The slave

They were all set to travel back to the Burrow except Percy whom had been called back by Scrimgeour to deal with a few minor issues. He had tried to excuse himself with the fact that he was needed back at the Burrow, but Scrimgeour would have none of it. The victory that so shortly had glowed on Percy's face had faded quickly. Harry could understand his disgust at having to stay with the Minister; there were still a lot of issues that Percy had not worked out after they had found him beaten and tortured almost senseless. Any type of aggression coming from anyone seemed to put the young man ill at ease. Scrimgeour was a rowdy man of nature, scaring Percy probably more than he understood. Harry squeezed Percy's shoulder in the passing and gave him a half smile. He didn't return it.

Remus had gone over to help Snape to his feet, but Snape had darkly ignored the inviting hand and rose from the floor without any aid. The marks on his wrists pulsed red on top of the already bruised skin. Harry began wondering how long it would look like that, and if it would ever fade at all. Maybe there were some healing herbs that could ease the swelling. Mrs. Weasley most probably knew of it.

The others had apparated their way back to the Burrow, but Harry decided that the floo would be the most efficient for him and Snape since Snape no longer had a wand. Turning around to collect what was now viewed as his possession, Harry found Snape standing a few feet away from him, staring at the wall. It was obvious that the robes he wore had been meant for someone with a little bit more meat on their bones than Snape, but they had probably not been able to find any other robe that fit him in height. It gave Harry a disconcerting feeling to watch Snape standing there in red robes and beard stubble on his cheek. Snape's gaze left the wall and rested on Harry, an impatient look of "what're you looking at" on his stony features. Harry narrowed his own eyes and nodded his head for Snape to follow him.

The story that The Boy Who Lived had just gotten himself a slave would most probably be all over the Daily Prophet within hours. And the fact that this slave was none other than his former professor, Dumbledore's murderer and Voldemort's most loyal servant would most likely make the gossipers dizzy with joy. Even during war there was no rest from the eyes of the people. No matter what he did, it was of interest to someone, Harry couldn't fathom why.

Stopping to wait for the elevator, Harry fought the desire to turn and look at Snape one more time, to make sure that he was indeed following. Snape wouldn't have any other choice; the magic of binding was too strong for him to resist. The elevator doors finally opened, and Harry stepped into it, turning to watch as Snape obediently followed. His mouth was set; he was clenching his teeth together so hard his jaw almost quivered with the strain. Anger, Harry guessed, anger he couldn't unleash on his Master so it was all boiling inside him. Harry recognized the feeling, but he couldn't find it in himself to feel any pity.

Since the Ministry were in a great upheaval nothing worked as it should and the only department working at its full capacity was the auror division. This meant that the elevator which usually was quite crowded rarely saw any usage at all. Carefully glancing sideways so that he wouldn't seem curious, Harry watched Snape standing completely still, his arms carefully resting at his sides.

The elevator ride seemed to go on forever, and Harry wasn't certain if he should have said something. Maybe he should have enlightened Snape as to his circumstances, to tell him that the best thing for him would be to cooperate. But it seemed awkward and pointless. Snape was no longer chained to the floor with a blindfold around his head. He was standing tall beside Harry, looking completely barred off from the rest of the world.

The echoes of their feet were loud in the empty entrance hall of the Ministry, and Harry found himself grateful when he could fish out the little purse with floo-powder from his pocket and throw it into the fire.

'Go into the fire and call for the Burrow,' Harry ordered, his voice eerily misplaced after the long silence. Snape did as he was bidden, and stepped carefully into the green flames. He bit out the words, and Harry watched as he disappeared up the chimney way. Harry quickly threw himself into the fire, having by now learned the fine art which was floo-travelling.

The kitchen was as crowded as it used to be, and everyone tried to discreetly watch Snape as he stood quietly beside the hearth, waiting for Harry. There was nothing that could cover up the pulsing red on his wrists, and his slavery was a secret to no one. Harry felt a sting of anger that they dared to gawk so at his possession. The dark look Harry gave them must have gotten the message across, because they were soon leaving the kitchen muttering quietly between themselves.

Mrs. Weasley on the other hand, sighed quietly to herself where she stood staring out of the kitchen window before turning to look at them. It seemed like she had aged many years during the hours Harry had been gone. Lines grazed her brow and around her eyes, her mouth was pinched tightly together and her skin had gone grey.

'Please sit down Severus,' she said quietly and indicated a chair by the table, 'I might be able to calm the wounds on your wrists.' Snape hesitated just a moment too long before complying with her request.

