CHAPTER 13: Stockholm Syndrome

A/N: Okay, this chapter isn't very important, except the last paragraph. Read that and skip on to the next if you like; I know I've been dragging the plot quite a bit. I don't feel very satisfied with it either.

Yeah, more fluff, and I'm tired of insisting it's not meant as slash. Even if people (men—silly things) don't interact like this in real life, I wish they would, and this is fanfic, after all. My choice, and I do hope you enjoy it, regardless.


"Harry. Harry. Harry! Harry, wake up!"

Who is that and why do they sound so panicked, Harry thought muzzily, and then, ow. Ow, ow, ow!

"Harry, WAKE UP!"

"Hnh? Oh, 's you," Harry said, finally recognising the potions master.

"Yes, it's me," Snape drawled, but it sounded far too tense to be properly sarcastic. "WHAT are you DOING?"

"Not…so loud," Harry begged. His head felt like Hagrid was banging at it with a hammer. "I'm…Occluding."

"What?"

"I'm Occluding!" Harry wanted to shout, but it came out much softer when his throat protested. "You wanted me out of our head, didn't you? Well, now you won't need to hear everything I think!"

Snape was quiet for a long moment. Harry fidgeted, and then found it hurt to do so. He experimentally lifted a finger. Ouch. Stupid Bond! Then Snape's face materialised next to Harry's. Harry yelped in surprise, and then groaned when it hurt everywhere. Snape was kneeling next to his bed. It made Harry nervous. He tried looking away, but then the silky voice spoke again, very soft. "But you're hurting, child."

Blast the man. Now Harry's throat closed. I notice he didn't deny that he wants me out of his mind. "Don't pretend you care about that," Harry said through gritted teeth. "You left me to suffer yesterday night and you didn't come—" He stopped, realising he sounded pathetic. The bed moved slightly, and Harry sensed rather than saw Snape sit down. This time he turned away, determined not to meet the man's eyes. Snape's hand came down on his shoulder, and he tensed. "Get your hands off me!" he said, feeling himself beginning to weaken at the simple touch. Even the pain seemed to be leeching away.

"Stop Occluding, Harry," Snape countered. His hand moved slowly towards Harry's neck.

"Stop taking advantage of my situation! I said get your hands off me!" Harry began to move, but a wave of nausea and pain put an end to that immediately.

"You'll kill yourself if you go on like this, Harry," Snape said quietly. "The earliest agreement in the Bond was my access to your mind—if you try and stop that, the Bond will kill you. Slowly and painfully."

Harry ignored him.

The mattress shifted again, and then cold air hit Harry's skin. Harry turned in alarm to find that Snape was lying next to him. "That's it," he declared, and began to get up, but Snape pulled him back down. Harry landed back on the bed wit another groan of pain, and found himself held to Snape's chest. He went involuntarily still, giving Snape the opportunity to pull him close and put his lips to Harry's ear.

"Stop Occluding," Snape ordered, and then kissed his temple. Harry moaned; half in protest and half in relief as the pain began rapidly receding.

"N-no."

"Harry."

And just like that, Harry's shields crumbled. He heard Snape's sharp intake of breath. Probably my mind stampeding into his.

"Indeed," Snape said, sounding a bit dazed.

Harry pushed weakly at him. "You got what you wanted, now leave me alone."

"I don't think that's wise," Snape said softly, "considering you literally cannot survive without me at your side." He leaned over him again, making Harry's heart illogically skip and thunder by turns.

"I hate you," Harry snarled. "I'm not your pet, or your toy! You can't just treat me like a son one day and a slave the next… I don't understand you." He ended in a whisper. "What do you want from me?"

Snape muttered something about not understanding himself either.

"You know, Muggles have a word for this kind of thing. Stockholm something—"

"Stockholm Syndrome," Snape murmured. "A victim getting attached to his tormentor."

"Oh, you know about it? Did you feel that way with Voldemort?"

It was Snape's turn to go stiff, and it made Harry tense too. Then Snape's hand came up to hold Harry's cheek as gently as if it were a baby bird. "I am not your tormen—I swear, Harry, I did not know you were in pain. I couldn't feel anything across the Bond, I couldn't sense you yesterday night."

