Harry woke early in the morning, as he was accustomed to at Privet Drive.  He had to have breakfast ready by the time Uncle Vernon was up for work.  Harry always wondered how they managed without him during the school year.  He never resented doing his chores, not until he found out what life could be like without them.  Ron never had that many chores to do.  Sure, he had to degnome the garden and things like that, but he never had to work the whole day.  And Hermione didn’t have to do chores the whole day either.

Even though he was awake, Harry didn’t sit up.  Snape was still snoring, his liver probably still filtering the last of the alcohol from his system, and Harry couldn’t do anything till he woke up.  He just watched Snape sleep, hoping he’d wake up soon.  Harry had to pee something awful.

Trying to distract himself, Harry replayed some of the promises Snape had made.  Assuming Snape wasn’t going to break them, which Harry figured was a real possibility, he would have about as good a life with Snape as he had with the Dursleys, all things considered.  Yes, Snape’s beatings were worse.  His back could certainly attest to that!  Harry didn’t even want to move it hurt so badly.  But he would get food and a pillow.  Snape had said he wouldn’t limit Harry’s food, so he might not have to starve.  Even in Snape’s drunken state, he had tossed Harry a blanket and pillow.  It surprised Harry that the man had thought of that when by all rights he should be passing out.  Maybe Snape wasn’t quite as bad as he thought.  To be honest, Harry had expected the man to sadistically torture him, laughing, grinding him under his heel.

The urge to pee was just getting stronger.  Harry had his wand.  He didn’t know a spell that would relieve himself, but he did know a cleaning spell.  It occurred to him to simply piss his bed and then clean it up.  Snape hadn’t given him permission to do that sort of magic, though.  The bond would probably make him spell his eyes out or something for that sort of disobedience.  He didn’t know what to do.  He thought of waking Snape, but dismissed that thought from his mind immediately.  Snape was going to have a royal hangover, and Harry didn’t want to be the one to bring that around any sooner than necessary.  He could imagine the man was going to be straight up unpleasant (like he was ever pleasant!) but worse than normal when he woke.  He’d probably blame Harry for it too.  If it wasn’t for Harry, he wouldn’t have gotten drunk in the first place.  It was always Harry’s fault.

It didn’t help his pissing problem, though.  Harry hissed in determination as he continued to hold it.  Finally, he grabbed himself, trying to force it to stay in.  He whimpered a little bit, the pain becoming worse.

He let himself go, and he peed the bed.  The sharp smell of ammonia assaulted his nose.  Snape moaned and rolled over, pulling the pillow over his head, but he didn’t wake up.  Harry was glad that he didn’t.  It would have been a double whammy if he messed his bed and woke Snape.

Now in wet clothes and in a wet bed, Harry did the only logical thing he could think of.  He rolled on his stomach and positioned himself over the spot where he peed.  He could stifle the smell a little bit that way.  It was bloody uncomfortable, laying in his own pee, but he’d done it before, and it could well happen again.  The Dursleys just used a bunch of air fresheners in their house to avoid the stench that came from his cupboard, and later, his bedroom.  Whenever he was locked in longer than he could hold it, he had to piss somewhere, and it was better to pee his bed than the floor.  If he messed the floor, he’d have the Dursleys on his case for wrecking the house.  If he messed his bed, they couldn’t care.  They never fed him enough for anything but his piss to be a problem.

He was always allowed to use the bathroom once a day.  If he was good, twice.  The morning was his usual time.  He always carefully watched how much he drank to make sure he wouldn’t find himself between a rock and hard place.  It wasn’t Snape’s fault that he hadn’t been able to hold it.  Snape didn’t know that he typically used the bathroom in the morning.  He’d know when he woke though!  Harry knew Snape wasn’t going to miss the smell once he regained consciousness.  Damn, Snape would probably kill him.  He could just hear Snape lecturing him, see Snape beating him, for his ungratefulness, telling him that a good slave wouldn’t destroy what his master had so generously given him.

Snape had been generous in giving him a bed.  Harry didn’t suppose that all masters did.  Snape could have made him sleep directly on the floor, and a stone one at that.  He didn’t want to lose his mattress entirely.  Maybe he could convince Snape to let him keep it.  Maybe if he started using the bathroom before he fell asleep instead.

