The Forsaken One by chrmisha
Summary: Two years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Auror Harry Potter is on a raid when he comes across a wizard long thought to be dead. A wizard that, if truly alive, would surely be killed the moment his identity is revealed. Which puts Harry in a bit of a bind.
Categories: Snape Equal Status to Harry > Comrades Snape and Harry Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Hermione, Ron
Snape Flavour: Snape is Desperate
Genres: Drama, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Injured!Snape, Kidnapped!Snape
Takes Place: 8 - Post Hogwarts (young adult Harry), 8 - Pre Epilogue (adult Harry)
Warnings: Profanity, Rape, Romance/Het, Romance/Slash, Torture, Violence
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 8 Completed: Yes Word count: 22111 Read: 20870 Published: 15 May 2018 Updated: 08 Jul 2018
Story Notes:
(1) All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from these stories. (2) Thanks to my super awesome beta and British nitpicker badgerlady. (3) Warnings for rape/torture/violence are references to things that happened in the PAST. 
Chapter 1 by chrmisha

“Fuckin’ Death Eater, got what he deserved, I say.”

Harry gritted his teeth as the words of a fellow Auror drifted over to him.

“We shoulda just left ‘em here to rot. Waste o’ time and resources, if you ask me,” Auror Banks groused.

No one is asking you, Harry replied silently. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Auror dragging a moaning, skeletal person--Harry couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman--across the dirty concrete floor.

“Potter, check that last cell so we can finish up here,” Head Auror Witherskin called.

“I’m on it,” Harry replied, quickening his pace. Witherskin wasn’t terrible in and of himself, but he was no leader. Witherskin’s team of Aurors walked all over him. Ron had quit six months ago, and Harry wasn’t far behind.

After Voldemort’s demise, the hunt for escaped Death Eaters had captured the attention of the Wizarding public the way nothing else could. The Aurors had flown up to the hoop admirably at first. But over time, their overzealousness and drive for justice turned into a bloodthirstiness that didn’t seem that different from how the Death Eaters themselves had acted. It turned Harry’s stomach.

Unable to keep quiet any longer as another Auror dragged out another hapless soul by the hair, to cries of pain, Harry yelled, “They aren’t all Death Eaters! There are some Muggles and regular Wizarding folk down here, too!”

“Might as well all be Death Eaters far as I’m concerned,” Auror Jenkins replied, eliciting a laugh from Auror Banks.

Harry bit back his anger as he unlocked and entered the last cell. As in the rest of the dungeon, the stench was overwhelming. He held the fabric of his robes over his mouth and nose, breathing as shallowly as he could. He tried to block out the reek of urine, feces, blood, vomit, body odor, and decay. They’d found at least two dead bodies that had been left to rot. Harry wondered, not for the first time, who the anonymous tipster had been that had led to this early morning raid.

Harry raised his lit wand, casting it over the shadows and filth that covered the concrete floor and walls. There was a lump of blankets on the cot and, as he dragged his light across it, he saw the silhouette of a human--alive or dead, man or woman--he couldn’t be sure.

“Hello?” he called as he walked closer. He could see tangled strands of long, dirty hair hanging over the bench that the figure was curled up on. “Can you hear me?”

The figure jerked and Harry was immensely relieved that the person was still alive.

Shielding his wand light so as not to blind the prisoner in the dark cell--a courtesy the other Aurors hadn’t seen fit to offer their prisoners--Harry crouched down in front of the inmate. He raised a gloved hand to push back the clumps of hair, hoping to get a read on the prisoner’s condition.

“Can you tell me your name?” Harry asked gently.

A dirty face shifted in the blankets and obsidian eyes swiveled in his direction.

Harry reeled back in shock. A thousand thoughts rushed through him at once, stunned disbelief at the forefront. “Snape!”

Severus Snape had died in the Shrieking Shack two years ago. Harry had seen it with his own eyes. Granted, they’d never found his body, but it had been assumed that the Death Eaters had taken him, not wanting to leave any evidence behind.

