A/N: I updated earlier chapters for inconsistencies and made one semi-significant change. When Harry decouples the Dark Mark on Snape’s arm, the snake curls up on Snape’s inner wrist now, not near his elbow. This becomes important later.

A/N 2: Rape and torture warning for the last section of this chapter.

The sun had risen before Harry had finally fallen asleep. Snape groaned. It was going to be a long day. Not wanting to get into an odd sleeping schedule, he woke the boy mid-morning. Harry was groggy but he didn’t complain. Instead, he obediently moved to the seating arrangement near the window and ate the porridge and fruit Snape had set out for him.

Neither of them spoke.

Snape suppressed a yawn as he tried to get his bleary eyes to focus on a potions article he had found buried in one of the trunks he’d brought with them.

“Sir?” Harry said, gaining his attention.

“Hmm?” Snape replied, finishing the last sentence he was reading.

“About last night…” Harry said. “I just wanted to say… thanks.”

Snape looked up to see the blush of embarrassment on the boy’s cheeks. Not wanting to humiliate the teen further, he said merely, “I am glad I could be of assistance.” Then, he raised the article again and made a vain attempt at reading it.

When Harry finished eating, Snape set the journal aside and gave Harry his full attention. “Any complaints this morning other than lack of sleep?”

“Er, sorry about that, sir. I didn’t mean to keep you all night.”

Harry looked chagrined and Snape took pity on him. This was only their fourth day at the safe house and Harry had been through hell. “I think tonight we will both take Dreamless Sleep,” he said, making sure his voice was light and not accusatory.

Harry nodded and then said, “And no, no complaints.”

“Good. Would you like the grand tour?” Snape asked.

“Yes, please,” Harry said with enthusiasm.

Snape taught Harry how to reduce the Featherlight Charm to allow a little more weight on the teen’s feet, and then led the way out of the master bedroom.

“You have already seen most of this floor,” Snape said, gesturing toward the second bedroom, the water closet, and the bathroom. “The remaining doors are a linen closet and a utility closet.”

Harry glanced around, studying the décor. It reminded him a bit of Privet Drive, but felt much more homey. Cream-colored wallpaper with inch-wide, pale-blue vertical stripes lined the long passage, with a staircase at one end.

Snape led the way down the stairs, holding Harry’s elbow to keep him steady. Harry would have objected if not for the fact that he almost fell, twice. Once on the ground floor, Snape let him go.

Directly in front of the stairs was the front door to the house. To his right was the kitchen and to his left was a sitting room with a large fireplace that Snape assured him was not connected to any Floo network, nor had it ever been. The sitting room looked clean and comfortable enough, albeit a bit empty, save for the sofa, two chairs, a coffee table, and an upright piano against the wall opposite the fireplace. There were no pictures on the walls or magazines lying around, no plants or mementos. As they walked through the room, he did notice a bookshelf filled with a variety of books and some board games, and wondered if Dumbledore had put them there.

Arriving at the back of the house, Snape pointed to large glass double doors. “When the weather is nicer, I am sure the back garden will be pleasant.”

Harry studied the barren grounds and the frostbitten grass. A large plot looked as though it had once been a vegetable garden. Trees shaded the back; he wondered idly if they would bear fruit the following year, and then he wondered if they’d still be at the safe house a year from now.

Harry followed as Snape continued on, showing him the WC, dining room with a large wooden table and six chairs, and the kitchen, which had a cooker and a cold box.

“Sir, where does our food come from?” Harry asked.

“I imagine that the house is charmed to provide food when it is in use,” Snape replied.

Harry wondered exactly how that worked but decided not to dwell on it at the moment.

“This was built as a pantry,” Snape said, leading Harry into a room off the kitchen, “but I will use it as a potions lab. It will suit nicely. There is enough room for two stations so that you can continue your studies while we are here.”

Harry bit back the groan that threatened to escape. But thinking of the lessons he was missing reminded him of something else. “Who do you think is teaching Potions now?”

