FIC: Cleanse
Feb. 6th, 2011 10:38 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
uniquepov.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hpkinkfestTitle: Cleanse
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
uniquepov
Prompt Number: #50, submitted bystarduchess
Kink Showcased: washing after rape or degradation
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Severus/Harry
Summary: In the aftermath of the Final Battle, Harry is captured by rogue Death Eaters. Severus is the one to find him afterward.
Warnings: non-explicit violence, non-explicit assault (sexual and non). An appallingly complete lack of smut.
Word Count: 4,154
Author's Notes: Thanks toali_wilde, who graciously stepped in to beta for me when my normal editor took sick. Thanks also to my usual group of cheerleaders – you know who you are. *glomps* To starduchess, I hope you enjoy it. I tried to approach it realistically.
Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. However, I promise to return everyone, good as new, when I'm done playing with them. I own nothing that you recognize, and I do not profit from any of it.
To the Mods: Look Mods, no smut! I'm not exactly sure what the kink tag should be, but could I have one, please? Thanks!
In the chaos after the Final Battle, on the grounds of Hogwarts, survivors rushed about, caring for the wounded and laying out the bodies of the fallen. They milled about in small groups, offering words of comfort in hushed tones to assuage the grief. No one noticed their hero, Harry Potter, slipping away from the Great Hall for some much-needed peace.
Consequently, no one noticed for several hours that he was, in fact, missing.
***
Severus Snape woke in the hospital wing. He sat up groggily, struggling for understanding. His senses told him where he was, and yet that conclusion defied all logic. He should be dead, his body lying cold on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Instead, he was enveloped in one of Poppy Pomfrey’s warming charms in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. For one single, horrible moment, he considered the possibility that Hogwarts had fallen and that he was, in fact, dead.
Poppy appeared at his bedside, Severus’ movements having triggered the monitoring charm placed on him.
“Severus, my dear boy,” she said, with a soft smile. “How are you feeling?”
Severus regarded her steadily and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you give me that look, Severus Snape,” Poppy huffed. “I’ve healed you up more times than either of us cares to count, I wasn’t about to let you die from a snake bite.” Her brisk tone belied the grave wounds Snape had sustained at Nagini’s fangs, but served the purpose of convincing him that he was, against all odds, alive.
“What happened, Poppy?” he rasped. “The battle – has the Dark Lord – ?”
The twinkle in the mediwitch’s eyes – normally bright enough to rival even Dumbledore’s, the meddling old bastard – dimmed considerably.
Severus’ breath hitched. “No,” he whispered faintly.
“Oh, goodness, no,” she said quickly, hastening to add, “Voldemort is dead, Severus. Young Mister Potter saw to that. But at a very dear cost.”
“How many? Who?”
Gravely, Poppy recounted the list of the dead and those whose injuries guaranteed that they would not survive. “And, of course, poor young Potter…” she trailed off sadly.
Severus closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. He’d not expected Harry to survive, of course; the prophecy, while cryptic, had indicated as much. “How did it happen, then?”
“What?” The confusion evident in Poppy’s voice caused the dark-haired man to open his eyes again.
“How did Potter die, Poppy?” he nearly growled in frustration.
“Die? He hasn’t died, I hope. He’s been missing for nearly a day.”
That pronouncement had Severus on his feet, tattered robes billowing behind him as he sped down the corridors towards the Great Hall, Poppy’s voice echoing behind him.
“Severus Snape! Get back into bed this instant!”
***
Harry’s entire world, in that instant, consisted of pain.
He had no idea where he was, or how long his tormentors had been gone. His glasses were long gone, and his surroundings were nothing more than fuzzy outlines in his blurred vision.
His breathing sounded harsh and ragged in the silence as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, crying out in pain as his injured body protested the movement. Afraid that his tormentors might still be nearby and be roused by the sound, he concentrated hard and Apparated.
***
Severus pushed through the groups of survivors – mainly Order members and DA students – who were milling about in the entryway, until he arrived at Minerva’s side.
“Has he been found?” he demanded harshly.
Minerva raised an eyebrow at him.
