Severus shuddered as for the third time that hour, a distinctly unpleasant sensation rushed down his spine.  The closest thing he could think of was the tingling of fear that was sometimes described in trying situations.  He had never experienced that, though.  This phenomenon was becoming more and more frequent.  It had started with the end of the school year.  Perhaps once a day, then two or three times.  After a week, it was probably at a dozen times.  After two weeks, it was every hour.  Now, three weeks into the summer, he wasn’t even able to concentrate on his duties.  It wasn’t exactly painful, at least, not in the way he was used to, with Cruciatus curses and beatings, but now that it was affecting his functionality, it seemed reasonable to do something about the condition.

Of course, Severus knew the cause.  It had to be the slave bond, since otherwise, he was in perfect health.  It must not like the fact that he was ignoring Potter.  Much as Severus would have liked to continue that very plan, even at personal discomfort, he couldn’t afford to lose his usefulness.

Albus had given him permission after the passage of two weeks that it was acceptable for him to collect Potter from his relatives.  Two weeks was all the blood wards required to maintain their effectiveness.  Severus personally doubted their necessity, should word of the slave bond get out.  Bonds were a long held tradition, to the point that a magic so ancient protected it that not even Albus or the Dark Lord could break it.  Anyone who dared lay a harmful hand on his slave without his permission would suffer instant death before their hand or spell had ever reached its mark.  The bond would dissolve any harm from an unapproved outside source.  Additionally, no one could force a master to resign a claim on his slave.  The bond refused to recognize decisions made under duress.  The Dark Lord would be unable to force him to hand Potter over, though his refusal to do just than could reveal his loyalties.  In some ways, perhaps, the bond was more protective than the blood wards.

Damn it, there was that sensation again.  Severus slammed his quill on his desk and rose, grabbing his cloak as he prepared to make his way to Privet Drive.  There was no getting around it; he had to collect Potter and explain this whole miserable situation to him.  And along with that went all the legal matters as well.  While slavery was explicitly outlawed in every way that it could be, the Ministry would be hard pressed to legislate a lack of hatred or require persons to not save each other.  How could someone be imprisoned for saving someone’s life?  Additionally, even if they could be, how would it help?  The bond would be formed anyway, since the magic creating the bond was beyond the control of any wizard or group of wizards, stretching back to the earliest documents.

Severus knew the Ministry couldn’t take any action against him for the bond; they certainly wouldn’t against Potter.  It didn’t mean there wouldn’t be legal snafus though.

Before he knew it, lost in his musings, Severus was at the doorstep of Number Four Privet Drive.  He knocked, half distractedly, as he tried to rehearse his justification for claiming Potter midsummer.  The door opened, and a short, round, blonde boy answered.

“Hello?” he asked, a bit stupidly, Severus thought.

“I’m here for a Mr. Harry Potter,” Severus said, getting directly to the point.  “If you would be so kind as to let him know to pack his things, and be ready as soon as possible.”

“Dad!” the boy screamed back into the house.  “Mum, where’s dad?”  Petunia came around the corner.

“Who is it?” she asked, wiping her fingers on a towel she carried.  She looked up in horror as she recognized the stranger.  “Snape!  What do you want now?”

“I’m here for Mr. Potter,” Severus repeated patiently.  “I need him to come with me for the rest of the summer, back to the school, and so he should be notified to pack as soon as possible.  I have a busy schedule, so the less waiting - ”

“Vernon!” Petunia called.  “One moment,” she told Severus.  She stepped around the corner and seemed to call down to the cellar.  “Vernon!  There’s one of them here!  Get the boy presentable!”  Severus couldn’t hear the reply.

“Move,” he muttered to the round one as he stepped through the door, closing it behind him.

“That’s not my problem!” he heard Petunia call back.  “Do whatever’s necessary!”

“Is something the matter?”  Severus had crept up behind Petunia soundlessly, and she screamed at the sudden proximity of his person.

“What are you doing in here?” she accused.

“Did you expect me to wait outside for what could be several hours, very reasonably, on your doorstep, dressed in very un-Muggle-ish clothes?”  She looked at him darkly, but didn’t contradict him.  “I assume Mr. Potter has been altered to the knowledge of my presence then?”

“It will all be taken care of,” Petunia muttered as she stepped away from him.  There was a clomping coming up the steps, and then the door burst open.  Severus was glad he was outside the radius of the door, or he feared he would have been hit with the sudden motion.

