A/N: If you skipped the end of the last chapter, Snape had made a potion for Harry to heal Harry’s cigarette burn scars from his time in captivity. Harry had a flashback of being tortured and raped by his guards and Snape helped him through it.

CHAPTER 29

 “Will you read to me?” Harry asked. He was exhausted and spent and needed something to distract him from the emotional drain of telling Snape what had been done to him.

“Anything in particular you’d like to hear?”

“Do you know any Wizarding Christmas stories? It is Christmas day, after all.”

Snape rubbed his chin in thought. “My mother told me a couple when I was young,” he admitted.

Harry yawned and knuckled his swollen eyes.

“Why don’t you stretch out and rest and I’ll see how well I can recall them.”

Snape shifted to a nearly chair and Harry gratefully stretched out on the sofa. He grabbed a throw pillow and stuffed it under his head as he listened to the calming sound of Snape’s deep voice. There were goblins stealing children, and Nifflers stealing presents, and an avenging angel in the form of a reindeer tasked with saving the holiday. Harry’s last thought before he drifted off to sleep was about the irony of Snape pulling a felt reindeer hat from his Christmas cracker earlier that day.

When Harry awoke sometime later, it was to find himself warm and comfortable under a blanket. A fire roared in the grate and the Queen’s Royal Christmas Message sounded over the radio. He glanced over to see Snape reclined in the chair, legs outstretched and ankles crossed, an open book resting against his chest. The man’s mouth was slightly open, his eyes closed in repose.

Harry studied the older wizard. He looked more relaxed in sleep than he ever did awake. Harry wondered, not for the first time, what Snape had been through. Snape, who’d been a Death Eater once, and who’d played the spy for all those years before he’d had to rescue Harry from their very clutches. What had he done in his time as a Death Eater? And what had been done to him? It hadn’t escaped Harry’s notice that Snape seemed to speak from experience. He couldn’t imagine Hermione or Ron having the insights into his suffering that Snape seemed to have. The thought made him both immensely grateful and immeasurably sad.

Shaking off his maudlin thoughts, he rose from the sofa and made his way to the kitchen to see about dinner. Snape had placed a preservation charm on the food so everything was still warm and fresh. He made up a plate for Snape and reinstated the preservation charm before cleaning up the kitchen and putting the rest of the food away for later. Snape entered the room just as Harry was finishing up the dishes.

“I made you a plate if you’re hungry,” Harry said.

“Thank you,” Snape replied, taking a seat at the table.

Harry joined him and tucked into one of the tureens of soup.

“How would you like to spend your Christmas evening?” Snape asked.

Harry blew on a spoonful of thick soup to cool it while he considered Snape’s question. “We could play cards again,” he said. “But this time, you need to be the one singing all the Christmas carols and making a fool of yourself.”

Snape snickered. “I believe you are much more entertaining to watch.”

By the time they’d retired to the sitting room to play cards, night had fallen in earnest. As Snape was transfiguring the coffee table into a card table, Harry called out to him. “Come look at this.”

Snape stepped up beside Harry, his gaze following the teenager’s to stare at the Christmas tree. “It seems that the fairies are developing a tolerance for the potion you made them.”

A pair of young fairies on a low branch were pulling the cloves from an orange and throwing them gleefully at one another. A bit higher up, two blinking blue teenage males were playing football with a star-shaped pod that was slowly turning to dust. A teenage female swung on a dried starfruit, watching the boys with rapt attention.

Lower down, young ones were sticking their heads through the star-shaped holes of the apple slice ornaments, while a group of older fairies had wrapped themselves in garland and were using the ugly candy canes like giant swords.

The adults weren’t behaving any better. Three magenta adults had taken over the nest inside the tree that had attracted Harry to that particular fir in the first place. Having kicked out the miniature Hedwig replica that Harry had placed there, they were lounging and gossiping as if relaxing in a hot tub.

Meanwhile, a group of adult males had got drunk on the fermenting juices of the cooked fruit ornaments and were playing a rousing game of cards using a lemon slice as a table.

Snape reached into the depths of the tree and pulled out an amorous pink and light-blue teenage couple, who giggled madly at being caught. Separating the two, Snape said, “I believe we will need to return them to their grotto soon.”

Harry pointed to a trio of young ones playing king of the mountain on the star topping the tree. “Yeah, but they look like they’re having so much fun.”

“They do indeed,” Snape replied, chortling along with Harry at their antics.

“I can’t wait to tell Ron and Hermione,” Harry said. “I can tell them, right, sir?”

Snape nodded. “You may.”

“Can I tell them about the grotto too?”

“Yes, but be vague on the details regarding how or where you found it.”

“Hermione will be so jealous,” Harry said.

Harry was yawning widely by the time they’d finished off the remainder of the Advocaat and called it a night. He had done better at Durak this evening, which meant that Snape had had to sing as many off-key Christmas carols as he had.