“If you are referring to Mr. Potter, Severus, I’m afraid the answer is ‘not yet,’ although we have the surviving Order members searching,” she replied with a weary sigh.
“Why aren’t the Aurors involved?”
“The interim Minister felt it likely that Mr. Potter may have simply needed some ‘time to himself’ and gone off on his own,” Minerva spat. “They have declined to get involved until more time has passed.”
Severus snorted in disgust. “Merlin forbid they waste precious resources searching for the Hero of the war.”
“Indeed,” Minerva agreed. “If he had just gone off by himself, I seriously doubt he’d have left school grounds,” she continued quietly. “But he does not appear to be here.”
She handed Severus a piece of parchment, creased from years of folding and unfolding, that appeared to be a map of the entire school grounds. Tiny, labeled dots were moving about as he watched, mainly congregated in the hospital wing and the Great Hall. His eyes widened as he found the entryway on the map and the dots labeled ‘Minerva McGonagall’ and ‘Severus Snape’ standing side-by-side.
“Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger provided that to me when we first noticed Mr. Potter was missing,” she told him archly. “Apparently, it shows everyone within the grounds; regardless of Polyjuice, Disillusionment or other means of magical concealment.”
Severus watched the map in disbelief, but as he considered the complexities of the charms and enchantments which would be needed to create such a map, a new dot appeared just inside the gates.
“Look,” he said urgently, thrusting the map back at Minerva as he ran out the main doors and down the burned-out path toward the gates.
***
Severus found Harry crawling slowly towards the castle. The young man was obviously seriously injured and in great pain, every movement eliciting a moan or a strangled cry as he fought his way forward. Severus was still half the length of a Quidditch pitch away when Harry finally collapsed.
It was only the shallow rise and fall of his chest that let Severus know Harry still lived. He sent his Patronus to Poppy, and another to Minerva, asking her to keep everyone back. Harry needed healing, not meddling.
Together, Severus and Poppy moved him up to a bed in the hospital wing, and she began casting a number of diagnostic spells over his inert body.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” she muttered worriedly. “A few broken bones, those can be set right easily enough; the obvious lacerations, particularly across his back and chest; a concussion…” she trailed off and stared darkly at the symbols that were hovering in the air over Harry’s unconscious form.
“What is it?” Severus’ voice was barely controlled impatience, as Poppy began murmuring spells and waving her wand again, mending the broken bones and other injuries. Finally, she tucked her wand in her pocket and turned to Severus.
“It would seem… he’s been sexually assaulted, as well,” Poppy whispered.
Severus passed a hand over his eyes as he sank into a chair at Harry’s bedside.
Minerva bustled in at that moment, and drew Poppy aside for an update on Harry’s condition. Severus took the opportunity to lean forward and stare at Harry, willing him to open his eyes and tell them what had happened.
Minerva stood behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of familiarity he would have tolerated from no one else. “As if he hadn’t been through enough,” she whispered, half to herself.
The voices of Hermione and Ron sounded from outside the hospital wing, demanding entrance.
Severus turned a questioning gaze on Poppy, who shrugged.
“I charmed the doors to open only to staff,” she said candidly. “After the battle, it seemed the smart thing to do, in case there was anyone wandering the halls looking for mischief.”
Minerva chuckled. “I’d better go and let them know Mr. Potter is not yet up for visitors.”
Severus was suddenly keenly aware of the other patients in the hospital wing, and made an impulsive decision. “Poppy, have you done everything you can for Mr. Potter at the present moment?”
Poppy nodded. “He’ll need some salve for the lacerations, but the internal injuries are healed. He needs rest and he’ll probably need to see a Mind Healer about the assault. Why?”
Severus gestured around the room, taking in the other patients as well as the door, where Harry’s friends were still clamouring for entrance in spite of Minerva’s stern refusals. “He shouldn’t be subjected to this. He’ll need privacy when he wakes.”
Poppy looked at him thoughtfully and waited for him to continue.
“Let me take him down to my quarters and care for him.”
His request was greeted with a moment of silence. “Absolutely not,” she replied finally.
