Disclaimer: I do not own Severus Snape or Harry Potter, nor many of the characters mentioned. I do not own ninety-eight percent of past events mentioned in this story. I am not JK Rowling or her ilk. Please contact me before using any characters not seen or mentioned in JK Rowling's Harry Potter series. Thank you.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
"Reflections"
"Accioslave!" Someone shouted with a dry and hoarse voice.
Severus felt himself lift into the air. He felt himself flying backward at a terrifying speed. He didn't know where he was going, or who was summoning him. It was the most terrifying thing he could think of. He had never liked flying for that very reason; he hated being in the air, and going fast, when simply walking, running, Apparating, or using a Portkey would do the job quite nicely. Flying only risked breaking your neck, and yet? Now he flew every day. Not with a broomstick, and not by choice. Slaves were only objects, and could be summoned as easily as a sheet of parchment.
He landed in the dust, on top of a sharp stone. He cried out in pain, but should not have. He was rewarded with a kick in the chest.
"Do not speak in the presence of the Dark Lord!" The kicker demanded. "Scum!"
Was Severus to apologise? That would involve speaking. But to not apologise would be rude. He just got to his knees and bowed his forehead to the dust.
His nose was large enough to touch the dust as well, which posed a problem. If he breathed through his nose, his nose filled with dust. If he breathed through his mouth, his lungs became coated with it. It would be better to get dirt in his nose, he decidedl if he were to pleasure someone orally with dust in his mouth... only a bad slave, with no mind, would do that. That would not be pleasuring at all.
"Apologise, scum!" He was kicked sharply in his rear, and this time, bit his lip to keep himself from crying out. His rectum was still very tender from being used last time. He could not remember who had used him or what it had entailed, but it must have been rough, and lasted for hours... which likely meant multiple people using him in a row. Men, or his rectum would not hurt so. Unless they had been torturing him or fulfilling some sort of fetish, using wands or something similar. If it hadn't been rough or lasted for hours, he wouldn't be hurting so now. He was used to being used. It was rather humiliating to have it hurt at this point.
He held back a cough as he spoke. The dust that had gotten into his lungs was enough, apparently. "I apologise, my Lord." He said. "Please – if you would punish me-"
"My Lord?" The dry and hoarse voice asked, softly. "Did the slave just refer to me as his lord?"
At that moment, Severus realised that he had done something big, and likely stupid, too. Severus did not know if he was being spoken to or not, so he chose not to reply. He had been told to not speak in the presence of the Dark Lord, with the exception of the apology.
"Answer, scum!" He was kicked again, this time in the hip.
"Yes, my Lord!" Severus cried the words out before he could school them into the emotionless way of speaking he had picked up so long ago. Thankfully so, for that was the best way for a slave to speak.
"Look at me!" The dry voice became shrilly.
The cold feeling that filled Severus' chest and throat was terrifying. The order itself was terrifying. He could not look at the Dark Lord. Not him. Not a mere slave. There was nothing in him that made him worthy of...
He had no choice. Something like the Imperius curse was worthless for him. As a matter of fact, if he had the Imperius curse put on him, ever, the burning in his forehead would likely knock him unconscious. For a slave to be put under the Imperius was the most dishonourable thing that could happen to a slave, next to killing your owner. For a slave didn't need the Imperius; they were bound to do what they were told, anyhow.
He looked up at the Dark Lord. The pale faced man had red slits for eyes, eyes that could see into Severus' very soul. And Severus knew that the Dark Lord was, in fact, looking into Severus' soul right now. Severus' mind, Severus' soul... they all belonged to his master, who was standing at his master's left, but at the same time, it all belonged to the Dark Lord, as well. And that meant that Severus could not hide any of his thoughts, his uncertainties, from the Dark Lord; his master had once told him to obey everyone in the world, if their orders did not go against his.
That meant he had to let the Dark Lord see everything.
The red eyes slitted even more, if that were possible. "Crucio!" The Dark Lord's dry voice demanded.
Severus had no way to be completely certain, but he was quite sure that there was no conceivable way to not be in pain after your leg was thrown a metre away. And yet, he was still breathing, and flinching in the dust, crying out as the curse pulsed through his body.
"I am sorry, sir!" Severus hadn't known he was not supposed to call him the Dark Lord any longer. "I apologise! I am sorry!" Of course, those pleas were ridiculous – the apology always went something along the lines of "please punish me as you see fit". The Dark Lord was simply doing that.
"Are we?" The Dark Lord lifted the curse, and even reattached Severus' leg. If Severus were feeling more coherent, he might cringe at all the dirt that had had been in the stump where the leg had been.
However, Severus wasn't thinking about that. He was in a cold sweat. The waste he had passed while under the curse was covering him, as he had continuously rolled in it, unable to control his body. He could barely breathe, and when he opened his eyes, he saw stars. He had screamed too much; now his voice sounded just about as hoarse as the Dark Lord's.