Harry shook his head, unable to reconcile the man before him with the man he knew to be dead.

Then recognition sparked in that unmistakable gaze. “Potter,” the voice rasped, harsh and barely there, a broken whisper.

“Anyone in there, Potter?” Head Auror Witherskin called. “We’re ready to head out.”

Potter stood abruptly, his wand hand shaking. He glanced between Snape and the sound of the approaching footsteps. Then, with a quick wave of his wand, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on the imprisoned wizard.

“Nope,” Harry replied. “Empty.”


Any hope that Severus Snape had had of escaping this torturous hellhole vanished when Harry Potter walked out of his cell, letting the metal door clang shut behind him. In Severus’s state of delirium, seeing Potter squatting before him had seemed like a dream or a mirage. Perhaps even a spirit. After all, Potter had died in the final battle, hadn’t he? Snape had been the one to pass on the memories that would send the boy to his death after all.

Then Potter had recognized him and, for a moment, Severus had felt the tiniest sliver of hope. An hour before, he’d have never imagined he’d make it out of this place alive. With Potter’s face mere inches from his, though, long lost hope had blossomed in his chest. It had been short lived, not more than a few seconds, before Potter had seen fit to deny his very existence.

Severus knew Potter hated him--Severus had made sure of that over the years--but to seek his revenge like this? Leaving him to rot in a cell with no food or water, invisible to all who might have tried to rescue him? That was a level of hatred Severus wouldn’t have thought Potter capable of. At least not the Potter he once knew. Severus tried to shake his head but didn’t have the strength to lift his neck anymore. Even if they brought him food and water right now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stomach it. His body was shutting down; there wasn’t much time left now. And Potter had seen to it that no one would be saving him from death this time.


Harry stood amongst his fellow Aurors, disgust welling up in him at the pile of discarded humanity lying at their feet in chains. These prisoners were near death and yet the Aurors ignored their plight, acting as if they were mere vermin to be disposed of. The lack of human compassion made Harry see red but he bit his tongue. Now was not the time to speak up. It would be useless here and would do the wretched souls they’d just managed to free more harm than good.

Harry knew that the prisoners would be transported to the Ministry, where they’d be hosed down and identified. Anyone with a Dark Mark would go straight to Azkaban, no questions asked. They wouldn’t receive medical care and they’d die soon thereafter. And the other unfortunate souls lying shivering on the ground? He had no idea. They might just throw the lot in Azkaban to avoid having to deal with them.

“Report, Auror Potter?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I assisted two prisoners from cells. One appears to be a Muggle male in his twenties, and the other, a middle-aged witch. The last cell I checked was empty.”

After all of the Aurors had reported their findings, Head Auror Witherskin began to hand out assignments.

“Sir,” Harry said, speaking up. “Forgive me, but I’m coming off a double shift here and I’m exhausted. Permit me to be excused?”

Head Auror Witherskin’s expression changed to one of sympathy. “Of course, Potter.”

“Yeah, leave us to clean up this mess,” Auror Banks snarked.

Ignoring the git, Potter nodded his thanks to Witherskin and Apparated away.

Instead of Apparating home, he appeared behind a clump of bushes about 50 yards from the gathering and quickly Disillusioned himself. Then he watched and waited as the remaining team of Aurors grabbed the freed prisoners and Apparated them to the Ministry, leaving two Aurors behind to guard the premises until the Investigative and Clean-Up crews arrived.

Raising his wand, Harry cast a spell at the far side of the compound, creating a loud boom. He watched as the guards seemed to discuss the situation. Unfortunately, only one of them walked off toward the sound. Casting another spell, Harry started a fire in the mid-section, causing the other Auror to sprint toward it.


When Severus heard the hinges creak, he knew his mind was playing tricks on him. Looking up, he saw that the cell door was now open, but of course no one was there. He knew he must be dreaming. He glanced away from the door and back again--it was still open. The irony was that even if it had been real, he wouldn’t have been able to escape anyway. He didn’t even have the strength to raise his head.


