"How do you know so much about this bond?" Harry asked quietly. "How do I know you're not just making up all these stupid rules?"

"You know the bond exists, or you wouldn't have let me take measures against your continual public humiliation at my presence," Snape pointed out, careful not to mention the word "brand" or "collar," for which Harry was actually grateful. "You felt it make you honor me, and you know you've been sick with no cause in the past three weeks. As for the rest of what I've told you," he continued, "I see no reason for you to doubt me."

"I want to speak with Dumbledore!" Harry demanded. He felt a twinge of magic through the bond.

"Apologize now, or there will be a higher price to pay," Snape instructed quietly, but forcefully.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, his gaze dropping. Another sign the bond was real. "May I speak with Dumbledore, please?" There, now the bond was happy.

"The bond will require you be respectful to me at all times," Snape explained, ignoring Harry's question. "It judges the severity of the infraction and requires like compensation. This was a rather minor infraction, and thus only required an apology. You may not always be so lucky if you don't watch your mouth. It does have a habit of...running away with you sometimes."

"I said I was sorry, sir," Harry replied sullenly.

"Indeed, you did," Snape agreed thoughtfully. "And to answer your question, yes, you may speak with the Headmaster. He already knows about the situation. I informed him the night it happened. Did you want to see him tonight?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"Very well," Snape agreed, rising and walking to his floo. "I'll send you through to Albus' office, and you two may have a lovely chat about whatever pleases you." Harry winced, but in a moment, he found himself in Dumbledore's office.

"Harry!" Dumbledore greeted him, smiling, as soon as he stepped through the fireplace.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted him nervously, not returning the smile. "I wanted to speak with you about the bond." He gestured to his collar. It was beginning to itch.

Severus sat in front of the fire, doing absolutely nothing while he waited for Potter to finish with the headmaster.

He hated Potter. That much was certain. He wished the boy had never played a role in his life. And unless he was going to outright kill the Boy-Who-Lived, it seemed like they would be stuck with each other for quite some time. Severus shuddered to think of himself as an old, crotchety man with Potter at his side.

With any luck, one of them would die before the war would be done. Severus didn't much care who. Did it matter? Severus just wanted to be free, once and for all. Potter's slavery was as much his shackle as the boy's. Perhaps that wasn't quite fair. Potter did have the short end of the stick, but Severus still wanted no part of it. He'd had enough of it while Potter Sr. was alive.

Naturally, James hadn't intended to induce a slavery bond when he had saved his nemesis' life back at the Shack. Ironic, wasn't it, that it was at the same Shack, with the same werewolf, where his son's bond was formed? But while James hadn't had any intention of becoming Severus' slave-master, he hadn't balked nearly as much as Severus had expected. The pure, noble, self-righteous Gryffindor had become a hard task-master. They learned things about the bond the hard way, often. Trial and error. Occasionally, Dumbledore or an old text was able to provide some insight. The vast majority of information Severus had on the bond came from personal experience. He knew very little about the master's end of it, though, since he and James had never communicated more than strictly necessary.

No one knew about Severus' slavery bond, save, of course, himself and James, Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. As soon as James realized what had happened, he went to Albus with the situation. As a pure blood, James recognized the situation for what it was and the reactions that he was having to it. Albus had summoned both of them to a private meeting to discuss the ramifications of the bond. Severus remembered receiving the letter asking for his presence in Albus' office, wondering what it was about, wondering if, perhaps, Potter and his gang were going to expelled for their offenses. But no, it couldn't be, because if they were, then he would have had to leave school as well. Severus' doubted Albus' desire to expel the Marauders at all, but even if he had, it would have proven impossible.

Albus made James promise to keep it a secret. Secrets aren't secrets from one's best friend though. Before sundown, Sirius knew all about the bond, and Severus had received orders to obey Sirius' commands as though they were James'. It was almost as bad as having two masters, then. Severus wondered if James had intended that, or if it had simply been out of careless inconsideration. Perhaps it was neither. Perhaps James knew what he was doing, but didn't bother about Severus' feelings on the matter, since it was certainly convenient to pawn Snape off whenever James didn't want him around.

