Snape blanched. He couldn’t let the boy injure himself further. He grabbed the largest towel he could find and stepped behind the boy. He forced Harry’s arms down and wrapped the teen tightly in the towel, Harry’s arms locked tight against his sides. Then he pulled Potter back against his chest, wrapped his arms around the boy’s trembling body, gritted his teeth, and held on.

Potter thrashed and struggled and screamed, kicking desperately at Snape’s shins. Snape wondered once again if he’d made the right decision. All he could do now, though, was wait the boy out.

“You are safe, Harry. You are here with me, Professor Snape. No one will hurt you. You have my word.”

Snape repeated the words over and over, trying to avoid the boy’s flailing head and kicking feet, while still holding the twisting body securely.

Suddenly, Potter let out a strangled cry and went limp. Snape fell to his knees, Potter now a dead weight in his arms. He lowered them both carefully to the cool tile floor.

“Harry? Can you hear me?” Snape asked.

Harry heaved a deep breath and let out a sob. He curled in on himself and tried to hide his face, but with his arms still restrained, it wasn’t very effective.

Snape was shaking from adrenaline and exhaustion. He was soaked in sweat, as was the boy. Now they both needed a shower. “Harry, I’m going to carry you to your bed, all right? Please nod your head if you understand.”

Harry nodded.

In deference to his tired muscles, Snape cast a Featherlight Charm on the boy before lifting him into his arms and carrying the boy back to his camp bed.

Snape took the seat next to the bed, poured them both a glass of water, and downed his in one long gulp.

Harry, meanwhile, had curled in on himself, tears silently coursing down his cheeks.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Snape asked.

The boy shook his head.

“Harry, I know it is hard to talk about. I know you do not want to think about it. But trust me when I tell you that you need to,” Snape said, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Keeping it all locked up inside will only make it worse.”

Harry shuddered but didn’t speak.

“You need to talk to someone,” Snape said with a sigh. “Unfortunately, I am your only option. I promise not to judge you or criticize you in any way.” Snape hoped his words might ease the boy, for there wasn’t much else he could do but listen at this point.

It was a few minutes before Harry stopped weeping and reached for something to drink. Snape obligingly handed him the glass of water. Harry drank half of it and took a deep breath. “They shaved my head,” Harry said with a hiccup. “I knew that, but seeing myself in the mirror… it just… brought it all back.”

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath himself. He didn’t necessarily want to hear this. He knew what Death Eaters were capable of. But as he’d told Harry, he was the only one here to bear witness.

“Go on,” Snape said.

“They did… awful things… to me,” Harry said with a shudder. “Really messed up things. I thought my uncle was bad, but… they made what he did seem like child’s play.” Harry drank some more water. “The mind games they played… threatening me with knives and hot pokers and… other things…” Harry swallowed, shook his head.

Snape wanted to bury his head in his hands but he didn’t dare do it. Harry had to live through this, surely he could live through the telling of it.

“I was sure they were going to torture me to death… slowly and painfully.” Harry hung his head. “Honestly, it got to the point where I wanted them to kill me. I just wanted the pain to end.”

Snape clenched his jaw against the rage that welled inside of him. It was a good thing the Dark Lord knew he was a traitor, because Snape didn’t know how he could return to that circle of hell and play the good little Death Eater knowing what they’d done to the aching boy before him. A boy that had been taught to equate touch with pain, having the most basic human comfort twisted into something evil such that even that was not an option for comforting Harry at the moment. Not that Snape was any good at giving comfort; he relied on potions for such things. But no potion in the world could heal the trauma of what Potter had been through.

He opened his mouth to respond but, as if thinking of the Dark Lord had summoned the bastard, intense, burning pain shot through Snape’s forearm. He shouted and tried to fight against the torment. This was much more than a summons—this was rage and vengeance and punishment all wrapped into one. It was unlike any agony he’d felt before. He felt like his arm was being eviscerated. It suddenly occurred to him what the Dark Lord was doing.

“No!” he screamed. “NO! NO! NO!” He rocked forward. He’d seen the Dark Lord do this once before. How could he have forgotten? It had been many years ago, right after Snape had joined. A follower had been captured and had given up some of the Dark Lord’s secrets. So angry was the Dark Lord that he’d actually used the man’s Dark Mark to torture him to death.

Snape felt himself slip to the floor. He heard screams, vaguely thought they might have been his own, but nothing could penetrate the excruciating, blinding pain that was eating him alive, starting with his arm. He curled in on himself, sweating, shaking, retching. He needed to fight this. He needed to stay alive for the boy. He couldn’t abandon him now as every other adult had. He had to help Potter. Harry. He had to…

Panting and keening, he felt darkness close in around the edges. He needed to resist, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold on for much longer. His eyes were scrunched shut but he forced them open, forced himself to look at his forearm, to see if it was actually being torn apart. Through watery eyes, he saw the snake of the Dark Mark writhing over his skin, viciously striking, biting, inflicting unbearable pain that made his vision go hazy.

He tried to pull back his arm, protect it somehow, but strong bands locked it in place, preventing him from moving. As his world faded toward oblivion, he thought he heard the snake hissing. His last thoughts were: So this is how I die, quickly followed by, I am sorry, Harry.

Harry hadn’t even thought about what he was doing. One moment he was telling Snape what had prompted his flashback, and the next Snape was shrieking and collapsing to the floor. Harry’s first thought had been to wonder if the man was having a heart attack. But that was a Muggle thought. Still, the man’s face had gone deathly pale, and he was shaking and covered in sweat, and still screaming.

“Professor! What’s wrong?”