“Poppy. We both know it was more than likely the Dark Lord’s followers who did this to him. I, of all of us, am aware of what they are capable of and what Mr. Potter has endured,” he said calmly. As the mediwitch seemed to waver, he pressed his advantage. “I am also the only Legilimens in the Order, now that Albus and Moody are gone. If Potter cannot talk about what he’s gone through, I’m the only one who’ll be able to help him.”
Minerva, watching from the door, quirked an eyebrow at them. “Let him, Poppy,” she said briskly. “He’s right.”
***
Mere moments later, Severus was stepping through the Floo into his staff quarters, the Boy Who Lived cradled in his arms. He laid Harry on the bed, covering him with a soft, downy duvet. Turning to the fireplace, he waved his wand and set the fire burning brightly, warming the dungeon space and casting a soft glow across the room. He requested a pot of tea and some light biscuits from one of the house-elves, and placed it under a stasis charm for when Harry awoke. Those small tasks completed, he stood before the fire and contemplated the Harry’s face.
He did look remarkably like his father; but, in unguarded sleep, there was something of his mother in his face as well. Severus had always attributed it to his eyes; but, with his lids closed, there had to be another explanation. After another few seconds’ perusal, he shrugged to himself. The young man was the product of both his parents; Harry probably had a number of his mother’s features that Severus had never noticed, because he was too busy avoiding those eyes.
Severus would never know what had prompted him to offer his assistance. Heaving a sigh, he moved to the bookcase, poured himself a large measure of Firewhisky and settled down to wait.
***
Harry woke with a start, sitting straight upright and automatically reaching for his glasses. His movements were fumbling and frantic, his breathing growing ragged and erratic as he fought down the panic that was threatening to consume him.
“Mr. Potter.” That calm voice, impossibly familiar, stopped Harry cold.
“Sna- Professor Snape?” he asked timidly. His fingers were still scrabbling over the blanket, groping blindly for his glasses, as he struggled to process this unexpected turn of events. Snape was dead; Harry had seen the light die in his eyes, even as the older man had handed him those few precious memories. Harry stilled and whispered, “Am I – dead?”
Severus had procured a pair of eyeglasses from the hospital wing, and he dropped them into Harry’s hands quietly. Harry donned them quickly, blinking owlishly from behind the unfamiliar frames.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “But –“
Severus cut his question short with an imperious wave. “No, Mr. Potter, you are not dead. Nor, would it seem, am I,” he commented wryly. “You have, however, been gravely injured. Madame Pomfrey has healed what she could, but you will require additional time to fully recover.”
He watched as Harry, who had just begun to relax, immediately tensed again at the mention of injuries, shrinking back against the headboard like a wounded animal.
“Where am I?”
“In my staff quarters,” Snape replied softly. “The hospital wing is crowded with those injured in the battle. We thought it best to grant you more privacy.”
Harry nodded distractedly. “How – how long - ?”
Severus paused. Depending on the extent of what Harry remembered of his ordeal, letting him know how long it had gone on for might prove helpful, or not. He decided on the truth. “It is difficult to know precisely, Mr. Potter, but you appear to have been missing for approximately twenty-three hours. We found you seven hours ago.”
Harry inhaled sharply, but made no other acknowledgement. Severus crossed to the tea service he had requested earlier. He poured the younger wizard a cup, adding generous amounts of milk and sugar as he said, “I believe you would benefit from a cup of tea, Mr. Potter.”
His fingers brushed Harry’s as he handed over the cup, and the younger man jerked, sending the china cup flying as he shrank back against the pillows. As the spilled liquid splashed across his legs, Harry cried out and scrambled over the side of the bed, where he cowered, trembling, on the floor. Severus ran to him, dropping to his knees at Harry’s side and carefully not touching him as he said softly, “Potter… Harry. Look at me.”
Harry looked up at him with those eyes, so like Lily’s, and Severus fought the urge to be sick at the fear, hurt and betrayal now present in that young gaze. He wondered briefly how much of that look had been there after the battle, and how much was due solely to the abuse he had suffered.
“You’re all right now,” he told Harry gently. “No one will hurt you.”
Harry’s gaze remained wide and unfocused, his whole body shaking violently as he crouched in as defensive a stance as he could manage.