Harry cancelled the Disillusionment Charm on himself and Snape and crouched down in front of the skeletal man. “Professor, we have to go. I’ve distracted the guards, but they’ll be back soon. Can you walk?”

Snape’s black eyes swiveled to his, but Harry saw no recognition there. His gut clenched.

“Professor? Do you remember me?” Harry asked tentatively.

“Not real,” Snape murmured in his harsh whisper. “Mirage.”

“I’m real, sir. Now, can you walk?”

The man seemed to consider that before answering. “No. Unless I’m dreaming. Then I can probably fly.”

Harry snorted. “You’re not dreaming, sir. Come on, I’ll carry you.”

He cast a Featherlight Charm on Snape and then recast the Disillusionment Charms on both of them. Sliding his arms under Snape’s frail body, he lifted the wizard and carried him out of the cell.

Snape groaned at being picked up and Harry was alarmed to feel that the man in his arms was a pile of sharp bones with no padding at all.

“Shhh,” Harry whispered, hushing him.

Adrenaline coursing through him, Harry made his way up the stairs and into fresher air. He had contemplated Apparating directly from Snape’s cell, but that would be risky if they investigated the magic performed in the dungeon. It would be much safer to Apparate from where the other Aurors had Apparated with their prisoners.

Relieved to see that the guards were still occupied elsewhere, he Apparated straight into the sitting room of his home.

Harry’s mind raced with the multitude of priorities vying for his attention. The rank scent of the groaning man in his arms took precedence, though. Quickly closing his Floo connection and making sure his wards were solid, he carried Severus Snape up the stairs into his large ensuite bathroom.

The man was covered in a dirt-encrusted robe and nothing else, by the looks of it. Weighing his options, Harry shrugged mentally and stepped into the shower fully clothed. He set Snape on his feet, keeping an arm around his waist to keep the man steady. Then he waved his wand, banishing Snape’s filthy robe entirely. He nearly gasped aloud at the emaciated state of his former Potions professor. Closing his eyes in sympathy for a moment, he banished his Auror’s robes and underclothes to the laundry.

“All right, Professor?” Harry asked, closing off his palate to try and block the horrific stench.

Snape merely groaned, his whole body trembling.

Harry set his wand on the rim of the large tub and reached around to turn on the shower taps. He adjusted the water to a lukewarm so as not to scald the man. Then he positioned the spigot over Snape’s head and watched as the water ran black as it swirled down the drain.

A rasping sound from Snape drew Harry’s attention.

Harry looked up to see a grimace on Snape’s face, his brow covered in sweat, as he began to sway.

“Whoa, don’t faint on me now.” Grasping Snape more firmly around the middle, Harry grabbed his wand and conjured a bath chair before helping Snape into it.

“There you go,” Harry said, adjusting the spray from the spigot accordingly. “Just rest while I get you cleaned up.”

Snape hung his head, gasping in lungfuls of air, his body trembling violently.

Harry set his wand down again and stood by, letting the spray run over the man until the black water slid into a grubby brownish-grey color before it finally ran clear. Turning the spigot away, he grabbed his all-purpose shampoo and body wash and squirted some into his hand.

He worked the soap into a lather as he debated where to begin. “Let’s get started with your hair.” As he laid his soapy hands on Snape’s head, Snape made a startled sound and flinched away from Harry’s touch.

“It’s all right, Professor. You are safe here. No one will hurt you here.”

Harry waited for Snape’s breathing to calm before gently placing his hands on Snape’s scalp. “All right?”” he said, slowly rubbing the soap over the matted black hair. He did his best to thread his fingers into the tangled mess. He was only able to lift his fingers a half inch off the man’s scalp before he could go no farther. Snape’s hair had become impenetrable. He unthreaded his fingers and ran his soapy hands over the snarled mass instead, debating what to do.

“Cut it off,” Snape rasped.

