The Headmaster's fireplace belched Snape out violently, propelling him into Potter's back, the momentum knocking them both towards the floor. Potter twisted and somehow managed to land half on top of Snape, who screamed as his mangled back slammed into the carpet. When the haze of pain faded enough, Snape looked up to find his master standing and staring down at him, face red and swelling where he must have hit his head on the desk. "What were you doing, Snape? Trying to kill me?"

Snape panted, trying to find the correct words, trying to remember which way was up so he could get to his knees and accept his punishment properly. Disrespect doubled a punishment, and this one was going to be bad enough. But all he could manage was to roll on his side and lie here, blinded with agony even the Pain-Quick couldn't suppress.

"Please," he found himself whimpering. "Master, please, I apologize—"

"Shut up, Snape." Potter cut him off. Snape tried to hide his face and braced for the expected beating.

Nothing happened for a long while. At last, a pair of hands landed on his shoulders. He cried out, flinching back.

"Hush, Mr. Snape, drink this," said a deep female voice he recognized as Madam Pomfrey's. A cold vial was pressed to his lips. Instinctively, Snape sniffed it, scenting myrtle and foxglove. Then he shook his head. "Can't," he whispered, when he had enough breath to speak. "Already..." His eyes trailed over to his master, who was leaning against the Headmaster's desk, listening. He was in for it now. He'd taken an analgesic potion without his master's permission or even knowledge. Potter was standing stone-faced, showing no intention of waiving away Madam Pomfrey's offer of Pain-Ease like any normal master should. "I took an analgesic potion," he admitted, watching Potter's face. "It had foxglove, it's still active, I can't—"

"Yes, I'm aware of what an overdose of foxglove can do, Mr. Snape. When did you take this potion?"

Potter answered for him, "Just a few minutes ago, I think. A House Elf gave him something. Should it have worn off this fast?"

Pomfrey glanced back at Snape, as if looking for confirmation from him. As if he would dare contradict his master in public. "It hasn't worn off, Mr. Potter. But it can only suppress so much pain. No doubt it's the only reason Mr. Snape is not unconscious right now."

Damn Dobby to the darkest pits of Hades; there was nothing Snape would like more than to be unconscious at the moment, no matter what the consequences were later. He flinched when he sensed a hand coming at his face, but it was only Madam Pomfrey, brushing his long hair over his shoulder. It would have felt good if everything else didn't hurt so much.

Potter was getting redder, shifting against the Headmaster's desk. Snape saw him glance at someone standing out of his range of vision, probably Dumbledore. "Should he be like this, sir? The ritual wasn't that—I mean, it didn't, well, it didn't seem like it would hurt him like this."

Dumbledore answered, "No, I suspect he has some other injuries unrelated to the ritual."

"But I saw him. Naked, I mean, and he was fine."

Madam Pomfrey's voice broke in. "Perhaps we could discuss this in the hospital wing, gentlemen?"

Potter must have agreed, because he was soon levitating above the carpet, still curled on his side, as someone propelled him through the corridors towards the hospital wing. Once the pressure was off his back, the pain began to fade into a throbbing, overall ache that was nonetheless infinitely more bearable than the sharp agony of a few moments before. The potion was working.

Once in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey let him hover a few inches above the bed. "I'll have the Headmaster let you down as soon as we get your clothes off," she promised, as she unbuttoned Potter's robe. Her fingers paused as they passed the Gryffindor crest, and she glanced back at Potter, dressed in only trousers and a jumper.

"The robes weren't part of the bargain, apparently," Potter explained darkly from some unseen corner. Snape had the feeling he was going to be paying for that inconvenience soon enough.

Madam Pomfrey finished unbuttoning him as the Headmaster soothed, "We have a few spare robes we can lend you. It shan't be—"

His voice froze as Madam Pomfrey let the robe drop off his shoulders. Snape knew it had to look bad; Master—Lucius wouldn't have been satisfied with less. But he hadn't expected the ringing silence of the infirmary. Hadn't they ever seen a beaten slave before?

Finally, Potter broke the stillness.

"Fuck."

"Language, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey rebuked automatically, and resumed disrobing Snape. After giving him a quick examination, she motioned to the Headmaster, who gently rotated him onto his stomach and lowered him to the bed. She tucked his hair over his ear again before turning to P—Master.

"I'll need call a colleague from St. Mungos to help heal him with as little scarring as possible. You'll have to pay the costs out of pocket, as the WHS doesn't cover slaves." She glowered darkly for a moment, awaiting an answer.

Potter froze, jaw working soundlessly. He looked stunned. Finally, he said, "Yeah, of course, do whatever you want."

Snape hadn't expected such an open-ended statement. Perhaps Potter was newer to dealing with slaves than he had thought.

