In The Fangs Of Uncertainty by SnapesYukuai

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“Severus, my dear Poison master.”

Severus Snape – kneeling to his master’s feet, battered and bound by chains – schooled his pale features into a cold expressionless mask. He felt acute revulsion at Voldemort’s intended pun but would be damned if he let that vile creature see any of it.

“You always were way too proud for your own good; a curious thing, indeed, given your filthy mudblood inheritance.” Voldemort’s red eyes flashed with mocking and rage. Slowly, almost languidly he rose from his throne to glide toward his prisoner.

“I always took you for an intelligent man, Severus. A dirty little bastard hopelessly in love with that mudblood, but gifted with a brilliant mind no less.”

“How is it then...”, here he bent down, grabbed Severus by the chin and roughly tugged his head up..

“How is it then, that you thought you could escape me after I learned of your betrayal?!” The deathly pale long fingered hand tightened its grip, claw like fingernails driving into flesh before suddenly releasing the Potions master’s face. Rage emanated from every fibre of his snake like body.

Only when Severus lay on the ground – his head throbbing and his cheek burning – he realised that Voldemort had struck him hard enough to drive him to the ground.

The death eater-turned-spy could barely hold in the groan when Voldemort’s boot impacted heavily on his wand hand. If the dark lord waited for his former potions master to show his pain or worse begin begging for mercy, however, he could prepare for a long sit in!

As soon as the boot left his mangled hand Severus wrestled himself back up to his knees – quite a feat considering how he was bound. He glared at his former master with such loathing and utter disgust that his features seemed to transform into a stiff mask of pure hatred!

Lastly, when he had Voldemort’s complete attention he spat on the dark lord’s robes before turning his smouldering gaze back to the bloodthirsty red eyes.

“Well, let’s give you special treatment then... to fit the occasion.” Voldemort sneered mockingly as he raised his wand.

“Isn’t that what you praise above all, Severus; proper conduct in the act?” The last bit was spat with such ire that many death eaters who filled the half circle began to fidget in fear of their lord.

Every noise stopped with the hissed “Legilimens!!” that left Voldemort’s lips.
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For Harry here the torture began! As the murderer of his parents tore into Snape’s mind – filled with an unearthly desire to hurt, to torture... to kill – the young Gryffindor began to scream in agony! But it was not only because of the pain that flooded his own body, no, his bloodcurdling screams echoed Severus Snape’s.

Worse than anything was seeing his recently found uncle being tortured until even Snape – gifted with an iron strength of will and more self control than Harry would ever possess – began to beg for mercy, for a quick death even!!

Later Harry didn’t know how he managed to make his way to Dumbledore’s office. He remembered vaguely that he had thrown up – more than once – on his way and that he had, at least once, taken a bad fall due to the blinding pain from his scar. But in the end nothing of that mattered. In the end it were only the horrifying pictures flashing before his eyes that made him almost break and at the same time kept him going.

>>>

“Harry, my dear boy, what has happened to you? Dear Merlin, you look like you are about to faint. Come on, lad, let me help you to a chair.” Dumbledore’s deeply concerned voice reached his ears as he was half lead, half carried to a comfortable chair.

“Tell me what happened, my boy. Is it your scar.”

Harry nodded and immediately regretted it! After letting out a weak moan the Gryffindor forced himself to speak:

“Uncle Severus! They... he has him and... and he’s torturing him!! Please, you have to... have to help!!”

Among all the other jumbled thoughts Harry suspected the only thing that kept him upright was Dumbledore’s cool hand pressing gently against his forehead and giving him something else to focus on than the excruciating pain and worry for his uncle.

“We must save him...!!” Harry tried to get up but the firm pressure of the Headmaster’s other hand on his shoulder confined him to his chair.

“No, Harry. Sit and rest. No rash decisions now.”

“But...!”

“No, my boy.” Albus piercing blue eyes met the desperate emerald green ones and held them captive as long as it took to get Harry’s full attention.

“I will now firecall Severus. It is entirely possible that Voldemort sent you a false vision. When Professor Snape was found out a spy it became clear to Tom that he is dear to you. He may be exploiting that knowledge.”

“He’s damn good at it then” Harry mumbled although he was still convinced that he had seen the truth. And that frightened him; frightened him more than he ever thought possible. In the moments to come Harry heard Dumbledore rummage about the office while he sat with his head in his hands, breathing deeply in an effort to stave off the upcoming panic. Somewhere in castle the tower clock struck two times.

>>>

When he felt the presence of somebody directly in front of him Harry slowly looked up – only to moan in desperation when he saw the Headmaster’s expression! The ancient wizard looked grim and concerned, although he hid the second emotion well. But all the reassurance in the world couldn’t convince Harry that there still was hope for Severus.

“Harry, I am afraid that Severus is not in his quarters. But....”

Whatever Dumbledore said next, Harry did not hear it. Pictures of the gruelling torture, of his Uncle writhing on the floor assaulted his mind. The room seemed to be closing in on him. And while Dumbledore’s words – not that he comprehended a single one of them – seemed to come from far away, the blood rushing in his ears tuned out everything else. Harry desperately fought to breathe.

