The Master
The days had become heavy and grey but no rain was forthcoming. Harry couldn't really remember when the weather had become so important to him. It must have been when they had stopped calling him in for auror duty and he had ended up with nothing else to do but sit and stare out of the window. But lately he hadn't even been able to do even this in peace, as Snape had gotten the irritating habit of distracting him every time he fell into his own thoughts. Harry didn't know whether he was grateful or just really annoyed by this. Somehow Snape had become Harry's only companion through the last days, though neither of them cherished this turn of events. They wouldn't talk, there weren't really anything to talk about, but they noticed each other. If anyone had asked, Harry wasn't sure he'd be able to explain it, but he could feel Snape and wherever he was in the house, and sometimes he would get a vague idea of what he was doing. Though never anything explicit. Harry figured it was a part of the slaverbond which he had not been aware of before, and knew Snape had it the same way. Most surprisingly to Harry though, this felt natural.
But never the less, he couldn't help but grit his teeth when he felt Snape standing in the doorway into the living room as he was watching the clouds thicken in the horizon.
'You just can't leave off monitoring my every move, can you?' asked Harry coldly and turned to look at Snape. One and a half week might have passed since Snape had been let out of his imprisonment, and the bruises on his face had begun to fade into a bluish green hue. He looked far from healthy, but the pasty white skin and blue shadows were returning to a more natural colour. Having gotten food and sleep at regular hours, he also seemed stronger and more vigil.
'Was there something you wanted?' asked Harry with a tint of steel in his voice. Snape had grown increasingly adept at avoiding answering questions even if he had gotten the direct order to always answer with the truth.
'I wanted you to stop indulging yourself,' answered Snape at last, indicating Harry's habit of wasting time on nothing.
'I'll bloody well do whatever I want,' muttered Harry, feeling the heat of annoyance raise in him. 'What else is there to do, really?'
'Read a book maybe?' answered Snape in a tone of voice that could, if you put your will into it, indicate that he doubted Harry was capable of this. Harry wouldn't have minded reading at all, if only there had been any books around worth his time. The Weasleys had apparently never really been the type of family to collect books. Except for Percy, who guarded them with surprising intensity and Harry didn't think he'd be allowed in the general vicinity of them.
Hermione had stayed away since her last visit, and Ron had more or less faded into the shadows. Which was highly unlike the both of them, and Harry found he was mourning the loss of his constant companions acutely. It would have made no difference if he had awakened in the hospital and heard that his friends had been killed in battle. Just the thought of either of his once smiling friends made his stomach surge into a terrifying void, as if he had been standing on the edge of an immeasurable height. There was nothing else to do to avoid the terrifying fall than to turn away and keep as far a mental distance as possible. Pretending everything was alright was the only thing he could do until things somehow turned back to normal.
Why had he been so desperate to survive the last battle with Voldemort? Why had he even cared? It would have been so much easier to lie down his life together with his arch enemy, then and there. He would have been praised a martyred hero, and he wouldn't have had to deal with any of the chaos that followed. But to die now…
Harry turned away from the window again and looked at Snape who was still standing in the doorway. He had crossed his arms and was leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, as if patiently waiting for Harry to come back from which ever world he had visited.
'Had you ever expected to survive the last battle?' Harry asked, surprising even himself in voicing the question. Snape looked reluctant to answer, and it was quite noticeable on the crease forming between his brows that he was trying to find a way around it. Eventually, after having opened and closed his mouth a few times, he shook his head. 'I suppose none of us really did,' said Harry darkly, still studying Snape who for once tried to avoid his gaze.
The silence that had become so habitual between them was suddenly shattered as the kitchendoor burst open in the next room. A group of chattering voices drifted in through the doorway Snape was standing in. Harry recognized some of them, but surprisingly not all.
'Who is it?' he asked as Snape turned his head to get a look himself.
'Hmm,' Snape murmured deep in his throat and put his back firmly to the now without a doubt crowded kitchen. 'Seems to be various Weasley family members and an assortment of other questionable types such as a flearug, a sociopath and a sour, old cat.'