For the end of sixth year, they worked it out awkwardly. There wasn't any system because neither of them understood exactly what the bond wanted. But it was only the last week of term before holiday, so it didn't much matter. It was that lack of organization that led to Remus finding out. Once, in unused girls' bathroom on the second floor, when James was giving Severus a beating for his lack of being tied that night, Remus stumbled in on the pair. Holding the Marauders' Map, he looked at the two of them.

"What are you doing?" Remus asked, unclear whether he was asking James or Severus. Severus was in no condition to reply, so James did.

"It's a long story, Remus," he sighed. "Do you have a few hours?"

Personally, Snape didn't see what the big deal was. How long did it take to explain? But no, James had to put in every detail. Thankfully, though, James told Remus, in no uncertain terms, that word of this bond was not to get out. It would have bad implications for James as an aspiring Auror, since there were so many Muggleborns there. They would never understand the sort of magic that went into a bond, and they might well reject James' application solely on the fact that he owned a slave.

Severus remembered his impassiveness when Albus told him he couldn't go home for the summer. Instead, he had to stay with the Potters to appease the bond. It wasn't like his family had ever appreciated him, so that wasn't any great loss, yet he thought it might even prefer his them to the Potters. Pure bloods were hyper-aware of the social impacts of a slavery bond. It was a brutal summer, but at least Severus didn't have to worry about his peers discovering his humiliation for those three months. James tied him up most nights, which saved him those beatings, though James hardly waited for an excuse to exact full punishment when there was an opportunity. Secretly, Severus thought that James sometimes gave him impossible tasks simply to watch him in agony when he failed.

The next school year, James and Severus met every morning in the Room of Requirement to deal with his daily punishment. When his body couldn't take it anymore, James tied his slave in the Room of Requirement where they would both sleep for two or three nights. As seventh years, no one much cared where or when they slept, for which Severus was grateful. It meant his bond could continue to go unnoticed. There were benefits to being socially invisible sometimes. James, on the other hand, spread rumors far and wide that he was visiting lady friends on his absent nights.

James had let Sirius "borrow" him on regular occasions. Ostensibly, it was because Sirius was pathetic at potions and needed someone to do his homework for him. Severus shuddered.

The floo flared to life just then, and Potter came stumbling back, jolting Severus from his morbid thoughts.

"Are you satisfied?" Severus snapped at the boy.

"Yes, sir," Potter replied.

"Then start chopping the potions ingredients on the table in my lab."

"Yes, sir." Potter left the room quietly without a word of objection. If anything, the boy looked meek and accepting at the moment. Severus snorted inwardly. Like that attitude was going to last. It would certainly be boring if it did, he realized.

Harry pulled a stool up to the lab table and sullenly pulled out a knife. He hissed to himself as he started the menial work. He supposed that Snape could have given him a worse job to do, but it was still infuriating to be ordered to do this sort of thing, simply because the man had saved his life. Harry didn't ask for his life to be saved! He would have preferred to die.

Idly, Harry wondered if that option was open to him. If things got bad, he wondered if he could simply end his life. Would the bond allow such a thing to happen to his master's property? Harry felt his throat constrict as he thought of himself as that, property.

He wasn't even really a person anymore in the eyes of the ministry. He was a thing, a commodity. If people called him Harry Potter, it was by convention. He didn't have a legal name. The moment the bond formed, Harry Potter ceased to exist. Ministry records updated themselves to that status. The Ministry hadn't noticed the alteration yet, but chances were, when the bond became public knowledge, that he would still go by that name. In previous eras, a slave's former name was no longer used at all. Once again, being the Boy-Who-Lived would make him an exception.

Harry shuddered at the thought of the pity that some would give him. Naturally, the Muggleborns would take his side, like Snape said, but he didn't want them to pity him! He might be wallowing in a pool of self-pity at the moment, he realized, but that didn't mean he wanted others'. He and Dumbledore had talked about keeping the bond secret; Dumbledore had said no. The reasons were much the same as Snape's. Dumbledore also told Harry to trust Snape, because the man certainly would not overstep his bounds. Harry snorted derisively at that, which earned him a disappointed look from the Headmaster.