Severus continued to speak calmly to him, making no move to touch him, until a measure of awareness returned to Harry’s eyes. “Harry?” the older wizard asked quietly. “Are you back with me, now?”
Harry focused his gaze on Severus’ face and nodded slowly. “I – I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered.
Severus shook his head. “You have been through a great deal in a very short span of time,” he told the younger man. “I do not believe apologies are necessary.” He watched as Harry nodded, his fingertips plucking at his sodden hospital robes absently. Severus stood and extended a hand cautiously. “Would you like to try returning to the furniture?” he asked, not unkindly.
Harry nodded, but he pointedly ignored the proffered hand as he stood under his own power, moving cautiously to one of the armchairs nearer to the fireplace.
Severus waved his wand to Vanish the remains of the first cup and poured him a second, carefully placing it on a table beside the younger man’s chair before settling himself in the chair opposite with another measure of Firewhisky. A moment of silence stretched between them.
Severus cleared his throat expectantly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said flatly. His fingers were wrapped too tightly around the cup, as though the china was some sort of magical shield he could hide behind.
“That is your decision,” Severus conceded. “Although you may find that you change your mind.”
Harry did not respond; he stared into the fire with a haunted expression, making no move to actually drink the tea he was clutching.
“Would you like to take a bath?” Severus asked. “The warm water might feel good. Cleaning charms will only take you so far, after all.”
After another long stretch of silence, during which Severus wondered if Harry had heard him at all, the younger man shook his head. He paused in the middle of the motion to cock his head at Severus. “Do you – have a shower?” he asked quietly. “I would like to clean up, but I’d rather have a shower.”
Severus nodded. “Of course,” came the soft reply. “Finish your tea and I’ll show you.”
***
Fifteen minutes later found Harry alone in the bathroom, Severus having provided towels, soap and shampoo before leaving him to himself. Harry had warded the door and now stood at the pedestal sink, hands gripping the porcelain sides, staring into the mirror. He didn’t quite recognize the young, dark-haired man staring back at him from behind square, dark-rimmed glasses, and he wondered briefly how much of the haunted look he now wore was permanent, and whether any of it might fade, given enough time and distance between himself, the battle, and its aftermath.
The thought of the last 36 hours made his skin crawl, and he stripped off the hospital robes and surveyed himself in the mirror. Angry welts, bruises and raised red lines crisscrossed his front. He swallowed heavily as he turned to peer at his shoulders and back, whose conditions were even worse. He closed his eyes, remembering the torture he’d endured. It had been nearly a full day, Snape had said. His entire body throbbed in pain, but he knew it was only thanks to Madam Pomfrey’s healing spells that he was even able to stand. His mind reeled as he began to relive his torment, and he swayed on his feet before steadying himself on the pedestal sink. He forced himself to calm down with several deep, measured breaths, before turning on the shower spray.
Stepping under the warm water, he leaned forward, bracing himself on the wall with the taps as he let the water stream down his back and shoulders. He rested his forehead on the cool stone tiles of the shower and closed his eyes as he imagined the water washing away the dirty feeling that clung to him like oil. After a few moments, he took the flannel and began scrubbing himself vigorously. His movements grew erratic, as moments of scrubbing passed and he felt no cleaner. He ground the flannel against his skin, hoping to scour away the taint of filth that had seeped into every pore. His skin was red, the streams of water sending pain sparking across the raw patches as he fought to feel clean. Growling in pain and frustration, he sank down into a corner of the shower, clutching the flannel, still scrubbing at every bit of exposed flesh that he could reach.
It took a few more moments for his pained sobs to reach Severus’ ears, despite the other wizard hovering just outside. He knocked on the door firmly, but received no response. He knocked again, this time calling out, “Harry? Are you all right?”
When he still got no response, Severus dismantled the wards and burst into the room. Between the heat, the steamy haze and Harry’s pained sobs and whimpers, Severus thought, briefly, that if there was a Hell, it might be very like that room.
Waving his wand, he dispelled the steam and turned off the shower. Ignoring the wet, he knelt beside Harry, who was scrubbing at a patch of skin on the side of his thigh. The area was red and oozing, several layers of skin already lost. Severus gently took the flannel from Harry’s hands and said softly, “Shhhh…”
Harry looked at him with unseeing eyes, softly whimpering as he tried to scoot farther back into the shower and away from Severus.