"Y-Y-Yes, s-s-sir." Severus was relatively sure that he could never go wrong with 'sir' – Master Mering had always said that when in doubt, to use ' sir' or 'madame' . There was always the off-chance that you were speaking to someone of a different pronoun, but most of them would be quite understanding about that mistake, he hoped.
"Then if you truly are sorry, you will not mind if we continue with the punishment." The Dark Lord turned to the man on his left. "Nigel, would you care to do the honours?"
Master Mering's eyes widened. "If you are sure, my Lord. I would love to."
The Dark Lord chuckled. A chuckle that Severus himself had once been so pleased to hear, for Severus had been the one to make the Dark Lord do it. "Of course."
And so began the series of spells and punishments. Between licking shoes clean, being used by a cane with spikes on it, hanging on a pole, in mid-air, for hours, and skewered eyeballs, Severus was more relieved than he had ever been in his life when the Dark Lord's final Cruciatus finally caused him to-
Severus whimpered, sitting straight up. His naked body was cold; the handful of dirty straw that he had found just in grasp's reach was now scattered all over the place, and no longer on his feet to keep them warm. He was surprised for a brief moment to be able to see – hadn't the Dark Lord skewered his eyeballs with splintering bamboo? They were gritty with dust, but they were still there.
He blinked and realised that he was being yelled at by his master, who was wearing a threadbare dressing gown. However, Severus wasn't unchained – through the open barn door behind his master, Severus could see that it was too dark for the day to begin.
Master aimed a stinging hex Severus' way, before turning on his knees and marching away.
It was just a nightmare, Severus assured himself, bringing his knees back up to his chest and hugging them closer, trying to converse as much heat as possible. Just another nightmare.
Harry stuffed what he could into the bag. He wasn't really even paying attention to what he was throwing in there. His invisibility cloak, clean underwear, his Gringotts key... he would need food. He would go to the kitchen and stock up on fruit or something. That'd hold him over for a day or two.
He wouldn't be gone long; a week at the most. If he followed Hermione's instructions to the letter, it'd take him a day or even close to two to Düsselheim, where Snape's owner lived.
"Harry!" Ron breathed, trying to catch his breath as he and Hermione ran into the boy's dormitory. "Merlin, we thought you'd- you'd already left." He dropped a basket of food on Harry's bed, filled with sandwiches, biscuits, and tins of pumpkin juice.
"Thanks." Harry said, putting the food into the bag. He turned to Hermione as she stuffed the small stack of books in his bag. "What are those for?"
"For you to study." She said firmly, waving her wand and muttering Latin words before continuing. "I just spelled your bag like I did mine last year. Now you can fit plenty of things in there without-"
"Yeah, look, I'll be fine." Harry reached in the bag to pull out the books. "I mean, I won't be gone long. A week at the most. Assuming McGonagall lets me come back to school-"
"Golden Boy." Ron quipped, using Snape's favourite disparaging name for Harry, as he reminded them of how McGonagall and Dumbledore always let Harry go around the rules if he wished to.
"Then I'll be able to pass my subjects with no problem in time for the NEWTs. They aren't until June." Harry pulled out the books. "What the hell is this? These aren't textbooks! The Road to Recovery? Surviving the Aftermath?" He looked at Hermione quizzically, who huffed.
"You honestly don't think Professor Snape's going to be the same as he's always been, do you?" Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry's dumbfounded look. "You think you're just going to buy him, and he'll be calling you a dunderhead right away, that he'll probably not bother to thank you for your help, that he'll treat you like a mosquito buzzing in his ear?"
"Um..." Harry didn't really have an answer to that. Over Christmas, Mr. Weasley did explain to him what happened at Henderson's, but said that it was primarily potion-induced. Harry imagined that Snape would be mostly the same. While he might have trouble adjusting to being owned by Harry, and getting over the abuse he had suffered, Snape was inherently stubborn and mean. He didn't think that would change too substantially.
His bushy haired friend rolled her brown eyes again and put the books back in his bag. "The Professor Snape we all know wouldn't have written you a help message – you, of all people – unless he was desperate. Desperate and utterly terrified." She sighed. "Harry, this is why the Order wouldn't let you help in the first place. You're not prepared to help someone who is mentally unstable."
Ron scoffed. "Snape's always been mentally unstable! That didn't seem to be a problem when-"
"Professor Snape was not unstable!" Hermione snapped. "Imagine getting up every morning to teach a dangerous subject to children who usually couldn't care less, and going to bed late at night after grading all their papers and making sure they were in their rooms, to be summoned by a dangerous Dark Wizard? He probably functioned on few hours of sleep, and had a stress-level to rival the Prime Minister's! It's a miracle on it's own that he didn't suffer a premature heart attack long before the War actually began!"
