CHAPTER 4
A/N: Not slash, I tell you.
A few months earlier
Harry walked quickly and with purpose. His heart swelled with the anticipation of sweet success. With the information he was about to relay, he would soon become the Dark Lord's most trusted advisor—even more so than the pureblooded Lucius and Bellatrix…
Voldemort stood alone by a window. Harry knelt and waited to be acknowledged.
"Well, Severus," the Dark Lord said after a few minutes, "what is it?"
"My Lord," Harry said, nearly trembling with excitement, "I have uncovered some information of the utmost importance—"
Voldemort waved a hand for the rest of the Death Eaters to leave. Harry suppressed a gleeful smile at their disgruntlement. When the last Death Eater, Bellatrix, had left, glaring suspiciously at Harry, Voldemort motioned to Harry to go on.
"My Lord, I overheard Sybil Trelawney making a prophecy to Dumbledore." Voldemort went very still, his eyes locked with Harry's. Harry let him see what he was looking for; allowed him access to the memory. "She told him of a child born as the seventh month dies…this child is supposedly meant to…" He trailed off as fury filled the Dark Lord's face. He had understood.
"You seem to have only part of the prophecy, Severus," Voldemort said.
Harry lowered his head. "Forgive me, my Lord," he said, suitably apologetic. "I was discovered and thrown from the building before I could hear the rest." Of course the Dark Lord knew that, he had seen the memory.
"Hm," Voldemort said, "under the circumstances, it seems we have all the information we need." Harry's heart leapt. "You have done well, Severus, very well indeed. Now all I need to do is find this child…"
Harry let himself smile. The Dark Lord was pleased.
Harry awoke with a start. He looked down at the spell book in his hand. Hermione would kill him if she knew what he'd done—experimented with unknown spells.
In his defense, he had tried it out on himself first before putting anyone else in danger. Ron had not been happy to point his wand at Harry and try out a completely new spell, but Harry had persuaded him. The spell was supposed to give unfettered access to another person's memories…And there was one person Harry desperately needed information on. His only source—Professor Dumbledore—had turned him down.
"You broke into Gringotts to get a book on Mind Magic?" Ron had squeaked. They had talked in the garden, where no one could overhear.
"No, Ron," Harry had sighed in reply. "I got a letter from a rich Heiress who recently died and left me her vault. The letter had a list of items in the vault, and it had this book on it. I decided to take a look. Now this is what we need to do... "
Sirius had died because Harry couldn't trust Severus Snape.
Harry's fists clenched. It seemed Sirius hadn't been the only one to die because of Snape. Harry glanced at the clock on the wall of Ron's bedroom. 2:30 AM. He spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. Even being at the Burrow didn't soothe him as well as it usually did.
It was terribly hard to smile at the Weasleys at breakfast next morning and pretend nothing was wrong, but Harry managed it. Ginny glanced sharply at him more than once, and he was sure he hadn't fooled her that well, but no one else seemed to notice.
"Harry," Ron hissed at him. "We completely forgot about the Restriction on Underage Magic! "
"What was that, Ronald?" Mrs. Weasley said sharply.
"Uh, nothing, Mum. I was just telling Harry about the fuss around Lucius Malfoy's arrest."
"Don't worry," Harry said in a low voice to Ron, when Mrs. Weasley's suspicions had been put to rest, "Magic is already used in this house during the summer, so the Ministry won't know. Or at least that's what Hermione said."
Ron looked reassured, and turned to Fred to discuss the latest Quidditch match.
Then there came a knock at the front door. Mr. Weasley got up, saying, "I'll go see who that is, Molly." The hair on the back Harry's neck rose. He heard Mr. Weasley's surprised voice over the sound of Ron's happy babbling about the Chudley Cannon's latest win.
Snape stepped into the room, followed by a bewildered Mr. Weasley. Everyone stared at the potions master in surprise.
"You!" Harry snarled, springing to his feet. It was all he could do not to cry murderer. He glared at the sallow-skinned, hook-nosed teacher, his wand arm twitching. His chest twinged with a sudden pain.
Snape looked back at him coolly, and Harry thought he saw his face tighten. "My apologies for this interruption, Mrs. Weasley," he said, still staring intensely at Harry, who remembered too late that Snape was probably legilimising him, "but the Headmaster has requested to see Mr. Potter as a matter of urgency."