Severus held up his hands as he inched closer to Harry. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “Harry, you’re alright now.” When he was close enough, he reached out and gently took Harry’s hand in one of his.
Cornered, with nowhere left to retreat, the fight seemed to go out of Harry. He slumped down and began to cry; deep, anguished sobs that wracked his body as he struggled for breath. Severus flicked his wand and healed the oozing patches of raw skin before returning the length of dark wood to its holster. Wandlessly, he set the taps of the bathtub running, and then turned, scooped Harry up and stood in one fluid motion. The younger wizard stiffened and probably would have renewed his struggles, but Severus cradled him to his chest and softly murmured, “Shhh… you’re safe now.”
Harry allowed himself to be deposited in the warm bathwater. Severus kept his arm around the young man to steady him as he Summoned a new flannel and began gently rubbing circles over Harry’s chest.
Severus kept murmuring soft words of comfort as he ran the cloth over the Harry’s body. Gradually, his sobs subsided and he began wiping ineffectually at his tear-stained cheeks. Severus brought the flannel up and gently wiped at his face.
“Harry?”
The young man looked away uncertainly. “Y-yeah?”
Severus sighed. “I understand that you may not be ready to talk about what happened. But between Madam Pomfrey’s tests and my own experiences, I have a fairly good idea of what you went through.” He kept his voice low and modulated as he continued, “You don’t have to speak of it with me, or with anyone else, until you choose to do so; but it might help you to talk about it.”
He fell silent, letting the moment stretch between them in silent invitation. When Harry remained silent, he sighed softly, but continued, “I’m going to continue washing you. I’d like you to try to imagine that everything that has happened has left a layer of paint or grease on your skin. As I pass the flannel over your skin, that layer will lift up and be washed away until you are completely clean. Can you imagine that for me?”
Harry nodded slowly, his breathing shallow and uneven. “I- I’ll try,” he whispered.
Severus gave an encouraging nod and brought the flannel up to the top of Harry’s head. Severus slowly and methodically ran the cloth over Harry’s hair, down behind his ears and his neck, before coming back up to wipe his face again, letting the soft cloth soothe as he worked down over Harry’s chest and across his abdomen. Severus gently washed Harry’s arms, hands and fingers, taking care to brush the cloth over every crease and knuckle before moving lower. Harry let out a whimper, but Severus was careful not to let his movements slow or linger in any one place. When the flannel had been run along the soles of Harry’s feet, Severus spoke again.
“Do you feel like the taint has been removed?”
Harry sighed and shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever feel clean again,” he admitted in a whisper. His hands were bunched protectively in his lap, head down as he avoided Severus’ eyes.
The older wizard sighed, bringing a hand up to smooth the wet fringe back from Harry’s forehead. His thumb dipped down to caress his cheek. “I know,” he managed, as Harry met his gaze for the first time since he’d entered the bathroom. “But you will. I promise.”
Harry nodded lifelessly as he dropped his gaze back to his lap.
This time, when Severus brought the flannel up to the top of Harry’s head, he murmured softly, “Imagine the water washing it all away.” Severus repeated the washing ritual slowly and carefully, reminding Harry with each stroke of the flannel that he should imagine the water cleansing any remaining traces away.
The flannel caressed Harry’s neck. “Imagine that the water leaves nothing behind,” Severus intoned softly.
Severus brought the flannel firmly across Harry’s stomach, dipping into his navel briefly. “Clear your mind and just imagine all the taint washing away,” he heard Severus saying.
“Every tiny bit is being swept off by the water and the flannel,” Severus murmured as he smoothed the cloth over the back of Harry’s knee.
When Severus reached the soles of Harry’s feet the second time, he let the water drain from the bath in a final, symbolic gesture. Helping Harry to stand in the tub, Severus wrapped him in a large towel and carried him to the bedroom, where he was deposited on Severus’ oversized bed.
Severus handed Harry a pair of pyjama bottoms and turned around so that he could dry himself off properly. After a moment, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.
