First HP fan fiction. I've read all of the books and have seen the movies, so I know what the story is about, but I'm going off of my plot, not JK's.
Don't be worried about my English, because I am confident in my linguistic skills.
If you have compliments, feel free to share, knowing that that will make my day about 10x better.
Also, I'm not sure yet if I'll keep this a one shot, or make it a recovery story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. All rights are reserved to the author.
Takes place in fifth year. (Year with Umbridge, where Sirius dies at the end) In this story the summer lasts three months.
Warnings: GREUSOME non con, language, flippancy, occasional mistakes, grumpy author, very very very detailed gore and humiliation. NOT for the light of heart. Veers away from cannon quite an awful lot.
Additional warnings: This is brutal, graphic, and REAL. What you are about to read will upset you. (It's what I'm striving for.)
Harry stared ahead in his Transfiguration class. It has been approximately three days and six hours since he escaped his home at Privet Drive. Left my home, left it, not escaped. He found it extremely hard to concentrate in class, and his mind was dull and unresponsive. Hermione kept giving him looks, which he knew meant that she was worried. He didn't look forward to having to explain his ever growing apathy. Or about coming up with an excuse. He was used to relaying excuses to himself, but not to others. Not to his friends. He was worried that he hadn't yet perfected his mask of happiness. Clearly he hadn't, if she was already seeing through it. He looked at the clock on the wall. Only five more minutes until Potions class with the teacher who he least wanted to see right now.
He listened as professor McGonagall droned on about the importance of practice now, as the summer will leave you wanting/needing to do magic more and more. Magic release is important. He knew that, he really really knew that. He doubted anyone really knew that in this room more than he. Hermione had already packed up all of her things, as he was stuck pondering magic release. She walked over from Ron to him, and sat beside him in an empty seat. "Harry, you seem... different... ever since you came back from the Dursley's. Is there something you need to talk about?" And as she said this, her head was tilted to the side, and she had a comforting arm close, too close, to his own. Her eyes bored into his. She said need instead of would like to, which made him believe his façade wasn't quite as good as he'd hoped.
"I'm quite fine, really." His mind replayed the same excuse as he'd used for his own denial so far. "If you'd like to talk about it later, we can." He gave her the choice. (That way they might end up talking about her, instead.) But, just as she tried to answer, a charmed bell rang, and they both silently packed their things. On the walk from Transfiguration to Potions, Ron complained a lot about how they would again have to share the class with the Slytherins. Harry usually joined into this conversation, but he was just staring at the floor deep in morose thought. Hermione noticed his lack of social participation. His eyes stayed put in one direction, not actually looking at anything.
As they went to take their seats in the classroom, professor Snape walked in from behind the chalkboard. He glared at the students, sending all of them to their seats, and quieting the class to his liking. When he had their attention, he slipped into a quiet and venomous speech about the importance of being able to tell a harmful poison from a helpful elixir. Harry again found himself unable to pay attention, just like in Transfiguration. His mind kept fuzzing up.
Quick as the class started, he found himself feeling quite sick. His hands got clammy and his vision was blurred. He kept trying to clean his glasses, in hopes of his vision clearing. His skin became pale and sickly, and he was finding it increasingly hard to keep breathing, and to draw a full breath. In between snide remarks from the teacher, and worried looks from Hermione, he knew his shape was deteriorating. And quickly, too. Before it got too bad he thought I need to get out of here. He interrupted Snape in his lecture to ask to use the washroom, but was denied and taken ten points for disrespect. So he dejectedly put his head in his hands, taking off his glasses and trying to clear his head.
Suddenly, and without warning, he was plunged into a memory.
~-Flashback-~
He had been having a particularly rough summer, this time around. He was used to the regular abuse by now, hitting and what not. But as he was maturing, he noticed how things were changing. His uncle tended to be closer with him now. Not emotionally, but he would seem to put effort into getting into his personal space. For example, if Harry was bending over after picking up after the Dursley's supper, his uncle would accidentally brush his backside. This was putting Harry off, as he was not used to this behavior. This started in the summer before his third year, after being attacked by the giant basilisk. He tried not to think of it. They were coincidences, after all.
But this year it was getting clearly worse. Within the first night back, he knew that personal space was no longer the issue. His uncle would come home from work at around six o'clock. He would make Harry prepare food, and then clean up after dinner. His family would then watch T.V. and he would yell at Harry to "Go wash yourself, you brat. You smell of freakish body odor!" So Harry would do as told. The odd thing though, was that now his uncle seemed to want him to take baths, instead of showers, as they cost less money in water bills. Harry could live with that.
What was more odd was that his uncle demanded that he watch the boy take his baths. Harry was very put off by this statement, and tried to argue, but immediately got a harsh blow to the stomach for his insolence. He understood, water was expensive. He did tend to take long showers after all.
This memory comprised of the fifth day of bathing under his uncles supervision. This time was different from the first four times, though. Not only were his other relatives not home, but his uncle demanded he take his bath in the split bathroom from the master bedroom. And as Harry walked into the bedroom, compliant, his uncle shut the door behind him, locking it. Harry felt uneasy, but again was compliant. Although, this was the first time he was ordered to strip in front of his uncle. He turned to face the wall, though, and hid his dignity that way.
"Turn around." He heard the eerily calm reply to his tactic. Instantly he tensed. This wasn't right. But he did as he was told when the command was repeated with more venom.
He did not expect to find his uncle beat red in the face. His eyes were glazed over. He stared hungrily, sexually, down at Harry's penis. Harry stared in shock, this wasn't right. This made him feel uncomfortable, and he knew that look. Back when he was little, uncle Vernon used to look at his aunt like that before they had loud sex (when Dudley was gone on sleep overs). But the difference was that Vernon was looking at him like this, and he didn't have anybody else here. He hadn't looked at aunt Petunia like that for about a decade.
His uncle left the locked door now, slightly panting as he made his way over to Harry. I can't move! Why can't I move! Harry thought in desperation. But his mind was stuck, he was stuck, and he was fearful. His uncle had again started moving into his personal space, but this time Harry was naked. This time there was no wand. The door was locked. He was trapped. His legs soon started to turn to jelly and he tried hard to snap out of it. It was too late. His uncle crossed the threshold and was upon him.
