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
Chapter 4 by chrmisha

Making his way up the stairs, Harry felt as though he was walking to his doom. When he pushed open the door, it was to find Snape sleeping.

 

Harry puttered around the room for a few minutes, banishing bits of dirty clothing to the laundry and kicking his shoes into the closet. Once everything was tidy, he sat in the chair that Hermione had used earlier, the one positioned near Snape’s head. Dropping his head into his hands, he debated what to say. It’s my turn to save you. I owe you this much at least. Let me help you for once. Are you really ready to die? You can curse me afterwards. They all sounded so lame, and that didn’t even touch upon the bonding part of it.

Harry didn’t know how long he sat there, head in his hands, before a voice dragged him from his stupor.

“I can hear you worrying.” Snape’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Harry jerked upright. “Sorry, sir,” he said automatically, meeting the man’s steady gaze. Snape’s eyes stood out like Luna Lovegood’s due to his sunken face and emaciated state. “Just trying to think of the best way to say this.”

At Snape’s questioning look, Harry pushed forward, rushing to get the words out and put everything on the table, just to get it over with. “Look, Hermione knows a ritual. I’m not quite sure how it works, but there’s a way that I can share my magic with you. It’s not usually used this way. Well, I guess we don’t know that for sure. It’s really old, so it’s hard to say, but Hermione thinks there’s a fair chance that it could save your life. If it works.” Harry ran a nervous hand through his hair.

Snape was staring hard at him and it was disconcerting. Harry couldn’t tell whether he was attempting to tell if Harry was serious, or if the idea repulsed him.

“I guess, the first question is, do you want to live?”

That got an incredulous look out of the man and a sharp nod.

Harry breathed in relief. “Good, that’s good,” he said. “So, er, I guess I should tell you the rest.” He met Snape’s glittering eyes briefly before glancing at his feet. He forced himself to speak clearly when he’d much rather mumble. “It’s a bonding spell. We’d be bonded, sir. For life.”

Harry glanced up to see the horrified look on Snape’s face.

“Not like that!” Harry said quickly. “I mean, I don’t think like that, anyway. Hermione can explain it better than I can, but it would be like flatmates. Just flatmates. And if we went anywhere, we’d probably have to go together.” Harry looked up at Snape through his fringe, trying to judge the man’s reaction to a life bound to Harry Potter.

“The ritual itself requires bodily fluids, but I can use tears and you can use saliva. If you want to try it, that is.” Harry took a deep breath. “There’s no guarantee it will work, but it’s better than…” Harry swallowed, not wanting to say the word aloud. “Than not living,” he hedged.

Snape was studying him but Harry thought the man looked more confused than anything.

Finally, Snape spoke. “Why?”

“Because it’s the only thing we can think of that might save you,” Harry said.

Snape shook his head. “Why would you want to help me?”

Harry didn’t look away as he spoke. “Because you’ve saved me more times than I can count? Because you risked everything to help us win the war? Because you are as much, if not more, of a war hero than I am? Because I’m the only one who can? How many reasons do you need?”

Harry watched Snape process his words.

“I don’t need you to play the hero…” Snape began.

“This isn’t about me!” Harry snapped. Snape’s eyes narrowed and Harry instantly regretted his tone of voice.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry gathered his thoughts. In a calmer voice, he said. “This isn’t about me, sir. You’ve done more for me than I ever knew. You weren’t always nice about it, and I certainly didn’t always appreciate it--especially then--but I do now, Professor. I didn’t understand what your life was like then, and I’m sure I still don’t. But I do know that you didn’t deserve what happened to you these last two years. You deserve to have a life, one without Voldemort or his followers haunting your every move. I can’t change what they did to you. I can’t take away your suffering. I would if I could, sir.” Harry gazed steadily into Snape’s eyes, beseeching him to understand. “But I can do this. Please, let me try. Let me help you for a change.”

Snape grunted and glanced away.

Getting to his feet, Harry laid a gentle hand on Snape’s shoulder, pulling it back quickly when Snape flinched. “Just think about it, all right? I’ll send Hermione up with dinner in a bit. She’ll be better able to explain the details.”

Harry left the room and went to rejoin his friends in the kitchen.

“Didn’t take him long to kick you out,” Ron commented.

“How’d it go?” Hermione asked.

Harry sat down at the table and pulled a mug of tea toward himself. “We’ll see,” he said. “I told him the basics. I said you’d explain the rest later to him later, Hermione.”

“Well,” Hermione commented, “at least he didn’t say no outright.”

“And for Snape,” Ron added, “that’s almost like saying yes.”


Hermione seated herself at the table with Ron and Harry, who were engaged in a game of chess. “I explained the bonding ritual to him.”

 

“Yeah? How’d it go?” Harry asked.

“Fine, as far as it went.” Hermione grabbed an apple from the bowl in the center of the table. “He listened to what I said, asked to see the book with the ritual in it for himself, and wanted to know if the bond could be broken at a later date.”

“That is a good question,” Harry said. “Can it be?”

“Not that I know of,” Hermione replied. “In the cases I’ve read about, it wasn’t mentioned. Plus, rituals like this--ones that require so much power and are so ancient--were typically made to be unbreakable.”

