Disclaimer: I do not own "Harry Potter" or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.


Chapter Nine
"Talk of Hogsmeade"


Severus arched his back, trying to get the stiff feeling out of it. The pain and soreness that shot through his back were not worth getting the muscles stretched; Severus was starting to seriously wonder how much skin he had left on his back.

Sleeping in the shackles was not comfortable, but yet, it was Severus' favourite time of day. Alone, in the darkness, he did not have to worry about any sort of indignity, or keeping his emotionless façade.

He was alone. Completely alone. It was the only time of the day he could truly think without having to worry about not doing something right, about going too slow, about not coming when called...

He had lost track of the amount of time he spent in the basement ever since that day that Mering had come home and used a simple form of Priori Incantatem to see what spells Severus had used in his absence. He had been furious, of course, and had flayed Severus within an inch of his life. Ever since then, Severus had been in the basement. It could have been hours or days ago. He had no way of knowing.

Severus had not been surprised, nor had he been emotionally hurt by the act. He knew full-well when he had cast the Patronuses that Mering did not make idle threats, but they had been his only hope. They still were. He could not escape from Mering on his own, that much was clear. Even if he did manage to escape from him, the burning on his forehead would grow so unbearable, it would likely boil his brain. Though attacking Mering and dying instantly had sounded tempting during his punishment, it had not been tempting enough to seriously consider it. Though he was trying to accept the situation he was in, that he was helpless to help himself, he still had his pride. He would not become weak.

On the note of a new owner, Severus had decided that if it came to that, he really preferred someone buy him because of his knowledge in potions. If someone wanted him to brew for them on a day-to-day basis – maybe for an Apothecary or something of the like – he could do that. It would not hurt his brain at all – it would only stimulate it – and it would mean that he was not harmed in any other way.

And as for the "pleasure" aspect... Severus could hardly stand to think on it. He had seen the people on the dark streets at night, offering their "services", and could only shake his head at the thought at the time. He had chosen an celibate lifestyle. He had fallen in love once and had had his heart broken; he was not about to risk any further damage to it. The fact that two humans could engage in such an act with no strings attached, without knowing each other's names... he was not one to randomly spout advice, especially on that particular topic, but that seemed like a very idiotic thing to do. He supposed the world really was going to the gutter, or he really was as Victorian as accused. Perhaps both.

But to be bought for that sole purpose? Severus had to swallow the bile in his throat just thinking about it. He was very glad he was unattractive for being merely thirty-eight. The tolls of his hard life made him look older than he was. Even though he had convinced himself that he would be sold (if sold at all) for his brains or for hard physical labour, the thought of "pleasure" still worried him.

You really should sleep, a little voice reminded him. All of this not sleeping is doing you little favours. But since waking to the Cruciatus that first morning, Severus could not sleep. He couldn't bring himself to close his eyes and truly sleep. He needed to be awake. Alert. Ready for whatever Mering had planned. And since he had been in the basement for at least two days, he imagined, Mering was due to come down at any time... he liked to come down at random intervals, just to taunt Severus.

Whatever Mering has planned... Severus had to fight with himself to not talk back to Mering, but it was growing more difficult. He hadn't a trifle of respect for the man. All the 'yes, Master's were making him sick to his stomach.

Sometimes Severus felt like he was giving in. He knew he wasn't; he was counting on Minerva and Shacklebolt, but the fact alone that he was counting on them made him ill. He knew that there was nothing he could do to escape, that he could only count on someone else intervening, but they were not seeming to. Why not? Surely they would –Shacklebolt was too noble to sit in the office as Minister for Magic and not do anything.

And Minerva. Minerva had been in his life since he was young. As she was the Gryffindor Head of House, it was unusual the amount of attention she provided to Severus, but looking back, Severus realised that she had noticed something the other professors had either failed to realise or chosen to ignore. She realised that he needed help. Guidance. A friend, other than Lily, of course. She had provided it as best she could, without once making Severus feel as if she pitied him. That had been exactly what he needed. Even though he had joined ranks with the Dark Lord as he grew older, she had had an incredible influence on his life. An influence he supposed took the place of his mother at the time.

