Chapter Text
“The fuck, Malfoy. Get out!” Harry yelled.
‘Hush, hush,” Draco chortled. “I won’t hurt you. I just wanted to say hi. Is that not allowed?”
Harry stared, anger and panic battling for dominance within him. ‘Where’s Snape?” He was pretty sure panic won over his voice.
“He’s finishing bottling the potions we made. I told him I would wait for him upstairs. He asked that I not disturb you. Are you disturbed, Potter?”
Harry was, but he didn’t say anything. He wished that he had his wand and he wasn’t restricted from doing magic. Draco was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Every hex Harry had ever learned was popping into his head, he wanted so badly to wipe that smirk off Draco’s face.
Draco walked forward into the room, glancing about with interest, like he was taking a stroll in the zoo.
“You must hate it here, huh? It’s a shared sentiment with Severus, I can assure you. He wants to get rid of you just as much as you want to leave. He’s hopeful the blood wards will be back up before the end of the summer so he can go back to serving the Dark Lord and you can go back to your pathetic muggle family. Of course, he wants nothing more than to turn you over to The Dark Lord. He would have done it already if he could get away with it, but Dumbeldore is so protective of you.”
Draco stopped at Harry’s desk and traced the surface of it with his finger. He turned his back towards the desk, placed his hands on the ledge, and lifted himself with ease onto the surface. “Honestly, I was surprised that you were even still alive, but you are Dumbledore’s golden boy, aren’t you? He would never allow anything bad to happen to you.”
Harry swallowed. The words that Draco said were nothing that Harry hadn’t thought of a million times so it wasn’t exactly news to him. He wondered if Snape had said those things or if Draco was lying. And if Snape had said those things, how much of it was a lie? Snape had said that he had to keep up appearances. He was a spy, after all.
“Severus says that the summer has proven how deranged and emotionally fragile you are. It’s a miracle that anyone believes in your ability to defeat the Dark Lord. But Dumbledore says you will, and no one questions Dumbledore.”
Harry thought that, actually, maybe Professor Dumbledore didn’t care at all anymore and maybe that’s why Harry was now with Snape to begin with, but he didn’t want to give Draco more leverage against him.
“It’s professor Dumbledore,” Harry corrected, but Draco continued as if he hadn’t heard.
“Dumbledore is oblivious to your incompetency, but we all know that Dumbledore is going senile. If Dumbledore faced the truth about you he would have nothing to live for because you’re his only hope, the only reason he’s still alive. Isn’t that right, Potter?”
Draco’s legs swung back and forth. Harry stared at his swinging feet. He wanted to tell Draco to get off of his desk and to get out of his room, but it wasn’t Harry’s desk and it wasn’t Harry’s room. Not really. Draco would call him out on it immediately. ‘Well actually it’s Snape’s room and his desk’ and Harry wouldn’t be able to reply because it would be the truth.
“What’s wrong, Potter? Have I caused you to go speechless? Well, that’s quite alright. I like you all contrite. It’s quite endearing.”
Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his side. Draco’s face transformed into glee at the sight.
“Get out!” Harry shouted again. “Get out of here!’
“Oh, oh, I'm so scared. Whatever shall I do?” Draco mocked, wringing his hands together and darting glances around the room in fake terror. “I’m soooo scared,” he whined. He swung himself off the desk and landed on his feet. “Oh nooo, not Hawwy Pottuh,” he sang in a mocking voice, hands in his pockets. “Ohh noo, save meee.”
Harry wanted nothing more than to end Draco’s ridiculing charade. He charged at him, confident that he could get at least one good hit in before Draco took him seriously and left. Draco let out a shrill laugh and side-stepped Harry’s attack with ease. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and Harry saw the flash of a glass vile before he was blinded by a blue haze. Harry tried to dodge it but lost his footing. Only instead of falling, his body started to float up. Harry tried to grab something, anything at all to hang onto. Harry had been standing by the door and succeeded in grabbing the door handle, but his feet continued to float up so that he was hanging upside down.
Draco shrieked in laughter, doubled over in hysterics. “Fuck, oh my god, fuck,” he wheezed, thumping his chest. “Ow, oh my god, Potter, it hurts. I’m legit crying. I haven’t laughed like this in so long.”
“Let me down!” Harry cried, his hand beginning to slip on the door handle. All the blood was rushing to his head.
“Oh my god, this is perfect. If only the rest of the Slytherins could see you like this.” Draco danced around Harry. “You would never be able to live this down, they would---” his voice cut off.