'Who are you calling a sour, old cat?' questioned McGonagall as she materialized beside Snape, giving him a tap on the shoulder with her tartan hat. Snape had straightened up from his slouching position at the doorframe, and could barely look down at the tall witch. She was looking him up and down with a scrutinizing gaze, her sharp eyes lingering on his healing bruises. Raising her hand, Harry expected her to give him a slap and was half out of his chair when he realised that she was merely brushing away a few strands of his hair. Almost as an afterthought, she gave his cheek a couple of careful pats. Apparently Snape had too expected something violent to transpire, as he had recoiled slightly before the touch and was now looking quite perplexed. Settling down heavily in his chair again, Harry realized he had been about to stop McGonagall in manhandling the man he hated above anything, and wondered why. He also silently questioned why the sight of such kindness towards Snape had given him a painful lump in his throat.
'No time for you to be sitting in your chair now, Harry,' informed McGonagall and nodded to him in greeting as she had just noticed his presence. 'The Order has been called together at my behest, and I expect you to attend the meeting. You too Severus.'
After a short fifteen minutes the rest of the active members, excluding Hermione, had arrived at the Burrow. The lack of their bushyhaired friend had drained any will to participate in the meeting from both Harry and Ron. They didn't doubt she had been informed of the meeting, and the fact that she didn't show up when it was something as important as this, meant that she had been serious about staying away. Exchanging a hopeless glance, they both turned their attention back to McGonagall, who was about to lunge into her speech of what ever was on her mind this time.
McGonagall, who had never been a woman of procrastination, lunged right into the core of the meeting and announced that she was opening the school for education again. The school had been closed up many months ago to be used for the Soldiers of the Good to prepare against Voldemort and his followers. Now it had lately been used as a hostel for families who had lost their home, as a gathering place for people to be able to find a bit of comfort in the seemingly unending chaos. McGonagall meant it was the best for the entire society that at least something went back to a functioning state. Giving the children the possibility to return to their education would in a large degree return their every day lives to normal. Or at least as normal as they could make it. The Order was inevitably soon divided on whether or not this was a good idea or not. Some meant that they could not give up the school as a hospital for the wounded, and others meant McGonagall was making a strong point in allowing the children at least an ounce of stability. Harry was of the latter party, though he had yet to speak up.
'This is for the children,' Mrs. Weasley said, rising from her chair to look at them all around the table. 'They have a right to education, they have a right to learn about their magic and to be given a childhood. Who knows how long this civil war will go on? We cannot let these barbarians dictate whether or not our children shall be allowed an education!' There was a collective murmur of agreement around the table as everyone found this idea pleasing.
'But what about the homeless then, Molly? The wounded? Where are they to go if the school re-opens? The Burrow can't room all those people, as well as you know.' This time it was Moody's questions that got approving and considering nods.
'Just because people are incapable of finding a place to stay, doesn't mean children should go uneducated. It's almost a year since the school closed up, what is happening to the eleven year olds who were supposed to begin last year?' The room went deadly silent as everyone turned to stare at Snape, who was busy looking as if he hadn't opened his mouth at all.
'What?' asked Moody eventually while the others exchanged confused glances. 'Who ever gave you permission to talk?'
Snape's eyes shot up and his upper lip turned into his well practiced sneer, 'I don't need permission to talk as long as I am not denied the opportunity to.'
Moody's face coloured red and he moved both his eyes over to Harry. 'Learn to keep your pet in a tighter leash would you?' he growled, spittle nearly flying out of his mouth as his mad eye threatened to take a spin around in its socket. Before Harry was able to decide on whether to chastise Snape for having opened his mouth or to tell Moody to mind his own business, Snape had leapt from his chair and planted both his hands on the table with a loud thud.
'HowDARE you, you mad fuck!' screamed Snape, his voice so strained it broke of at the last word. His fingernails were digging deeply into the wood of the table, making a thin trail of blood emerge at the corner of his nail grooves. Harry could feel unreleased magic prickle at his skin, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end.
There was only a table between Moody and Snape, who both looked as if they could effectively rip the other apart in mere rage. It didn't seem as if Moody's advantage of having a wand was daunting Snape the least as he barred his teeth like a canine. Harry was certain Snape would have made a jump straight across the table if he had not lounged out to grab a hold of his shoulder.
