A/N: In case you’ve forgotten, this is a DARK story, with heartbreaking descriptions of TORTURE. Please be aware of this before choosing to read it. It gets much harder in places before it gets easier. But it is also interspersed with happier moments between Snape and Harry. Also, for those who asked, this is updated weekly.

Harry felt numb. Except when he didn’t. He hung in the space between dull acceptance and outright panicky terror, and there seemed to be no in-between. One minute he’d be staring listlessly out the window and the next his heart would be racing, his body drenched in sweat, and he was sure they were coming for him. And that was when he was awake.

He shuddered to think about his nightmares. He was amazed he hadn’t awoken Snape again. But maybe he hadn’t screamed aloud this time. He couldn’t be sure. He certainly had been screaming in the dreams, which were as much bad memories as anything else.

He had indeed been exhausted after his bath the previous night. He’d fallen asleep quickly and had awoken sometime later, mid-nightmare, screaming his head off. Then Snape had been by his side, trying to talk him down, trying to reassure him that he was safe. Except that he wasn’t safe. Not from the memories, not from the dreams that haunted him. Not from the people who were surely looking for him. He’d never be safe. And now, Snape was in danger too.

Snape, whom Voldemort had tried to kill through the Dark Mark. What if Harry was wrong? What if Voldemort found another way to get to Snape? What if Voldemort used Harry to get to Snape? Harry let out an involuntary cry at the thought and stifled it quickly. He didn’t want to wake Snape again. The man had enough trouble without constantly running after him every second of the night and day.

 Harry tried to focus on taking deep, calming breaths. He watched the flickering orange light still hanging above his head and reminded himself over and over that he was in a safe house with Professor Snape. He forced his eyes to stay open and made himself look around the room. A fire was banked in the grate and Snape snored softly from the large bed across the room. Not a cell. Not a prison.

He wiggled himself into a semi-upright position and implored the dawn to hurry. He hadn’t told Snape as much, but the cell they’d held him in had reminded him much too much of his cupboard in the beginning. By the end, his cupboard had seemed like a palace in comparison. He shivered at the thought.

He tried to turn his thoughts somewhere, anywhere, else but the darkness was not his friend. The orange light above his bed seemed to shift to a washed out yellow. He’d been in the dark in that cell for longer than he could count when they brought him light. He’d thought it a mercy. They’d said nothing. They hadn’t even beaten him or tormented him. He’d been so tired and so starved by that point, he hadn’t even contemplated that they were setting him up.

They’d brought in a container that had a delicious aroma wafting off of it. It smelled rich and spicy. They told him it was his dinner. His mouth watered eagerly. Hunger had been eating at him for days, the acid in his stomach seeming to burn holes in the tender lining when no food was forthcoming. They had placed a white porcelain plate on his lap and then tipped the bucket over onto it. But what came out was not food, not food at all.

Snape awoke the second time that night to the sound of screaming. He rocketed out of bed, wand in hand, his body and mind instantly alert.

Harry was shrieking and babbling and hitting himself, all while flopping around on his bed like a fish out of water.

Snape rushed to his side and grabbed his wrists, not wanting him to damage his healing hands.

“Get ‘em off, get ‘em off me!” Harry screamed, struggling against Snape’s restraint.

“Harry! Stop! You’re safe! It’s me, Professor Snape. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe. You’re here with me. You’re safe. I promise.”

The struggling slowed, and then stopped, but the boy’s eyes remained tightly closed and his body shook.

“Open your eyes, Harry. Look around. You’re safe. You’re here with me.”

Finally, Harry’s haunted eyes slid open.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he mumbled, mere moments before vomiting all over his bed, the floor, and Snape.

Snape bit back a curse. He banished what he could and cast a freshening charm, but the bedclothes would still need to be changed, as would their nightclothes.

Potter instantly curled in on himself and covered his head. “I’m sorry, please don’t hit me. Please. I won’t do it again. Please…”

Bloody hell, Snape thought. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Harry, no one is going to hurt you here. Not for sicking up, not for crying, not for wetting the bed, not for anything. I promise.”