'You know,' Mrs. Weasley continued, 'I still remember you from your first year at Hogwarts. You were just a silly little boy back then.' With these words she sighed yet again, a sigh that Harry was certain strained her heart to its very limits. She continued to carefully dab at Snape's left wrist with a cloth smelling of chamomile and antiseptics. Snape didn't answer her, concentrating on not flinching in pain as she worked on his wounds.

Harry carefully rounded the table and sat down on the chair opposite of Snape. There was something about Mrs. Weasley which scared him. The intense bitterness that pinched her mouth had transformed her otherwise so caring face into a dark shadow. Agreeing with the Order to bind Snape must have cost her more morally than any of them had thought. But she had done it, never the less. Out of necessity and to protect her children. If this did not work to put her family out of harms way she would hate herself the rest of her life.

Just as Mrs. Weasley was done binding Snape's left wrist in an herb drenched cloth and had taken a hold of the other one, a silent knock was heard on the kitchen door before it slowly opened. Harry didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only Hermione bothered to knock on this door which was open to all. Harry continued to stare ahead of himself as she entered the room and stopped dead in her tracks, she was probably staring at Snape. Snape in turn studiously ignored everything that went around him, including both Harry and Mrs. Weasley.

A rattled breath escaped Hermione and she stepped up to the table. Harry jumped in his chair as a heavy and dusty tome fell down on the table beside his folded hands. Harry didn't want to look at it, and he certainly didn't want to listen to Hermione now, but that had never stopped her before.

'I found another way…' she announced silently, most probably still staring at Snape in horror. Harry could feel his heart stop cold in his chest, and it took an uncomfortable long while before it began beating again. Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes tightly over Snape's wrists, her hands shaking profusely.

'What?' he forced out hoarsely. It could not be the truth.

'I found another way…' Hermione stated again, tears tightening her throat. 'It's a Truth Charm, it renders the jinxed unable to tell a lie… It's a crude spell but… I thought it better than this.'

Harry now stared in muted horror at the book that was so faded it was impossible to read the text on the cover.

'I was too late,' Hermione said, forcing back her sobs, 'I'm so sorry Professor Snape.'

'Severus,' muttered Snape, it hadn't seemed like he had noticed anything going on around him at all.

'What?' asked Hermione startled. Looking up, Harry saw her vainly try to force back her tears.

'I am not a professor neither do I have a surname anymore,' spat Snape, still not looking at any of them, 'technically I don't have a name at all until Potter gives me one.'

'Harry, you haven't even given him a name yet?' Hermione sounded beyond incensed, her brown eyes boring into Harry as she knotted her fists dangerously.

'What? I haven't- I mean we just- I couldn't have- Severus then, Severus, he'll be Severus,' spluttered Harry too overwhelmed with all that had happened. How on earth could they have expected him to remember such things?

Mrs. Weasley spelled the last knot on Snape's bandaging and began cleaning the table of herbs and salves. Her hands were still shaking so that it seemed a chore for her to hold her wand still enough to conduct these simple acts.

'I'll ask Arthur to lend you his razors so that you can shave,' she said as calmly as she could, 'and then we'll try to find you some other robes. I don't know where Harry intends you to sleep though; we'll find some space… somewhere.'

Taking the box with salves with her, Mrs. Weasley promptly vacated the kitchen, leaving Harry alone with Hermione and Snape. Harry wished Hermione would take a seat; it was unnerving to have her standing behind him breathing heavily to still her raging emotions. She did, after a few hesitating seconds, sit down on a chair at the end of the table. It looked like she wanted to talk more to Snape, but his closed off expression stopped her before she even dared to begin.

'I did try though,' Hermione eventually whispered, leaning over the table to retrieve her dusty book.

'Hermione, is there a possibility this spell will still work on Sna- err, Severus?' asked Harry, feeling the strange taste of his former teacher's given name on his tongue.

'I wouldn't try it. It's an old and formidable spell and mixing it together with magic such as the Slaverbond might render a man mad.' It seemed that being confronted with answering academic questions restored a bit of Hermione's calm, and her gaze finally left Snape and landed on Harry in stead. 'Promise me you won't try that too.'

'I promise.'

Harry felt his lips twitch slightly at the words. The unpredictable anger flared up in him again at the thought of Hermione trying to force her morals on him. Squelching it as soon as it had manifested itself, Harry hoped Hermione had not seen it in his eyes. It was difficult to discern if she had, as she only nodded and let the topic rest for once.

'Granger,' Snape suddenly spoke up, 'how are the Malfoys doing?'