Harry and Ron could only stare at her, dumbfounded, mouths wide knew Hermione had views on slavery that many people did not appreciate, views that she was often outspoken about, but the way she was talking now appeared that she actually cared about Snape as a person.
Harry wasn't so sure he agreed with Hermione, though. Snape hadn't had a right to be the way he was. There was really no excuse for threatening to poison a little boy's toad. Though he respected Snape now more than ever, he wouldn't say the man had ever been stable.
Her boyfriend did not do subtle. Ron never did subtle. "You're defending Snape?" He asked, mouth wide open.
"Yes." Hermione snapped again, colouring a bit. "Neither of you seem to realise the gravity of the situation! The Order thinks it's better for Professor Snape to stay as he is than have to go through a highly painful emotional recovery."
"You can't agree with that," Harry said in disbelief. Hermione would never let someone stay in a dangerous situation if she could help it.
She sighed. "Of course not, Harry! But I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into before you do this! It would be cruel to rescue Professor Snape and damage him further. You've got to be careful, Harry, and prepared for all sorts of behaviour. That's what the books are for."
Harry hadn't thought of that. In his mind, things would get back to normal right away. Well, not right away, but in a few weeks, surely. Being owned by a former student would likely force Snape to rebel.
"Read the books in your spare time, Harry," Hermione said softly, reaching out and putting a stray piece of his wild hair behind his ears. "You are doing a really wonderful thing here, but I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into before you do."
Harry nodded as she took a step closer and embraced him, pressing her lips to the top of his black-haired head. "Be safe, Harry."
Ron nodded empathetically. "Yeah, be safe. I tried to talk Hermione into letting me go with you, but she said she'd hex of my balls and serve them to a Basilisk for tea."
Harry snorted whilst Hermione turned a deep shade of red. "Oh, just shut up," she said, hiding a small smile. Her face quickly turned serious again. "Harry, are you sure this is a good idea? With Teddy and everything? You don't know how to be a parent, and you're not a therapist, so-"
Harry tuned her out. He really did not want to think about that.
He had woken up that morning with a letter on his breast. The letter was from the Ministry, and it was about Teddy.
Tonks' mother had died, and Teddy was supposed to live with Harry. Harry had agreed, that if for some reason Andromeda died, Harry'd get Teddy, but he hadn't thought it'd really happen. At least not for a long time, anyway. Tonks had been very young, and consequently, so were her parents. Wizards and witches lived to be two hundred and thirty, on average. She wasn't supposed to die. Not yet.
Things always happened all at the same time. Things could never come by themselves, or slowly. They had to come in groups, and they moved fast. Kind of like girls, sometimes, now that he thought about it.
"He's got enough on his mind." Ron defended Harry. "Go, before McGonagall catches you."
He nodded and gave Hermione and Ron both a hug, much to Ron's disdain. "Remember, you have no idea why I left." Harry smiled weakly, before turning and trotting out the door. He didn't know why he felt like this was such a big deal... he would be gone for a few days. He had gone two months at a time, every year, without Ron and Hermione with him. It didn't call for such emotional behaviour.
He looked around the Hogwarts ground fondly. The bright green grass was blowing in the wind. For May, it was pretty chilly, but Harry never minded – the weather in Scotland was always wonderful, simply because it wasn't Privet Drive.
He looked fondly at the Whomping Willow; that tree held so many memories. Memories of flying cars, Sirius and Remus, of the Last Battle... and then there was the Quidditch Pitch. He had played first, second, third, and sixth year. He had done really well, too; there was something about flying that made him feel so free.
You're looking around here like you'll never see it again. God, Harry – stop being so sentimental. If Ron knew what was going through your head right now, you'd never hear the end of it.
It felt so final. He was leaving now, for the last time. He just knew, despite his poor grades in Divination, that his studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that had changed his life so drastically, were now over.
It kind of broke his heart.
12 Grimmauld Place was empty when Harry arrived there. Apparently the Aurors were through cleaning the Dark Magic out of it. There had been a lot, that not even the Order had dared mess with. Tonks, Dumbledore, Snape, and Kingsley had been the most skilled to do that, but had never had the time to deal with the lurks in the cellar or rooms that the Order didn't use.
He sank down on a sofa, trying not to think about where he was. Grimmauld Place held a lot of memories for him that hurt too much to think about. Sirius had sat on this couch, his arms around Harry as Harry drifted off to sleep. Remus had told Harry all sorts of stories about his parents right there in the drawing room. Dumbledore had stood in the kitchen, leading Order meetings. Fred had played so many pranks all over the house that-
Speak of the devil, Harry thought grudgingly as he pulled a Weasley product out from under the sofa cushion. It was an early model, no doubt from 1995. To think that Fred had held this in his hand, proudly showing it off to Remus and Sirius, who immediately began plotting harmless pranks to play on Order members... until Tonks talked them out of it...