“Do you still wish for me to heal the remainder of your scars this evening?” Severus asked.

Harry dropped his gaze. “If… if you wouldn’t mind, sir.”

“Very well,” Severus replied. “Why don’t you clean up in here and get ready for bed while I titrate the potion.”

Harry gathered up the cards and glasses and set them on the mantel before transfiguring the card table back to a coffee table and the hardback chairs back to their original shapes.

“Oh, and Harry?”

The boy glanced up.

“It would be best if you wore a night shirt with nothing underneath. You can transfigure one of your pajama tops or borrow a night shirt of mine.”

Severus made his way to the makeshift potions lab and diluted the burn scar potion into various strengths. He still felt uncomfortable with the task at hand. By the time he’d finished, an idea had struck him. He grabbed various other potions, including one he brewed for his personal stores only. He rather thought it would be the best way to proceed if Harry was amenable to the plan. He’d have to wait and see.

Harry was in his camp bed reading when Severus entered the shared master bedroom.

Severus pulled up a chair and arranged the various potions on Harry’s bedside table. Once they were neatly ordered to his satisfaction, he turned his attention to the young wizard. Harry had chosen one of Snape’s nightshirts, a pale green one that barely reached the top of Snape’s knees, but hung well past Harry’s. Harry had also rolled up the long sleeves so he could use his hands.

“I have a different idea on how we might proceed,” Severus began, gaining Harry’s complete attention. “I brew a potion that is, strictly speaking, illegal. However, I keep some on hand for times that I have need of it. For myself only, mind,” Severus clarified.

Harry looked intrigued.

“It’s a dissociative potion. The drinker retains their mental facilities and is perfectly capable of following commands. However, it distances the drinker from their reality, making them less susceptible to strong emotions.”

By this point, Harry was looking bemused. “What do you use it for?”

Severus hesitated, debating whether he should tell the boy the truth or not. After brief consideration, he figured he owed the boy as much. “I find that I sometimes need to distract myself from… certain events in my life.”

“Me?” Harry asked, looking suddenly worried.

“No, Harry, not you.” Snape sighed. “I used to take it sometimes after I was summoned.”

Harry’s face lit with recognition. “Oh. I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine what those meeting must have been like. Wait, actually I can,” Harry said, dropping his gaze and shrinking reflexively in on himself.

“Harry,” Severus said, not wanting to lose him, “I’m offering this potion to you. Tonight.”

“Why?”

“I would rather have you assist me this evening, but I do not wish to traumatize you further,” Severus said.

Harry frowned. Tentatively, his voice laced with suspicion, he asked, “What do you need my help with?”

Snape tapped his fingers on the table, trying to think of how best to make Harry understand. “In order for the potion to work properly, you will need to be in the same physical state as you were when you received the scars.” Severus held his breath and waited for Harry to comprehend his meaning. When the boy finally caught on, Severus spoke again. “I’d rather you put yourself in that state. Then I will be able to apply the potion as needed.”

Harry grinned. “I can’t believe I’m wanking in front of my professor. Wanking! In front of my professor!” Harry giggled.

“Harry,” Snape said, grabbing the boy’s overeager hand. “You can stop now.”   

Harry rolled onto his side, his eyes sparkling. “You have a big nose, Professor. Did you know that?”

“I am aware,” Snape said, pulling on a pair of medical gloves. “Now roll onto your back so I can apply the potion.”

“How come your hair isn’t so greasy anymore?” Harry asked as he rolled over. “It used to look like you never washed it, but it doesn’t anymore.” Harry tilted his head. “How come you don’t tie it back? When my hair gets too long it drives me crazy. Doesn’t it drive you crazy, Snape? Sssssss-nape. Ooh! I like how that sounds.” Harry rolled the syllables around on his tongue. “Sssss-nape. Ssssnapity-Snape-Snape.”

Severus bit back a groan. “You know, Harry, you will remember this when the potion wears off.” Severus used the weakest strength titration first, placing a glop of the potion on a burn along the side of Harry’s erect shaft, which was beginning to flag at the lack of attention.

“Ooh!” Harry exclaimed. “That tickles.”

Severus grabbed his wrist. “No touching. Can you feel it tingling?”

“Nope! Don’t feel a thing. Not a thing! Not a bloody little thing. Nothing nothing nothing.”

“I am never giving you this potion again,” Snape grumbled as he wiped off the potion. “Alright, Harry. I am going to try the next strength up. Meanwhile, you seem to be deflating. Could you remedy that for me?”

Harry grasped his semi-hard penis in his hand. “Wankity, wank, wank. Wankity, wank, wank. Over the hills we go…”

Severus cleared his throat. “I think that’s sufficient for now.” He pulled Harry’s hand back.

Harry pouted. “You’re no fun.”

Severus made a non-committal noise in his throat and placed the potion on the burn again. This time it sizzled, but only a little.