The meaty hands of his uncle were holding on tightly to his thin elbows, now. He squirmed and complained that the hold was too tight. The complaints fell on deaf ears. He felt stinky breath on his forehead. His glasses were ripped off of his face by the mouth of his uncle, and he felt the dirty mustache brush against his sweaty forehead. He made a strangled noise as his voice was caught in his throat.
"Uncle Vernon, what are you doing?" He managed to squeeze out of his tightened throat. He received no answer. His uncle instead pushed his nephew up against the wall, which had conveniently closed curtains and a closed window.
"You feel that?" His uncle breathed out in his nephews right ear, grinding his erection against Harry's thigh. "Huh, boy, do you?" He kept repeating, as he harshly rubbed his clothed boner on his nephews thigh. Harry was utterly frozen, and he kept trying to will himself to move, speak, something. Instead he could only slowly shake his head "no". This angered Vernon, as he threw the boy to the side, onto the king sized bed. Harry's shaky body pushed away from where the large figure was coming, and he valiantly tried to keep his legs steady as he stood up and headed desperately to the door.
He yanked at it, and pulled and twisted, not caring that he was naked, and if he got free he would be running naked through the house. He almost cried out in anguish as the door wasn't opening. His other relatives weren't home that evening, either... No one could help him. God, please help me...
He felt rough meaty hands on him again, and his mind again started to wonder off. Until the reality of the situation crashed upon him when his pubic hair was brushed. Oh God, oh God. "Come now, mini Harry, play along." His uncle chimed in a sickly playful, sing song voice. He felt the fat, hot face of his uncle brushing up against his neck, and soon jagged teeth just slightly skimming the skin behind his ear. Harry couldn't stop thinking about his wand. If only he had it, he would be able to at least scare his uncle off of him.
He tried another tactic. "Uncle stop. If you don't, I'll use my magic!" But his uncle only chuckled cruelly, and picked up Harry's flaccid penis in his large hand. "You mean this wand?! Hah. Stupid boy, you really should have kept an eye on that thing. I've hidden it. You aren't getting it back until you get on that blasted train." His uncle squeezed his member, which led to Harry letting out an unwanted cry. The veins in his penis started to thump, and he could feel it starting to harden.
He struggled really hard, kicking his legs, screaming, squirming and pushing. His uncle was, as it turned out, superior in strength and size, so his struggles went with barely any notice. He still tried though, when ever there was an opening, he would kick, or try to use it to his advantage. Nothing was working, and his desperation was increasing, as well as his breathing.
Vernon was more concerned with his growing need than any of the struggles his nephew was putting up. They were pathetic in his eyes. He just wanted to finally have his needs met, and if he had to take them forcefully, his nephew was the best target. Just hide his wand, and that's that, right? He was, after all, young, healthy, and Vernon always had a thing for dark, messy hair. And Harry's hair was just long enough to pull and stretch.
Harry suddenly felt his hair being ripped back, and he let out a bark of pain, wincing as his scalp tinged with the sudden stinging. He violently ripped his head out of his uncle's grasp, and tried to elbow the fat man off of him. He elicited a gasp, which he knew he would be reprimanded for. But anything was better than this, absolutely anything. His uncle then violently threw him across the room, and back onto the bed. Vernon practically pounced on top of the bed, and grabbed his head of hair again. "Yeah, fucker, you want to play it rough, do you? Take this then!" Harry was seeing stars as his uncle smashed his head against the metal frame of the king sized bed. He couldn't help himself, he let out a raging scream, but was still trying to pry the fat relative off of him.
"Let go! Let me go! Fuck, uncle, you're hurting me! Stop it!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, but his uncle wasn't listening any longer. No, Vernon was getting tired of the struggles. He had waited too long, and finally, finally, he was going to take what he knew he deserved. Admittedly, he hadn't fucked anyone male before, but he wasn't too keen on ruining his reputation by buying a hooker, and frankly, they were expensive. If he could tame the freak, then he would have a free whore here at home, where he could take him any time and any way he wanted to! Even Petunia had limits, but no, his whore would do what he wanted, anything he wanted. No matter how sick, or how painful.
"Shut up and be good, or I'll dent your damn head in!" He shouted. Harry believed him, but he didn't know what to do! Dammit, he was going to cry. No, he wouldn't give his uncle the satisfaction of emotional breakdowns. He kept a stoic face, as his uncle became needier and needier. The rough hands touched him everywhere, from cheeks, to chest, to private parts, to feet. He let his mind wonder, as he knew fighting at this point was only getting him hurt. His head was hurting him, and he recognized the signs of a concussion. Dizzy, so dizzy...
Suddenly, he felt his resolve start to break. His eyes widened in recognition. He knew that this was the end of something. He couldn't quite wrap his head around it, but he knew. No more innocence, no more virginity, no more fighting, no more dignity. He tried not to think about it. Tried to find a happy place. Tried to make the sight of his naked uncle go away. But sadly, all he could do was stare at the ceiling with wide green eyes. Lost eyes.
Completely lost.
The first time was the worst. It stunk really horrid, and he wasn't prepared before hand, so he didn't know how bad it could have been. His uncle had no knowledge about it, but he didn't care, all he wanted was the pleasure. And at the speed his uncle was thrusting, his anus tore in various different areas. His uncles manly and flabby chest was heaving as he thrust upon the younger form of his nephew. Harry could only watch, and try not to scream. But his voice was lost to even him. He could do nothing.
Chunks of skin were coming off of him at one point, because he kept trying to flex his anus to somehow push the fatter man off of him. He was literally trying to shit the man out of him. But it wasn't working... his whole body hurt any time he would dare to try anything. There was literally blood everywhere. Perhaps the most painful part was after, when he was also forced to take a bath, feeling the burning water scald his tender rectum.