“Well, mate, if you manage to save Snape, I’m sure that will be the first item on his to-do list once he’s well enough,” Ron said, nibbling on a biscuit. “I can’t imagine he’d want to stay bonded to you any more than you would to him.”

“If it keeps him alive, I’ll do it,” Harry said softly. “I just can’t stand the thought of anyone else dying. Even Snape. Especially Snape.”


Harry paced the tiled floor of the WC, muttering to himself about mad ideas and life bonds and how angry Snape would be if he ever found out what Harry was considering doing. Assuming it even worked, that is. It was a mad idea, he knew it was. But what choice did he have?

 

Snape was dying. His body was shutting down. Hermione had thought they’d have a fortnight but, after just two days, Snape had taken a turn for the worse and now they were counting his labored breaths in minutes and hours, not days, much less weeks. Harry had one shot to get this right.

The thought of Snape moaning in pain, his very life seeping out of him, in Harry’s own bed no less, was easily enough to bring tears to his eyes. Harry tipped his head forward and let them fall into the glass beaker Hermione had given him.

It wasn’t fair, dammit. After all Snape had given for the war effort, and then after all he’d suffered unbeknownst to anyone who might care, he now lay at death’s doorstep, struggling to maintain the consciousness he would need to aid in the ritual. At least he’d agreed to give it a try.

Harry thought back to the pitiful condition the man was in when Harry had taken him from that putrid cell. The thought of what Snape had been forced to endure--alone and in great pain--made Harry want to howl in indignation. He dredged up every single heartbreaking moment and memory to drive his tears. He would need them to save Snape’s life. And if that meant suffering on the man’s behalf, he was more than willing to do so.

Sitting on the closed toilet, he bowed his head and let his tears fall. He cried for Snape, for lost time, for himself, for all of the casualties of the war. He cried for the unfairness that had been his life and Snape’s. He cried for the time they had had together, short and strained as it was, and the future they wouldn’t have if this didn’t work. He cried for his parents, for Sirius and Remus and Tonks. He cried for Fred and all the friends he’d lost. But most of all, he cried for Snape’s solitary suffering. He wept knowing that Snape had lived two horrendously awful years with the knowledge that the world thought him long dead and that no one would ever come looking for him.

Harry stared into the beaker, the crystal clear tears shimmering in the bright light of the loo. Would they be enough? They were only tears. They were hardly his strongest bodily fluid. It was a mad idea, really. But Snape was so close to death. What if the tears weren’t enough? What did he have to lose?


Clutching the beaker tightly, hands shaking, Harry exited the loo. Snape lay stretched out on the mattress wearing only a pair of Harry’s boxers, shrunk to fit his emaciated frame. Harry, too, wore boxers, but he had a loose robe draped over his shoulders and tied about his waist as well. This, Harry knew, was going to be awkward. He could only hope that Snape would be able to tolerate his proximity, given what he’d been through.

 

Harry squared his shoulders and told himself to get on with it. He’d only have to do this once, assuming it worked, and they could deal with the consequences later.

Hermione sat near Snape, speaking softly to him about what was to come.

“Professor,” Harry said with a nod as he crawled onto the mattress and sat cross-legged next to Snape’s hip.

Snape’s eyes were stony with pain, his mouth twisted with distress. A fine sheen of sweat coated his skin and his heart was beating overtime to keep his body alive.

Harry knew Hermione had given him a pain potion, but clearly it wasn’t working.

“Since we haven’t had time to practice, I will be walking you both through the ritual.” Hermione met their gazes. “Before we commence, I need you both to confirm that you are knowingly and willingly entering into an ancient and unbreakable magical contract that binds two magical individuals together with the intent of one person sharing their magic with the other to save that person’s life. As this ritual is untested in the given situation, there are no guarantees that it will work. Furthermore, you recognize that it may actually cause harm to one or both of you.”

Snape nodded.

Harry, staring intently at the man, nodded as well. Then he held up his wand. “I hereby state that I offer my magic to Severus Snape in an act of good faith and pure intention with the hope of saving his life. I understand that there may be unforeseen consequences and I am willing to live with them, whatever they may be.”

“Good,” Hermione said. Turning to Snape, she said, “Professor, I do not wish to make you speak any more than you must as I know it is difficult for you. Do you agree to a magical infusion from Harry Potter given in an effort to save your life, knowing that it will create a bond between the two of you for life, and that there be other effects that we are unaware of?”

“I do,” Snape rasped out.

“Very well,” Hermione said, standing to her full height. “Then let us begin. I will be doing the necessary wand work. Harry, you will need to repeat after me and draw the runes on Professor Snape as we discussed. The last step will be Professor Snape accepting your magic to seal the bond.”

Both men nodded.

As Harry stripped out of his robe, Hermione cast a warming charm over both of them.

Harry knelt next to Snape’s head, beaker in hand. In his nervousness, he had the insane urge to say, ‘Wish me luck, Professor,’ but refrained. The situation was much too dire for such glib words. Instead, he said simply, “Stay with me, Professor. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Then, to his surprise as much as Snape’s, Harry leant down and placed a kiss on Snape’s forehead. Not daring to meet Snape’s eyes after that, and feeling his cheeks warm, he turned to Hermione and nodded for her to begin.