Severus turned to see Harry standing beside the bed, the pyjamas hanging off his hips as he held the towel out. “Should I – put this back in the bathroom, sir?” he asked timidly.
Severus shook his head and took the towel from him. “Get in bed. You can sleep here tonight,” he said gently. Harry obediently slid underneath the covers. The older wizard looked at him for a long moment before turning toward the door. “I’ll see that you’re not disturbed.”
“S-Sir?” Harry’s quiet plea stopped him cold. “Severus… please… would you…?”
Severus turned to see Harry propped on one elbow, reaching his free hand toward him, and returned to sit stiffly on top of the covers beside the young man, who settled back down immediately and curled his hand into Severus’ with a quiet desperation.
“Please… don’t leave me alone. Please…” he whispered brokenly.
Severus gave a small nod. “As you wish, Harry. I will stay with you tonight.” He shifted back so that he was resting against the headboard with his legs stretched before him. Harry shifted over to make room, careful to let nothing but their joined hands touch.
“Thank you,” Harry whispered.
“You’re welcome,” was Severus’ soft reply.
--fin--
Author:
uniquepovPrompt Number: #50, submitted by
starduchessKink Showcased: washing after rape or degradation
Rating: R
Pairing(s): Severus/Harry
Summary: In the aftermath of the Final Battle, Harry is captured by rogue Death Eaters. Severus is the one to find him afterward.
Warnings: non-explicit violence, non-explicit assault (sexual and non). An appallingly complete lack of smut.
Word Count: 4,154
Author's Notes: Thanks to
ali_wilde, who graciously stepped in to beta for me when my normal editor took sick. Thanks also to my usual group of cheerleaders – you know who you are. *glomps* To starduchess, I hope you enjoy it. I tried to approach it realistically.Disclaimer: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. However, I promise to return everyone, good as new, when I'm done playing with them. I own nothing that you recognize, and I do not profit from any of it.
To the Mods: Look Mods, no smut! I'm not exactly sure what the kink tag should be, but could I have one, please? Thanks!
In the chaos after the Final Battle, on the grounds of Hogwarts, survivors rushed about, caring for the wounded and laying out the bodies of the fallen. They milled about in small groups, offering words of comfort in hushed tones to assuage the grief. No one noticed their hero, Harry Potter, slipping away from the Great Hall for some much-needed peace.
Consequently, no one noticed for several hours that he was, in fact, missing.
Severus Snape woke in the hospital wing. He sat up groggily, struggling for understanding. His senses told him where he was, and yet that conclusion defied all logic. He should be dead, his body lying cold on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Instead, he was enveloped in one of Poppy Pomfrey’s warming charms in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. For one single, horrible moment, he considered the possibility that Hogwarts had fallen and that he was, in fact, dead.
Poppy appeared at his bedside, Severus’ movements having triggered the monitoring charm placed on him.
“Severus, my dear boy,” she said, with a soft smile. “How are you feeling?”
Severus regarded her steadily and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you give me that look, Severus Snape,” Poppy huffed. “I’ve healed you up more times than either of us cares to count, I wasn’t about to let you die from a snake bite.” Her brisk tone belied the grave wounds Snape had sustained at Nagini’s fangs, but served the purpose of convincing him that he was, against all odds, alive.
“What happened, Poppy?” he rasped. “The battle – has the Dark Lord – ?”
The twinkle in the mediwitch’s eyes – normally bright enough to rival even Dumbledore’s, the meddling old bastard – dimmed considerably.
Severus’ breath hitched. “No,” he whispered faintly.
“Oh, goodness, no,” she said quickly, hastening to add, “Voldemort is dead, Severus. Young Mister Potter saw to that. But at a very dear cost.”
“How many? Who?”
Gravely, Poppy recounted the list of the dead and those whose injuries guaranteed that they would not survive. “And, of course, poor young Potter…” she trailed off sadly.
Severus closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. He’d not expected Harry to survive, of course; the prophecy, while cryptic, had indicated as much. “How did it happen, then?”
“What?” The confusion evident in Poppy’s voice caused the dark-haired man to open his eyes again.