His uncle rutted against him roughly for about an hour. The worst part for Harry was his forced participation in the act. He couldn't help it as his own penis stood to attention. He couldn't help it when his hips gave an involuntary thrust forward, or when he too came all over himself. He hated himself for it, and it served to confuse and distress him further. It's not rape if I want it, isn't it? And that was the excuse he'd used from the very start of the summer, until the end.
He could only stare at the ceiling in shock the whole time. Skin against skin. Piss pouring out of him. The smell of anal penetration sour, bitter, and shitty. His whole body shifting against the push and pull of a man he always thought of as family. What is this? He would think. Incest? His brain was confused and foggy, and his magic refused to come to his aide. His magic barely even responded at all. His body was inferior, and he felt the reality of the sick world around him come crashing down on his shoulders.
Worse yet, this was only the start.
~-Present time-~
Snape watched as Potter had gotten from bad to worse. He didn't care, the Potter brat probably took one of the Weasley's fake sick tablets, and he was now going to pay the price for doing it. There was something off, though, with the way he was acting. He had practically begged the professor to go to the bathroom. Snape being Snape didn't let him go. And took off ten points for disrupting his lesson. He told the class to start the semester with an essay on why one should recognize the smells that differentiate a poison from an elixir.
When the groaning bunch of imbeciles finally got to work, Snape sat down at his desk to watch them. He felt some curiosity stir once more. Again his eye fell on the attention seeking brat, Potter. His skin was pale and almost green, and he noticed a slight tremor in the boys demeanor. His glasses were off, and posture was stiff and almost... frightened?
As the clamor of the class got louder, Snape still kept a firm eye on the boy. Something is off. Remembering his promise to Lily, he stood up and started pacing the class to get a better look. No one noticed he was only paying attention to Potter. No one should notice because of his training as a spy.
Suddenly, within less than thirty seconds, three things happened. Potter fell over in his chair, his eyes wide open and his chest hardly breathing. Hermione screeched, and stood to her friends aid, along with Weasley. The whole class had gone quiet. Snape walked briskly over to the situation. He ordered all students to move aside. Potter was lying with his head against the floor, staring up, eyes wide, with small tears pouring out of him. He was positively green. "Potter!" He snapped. The boy just flinched, so clearly he was awake. Snape's eyes narrowed as he took in the signs. Eyes staring off into the distance, panic, trembling, inability to breath, and complete loss of body control. Flashback, he knew immediately. As he thought this, a loud scream erupted from the boys throat.
"Class dismissed!" He said suddenly.
~-Time skip (about two hours)-~
Harry awoke, disorientated and completely terrified. Of course he wouldn't admit that to anyone (except his uncle) he was indeed scared. He was in a dimly lit room, with green patterns across the entire – what seemed to be – living room. It was cozy, he admitted. There was a fireplace, and two large bookshelves. He looked around, and wondered where on earth he was. Assuming that the green symbolized Slytherin, he could safely say that he was still in the wizarding world. Probably still at Hogwarts.
"Potter." Came a low rumble of a voice behind him.
He jumped, and Snape almost chuckled. Almost, if it weren't for the delicacy of the situation. He would not do anything too drastic without the brat's consent, so he refused to make any assumptions, although with his knowledge, he would easily make many. Traditionally flashbacks of that sort only came if someone who had went through some sort of trauma. He had dealt with enough abuse cases to recognize one when he saw it.
That was bad, though. He had seen them before, but they normally didn't end with one pissing themselves publicly, or screaming and passing out. At least not with adolescents and children. Perhaps war prison victims, maybe, but not children. He mused this as he walked in with a tea set on a tray. He would take this delicately, and still keep his mask of hatred and disdain. Even if the mask wasn't true as of right now. I can't simply turn a blind eye to this, not for Lily. She would hate me. Something wrong is definitely going on here. I simply cannot trust Albus to handle this.
Harry watched with what was clearly much fear as the professor sat across from him on a love seat. He realized now that this must be the professors headquarters. It was decorated like a Slytherin house would be. This scared him. Oh God, no, not him too... he immediately jumped to the conclusion that Snape was after his body as well. I can't handle any more of them...
"Mr. Potter, I assure you that I have better things to do with my time than to harm you in any way." Snape said, seeing the mounting panic in Harry. His thoughts had practically bounced from his head to Snape's, they were so very visible. Snape's apprehension about this situation was growing as he watched Potter. His eyes were darting everywhere, almost as if he were looking for an escape. And his hands were tapping and his torso was shaking. He was practically on the verge of another panic attack. I won't have him releasing his fluids on my couch, I won't. "Calm down, now. Potter!" He said it sternly but not to the point of coming off as a tyrant.
Harry's words choked in his mouth. "I... I don't know how, sir." He said truthfully, letting his mask slip accidentally. Snape rolled his eyes and handed him a cup of the tea he had brought in. "Sip it slowly, as I put in a Calming Draught." Harry complied, keeping his eyes on Snape's demeanor. Tracking, making sure that he wouldn't put him in any harm.He wanted desperately to ask what he was doing in his chambers, but he didn't want to accidentally anger the man while sitting on his couch. Or worse, hint to his real fears.
That was when he noticed he was wearing different clothing from when he was in Potions class. Horror was written on his face. Snape saw this. "What, Mr. Potter, has you so indignantly horrified?" At this Harry snapped back to normal, and made a mere one second of eye contact. "Nothing, sir. I'm fine." And to prove his point he smiled at the end. He made no move to continue sipping from the mug. I don't need such things in me. I am fine after all. Snape knew the teen would start to assume that he "wouldn't need" a Calming Draught. Luckily enough, he had slipped both a stronger version, and of course, a truth serum.
Potter was a lot calmer thanks to both, but he didn't know how much control he had actually lost due to the truth serum. His eyes were glazed but still keeping attention on Snape. Good, this was exactly what Snape wanted. He knew that getting answers out of Potter without force was about as easy as cleaning a dragon's eye. If the headmaster were to find out about him drugging his Golden Boy, he would be in for a ton of trouble.
