CHAPTER 18: The Self-Sacrificing Idiot

A/N: Warning for torture. Warn me if anyone thinks the rating needs to go up? Oh, and not slash, for the dozenth time.


Harry had thought he had seen Snape at his angriest at the Shrieking Shack, when Sirius had turned up and they had all thought he was the traitor.

The hatred on his face then was nothing to what he saw on Snape's face now. "You know full well I have done no such thing, you foul creature," he snarled. "And I am no servant of yours, Voldemort."

There were gasps and cries of outrage from the circle of Death Eaters. Harry looked at Snape, half in admiration and half in worry. Snape was usually the picture of control; but even the few times he had lost that control, he hadn't looked like this—body so taut he looked ready to burst, hair unruly and eyes wild with rage— an enraged animal straining at its restraints. Strange; even in the summer he hadn't thought about how much Snape must hate Voldemort.

"Forgive me," Snape continued. His voice was quiet and mocking. "I meant Tom Riddle."

He was down in the next moment, felled by several Cruciatus Curses. Harry dropped to his knees next to the man, frantically wishing there was something he could do, and wanting to scream right along with the writhing man on the ground. He had been Disarmed a few seconds ago by an enterprising Death Eater. Several times he wished the Bond were still active so he could take Snape's pain.

And Snape still wouldn't stop taunting his tormentors. "Lucius," he addressed one of the masked figures, silky voice ravaged from his screaming, "watch out for Bella. She'll do anything to get the position of Chief Lapdog, even get rid of her brother-in-law."

Bellatrix let out a mad scream. "My Lord," she begged, "let me have him! I shall break him for you!" She sent a curse at Snape, and a loud crack sounded from inside the prostrate body. Harry tasted blood on his tongue at Snape's tortured scream. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about him in their mad rush to hurt Snape.

And then it came over him like a thunderclap that that was what Snape wanted. He wanted them to forget Harry and hurt him instead; that was the reason for all the senseless (for Snape) taunting! I knew it! He thought. I knew something was wrong—Snape wouldn't act like that, it's me who does things like irritating Voldemort!

"Enough," Voldemort called, just as Harry opened his mouth to yell something suitably attention-catching. "Bellatrix, stand down. I know what will break Severus; what he holds dearer than his physical body." He pointed his wand at Snape, curling his lip at the glare his former servant sent him. Snape was on his back, lifting himself up by his elbows, and his breathing sounded painful. "He has been admirably skilled in lying to me; and in keeping his secrets hidden from the best Legilimens in the Wizarding World. He fears mental violation a lot more than physical, isn't that right, my traitorous servant?"

To Harry's further surprise (and worry), Snape gave Voldemort a fierce, ugly smile. "Voldemort," he said, " keep complimenting me like that and you'll have me blushing very soon."

Voldemort's high shout of rage rang over the Death Eaters' similar exclamations, sounding surprisingly like Bellatrix's earlier scream. "Legilimens!" he cried.

"No!" Harry shouted uselessly, knowing that Voldemort would probably prove too strong even for a master Occlumens of Snape's calibre. A discussion with Snape from the summer came back to him now.

"How come Voldemort never found out your true loyalties, if he's such a powerful Legilimens and all?" he'd asked curiously one lazy afternoon.

"It's not just a matter of power, Potter," Snape had said, looking up from his steaming cauldron. "It's skill at deflection. I have the Dark Lord convinced there is nothing to search my mind for. When I stand before him, he sees only memories of mine that would be suited to a Death Eater with a dark past."

"I'll never be able to do that," Harry had said, pretending to sulk.

"I agree." Snape had smirked. "Harry, if you throw that at me it'll be detention for the rest of the year!"

An angry hiss from Voldemort brought him back to the present. "What is this?" he said.

Snape was smirking like a satisfied cat. "Why don't you ask Dumbledore?" Blood splattered his chest and face before the sentence was out of his mouth.