Harry didn't reply.

Snape sighed. "You are still attached to me, then." Harry wondered if that was a statement or a question, and then decided he didn't want to know. "Dumbledore was right about your capacity for forgiveness."

Harry didn't reply.

"If you're expecting an apology, Harry, you won't get one. I did what I did because I needed to be sure you wanted this… That I am justified in…" He trailed off when Harry gave him a very old fashioned look. Snape sighed, resting his forehead against Harry's. "Then sleep, child. You need rest."

"Don't call me that, Professor," Harry said, but knew it sounded weak.

Snape only kissed his forehead, ran his fingers through Harry's hair, pretended not to hear Harry's whine of relief, and then left the room. Feeding?

Well, that confirms it, Severus thought, shutting the door to the boy's room. I was absolutely right to lie to him. This is what would have happened if I had kept him at arm's distance—torture for the boy, and in effect for me as well.

Though being distant with the boy was a very difficult thing to do, he mused as he tidied up the boy's mess on the table—there were rolls of parchment and books scattered all over the place. The boy was as clingy as a barnacle, and persistent as a lost puppy. With the Bond in effect, it would take the Dark Lord himself to keep Harry Potter at arm's length. I certainly do not have the strength to do so. He grimaced in disgust. After all that shouting at Potter about weakness and emotion in Occlumency lessons.

The boy had been studying Bonding Theory so hard Hermione Granger herself would have been left in the dust. What he was hoping to achieve, Severus didn't know—it wasn't as if either of them could hope to find something Dumbledore hadn't. Still, he could understand the need to know everything possible about a spell that had enslaved a person. And Severus hadn't found the heart to refuse, even though he knew that playing with knowledge beyond him was what had landed both Potter and him in this mess in the first place.

I'm going soft, he thought in disbelief, crumpling a parchment in his fist without thinking about it. It really has to stop, this farce; it's taking over my mind!

He summoned a house-elf more loudly than necessary and asked for food. The brat needs to eat or he'll drop from exhaustion. A corner of the boy's messy notes caught his eye.

'Most Slave Bonds allow the Master to draw energy from the Slave into himself; thus strengthening the Master and weakening the Slave.' Severus completed the paragraph in his mind; he knew it by heart now, he had read the book so many times. 'This arrangement has killed the slave very often in ancient times when the Master took more than the Slave had to give. It also saved the Master's life, often at the cost of the slave's, depending on the Master's wish.'

Severus' heart constricted, and he hastily shifted his eyes to another roll of parchment. Potter had been very busy; this section was about the types of Bonds.

'There are four broad categories of Slave Bonds, with different purposes: one, for payment, made with both parties' consent; two, voluntarily; three, as punishment; four, by force. The last is a Dark Bond, the others are not always so. In fact, they were created in ancient times with honourable and laudable intentions…'

Severus slammed the parchment down, cursing when he hit his hand painfully on the edge of the table. He did not want to read about how good the Bond could be. Though judging from the underlining under this portion of the parchment, Potter had shown a great deal of interest in the subject.

It doesn't matter, he told himself. This ends soon, whether Potter likes it or not. In the meantime, there were a few more things he needed to do, with and for the boy…

Harry sat on Snape's bed in his nightclothes and drank from the vial Snape handed to him. His clothes now shrank along with him—a rather impressive spell Severus had taught him. Harry smiled when Snape took the vial from him and set it on a tray on the bedside table. Sometimes he thought Snape forgot Harry wasn't really a five year old, what with his constant mothering.

"Harry," Severus drawled, "I strongly recommend you at least try to Occlude before you continue thinking along those lines while I can hear your thoughts."

"Oh, come on!" Harry said, offended on several levels, and very pleased that Snape was in a good enouh mood to tease him. The last day had been very tense, full of awkward silences and brooding. Harry was tired of it all, and very eager for it to end. "I can Occlude if I want to, it's just that it's awfully difficult with the Bond! And anyway, you can't tell me what to think."