He blinked back the tears in his eyes. It wasn't right; he couldn't cry about this now. The War had ended a long time ago. Twelve months ago was a long time ago, in Harry's opinion. It seemed like a lifetime ago. He couldn't cry about things now. The time to grieve was over.
He had decided, the summer after Cedric Diggory died, that he would never cry again. He figured that he'd be seeing a lot of death in his lifetime. He already saw three people die right before his eyes, though he couldn't remember the first two, so he was bound to see more. He had to be a man and suck it up. Breaking down and crying was something that Voldemort would use as a weakness.
He had cried a few times since then, especially the night Sirius died, but he didn't think he got it out of his system, because every time he thought of Sirius, his gut wrenched, the world start to tip, and he just wanted to lay in bed and cry until his stomach stopped hurting, which it'd probably never do. So he couldn't afford to start.
The teen took a deep breath through his nose, propping his feet up on the arm of the ancient couch. He wished he could smell Sirius in the air. Somehow, despite all of the time he had spent in the house, the smell of cinnamon and wet dog hadn't permanented there somehow. Sirius, after getting to Grimmauld Place, always smelled like cinnamon and wet dog.
Harry placed his hands over his eyes and pressed his palms over his eyes until he saw green and pink orbs. He wished he could Apparate over the English Channel now. He realised it was a big deal to Apparate over something like that, that he needed to rest so that his magical core could recharge, but it was hard. He felt like he had to go now.
Why are you so eager to help Snape? A voice bothered him in the back of his head. Yeah, he saved your life. It was because he was bloody in love with your mum. That's it. He hates you, he hates your friends, he hates your family, he hates anyone who has ever been close to being your family... he hates everyone but your mum, apparently.
He loved his parents. He loved his parents so much it hurt. He missed them so much that it hurt to breathe sometimes. And yet, he could never remember even meeting them. They had been so 2-D his entire life, like those Muggle cartoons. But if he could hear about them from someone who truly knew them, it would make them so much more real.
Remus and Sirius had tried, of course, but every time Sirius started telling a story, he'd get a glazed over look in his eyes and start calling Harry "James". Remus told Harry that in Sirius' heart, Sirius knew the difference between Harry and his father, and that Sirius just got confused sometimes. Remus had been wrong about a lot of things before, but Harry didn't think Remus had been too wrong about that. He knew Sirius had loved him.
None of it mattered anymore. They were all in heaven. Harry hoped they had lots of fun up there together. He hoped they could transform into their Animagus forms up there, even though Remus didn't have a form to join into. But he was probably just happy that he had no more transformations. Or at least, his transformations weren't painful. Would he transform in heaven?
He hoped they were proud of him. He hoped that wherever they were, whatever they were doing, that when he died, he could be with them. He wasn't going to kill himself or anything, of course, but dammit, he had been so close to being with them. He wanted to be with them so badly.
Maybe he and Snape would get along. If they did, perhaps he could tell Harry about his mother. He'd really like that.
He thought about the note Snape had sent. 'Please help me. I am sorry. Please'. What was he sorry for? Being mean to Harry over the years? Telling Professor McGonagall that he didn't want rescued, and changing his mind in a month's time? Sorry for asking for help? Harry didn't know, and he didn't care. A call for help was only the usual for him, and he couldn't help but answer. It was like second-nature to him.
His saving-people thing had became very apparent when he was eleven-years-old, if it hadn't been before. He remembered finding a dead squirrel by the side of the road when he was six. It was cold, stiff, and has an eye bulging out. Harry didn't realise it was actually dead, and had spent hours on the front steps of 4 Privet Drive, trying to nurse it back to health. Aunt Petunia had gotten really upset when she found Harry with it. She had spanked him with Uncle Vernon's belt and locked him in the cupboard for two days. He hadn't learned from that, obviously, because here he was ten years later, doing the same thing.
Only if we're lucky, Snape will still be alive, he thought, trying to be positive, before rolling over on his side and shutting his eyes tightly. The alarm on his wand would go off in three hours, and he needed to sleep as much as he could until then. Then, time to Apparate over the English Channel. Rest for an hour or so, Apparate to somewhere else. Then Apparate into Germany, even though Hermione had said to rest overnight.. He'd Apparate to Berlin before Burgdorf. He might as well speak to the German equivalent to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beings Division first, to find out what happened to Snape.
All right, Snape. After this, my debt is definitely paid. Next time, it's your turn to rescue my arse again,was his last thought before drifting into a fitful slumber, where he dreamed about a stag, Grim, and werewolf, playfully tossing around and running on a big white cloud.
Coming soon in Unwell...
Chapter Thirty: Welcome to Düsselheim