It took a moment for Harry to realize why Draco had gone silent, but by then it was already too late.
“Harry, you bad boy, what did you do? Holy fucking shit!”
“Don’t look!” Harry pleaded. His voice was the most feeble, deprecating thing ever.
Harry’s shirt was slipping off his shoulders. He groped for the hem of his shirt and tried to yank it back into place, but his other hand slipped off of the door handle as he did so. He released his shirt and frantically tried to scramble for a handhold, but the doorknob was already just out of reach.
Maybe this was a bit like how his Aunt Marge had felt. God, the Dursleys would love this.
A ‘boom’ and Snape came bursting through the door, the rage around him palpable. Harry's head narrowly missed being whacked by the corner of the door frame as the door burst open from his sudden entrance.
“What is the meaning of this?” Snape demanded, eyes darting past Harry to fix Draco with a withering look that would have made Medusa proud.
‘It was self-defense!” Draco held up his hands and shrugged. “I just came to say hi, and it’s like you said. He’s volatile! He attacked me out of nowhere!”
Snape turned to Harry and reversed the anti-gravity potion with a flick of his wand. Harry braced himself for crashing onto the floor, but Snape already had a cushioning charm in place. Harry fell in an indignant heap, but he did so softly. He quickly righted himself, yanking his shirt down and tucking it into his pants for good measure. Harry’s back was to Snape. Snape hadn’t noticed.
“Don’t punish him too harshly,” Draco said. His smile was gone. He almost looked serious. Was he serious? “He’s a foolhardy Gryffindor, and Gryffindor’s do stupid things by nature. Sure, Potter’s the worst of them all, but I don’t think he could control himself even if he wanted to. And really, another beating like the last one you gave him and The Dark Lord would be envious, don’t you think? To tell the truth. I’m impressed you’re even capable of that level of sadism, but best to keep it in check. You don’t want to break him before the Dark Lord gets a chance.”
Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, Harry pleaded mentally, eyes darting fearfully from Draco to Snape.
Snape didn’t have any expression on his face as he looked at Draco, which was maybe the most terrifying look of all. He pointed at the door, extending his arm all the way out and making his index finger look like a weapon. “Out. This instant.” He didn’t even raise his voice. He didn’t have to.
Draco slipped towards the exit, sidling past Harry. He paused in the doorway. “Almost forgot to return this! I’ll try to remember to ask next time I go to borrow something.” He tossed the empty potions vile and Snape caught it mid-air. “So I guess--”
Snape slammed the door in Draco’s face, effectively silencing the boy. Snape stood perfectly still, facing the closed door, facing away from Harry. Harry could see the rigidness of his shoulders and the tension in his forearms.
Harry still knelt on the floor. He was rather shaky from his fiasco with Draco. He opened his mouth to bridge the silence, thinking maybe some sort of joke would ease the tension. He was about to say, “Well, all things considered, that was one of the more pleasurable experiences I’ve had with Malfoy,” when Snape turned. Harry’s stomach lurched at the look Snape directed at him. It was something about those eyes, like polished black stones, that seemed capable of anything at all with no remorse.
And Harry had disobeyed, hadn’t he? Even if it wasn’t his fault, Snape had told him not to even look at Draco wrong. Draco had been the one to seek Harry out, but when had Snape ever cared about what Draco did? He only ever cared about punishing Harry.
Harry had a sudden urge to remind Snape that he had taken care of him when he was sick, even fed him, because maybe Snape had forgotten everything that had happened that week. All those nutritional potions that Harry had daily took time and effort to brew. And reversing everything he had done by killing him wouldn’t be practical, surely?
Snape took a deliberate stride towards Harry and Harry began to scramble backward, his feet sliding out from underneath him on the polished wood floor.
Harry’s back hit the wall. He thrust his hands in front of him as if that simple motion was enough to stop whatever was going to happen next.
Snape halted a few feet from Harry.
“Take off your shirt, Potter.”
“Proffesor, I didn’t do anything! I promise you.” Harry’s stomach was flip-flopping in the worst way. “I was trying to ignore Draco, I swear, I was being good, I---”
“Take off your shirt, Potter,” Snape demanded.
“It’s nothing. Draco’s a liar. Please, don’t listen to him.”
“Do NOT cause me to repeat myself again,” Snape warned.