He didn’t want to lose the only good things he had left.  He had food and a bed.  That was worth the beatings, wasn’t it?  If he got Snape mad enough at him, though, Harry figured he could still find himself cold and hungry at night instead.  Involuntarily, he imagined what it might be like, chained to the wall of a dank, wet dungeon, hungry and thirsty, as Snape locked the door for the night, and finally, Harry broke down and cried.

It had been a long time coming, he supposed, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore.  He might have been an almost fourteen year old adult, but he still didn’t have good enough control over himself to make himself not cry.  Maybe that was because he wasn’t nearly the adult he wanted to believe he was, a small voice told him.  He was quiet about it though.  He hardly made a sound, but the tears made small puddles on his pillow.  Not that Harry minded much.  Tears were much less problematic than pee.

“Damn, what happened?” Snape groaned, sitting up in bed, glancing down at Harry.  Wallowing in his misery, Harry hadn’t noticed Snape wake up.  His flood of tears stopped immediately.

“I - I’m sorry,” Harry stammered immediately.  He felt deeply ashamed, and his cheeks flushed bright red.  “I just couldn’t hold it anymore - ”

“I can smell that,” Snape snapped, his voice scathing.  “Why are you balling like I took away your candy though?”

“I didn’t mean to bother you, sir,” Harry replied.

“Answer - the - question,” Snape annunciated.

“Iwasafraidyou’dtakeawaythebedandfoodsir,” Harry rushed.

“What?  Slower,” Snape said.  “I just woke up, and I have a killer headache.”

“I was afraid you’d take away the bed and food, sir,” Harry repeated.  “For messing the bed.  I’m really sorry.  I didn’t mean to.  Please don’t punish me.  It won’t happen again, I promise.”  Snape sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  After a moment, he grabbed his wand and cleaned the mattress and Harry’s clothes, so that not a whiff of ammonia was left.

“Thank you, sir,” Harry began.

“Shut up,” Snape cut him off impatiently.  “I don’t want to hear it.  Just shut up.”  Harry snapped his mouth closed, and nodded, not wanting to upset Snape any more than he already clearly was.  There were no promises that he could keep the bed or the food, Harry noticed.  Snape hadn’t assured him of the permanency of those.  Harry tried to resign himself to the idea that tonight, he might well be alone, cold, and hungry.  Not that that was much different from the Dursleys though.

Snape unclipped the leash from Harry’s collar, but didn’t even bother to look at him.  Harry felt as though he had been slapped.  He wished he had been slapped.  Snape’s cold indifference was worse, he thought, than the physical violence.  His back begged to disagree though, as Harry scrambled to his feet, and followed Snape out of the room.

He quickly set about, looking for the kitchen.  Finally, the look on his face was so lost that Snape took pity on him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, perhaps a bit sharply.

“The kitchen, sir?  How should I make your breakfast?  What do you like?  Do you want coffee?  Cream or sugar?”  Harry wanted to make sure he got all the important questions in.

“The house elves are in charge of meals,” Snape dismissed, his voice suddenly going a bit quieter.

“The bond will be alright with that?” Harry questioned.

“I believe so,” Snape replied.  “Let me know if that is not the case.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry replied.  “I’m sorry, sir, about this morning - ”

“I told you I didn’t want to hear about it,” Snape cut him off again, his voice hard.  “Just drop it!”

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled.

“Go take a shower,” Snape instructed.  “You reek.  And it’s not from your accident.”  Any reply caught in Harry’s throat, so he just nodded, unable to speak.  Snape silently summoned a towel and thrust it at him.

“Here,” Snape said.  “Get going, now!”  Harry quickly turned and darted off in search of the bathroom.  It wasn’t hard to find.  He closed the door quietly, stripped, and started the water.  He set it for cold, as he was used to, and five minutes later, was much cleaner, and much wetter.  He thoroughly dried himself with the towel Snape had given him.  It was a soft, fluffy towel, and Harry liked it.  Then he noticed a small “SS” embroidered in the corner, and realized Snape had given him one of his own towels.  Harry cleaned up any trace of his shower, handing the towel on the towel rod.  After dressing again, he went out to see Snape.  It hadn’t even been a full fifteen minutes.

“What are you doing?” Snape barked at him.  The man had a meal from the house elves and was reading the Prophet.  “I thought I told you to take a shower.”

“You did, sir,” Harry replied nervously, “and I did.  My hair is still damp.  See?”  Snape inspected the boy’s hair skeptically, but just snorted when he found it clean to his satisfaction.