It was a testament to everything that had happened over the last few weeks that Snape only smirked down at him, his gaze amused and warm instead of flinty. "Perhaps not, but I may turn your duelling lessons tomorrow into something particularly embarrassing." Snape opened his arms as he rested his head on the pillow, and Harry crawled into them.

"You embarrass me all the time anyway." Harry was doing his best not to sulk, but there were only so many times he could be crushed in a duel without feeling the slightest bit inadequate.

Snape's chest shook under Harry's head in sync with the man's quiet laughter. "I assure you, it can get worse," he said silkily. Now Harry flat-out pouted. "None of that," Snape said, tapping his lip. "Or I'll begin grilling you about the Dursleys."

Harry groaned. "No, you're gonna do it no matter what I do." Snape smiled again, but grew serious again as he always did while discussing the Dursleys. For some reason, the man had grown obsessed with knowing about their treatment of Harry. And he had figured out that the best time to get anything out of Harry was at night, in the dark, while practically cuddling his pint-sized form.

"Why do you want to know? What does it matter?" Harry had asked. "It's not like anyone can do anything."

"I want to know how much I misjudged your upbringing," had been the reply one time. Another time, Snape had muttered something about knowing exactly what he'd condemned Harry to. "And I assure you, there are punishments I can hand out to them without giving away my identity."

Harry was snapped back into reality by the touch of Snape's lips on his forehead. "What is it, child?" Harry's throat tightened at the tenderness in Snape's voice. Sometimes he felt like a fool for enjoying all this so very much—the parody of parental care and love—because there was no way Snape could ever look at him that way, was there?

"Harry." He shifted in sudden distress. Snape had heard that thought.

"Severus, please." Please get out of my head, or at least pretend you didn't hear what you just heard.

"I cannot stay out of your mind, Harry," Snape whispered into Harry's ear. Harry shivered. "But I can postpone that difficult conversation if you tell me what I want to know about the Dursleys. No, don't push me away. I know you want to tell me, no matter how embarrassing you think it is, and even though you haven't told your best friends."

Harry made a distressed sound. "Promise me you won't—you won't ever—"

"Use it against you? I swear," Snape said as solemnly as a judge, and then spoiled the effect by pulling him closer. Harry let out a mew when Snape's teeth grazed his ear. The gesture was strangely comforting, and he knew Snape knew it. "I am not trying to hurt you," Snape murmured. "You must believe me."

Should he be repulsed? Was this normal, even for... (dare he think it?) fathers with their teenaged sons? He didn't know. All he knew was that he didn't want it to stop. He'd do anything to make sure Snape didn't stop. Even talk about the Dursleys— about whom he'd never revealed this much to anyone, not even Ron and Hermione.

"They... they call me freak. Made me live in a cupboard till I got my Hogwarts letter. They told me my parents died in a car crash."

Snape's arms tightened around him. His fingers stroked Harry's neck and back.

Don't stop, Harry wanted to plead.

"All right," Snape murmured, startling him. Of course — Harry rolled his eyes, wondering when he'd get used to this— Snape could hear Harry even if he didn't speak. It was sometimes convenient, actually. "Did they physically harm you?"

"Not much, though I learnt to stay out of Uncle Vernon's way when he's angry."

Surprisingly, it didn't feel horrible talking about this. It rather felt like his fourth year, when after returning from the graveyard, Dumbledore had made him repeat everything he'd seen. It had actually made him feel better, like poison being drawn out of a wound...He pushed his face into Snape's chest.

He felt so very small, especially with his regressed body, cocooned in Snape's embrace. He knew, in some corner of his mind, that he was acting very childish, but he was past caring. "It's not fair." He finally voiced the complaint that had been growing in his mind ever since he'd gotten here. "The spell isn't fair, the Bond isn't fair!"

He expected Snape to get angry, or refute that, so it startled him badly when he cupped Harry's cheek instead—so gently be might have been holding a baby bird.

"I know, Harry," he said simply. "You'll be rewarded for your trust tomorrow."

"Um…why are we on a cliff, Severus?"