"Not quite as powerful as your Sectumsempra, Severus," Voldemort said coldly, looking down at the gasping man, "but I can't have you bleed to death too quickly."

Harry had had enough "Stop it! It's the Bond, all right?"

"Potter, shut up," Snape said through gritted teeth.

Voldemort turned questioningly to Harry. "Yes? What about the Bond, Potter?"

"It protects both of us; it won't let you into either of our minds, Tom," Harry said, trying his best to ignore Snape's glower and sound defiant at the same time. He added, taunting, "The Bond is stronger than you!"

"Why," Voldemort purred, "you seem positively delighted with something that enslaved you to the man you hate. Did he break you after all? Are you pleased to carry out his every wish?"

Harry let out a sharp laugh. "Never."

But Voldemort had moved on. "Or has he found other means of domination?" An obscene smile spread over his reptilian face. "He lusted for your Mudblood mother, did you know, Potter? Has he satisfied himself with her son instead?"

Harry almost threw up his meagre breakfast. "He loved her, you—"

"Shut up, Potter!" Snape shouted, impressively loudly considering his weakened state.

Harry subsided at once, abashed. Snape's secrets weren't for him to reveal, especially to Voldemort, even with the intention of defending him. He glanced at Snape and winced at the incensed look his teacher was sending his way. A cold, high laugh came from Voldemort. "You really have tamed him, haven't you, Severus? And what is this I hear about love? Had Dumbledore gotten his claws into you even back then?"

"What makes you think I'm going to tell you, Tom?" Snape said in a bored voice, and Harry tensed, sensing Voldemort's temper rise again. "Do your worst. I will not satisfy your curiosity."

"Oh, I intend to," Voldemort said. "I certainly intend to do my worst. You and Potter are Bonded, then? How would you like to see him scream instead of yourself?" Harry hadn't thought it was possible for Snape to get any paler, but Snape did. Voldemort laughed. "Oh, this is precious! You will fall by Dumbledore's own principles, my traitor; love has made you weak. Enjoy!"

Then it was Harry's turn to scream in agony. Red-hot knives danced up and down his nerves, jerking yell after unearthly yell from his throat. The only thing that kept him sane was the thought, Better me than him. He clung to it with all his might even as his throat grew hoarse. He summoned his newly regained memories of Snape as his friend and protector, in ways more than one. Snape hadn't just saved him from Voldemort; he had also helped Harry in his grief over Sirius… Somehow, Harry was beginning to doubt it had all been an act… The soft voice and touch awakening him from his nightmares, Snape's gift on Harry's birthday… Snape protecting Harry from the ill effects of a Bond that Harry had brought on himself…

The pain lifted suddenly, and for the first time he realized he was on the grassy ground, the smell of earth in his nostrils. He lifted himself up to see that Voldemort had turned on Snape again. He groaned inwardly. Snape must have spat at Voldemort or something, to get back his attention. This was getting ridiculous—like a game where both of them tried to annoy Voldemort the most.

Voldemort was speaking again, and now he was properly angry. "I have had enough of you," he said. "Die, Severus; die in the knowledge that you have failed in your mission to protect the Potter brat." His wand came up again, and Harry knew the next words out of his mouth would be the Killing Curse.

He took a deep breath before bursting out laughing.


This had been an unmitigated disaster from the moment Wormtail had managed to overpower him outside the Ministry by threatening Potter ("Drop your wand or Potter dies, Snape"). Bested by Pettigrew, of all people. Severus spared a moment's resentment towards the boy for making him weak enough to give in to such a threat. It had not been strategic thinking that had prompted him; it had been a wild, unthinking panic at the thought of the boy lying dead—a panic that had overridden sense. He, Severus Snape, had folded like a card at the merest suggestion of a threat to Harry Potter.

Pathetic.

And the boy was paying the price. He was doubled over on the ground, weak from the Cruciatus Curse, laughing almost uproariously. Had he lost his sanity already, after a few minutes of the torture? Come now, a part of him that he had buried deep within spoke up, you know he is stronger than that.