'SEVERUS. SIT. DOWN! DOWN!' he bellowed, giving a heavy tug to make his order clear. Snape's body was resisting the urge to obey so strongly the muscles in his arms and legs began to spas. 'Sit down,' said Harry again in a low, nearly inaudible voice. Snape's own will was broken and he fell to his knees on the floor, his head bent. The blood crusted fingers kept on clenching and unclenching in his lap and Harry realized Snape must have gone mad when he suddenly began to laugh. They all stood horrified around the room, either exchanging glances or staring at Snape whose laughter didn't seem to die down as it took on an edge of the hysterical.
Harry was certain that if he didn't do something soon Snape would lose what little he had left of his sanity. The laughter emitting from the broken figure on the floor was choked up between a hiss and a sob, making his shoulder shake painfully.
The other people in the room were beginning to move uncomfortably. Mrs Weasley had grabbed a hold of her husband's arm, while both Remus and Bill had gotten up from their chairs, presumably to help Harry. Suddenly Snape looked up, a forced grimace of something between a snarl and a smile played on his lips. His eyes met Harry's squarely and suddenly it became easier to understand what it was Snape needed. It was solitude; the possibility to gather up the broken pieces far away from other people. Harry understood the feelings that surged through him, knew he had felt them for himself too many times to be able to count them anymore. He bent down and took a hold of Snape's arm.
'Stop it. Come now,' he commanded, and the laughter ceased at once. Harry had always reluctantly admired Snape's grace, particularly in duelling, and could feel how his body and muscles moved as he stood up in one fluid motion. It should not have been something to contemplate, or even think about, but Harry did.
'Do you need help?' McGonagall asked as she was the first to gather her wits after the unexpected outburst. Harry only shook his head as he firmly escorted both Snape and himself out of the kitchen. He had unconsciously chosen the exit into the garden, even if it had not been the closest door. The dark grey skies and heavy fog gave the impression that dusk was falling, even if it was still just in the middle of the afternoon. Walking over to the bench that was placed by the garage he removed the old, rusty bikecycle with a random rubber duck taped to the seat and sat down. Snape still stood where Harry had left him in the middle of the garden, the too big and blue robes looking all too hot in the warm summer air.
'Come and sit down,' Harry sighed quietly and was about to repeat himself when Snape turned and moved towards him. Whether he had heard Harry's subdued voice or if he had done it out of his own violation was impossible to guess. 'Do you know where your clothes are?' asked Harry, only to receive a shrug.
He had gotten slightly tired of how one-sided their so called conversations were. The fact that Snape was nearly the only person he had communicated with in days made Harry feel both tired and alone. In a house with seven permanent residents and people coming and going both day and night it was rather peculiar that Harry found himself alone most of the time. People seemed to give him a wide range. When he before had had to fight for a spot on the kitchen floor, he now could find himself entirely alone in the living room at most times during the day.
'I want to go back to being an auror,' Harry said, not expecting an answer. 'It's not that I like the work, but it was something to do, at the very least.' The silence stretched out and Harry had come to hate his own voice and the hollowness it left. Turning to look at Snape beside him, Harry had to hold himself from startling backwards. Snape looked wretched. It was not the bruises, nor the paleness of his skin or the lankiness of his now too long hair. It was his eyes, they were dead. Harry had seen dead human eyes before. Glazed, staring into nothing. They were no longer a mirror to any soul, just a part of a decomposing body. The sight was horrifying, and in his shock Harry couldn't make up his mind on whether or not Snape had actually died in the short time span he had been talking. Stretching out a hand carefully he patted Snape on the arm.
'Sn..Severus? Severus!' Harry was shaking the arm now. 'SEVERUS!'
Finally the other man blinked. Slowly he turned his head and looked back at Harry, who let go of his arm in disgust. 'You're not allowed to scare me like that,' he huffed settling back on the bench before promptly straightening his back again. 'And you can answer me you know! I am tired of talking to a damn wall!'
Snape blinked again, his eyes quickening slightly. 'I thought you said something along the lines of "you can't talk to me like that anymore," a few nights back?'
'I meant in the degrading manner you do,' Harry ground out, trying not to slap his forehead in exasperation. 'You do know how to converse without talking down to a person, don't you?'
'Possibly…' mused Snape as his eyes wandered off again and roamed over the garden before landing on the house. Or more specifically; at the door that was being opened and revealing an unusually merry looking McGonagall with Remus at her heel. 'I am supposing she got her will,' Snape commented as the spring in her step certainly conveyed satisfaction.