Given the level of the man’s agony, Harry doubted Snape could even hear him.

Harry had long since slid off the bed onto the floor beside the wizard. He wasn’t sure what to do. Then suddenly Snape had thrown out his arm and Harry saw the Dark Mark, the snake moving beneath the skin. And he knew. He grabbed Snape’s arm when the man would have pulled it back and began to speak to the snake in Parseltongue.

At first, the snake didn’t want to listen. It was being driven to attack by Voldemort’s anger and vengeance. Torn between Voldemort’s orders and Harry’s coaxing, the snake finally started to waver. Harry persisted, explaining that its other master was a kingsnake—a huge, evil snake that was using this smaller snake to do his bidding. And once the little snake was no longer useful, the kingsnake would devour it.

Harry assured the smaller snake that it would always be useful to the man whose arm it inhabited. That this man was a good man, and that he would appreciate the snake. He would not let the kingsnake harm the little snake. And neither would Harry. Together, he and the good man would keep the little snake safe.

It was a battle of wills that lasted much longer than Harry would have liked but, finally, he won the slave snake’s trust. After that, it was easy enough to persuade the snake to curl up into a tight coil and go to sleep.

Extremely relieved, Harry set about trying to rouse Snape, who was lying on the floor, unconscious. When he had no success, Harry raised his wand, cast Mobilicorpus on Snape’s unconscious body, and maneuvered the man to his bed.

Harry felt uneasy. He had no idea how much damage the Dark Mark’s snake had done to the man, or if any of it would be permanent. Would he be able to use his arm? Would he even wake up? Would he be all right if he did? And what on earth would Harry do if he wasn’t? Harry had no way to contact anyone outside of the safe house. Nor did he have any idea where the safe house was located. For all he knew, they could have left Great Britain altogether.

Then Snape let out a moan.

Quickly, Harry cast the Featherlight Charm on himself and crawled across the carpeted floor on his knees to Snape’s bed.

Snape moaned again and tossed his head.

“Professor?” Harry called, kneeling beside the bed, but there was no response.

Snape’s forehead was beaded with sweat and he seemed to be emanating heat.

“Professor,” Harry said again, reaching out his hand to shake the man. Still nothing, but heat radiated off the man in waves that Harry could feel, even at his distance.

“Accio fever potion,” Harry said, hoping that one would come to him. Happily, one did. But that raised the next problem. How to give Snape the potion?

Deciding there was nothing for it, Harry pulled himself up onto the bed, crawled over Snape, and sat beside the wizard. He raised Snape into a reclining position as best he could, pulled the stopper out of the bottle with his teeth, and put it to the man’s lips.

“Professor, you have to drink this.”

No response.

Just as Harry was starting to get panicky, Snape moaned again. Quickly, Harry dumped the potion into the man’s partially open mouth.

Snape coughed and spluttered, but he swallowed most of it, his eyes fluttering but not opening.

Harry let Snape fall back onto the bed and sat next to him, panting with exertion. As he waited for his breathing to calm, he felt exhaustion sweep over him. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. He looked longingly at his camp bed across the room. He would go there soon. He just needed to rest a bit first so he’d have the strength and energy to move.

Snape awoke with his mouth feeling as if it had been stuffed with cotton, his head roaring, and his guts twisting. What in Salazar’s name had he done to himself this time?

Groaning, he forced his eyes open and found himself staring at a single bed across the room. An empty single bed.

“Potter!” he yelled, panic flooding his system and shoving all physical complaints aside. He pushed himself into a sitting position, swinging his legs over the bed, his heart racing. His feet hit the floor with a thud. “Harry! Where are you?”

Something touched his shoulder and he jerked violently.

“I’m right here,” a soft voice said.

Spinning around, Snape saw Harry lying in his bed, sleepy-eyed.

 “What are you doing here?” Snape asked.

“Voldemort,” Harry said, and Snape flinched at the name. “He attacked you. You passed out and had a fever. I got you into bed and gave you a fever draught, and I was going to go back to my bed, but I must have fallen asleep.”

Snape’s mind was reeling. He frantically searched his memories for what had happened. Potter had wanted a bath. Potter had had a flashback. And oh. His Dark Mark. Pain like he’d never known. His arm, his whole body, on fire. Snape glanced briefly at his forearm, more out of habit than anything, and opened his mouth to ask the boy why he was still alive after the Dark Lord’s attack. But he got no further than that, because his mind was suddenly rebelling. He glanced back at his arm, and then gazed at it in shock.

It was impossible.

It didn’t make any sense.

It couldn’t be.

“What have you done?” Snape whispered.

“Voldemort had ordered the snake to kill you. It took me awhile, but I convinced the snake that Voldemort was just using him, and that you were his friend and that you would keep him safe.” Harry explained around a yawn.

“How?” Snape asked, utterly stunned.

“Parseltongue, I suppose,” Harry said with a shrug, as if this all was no big deal. Harry yawned again. “I realized that Voldemort was controlling the snake through the skull. So I had to convince the snake to leave the skull. Once I did that, the rest was easy.”

Snape continued to stare at his arm in amazement. The skull was where it had always been. But the snake… The snake that used to thread its way through the skull’s mouth… It was now curled up in a pile of coils on his inner wrist.

“Now that they are separated, Voldemort shouldn’t be able to hurt you anymore.”

Snape gazed at the boy dumbfounded. Potter truly had no idea what he’d done for Snape, no concept of the magnitude of it. At all.

“You are a wonder, Harry Potter,” Snape breathed.

“’m just Harry,” he murmured, his eyes slipping closed. “Just Harry.”