"What...I mean, his back was fine just a moment ago, and now it looks like..." Potter trailed off. Snape was glad. He knew what his back felt like; he didn't need to know what it looked like too.

"Glamour," Snape rasped in answer. "Transfer spell stripped it off."

Madam Pomfrey said, "Treatment may be costly. Do you need to owl your father?"

"He's in Bolivia right now. I'll let him know, but it will take awhile. He isn't—he won't mind."

Strange. Lucius wouldn't have moved an inch without his father's written and triplicated approval.

"Very well. I'll let you know when the treatment is finished." It was a clear dismissal, but predictably his new master showed no sign of moving. He stood on the other side of the infirmary staring at Snape.

"Come along, James," the Headmaster smoothly stepped in. "There are some matters I would like to discuss with you in my office. It will take only a moment."

Snape knew nothing ever took just a moment with the Headmaster, but he was glad to have Potter and Dumbledore gone, leaving him alone with Madam Pomfrey. He never understood why, but she had always been careful with him, sometimes bending the rules to help him just as Dobby would, and Rangly had.

"All right, Severus," Madam Pomfrey said, returning from the stores shelf with a thin blue vial in one hand and a glass of pumpkin juice in the other. "Turn over on your side and drink this."

Instinctively, he sniffed the bottle. No foxglove, but a sweet, flowery smell he couldn't quite place.

"Stop that, Severus, I'm hardly going to poison you. It's a methysticum-base with a chamomile infusion. It's the only thing that won't react with the foxglove or the myrtle and will still keep you insensate during the treatment—"

Snape was already shaking his head. "P—my master won't accept that."

Madam Pomfrey pressed the glass against his lips. "You'll take what I give you in my infirmary Mr. Potter authorized me to do 'whatever I want' with you, and I shall. I don't allow my patients to suffer needlessly."

"He'll see on the bill—"

"It won't matter. James is not Lucius Malfoy. Drink the potion."

Snape pursed his lips and shook his head. He'd rather take the pain right now than suffer whatever Potter dreamed up as punishment later.

"I won't treat you unless you do. I will call Mr. Potter down here to order you to drink it if I have to."

Snape winced. He would be punished almost as severely should that happen. He glared at Madam Pomfrey, angry and not sure why she had betrayed him this way. Finally, he nodded, opening his mouth for the potion. Madam Pomfrey let him wash out the bitter taste with the pumpkin juice. He had just enough time to finish the glass before his eyes drifted shut.

---

Madam Pomfrey's potion was ancient and Eastern, designed to put the drinker into a nearly unbreakable trance, during which they could relive a memory with almost pensieve-like clarity while remaining entirely insensible to the outside world. Snape felt it seeping into his mind, his memory, and pulling him in as well. He felt a memory begin to coalesce around him, and pulled back as he recognized it. He might have preferred the pain of treatment to reliving this afternoon again, but it was no longer his choice. His skin prickled as a chilly springtime breeze drifted across the Hogwarts field in his mind.

The Defense O.W.L. had been harder than he had expected. Snape poured over his answers in his mind, trying to find their faults, trying to guess how they would be graded. He had to do well, to prove to Lucius and Calligulus that he was worth schooling. He would not give them a reason to take him away from Hogwarts and make him worthless as only an ugly bed-slave could be. He shuddered, and went back to listing the characteristics of Patronus in his head.

He did not notice the jeers from Potter and his friends. He continued to puzzle over the identifiers of a werewolf until they were nearly upon him. His wand jerked into his hand, but it was too late. "Expeliramus!" One of them shouted, and Snape's wand was yanked from his hand. He panicked, twisting, trying to get it back. If he lost his wand, he would lose Hogwarts, lose his freedom and his education. He dove in the direction it had gone.

"Impedimentia!"

The curse hit him mid-dive and he crashed into the grass, scraping his cheek on a stone. He struggled, but couldn't move. He panted, fury and terror taking control. He was helpless, wandless, with no one to defend him. He could feel Black and Potter advancing on him.

The dream-memory was fuzzy here. He couldn't remember what they taunted him with, or what he said in response. All he could remember was the fear and anger as he struggled against his invisible bonds. He remembered screaming and swearing and cursing in a desperate rage, and he remembered the look of delight on Potter's face as his mouth filled with soap and bubbles.

He wanted to scream again. But his dream-self choked on the bubbles.

He felt someone step out of the crowd and he increased his struggles.

"Leave him alone!" the interloper shouted, and he recognized the voice. Lily Evans. His face burned. The only person in the school who would defend him was a pixie-loving mudblood who simply hated Potter more than she hated him. He fought the jinx and felt the bonds begin to crack. While Potter and Black were distracted, he crawled towards his wand, coughing up soapsuds into the grass.