As McGonagall proceeded across the yard fanning herself with her tartan hat, Harry began to shift uncomfortably on his bench. Her hair was now completely silver grey with not even a strand of black in it, and she looked older than she had ever done before. She gave them both a curt nod and began to explain that she had indeed gotten her will, and that the school would be re-opening to anyone who chose to send their child away at the beginning of term. The hospital wing would still be held open to accommodate the recovering wounded who were turned away from St. Mungos. Harry was happy about the news. It felt as if the slippery ground under his feet suddenly became a fraction easier to balance on. A smile crept across his face and he couldn't help but turn and see what reaction Snape was having to this. It was not surprising to find his face impassive, but Harry knew this was a turn of events the old teacher liked. He had been preaching for it during their short stay at the meeting, after all.
'But we do, of course, have a request for you Harry,' said Remus doggedly. His hands were hidden deeply in the pockets of his threadbare jeans, and his white hair hung around his face in matted strands, much like Snape's. Harry heaved a great sigh and leant back on the bench, folding his arms in light irritation. When neither of them were willing to explain what was going on, he gave yet another exaggerated sigh and shrugged one shoulder, 'what is it?' Their fear of him was getting old.
'Oh, we want you to come and help us out at Hogwarts, Harry,' said McGonagall who had never been one to put up with his acts for long. 'It seemed to me that you have been bored as of late, what with your auror duties diminishing. It's not healthy for a young man to sit in a chair waiting away the days. I also think you'd appreciate an opportunity to help with the school. We need someone adept in the Dark Arts to help teaching the children, you are that person.'
Harry made a sour grimace, but he knew she was right on each of her points. Giving it all due consideration, Harry had to admit that the thought was actually rather appealing.
---
The old, faded and chipped trunk stood right in the middle of Ron's crowded room and was currently under strict repacking. Mrs. Weasley had helped as well as she could by repairing some of Harry's old clothing and adding an article or two. Harry had given it up as a lost case and was just throwing in random things without bothering to see if it was orderly. Hermione had once put a charm on his trunk to prevent anything from shattering in there, and this had given Harry the perfect opportunity to not care one bit about how he packed his things. Not that he ever had, mind.
'I am still wondering about your clothes,' said Harry who had found one of his old Quidditch magazines and was leafing through it with an eerie sense of nostalgia. 'And no shrugging, shaking of head, lying or otherwise refraining from telling the actual truth.' Harry hadn't turned away from his packing even once to look whether or not Snape was actually in the room. He hadn't needed to. Snape was never further away than a few meters. Harry wondered why, because there was no reason to this as he had never given any orders concerning distance. It was surprising Snape was not trying to use his wits in figuring out how to stay as far away from Harry as humanly possible.
'Actually, I am not certain where any of my belongings are.'
'Well, tell me where you thinkthey might be or where they were last you saw them,' said Harry and rolled his eyes. Wringing a useful answer out of Snape was like guiding a blind hippogriff through a store full of valuable china: painful, tiring and completely impossible.
'Most of it would most probably still be in my quarters at Hogwarts. Unless, of course, they have been burned or otherwise destroyed. Anything else should have been at my house in Spinner's End. But I do believe it has been auctioned off long ago.'
Wiping a few droplets of sweat from his forehead, Harry rose from the floor and fell down on his bed with arms splayed out at his sides. 'Huh,' he said as an afterthought. 'I don't think I have heard mention that anyone have touched your stuff. Might still be there. Merlin's balls, it's hot in here.' Stretching out, Harry could feel every muscle in his body ache as if he had been running up and down all the stairs in The Burrow. His breath was slightly laboured, which was ridiculous since he had done nothing but pack the entire morning. And he was sleepy, so incredibly sleepy. Letting his burning eyes glide shut for a second he could feel someone's hand shaking him carefully. Trying to swap it away like a fly, the irritation wouldn't cease. Rolling around on his side and digging his face into the mattress only made the person more insistent.
'Wake up,' Snape's voice said, with a tinge of urgency in it. Harry frowned to himself.
'I'm not sleeping, I was just resting a bit, do you mind?' The hand which had been shaking his shoulder retracted and Harry could hear a short intake of breath.
