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: 105405 Published: 17 Aug 2017 Updated: 26 Jun 2018
Chapter 3 by chrmisha
Author's Notes:
This is the dark chapter that has abuse, rape, and torture in it. If you want to skip these scenes but continue with this story, skip to the next chapter.

A/N: See author's note above for chapter warnings.


Snape, who’d taken to carrying his shrunken Death Eater robes and mask on his person since Potter’s disappearance, raced to the border of Hogwarts’s wards. He quickly changed and then Apparated, following the pull of the Dark Mark. Other Death Eaters were popping into existence all around him.

Snape cleared his mind and reinforced his mental shields. Although he had plenty of practice, he needed to remain absolutely unaffected by whatever state Potter was in, if indeed the boy was here. Any indication of discomfort or concern on his part would earn him a one-way ticket to the hereafter, courtesy of the Dark Lord himself, and Potter would fare no better.

He found himself in the middle of the pack as the robed and masked figures made their way up an ornate set of steps and into a large manor house. Snape had never seen this property before, although it fairly reeked of Dark Magic. He mentally reached out to touch its wards, not surprised to find the place heavily guarded and unplotable. Any thought of discovering its location to pass along to the Order seemed hopeless. The Dark Lord was thorough if nothing else, and he trusted no one completely, not even his most faithful servants.

Snape entered an extravagant ballroom with arched ceilings and ornate trim. Large, tall windows spanned two sides of the room, their panes of glass charmed to be mirrors. At the front of the room, on a raised dais, sat the Dark Lord, situated in a throne-like chair as if holding court.

“My loyal servants,” the Dark Lord hissed, as his followers came to kneel respectfully before him. “So good of you to join me this evening.” He rose from his chair and walked among the kneeling Death Eaters, touching various bowed heads as he went.

“I have called you here this evening to reward your great service to me. You have been patient, so patient. Rise,” Voldemort commanded by both voice and gesture, and his servants obediently got to their feet, although their heads remained bowed.

“Tonight, my friends, will be the beginning of what we have all worked so hard for. Tonight, we shall all be rewarded,” Voldemort proclaimed, his arms thrown wide to include his followers in his glory.

“As you know, I have long sought to extend my reach beyond this small island so many of you call home. I have gained allies across Europe, and parts of Asia and the Americas as well. For in order to ensure the success of the many plans we have for a purer Wizarding world, we must unify and fight for the same cause, under one banner, under one leader.” Here Voldemort indicated himself.

“But never fear, my loyal servants, never fear,” Voldemort reassured them. “For you have been with me from the very beginning. You have seen me resurrected, you have remained by my side, and you shall be rewarded above all others.”

“You see, my allies—for all of their cunning, charm, and dedication—have yet to prove themselves to me. Unlike you, they have not stood beside me since I began this journey many years ago. As such, in order to gain entrance to these hallowed ranks, they must prove to me that they are worthy of the honor of joining us,” Voldemort said as he circled his followers.

“Tonight, I will add six new members to my ranks,” he continued, his voice rising with excitement. “These loyal servants come to me from Germany, where their parents once served under Grindewald. Grindewald, who was on the right track, though he never had the courage or the strength to see beyond his paltry ideals. It is I who have taken not only the next step, but several more, to create a world we witches and wizards can be proud to call our own.”

Stepping back to the front of the gathered Death Eaters, Voldemort continued. “So what is it, you ask, that these six initiates have done to earn my trust? What could they possibly have done to gain entrance into our inner circle, you ask? Well, let me not ruin the surprise. Let them show you, so they too can gain your trust. Let us welcome our new brothers.”

Voldemort pointed his wand at the two adjoining doors at the far end of the ballroom and they burst open. The gathered Death Eaters turned to see six robed and masked figures, standing in formation, holding what looked like a large burlap sack between them.

“Welcome, my children,” Voldemort cried. “Come. Step forward. Join us now. Show us what it is that you have brought us tonight.”