Potter stumbled - scrambled, rather - up the stairs, frantically, as an older version of the boy who answered the door followed him.  As usual, Potter’s hair was a mess, but that wasn’t what caught Severus’ attention first.  It was the boy’s current shirtlessness, revealing the markings of a very recent, very thorough beating.  Severus stared at Potter in shock, his mouth slightly open as his eyes widened.

“I’m sorry,” Potter whimpered pathetically, giving no notice to the stranger in the room.  “I’m sorry!  I don’t want to be sick!”

“Get a shirt on, before someone sees - ” Vernon growled.  Harry screamed in agony suddenly and clutched his head.  “What is it now?” Vernon sighed.  Harry screamed again.  Understanding dawned on Severus.  He stepped forward into Harry’s line of vision.  He wasn’t sure what he expected Harry to do, but close his eyes and whisper, “No,” was certainly not it.

“Potter, kneel down,” Severus ordered shortly.

“Oh, my God, Snape,” Potter ground out.  “Are you mental?”

“I’m serious, Potter,” Snape warned urgently.  “Your headache will go away.  Just do as I say.  Kneel.”  Probably unable to bear the pain anymore, Potter did as ordered, but his expression didn’t change.  “Kiss the hem of my robe,” Severus continued, more quietly.

“What do you think I am?” the boy snapped suddenly, and his headache climaxed.

“Potter, just do it!”  Potter slowly did as he was told, and his facial expression slackened, as his headache vanished.  “Rise.”  Potter stood up and looked at him, with a combination of confusion, gratefulness, and humiliation.

“Why are you here?” Potter asked civilly.

“Your presence is required at Hogwarts,” Severus replied smoothly.  “I’m here to collect you.  Pack your things, and we’ll be on our way.”  The boy hastily darted past him.  Severus’ eyes narrowed as he watched Potter disappear.  The bond was supposed to protect his slave.  His gaze shifted to Vernon, as he speculated the possibilities.

“What do you think you were doing?” he asked, and a heavy silence fell on the whole room.  His calm demeanor was only a way to ensure that he did not lose his temper after seeing the effects of what must have happened in the Dursleys’ cellar.

“None of your business,” Vernon grunted.

“Actually, I think it is,” Severus replied coolly.  “But just answer the question.  Do you make it a habit to beat the boy?”

“Only when he needs it,” Vernon dodged.

“What did he do to deserve it this time?”

“He’s been lazing about the last three weeks,” Vernon said hurriedly.  “Claims to be too tired to work and he’ll make himself throw up and everything to make us believe it.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he really was sick?” Severus asked curiously.  While he wouldn’t put it beyond Potter to be abundantly lazy and even fake being ill if the situation arose, he doubted that such a ploy was strategic given the apparent circumstances.

“He’s never been sick a day in his life,” Vernon snorted.

“He couldn’t afford to be, apparently,” Severus commented ildy.

“It’s not like we willingly took him in!” Vernon objected.  “You and your kind pushed him on us!  You made him our responsibility, and we can take whatever action we want!”  Perhaps the bond did recognize that argument, and that was why Vernon Dursley stood before him, still breathing.  Perhaps the bond interpreted Potter’s presence there as his consent to be disciplined by the boy’s uncle.  Potter came stumbling down the stairs, trunk banging down each step as he dragged it behind him, his owl in her cage in the other hand.  He had found an appropriately oversized shirt.

“I’m ready, Professor,” Potter said.

“Kneel as before if you wish to avoid another bout of that headache,” Severus instructed mildly.  Potter looked at him skeptically, glared at his relatives, as if daring them to say something, and then knelt and kissed Severus robes again.  “Rise.”  Potter scrambled to his feet, and Severus turned wordlessly, shrinking Potter’s things into his pocket and exiting the house without so much as a “good day,” and Potter followed suit.  None of the Dursleys expressed any sort of farewell either.

“What was that all about?” Harry demanded as soon as they were outside.  He glared at Snape.

“This is not a conversation I wish to have on your relatives’ doorstep,” Snape said curtly.  “We’re going back to the castle, and I will explain everything there.”

“You know something,” Harry accused.

“I know lots of something’s,” Snape quipped.  “Take my arm, and we’ll apparate back to the castle wards’ boundary.”  Harry did as instructed, not prepared for the nauseating feeling of apparation.  As soon as he was back in one piece, Harry fell to his hands and knees and vomited what little bile was left in his stomach.

“The feeling will pass momentarily,” Snape said.  “The first few times a person apparates, such reactions are not uncommon.”  Harry gagged one more time, then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.  He nodded and cautiously stood up, visibly weak.