'It's been four hours.'
A chill went through him and his heart skipped several beats before starting again in full force.
'What? You're lying!' Rolling over on his back again Harry stared up at Snape with an incredulous expression on his face. four hours? He had not slept for four hours. He hadn't slept at all!
Snape let his narrowed eyes travel up and down Harry's body before landing on his face again. Bending down he carefully let the back of his hand rest against Harry's forehead before moving his palm down to cup his cheek. Much like Molly used to do whenever she was checking if Harry had a fever. The action was so startling in its affection Harry's mouth fell open and was unable to look away from Snape's intense gaze as he continued to scrutinize him. Brushing his long hair behind the ears, Snape cocked his head slightly before trailing his hands down Harry's t-shirt to feel his chest and stomach. The unexpected closeness made the breath hitch in Harry's throat and he couldn't help but feel both highly uncomfortable and pleased by it. It felt good to have someone's hand on him, but it felt appalling once he remembered it was Snape's.
'What are you doing?' Harry finally managed to squeak, laying his own hand above Snape's. Whether to push it away or to make it stay he didn't know.
'You have just been sleeping over four hours and deny the fact,' said Snape in a measured tone. It was probably hard enough for him to let his hands be so close to Harry's throat and not throttle him to be able to really put any politeness into his voice. 'I think that is reason enough to see if you do not suffer from a fever or something similar. How does this feel?' Snape was giving slight pressure to his palm as he let his long fingers glide over Harry throat, neck and shoulders.
'Good,' answered Harry, startled at the warmth in his own voice. 'I mean, it doesn't hurt or anything.'
Snape nodded and continued his slight pressuring ministrations slowly up Harry's neck, eventually cradling his head. But then suddenly, it couldn't have been more than a slight tap at the upper part of his neck, pain stronger than the cruciatus shot through Harry's entire skull. Shouting out and pulling away from Snape in pain, Harry managed to lose his balance and fell off the bed and down on the floor with a thud. The pain had been so sudden and excruciating Harry couldn't help the tears streaming down his face. A strangled sob managed to escape, forcing Harry to clamp his hand over his mouth to keep another one from emerging.
'What is going on here?' asked a worried voice from the door. Harry was still too much in shock from the pain to be able to react. He expected Snape to answer and to shoo the person away to give Harry his solitude. Irritation shot through the daze in his mind when this did not happen and he sat up with a frown on his face. Remus had walked over to Snape who sat on the floor, one hand cradling his head, the other trying to keep Remus from reaching him.
'What's the matter with you?' asked Harry, struggling up on his shaking legs and stepping over the bed to have a look at Snape himself.
'Did he hurt you in any way?' asked Remus, his eyes opening wide as he finally got a look at Harry. 'What did he do to you?' Any interest in Snape's wellbeing was hastily discarded as he rushed over to Harry. 'You're drenched in sweat and your eyes are completely redshot! What has happened here?'
'Nothing really,' Harry tried to shrug nonchalantly. For some reason Harry didn't feel like telling Remus anything of what had been going on. As if what had transpired between him and Snape had been too personal for that. 'He was just giving me a massage, and I suppose he hit a tender nerve. It hurt a bit but really, it's nothing.'
Snape was still sitting on the floor using both his hands to hold his head which was bent, making it impossible to see his face. But there was nothing disguising the drops of blood that had begun to drip down onto the floor, and Harry felt a growing anger inside him. Snape had no right to sit there like some suffering martyr. It was disgusting really. Bending down and grabbing a hold of Snape's hair, Harry yanked his head upwards. His eyes were rolled back in his head and dark red blood was freely running down from his nose, pooling in the corner of his mouth.