His fingers curled around his the handle of his wand just as he felt Black's eyes fall upon him. He jerked around, hissing an almost silent Sectumsempra. He had the pleasure of seeing the bastard's cheek split open, spilling blood all over his robes before his body was tossed into the air, dangled there until his pants were showing and thrown back to the ground. He struggled to his feet, reaching for his wand, the Cruciatus on the tip of his tongue. He would have screamed it out in triumph and rage if he could have opened his mouth. Instead, he fell, petrified into the grass.

A few seconds later, Potter released him. He was too angry to question why until Potter announced patronizingly, "You're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus," with that smooth, cocky grin back on his bleeding face.

He screamed something about Evans and mudbloods. He never really knew what, but he saw Lily's expression freeze, and heard her hiss something about his underpants, Snivellus.

It hurt. He didn't know why, but it did. He stood still long enough for Black to train his wand on him, hatred and glee dancing in his eyes. Snape let his own wand fall into the grass, both to protect it and because he didn't have the strength to lift it anymore. He couldn't fight them. Already, he was going to be punished for hurting Potter—a physical assault on a free person was never permitted, even though no one else at the school knew about his enslavement. Lucius would hear about it, and would punish him. He wanted to curl up, but forced himself to stay standing.

A flash of light made him blink, and again he was hovering in the air.

"Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"

Fear spiked behind his chest and he began to struggle again. He couldn't let them see... "Stop it," He yelled. "You can't, you fucking bastards!"

Potter laughed. "What's wrong, Snivelly? Do you have something to hide?"

"Oh," joined in Black. "Maybe his afraid is greasy little dicky is too small,"

Potter leered at him. "Or maybe he doesn't have one at all."

"I always thought he had a girlish figure," Black smirked. "Is that it, Snivelly? Is that why you follow us around all the time? Are you really just in loooove?" He laughed an ugly, cruel laugh.

Snape hissed, struggling, sweating. He couldn't let them see, if they saw, they would know, and he would not be allowed to stay here, he would be taken back to the manor to be nothing but a mindless fuck-slave again. "Stop it!" he yelled again, but his voice broke and Potter grinned.

"Oi, mate, I think you hit a nerve there. Listen, he can't even talk like a man." He turned to Snape. "You really want some, don't you?"

"No," Snape shouted, unable to stop himself. Merlin, if Potter took him...

Black struck a shocked pose. "Thy lady doth protest too much, I believe."

"Black," he hissed, promising unspeakable retribution.

Potter ignored him, bending over with laughter. "Oh, Snivellus, is that what it's been all this time? You should have told us, we would have helped you." He raised his wand, and Snape felt a tug on his pants.

"I'll kill you!" Snape screamed, but he already felt the ragged cloth jerk down to his ankles. He heard the crowed roar with laughter and then fall silent. He could feel their eyes drawn to the Malfoy crest branded into his left buttock. It was the only physical representation of the Malfoy's ownership of him, but for the purebloods in the crowd it was unmistakable. He heard the gasps and the whispers begin, and closed his eyes against the burning that began there.

They knew. All of them, the whole school. It would be only a matter of hours before someone came to collect him, now. The Malfoys would never allow him to remain at Hogwarts, now that it was known that he was a slave. The plan that had been put in motion by the time he was a year old was ruined and he was now next to useless.

He felt himself go limp, barely noticing as his body was carefully lowered into the grass. His robes fell over him to cover the mark, but it was too late.

If only he could dive into the lake and never surface again.

He felt a shadow fall over him and he looked up, cringing. It was Potter, his face white and wand hand shaking. "Is it true, Snape?" he asked, voice strangely hesitant and unsure. Potter made a move to touch him, but Snape rolled away, burying his face in the dirt.

The vision ended abruptly, and Snape opened his eyes, gasping, tasting the mix of soap and dirt in his mouth. After a moment, he tasted the counter-potion on his lips. Madam Pomfrey leaned over him, wiping his brow with a warm flannel.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Snape?"

Snape swallowed, his throat slightly dry. He shifted a little, expecting to feel a flash of agony from his back, but all he got was a lingering stiffness. The rest of his body was sore as well, probably from the spell, but overall he felt far better than he had since before O.W.L.s. "Very well, Madam Pomfrey." He licked his dry lips.

"Here," she pressed a glass of cool water into his hands. When he had finished it, she pressed another phial into his hand. "It's just dreamless sleep. And before you start, it's from my own stores. James will never know unless you tell him."

He stared at her, surprised. "Drink it," she urged, gently wiping the dried sweat off his face with another warm flannel. He did, lowering his head back into the soft hospital pillow and letting his eyes drift shut.