“How did Potter die, Poppy?” he nearly growled in frustration.
“Die? He hasn’t died, I hope. He’s been missing for nearly a day.”
That pronouncement had Severus on his feet, tattered robes billowing behind him as he sped down the corridors towards the Great Hall, Poppy’s voice echoing behind him.
“Severus Snape! Get back into bed this instant!”
Harry’s entire world, in that instant, consisted of pain.
He had no idea where he was, or how long his tormentors had been gone. His glasses were long gone, and his surroundings were nothing more than fuzzy outlines in his blurred vision.
His breathing sounded harsh and ragged in the silence as he pushed himself up to a sitting position, crying out in pain as his injured body protested the movement. Afraid that his tormentors might still be nearby and be roused by the sound, he concentrated hard and Apparated.
Severus pushed through the groups of survivors – mainly Order members and DA students – who were milling about in the entryway, until he arrived at Minerva’s side.
“Has he been found?” he demanded harshly.
Minerva raised an eyebrow at him.
“If you are referring to Mr. Potter, Severus, I’m afraid the answer is ‘not yet,’ although we have the surviving Order members searching,” she replied with a weary sigh.
“Why aren’t the Aurors involved?”
“The interim Minister felt it likely that Mr. Potter may have simply needed some ‘time to himself’ and gone off on his own,” Minerva spat. “They have declined to get involved until more time has passed.”
Severus snorted in disgust. “Merlin forbid they waste precious resources searching for the Hero of the war.”
“Indeed,” Minerva agreed. “If he had just gone off by himself, I seriously doubt he’d have left school grounds,” she continued quietly. “But he does not appear to be here.”
She handed Severus a piece of parchment, creased from years of folding and unfolding, that appeared to be a map of the entire school grounds. Tiny, labeled dots were moving about as he watched, mainly congregated in the hospital wing and the Great Hall. His eyes widened as he found the entryway on the map and the dots labeled ‘Minerva McGonagall’ and ‘Severus Snape’ standing side-by-side.
“Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger provided that to me when we first noticed Mr. Potter was missing,” she told him archly. “Apparently, it shows everyone within the grounds; regardless of Polyjuice, Disillusionment or other means of magical concealment.”
Severus watched the map in disbelief, but as he considered the complexities of the charms and enchantments which would be needed to create such a map, a new dot appeared just inside the gates.
“Look,” he said urgently, thrusting the map back at Minerva as he ran out the main doors and down the burned-out path toward the gates.
Severus found Harry crawling slowly towards the castle. The young man was obviously seriously injured and in great pain, every movement eliciting a moan or a strangled cry as he fought his way forward. Severus was still half the length of a Quidditch pitch away when Harry finally collapsed.
It was only the shallow rise and fall of his chest that let Severus know Harry still lived. He sent his Patronus to Poppy, and another to Minerva, asking her to keep everyone back. Harry needed healing, not meddling.
Together, Severus and Poppy moved him up to a bed in the hospital wing, and she began casting a number of diagnostic spells over his inert body.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” she muttered worriedly. “A few broken bones, those can be set right easily enough; the obvious lacerations, particularly across his back and chest; a concussion…” she trailed off and stared darkly at the symbols that were hovering in the air over Harry’s unconscious form.
“What is it?” Severus’ voice was barely controlled impatience, as Poppy began murmuring spells and waving her wand again, mending the broken bones and other injuries. Finally, she tucked her wand in her pocket and turned to Severus.
“It would seem… he’s been sexually assaulted, as well,” Poppy whispered.
Severus passed a hand over his eyes as he sank into a chair at Harry’s bedside.
Minerva bustled in at that moment, and drew Poppy aside for an update on Harry’s condition. Severus took the opportunity to lean forward and stare at Harry, willing him to open his eyes and tell them what had happened.
Minerva stood behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder in a gesture of familiarity he would have tolerated from no one else. “As if he hadn’t been through enough,” she whispered, half to herself.
The voices of Hermione and Ron sounded from outside the hospital wing, demanding entrance.
Severus turned a questioning gaze on Poppy, who shrugged.