"You don't know how keenly Severus will be able to feel your pain," Dumbledore said.

"He can't feel anything!" Harry laughed maniacally. "He doesn't possess feelings!"

"Perhaps you're wrong there," Dumbledore contradicted quietly. "Sometimes, those who seem to feel the least do so because they've felt too much in the past."

Harry didn't know what Dumbledore meant, and, quite frankly, he didn't care. He found himself chopping the potions ingredients rather enthusiastically as he let out his pent up frustrations. Every click of the knife on the countertop accentuated words in Harry's mind.

I - don't - want - to - be - here.

Sullenly, a stray tear leaked out of Harry's eye, but he shoved it away angrily. He wasn't going to give Snape the satisfaction of seeing how unhappy he was. The man would probably get off on seeing him this miserable. It would make him ecstatic to know that Harry would rather die than continue an existence like this. And Harry wasn't going to give up that easily.

Hours passed, it seemed, and Harry was still chopping potions ingredients. He was getting tired, but knew better than the venture out and ask Snape if he could go to bed. Harry felt sure that good slaves just did what they were told even if they wanted to do something else, just like he had done at the Dursleys. So he kept chopping.

Then, quite suddenly, Harry had a strong urge. It was the most bizarre urge he'd ever felt, and it scared him. It made him slightly nauseous. He wanted to take the knife and chop off his fingers. He knew that was a terrible idea, but it didn't lessen the urge.

Terrified, Harry threw the knife across the counter and backed away from it. He still felt the urge, and in fact, it was getting stronger. It was almost like he was being made to do it against his will, except that at this point, Harry's will was still the stronger of the two. He sat down on the cold, stone floor, and pinned his hands under himself. He wasn't going to chop off his fingers no matter how much this insane bond decided to try to make him do just that. He would be the stronger of the two.

He began to rock back and forth as he fought the bond's urges with every ounce of this will. He began reciting a mantra of "No, no, no!" but it didn't make things any easier. Harry closed his eyes to try to forget that there was a knife on the other side of the room. He mantra soon became audible.

Harry didn't notice when the door opened, and he didn't notice when Snape came and stood next to him. He did notice when he was roughly brought to his feet.

"What's wrong with me?" Harry gasped suddenly, holding his hands out to Snape. The man grabbed Harry strongly by the wrists, for which Harry was grateful. It meant that he wouldn't be able to do anything he regretted as long as Snape forced him not to. "The bond is telling me to cut my fingers off, and I don't want to lose them!" Harry was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check, and by the end, he was half sobbing. "Please don't make me cut my fingers off, please!"

"You won't lose your fingers, brat," Snape growled. Harry risked looking up, and saw that his expression was grimly dark, but Harry was heartened to hear that he could keep all his appendages. "And even if you had hurt yourself, self-induced injuries repair themselves over time. It's the nature of the bond."

"Can you stop it?" Harry cried. "It's just getting stronger, and I don't want to lose them, even temporarily! Please help me! What's wrong with me?"

"Potter, I fell asleep," Snape admitted. "I didn't realize how tired I was, and this is the result of your being free while I was unconscious."

"It's not my fault you fell asleep!" Harry argued pitifully.

"Of course not," Snape agreed.

"It's not fair to punish me for something you did!"

"There's lots of things in life which aren't fair!" Snape shouted back at him. "Haven't you learned that yet? Do you think it's fair that you have to put up with your relatives?" Harry blinked momentarily, but didn't respond. Snape looked like he regretted saying that, because he moved on. "You have no idea how unfair life can get, Potter! No idea, do you understand? Good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. We almost never get what we deserve, and it's time you started accepting that. This bond isn't about fair. It's about humiliating you and doing everything it can to break you!"

"And you want to see that happen!" Harry shot back.