Harry swung his head back and forth. “I won’t do it,” he croaked. “Please, Professor Snape, sir, I can’t.”
It hadn’t been long ago when he had been expecting a beating after the ball-gag scenario and had provoked Snape, anger making him reckless. He hadn’t felt shame then. Harry wondered where all that rage went, and why the only emotion he had left was fear, and why he felt like his only chance of survival was hiding how the Dursleys treated him at all cost.
“Do not make me force you to obey, Potter. I have no problem stupefying you.”
Harry choked down a bewildered sound. He knew that Snape would do it, too. He began to peel his shirt off, knowing that he had no other option. He kept his back turned away from Snape, pressed against the wall, and he hugged himself once his torso was bare, face bleak with despair. Why did Snape always see him in the worst state? “You can’t, like, make this any sexier?” he managed to choke out.
Harry waited for it, but not a single twitch of muscle moved on Snape’s face. The man truly had no sense of humor and no sign of emotion at all, really. “Get on the bed. I want you laying face-down.”
Harry stared, aghast, unable to believe his ears. He couldn’t even manage any humorous remarks because he was too taken back. He hoped he had heard incorrectly, but Snape’s face was the definition of resolute and Harry knew that nothing he could say or do would change his mind. He backed up towards the bed, still refusing to turn his back towards Snape. Once he got to the edge of his bed he paused. He willed himself to do what Snape said and lay face-down, but he felt frozen, almost as if he was already stupefied even though Snape hadn’t cast any spells.
Snape walked towards him, his movements slow this time. He raised his hand and placed it on Harry’s bare shoulder. Snape’s hand was warm and huge. It covered Harry’s shoulder completely, and Harry felt dwarfed and like his shoulder was unusually sharp and bony, despite all the food he had been eating and all the nutritional potions he had been drinking. Snape turned Harry around, the motion almost gentle.
Harry knew the second Snape laid eyes on his back because he heard the sharp inhale of breath behind him. A string of curses followed that were very uncharacteristic of a Hogwarts professor. “Tell me, Potter: what did you do to receive such a beating? Did you kill your family’s dog? Steal your cousin’s trust fund?”
“Ha. Very funny,” Harry said dryly. “As if existing isn’t crime enough. Don’t pretend like you haven’t wanted to treat me like this. You know how difficult I can be.” Despair colored his words. He tried to turn back around but Snape held him in place.
“Are you admitting that you deserved this?”
Harry felt his face heat up. The skin on his back tickled in the cold air. Harry could swear that he could feel Snape’s eyes looking. He could feel the judgment. Did Snape think he deserved this? “I don’t---” I don’t think so. I don’t know.
“Harry.” Snape’s voice was hard, pulling Harry’s attention up from the downward spiral his thoughts were taking. “No one deserves this kind of treatment.”
Harry would have been lying to himself if that one sentence didn’t wash over him in a wave of relief. When did he become so concerned with Snape’s opinion?
“It’s not a big deal,” Harry whispered.
“Why do you defend your relatives, Harry? They’re the ones who did this, didn’t they? I can see the history here. It started a long, long time ago.”
Harry didn’t know what to respond. It wasn’t like he was trying to defend his uncle. He just hated the hypocrisy of Snape, of all people, pretending like this was significant, as if he hadn’t been a hair’s width from wringing Harry’s neck a billion times over the years. It was good to hear him say ‘no one deserves this’ as if it was some big thing, but Harry knew better.
“I hope you realize that this kind of treatment, regardless of circumstances, is never justified.” Snape spoke slowly, pronouncing his words carefully. “Potter, I do not expect you to believe me, but I wouldn’t purposefully hurt you. That is not to say that I haven’t wanted to, and that I haven’t done my best to scare you as if I would. I have not ever beaten a Hogwarts student, and I do not plan to start.”
Harry tried to think of some clever retort that would push Snape’s buttons, but couldn’t think of anything. He ended up grunting. He just felt tired. His brain seemed to be at capacity at this point, and everything Snape was saying was going right over his head.
“Alright, you’re going to lie down now.”
Snape guided Harry into position. Harry didn’t fight it. He laid down on his stomach and turned his head to face the wall, his arms aligned with his body and his palms up. He felt strangely absent of all emotions: numb, like he was floating, like maybe a part of him had died but his ghost was left behind and part of his consciousness was trapped there.