He needed something. Anything. A sign of hope. He felt as if he were living in a dark tunnel. He needed to know what was going on in the wizarding world, of how the rest of the world was reacting to such an outrageous punishment come to pass. Unless no one knew... but he knew without a doubt that they did. There had been reporters there, taking notes and pictures as he was forced to his knees and had the enslavement spell put on him.

Hearing footsteps on the basement stairs, Severus immediately put his head up and pulled against the shackling restraints to be as straight as possible, ignoring the feeling of the edge of the shackles cutting into his skin. He would not look at all like he had been weak – he would not slump nor would he bow more than necessary. Mering could quite legally and magically take away Severus' free-will and his clothes, but he could never take away his pride.

"Awake, I see," Mering commented, pointing his wand at the shackles and silently uttering a spell.

The shackles opened, Severus falling to the ground. He hated that the shackles left him just high enough off the ground to ensure he would not fall as gracefully as he would have liked.

Severus glared up at him, rubbing his inflamed wrists as he stood. Red, swollen, and painful, he could think of quite a few potions that would instantly fix his wrists and ankles. Potions Mering would likely refuse to bestow on Severus, nor would let him brew. Severus would not ask. It would be as if he were admitting that he needed Mering's permission to do anything and everything, when quite frankly...

...you do. Severus realised as he numbly followed Mering up the stairs. If you do not obey him and honour him the way he wants you to, he will just hurt you until you finally decide you have had enough and try to kill him... there is no way out. You are his slave until the Ministry intervenes... there is no way around it.

He supposed he should have come to that realisation on the evening of September 2nd, when everything started, but he had been too busy looking for ways out. Now that he realised there weren't any, it took everything he had not to retch on the floor he had taken great pains to polish. He was bound to obey every word of Mering's – there was no way around it.

"I thought we'd do something different today," Mering said casually, leaning on the now-clean kitchen counter.

Severus just looked at his own feet. Still pale as ever, they were not quite as tender as they were a week ago, when he had been taken by the Ministry. All the walking barefoot seemed to have toughened the soles of his feet, and definitely dirtied them. He smelled so very horrid. Contrary to the students' beliefs, Severus actually had very good hygiene habits and hated feeling as filthy as he did.

Has it been only a week? It feels like so much longer.

"I am tired of bringing in food everyday from home," Mering stated. "I am taking you to Hogsmeade, where we will purchase some groceries."

Hogsmeade. Severus looked up in surprise – and in dread. Hogsmeade would be the perfect place to escape, except... except everyone there will know I am a slave, from the papers and from the tattoo...And what day is it? It is... he glanced at the calender behind Mering, Friday. Good, so at least the students will not be out and about. The last thing I need to suffer is the humiliation of them seeing their dreaded Potions master in a loincloth... but people I know will certainly be there. No one you know well enough to try and rescue you. Oh Merlin, let Minerva decide to go to Hogsmeade today on a whim...

"Of course, you will have to change. You're not appropriately dressed for Hogsmeade," Mering continued.

Severus coughed. "I see. And coming from someone who believes appropriate attire at any case is a filthy scrap of dish rag, what would you designate me to wear to Hogsmeade?" He needed to choose his words carefully, as he found he could get away with insulting Mering if he did so carefully. Mering said that no one liked a slave with no personality, which Severus supposed was good for him. As long as the insults were not direct or particularly rude, he was fine.

"Oh, if you feel that way, we could come up with something else for you to wear full-time?" Severus did not like nor did he trust the gleam in Mering's eye.

"I would rather not take my chances, thank you," Severus said shortly.

Mering just chuckled. "You're to go into the bathroom and wash up. Your clothing is on the back of the toilet. You've fifteen minutes."

Severus did not bother to waste a second thanking Mering, like his punishment-induced impulses said he should.

Forget your impulses, he told himself, shutting the bathroom door behind him. You are not going to thank a man who has permitted you to cleanse yourself of a week's worth of grime. He realised the mere thought of thanking Mering, without prompting, should frighten him more than it did.