“That sounds like a snake,” Harry declared. “Sssssss… ssssssss…”

“I’m sure it does,” Snape murmured, reaching for the 30% strength titration next. “Let’s see if this one does the job.”

Harry raised up a bit and looked down. “Hey, my dick has spots. Spotted dick. Get it? Get it, Snape? Spotted dick!” Harry collapsed in a fit of giggles.

Severus groaned. This time when he applied the potion, it sizzled as it should have. After a second, there was a satisfying pop.

“Pop goes the weasel!” Harry said. “Weasel!” Harry laughed. “Get it? My dick’s a weasel! And it’s popping! Popping hard and popping out and…” Harry threw himself back on the pillows, laughing.

Severus shook his head. “Be still. I’ve found the right strength, now I just need to get you sorted.” Severus applied the potion to the various burn marks on Harry’s penis, scrotum, and inner thighs. Once the potion had done its work, he wiped off the salve. Much to his relief, no trace of the burn marks remained.

Harry was still guffawing at his own jokes as Snape instructed him to turn over onto his stomach. There weren’t as many burn marks here, just a few on the back of his thighs and buttocks. Those were quick and easy. There were more burns, though, Severus knew. Poppy had told him so, and he’d seen them as well when he’d examined a sedated Harry after they’d arrived at the safe house.

Harry had rolled onto his stomach as directed, but he had gone quiet.

“How are you doing?” Severus asked.

“I don’t like lying like this,” Harry said, his voice quavering.

Severus stilled. The dissociative potion should still be working. Severus put a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. Harry flinched. “We don’t have to do this, Harry. We can stop…”

“Can I have the sedative potion now?” Harry asked.

“Of course. Why don’t you sit up?”

Harry practically leapt off the bed, his body trembling.

“Harry?”

“Which one is it?” Harry asked, fumbling frantically through the vials on the table.

“Harry, breathe. You are safe here. No one will hurt you here, I promise.”

Harry stepped back, his whole body shaking now. “I know. I know.”

Severus handed him the sedative potion and Harry downed it in one long gulp. Then he hopped back into bed and slid under the covers, burrowing under them.

“Please, just finish, all right? I know I have more burns. I know where they are.” Harry swallowed. “Please, make them go away?”

Severus let out a long breath, feeling uncertain. But the look of desperation and determination in Harry’s eyes decided him. “All right.”

Harry pulled the blankets up to his chin. A moment later, he reached out and grabbed Snape’s gloved hand.

Severus gave Harry a reassuring squeeze and waited until the boy’s hand went limp in his. Then he rolled Harry over, parted his arse cheeks, and applied the potion to the burn scars there as quickly as he could.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out how Harry had got them but, seeing the reminder so clearly, along with how Harry had reacted, made Snape alternatively want to throw up and pound the shit out of the men who’d done this to him.

Finished at last, Severus cleaned Harry up and then scanned his body carefully—front, sides, and back—to make sure they hadn’t missed any burn marks. He had to remove the nightshirt to do so, and was relieved he did when he found one more circular scar on Harry’s side, below his armpit, which he proceeded to dispatch in moments.

Severus had brought a few other scar potions with him to try on Harry’s other scars, as well. He was particularly keen on removing the slash mark on Harry’s face. He worked his way up from the weakest scar ointment he had to the strongest. It took him nearly twenty minutes and three different scar removers, but he’d managed to make the facial scar all but invisible. One would have to look very hard for it, as it was merely a faint line now.

The knife slashes on his torso and thighs were easier to heal, but the ones on his back were particularly intractable. He did manage to make them lighter, though, and Harry would be able to explain them away easily enough now.

That left the “I must not tell lies” scar on Harry’s left hand, which stubbornly refused to budge no matter what he tried. Severus wasn’t surprised. Blood quills were dark magic and unlikely to respond to standard scar creams. He’d have to think more about how to brew a potion that could remove it. In the meantime, he was quite pleased with what he had accomplished. He stripped the gloves from his hands and banished them.

Severus spelled a clean pair of Harry’s pajamas onto the boy and covered him up. He made sure the glowing orange ball of light hung reassuringly in Harry’s corner for him should he wake, then he made his way to the loo.

As Severus brushed his teeth, he wondered about his next steps with Harry. Before he’d had Harry roll onto his stomach--a position that clearly made Harry feel vulnerable and unsafe--Harry had seemed to be doing relatively well with the proceedings. If the dissociative potion was any indication--and Severus had no idea if it was--Harry might just be amenable to where Severus was thinking of taking him next in the recovery program he’d devised for the boy.

He had no idea if what he was doing was correct, sanctioned, or even advisable. All he knew was that he didn’t want Harry to end up like he had. That thought chased him into his dreams, relentlessly pursuing him and reminding him just what was at stake. By the time morning came, he felt as if he’d barely slept at all.