Harry felt Snape’s presence leave. He heard the sound of a cabinet opening and closing in the bathroom, and then Snape was by his bedside again. There was the popping sound of a bottle being opened. The smell of eucalyptus and mint tickled the inside of Harry’s nose, clearing his sinuses. Something cold and wet was trickled onto his back.
Harry jerked, tension rippling down his spine. He thought whatever it was might sting on his wounds but it didn’t. It just felt sharp and icy. His wounds were mostly all healed, anyway. Maybe it would have hurt if they were open. Snape’s hands were warm and gentle as they pushed into the liquid, smearing it up along Harry’s shoulders. The temperature exchange between Snape’s hands and the cold liquid created a symphony of sensations. Snape pushed into his muscles with a force that almost hurt, but when his hands moved to a different spot the place he had touched previously felt extra loose and airy, as if a burden had been lifted from that place.
“Is this magic?” Harry wondered in a whisper, to himself.
“No,” Snape answered. “It’s a balm for bruising that also serves as a disinfectant. The balm works more effectively if you are relaxed. The rest is just physical touch, which can be a very powerful thing, especially if one is not accustomed to gentleness. There is no magic involved.”
Harry hummed. He wanted to remain tense, to fight to remain in his body, but every touch felt like it was unraveling something deep inside of him. He was scared of giving in to the sensation because he wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he did. He might not stop unraveling. His breathing was all uneven and his eyes were prickling and he felt alarmingly close to coming undone.
Snape pushed on a particularly tense lump in his shoulders, and a mewing sound escaped from Harry’s throat, much to his mortification. He braced himself for Snape’s ridicule, but Snape didn’t say anything. He carried on as if he hadn’t heard a thing.
Harry thought about the times where Dudley had hurt himself and Petunia had fussed over him. Sometimes Harry would lay on the floor of his cupboard and he’d run his fingers gently up and down his own arm and he’d say, “It’s ok, Harry, it’s ok,” and he would imagine that it was his mother saying it, and that everything really was ok.
Harry wanted to tell Snape that he was a freak and freaks don't get touched like this. Snape was making a mistake and Harry felt guilty, like maybe he had accidentally tricked Snape into being nice. Like how he tricked the wizarding world into thinking he was somehow capable of being some savior, even though he couldn’t defend himself against his muggle uncle.
Draco was right, even if Snape didn’t really say all of those awful things. They all knew it. Everyone did. Harry was defenseless in the worst kind of way. There was something wrong with him, right down to his core. He was innately dirty.
Harry’s thoughts drifted to Mr. Deen, and how Mr. Deen had done things like smooth his hair and stroke his face, but only ever right before or after Harry had pleasured him, as a sort of payment. There was a part of Harry that craved Mr. Deen’s touch above all else, even if it made him feel defiled at the same time. Possibly even more so than pleasuring him. Afterward, Harry would feel empty, like a husk, but he’d return anyway, like a drug addict. Like the sick fuck that he was.
Harry wondered what kind of payment Snape would want for this, and the alarm he felt at that thought caused him to sit straight up in bed, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
Snape pulled his hand back.“Harry, what’s wrong?” he asked.
Snape didn’t want any payments because Harry had asked this same question before when he was sick, and Snape hadn’t wanted any sort of payments then, so he probably didn’t now.
Maybe he did want payments back then but he was denying it. Maybe he had been hiding it from Harry until Harry owed him so much that he couldn’t say no, even if he wanted to.
“It’s silly. Maybe.” Harry was torn between wanting to laugh at his own imagination and cry at the panic his thoughts were causing him.
“It’s not silly. Tell me.”
“I was just thinking that-- well, I asked this before, and you said no, so maybe your answer hasn’t changed. It’s kind of stupid, but nothing is free, right? So that got me thinking about payments. And what kind of payments you might want. From me.”
Harry’s voice was small and shrinking as he went on so that now it was hardly more than a whisper. Snape didn’t ask him to speak up, which was a relief. Harry stared down at his hands, where he plucked absently at the frill of his blanket. He realized how neurotic he must appear.
‘Not that I can offer much, because I can’t. I’m not-- I can’t, well, you know. I guess what I’m asking is, what do you expect of me?”
Harry dared to meet Snape’s gaze then, and his stomach lurched. Snape was gazing at him and his expression didn’t look like anything at all. His face was carefully blank, his eyes black, like he wasn’t human at all.
“Explain to me what you mean,” Snape said.