"And, for Merlin's sake, do something with that hair!" Mering called through the bathroom door.

What do you expect me to do with it? You've given me no soap, no potion to work with... regardless, Severus did not care. The feeling of the warm water over his body as he showered was good enough for him.

He stared at the noticeably dirty, bloodstained water as it drained. What did you expect to wind up as? After the war ended, what did you really expect? He knew that sounded pathetic – he was not a hormonal fifth-year! It was difficult to wrap his mind around the idea that this could really be his fate. After years of fighting, for an admittedly selfish cause, could this be where he ended up? Did he really have nothing to live for, now that no one needed him? Certainly, no one cared for him. He did not have too many illusions about the extent of Minerva's fondness for him, and anyone who might have searched for him for moral or sentimental reasons – Dumbledore, and even his nemesis but the compassionate Lupin came to mind – was dead.

It would be a bit far-fetched to assume everyone had forgotten about him, as he was sure Hogwarts was struggling to find a Potions master to replace him, but they soon would, if he was left in the hands of Mering too long. They all would.

Stop that now, he snapped out of it, trying his best to rinse his hair out. He stared at the dead spider he saw sliding down the drain. Regardless of whether anyone needs you or not, you will not pity yourself. Now or ever. Nor will you let anyone pity you. Today at Hogsmeade, you will hold your head high and make anyone who wishes to stare or pity wish they hadn't.

Turning off the water, he immediately regretted the fact that there were no towels. He knew there were none as he had checked after spilling something earlier that week. But then again, Mering's wording was not lost on Severus when he said "I am tired of bringing in food every day from home". "Home" meant "where Mering lived". Mering left at night after he locked Severus down in the basement. He had somewhere else to go. A warm place to put his head, plenty of food to eat, likely a family... the man did not deserve any of that. Severus did admit that it made sense; if one wanted to train a slave, of course they would use magic to make the place filthy, and make the slave clean it up. No one in their right mind would let their own house get that filthy. Supplying the cabinets with towels were likely not on Mering's mind. Severus could not help but wonder how many other slaves before him had encountered the same towel issue.

You are not a slave, he reminded himself, doing his best to rinse out the cloth he had worn that week in the sink. He might as well try to get the excess dirt off of that while he could. Regardless of what the law currently says about you, you are a human being. One far above anyone who tolerates this sort of behaviour from people like Mering. He had never been completely against the practice of slavery, but he had always been against treating someone indecently. He used Lupin's status as a werewolf as an excuse to treat someone he disliked as inferior; however, he did not have a problem with relatively harmless creatures in general. The slavery issue was worse than that, because at least werewolves were of a different species. The slavery curse, as far as Severus could tell, did not cause a change in species. The so-called 'change of species' was simply arbitrary. He could change Harry Potter's status from "wizard" to "squib", but it wouldn't change the fact that Harry Potter was easily one of the most powerful wizards alive.

Potter. Why did it always have to come back to Potter? Not even in the rest of the world, but in his own head? Severus felt like hitting his head against the wall for that as he wrung out the cloth and settled it over the shower curtain rod. Then again, he had spent the last seven years making sure that nothinghappened to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Actually, he had spent the last eighteen years guaranteeing that. Because Harry Potter was all that was left of Lily, and as much as Severus despised the child for being so much like James Potter, he had made a promise to himself, to Lily, to protect the boy.

And this is what I get in return, is it, boy? He glared at the neatly folded robes on the back of the toilet. A life of servitude? Why can't you get your sorry little rump over here and hex Mering for me?

Stop it, Severus – you're really out of sorts if you are wishing for Potter to come help you.

He was also out of sorts if he spent his time arguing with himself.

He slipped on the robe. It was too large for him, and an tan colour that contrasted oddly with his pale skin, but it would have to do. Much better than the cloth he had been wearing around his waist. He would rather be seen in the robe than practically nothing.

He ran his fingers through his hair. Though free of loose dust and dirt, for the most part Severus was still filthy. He had scrubbed off what he could with his hands, but that did not help the odour that was attached to him. Yet what Mering wanted, Mering was getting. Had he really cared that Severus was clean, he would have done more to ensure it.