"Humiliate you?" Snape snorted. "Of course. Break you? Not really. Broken people are quite boring. I've never wanted to break you." Harry screamed in frustration. The urge just kept getting stronger.

"Can you make me better?" he sobbed. His knees began to feel weak.

"There's only one way I know of," Snape replied quietly.

"Then beat me already!" Harry snapped. Then he whimpered, "Just make me better, please." Harry lowered his head till his chin rested on his chest and his breath began to hitch dangerously. Snape led him into the living room, where there were no knives. The urge receded a little, to a more manageable level. Harry suspected that it was only a temporary respite though.

"Take your shirt off, Potter," Snape instructed quietly, releasing Harry's wrists. The man turned and left the room for a moment. When he returned, he was carrying a thin wooden switch. It had a black leather handle, and the other end looked well worn. There were even some dark spots on it. Harry thought they looked like blood. By then, Harry was shirtless, feeling vulnerable.

"Stand by the wall," Snape instructed stiffly. Harry did so, bracing himself as he knew how. "Potter, I want you to understand. I don't want to do this to you."

"So said my uncle!" Harry half sobbed. The fear was eating him alive, knowing how capable a man Snape was. His uncle would get tired after a few minutes, usually, and Harry could catch a respite. He doubted Snape's endurance was as pathetic as his uncle's.

"This is only to help you!" Snape hissed back.

"That's what Uncle Vernon said!" Harry protested, abandoning his previous stance next to the wall. "To help me get rid of my magic! He said he didn't want to do it, but he did! He enjoyed seeing me in pain!" Harry wasn't sure why he was spilling any of this to Snape, but perhaps it had something to do with how scared he was.

"I will certainly not enjoy this, if that helps you at all," Snape drawled. "I would enjoy it if we were equals and I could win fairly. This is hardly a competition. You wanted me to help you; let me." Snape summoned an old rope and tied Harry's wrists. The rope was rough, and Harry realized that, as he undoubtedly would fight his bonds, his wrists would soon become red and chafed. Snape hooked his hands over a coat hook.

"Try not to put your whole weight on the hook," Snape instructed. "You can let yourself go a little bit, though, if you need to." Harry nodded, the bile beginning to come up in the back of his throat.

"Please don't hurt me more than you have to," Harry whimpered pathetically.

"I won't," Snape promised quietly. Senses heightened by stress, Harry heard every movement behind him. He heard Snape take off his outer billowing robes and pick up the switch. He heard Snape raise the it above his head and he heard the switch sing as Snape brought it down against his naked back. Harry stiffened and groaned. It hurt worse than with his uncle, probably because Snape was stronger. A second, a third stroke later, Harry began to let out strangled sobs. After a fourth time, Harry screamed into his arm.

"Stop, please stop!" Harry begged, as tears flowed from his eyes.

"Potter, I know exactly how far I have to go for this sort of offense," Snape said coldly. "A minimum of ten." Harry sobbed, but didn't reply. Five. Harry didn't even react, except to cry harder. Six. Seven. Harry began to feel weak and disconnected as he realized there was a warm trickle of blood down his back. He began to shake, trying to stand.

Snape must have seen how he was struggling, because the man gently unhooked his hands and let him fall to the ground in a heap.

"Three more, Potter, then we'll be done." Harry nodded into the carpet. Eight. Harry screamed again and writhed on the floor.

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm sorry!" Harry cried. "I won't do it again!" Nine. "I'll be good! I promise!" Ten. The switch fell next to him immediately.

It took Harry some time to collect himself. By the time he did, his open wounds had crusted over. He looked up, eyes still red and puffy, throat sore from screaming, and saw Snape sitting in his armchair with a tumbler full of amber liquid. A half empty bottle sat next to him. Apparently Snape had been drinking for awhile.

"I'm sorry," Harry sniffed, trying to stand, and failing. "Is there anything you want me to do?" Snape quaffed his drink before answering a slurred voice.