'Oh, uhm.' Hermione used a few seconds to think before answering, 'Draco survived, and his mother too. Mr. Malfoy is still on the run from the aurors, but I think he might turn himself in. Or at least so the gossip goes.'

Snape nodded at this, and it might just have been Harry's imagination, but it looked like his shoulders relaxed just a fraction. Who'd know Slytherins cared for each other?

A good few minutes came and went as they sat on each their side of the table, not speaking a single word. Eventually Hermione made the feeble excuse that she had promised Moody to rearrange and file some documents at the ministry. She said her good byes, but did not hug Harry, and left leaving the book on the table. It had not been an accident. Harry got up from his own chair and headed for the door leading into the living room. Snape was just a few feet behind him all the way up to the topmost bedroom he shared with Ron and the twins. Now that the room had been expanded to fit four beds, Harry wondered whether or not they could force in a fifth one, and even if it was necessary for Snape to sleep in the same room. He certainly hoped not.

The wind was blowing outside, and Harry watched the trees bend to it as dark clouds were gathering in the horizon. Maybe it would bring thunder? As Harry stood contemplating the new turn of events in his life and how to handle it, he gazed longingly up at the sky. What he wouldn't do for a game of mindless Quidditch right now? To soar effortlessly through the air on his broom, his only concern would be to catch the snitch. The world consisted of three things; his broom, the snitch and himself.

Just as he was imagining himself flying low to the ground so that he could touch the wheat standing tall on the orchards, could he hear Ron's voice behind him. Harry turned slowly and saw his friend standing in the door, looking very uncertain. It looked as if he'd spoken to Harry several times already. Looking back out of the window Harry noticed that the sky was no longer just dark because of the clouds, but because dusk was already turning into evening.

'Blimey Harry, are you alright?' asked Ron perplexed, now that he finally had managed to get some contact. Harry just nodded, still reeling over the fact that so many hours must have passed him by without him even noticing it. 'Ok,' continued Ron, shuffling his feet, 'well, dinner's ready, if you want some. Oh and Snape, I mean Severus, blimey I never thought I'd say that, dad's made ready the bathroom for you, it's just down the hall. ' And with that he was gone again.

Turning to face the room completely, Harry found Snape standing in the exact same position by the far wall, he hadn't moved during all that time either. Snape's black eyes met Harry's and they narrowed slightly.

'You can go and fresh up,' said Harry eventually, 'and then come down and eat.' Snape nodded and left, Harry had to scratch his head in confusion before following.

---

They were standing outside in the darkness, the rain that had been promised them by the heavy clouds splattering the ground so forcefully mud was being thrown about. Harry stood underneath the roof, barely managing to keep himself dry. Snape stood beside him. When Harry had gone outside because the inside of the Burrow had become too claustrophobic he had noticed that Snape followed him. As far as Harry knew a slave needn't be closer than a thousand metre unless the Master gave orders otherwise, so Harry was a bit nonplussed as to why Snape had chosen his company. Pondering this for a few seconds Harry came to the conclusion that it was not his company Snape sought, but the peace and quiet the outdoors could give.

Snape had finally been able to change, and the robes Mr. Weasley had found was perhaps not Snape's habitual black, but they were at the very least not shocking red. It was almost like looking at the old Snape, only the bandages around his wrists were a cruel reminder, mostly to Snape himself Harry suspected.

Snape had not spoken a word since Hermione left; he mostly stood quietly by the wall in which ever room Harry found himself. And Harry had no idea what to do with this new man that was now his possession. The hate seemed to radiate from Snape as he clenched and unclenched his hands in almost spasm like movements. Harry was glad he would have no way to unleash his anger, either physically or magically.

Stuffing his hands down his pockets Harry leaned against the wall of the Burrow and sighed.

'It's times like these I wished I smoked,' he commented into the humid air. Snape didn't answer him, but was looking in an entirely different direction. 'Well, what do you suggest we should have done?' asked Harry a bit more heated, 'it's not like you were very cooperative!'

'Don't yell at me because of your own bad conscience,' answered Snape silently but deadly, still not looking at Harry. In a flash Harry was suddenly back in his potions classroom waiting for Snape to humiliate him in front of the class. The voice was the very same, accusing Harry of believing he was something he was not. Anger burned red-hot through his blood as he stared at the man standing beside him. They were at a height now, Harry noticed, he had absolutely nothing to fear. Taking a few calming breaths, the screaming in his ears ceased and he slumped against the wall again. Snape had turned to look at him, his eyes as unreadable as ever.

'Whatever you might think,' Harry muttered, 'you still deserved it, because of all that you have done.'