"What?" Ron said loudly. "Why?" Mrs. Weasley shot him a warning glance, but Harry felt a rush of warmth at his friend's attempt to stand up for him. Ron had probably realized something was wrong.
"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to reveal that," Snape said, looking at Ron as though he were a particularly repulsive insect.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," Harry said firmly.
"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley gasped. Her husband looked puzzled and concerned too. Harry carefully avoided their worried gazes.
"You already know why, don't you, Professor?" Harry was trembling with suppressed rage by now, thinking of the vision he had seen last night, and hoping Snape had seen it in his mind. The odd ache in his chest had intensified and expanded.
This time he was sure Snape's mouth twisted. "Mr. Weasley," he said, addressing Ron's father, "might I beg use of your Floo? It seems I need to call Dumbledore here himself."
"Of course, Severus," Mr. Weasley said, still looking worriedly at Harry. Snape left the room with him, and Harry sat down, trying to avoid everyone's gazes. Something in his face must have stopped them from asking questions. Ron, thankfully, didn't seem to suspect Harry of anything.
Breakfast continued at a much slower pace until they heard the roar of the Floo and Dumbledore stepped into the dining room.
Two hours later, Harry left Dumbledore's office in a daze. Snape led the way into the dungeons and into his personal quarters. He led Harry to a small bedroom, only slightly bigger than his won at Privet Drive, and said, "Everything you need will be provided in here, Mr Potter. If I find you out of bounds—Mr Potter, I expect you to look me in the eye when I speak to you."
Harry gritted his teeth and glared up at Snape's smirking face.
"I do not need to reacquaint you with the consequences of disobedience, I presume?"
"No, sir," Harry replied through his teeth. Pain shot through his chest for the fifth time this day. He had collapsed from the pain while in Dumbledore's office.
"Ah," Snape said softly, "I think you'll find that a respectful tone is required, Mr. Potter."
Harry's fists clenched of their own accord. Looking at the smug, satisfied face before him, he realized open rebellion would get him nowhere. He lowered his voice by sheer force of will. "I apologise, sir."
The pain disappeared.
"Very good, Potter," Snape mocked. "I'll make sure you know all the rules you need to know. For now, stay in this room and begin on your holiday assignments."
Once the door closed behind Snape, Harry sank to the floor and buried his head in his hands. One year of physical and mental slavery: his punishment for breaking into Snape's mind.
"The spell you used was a very ancient one," Dumbledore had explained, after berating Harry for using the spell on Snape. Harry had managed not to wreck the room again, but he had shouted quite a bit. "Ancient magic can be extremely unstable. Small details like the intentions of the caster can make a huge difference in the effects of the spell. In this case, you owe your life to Snape from your first Quidditch match, and so the payment for taking those memories will be amplified several times."
Apparently the Bond thought he was being ungrateful to Snape. Harry let out a bitter laugh at that thought.
Dumbledore had been kinder to him than he'd deserved, especially considering Harry had wrecked the man's office not many weeks ago. Harry didn't need Snape to tell him that what he'd done was foolish and dangerous. The problem was, he couldn't see himself acting any differently once he'd gotten the idea of settling Snape's loyalties into his head. Dumbledore had tried to break the news gently, too, using words like Creditor and Debtor instead of Master and Slave, but Harry had understood.
Complete access to the debtor's mind. Control over his will. Complete obedience, or debilitating pain. Complete respect to the Creditor. Hard labour.
His head was throbbing with pain. I suppose I'd better get started on my homework before the Bond decides I'm being disobedient. He had just got to his feet when his vision swirled.
This time he found himself in a horror of a memory. He was seeing through Snape's eyes again. He and the Death Eaters were attacking Muggleborns. Voldemort led them, gleefully egging them on and occasionally joining them. Several similar memories followed, and Harry's knees hit the floor with a painful thud. He shut his eyes and cried out. The memories kept pouring in. Just when he began to feel nausea in his gut, the images and accompanying screams stopped.
Harry opened his eyes. He was lying in the stone floor, tears wetting his face. Snape was standing over him. Revulsion welled up in him at the sight of the man, and he let out a moan when the nausea overwhelmed him.