"Just come sit over here," he said. Harry recognized the words as being those from an intoxicated individual. It scared Harry, because he didn't know what Snape would do next when under the influence. Defying him was certainly not a good idea, though, so Harry gingerly crawled over to where Snape sat. He was in agony, and knew better than to ask for anything. He was sure he'd get an answer of how remedies would only make it worse. Harry sat at Snape's feet.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Snape slurred, reaching down and running his fingers through the boy's hair. It wasn't lost on him that Snape had to be drunk to use his first name. The touch felt good though, and Harry didn't fight it. "I didn't want to hurt you like that."

"You would have jumped at the chance to hit me earlier," Harry accused. "I mean, before the bond." Snape nodded.

"I know how much that switch hurts," Snape continued. He consumed another several mouthfuls of his beverage. "I never would have wanted to do that to you."

"If you knew what you would be doing to me, why did you do it then?" Harry challenged.

"Because I knew how many times I had to hit you that way," Snape explained, his voice slurring even more. "I learned how to tell when James was overdoing my punishment and when he wasn't. Ten was always the minimum the bond demanded."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked. "James? My father?" Snape nodded.

"Yes," he vocalized.

"Why...?"

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" Snape snapped. "How do I know everything about what you're going through? How do I know all the rules?"

"You were my father's...?"

"Slave, yes. And he took every opportunity to torture me. Is it any wonder I hate him? That I still hate him?" Snape still ran his fingers across his scalp. It helped relax Harry. "Albus told me I could be a better man than James was. I'm not sure I can. Harry, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright," Harry whispered. "You didn't want to. It was only to keep me from chopping my fingers off. You didn't enjoy it."

"That's just the problem," Snape said. "I did. I never knew...the bond makes it pleasurable."

"Oh..."

"That explains why your father would set me up for punishment." He drank again.

"That's how you knew about the brand and the collar," Harry stated dully.

"Yes," Snape agreed. "That was the collar I wore. I have a brand, not unlike yours, which reads 'JCP'."

"If you already knew about slave bonds, why did you save my life?" Harry whispered.

"I didn't know you hated me that much," Snape whispered back. "I'm sorry."

"Can I get cleaned up?" Harry asked. His back felt dirty and sticky from the smeared blood. Even if he couldn't take painkillers or do a healing spell, it seemed logical that he would be allowed to wash a bit. Snape hissed at the question.

"Of course, you idiot boy," Snape replied, setting his glass down. "I'll clean you up." The man tried summoning a wet cloth from where he sat, but instead, just brought a mop and bucket instead.

"Damn alcohol," Snape swore, as he stumbled to his feet to get the cloth manually. Moments later, Snape came back into the room. "Hop up onto my bed," he instructed. Harry groaned as he rose, but didn't dream of disobeying a direct order.

When he had stretched out, Snape sat down next to him, and ran the cloth over his bloodied back. It was cool, and while it stung, in the end, Harry knew he would feel better. Snape's touch was gentle, and Harry knew the man could have made the process much more painful if he had desired. Harry was surprised at how careful Snape must have been to possess that much gentleness in his clumsy, drunken state.

"You're all cleaned up," Snape slurred a few minutes later. "I feel like I'm about to fall asleep again."

"Then, by all means, please, tie me up," Harry replied weakly. Snape retrieved the leash and hooked it on Harry's collar, then tied it around his own bedpost.

"I'll find a more appropriate spot tomorrow," Snape mumbled. He drew his wand and tried to transfigure a mattress. First, he got an artist's canvas. After swearing profusely, he tried again and got a wooden casket instead. Snape threw his wand across the room in disgust.

"I could do the transfiguration, if you give me permission," Harry offered nervously.

"Alright, do that," Snape agreed, getting Harry's wand from the other room. Harry transfigured the mattress nicely, and dragged it near the foot of Snape's bed, so the leash wouldn't be pulled taught. Snape threw him one of his own pillows and a blanket. It was almost better than what he had at Privet Drive, Harry smiled ruefully, curling up in a little cocoon.

Snape went into the bathroom and changed, only to flop into his bed without another word.

"Good night, sir," Harry called quietly.

"Good night, Harry."