mind felt like a sieve and he knew he wouldn’t remember any of it.

“I will walk you through the retrieval, Harry. Are you ready?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded. He knew what he needed to do. Holding his wand, he raised his shaking hand to his temple. Snape stood slightly behind him, one hand resting on Harry’s shoulder, the other hand clasping Harry’s wand hand to hold it steady.

“Concentrate first on what he looked like. See him in your mind’s eye. When you have his image, push it toward your wand.”

Harry fought the urge to vomit as the sight of dead, accusing eyes assaulted him all over again. He let out an involuntary cry.

“You can do this,” Snape coached, squeezing Harry’s shoulder in support. “I won’t let you fail.”

Taking a steadying breath, Harry gathered the image in his mind’s eye and pushed it toward his wand tip.

“Now, bring forth any other sensory memories you have of him. The sound of his voice, his scent, anything you associate with him.”

Harry shook with the memories of the man he couldn’t save. He wanted to push Snape away and run. Run far away from him, from this. It was only by reminding himself over and over that Snape was trying to help him, trying to take this pain away from him, that Harry was able to force himself to relive those awful days. Cold, naked, chained, alone. Beaten, burned, starved. Listening to another man’s tortured screams and cries for help. Tasting the man’s fear. Being told to choose—him or me. Harry pushed the misery toward his wand, wrapping his free arm around his stomach as he hunched over.

“Almost done.” Snape’s voice was very near Harry’s ear. “Now, think about how helpless you felt. How you were powerless to help him, to save him. Grasp onto your guilt and regret. Channel your sorrow. Push all of those feelings into your wand, Harry.”

Tears streaming down his face, Harry forced the strands of memory from his mind into his wand.

“Now let them go, child. Set them free,” Snape urged. “He won’t be forgotten, I promise.”

Harry released the last tethered strands and felt Snape jerk Harry’s hand and wand toward the bowl on the table. Then, he was falling into darkness, the effort taking too high a toll on him, both mentally and magically.

He awoke cradled in Snape’s lap, with Snape sitting on the floor cross-legged beneath him. Snape’s eyes were closed, his head bowed, his mouth turned down in a frown of concern as he softly hummed “Amazing Grace” while rocking Harry back and forth.

Harry soaked in the comfort and security, letting the minutes go by. When he finally moved, Snape’s eyes snapped open. Snape stopped humming and helped Harry sit up, shifting Harry to sit on the floor beside him.

“Did it work?” Harry asked.

Snape nodded. “We still need to seal the memories into a vial. Would you like me to do that for you?”

Harry nodded and pushed to his feet, collapsing into a chair at the table.

Snape used Harry’s wand to draw the swirling fluid into a glass vial. “Did you think of a name for him?”

Harry took a deep breath. “When I think about him, the name David comes to mind. I was thinking of something common for his surname, like Smith.” Harry scrubbed at the tears on his cheeks.

“That is a fine name,” Snape said. He took a seat next to Harry. “For the unbreakable charm I told you about, the only one who will be able to open the vial without destroying its contents is the one who casts the charm. Have you decided how you’d like to do this part?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Will you cast it with me?”

“Of course,” Snape said, and together they sealed the vial.

Harry picked it up gently from the table, weighing it in his hand. Using his wand, he inscribed the name David on it.

“Shall we?” Snape asked.

Nodding, Harry pushed up from the table and followed Snape to the back door where they both dressed in warm clothes.

Once outside, Harry walked the perimeter of the garden until he found a spot that was somewhat secluded so as not to be readily disturbed, but that also had sun most of the day. He didn’t know how long David had been in the dank, dark cell next to his before Harry arrived but he rather thought the man would prefer to spend eternity in the sunlight.

“Here,” Harry said, squatting down in the frozen grass and pointing to the spot he’d chosen. “We can plant flowers for him here in the spring.”

Snape used his wand to draw a circle on the ground and Harry watched as a core of frozen dirt rose out of the earth at Snape’s behest.

Tears in his eyes, Harry leaned forward and let the vial slip from his fingers. “I’m sorry you had to suffer because of me, David,” he whispered, his voice choked. “I hope you are at peace now. I won’t forget your sacrifice.”

Snape knelt down beside Harry. “Rest in peace, David.” With Harry’s nod of permission, Snape returned the cylinder of dirt to the hole, shearing off the portion that stood above the ground.

His vision blurry, Harry picked up a rock and transfigured it into a headstone. He painstakingly carved each letter of the name that Harry had given the man into the stone, as well as the year, before placing it over the makeshift grave.

Harry rested his hand on the memorial for a moment and then accepted Snape’s hand up, wiping way his tears as he stood. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Snape nodded and together they stared down at the grave marker.

“I think this will help,” Harry said. “I can come here and talk to him if I need to, but I don’t have to keep him with me all the time anymore to honor his memory. He’s safe here and he won’t be forgotten.”

When they headed back to the house, Harry felt a tiny bit lighter. Looking back one last time, he found himself echoing Snape’s sentiments. “Rest in peace, David.” After a moment, he added, “I hope I can now, too.” 

To be continued...


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