"Yes, that happens when you gain full access to someone's mind," Snape said coldly. "You may find that you don't like a lot of my memories."
"Understatement of the year, you filthy murderer," Harry rasped. He cried out with the pain that came then. Snape hauled him up by the front of his shirt.
"You are about to receive a demonstration in the joys of slavery, Potter." Snape's teeth were bared. "Apologise."
A cloud descended over Harry's mind. Apologise, said a voice in his head that sounded vaguely familiar. Through the haze, Harry realized this was something like the Imperius curse, and tried to fight it. It was no use. His mouth opened against his will, and he heard himself say, as if from a long way off, "I'm sorry, sir."
The cloud lifted, and Harry looked up at Snape, stunned. "Control over the slave's will, Potter," Snape said, sounding very pleased. "I do believe I'm going to enjoy this."
"But I could throw off Imperius!"
Snape smirked. "This is stronger, because it is designed specifically to subjugate your will; the will of the slave. Legilimens," he added, and Harry stood helplessly as Snape found out which memory he'd seen this time. By the time it was over, Harry was seething with rage again. Snape didn't give him time to speak again, though. "Let me make something very clear, Mr Potter," he said softly. "You may have stolen my memories, but that in no way entitles you to make judgements on my actions or even to speak of what you have seen." He raised an eyebrow, demanding a reply.
"Yes, sir," Harry said, suddenly feeling too ill to be angry.
"There will be absolutely no personal remarks as long as you are here."
Harry dully replied in the affirmative, wondering if Snape was trying to provoke him. Knowing him, he probably was. The man was now repeating the rules of the Slavery Bond with great glee, pausing after every one so Harry could repeat his refrain. He had a feeling he was going to be saying 'yes, sir' far too many times this year.
One year. One long year. His head spun at the thought.
"Are you in pain?"
Harry nodded once.
"You will address me with respect, Mr Potter."
The pain doubled. "Yes, sir."
"An apology for this second entrance into my mind might ease your suffering, Potter," Snape said, still in his silky voice.
Harry mentally threw up his hands and apologised. "Are you causing this pain? On purpose? Sir?"
"In a manner of speaking. When you refuse to obey my command, the Bond punishes you. Although," he went on, "since you created the Bond, one could make the argument that you are the cause of your own pain."
Harry imagined punching the smiling potions master.
"You will spend the next two hours cleaning this room. Then come to me for your next list of chores."
"But this room's clean—"
A flick of Snape's wand, and the room sprouted a forest of cobwebs and dust bunnies. Harry stared in outraged disbelief. "And you will not use magic, of course. Hand over your wand."
"What? No!" But his hand was already moving to his pocket, and the haze in his mind was making it difficult to think. When his hand had retrieved his and and placed it in Snape's hand, the cloud lifted and Harry collapsed against the wall, panting.
"And finally, Mr Potter." Harry looked up, ashamed to find himself trembling. "You will reveal nothing that happens in the dungeons to the Headmaster. That's an order." The last phrase, Harry would soon learn, meant that Harry couldn't disobey. The Imperius-like spell wouldn't let him. Snape smiled his ugly smile and turned to leave.
"Now that you know I won't tell," Harry forced his voice to remain steady, "can you let me know when you're going to hand me over to Voldemort?"
Snape froze, and slowly turned. In the next moment, Harry found himself backed up against the wall with Snape' fingers clutching his robes. "One," Snape said, "you will not use the Dark Lord's name in my presence. Apologise."
"No." Harry gasped when the pain came, he couldn't help himself.
Snape smiled.
"Stop it!" Harry cried when Snape overrode his will again and forced an apology out of him.
"Secondly," Snape said, ignoring him, "you do not believe I serve the Dark Lord, or you would have fought tooth and nail against this arrangement."
"I couldn't, could I, when I can't even say something you don't like without—"
"Also," Snape interrupted, "you forget I can see your mind, Potter." Harry went very still. "In spite of yourself, you still remember that I saved your life when I was under no obligation to do so."
Harry stared at him. Snape stepped away from him and strode out of the room.
A/N:
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I'd also like to thank everyone who read, followed, favourited or reviewed this fic…especially those who reviewed. You people made my day!