“I do not know, but I am sure the headmaster will find someone. Horace Slughorn held the post before I did. Perhaps he will be persuaded to come out of retirement.”

“Did you have him as a teacher?”

“Yes.”

“Was he good?”

Snape seemed to consider his answer before responding. “He was a competent teacher. But he tended to favor certain students over others, which was counterproductive.”

“And you didn’t?” Harry said impulsively.

“Didn’t what?” Snape asked, dusting off the pantry shelves as they spoke.

Harry bit his lip. “Favor certain students,” he said quietly, afraid he’d said too much.

Snape laughed bitterly. “Of course I favored certain students—children of Death Eaters in particular. How would it look to the Dark Lord and his followers if I did not?”

“Oh,” Harry breathed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You would have been surprised to observe the joint Ravenclaw–Hufflepuff class. I didn’t need to favor anyone in those sections. I imagine those students had a much more balanced experience compared to your class.”

“So you were nice to them, then?” Harry asked, half-teasing and half-jealous.

Snape gave him an odd look. “It was not my job to be nice, as you say. It was my job to teach and to keep everyone safe. Potions can be very dangerous, as you well know. I hold all of my classes to the highest of standards, regardless of their parentage or which house they were sorted into.”

“That makes sense,” Harry said. “I imagine I’d have done better in Potions if not for…”

“How I treated you,” Snape finished for him.

“Yeah,” Harry said, not daring to look at Snape.

“I daresay you will have your opportunity, then, as we will continue potions during our time here. I look forward to seeing what you are capable of.”

Harry suddenly felt hot and dizzy, whether because of the pressure of having to prove that he really could do better in potions if given the chance, or because he’d been on his feet too long.

“I think I need to sit down,” Harry said.

The next thing Harry knew, there were arms wrapped around him and something hard and uncomfortable underneath him. He shifted and felt a wall of muscle against his back.

“Harry?”

Opening his eyes, he looked up into the worried face of Severus Snape.

“What happened?” Harry asked.

“You fainted.”

“Oh,” Harry said, getting his bearings. He righted himself and slid over to sit next to Snape instead of on him. “How long was I out?”

“Only a couple of seconds. Likely you overdid it. You haven’t been up and around this much in days,” Snape said.

“Thanks for catching me,” Harry said, feeling embarrassed. He scooted over to put a little more distance between Snape and himself.

Snape nodded. “Would you prefer to return to bed? Or lounge in the sitting room for a change of scenery?”

“The sitting room, please. I am sick of being in bed.”

Snape got to his feet and offered Harry a hand, which Harry gladly accepted. Harry didn’t protest the hand on his elbow as Snape led him to a chair in the sitting room, either.

Standing in front of the bookshelf, Snape announced, “There seems to be a combination of Muggle and magical literature here. Do you have a preference?”

“I like mysteries,” Harry stated. “Either kind.”

“Have you read Sherlock Holmes?” Snape inquired.

“No, I’ve only seen it on the telly.”

Snape made a sound of disgust, and handed Harry a thick volume. “The books are far superior to anything on the telly.”

As Harry settled in with the book, Snape went to fetch tea and some reading material for himself.

Severus was standing on the outskirts of a circle of Death Eaters, his mask firmly in place, his hands clenched. He was sweating profusely as a feeling of sheer panic rocketed through him. He couldn’t see what was going on in the center, but he knew it had to be something terrible. The screams—the gut-wrenching, heart-breaking screams—went on and on. He closed his eyes, wishing he could close his ears as well.

“Make room, make room,” the Dark Lord was saying as he skirted the circle. Then the Dark Lord was smiling and pulling Severus forward, welcoming him. “Don’t be shy, young one. See what pleasures await you. See what your reward is for being part of my inner circle.”

The Dark Lord moved on and Severus was left standing with a clear view of the proceedings. A senior Death Eater was crouched over a poor wretch of a man, a knife in one hand, his wand in the other. The man was naked and curled in on himself, magically bound and unable to move, his eyes glazed, his mouth open in a scream as a knife carved something into his back. Letters. Words.

Severus fought against the urge to vomit. This was not what he had signed up for.