"Potter. What exactly do you recall from your adventure in my class earlier this morning?" He asked, grabbing the tea cup that wasn't poisoned for himself. No cream, no sugar, the Potter brat could deal with it. The boy seemed not intent on answering, but soon enough he had a monotonous answer anyway.
"I felt myself getting sick, sir. I didn't want to worry anyone, so I tried to leave the classroom." He said monotonously, surprising himself at the honesty in his words. That was when he knew that he had been poisoned with the truth serum. He scrunched his nose up and tried to get up from the couch he was sitting on. Snape wasn't having it. He simply put a sticking charm on Potters legs to the couch, and the boy was clearly in distress about it. "Please, sir. Let me go." He said it slowly, warningly. He didn't care if it was a professor. He needed to get out.
Snape wouldn't have it. He simply continued.
"Interesting. What was ailing you so much that your body saw it fit to scream, urinate itself, and pass out?" Harry stared in horror. I did all of those things? In front of Snape? Snape tried to keep his eyes swimming with amusement, even if he did feel bad for it. Until he got the answers he wanted, he wouldn't show any signs of kindness. It wouldn't do to have the child blabbing about how nice Snape really is when Snape didn't have anything to hold against him, now did it?
"I... I did all that, sir?" Harry stammered out. He stared at his hands for a minute. He felt so humiliated. Malfoy and the other Slytherins were sure to make fun of him at every corner. Although that's probably the real reason as to why I'm now in different clothes. Which made him realize another thing. Oh God, he saw my injuries! "Who changed my clothes?!" He yelled out suddenly, breaking the effects of the Calming Draught as easily as he broke the effects of the imperius. He looked pleadingly at Snape.
"My house elf. Why, Potter? What about changing your clothes has you so upset?" He sneered at him. This was bound to get some answers out of him.
"I didn't want you to see me naked, sir." Harry answered truthfully, as he knew no one who would want Snape to see them naked. He hoped he could smart his way out of all of the questions Snape was bound to ask.
"And why not?" Damn, this man was smart. He didn't want to say it, so he tried hard to fight against the potion telling him to. No, I don't want to tell him. Just tell him you think that's creepy.
The potion won. "I don't want you to see my injuries." Harry felt utterly defeated. He didn't want anyone to know! And of all people Snape had to find out! Why couldn't he have kept his cool? Why couldn't he have just ran out of the classroom instead of asking? Oh God, he felt his color draining, and the Calming Draught literally fail as he began to panic again. He did not want Snape knowing why he was injured.
"Hm. As I already had a topic in mind, why don't we discuss that first?" He said calmly. His face of disdain was slipping, now. This worried Harry. He didn't know how to deal with a nice Snape! No, he needed to escape. "Calm down, Potter!" But Harry wasn't having it. He pushed and pulled against the magical restraints. He just needed some type of opening. He gave a loud scream and his magic literally burst forth, pinning Snape against the couch, and setting Harry free. Without wasting any time, he scrambled up from the couch and ran from the room.
He didn't look ahead as he ran and ran.
Don't worry, you'll get used to it.
He didn't even blink an eye as he ran past the eyes of weary Slytherins.
See, that feels nice, doesn't it?
Hermione tried to run after him, but lost him among the shifting staircases. She yelled at him to stop, but he just kept running. He didn't even know where or why, but he needed to run.
If you don't want this so bad, why don't you use your blasted magic and stop me, hm?
Finally he made it. The top of the astronomy tower. His head finally cleared of the flashbacks, and he was left with a cold numbness. It was clear as day. No emotions to get in his way. No guilt. The only way out. Who cared if he didn't defeat Voldemort? If they really put all of their faith into one boy who could hardly make it through wizarding school, who was he to care if he failed them?
He stared out of the large stone windows. He knew he would now have to make a choice. Die or live with this unbearable shame and pain. Lose it all, or try to live in a world where his problems follow him like a demonic puppeteer. He sighed. Option two was too confusing. He would have to confront so many obstacles. And Snape knew something now, too. He was only human, and he too had his breaking point. He couldn't live with the humiliation he felt towards the Slytherins. He shuddered at the fact. He actually pissed himself in front of all of those people? No, this was it. His time had come.
He would get to see his parents again. He wouldn't have to deal with this. He would be dead, so who cares about guilt, really? Snape would have to shove it. Perhaps Hermione and Ron would be sad... but he knew that this was for the better, in the end. So he climbed to the lowest and widest window, and looked ahead at the Quiddich pitch. He smiled ruefully at it. At least he made some good memories here at Hogwarts.
Just as he was about to take the final leap, he heard someone running up the stairs. He craned his neck sideways to see Snape panting and leaning heavily on the doorway to the astronomy tower. He turned his head back to the outside and said without looking, "You can't stop me, professor." He said it calmly and composed.
But Snape was too busy calculating to really pay attention to his speech. If he were to hex Potter with a correctly placed Petrificus Totalis he might fall backwards, and thus out of harms way. But he would have to carefully shift across the room so that he was on the same wall as him, or else he might just aide the boy in killing himself. It was either this option or use the unforgivable Imperius curse to control his mind, and tell him to step back and come with him to his quarters again.
Both were very risky. On one hand, he might risk killing Potter. On the other, he could get into huge trouble for setting off the wards detecting the use of any unforgivables on Hogwarts grounds, and that didn't even count the fact that the boy could throw it off. He didn't quite want to tell Dumbledore of his suspicions just yet. He could always be wrong. But all of the signs unfortunately pointed towards some type of heavy abuse. He'd studies a lot of abnormal psychology in his day to know.
Finally, he decided to risk the petrifying curse instead. It was dangerous, yes, but he was confident in his skill at aiming. Potter seemed in a haze like state anyway, so he would be able to maneuver himself across the room and aim the spell correctly. Quick and silent as a cat, he pounced across the room and whispered the curse to the boy's left side. The petrified body leaned precariously to one side, but thankfully tipped backwards and fell like a statue to the safety of the astronomy tower floor.
Snape sighed out of sheer relief. He didn't even know he was holding his breath, either.