'Any pain a slave might cause his Master is magnified tenfold to the giver,' said Remus as he was pulling out a handkerchief of his jeans pocket. 'I suppose Snape must have caused you quite the headache.' Harry's anger suddenly turned into embarrassment, he should have remembered that. Taking the handkerchief out of Remus' hands, he folded it into a neat square and began dabbing at the blood underneath Snape's nose. It was slightly worrying that the bleeding would not cease and was now passing the lips, trailing down Snape's chin and throat. Harry gave Remus a panicking look which was returned in kind. 'We must get him downstairs I think,' said Remus before lowering his eyes. 'I am sorry, but my joints and back is not what they used to be… I don't think I am able to carry him.' The old, tugging guilt which Harry felt every time he thought about Remus' illness returned. It should have been something he could have done about it. Something, it didn't matter what. To feel so powerless brought up a certain sickness that gnawed at his heart, wearing it even thinner. But there was no point in talking about it, Harry knew. Nodding in understanding, Harry took a hold of Snape's arm and draped it around his neck. Bending down and giving it a tug, he soon had Snape resting against him and a hand around his waist to keep him up. He was ridiculously light, as if his bones had been hollowed just like a bird's. The surprise of the lack of weight nearly unbalanced Harry, as his tug had been a rather forceful one.
Remus hurried over to the door to hold it open as Harry dragged Snape out and onto the landing. Snape was still cradling his head and a quiet whimper escaped him, but he managed to gather his legs to help Harry keep his weight down the stairs never the less. On the second landing they were blocked by Bill and Fleur on their way up with each their great bundle of linens.
'Hey,' said Harry, as he tightened his grip on Snape who was trying to stand on his own. Both Bill and Fleur looked perplexed at the sight of Snape and his bloodied face. Having used his hand to hold his head, he had also managed to smear the blood not only across his cheek and forehead, but also his hair and Harry's t-shirt.
'What 'as happened 'ere?' asked Fleur after having exchanged glances with Bill, unconsciously taking a step away from them both.
'Just a terrible accident, that is all,' assured Remus, 'we are taking him downstairs to see if there's not something we can do to stop his nosebleed.'
Bill nodded slowly before motioning his bundle of linens towards Remus.
'I could help you carry him Harry,' he said, 'if you could help me out with these Remus?'
Fleur's eyes winded a fraction before narrowing down into a dangerous scowl. It didn't seem as either Bill or Remus noticed this as Remus accepted the linens and stepped out on the landing to wait. Bill, looking oddly relieved, reached out, grabbed a hold of Snape and threw him over one of his broad, leather clad shoulders. 'Come on then Harry!' he called out as he was already good on his way down the stairs. Snape was hissing obscenities like an angered snake, but seemed too dazed to fight off Bill's rather rogue treatment of him.
'Vel then, Remus. I suppose we'ave to do all the beddings then,' huffed Fleur, brushing past Harry in a swirl of flower scent and blonde hair.
---
The sight of Snape being carried downstairs on Bill's shoulders caused a bit of commotion with the newly returned aurors and other people that tended to flock to the Burrow during the evenings. As they sat him down on a chair in the better lighted kitchen, Mrs Weasley had already scurried over with her emergency kit before either had even gotten the opportunity to ask her. One of the older aurors stood by the kitchen oven with a pipe in his hand and narrowed his eyes at Snape.
'That's the Death Eater who killed Dumbledore isn't it?' he muttered as the kitchen went quiet, 'the one that got slavebound to you, Potter.'
Harry looked up surprised, and then chided himself for it. The last couple of days had been such a blur he had almost forgotten the outside world existed at all. Of course everyone would know about the slaverbond and what kind of relationship Harry had to Snape. The fact that so many had now seen his slave beaten senseless and bloody would not make a good impression. But as Harry let his gaze glide across the room and saw all the hateful eyes not glaring at him, but at Snape, he didn't think there would be any further consequences for what had happened.
'Not to interrupt or anything,' another man suddenly spoke up, 'but that man would need medical attention right this instant.' The silence couldn't possibly have grown tenser as every eye in the room wandered from Snape's painful sight to the man by the window. He squirmed uncomfortably. 'I'm a mediwizard… I think in medical terms first and foremost… it's not like I have any sympathy with the bugger.'
'Of course not,' said the man with the pipe, 'it's just a bit disconcerting every time someone shows empathy for those animals. One never knows who is a spy, you know.' This seemed to be the general impression around the room, as people begun to nod and exchange glances. The mediwizard squirmed even more uncomfortably.
'Look, I mean it. I have no empathy for him, if it was up to me I'd let him bleed to death at once. But it looks like both Potter and Mrs Weasley here are seeing something they want to salvage, and I thought I'd just let them know that regular healing potion won't help.' The man's voice had grown more and more high pitched during his speech, and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead under the glare of the crowd.