'What do you know of what I have done?' hissed Snape, his hands clenching again, 'you're just an ignorant little whelp with too much power in your immature hands.'

'You're not allowed to talk to me like that anymore,' answered Harry, realising he did actually hold the power now no matter what Snape thought of him. But Snape continued to struggle with his words, he was not about to let Harry have the last word even though he had no choice. A slow grin crept across Harry's face and Snape narrowed his eyes.

'I don't suppose it surprises me,' began Snape carefully, testing every word before he spoke them, 'that you in your wisdom choose to end the subject by giving me such an order.'

The grin faded from Harry's face and was replaced by a scowl. He supposed it had been the coward's way out. How did one master a man like Snape, who knew how to slither their way out of almost any situation? The fact that the order trusted Harry to be able to lure the truth out of Snape still flabbergasted him to some degree. Even if he gave Snape the order that he could not lie under any circumstances, Harry had the feeling Snape would manage to tell the truth the way he saw it. And that didn't mean they could use whatever information he told them. There was no way he'd be able to handle this. At least not now that his mind seemed to have a life of its own; wandering away at the most unexpected times. Harry supposed he had to use time to try and figure out how Snape worked, to find a crack in his armour. The hat had wanted Harry to be in Slytherin, so maybe it was about time he used that to his advantage. Fight fire with fire, as they said. The only problem was; he didn't have time to figure out anything. People were dying each day and as long as Snape kept his mouth shut, they would continue to do so.

'You sent me notes,' Harry interrupted the silence, 'why?'

Snape looked at him somewhat startled before averting his gaze again, concentrating on peeling away some loose paint from the window still.

'I asked you a question and you must answer it,' ordered Harry, writing down that a mere question didn't seem to oblige the slave to answer it unless told so.

'Because the issues needed to be dealt with,' answered Snape levelly, now trying to remove the flaked paint away from underneath his nails.

'Who told you to send them? Always answer when I ask a question. Truthfully.'

'No one told me to send anything.' Snape turned with a challenging look on his face, clearly enjoying the game at some level. 'What will your next question be?'

But Harry didn't have any more questions. He hadn't gotten the truth, and that had answered the question he really wanted to ask. Snape would not be of any help if he was confronted outright. He viewed it as a challenge and a game, and would do anything to win. Or at least see Harry and the Order fail. But Harry wasn't an immature schoolboy anymore, he had seen death right in the eye, he had granted it to another living being. He was no virgin, in any sense of the word. If Snape wanted a challenge, he would get a challenge. Harry had the upper hand this round, and he'd beat his new enemy, just as he had done with the last.

---

The Burrow had been brimming to it's capacity as it was, and now that there would be one more permanent occupant it was difficult to find somewhere for Snape to sleep. The room could no longer be enlarged magically since this would put too much strain on the foundations. It was too late at night to begin the laborious work to expand and enforce the entire house just to enlarge one room a fraction more, so eventually they agreed that the twins could share bed just for that night. The next morning they would pack their stuff and head over to Bill and Fleur's cabin. They didn't mind it at all, they said, as they had wanted to find a place of their own for quite some time, and this was the first step out of their mother's clutches.

As Harry climbed into his own bed he mused that he should have been more disturbed than he was by sleeping in the same room as Snape. But they were all too tired to consider it much, knowing full well that they had brought it upon themselves. Snape, for once, seemed unobtrusive as he more or less blended in together with the shadows as he sat on his bed in the corner, his thoughts miles away from any of them.

Harry dreamt he was back in the cupboard. He had his adult shape, but somehow the cramped place fit him just as well as when he had been an eleven year old. Someone was knocking on the door, harder and harder and somehow Harry just knew that it was Voldemort; that he was back. Harry tried to retreat further and further into the darkness of the cupboard, hoping that if the door gave in, Voldemort would not see him. Suddenly, the door turned into splinters, and the head of a terrible monster appeared in the doorway. It sniffed once, twice and then turned its head towards Harry. Just as Harry curled into a ball to protect himself against it, he was back in his bed under the cupboard, and the knocking had begun again. This circle repeated itself over and over, until Harry was too exhausted to care, too exhausted to continue dreaming. He awoke sweating in his real bed, his heart racing uncomfortably.