~-Time skip (about two hours)-~
He had to Disillusion himself and Potter to get them both back to his quarters intact. He sneered in disdain at how much work he had to put into making sure the child wouldn't escape him again. (Three inside protective wards, his house elves, locking charms, tripping charms, the works). He knew this would only increase Potters fear. He knew that, but he also wasn't going to let him simply end his life over a little abuse. Because really, how bad could it be? Although by the looks of it, it would have had to have been pretty bad to completely change Potter's behavior in a matter of three months.
Unfortunately, Potter was still very much awake underneath the effects of the petrification. Snape knew he would have to tend to Potter's injuries to find out the truth of why he was so anxious. With all of the abuse he's had to deal with with his Slytherins, he had never seen this much resistance in any of them.
But what was curious was how this was possible. Potter's relatives were muggle, were they not? So why on earth had they not been subjected to any of his accidental magic? Or why did Potter not defend himself? Unfortunately, those questions would have to wait to be answered, as he had to start to get to work on healing the battered boy in front of him.
First, he went to get potions. He had a small kit in his bathroom that would have to work for now. There were two Skelegrows, two pain relievers, one bruise paste, one muscle paste, three Pepper-Up's, and various other natural ingredients, potions and first aide requirements. Just in case, he also retrieved a Cinderella potion. This keeps the body immobile, but the brain, face, nerves, and free will intact until the brewer simply casts a release spell. It was one of his home made recipes. He retrieved a pillow and blanket, and told his house elf that she would need to await any command.
As he got back into his living room, he spelled the Cinderella potion into the boy, and then released him from the Petrificus Totalis. His body immediately went lax and limp, his head falling to the side and his face scrunching up in distaste. "What have you done?! I can't move!" Harry felt panic rise up in him as he felt his body, but couldn't move it. He immediately felt so vulnerable.
"Potter, I will deal with these injuries you speak of. Calm down and it will be done within the hour. Panic more and it may take us days." Snape spoke quietly, with minimum venom. Harry shut up instantly. Very obedient, and so suddenly, Snape remarked in his head. A bad sign.
Harry shut his eyes before tears could start pouring out. What would Snape think when he found out what him and his uncle had been doing all summer? What would he tell everyone? Would he hide him and keep him for himself? Luckily by now only his shirt was spelled off. Snape had no reaction, but his eyes immediately changed in their demeanor. They went from annoyed to concerned in a matter of seconds. But his body held no signs of anything but professionalism. He relaxed a bit as the professor only did a scan. At least he wasn't touching him. And he was only scanning his torso.
"Two broken ribs, two fractured ribs, a fractured collar bone, dislocated shoulder, bruising everywhere, a punctured lung, and what appears to be cut marks from a paring knife. Not to mention many incorrectly healed injuries from times past. Interesting, Potter." He tried very hard to say this with disdain, but his mask was almost completely faded. This was only the upper half of him, too. He was worried. If his magic hadn't lashed out at all to his relatives, this could also mean that the young body beneath him was having Magical Withdrawal Syndrome (MWS). This occurs when the mind conflicts with the body's natural urge to use magic, thus leading in an incapability to use magic. It isn't permanent, and can be fixed with time. But if not, it could end up with a serious side effect, which would literally translate to a magic bomb. It would be an explosion of accidental magic. Enough to do almost anything. And with Potter's level of magic, he could accidentally flatten the entire school.
Snape took out his kit and got to work. He used one Torso-Skelegrow, one organ replenisher, and one Torso-Tissue Repair potion. He made scans every five minutes to see his progress, as he sipped on a coffee. Potter might be afraid of touch after these violent encounters, so he refrained from using his hands to apply any bruise or muscle repair pastes. Snape was very worried. In all his days, he had yet to see abuse of this magnitude. He closed his eyes with a sigh. These injuries were nothing a fifteen year old boy should have. They weren't anything he'd seen on any of his Slytherins, as their abusive homes would use hexes, and of course the child would lash out against them magically. Most abuse cases were a one-time thing. But the scars on Potters body proved that this was going on for a while.
Which caused another question to go off in his mind. If the abuse has been happening for a while, why only now is Potter so volatile? What was different this summer? He shuddered to think. Many of the past injuries that he had found on the boy so far were actually quite horrendous. He had to wonder at the stories of when or why he'd received them. He had many bones that would have to be re-broken and re-healed. The boy suddenly opened his eyes and stared straight at him. Snape knew that there was no point in keeping up his masks any longer.
"I'm sorry." Snape said simply. He was by no means a gentle speaker, but it was times like these where he knew he had to try. For Lily. The boy just stared at him, with big eyes. Eyes that were still hiding something! "Mr. Potter... I will be looking at all injuries. And I will be healing them all, as well. You needn't hide any secrets from me." At this Harry closed his eyes again, his face looked so pained. "I didn't want anyone to know..." Harry murmured in a small and pained voice. "Please, sir. I won't try to kill myself. I can take care of my own injuries."
"Please what?"
"Don't find out." Harry said as he looked at the ceiling. His eyes were swimming with tears. Eyes like Lily's.
Snape had had enough. He wanted to know what happened to Lily's child! He wasn't nosy, no, if this child in front of him was abused, than he cared! Who cares if it was also James' child? Not him! Not now! He muttered another apology, then proceeded to magically strip the boy of his trousers as well. He wasn't shocked, not yet. He only saw more of what was going paralleled by his torso.
So he decided to run a scan. He cast the spell through Harry's pleas to stop. The boy was in hysterics, although unable to move. He read through the results, as Harry just cried in defeat.
Lower Body Scan (LBS)
Bone injuries:
Broken left and right ankle
Fractured knee
Broken left femur
Muscle injuries:
Torn muscle fibers in feet, and upper legs
Rectal muscles torn
Organ injuries:
Ripped penis tissue
Torn anal tissue
Crushed testes
Other:
General bruising around thighs and inner thighs
Burns in genital area
Possible Disease
Snape stared in shock and disbelief. He didn't want to believe what his logic told him those injuries meant. His body drained of color. No, no, not Lily's child. Anything but this, anyone but this... He looked at the pain filled body of the boy in front of him. I cannot know for sure unless I hear a confession or see it for myself. He noticed then that he was the cause of a lot of this child's pain. He would do anything in his power to fix the wrongs that have been done. Including from himself. He knew enough about psychology, and if anyone was going to help the boy, it was him.