Potter stilled, wiggled his bottom, and then let out a howl of dismay, his sobs redoubling.

Snape closed his eyes, realizing in that moment that Harry likely hadn’t realized he had wet the bed. And now Snape had taken away any chance of Harry keeping his dignity in that matter.

“Harry,” Snape said softly, reaching out a hand and tentatively stroking the boy’s shoulder with the lightest of fingertips. Harry jerked away with a cry, and Snape immediately pulled his hand back. “There is no shame in your body’s response, not after what you have been through.”

The boy shuddered and made a sound of distress.

“I assure you, these are mere inconveniences, and very temporary. As your body and mind heal, these reactions will diminish. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

 When Harry’s sobs died down, Snape said, “How about we get you changed so you can go back to sleep?”

Harry let his hands fall from his face but refused to meet Snape’s eyes.

“You are safe, Harry. No one is going to hurt you.”

Harry’s chest heaved as he wiped the tears off his face.

“Can you tell me what you were dreaming about?”

Harry made a choked sound and then seemed to force the words out. “Centipedes,” he breathed. “Everywhere. They dumped them on me. Thousands of them.” Harry made a retching sound and trembled.

Snape curled his hands into fists, unable to do more than just listen. He wanted to kill the bastards who had tortured Harry.

“I was chained up and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t get them off of me.” Harry’s breathing was coming in great gasps. “I felt them… crawling all over me… again… just now…” Harry’s choked on a sob and shuddered convulsively.

“Harry,” Snape said, waving his wand to light the candles in the room. Tiny flames danced to life.

When Harry finally gazed up at him, Snape said, “Take a deep breath and look around. There are no centipedes here. If there were, I promise you I would kill every single one myself. Or transfigure them into… stuffed baby dragons… if it would make you feel better.”

Harry did as Snape suggested and then nodded once. Dropping his gaze, he said, “Sorry I woke you again, sir.”

Snape reached out to take the boy’s chin, and then stopped himself, his hand hanging uselessly in the air. He dropped his hand, but the motion caught the boy’s attention. “It is just you and me here, Harry. For as long as it takes. Part of the reason I am here is to help you get better.”

“Healing potions, I know,” Harry said.

“Not just potions,” Snape said. Snape bit his tongue, not sure how much to say, then decided to forge ahead. “I was one of them once,” he said. “I know how they think. I know what they do. I might be one of the few people who can understand what you have been through.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry said.

Snape snorted. “I am the one who is sorry.” Snape smoothed down his pajama bottoms. “There is nothing you can tell me that will shock me. And if there is anything I can do to help you, I will.”

When Harry nodded again, followed by a jaw-cracking yawn, Snape said, “Now, let’s get changed and go back to bed.”

Snape fetched Harry a clean pair of pajamas and some Calming Draught. He handed Harry his wand, reviewing the cleaning and clothes-changing charms. Then he left Harry to it and went to change his own pajamas in the water closet.

When he returned, he was pleased to find Harry sitting up and dressed.

“I would like to carry you to the big bed, if that is alright with you,” Snape said.

“Where will you sleep?” Harry asked.

“As it turns out, I am quite skilled at transfiguration. The loveseat over there makes an excellent bed.”

“Sir, I could sleep on the…”

“Nonsense,” Snape said. “Now, may I carry you?”

Harry nodded and wrapped an arm around Snape’s neck and shoulders to help relieve some of his weight. Snape laid him in the large bed and covered him up. “Get some sleep, Harry. I will be right here if you need me.”

Then Snape banished the sheets from Harry’s camp bed, as well as their soiled pajamas, to the washing machine. He floated the orange ball of light over to where Harry lay, transfigured the couch, and extinguished the rest of the candles. Just as he was about to slide between the covers, he heard Harry mumble something.

“What was that?” Snape asked.

“Sir, I’m sorry to ask… but…”

There was a catch in Harry’s voice that hurt to hear. Snape returned to the large bed, sitting on an edge of the mattress near Harry. “What is it?” Snape asked.