“Better,” Harry said.  He was surprised that Snape hadn’t made some snarky comment about his getting sick.  He’d been doing that a lot lately.

“Come along,” Snape said, and Harry trotted obediently beside him.  They walked up to the castle in silence, Snape keeping a brisk pace.  By the time they entered, Harry was panting from the strain of keeping up.  Snape looked at him curiously, as Harry leaned against the wall for support.  He didn’t say anything.  He just waited there for a moment while Harry caught his breath.

“Where are we going?” Harry gasped, as he pushed himself off the wall, feeling he had held Snape up long enough.

“My chambers,” Snape answered, and Harry’s jaw almost hit the floor.

“I haven’t earned a detention yet, have I?”

“Not strictly speaking,” Snape said.  “As I said, I will explain everything once we settle down.”  It puzzled Harry as to why Snape was being so decent to him.  Cold, perhaps, mysterious, yes, but not outright mean spirited.  Harry noticed that Snape had slowed his step a bit, giving Harry a more relaxed pace to match.  After a short walk, Snape was inaudibly reciting the password to his chambers.  He cracked open the door and motioned Harry through.  Harry looked around at the dark entryway.  There were books and potions ingredients everywhere.  Parchment lay about in the oddest places with quick, little notes written on them.  In his wonderment, Harry almost forgot Snape’s presence.

“Potter,” Snape addressed him, “I try to be a forthright and mostly honest man.  I think any conversation we will have should be had now.”  Harry nodded.  “You’ve been sick lately?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, eyeing Snape skeptically, looking for a trap.  “I’ve been exhausted and sicking up and in a lot of pain.  I never meant to be such a problem that you’d have to come - ”

“I was unaware of your physical condition,” Snape cut him off.  “That had nothing to do with my decision to collect you from your relatives, though I dare say you will be better off away from anyone who takes their sort of reaction to legitimate illness.”

“They thought I was making it up though,” Harry defended.  “Don’t know why you don’t too.”

“Watch your tone,” Snape warned.  Harry just narrowed his eyes.  “I know why you’ve been feeling so ill.”

“You do?” Harry echoed, his eyes growing wide.  “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Snape explained.  “How much do you know of ancient magic?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Harry admitted, perhaps a bit too proudly.

“Then let me broaden your mind,” Snape continued.  “There is a magic, more ancient than history itself, which bonds individuals under certain circumstances, in various sorts of bonds.”

“Like marriage?” Harry interrupted.

“There is an ancient marriage bond, yes,” Snape agreed.  “When the right circumstances are met, such marriages are permanent even beyond the grave.”

“What sort of circumstances are those?” Harry asked eagerly.

“Nothing that concerns this discussion at the moment,” Snape deflected.  “There are also less well-intentioned bonds.  It seems that you and I have contracted one of those.  I have known about the bond from the moment it began to form, but tried to ignore it.  That doesn’t seem to be working out well for either of us, which is why I came to collect you, because I have been unproductive for the last several days due to my own inabilities.  Potter, you are now, legally and magically, my slave.”  Harry’s face contorted into a confused smile.  He laughed a bit.

“I’m your what?” he asked, not believing what he had just heard.

“Slave,” Snape provided again.  “As in, I’m your master, and you’re my slave.  I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept?”

“But...but...isn’t that illegal or something?”  Harry was still chuckling nervously occasionally, but Snape’s glare was disconcerting.

“The ancient magic cannot be controlled,” Snape explained.  “It only happens when a life debt is formed between two people where the saved sufficiently hates the other.  I saved your life at the Shack, and the ancient magic read your hatred of me as sufficient grounds to form the bond.”

“So...” Harry said, frowning, still not quite understanding.  “I’m your property now?”

“Precisely,” Snape agreed.

“I don’t believe you,” Harry replied.

“Do you believe the fact that you’ve been sick?  That is the bond trying to punish you for not serving me.  Likewise, the bond has been annoying me as well, trying to get me to stop ignoring you.  But with you, it has taken a more violent stand, actually sapping your energy and making you sick.  I expect, should it have been allowed to go on the whole summer, that your life force would have eventually been drained.”

“You mean I don’t have stomach cancer?” Harry gasped.

“You thought you had cancer?” Snape responded.

“I was so afraid I was going to die...”  Harry’s voice drifted off.  “You mean I’m not going to die just yet?”  His voice was hopeful.