“Clean up the bathroom, then,” Snape dismissed.

“I did, sir,” Harry explained.  Without saying a word, Snape stood up suddenly, the chair shrieking as it skidded back, and the man stalked off to the bathroom.  He almost seemed to deflate once he saw its immaculate condition.  It didn’t look like anyone had taken a shower recently, save for the wet towels hung on the rod.  Harry followed him.

“Is it alright, sir?” Harry asked quietly.

“Yes, of course,” Snape mumbled.  “Why isn’t it warmer in here?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Harry stammered.

“Usually when someone takes a shower,” Snape explained impatiently, “the room remains warm for a few minutes.”

“I...used cold water, sir?” Harry explained, hoping to not make the volatile man any angrier than he already was.

“Go take a proper shower then, with hot water!  No wonder you have hygiene problems if you don’t shower with hot water!”  Harry wondered who he was to comment on someone’s hygiene, but he kept that comment to himself.  “What possessed you to use cold water?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to use hot water,” Harry whispered.

“I told you to take a shower!  What did you think I meant?”

“Clearly, I thought you meant I was to use cold water,” Harry snapped, but the bond twinged, warning him for his tone.  “Sorry,” he amended.  “I’ve always taken a cold shower.  It’s all I was allowed at the Dursleys - five minutes of cold water.”  Snape eyed him for a moment, but didn’t say anything.  He nodded once and left.

Then he called back, “Don’t forget to use hot water, and take as long as you need to to actually get clean!”  Once again, the shower turned on, and Harry got wet, careful this time to use hot water.  It felt strange, but he liked it.  It stung the welts from the night before, but Harry was used to that.  It wasn’t anything new.

Several minutes later, Harry emerged from the bathroom, once again slightly damp, but the bathroom was just as immaculate as the time before.  Snape nodded once in approval as he eyed the boy critically.  He gestured to Harry to sit down.  Doing so, Harry scooted his chair close to the table, glancing up nervously at Snape.  A plate of food popped into existence in front of him.  It was full of the usual breakfast foods - eggs, bacon, some toast.  After one last look at Snape, who nodded permission, Harry dug in, and was pleased to not hear Snape shout at him for how enthusiastically he was scarfing down his food.

“I hope you realize that no one will take your food away from you,” Snape said casually.  Harry froze and cautiously looked at the man.  He finished swallowing what he had in his mouth and eyed Snape warily.  Harry felt a cold fear come over him, and he wanted to protect his food, in case Snape had any thoughts about taking it away, despite what he had just said.  “You do know that, don’t you?”

“Sir,” Harry replied, but couldn’t find words for anything else.

“Do you?” Snape pressed.

“I know that you said so,” Harry admitted grudgingly.  He took another bite of his eggs and glared at Snape, as if challenging him to break his word.  Snape, if he recognized Harry’s thoughts, didn’t react in any way other than to shrug and go back to his paper, but every so often Harry noticed Snape’s cold gaze sliding over to him as they ate in silence.

When breakfast was finished, Snape cleared his throat loudly.  Harry looked up.

“Go begin your summer homework,” Snape instructed.  “Ask me if you have any questions.  I’m sure I can handle third year of any subject easily enough.”  Caught a little off guard, Harry didn’t know what to say right away, so he nodded.

“Thank you, sir,” he eventually choked out.  For a moment, Harry thought he might want to say something about how he was never allowed to do his summer homework before, to clarify exactly what his thank you meant.  He couldn’t find the words.

“Well?  Get along!” Snape barked, and Harry lost any will to explain.  He scuttled off to where he trunk had been shoved in a corner of the sitting room.  It was almost part of the room where they had eaten, and perhaps it would have been considered the same room, except that in the dining room there was a wooden floor, and the sitting room had carpet.  Harry rummaged in his trunk and found his list of summer homework, the list he thought he would never be able to touch.  He scanned it and frowned.  He felt the bond begin to itch as he delayed his master’s instructions.  Harry had to make a decision quickly, because it felt like the bond would explode soon if he didn’t do something.  It was becoming more and more demanding, and Harry began to panic.