When the Death Eater finished inscribing his message on the man’s back, he propped the sobbing man up on hands and knees and Severus’s eyes widened. Surely, the Death Eater wouldn’t... But he did, entering the man roughly, and without warning or preparation. Not even a spell. It was barbaric. Severus swallowed against the taste of bile surging into his mouth.

The poor man was writhing and shrieking and bleeding. There was so much blood. Severus bit his tongue to stop himself from crying out on the man’s behalf. He wanted to shout STOP but he knew he couldn’t. He was helpless to save the pitiable soul.

And then an even worse thought occurred to him. What if the Dark Lord wanted him to do that to someone? How on earth could he do it?

He glanced at the Death Eaters around him. They were cheering their comrade on, encouraging him, enjoying the evening’s events. Severus closed his eyes, happy for the mask that hid the tears that slid down his cheeks. He was only 19. He had no idea that this was what it meant to be a Death Eater.

The masked man next to him bumped his shoulder. It was Lucius Malfoy, who was a few years older than he.

“Maybe I’ll get to go next,” Lucius said, relish in his voice. “I always enjoy a good spot of torture, and this one is so vocal.” Lucius cracked his fingers and adjusted his robes. “Ah, I hope the Dark Lord gives me a chance tonight.”

Young Severus was trembling with fear and revulsion. Lucius had always spoken about the Dark Lord’s inner circle with such reverence. So when Severus was finally invited to join, he felt honored. He didn’t hesitate to accept—not that he could have. One did not say no to the Dark Lord. He’d looked forward to being one of the chosen few, one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted and loyal followers. He couldn’t have imagined the price he would be required to pay for his allegiance.

When Severus turned back to the scene in front of him, it had changed. The senior Death Eater was now Lucius Malfoy, and Lucius wasn’t 21 anymore, but 41. His long blond hair fell in a curtain around his face and there was no mask to hide Lucius’s expression of sadistic pleasure as he brutally raped the young boy in front of him. For it was a young boy now on his hands and knees, screaming and bleeding and sobbing. And then, to Severus’s horror, the boy’s tormented gaze swung around to meet his own.

“No,” Severus breathed, his heart jolting into overdrive. “No, please Merlin, NO!”

Harry Potter looked directly at him, his shattered green eyes begging Severus to help him, to save him.

Severus lurched forward, his arms outstretched. “Not Harry, please not Harry!”

He tried to run, to get to Harry, but it was like trying to wade through thick melted caramel. He couldn’t get his limbs to move with any speed. He reached for his wand but it was gone.

“Harry, I’m coming,” he cried out, fighting against the invisible forces impeding his progress.

Harry’s shrieks of pain tore through him as Malfoy finished and the next Death Eater took his turn.

“Oh God, Harry,” Severus moaned. His leg muscles burned as he fought his way forward, inch by tortuous inch.

Now there were two Death Eaters on Harry: one in front and one behind. Harry was gagging and choking as blood, sweat, and tears leaked from his body.

They were tearing the boy apart.

“Stop!” Severus shouted. “Stop it! Get away from him! Leave him alone!”

But just as he couldn’t get to Harry fast enough, no one seemed to be able to hear him, either. The Death Eaters who weren’t abusing Harry were jeering one moment and fighting for their turn the next.

Severus was screaming as he fought his way forward into the mass of jackals fighting over Harry. Severus’s wand appeared suddenly in his hand and he blasted them all away from the boy. The boy, who was lying in a pool of blood and bodily fluids.

“Harry,” Severus cried as he fell to his knees and rolled Harry onto his back. “I’m here, Harry,” he said, wiping the boy’s face with his sleeve. “I’m here now. You’re safe now.”

Harry’s eyes—usually sparking green with life—connected with his. For a moment, Severus saw recognition in them, and perhaps a touch of gratitude. Then the light in that precious gaze faded until nothing but an empty dullness stared, fixed, from the broken body.

“No,” Severus breathed. “NO!”

Severus shook the limp body, screaming and sobbing.

“HARRY!”