No, no! It can’t be!! Help. Please, don’t let him die!!

“Harry!” He didn’t react. He couldn’t! The all encompassing panic had him in a vice like grip! Then another voice and some surprised exclamations Harry couldn’t place:

“Harry!!!”

Bright spots danced across the Gryffindor’s vision showing him a warped vision of Severus Snape actually kneeling in front of him. Still he couldn’t take a breath, still the terrible fundamental knowledge of Snape’s torture and imminent death wrung every last ounce of air from his lungs!

Then he was falling forward... or was he being pulled? He vaguely registered pain when his knees met the floor but he didn’t dwell on it as he felt arms around him now – arms that he knew because they had carried him after he had taken an involuntary bath in icy cold water the winter when they learned of their family ties.

But that wasn’t possible....

“Harry, you impertinent brat, take a breath! For God’s sake, breathe, my boy!”

When finally Harry’s fuzzy mind puzzled out that this was, indeed, Severus Snape in front of him, the first sob tore through him. And while moments ago he had been struggling for air because his worry had literally choked him, now he did because of the violent sobs. They were sobs of relief, of anguish and pain, both physical and mentally.

But now there was someone there to help him.

“You’re (gasp) here!! You’re... not... dead! You...!” he couldn’t believe it. Frantically his hands clutched the front of Snape’s robes, almost like a lifeline.

“Hush, child. Shhh, try to breathe. I’m here, foolish boy. I would not let any Dark Lord capture me. Not if I had to fear one of your harebrained schemes being put into action to rescue me. We are both safe here at Hogwarts.”

While his words may have been scathing his tone was not: It was deep, warm and concerned. Slowly, ever so slowly Harry regained his bearings under Severus' ministrations. Only now he actually felt Severus’ fingers carding though his sweaty hair.

“Easy now. Don’t you move before I had a proper look at you. To get into a full-fledged panic attack because I am not to be found in my quarters...” The deep baritone chided gently though the voice did not reflect admonishment.

It was Snape’s way. It was not what he said but how. From early on it had been kind of a ritual between the two of them. If Harry was upset or in pain – especially after landing himself in trouble – Snape would rant softly about Harry’s foolishness and penchant for rule breaking as he treated any injuries Harry had taken in his latest scuffle. In truth, though, he would soothe Harry’s frayed nerves with that deep velvety voice of his.

>>>

The Potions master murmured softly into Harry’s ear – everything from gently rebuking him for working himself in a state of illness yet again to reassuring him that even his mostly unused brain should have caught up to the fact that Severus was not lying face down in some dungeon. And all the while he observed his nephew sharply from above.

While the boy was leaning against his chest and relaxing marginally now, he was still ghostly pale, almost grey, and trembled violently. There was sweat dotting his face and his scar had taken on such a deep red colour that it looked swollen and badly infected.

Really, considering that he himself had been the one everyone believed to be at death’s door his nephew was definitely worse off. The normally aloof Potions master still shuddered at the thought of what had awaited him upon entering the Headmaster’s office.

Severus had been woken by pain pulsing through his dark mark – yes, it still burned when Voldemort called his followers although he was no longer being called along with the rest. Thinking to warn Dumbledore that the Dark Lord might be planning something, the Slytherin had made his way upstairs sometime around two in the morning and thus had not been available when Albus tried to reach him in his chambers. He hadn't used the floo because in times like these there was always the possibility of someone spying.

He had learned early on to always expect the worst and it had served him well so far.

What Severus had not expected, though, was seeing Harry Potter sitting hunched over in a chair, struggling for breath and moaning incomprehensible things while the Headmaster tried to convince him that he, Severus Snape, might not be tortured by the Dark Lord!

In any other situation the Slytherin would have been delighted to startle the living daylights out of the old man by arriving at his side while he was thought dead but tonight he was not. Really, he had to reign in his temper not to shake his employee to speed up Albus’ recovery from shock and finally learn what had pushed Harry into such a state.

Dumbledore’s explanation had for once been short and to the point:

Obviously Voldemort had sent Harry a false vision of him being captured and tortured and after they couldn’t find him in his quarters everyone had jumped to conclusions (not that Dumbledore had used those words).

Now though these thoughts slid into the background as Severus returned his focus to the distraught child in his arms. Emerald eyes were searching out his own as if to reassure himself that he was really safe and sound. It calmed the Potions master a tiny bit that Harry seemed recovered enough to do so.

“My, my. I swear to you, boy, if it was not the Dark Lord sending me to an early grave, it surely was the sight of you pale as a ghost and looking as if you were about to have a seizure!” He murmured in gentle exasperation while he took his charge’s pulse and felt his forehead.

The weak glare he received seemed to be more for his comment than for touching his forehead and the trice cursed scar. He knew that Harry didn’t like others to touch it, discounting a few people to which Severus now obviously belonged.

“What, making comments like that is not the decent thing to do after what happened tonight?” Severus snapped. “Well, scaring your Uncle half to death isn’t either!” Harry actually had the audacity to show the trace of a grin. While keeping up their light banter Snape bundled him up into his massive cloak to get him warmer after the shock.