'They're like a pack of wolves, turning on their own,' whispered Mrs Weasley as she held a piece of cloth under Snape's nose. 'The mediwizard has a point though Harry, I don't have anything for this. Can't you floo into Hogwarts and hand him over to Poppy? I can ask Ron to floo after you with your things whenever he comes home.'
Harry was more than appreciative for having been given a reason to escape the now hostile atmosphere in the kitchen.
---
'So there won't be any long term damage?'
'No, he might suffer a headache the coming days, but there is no need to retain him here. I have stopped the bleeding and given him a strong painkilling potion.'
Harry nodded his gratefulness to the young mediwitch with a bright phoenix on her crisp, white robes and headed down the aisle. The atmosphere in the hospital wing was calmer than the evening Harry awakened after the Last Battle. The familiar scents enveloped Harry, giving him a comforting, if alien, feeling of wellbeing. He had never thought that the hospital wing would ever be such a welcoming sight to him.
After Harry had delivered Snape to the care of Poppy he had been promptly chased out of the hospital wing with the message that he could return in an hour. Harry had spent the time visiting McGonagall in the Headmistress' office and giving the new room he would be living in that year a once over. It was a nice and well lit apartment with a study, a living room area with a small kitchenette and a rather large bedroom. This was all placed in the south-western parts of the castle and had a nice view of both the lake and the fields beyond. It seemed unbelievable for a second that he would be able to have all this space for himself, not having to share with anyone else. Harry couldn't remember a single night he had not spent either cramped into a small space or with someone else. And more often than not, both crowded and cramped at the same time. It had been slightly daunting to stand there in the middle of what would become hisliving room, looking into what would be hisbedroom, alone. It was not the Dursley's, it was not co-owned with four other boys and it was not the Weasley's.
As he had returned to the hospital wing he had discovered that Snape had been handed over to the care of a mediwitch he had never seen before. She was also completely qualified and not merely a person who had been handed an apron for the occasion and thrown into the battlegrounds. Apparently St. Mungos' leadership had been replaced during the war and a new and stricter policy had been put into place. St. Mungos effectively turned away every wounded that had any connections to Death Eaters, both in past and in the present. This had erupted into a strike from some of the staff who felt this was entirely out of place. They had all been fired and had then moved on to Hogwarts which kept its doors open for any who would seek help.
Walking down the rows of beds, Harry didn't have to look up to find Snape. He had known his location the second he had placed his feet inside the hospital wing. It was quite unsurprising that they had chosen to place him in the more vacant, far corner of the hall, probably to avoid making the other patients uncomfortable. Snape sat in a pair of trousers, his bare feet slightly touching the cold marble floor. His robes were draped over the end of the bed, the same old faded blue he had worn for days. Harry made a mental note to see if Snape's room had been left alone since his flight after Dumbledore's death.
Walking up to him it was easy to notice the black skull marring his left arm. The mark still made Harry as sick as he had been the first time he had learned what it meant. Seeing his own family crest burned on the same arm didn't make Harry's distaste fade. If anything, it made him even sicker. Snape had clasped his hands in his lap, and sat with his head bent, but still surprisingly straight in the back. It looked as if he was praying. The long, dark hair was trailing down his neck, lightly brushing the pale skin of his back. He was thin, the skin hugging his ribcage and hipbones snugly. It was no longer a wonder why he had weighed next to nothing.
'The mediwitch told me you were ready to go,' said Harry after he felt he had been staring long enough. 'She said you had gotten a bottle of painkillers and that it would get you through.'
Snape nodded curtly before raising from the bed to reach for his robes. By doing so the white light of the hospital wing put his bruised skin into contrast, making it even more visible.
'Ah, that looks painful,' commented Harry, reaching out a hand to lightly trace the vivid red mark stretching from Snape's hipbone to his middle back. Snape's breath hitched as he retracted from the touch, a flash of hatred crossing his face. The silent aggression in his expression had been enough to ignite Harry's old flame of hatred. It rushed through his blood so strongly it made Harry dizzy. Taking a strong hold of Snape's slim wrists he barred his teeth in anger. 'You are my property now,' he growled, 'you very well do as I say or suffer the consequences.'
Snape's nod was miniscule, but it was a nod. He would have to acknowledge Harry as his master.