He owed it to himself, to Potter, and especially, to Lily.
"Potter... Harry, I'm sorry. I have been the cause of a lot of your pain and suffering. You should not have to bear this burden alone anymore. I would like to help you heal. I think I can help you feel better." He said with little to no emotion in his voice. The boy stared at him through numb eyes. He seemed to think hard for about five minutes. Snape waited, until he heard a whisper of speech.
"Okay..."
"First I need an answer. If you refuse to give me one, I will have to use Legilimancy. If that is the path you choose, I promise to be quick and only look at any memory that stands out to this answer. I won't hurt you either way, but I need to know in order to heal you. Both physically and mentally." He started. Once the boy nodded for him to continue, he proceeded to ask, "I need to know if you were subjected to non-consensual intercourse?" Harry didn't budge.
What do I say to that?! He thought. He turned his head back to look away from the professor. He was so confused! He didn't know! Again he felt tears well up, but refused to let them fall. He just didn't understand... it's not like he was taught before hand what was non-consensual and what wasn't! There wasn't a course you could take about this stuff, not at his age anyway. Not like he would have ever thought to need one! No, he was sure that this was consensual. Snape would see.
"I see. Well you leave me no choice, then."
As quick as a cat, Snape delved into Harry's mind. He pushed past the memories of abuse by the hands of his uncle, past teenager hormones, past many other thoughts. He was only looking for one thing, and he had used enough Legilimancy to know what he was doing. Other feelings were not foreign to him, but forced intimacy was. He had never experienced it, nor had he seen memories of people that had experienced it.
Finally, he found what he was looking for. This memory felt fresh, even though it had clearly happened a while ago. It was the one he had just relived via flashback in his classroom, then. He watched in blatant horror as Harry was defiled by his uncle. It was brutal and disgusting. It wasn't a crime of passion, just horrible forced sex. There was an impossible amount of blood, and Snape almost wondered if some of Harry's magic had been used simply to keep him alive. He understood now why the boy had pissed himself in his classroom, as he had done it also in this terrible memory. Also, Snape kept wandering. He could feel the boy trying to push him out, but weakly. Yet he was looking to see if this was a one-time incident.
It wasn't. He skimmed passed many many other instances where horrendous and sexual things happened to him. When he decided that he had seen enough, he very gently pulled out of the boy's mind. On his way out, he felt the emotions the boy was feeling at this very moment: sadness, intense confusion, intense fear, shame, guilt, stress beyond even his own comprehension.
Harry was having a hard time dealing with the fact that Snape now knew. He didn't know what to do! He couldn't move, so he couldn't run. Oh God, he might tell his friends! He might tell Dumbledore! No, no, no, no! He wished he was able to just jump out of that damnable window. He would have been able to finally escape. No one would look down on him for having sex with his uncle.
"Mr. Potter... you do understand that it wasn't your decision, right? That makes what your uncle did to you... bad..." He tried to say gently. But of course his voice was hoarse and old. It would never come out any softer than rocks against windows.
"Forget what you saw!" Harry shouted, his chest rising and falling rapidly with panic. He knew what this could mean, and he didn't like it. He was not going to talk about it like some child who couldn't handle their own problems! This wasn't even a problem. He wouldn't be able to take it if it was a problem. No, luckily it wasn't. Snape was wrong. It's not like he was there when it happened, right? So it's not like he could understand all of the complications with what he was implying.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, I cannot. Nor can you. And it's unhealthy if you think you can try. In fact, it's more likely that you'll be upset more often if you do try." Snape tried to reason. Harry just wouldn't have it. He wasn't going to listen to this man who now was acting like he didn't hate him. It was all a lie. Maybe Snape was just nosey. He just wanted to know about his sex life with his uncle. He was just a nosey and perverted old professor who wanted to know about his sex life, that's it. Harry had himself completely convinced.
"You just want to know about my sex life, don't you?" He said disrespectfully. Snape almost choked at that. The boy was absolutely sick. Does he really believe that what is uncle did to him was normal sex? Does he not see that it was forced? Snape simply stared at him. He had read a lot about psychology, yes, but this was almost out of his hands.
No matter, he could still try. "No, Mr. Potter, I assure you I do not. And if I did, I would find no satisfaction in what I have seen and learned here. It would not be considered sex, Mr. Potter, it would be considered ra-"
"Shut up! Shut up! You wouldn't know! You weren't there!"
"Legilimancy says otherwise. What I saw was the exact definition of it. Simply put: someone who is unwilling and forced to copulate. It is not sex, Potter." At this Harry was confused. He just didn't want to believe it. No, he wouldn't. His uncle was family, he wouldn't do that! And besides, his body wanted it, so who cares if his mind conflicted with that? He didn't fight back, not after the first time. Even after a while, he stopped saying no. So with all these things considered, shouldn't it not be considered ra- that terrible word?
"No! Shut up! You don't know anything!" He yelled. Snape kept himself calm in the face of this disrespect, as he knew it was coming from some sort of inner turmoil. He sighed. Clearly Harry was very confused, and very sick. What his uncle had done, for a whole three months, was non-consensual. Many of the memories he had skimmed were horrible, and beyond just sexual abuse. It was almost sexual torture. Even in his days as a Death Eater he had not seen any torture up to this amount. And clearly his uncle was good at it too, to have him so thoroughly convinced that it was willing.
"I do, in fact, know a lot. And yet, although this conversation is intriguing, I should get back to healing you. Which, unfortunately for you, requires me to touch you. I will not under any circumstances touch you for my sexual pleasure, or yours. Understood?" He said harshly. He could easily see fear of touch written all over the boys face. It was clear that the child wasn't all gone, or he wouldn't have the fear of touch. If he really, truly, believed that him and his uncle had normal, although incest inclined, sex, then he would be fine with a bit of healing touch. But the fear indicated that deep down, he knew that what his uncle had done to him wasn't done with good intentions.