He didn’t think he could deal with another of Snape’s beatings so closely behind what he endured the previous night.  And it wasn’t like he had even done anything wrong.  If only the bond would understand for once!  Suddenly, realizing what he had to do, he rushed over to where Snape was ignoring him.  Harry felt tears spring to his eyes, tears of fear, because he didn’t know if his idea would work.  Quickly, he sank to the ground and lay prostrate before Snape.  Snape watched silently.

“I can’t do my homework, sir,” Harry sobbed.  “It all requires the fourth year texts and I don’t have those yet.  Please don’t punish me.  Please, please, don’t.  I’m sorry!”  After a moment of eyeing the boy thoughtfully, Snape threw his paper aside and grumbled quietly to himself, but didn’t say anything to Harry.  Momentarily, he returned carrying a worn book.  Harry scrambled to his feet as Snape stepped close, and when he handed him the book, Harry accepted it gratefully.  The bond seemed satisfied with Harry’s self-humiliation for his unintended delay of obedience.

“Thank you, sir,” he said.  “I’ll get my books as soon as possible - if you’ll let me.”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Snape said stiffly.  “In the meantime, treat that book well.  It was mine when I was in fourth year.”  Harry nodded.

“I’ll be careful.”  Snape gave him a curt nod, as was becoming a habit of his, and he went back to the table.  Harry sat down and began his potions essay.  The bond was satisfied now, and Harry felt relatively comfortable, as comfortable as one who had received a harsh beating the night before could.

Sometime later, Snape’s voice brought Harry out of the world of potions and back to reality.  It wasn’t Snape’s usual tone.  It was softer, gentler, than Harry was used to.

“Why don’t we get your books now?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry agreed, swallowing, feeling a bit nervous.  It felt like the calm before the storm, in his opinion.  He didn’t trust Snape to be nice at all, even for a simple question.  But he got up, set the potions book (which had lots of helpful notes in it) aside, and followed Snape to the fireplace floo.

“Let’s floo together,” Snape suggested, hesitatingly putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.  Harry flinched, but didn’t object to the contact.  In his mind, Harry knew that Snape wasn’t going to harm him by touching his shoulder.  It was just the leftover reaction from the beating.

Severus tossed the floo powder into the fireplace and called out his destination as “Diagon Alley!”  Then, together, they stepped through and emerged into a busy pub.  The talking stopped and everyone stared at them.  Harry felt his face flush as dozens of prying eyes watched Snape steer him through the crowd.  It was silly, Harry knew, but he felt like they could see right through his shirt at the collar and the brand he wore.  His head drooped, and he realized why the bond accepted such a substitution for bowing and scraping.  Even if others didn’t know that he wore a collar and a brand, he did, and others’ ignorance didn’t make the humiliation any easier.

Harry’s mind was numb throughout the whole proceedings, and he was grateful that Snape didn’t demand his participation in social interactions.  It was almost like Snape knew he couldn’t process what was happening around him, and respected that.  By the end of the morning, Harry had all his school supplies, and they were back at Snape’s chambers in Hogwarts.  Harry ate mechanically, still reeling from all those people who had looked at him.  Did they already know?  Or was it that they were just staring at the Boy-Who-Lived, and not some slave?

“You’ve been unusually quiet,” Snape observed at the end of the meal.

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled.

“Is something on your mind?”  It was like Snape was making a conscious effort to be nice.

“Sorry to bring up old memories, sir,” Harry muttered.  “I know you don’t want to be saddled with me.”  Snape’s brow creased.

“While a true statement, what do you mean, ‘bring up old memories’?”

“You know...” Harry’s voice drifted off, as he raised his eyes and began to fear that he had said something wrong.  “You talked about it last night.”

“Wait...I talked to you last night?” Snape sputtered.

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” Harry stammered.  “You - you talked about what it was like - before - with -  I didn’t pry, sir.  You volunteered it.”  Snape’s eyes narrowed and he glared at Harry.

“Sure,” he groused, and Harry wasn’t sure if Snape believed him or not.  “Don’t speak to anyone about that, including me.  That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered.  At that moment, Harry realized that he had harboured some hope that that would have been something of a positive relationship between him and Snape.  It could have been something that no one else would understand, save the two of them, the pain and humiliation of a slavery bond.  If Snape wasn’t open to discussing it though, if he wasn’t even open to Harry mentioning it, then how could it ever be something that they could use to smooth over the difficulties of their past interactions?  “I’m sorry.”  Snape huffed, but gave no indication that he understood just how far Harry’s apology had been intended.