Harry wanted to shrink into a ball and vanish. He wanted to crawl under his bed and never come out. Snape was probably judging him so much. Maybe he thought Harry was crazy. Or maybe he was thinking that, yes, Harry could do things to please him, and that sounded great. And Harry really was an idiot because he had brought this up, which was as good as suggesting it.
“I’m just saying, I don’t know what you want,” Harry despaired. “But if you wanted something, I could… Well, I want to, uh,” his voice cracked, “stay. I want to stay here, just for a bit, just until the summer ends, which I was supposed to do anyway if the blood words aren’t fixed, but I wouldn’t mind making it worth your while to have me here. I know it’s not nice for you to be stuck here with me. But I can stay out of your way. Even when I don’t stay out of your way maybe-- maybe I could do something for you. Maybe you’d want me back again, even, like next summer, for a visit, if I made it worth your while. I wouldn’t say anything, or tell anyone if you wanted something from me.”
“What do you think I want of you?” Snape asked. His voice was blank, like a recording. ’Push or say two to speak to the next representative.’
“If I knew I wouldn’t ask, would I?” Harry snapped, irritated.
“What did the Dursleys demand of you?”
“Chores.” Harry readily admitted. “I did a lot of chores around the house and yard.”
“You are already doing chores here.”
Harry scoffed “Come on, Snape. You think sorting books is considered a chore?”
“Indeed, I do. What else should I have you be doing?”
Harry shrugged, feeling like he wanted this conversation to be over already. That it had been a mistake to even bring this up.
“I can tell that physical touch provokes panic in you, even if you do like it,” Snape said. Harry blushed, wishing that Snape would keep his observations to himself. “It is obvious that you have rarely been cared for and had your needs met. Were your uncle and aunt ever there for you?”
Harry inwardly fumed. “Yeah, they were positively delightful, Snape, full of sunshine and rainbows. Didn’t you hear? I was raised like a prince. Never even had to wipe my own ass. That’s the Chosen One for you!”
Much to Harry’s dismay, Snape was not provoked. When Snape spoke his voice remained calm and monotone.
“Have you ever had anyone tend to your injuries, Potter?”
“Yeah, of course.” He wanted this conversation to be over. “Madam Pomfrey always---”
“That doesn’t count,” Snape interrupted, and Harry could tell Snape was growing irritated too, as if this inquisition was a test and Harry was failing. “I know you avoid the hospital unit. So tell me: was there ever an adult in your life while you were growing up who you went to when you were hurt, frightened, or needed something?”
Harry wanted to say that he never needed anything, that he was never hurt or frightened. Even he knew how ridiculous that would sound. Then he thought of Mr. Deen, and he figured that maybe he went to him for these very reasons, but he didn’t want to think about that.
“This--I don’t like this,” Harry glared. He slid off the bed and put some distance between himself and snape. “Whatever game you’re playing, I don’t like it. You’re being weird, and I hate it so you can just stop pretending, alright? I don’t know what Professor Dumbledore is putting you up to, but I won’t tell him anything.”
“Harry,” Snape said. Harry wished that hearing his first name on Snape’s lips didn’t immediately grip his attention, but it did. “I want you to imagine something for me. Just humor me and play along, even for a moment. Can you do that for me?”
Harry shrugged, then nodded.
“Alright. Good. You are desperately trying to figure out my motive but maybe it is not as complex as you think. Imagine that what I want most of all is to heal your wounds to the best of my ability. Imagine that I want nothing more than to make sure that you are fed and regaining your strength. I gain satisfaction from these things and am pleased as they happen. And what do I want from you? What I want from you is very difficult. It might hurt to hear, and you might think that it is impossible, and that’s ok because it won’t always seem that way. Do you want to know what it is?”
Harry nodded, swallowing, staring at Snape’s lips and the shapes they made as he pronounced each word. Each new sentence was like a plot twist in a story. He really did want to know what Snape wanted of him, and Snape was making sure Harry knew it would be hard to hear, but Harry wasn’t sure it was as bad as the things he had been thinking.
“I want you to grow more comfortable in my presence as you become more assured that I won’t hurt you. I want you to become more confident in yourself as you allow yourself to trust others. I want you to move towards the future because the past doesn’t hurt so much, and you are the master of your own destiny. You don’t live out the future that others have mapped out for you, but the one you have chosen for yourself.
“This is a lot to want from you, but there is no rush. It is my dream, but someday it may be yours, too. And if it’s not now, that’s ok. You’re moving forward, and that’s all that matters.”