Shut up, he told it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Riddle," Potter finally gasped. Severus was a little surprised Voldemort had not acted already, ignoring mad-Potter theatrics. "Not unless you want to end up half-dead again."

Severus silently cursed. What in the name of all things sacred was the idiot boy up to now? "What is this?" Voldemort hissed again, but Severus saw he was unnerved.

"I thought you'd been studying Bonding Theory, Riddle?"

"Potter, shut up—" Severus began furiously, but was silenced by a slash of Bellatrix's wand.

"You can't kill him unless you kill me," the boy crowed. Merlin, he almost sounded happy. Triumphant. Did the foolish brat not care that he would be struck down? What was he trying to accomplish? "As a master Severus draws energy from me."

Severus dimly wished he could get his hands around the boy's scrawny neck. He'd teach him respect ('Severus' indeed; he was no longer the boy's playmate!), as well as a few lessons about stupid risks. He shook his head frantic rage, but that only seemed to encourage Potter.

"You want to kill him, Voldemort?" Potter said cheerfully—too cheerfully. But his eyes were like twin glittering, diamond-hard stones. He was on his feet now, shaking with the after effects of the Cruciatus. "You'll have to go through me."

You'll have to go through me.

He really was doing this. The fool thought he was protecting him from the Dark Lord by getting himself killed first. Severus suddenly found it difficult to draw breath. The boy was glaring at the Dark Lord, false laughter gone. Severus wished the boy would look at him. What good would Potter dying do? He didn't want to see Lily's dead eyes before he died. "Harry…" was that his own voice, so strained and tortured? Why had Bellatrix lifted her silencing spell?

The boy seemed to note the change, too. He started, and turned to Severus, green eyes glinting. The hard lines of his face softened when their eyes met. Severus wanted to rail at him for wasting his mother's sacrifice, but there were still pincers around his lungs; he couldn't breathe, let alone shout.

"Severus?" the boy's voice had shifted from a shout to a near-whisper, though his eyes still looked angry as they looked down at Severus.

"Look at me, boy," the Dark Lord (he couldn't stop calling him that even in his head; it was a habit he had forced himself to maintain as long as he was a spy) said. "Do you not wish to face your death like a Gryffindor?" The boy ignored him, and Severus would've laughed at the Dark Lord's disgruntlement if he weren't waiting with dread for the boy to be struck down.

And then whatever barrier had existed between their minds (ever since he had told the boy about his own deception) collapsed like a pack of cards. For the first time in weeks, he had complete access to the boy's mind. Severus gasped slightly and pitched to one side, grateful he was already on his knees. The first few seconds were relentless, overwhelming waves of emotions (fear-love-anger) and thoughts (don't-do-this-Harry/do-you-still-hate-me-Severus). Next came a wave of euphoria. His own mind cried out in joy at meeting Potter's, embracing it as wholeheartedly as though it were a homecoming rather than a venture into a strange place.

So this is what home is like, Severus thought, dazed.

Goodbye, Sev.

The message from the boy's mind snapped him out of his stupefaction.

"Avada Kedavra."

"No!" That could not have been Severus' own voice, so hoarse and wild. The boy slumped to the ground like a felled tree.

Crack!

Dumbledore appeared three feet away from Voldemort, brandishing his wand. Several more cracks followed, but Severus wasn't paying attention. He dragged himself up from the ground and limped over to the boy. Once more in a daze, he knelt, pulled the boy into his arms and buried his face in the boy's hair. Oh, Harry…

He didn't see Voldemort speak over the skirmish with the Order, or see the deadly green light make its way towards him. Relief was at the forefront of his mind when the searing pain struck his collarbone. About time. I'm coming, Lily…I'm sorry I couldn't save him; forgive me…

"Severus? Severus!"

Go away, Severus thought, holding on to the boy as tight as he could as he slumped to the ground. Let me be miserable in death, as I deserve to be. On the heels of this thought came the question, Why am I still alive? His eyes shot open, and the world began to expand from the small point it had shrunk to when the boy had fallen.