“Are you sure?” Snape’s hair had grown significantly longer in two years’ time and Harry couldn’t imagine how he’d be able to untangle it. Maybe there was a spell?

“Off,” Snape repeated.

Not confident using his wand to do the job, Harry summoned a pair of scissors. Then he set to work cutting dark hunks of hair off near the scalp. “We’ll get you a proper haircut later,” Harry said as he hacked away at Snape’s hair. When he was done, he banished the ratty, knotted piles with his wand. He figured Snape didn’t need the reminder.

“That’s better,” Harry said as he soaped his hands once more and gently washed Snape’s scalp and remaining hair. “I’m sure we can find a spell to make it look a little less uneven, but at least what’s left is clean.”

Snape didn’t respond and Harry realized he was speaking out of his own nervousness. He reached for a flannel and added soap to it.

“I’m going to wash your face now, sir,” Harry informed him, squatting down in front of the wizard.

Snape’s eyes were scrunched closed. The man shuddered as Harry ran the flannel along Snape’s forehead, over the planes of his face, soaping up the scraggly beard that was threaded with grey. He grabbed a clean flannel to wipe soap and water from the man’s eyes.

“Do you want me to shave you?”

“Do you know the depilatory spell?” Snape’s voice was little more than a harsh whisper and Harry wondered if it hurt the man to speak.

“I do,” Harry said, and Snape nodded, leaning his head back, his body gone completely rigid, his mangled hands clenched into loose fists.

“Try and relax, Professor. I promise I won’t hurt you.” Harry cast the shaving spell and dragged his wand along Snape’s face and neck until all of the overgrown facial hair was sheared off. He looked much less ragged for the clean shave.

“Better?” Harry asked, as he rewashed the man’s face and neck, revealing a plethora of multi-colored bruises and cuts in all stages of healing.

Snape raised a gnarled hand, dragging the back of his knuckles against his smooth skin. “Much,” he forced out. “Where am I?”

“You are in my home, Professor, in the Isle of Wight.” Harry ran the soapy flannel along Snape’s shoulders and chest, cataloguing the various welts, bruises, burns, cuts, scars, and other injuries that covered the man’s body. A sharp, unnatural ridge between shoulder and neck led Harry to believe that the wizard’s collarbone had been badly broken at some point and left to heal on its own.

“Why did you bring me here?” Snape forced out. He had begun to tremble again.

Harry, who had been holding the man’s arm out with one hand to wash it thoroughly with the flannel in the other, paused.

Recognizing Harry’s hesitation, Snape stiffened.

Harry resumed washing. “I couldn’t leave you there, Professor. Anyone with a Dark Mark is taken directly to Azkaban, no questions asked. No trial and no medical care, either.” Harry swallowed, the familiar feeling of disgust welling up in his gut. “You of all people don’t deserve that.”

“I would have thought… that the word… of the Great Harry Potter… would be enough… to exonerate anyone,” Snape wheezed. “You did kill the Dark Lord, did you not?”

Harry grimaced. “I did, but I sort of had a mental breakdown after that. And, er, I’m afraid it ruined my credibility a bit.” Sighing, Harry pushed away the memories of himself screaming and raving like a lunatic in the days after the final battle. Grimacing, he added, “I’m more like a fallen hero now.”

Snape grunted.

Harry waited until Snape met his gaze. “I am truly sorry, sir. If I had known you were alive, I would have stopped at nothing to find you and clear your name.” Harry stared into that dark, fathomless gaze, his hands stilling. “I saw you die, sir. How is it that you are alive?”

Snape made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “Death Eaters found me… shortly after you left. They… revived me. Forced potions… down my throat. One of those potions… was Veritaserum,” Snape coughed and a shiver racked his body.

Harry drew in a deep breath and continued washing the man. “I’m so sorry, sir.”

Snape said nothing more and Harry finished washing the one arm before moving to the other. After that, he focused on Snape’s sides and stomach.

The End.


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