Voldemort waved his arm in a grandiose gesture and the gathered Death Eaters promptly spread out into a loose circle with an opening at the far end to allow the six new members to bring their offering forward. Carefully, the new members laid their burden at the Dark Lord’s feet and then stepped back to join others, thereby completing the circle.

Snape braced himself, willing his shields to hold, willing himself to show no emotion, no matter what the suspiciously stained fabric hid.

“Revelabis,” Voldemort murmured, flicking his wand at the sack with a flourish. The dirty cloth jumped aside. There, amidst the nest of rags, was the naked and bruised body of a teenage wizard, his head shaven to make the lightning bolt scar on his forehead stand out prominently for all to see.

Snape repressed a shiver at the sight. With Potter’s head shorn, he looked a bit like an emaciated version of the Dark Lord himself.

“You see, my loyal followers,” Voldemort said, “to prove their dedication to the cause, our new members have brought us Harry Potter!” Voldemort laughed with glee. “There were those of you who said it could not be done.” Here Voldemort looked directly at Snape and Malfoy.

Crucio!” rang out, and Snape, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott fell to the floor, screaming in agony.

Voldemort raised his wand, releasing the curse. “There were those who said it would be too difficult.”

This time, Wormtail, Avery, and Macnair fell to the ground in a rictus of agony.

“And there were those who doubted me.”

Five more Death Eaters shrieked and crumpled.

“But see here, my loyal followers, our friends from Germany have worked tirelessly to discover and undo the protections that the pathetic old fool Dumbledore placed on the boy to keep him safe.” Voldemort’s voice rang with mockery and derision for Dumbledore.And, as such,” Voldemort continued, “they will be initiated into our ranks this evening with the highest of honors.”

Snape watched dispassionately as the six new members received the Dark Mark. From his point of view he could see Potter’s chest rise and fall. Potter was still alive. Surely not for long, but as long as the boy breathed there was hope, however slim.

After the six new members were inducted into the Dark Lord’s inner circle, they rejoined the other Death Eaters.

“Alas,” said Voldemort, his arms outstretched in welcome once more, “our guest of honor has missed all of the excitement. Perhaps we should wake him and welcome him to the party!”

Voldemort pointed his wand at the unconscious figure on the ground. “Enervate!”

Potter groaned and rolled onto his side, curling protectively into a ball, his eyes shut tight. His ribs stood out prominently. He’d lost weight, likely from being starved. Variously colored bruises stretched across his body, a torturous palette of blues, greens, and purples. Snape pushed back the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him at the sight.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort jeered. “So nice of you to join us this evening.”

Slowly, Potter opened his eyes. One hand scrabbled for his non-existent wand, while the other held his broken glasses to his face.

“Occulus reparo,” Voldemort said casually, and Potter’s glasses fixed themselves. “We can’t have you not being able to see, now can we?” Voldemort mocked.

To Snape’s surprise, Potter sneered up at Voldemort and mumbled something.

“What’s that, boy? I can’t hear you.”

“I said,” Potter spat, “go to hell!”

At this Voldemort laughed, as did his followers.

“Such spirit,” Voldemort observed. “Such determination. We shall see how it serves you at the end of this night, when you and I shall face one another for the last time.”

Potter glared, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

“Unless, Harry Potter, you would like to join me? Become one of my loyal servants? Lord Voldemort would reward you well.”

“Never,” Potter spat, his eyes blazing.

“Tis such a pity,” Voldemort taunted, “wasting a wizard such as yourself.”

Voldemort slashed his wand through the air and a jagged cut appeared on Potter’s cheek.

“I do so hate to spill the blood of a wizard who could serve me well. But, alas, Harry Potter, your allegiances are misguided.”

For all of the pretence of strength Potter was trying to display, Snape recognized the lines of pain and fear in the boy’s face, the slight trembling of his limbs.

“Do you know why no magic has been used against you since my fine new servants captured you?” Voldemort asked.