Harry just closed his eyes tight. He didn't give any consent. But Snape didn't exactly need any when it came to healing. So he got to work putting more bone and organ mending potions inside of him. Harry stayed fine until he announced the need for bruise cream. Snape simply stayed silent at the boys frantic protests as he used his thumbs to smear the putrid concoction on. He waited back until all other things were healed and settled before he continued.
"Now, it seems we have come to a predicament. The only things left to heal are the bruises and rips and tears along your genital and thigh area. I would like your permission to heal them." He waiting patiently. Potter didn't seem to want to answer. So he decided to get to work.
"No! Please, don't! I can do it myself, okay?" Harry practically yelled. He was really trying to keep his cool, but the professor was practically tearing him, his walls, apart piece by piece.
"No, Mr. Potter. You are not trained. And why would you care so much?"
"I don't."
"Then I don't see a problem. You're acting as if you were raped."
"I wasn't. But could you please, please, stop saying that word?"
Snape rolled his eyes. You're coming apart at the seems, Potter. Even the lies to yourself are pathetic attempts at this point. "Fine. Then let me proceed." And as he went to spell off his underpants, another loud 'no!' came from the boy. Snape rolled his eyes. This was bound to be very frustrating. He didn't expect it to be this frustrating... although he also didn't expect the boy to have had expected any of this happen to him. "Potter, this will happen, and it will be for your own good!" He almost yelled.
He regretted those words as soon as he said them. Harry immediately went into some sort of numb shock. He had clearly heard those exact words (or variations) often enough to know that something he had no control over was about to happen to him. Snape put his head in his hands as he looked at the stoic, accepting face of the boy before him. "Mr. Potter... you cannot let these injuries heal on their own. Because of their location, the chance of an infection is more likely. I also can't imagine that you are comfortable living your life with such injuries..." He knew he sounded sappy, but he couldn't stand having caused such a reaction in Lily's child.
"Okay. Do it. I don't care. It's all up to you." Said the almost mechanical voice of Harry Potter.
Snape resigned to do it anyway. It would be for the better, and the sooner he did it, the less problems in the long run. He spelled the boxers off as quick as possible, then got to work. He did quick and precise work of spreading bruise and tissue repair paste on his penis, thighs, and testicles. He used his wand to heal the tears and rips in the anus, and then spelled a pair of PJ's on him from his own wardrobe. The entire time, the child stayed silent. He stared up at the ceiling above him. He hardly blinked. It was almost as if Snape were healing a dead body, instead of a human being.
"I'm done. I'm also letting you out of the potion induced paralysis. If you try running, remember I have your wand, also I have set up magical precautions. You won't be leaving unless I see it fit that you do." He tried to say it gently. Harry was still in some sort of shock like trance. Even as he let the boy out of the paralysis, he stayed staring at the ceiling. He hardly blinked, still. Snape sighed, and went to put his things away. His house elf was keeping watch of the door, and he could trust to leave them alone for two minutes.
As he came back in, Harry was sitting up in the couch he left him on. He was looking to the side, and rubbing at his upper arms. Snape recognized this as a sign of feeling needy, dirty, and sometimes even wanting touch. It was something that obviously came with sexual abuse. Harry probably felt even dirtier after Snape had touched him. At least his body was now healing. The only things left were his bones, which were well on their way to being back to their full strength. Well, and his magic...
"Mr. Potter," Harry's head snapped up, but his eyes stayed down cast, "It has come to my attention that you may have accidentally befallen a side effect of not using magic. Do you know what it's called?" Harry shook his head no. "It's called MWS, or Magical Withdrawal Syndrome. I believe this has happened when your magic refused to come to your aide. Now this could be a problem with your spell-casting, and your overall health. But it is not irreversible. With certain magical, mental, and physical therapies, you should be back to your original state of health. Magically, that is." Harry almost looked like he was going to cry. But he kept his stoic Gryffindor style and simply nodded shakily.
"How.. how do you know that I might have that, professor?" He said quietly. He was trying not to anger Snape. He didn't know what the man was hiding or what he was capable of.
"A simple test will show me. You just try to cast a spell. If it doesn't work, then you're likely to have MWS. I will give you my wand." He did just that. Harry tried a simple Leviosa, but the charm failed, no matter how many times he cast it. He seemed almost in shock.
"Am I a squib?!" He yelled after many tries.
"No, Potter. Not yet anyway. If you leave this problem for long enough, then you'll either kill yourself or yes, end up as a squib." Snape knew this was bound to be exhausting for the both of them. "And it will be me supervising your recovery. I won't be telling anyone of your fellow students about your... unfortunate experiences, as it could prove to be detrimental to your mental well being in the long run." Harry looked down at his lap in shame. He hurt for some reason. A lot. He just wanted to die. Anything to take this unbearable pain away from him.
He closed his eyes and leaned back into the sofa. He was tired. He was confused. He was in pain, inside. He didn't want help, he wanted death. Death was easy to understand. Death was just an end. And in his case, it was an end to a lot of pain and confusion.
"Why do you even care? You hate me." He said dejectedly. "Why not just let me die?"
"Teachers care about all of their students. And no, Potter, I never once hated you. Although you were the spitting image of your father, and it did tend to cloud my already bitter judgment, I can easily declare that I never hated you. Clearly, you do not live the pampered life I had assumed... and I owe it to your mother, and to you, to help you in whichever way I can."
"And what makes you think that you can help me? Or that I even need help?"
"Your brain has been twisted. You see it as acceptable for a man of almost fifty to touch you in such ways. You hide it, which means you might have had suspicions for a while. You aren't even angry at him. No, you act as if nothing is wrong, and yet you show all of the signs of a war trauma victim with Post Traumatic Stress. Potter, it's not healthy to live like this!"
"Maybe I don't want to live at all!" Harry practically screamed back.