Snape had apparated both of the here a minute before. Dobby was with them too, to keep them hidden from prying eyes—a complicated elvish magic that Harry couldn't make head or tail of. Harry had watched the foaming sea at the bottom of the cliff, delighting in the height and the wind and the spray until Snape shouted at him to get away from the edge before he fell over. Now he stood with his back to the cliff, watching Snape wave his wand in a dozen different patterns.

"This," Snape said, tucking his wand away and reaching Harry in two long strides, "is your reward." He pushed Harry backwards towards the cliff, keeping his arms around Harry the whole time and blocking his way away from the edge.

"Wait— what are you doing?"

"Do you trust me, Harry?"

Harry glanced at the foaming sea behind him and then back up at Snape's strangely excited face. "Severus..."

"No. My real name. Say it."

"Uh...Sev?"

"That was your mother's name for me, not yours."

Harry paled. Snape brought his mouth to Harry's ear.

"Sev," Harry groaned. "No fair!" Snape knew he could get Harry to do practically anything like this!

"Say it, Harry."

Harry moved closer to Snape. "D-Dad?"he whispered.

Snape kissed Harry's temple. Harry shivered.

"Again," Snape commanded.

"Dad." This time, he managed to make it louder than a whisper, but his voice trembled. Snape kissed his jaw this time. Harry melted against the older man, wishing he could shout for sheer joy, but feeling too breathless for it.

"I... trust you," he said.

Snape held up a familiar vial. Harry looked at it unhappily. "You will need this."

Harry had begun to get over his dislike being shrunk. He'd even asked for the potion more than once, but those had been special occasions.

"I promise you it will be worth it, Harry."

Harry looked away from the vial to gaze at the man holding it, and wondered since when Snape's eyes had stopped feeling like endless tunnels to him. He took the vial and drained it, not missing Snape's pleased look as he lifted Harry up into his arms. He murmured something in Latin that Harry didn't understand and was too preoccupied to try. Something that felt like rope tightened around his torso, jerking him against Snape. In retrospect, he thought it should have been very clear what Snape had been about to do.

"Hold on— as tight as you can," Snape said in his ear. Then he pushed them off the cliff.

Harry let out a high yelp as his stomach climbed into his throat, and then clung to Snape as though that would do any good. The wind whistled in his hair. Snape laughed. Laughed! Harry cautiously opened his eyes to find himself looking into Snape's. "For the youngest Seeker of the century, you don't seem very comfortable with flying," Snape said, his eyes still smiling down at Harry.

"What..." Harry began, confused, and then stopped as he looked down and about. The sea stretched out behind and around them, glistening bright blue. Over Snape's shoulder, he could see the cliff they had been standing on. "We're... flying," he said.

"How observant you are, child," Snape said. Harry's stomach did a flip at the tenderness in his voice that contrasted with the sarcastic words.

"Shouldn't you be holding me properly instead of playing with my hair?" he replied cheekily.

Snape pulled Harry closer so his head was resting on the man's shoulder. Then he whispered something very quickly. Harry realised too late that it was a spell. He flew high up in the air, shrieking in fear and joy, and then floated slowly back to Snape, who grabbed him tight immediately.

"Dad..." Should he be worried at how easily the name fell from his own lips?

"And don't you forget it," Snape murmured. "You are safe with me— even when I appear less than alert or, Merlin forbid, playful."

The wind blew at them in a powerful gust. Harry breathed in the salty air, feeling on top of the world and knowing Snape knew exactly how he felt. He could actually feel Snape's presence in his mind now, like a powerful and intimate mental equivalent of the hug they were now sharing. He shivered at the mental touch, and then smiled into Snape's shoulder. "I know," he said.

It was late in the evening when they reached Hogwarts. Harry was tired out, but happy. Snape had his half-smile on his lips as he looked at Harry.

They had just settled back in Snape's quarters when the Floo activated. "My boys," Dumbledore's head said, poking out of the fireplace. Harry smiled—Snape was scowling at being grouped with Harry as a boy. "The solution to the Bond is within our grasp now."