Potter glared but did not respond.

“It must have been difficult for them to have to resort to lowly Muggle measures to keep you in line. You are worth nothing more than a lowly Muggle, Harry Potter. Nothing more than a lowly Muggle.” Voldemort began walking a circle around the boy who refused to cower. “I also find that magic can sometimes overly affect the weak-minded, and I want you to be fully present for tonight’s celebration.”

Snape felt his stomach turn to lead.

“I want you to feel everything a lowly Muggle would feel. I want you to know what it’s like to be deprived of magic, as you, Harry Potter, do not deserve the title of wizard. You are nothing more than a worthless Muggle, Harry Potter. And let me show you what happens to worthless Muggles.

Voldemort looked around the circle, evaluating each of the Death Eaters that stood before him.

Snape held his breath, revolted by what he’d be chosen for, and yet hoping it would be him so he could spare the boy.

“Hmmm….” Voldemort purred. “The honor of firsts should go to our newest members, but likely they are not familiar with our customs. So, perhaps… ah, yes… Lucius… would you be so kind as to instruct our new members here on how we welcome special guests to our parties?”

“It would be an honor, my Lord,” Lucius replied hungrily, striding forward.

Snape wanted to turn away. He didn’t want to watch. But to do so would raise suspicion. And so he joined in with the others, jeering and encouraging the “lucky bastard” who got to deflower the boy first. To make matters worse, Snape knew Lucius enjoyed this sort of thing. And considering he had a son Harry’s age, it made it all the more depraved. Not for the first time, Snape wondered if Lucius didn’t abuse his own son.

Potter tried to fight, but it was useless. Malfoy had a wand, Potter did not. And Malfoy, that sadistic bastard, did everything he could to make it hurt. Snape clenched his teeth, willing himself to appear to enjoy the festivities. I can still save him, Snape thought to himself. I just need to be chosen. And in order to be chosen, I have to appear eager.

Snape spared a quick glance toward the German entourage. Two of the newest members seemed a bit green at the display. Good, Snape thought.

Lucius finished with a shout of triumph, as if buggering a magically bound child was some masterful accomplishment. Lucius got to his feet, his flagging member covered in blood and bodily fluids, standing tall and proud as if to show off, before bowing to his audience, dressing himself, and rejoining the circle.

The Dark Lord awarded two of the new German members the next two turns. The first one seemed hesitant and the crowd shouted out spells and encouragement to aid him. The second one did not suffer such qualms and was nearly as vicious as Malfoy had been.

By this time, Potter was a snivelling mess, his face covered in tears and blood and snot, not to mention cuts and bruises, and his shrieks had dimmed to hoarse shouts of protest.

Sweat ran freely down Snape’s back as he bit his tongue and bided his time, hoping, praying to be chosen before it was too late.

Henley was called next. He was a brute of a man, but clearly preferred women to men, and by that grace alone, Potter was spared most of what Henley’s females victims were not.

“Severusss,” Voldemort finally hissed. “Perhaps you would like a chance to teach one of your students something new?”

Potter’s head swivelled from Voldemort to Snape, who was still wearing his mask.

“I would be most honored, my Lord,” Snape said, fear and relief coursing a wild beat through his veins.

Potter was curled on his side, whinging low in his throat. Snape doubted the teen even realized he was making the sound. As Snape glided forward, he used his wand to flip Potter onto his back. Before Potter could curl back into a ball again, Snape roughly forced the boy’s knees apart with his hands and kneeled between them. Potter’s eyes met his, and the kaleidoscope of emotions that flashed through them—fear, recognition, hope, betrayal, despair—stole Snape’s breath.

With one hand, Snape made a show of fumbling with his robes; with the other, he grabbed Potter’s throat, pushing the teen into the floor as he pressed the gold band on his ring finger into Potter’s Adam’s apple, all of his hopes pinned to the one and only word he dared utter aloud: “Go!” 

To be continued...


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