"Which is yet another reason as to why I should help you! Lily and James Potter did not just throw their lives away to have their son abused so horribly and broken to the point of where he thinks he cannot live. I knew Lily, Potter. I knew she would do anything in her power, and want me to do anything in my power, to help you." Snape was practically begging now. And yet an hour ago he would have never expected to even want to try and help what he thought to be an ungrateful, pampered brat. Oh, he had so much to atone for, and so little time to do it.
Harry looked up into Snapes eyes. His green eyes were scared, tear filled. Yet there was hope in them. "How could you possibly help someone like me?" A freak, an ugly whore. He spoke brokenly, deadly quiet. "No one has offered me help before... I don't even know what help is..." Which was true. Sure Hermione offered him someone to talk to, but if he pushed her away, she wouldn't even try to come after him about it. He loved her, yes, but she wasn't creating this sense of fear that Snape was making. Fear that he may actually need a helping hand. Fear that he can actually be weak. It was almost a comforting, human fear. Almost something he needed.
"There are many things I can do to help. First off, taking you away from this castle. I would need to find a substitute for my absence, yes, but you would need someone who was devoted to helping you recover. Mentally and physically. Second, I would need to drill many facts into you. Like the fact that what happened to you was bad. Furthermore, I would look into legal punishments for the abuse that your uncle has put you through." Harry looked away at that. He didn't know what to think. Should he leave with Snape? He knew there was something wrong with himself, if he let himself think clearly. And the weight on his shoulders felt very heavy, regardless of the fact that someone knew.
"Okay." He said simply. He knew deep inside what he needed. If it was help from this man, than so be it. "But... I need to know that you won't tell anyone."
"Absolutely not. I cannot promise that. Although, I will not tell Granger or Weasley, and not their families. But I cannot promise that I won't tell those who could help you in the long run." Snape said monotonously, quietly, aware that this was the only condition, and he had to refuse. He sighed... this really wasn't going to be easy at all, was it?
"Who the bloody hell do you need to tell?!" Harry yelled.
"Language. Professor Dumbledore, for one. The authorities, and perhaps a councilor or physical therapist. I will inform you of any persons I may tell, as it is your right to know." He said as gently as his gruff voice could manage. He knew in the long run, the boy would understand that he needed the help. Better he be hated by him, than death or insanity, yes? After all, he should be used to it by now.
"Please, why do you have to tell the headmaster? Can't you just make up something else? And the authorities! For what?! I don't know what you expect them to do. I won't testify." Harry said smugly as he tilted his chin up to prove his point. Snape simply stared at him like he was some type of species of strange animal with an injured soul. Harry hated it. How he wished he had the drive to lash out at his professor like he so wanted to. But for some reason, he knew he couldn't win. He would give up halfway before he got too hurt. Like he always did...
"The headmaster can help you. He has many connections. Also, it would let him know that the precautions he took for your safety, have failed. He should have at least considered child abuse when placing you with such a sour-natured family of Muggles." Snape replied with the utmost of calm. Although Potter was wearing him down, he was still not going to snap at him anymore. He had much to atone for, and it wouldn't do well to have the boy breaking down time and time again. "The authorities will help with legal matters such as getting Dursley arrested, finding you a new home, and making sure he never did this to other little boys. We would also need to do this in secrecy, as to protect your privacy. He can be tried for his crimes in a magical court room, in front of the Wizengamot."
Harry looked away from him. He didn't know what he wanted. If he didn't testify, and Snape still took him away, he would be putting other boys in danger. But at the same time, the things his uncle said to him, imprinted in him arose like a dark cloud. He was afraid. So afraid. He felt small. Everything was changing so quickly, and all he wanted to do was puke until his stomach came out of his stupid body and hopefully then he would die. Or maybe he could learn the spell Avada Kadavra, and try to kill himself that way.
"Potter. Stop thinking those thoughts. I don't need to be a Legilimens to understand that you think there is another way out of this. There isn't. What will you accomplish, by simply giving up? Do you really not care that you will destroy those friends of yours by doing that? I saw the way you tried to cover up the way you felt in class today, Potter. Granger could see how much pain you were in. She would know why you killed yourself. By now, I'm sure she has a definitive idea of what might have happened to you. By killing yourself, you'll show her how much you really couldn't take it. It would also show her how much you don't care about her mental state." Snape murmured solemnly.
"But what can I do?! You don't understand how much pain I'm in. On the inside. And that's with my denial surrounding me like a safety blanket." He laughed a painful, humorless, self depreciating laugh. "If I even try to deal with this summer, with all the confusions and all of the things you plan on 'drilling into my head', I'll just go mad! God, please professor, have some mercy..." Harry pleaded. He knew he wouldn't win this argument, but it was worth a try.
"My mercy, Potter, is keeping you alive. I have hope that you can over-come this. Not because you are Harry Potter, and that's what you do, but because you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. Not physically, maybe not quite magically, but mentally. You aren't some broken toy walking around like a shell with no soul. Your soul survived what I can only imagine was the worst summer of your life! I have hope, because of that, that you will heal." Snape snapped back at him, full of an emotion neither could describe.
Harry sat up with a sob. He couldn't take it, he felt so, so trapped. He was scared, and the emotions flowing through him were unpleasant, overwhelming, and swirling about in a tirade of blurred pain. He choked on more sobs, and felt his magic swirling about the room dangerously. This alerted Snape to the MWS problem. He immediately sat on the couch with Harry and tried to help. His head was starting to pound with a pressure which did indeed feel like Harry's magic was trying to pop his brain like a jujube and push it out through his eyes. It was horrid. He yelled at Harry to compose himself, but the boy was lost in a mechanical, magical, and emotional trance.
"Harry, hope is NOT lost! You can make it through this! Your parents, they know that you can do this! I know that you can do this! It will be hard, very very hard. But you can't give up! I'm not saying this to trap you, Potter! I want you to be free of this pain..."
At the word 'free', everything stopped.
"You think I can be free?" Harry asked, his voice meek. His body was trembling from the increased use of magic.
"Indeed."
"Then okay... I'll keep trying."
I'll continue if I feel like it, but at the moment I'm not sure.