“That would be the intention,” Snape drawled.  Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  He had been living in such fear that he wasn’t going to wake up the next morning that he relished that momentary joy.  “If you thought you had cancer, why weren’t you checked for it, and told you didn’t have it?”

“You think I was going to tell my relatives I thought I was dying?” Harry challenged.  “They would have rejoiced!  Hallelujah and praise the Lord that the freak is going to be gone permanently!  You saw what was happening this afternoon,” he continued.  “You can figure out that they hate me.  That I’m not making this up.  I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of knowing they might have finally succeeded in killing me.”  Snape was silent as he frowned at the floor, his arms crossed.

“Potter, I want you to know that if it were in my power to dissolve this bond, I would,” Snape began.  “I do not want a slave, and I certainly don’t want you.  That being said, I can’t dissolve the bond, nor even alter its nature.  I have choices I have to make, and I will respect your wishes in the matter.”

“What sort of choices?” Harry asked skeptically, all relief fleeing from him as he remembered the slave bond.  He knew Snape wasn’t lying to him.

“The bond demands the sort of greeting I told you to give me at your relatives’ house,” Snape explained.  “Thus when you didn’t notice me in the room, it gave you a headache until you did.  It will be required every time one of us leaves the other’s presence and then returns.”

“What?” Harry gasped, horrified.  He couldn’t imagine kneeling to Snape in the middle of class!  It would be mortifying.  He wished, for a moment, that he had stomach cancer.

“There is another option, and I will leave the choice up to you,” Snape continued.  “The purpose of the greeting is to demonstrate my claim over you.  If I demonstrate that claim in another way, it will free you of that obligation.”

“How else do you suggest?” Harry asked slowly.

“You won’t like it,” Snape began, “but I doubt you like the current situation.  Please keep in mind that I have not chosen these rules, and as such, I cannot un-choose them.”

“What would I have to do?” Harry pressed quietly.

“You would have to accept a brand and a collar,” Snape said, watching Harry carefully.  The boy was silent.

“Are there any other options?”

“No,” Snape said.  “It’s either what you’ve already experienced, the brand and collar, or an excruciating headache that will literally never go away.  I highly advise against the last.”

“How do you know those are the only options?” Harry asked skeptically.

“I have some experience with ancient bonding magic,” Snape dodged smoothly.  “If you want a suggestion, the collar and brand seem less obvious than the kneeling.”

“Where would the brand be?” Harry inquired.

“Wherever you would rather it be,” Snape answered.  “The right shoulder is customary.”

“And the collar?” Harry swallowed.  “What’s that like?  Do I have to wear it all the time?”

“Yes,” Snape said.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a strip of well worn, brown leather.  It had a single iron ring over the throat, perfect for a leash or an angry master to grab him by.  Snape handed it to Harry, who took it and turned it over in his hands.  He felt despair wash over him as the physical reality of what Snape was saying began to sink in.  Harry turned quickly, the better to hide his quick blinking from the man.  It wouldn’t do to cry in front of him.  He heard Snape step close.

“I’m sorry, Potter,” he said softly, and Harry turned his head ever so slightly.  His breath hitched once, and Snape put a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“There’s nothing else I can do?” Harry whimpered.

“There isn’t,” Snape murmured, not removing his hand.  “Whichever seems less repulsive to you.”

“Oh my God,” Harry breathed.  “I don’t want either.”

“I know.  But the bond demands something, and I want to know what you prefer.”

“Why aren’t you being horrible?” Harry asked, closing his eyes.  “Why aren’t you trying to humiliate me and grinding me into the dirt?”

“The bond will see to all the humiliation necessary,” Snape reasoned.  “I don’t have to add to it.  I imagine the thought of being a slave is paradigm shifting, and this shouldn’t be any harder on you than it is already.”  Harry weighed the collar in his hand.  “You can hide it under a turtleneck or dress shirt.”

“Will the bond be satisfied with that?”

“Yes,” Snape said.

“How do you know?  Will that be humiliating enough for it?”

“You will have a permanent mark on your body, and your clothing choices will be restricted if you wish to hide the collar.  It will disrupt your life enough to satisfy the bond.”

“Okay,” Harry said finally.  “The collar and the brand.”  Snape slowly took the collar from between Harry’s fingers and brought it up to his throat.  Harry lifted his chin, giving Snape full access.  Gently, Severus clasped the collar closed.  When Harry felt the cold metal snick closed against his skin, he couldn’t help a strangled sob.  He couldn’t help but feel that that quiet sound slammed the door on his life as he had known it.