“Could you…” Harry swallowed, and Snape knew that, whatever it was, it was hard for him to ask. “Could you sing to me again? Please? It… helped… last time.”

“Of course,” Snape said.

Snape cleared his throat, thought of his mother, and began to sing. He sang softly until Harry’s shoulders relaxed, his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep. He sang a little longer, until his own knotted muscles released their tight hold, before allowing himself to reclaim his temporary bed and find sleep himself.

Morning on the third day at the safe house came far too early. Snape forced himself to get up and start coffee and breakfast. He also did the previous night’s laundry and remade Harry’s camp bed while the boy slept. Once Harry was better, he’d assign him some of the house chores. In the meantime, he was sorely missing Hogwarts’ house-elves.

When he’d finished that morning’s chores, he returned to the bedroom with Harry’s breakfast, warming charm in place. He had come to realize that Harry tended to panic when left alone and, until the boy could move around freely, Snape resigned himself to spending his time with Harry when the boy was awake, which should be more and more as he recovered.

The midday sun was shining in the windows by the time Harry stirred. Snape was pleased to see that Harry woke without panicking and recognized his surroundings immediately.

“Sorry about last night,” Harry said.

“It is of no consequence,” Snape responded. “Why don’t you use the loo and come and have some breakfast. Then, if you are feeling up to it, we can start on your potion.”

“We can?” Harry asked, running a hand over his now-stubbly head.

Snape nodded, pleased to see a small spark of life in the boy’s eyes. He was equally gratified to observe the use of the Featherlight Charm and Harry’s independence to and from the toilet.

When Harry returned, he joined Snape at the small sitting area by the large window and began to eat his porridge.

“Any complaints this morning?” Snape inquired.

“No, sir,” Harry said.

Snape returned to his novel while Harry finished his breakfast. When the boy began to fidget, Snape set his book aside and turned his attention to the teen.

“May I ask you a question?” Harry asked.

“You may,” Snape answered.

“It’s personal so you don’t have to answer, but I was wondering…” Harry glanced up at him, swallowed, and said, “why did you become a Death Eater?”

Snape blinked. Of all the questions Harry might have asked at that moment, Snape hadn’t anticipated that one. But after all Harry had been through, it wasn’t an unreasonable thing to wonder. He picked up his mug of coffee and held it in his hands, debating what to say to the fragile young man before him. If he expected Harry to be honest and forthcoming with him, he needed to do the same.

“Many reasons,” Snape said, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Do you regret it?” Harry asked.

Without hesitation, Snape said, “Every day of my life.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

Snape set down his mug and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “As to why I joined, I was unpopular in school. I had few friends, and those I did have were all joining up. I had no stable home to return to, and the Dark Lord, at that time, was very charismatic. He preached of a world where we—witches and wizards, that is—would belong and where we could be free. Where our magic wouldn’t have to be hidden away as if it were a crime.” Snape ran a hand absently through his hair and sighed. “At that time in my life, I felt powerless and ill-used and misunderstood—a condition that affects most teenagers. Casting my lot with an enigmatic and powerful leader who seemed to be going places seemed very appealing.”

Looking at his feet, Harry mumbled, “I’m sure my dad and Sirius didn’t help matters any.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Snape said honestly. Continuing, he said, “When I joined, the Dark Lord wasn’t the crazed megalomaniac he became. The new recruits were also kept well away from the dark side of the organization. By the time you were introduced to that side of things, you were in so deep that the only way out was by signing your own death warrant, usually at the hand of the Dark Lord himself. He liked to make an example out of those who lost the faith, so to speak.”

“What finally made you turn spy for the Order?” Harry asked.

Of course Harry would ask the one question Snape dreaded. “The Dark Lord threatened the person I loved most in the world,” Snape said.

“Oh,” Harry replied. “What happened to him or her?”

“She died,” Snape said, wishing he had brandy instead of coffee to drink.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated.

“So am I,” Snape said. Closing his eyes, he whispered again, “So am I.”