He had – to his great disgust – seen vomit on the floor near the gargoyles guarding Dumbledore’s office. At first he had wondered which dunderhead student had caught the stomach flu this time but now he knew the truth.

... And what that said about the severity of Harry’s vision.

Finally he adjusted the boy’s position in his arms, lifted him off the ground and carried him to the sofa.

>>>

Harry felt faint with relief at seeing his Professor completely unharmed. On the other hand, though, the shock of learning what Voldemort could make him see without even an ounce of truth to build the vision on frightened him deeply! So deeply, in fact, that only the presence of his Uncle and the Headmaster kept him from sliding into yet another panic attack.

Only now as Snape placed him on the soft sofa he became aware of how shitty he still felt. Despite himself he issued a low moan. Now that not every brain cell – largely unused Snape would undoubtedly say – was occupied with worry for his Professor he found that he had a splitting headache!

“Now, let me take another look at you and then I will fetch some things to help you.”

...

“No, no, my foolish boy, don’t panic! Easy now. Yes, that's it. Calm down.”

At the thought of Snape leaving the room Harry’s mind had gone overdrive with worries – again. Now Severus’ capable hands were brushing away the sweaty locks from his forehead and the teenager once again wondered how Snape managed to calm him time and time again by only using his voice and the faintest touch of his hand.

“Creepy voice again.” Harry mumbled while trying to breathe deeply. The evil potions master actually chuckled lowly before he became serious again.

“What, didn’t you realise years ago that Gryffindors tend to be ridiculously easy to manipulate? ... Not that I am not glad about it when it helps me to bring you back from another episode of panic.”

“Yes”, Harry whispered darkly: “And when others can make me believe things that are completely made up by some crazy mind that’s connected to mine.”

“Hush, child, none of that now.” Severus tone held such tenderness and care that Harry couldn’t but obey. Not that the Potions master’s voice, though gentle enough, left any room for argument.

“Now, I will be back in a moment and when I return I expect you to be exactly where I left you, is that understood?” Harry nodded only to grimace sharply at the strong pain lancing through his head at the small movement.

“Ugh, will never learn.” he mumbled somewhat incoherently only to hear Snape’s soft reply: “I suspect you will have ample opportunity to do so in the future.”

>>>

“Here drink this. It’s Anti-Cruciatus-potion.” Snape had returned quickly with a few potions among other things, helped Harry sit up and had thus far fed him a stomach soothing potion.

“Why do I need that? I wasn’t....”

“Hush, insufferable brat, don’t ask questions but rather do as you are told.” Where Snape’s tone would have been cruel and sharp in the past now it held only mild reproof and more exasperated fondness than anything else. What was more, the serious, concerned gaze with which he now gazed down upon the child in his arms warmed Harry in a curious way.

He slowly swallowed the potion while Snape explained anyway:

“Although you were not directly subjected to the curse, the nature of your bond to him makes you vulnerable to its effects nonetheless.”

“You only speak so com... complicated to lull me in.” Harry murmured while he looked up at his Uncle with complete trust.

“Well, would that be so bad?” He inquired in that deep soothing baritone that Harry normally referred to as “creepy voice”, not because it sounded terrible but because of it’s almost hypnotising quality.

“You’re like Sherlock... Holmes... lulling people in with only your voice.”

At any other time the Potions Professor would have been amused at how quickly his Gryffindor brat had succumbed to the potion’s influence (Anti-Cruciatus-potion was a strong brew after all) but not tonight. Not while knowing what that boy had experienced and in what state he still was.

Instead of answering he took up a jar of salve and began to carefully rub the gooey greenish substance onto the flaming scar. Unconsciously Harry gave a sign of relief and relaxed further against his Uncle’s chest. Good.

Snape turned his gaze to Dumbledore, who in turn gave a small nod. While Severus had been keeping Harry occupied and distracted from dark thoughts and pain, Albus had kept track of the time. Ten minutes had passed leaving the appropriate amount of time between the administration of the Anti-Cruciatus-draught and any other potion.

“Now Harry, I still have two potions for you and then you can rest.” Snape whispered into his ear as he was tugged up a bit and guided to rest his heavy head in the crook of his Professor’s neck.

He felt the rim of a glass vial touch his lips and swallowed without question as its contents slid down his throat. Feeling the pain recede was bliss. Harry gave a tiny sigh before he took the second potion.

I have to ask him what will happen now... with my mind and Voldemort... and more visions....

Harry shuddered as that last vague thought filtered in.

“What’s goin’ to happ’n n...?” But before he could even finish that first question his tongue got inexplicably heavy and his eyes began to droop. An agitated noise stole out of his mouth but a warm hand cupping the side of his head soothed him.

“Hush. I gave you a sedative. It makes you sleepy along with relaxing you. You need rest. Remember, trust me and simply do as I tell you.” Pitch black eyes met emerald green and what Harry’s head could not convey by a nod anymore as he was already half asleep was expressed by those bright innocent eyes.

“I’ll guard your sleep. You’ll be safe.”

Later Harry really didn’t know where he took the strength to utter that last sentence, in fact he wouldn’t even remember saying it... two others would, though.

“An’ who’ll p’otect you?”