Severus opened the door to find Mering standing right outside it, tapping his foot. "Let's see it then." Mering said, motioning to the robe.

Severus gritted his teeth and complied, stepping out of the bathroom door and letting Mering see how the robe fit him.

"A bit too big, but it'll have to do. You-Know-Who didn't feed his army enough, then? All right, let's go." He held his arm out to Severus.

He paused. What does he expect me to do? "You are well aware that I can Apparate on my own. It is one of the many skills the Dark Lord taught his army." Severus spoke each word with extra diction, hoping to get his meaning across to Mering. It was so hard to though, without letting his eyes speak for him. It was something he had taken for granted for years; the ability to use one word combined with one glare, to have everyone understand. Without being able to effectively use his eyes, without having any authority, he was lucky he garnered any attention from Mering.

Mering just chuckled. "I am hardly going to let you Apparate on your own. And I am not going to let you use your wand again yet, especially out of my sight." His eyes narrowed. "Remember that spell I mentioned last night? That will make you feel as if you are falling into glass shards? Grab hold."

Severus did recall mention of that spell, and though he had never heard of it before, had no doubt that Mering knew it and would use it. At least he is taking you with him. He could be leaving you here even longer to rot. "If you dare splinch me, I will make-"

They Disapparated with a crack!, Severus never getting to finish his sentence.


Severus immediately breathed in the the familiar smell of Firewhiskey. He stood outside the Hog's Head. Severus did not drink often, but desperate times occasionally called for desperate measures. More than he cared to admit, in the past he had downed a little bit of Ogden's Old just to survive the day.

It hadn't been easy following the Tri-Wizard tournament. He woke up to teach a dangerous subject to rambunctious children who quite frankly did not want to be taught, and tried to sleep be disrupted by the burning of the Dark Mark, which meant having to get up and go somewhere, to be on edge and alert, afraid for his life. Drinking a bit certainly hadn't been the healthiest of coping methods, of course, and could have been a hazard as it lowered his inhibitions. Dumbledore had not been at all pleased with his coping methods.

Of all times, I sure could use enough to get me drunk now, Severus thought. A bottle of Firewhiskey and I won't know left from right, much less that I am being ordered around by someone who likely has less education and less authority than I do.

"Smells good, don't it?" Mering grinned at Severus, who immediately looked to his bare feet and sniffed. He would not let Mering think he wanted or needed anything; Mering would only use that as means to taunt him, and Severus knew it.

"Of course we're going there first – I need something in my stomach if I'm expected to run around Hogsmeade all day." Mering started for the door. "Follow three paces behind me, and don't even think of running. I have eyes in the back of my head."

Purposefully, he followed four paces behind Mering. It was trivial enough for Mering not to notice or care, and a way for Severus to still be in control. He dreaded going into the inn, surrounded by people who very well knew who he was. As Potions master at Hogwarts, he had been a hermit in his own right, preferring the dungeons to the company of people. However, that was not to say he did not enjoy the occasional visit to the nearby village. The people in Hogsmeade would know he was Hogwarts' former Potions master, a former Death Eater turned slave.

Do not show any sort of humiliation – act as if you are here on Hogwarts business, or on leisure.

He knew why Mering wanted to take him to Hogsmeade. He had known that the moment Mering had told him. Mering wanted to test Severus, to see if Severus was ready for the "next step"; h wanted to see if Severus was getting settled in his ways as a slave. Severus was not yet sure what he wanted Mering to think – if Mering thought "no, he is not ready", then Severus only faced more punishments and was less likely to be auctioned off at Henderson's, which was obviously the best thing he was going to get if someone didn't help him soon. But to get Mering to think he was broken, he would have to submit to orders in public, which was something Severus was not thrilled to be doing. To him, it was a sign of defeat.

It is a sign of control, Severus reminded himself, carefully avoiding a sharp rock on the dirt road. You are still in control, manipulating Mering. He found himself having to remind himself of that more often, which he did not appreciate. It had become less clear; how exactly was he manipulating Mering now? Before, he had been fooling Mering into thinking he was being broken, but now what? He was obeying him left and right if you forgot the Patronus incident. Broken meant trained to obey...