Both men watched as she began chanting in Latin. Harry had no idea what she was saying but Snape appeared to be following along. She waved her wand once and a soft peach-colored light enfolded both Harry and Snape.

“All right, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Repeat after me. Then you are going to use your essence to draw the FA rune on Professor Snape’s crown chakra. I will draw it in the air with my wand so you know what it looks like.”

Harry nodded. He listened closely to Hermione’s words and repeated them verbatim, glancing between Hermione and Snape for approval. Receiving Hermione’s nod of encouragement, he dipped his forefinger in the beaker and studied the bright blue glowing rune symbol that Hermione had drawn in the air with her wand. It looked like a wonky upside-down “F”.

Harry lifted his finger from the beaker slowly, watching his essence drip from his digit. He placed his finger on the crown of Snape’s head and drew the rune, as best he could, onto Snape’s scalp, through his short, bristly hair.

Hermione nodded and Harry let out his breath. Once again, he listened intently and repeated the Latin incantation before drawing the UR rune on Snape’s third-eye chakra. Snape’s eyes met Harry’s as he drew the rune and Harry tensed. Snape’s life was riding on Harry not screwing this up. He gave the man a shaky nod and looked to Hermione for the next step.

The throat chakra was next, yet when Harry dipped his forefinger into the beaker, some undeniable instinct made him draw the sign of the cross over Snape’s lips instead.

Snape sucked in a breath and drew his tongue across his lips. His frown of confusion soon cleared and his eyes grew wide in surprise.

Harry’s cheeks burned and he quickly glanced away, shrugging and motioning for Hermione to continue.

She glared at him but otherwise overlooked this deviation from the ritual. There was nothing to be done about it now, anyway.

Harry continued working through the chants, chakras, and runes as Hermione guided him. Snape’s obsidian eyes followed his every move, a scowl on his face. Harry drew the THORN rune over Snape’s heavily scarred throat chakra, the rune OTHIL over Snape’s heart chakra, the MAN symbol over his solar plexus chakra, UR over his sacral chakra, and HAGAL over his root chakra.

By this time, Harry was sweating freely, even though he was barely dressed. More than ever, he felt that Snape’s life was in his hands, and one misstep… No. He pushed the thought away. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself.

He dipped his fingers into his essence once more and, on the backs of each of Snape’s disfigured hands, he repeated Hermione’s words and drew the IS rune. On the top of each of Snape’s feet, he traced the SIG rune.

Now came the most crucial part of the ceremony, the part where he marked Snape for magic transferal. He studied Snape’s pallor and falling eyelids. The man was barely holding on. As Hermione spoke the next part of the ceremony, Harry placed his hand over Snape’s magical chakra--located between his heart and solar plexus chakras--and waited for his turn to speak.

Hermione recited this part in small chunks, as Harry wouldn’t be able to remember and recite the whole of it in one go. When he’d finally said what needed to be said, he dipped his fingers one last time into his essence, coating them liberally. This time, he drew two runes: AR to strengthen one’s life force and GIBOR for the transmutation of one’s magical core.

Suddenly, Harry felt heat emanating from his own magical chakra. By the gasp that left Snape’s mouth, he guessed Snape felt it, too.

“Professor, it’s your turn now. Please repeat after me,” Hermione said.

Snape rasped out the required Latin phrases, the gist of which could be summarized in the one word Harry understood: Accipio--I accept. Then, Snape slid the index finger of his right hand into his mouth and wet it with his saliva. Harry moved closer so that Snape didn’t have to strain to reach Harry’s chest.

His arm shaking, Snape copied the runes that Harry had drawn over Harry’s magical chakra, but in the opposite order: GIBOR first and AR second.

Again, some unspoken urge drove Harry to catch Snape’s falling hand and take the saliva-coated finger into his mouth. It was only a momentary indiscretion and he couldn’t explain it, but it had felt important somehow. Hermione looked startled and Snape appeared shocked. Harry shrugged and made a face as if to say, “I don’t know what made me do it.”

Hermione’s wand hand wavered for a moment before she regained her composure. She raised her wand and cast the spell to bind them together, allowing the transfer of magic between their cores to commence.

Immediately, white light burst from the magical chakra rune marks on Harry’s chest and connected with the corresponding runes on Snape’s chest. Harry felt his magic rise up inside of him like a tidal wave and rush at Snape, connecting with his magical core and binding them together.

Harry watched as the bright light connecting them pulsed with multicolored beads of magic, rushing from Harry to Snape in a one-way transfer. He felt light-headed and in awe. An immense sense of peace and rightness washed over him, along with relief. It was working!

And then Snape let out a pained moan and his eyes rolled back in his head.

“Hermione! What’s going on?” Harry practically yelled.

“I don’t know,” she said, her eyes wide.

Then Snape’s body started to convulse.

“No!” Harry shouted.

“Quickly, Harry,” Hermione said. “Complete the ritual. I’ll cast a Featherlight Charm.”

The End.


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