Dumbledore was speaking, but Severus ignored him and turned his attention back to the soft weight in his lap. The Order members gathered around them in a circle, eerily reminiscent of the Death Eaters they had just defeated. He ignored them, too, and ran gentle fingers across the boy's cheekbone. Still warm, with a blush on his cheeks. He doesn't look dead. He knew he must be in shock if he was still denying it. The boy's eyes were closed. A sob rose in his throat; he wanted to see Lily's eyes open again. How was he going to live, knowing he had failed—

As if in response to his wish, those eyes moved, still closed.

"Severus…?" Lupin's incredulous voice (the werewolf was crouching far too close to him, but he didn't care about that now) confirmed that Severus had not lost his mind. The boy had moved.

Severus hoisted the boy up with one arm and began to find the artery in the boy's neck. To his utter disgust, his fingers were trembling so much he couldn't loosen the boy's collar enough to get them in position. Lupin's brown hands gently stilled his own and performed that unnaturally onerous task. Severus looked at him, half-shocked and half-disgusted by the touch, and was taken aback by the compassion he saw on the man(werewolf)'s face. But he didn't care about that either, not even enough to push him away. His still trembling fingers searched for a pulse—

—and there it was, a fast thudding under his fingers, proof of life.

Severus gave a loud exhale, a half-sob, and rested his forehead against the boy's. Later, he would wonder at the lack of awkwardness he felt at his own behaviour. "Harry," he whispered, cupping the boy's cheek with one hand and forgetting those around them entirely, "wake up…please."

"Dad?"

Severus froze, and then jerked so hard he nearly fell over. As it was, the motion nearly threw Potter off his lap. Green eyes opened and speared Severus with a surprisingly sharp gaze. Reality came crashing back; Severus leaned still further back as he became aware of his position (the boy in his arms) and the people around them.

Good grief, was Potter smiling at him? "Matching scars now," he said, apropos of nothing.

Severus frowned. Had the Killing Curse harmed the boy's mind? How was Potter still alive; since the blood the Dark Lord had taken at his resurrection would have rendered Lily's blood protection null and void?

Potter's hand came up as if to touch Severus' cheek. Severus recoiled violently. Shock and hurt showed in the boy's eyes, followed by a cold anger.

"He's talking about your scar, Severus," Lupin said, managing to sound gentle, relieved, angry and suspicious in just one sentence. "You have one now too, where the… Killing Curse hit you."

I was hit by—? Oh. Severus stared at him, and then automatically looked to Dumbledore for an explanation. The movement made his lower neck burn with a pain close to the Dark Mark's, and he brought up his hand to the flaming region. Potter's hand caught his own, stopping the motion.

"Don't touch it," the boy said curtly. "It's raw right now, it'll hurt." He pushed away from Severus and rose to his feet, seeming slightly self-conscious under the stares of the Order. Severus bit back the urge to ask them all if Potter was a prize specimen at a zoo, and began to follow the boy's example.

He fell right back to the ground.

"Severus!" There was a joint cry from Lupin and… Dumbledore, maybe? He didn't know, his vision was tunnelling and the voices sounded very far away. He heard the boy speaking—arguing?—with Dumbledore.

"I won't let him die, Professor!" someone shouted, and then he was chanting something, loud and confident. Through the haze and the pain, Severus automatically translated the Latin. "I, Harry James Potter, do voluntarily bind myself to Severus Tobias Snape, to be his slave— to fulfil his needs as I am able and can conscionably do."


A/N: Ta-da! Yep, Harry deliberately and knowingly enslaves himself to save Snape (explanations coming up in the next chapter)! What do you think? A tad different from the enslaved-Harry-ends-up-free-and-happy stories, eh? Only two more chapters to go, and Part 1 will be done! Thank you all! I can't believe I've got over a hundred reviews! Thank you, I say!