Harry could hear the laborious snoring of Ron and the whimpering of one of the twins, apparently he was not the only one with bad dreams this night. The air in the room was too stuffed, and Harry felt like he was nearly suffocating. As he turned in his bed towards the window, he noticed a shape sitting completely still on the bed furthest to the wall. It didn't seem like Snape had slept at all. He sat with one leg on the frame of the bed, looking eerily out of place in the white and blue striped pyjamas that Mr. Weasley had borrowed him. The heavy rain had subsided, allowing the moon to shine carefully into the room, almost making Snape's pale face look illuminated. He was staring out of the window, and the few facial features Harry could discern of his face were passive, but somehow this conveyed a sorrow that seemed to stab Harry right in the chest. Snape's hands were folded around the one up drawn knee and his head rested against the wall, exposing his long, white throat. If it hadn't been Snape, Harry would have said it was beautiful.

Carefully Harry sat up in his bed and swung his feet down on the floor. Snape turned his head and stared at him, their eyes met. Harry presumed they would have met, if he could have distinguished the blackness of the other man's eyes from the shadows.

'Just going to open the window,' he whispered almost inaudibly to the room. Harry somehow felt he needed to explain why he had interrupted Snape's reverie. There was less than half a metre between their beds, so when he rose he tried to be careful not to bump into the other man. As he opened the window he treated his lungs to all the air he could breathe in. It had been raining, so the world smelled somehow cleaner, but the humidness had not disappeared and it made the air feel almost physical against his sweaty skin.

'What did you dream?' a low voice asked behind him, and Harry turned to look at Snape. The question had caught him off guard and he didn't know whether to answer or to tell Snape to mind his own business.

'Just something,' Harry finally shrugged, settling on something in between. As he turned back to the window he noticed that it was not only the moon that illuminated the room, the sun had carefully begun to spread its rays in the east. The light stretched, colouring the few clouds that remained on the sky, making them look like fairytale kingdoms. A hand brushed by Harry's shoulder and made him startle. Snape stood beside him; Harry hadn't even noticed that he had risen from the bed.

'Be careful to not look at the light,' Snape whispered warningly, making Harry frown in confusion and irritation.

'Why ever not?' asked Harry loud enough to make one of the twins turn in their bed. He lowered his voice and growled, 'who the hell do you think you are?'

'Severus,' answered Snape automatically even though it had been a rhetorical question. Harry had after all given him orders to answer all questions truthfully earlier that evening.

Harry was still damp by the sweat after his dream, his breath hitching painfully and the adrenaline coursed through his blood. To concentrate on something but the stuffed and crowded room around him, Harry had managed to forget the fear for a few alleviated seconds. Snape still thought he could dictate Harry, even with the Potter's family crest burned into his skin. 'You murdered Dumbledore,' Harry reminded Snape, as well as himself, in a hiss. He wanted to make sure that he did not forget why he hated the other man, why he had done this in the first place. Snape's eyes widened a fraction; the morning light made them glitter dangerously. Wanting to take a step backwards, Harry could feel his bed thumb his calf and he stood still. He had to stop being afraid of Snape, he could not let this man rule him anymore. They stood too close, forced together by the two beds and the wall, Harry turned to the window and rested against the window frame. He felt ill, as if a fever was making his body shiver even though he was burning up inside.

'I can't breathe,' he finally managed to gasp, clutching at his throat. He didn't know why he was telling Snape this and why he didn't just walk out of the room and away from them all. A hand took a hold of Harry's arm, not too loose and not too hard; Snape couldn't hurt his master, and pulled Harry away from the window and across the room to the door. Snape opened it, and kept on dragging Harry down the stairs, through the kitchen and out into the garden. Harry didn't know why he was following; he just did because he couldn't find a reason not to. The air outside was just as humid as it had been up in the room, but Snape kept on walking. They were both in their pyjamas, without any shoes or socks. The grass was wet and cold, and felt like heaven to Harry's burning skin.

He felt like a sleepwalker, letting Snape lead him out of the garden, through the gate, over the road and into the fields. The wheat was tall, reaching the both of them to their waists and soaking them completely in the dew. White, fragile moths rose into the air as they disturbed their sleep, like ash fluttering in the sky.

Slowly, it became easier to breathe as the field stretched out far and wide in all directions. Snape stopped just as the hill began climbing downwards again, giving them a view of yet another field, divided by a contently clucking creek. The hand holding his arm let go, and for a few staggering seconds, Harry wished it hadn't. They stood there, breathing in the silence and the life, watching the shadows retreat.

Why? He wondered. Why had Snape taken him there? Had there been something Harry had said, that indirectly gave Snape the order to help him? He did not ask, did not breach the subject. They couldn't talk here. Somehow, the fields with the dew glittering in the rising sun and the wheat gently whispering to each other had become something sacred.

When Harry turned to walk back to the Burrow, he would know that there had been a moment when he had dreamed of nothing but the present.