"You're to kneel beside my chair, out of the way, understood? Remember the spell I promised you? The pit of glass shards?" Mering questioned Severus outside the Hog's Head.

Severus nodded before murmuring "yes, Master". He had known better than to hope for a bar stool of his own. Not that he really cared. He was ashamed to admit it, even to himself, but he was feeling lucky that Mering was bringing him into the bar. He had half-expected to be chained up out front like an animal.

He resisted the urge to finger the collar around his neck. Thanks to the low-cut style of the robe, the collar was on display for anyone who wanted to look at it. He noticed many people milling about the street did, in fact, stare. But they quickly turned away when they noticed Severus' sharp glare.

Of course, the man wants to mortify you even further. Severus was not an idiot. He knew the reason Mering consistently dished out insults towards him. The lower Severus thought of himself, the more likely he would be to obey. Severus was not going to give Mering that satisfaction. It was unfortunate that the consequences for disobedience were so high.

Mering sat down on a bar stool and began to idly chat with the man seated next to him. Severus paid them no attention as he knelt on the wooden floor.

Occlude. Life manages to be so much more liveable when you are not aware of where you are. He found himself wishing it was a Saturday – if it was a Saturday where the Hogwarts students were permitted to visit Hogsmeade, surely some of the Slytherin students would have hexed Mering for his treatment of their Head of House. Or a Gryffindor, as much as they hated Severus, would attempt some brave act that would either help Severus escape or end up making matters worse for him. A Hufflepuff would wind up crying all the way back to Hogwarts in pursuit of Minerva, who in turn, would do something to help... Severus could not believe he was fantasising about his students seeing him in such a deplorable position, but he was otherwise beginning to feel hopeless. It had been a week – plans took time to execute, he understood from experience, but seven days was a bit too much.

He felt too much of himself gone in what should have felt like a relatively short period of time.

"Severus Snape?" The man behind the bar gasped in astonishment.

Severus looked up from his lap at hearing his name for the first time since being taken from the Ministry. "Yes, sir?" He asked, conscious of Mering's trained eyes on him.

Get me out of here, he stared at the man behind the counter. What was his name... Jerry something. He had had a son in Slytherin years back, and had been worried about his Charms grade. Severus had had many long conversations with the man, as his son's Head of House.

"You're... I heard the news, but I thought it was just more of Rita Skeeter's trash!" He exclaimed, his eyes more on Severus' tattooed forehead than his eyes.

"You thought wrong, then, sir." Severus said, reverting his eyes back to his lap. Just to be on the safe side.

The man shook his head. "So, is it true then? You were a Death Eater?"

Oh Merlin... Severus eyed Mering, who seemed to be just as curious about Severus' answer as the man behind the bar. He was giving no clues as to what to say. "For a short time, I served the Dark Lord, before coming to my senses and doing everything I could to defeat him." He paused, wondering how much information to disclose. More, in this case, would be more beneficial than less. "Shortly before the death of James and Lily Potter, I approached Albus Dumbledore and asked what I could do."

"However, there was nothing he could do to redeem himself after two years of devoted service to the Dark Lord." Mering shook his head. "Can you imagine the lives he took in two years? The lives he ruined?"

"I did not hurt anyone," Severus muttered, knowing that whatever he said now to contradict Mering would only end in punishment..

"Er... would you like to order, sir?" Jerry's attention went to Mering, who was beginning to look a bit impatient.

As Mering ordered what was bound to be a meal for himself and not for Severus, Severus stared defiantly at anyone who cared to look. He might be kneeling on the floor, but overall, it was nothing to stare at. Most of the people began to turn away at his harsh glare.

Mering placed a bowl of water on the ground next to Severus. "Drink it; you look awful."

As Severus cupped his hands and began drinking the cool, clean water, he Occluded his mind. If he could just exist, and not be there, not really, perhaps he would be all right.

Coming up next in Unwell...
Chapter Ten:
My Pain, Your Pleasure