“I charmed the doors to open only to staff,” she said candidly. “After the battle, it seemed the smart thing to do, in case there was anyone wandering the halls looking for mischief.”
Minerva chuckled. “I’d better go and let them know Mr. Potter is not yet up for visitors.”
Severus was suddenly keenly aware of the other patients in the hospital wing, and made an impulsive decision. “Poppy, have you done everything you can for Mr. Potter at the present moment?”
Poppy nodded. “He’ll need some salve for the lacerations, but the internal injuries are healed. He needs rest and he’ll probably need to see a Mind Healer about the assault. Why?”
Severus gestured around the room, taking in the other patients as well as the door, where Harry’s friends were still clamouring for entrance in spite of Minerva’s stern refusals. “He shouldn’t be subjected to this. He’ll need privacy when he wakes.”
Poppy looked at him thoughtfully and waited for him to continue.
“Let me take him down to my quarters and care for him.”
His request was greeted with a moment of silence. “Absolutely not,” she replied finally.
“Poppy. We both know it was more than likely the Dark Lord’s followers who did this to him. I, of all of us, am aware of what they are capable of and what Mr. Potter has endured,” he said calmly. As the mediwitch seemed to waver, he pressed his advantage. “I am also the only Legilimens in the Order, now that Albus and Moody are gone. If Potter cannot talk about what he’s gone through, I’m the only one who’ll be able to help him.”
Minerva, watching from the door, quirked an eyebrow at them. “Let him, Poppy,” she said briskly. “He’s right.”
Mere moments later, Severus was stepping through the Floo into his staff quarters, the Boy Who Lived cradled in his arms. He laid Harry on the bed, covering him with a soft, downy duvet. Turning to the fireplace, he waved his wand and set the fire burning brightly, warming the dungeon space and casting a soft glow across the room. He requested a pot of tea and some light biscuits from one of the house-elves, and placed it under a stasis charm for when Harry awoke. Those small tasks completed, he stood before the fire and contemplated the Harry’s face.
He did look remarkably like his father; but, in unguarded sleep, there was something of his mother in his face as well. Severus had always attributed it to his eyes; but, with his lids closed, there had to be another explanation. After another few seconds’ perusal, he shrugged to himself. The young man was the product of both his parents; Harry probably had a number of his mother’s features that Severus had never noticed, because he was too busy avoiding those eyes.
Severus would never know what had prompted him to offer his assistance. Heaving a sigh, he moved to the bookcase, poured himself a large measure of Firewhisky and settled down to wait.
Harry woke with a start, sitting straight upright and automatically reaching for his glasses. His movements were fumbling and frantic, his breathing growing ragged and erratic as he fought down the panic that was threatening to consume him.
“Mr. Potter.” That calm voice, impossibly familiar, stopped Harry cold.
“Sna- Professor Snape?” he asked timidly. His fingers were still scrabbling over the blanket, groping blindly for his glasses, as he struggled to process this unexpected turn of events. Snape was dead; Harry had seen the light die in his eyes, even as the older man had handed him those few precious memories. Harry stilled and whispered, “Am I – dead?”
Severus had procured a pair of eyeglasses from the hospital wing, and he dropped them into Harry’s hands quietly. Harry donned them quickly, blinking owlishly from behind the unfamiliar frames.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “But –“
Severus cut his question short with an imperious wave. “No, Mr. Potter, you are not dead. Nor, would it seem, am I,” he commented wryly. “You have, however, been gravely injured. Madame Pomfrey has healed what she could, but you will require additional time to fully recover.”
He watched as Harry, who had just begun to relax, immediately tensed again at the mention of injuries, shrinking back against the headboard like a wounded animal.
“Where am I?”
“In my staff quarters,” Snape replied softly. “The hospital wing is crowded with those injured in the battle. We thought it best to grant you more privacy.”
Harry nodded distractedly. “How – how long - ?”
Severus paused. Depending on the extent of what Harry remembered of his ordeal, letting him know how long it had gone on for might prove helpful, or not. He decided on the truth. “It is difficult to know precisely, Mr. Potter, but you appear to have been missing for approximately twenty-three hours. We found you seven hours ago.”
Harry inhaled sharply, but made no other acknowledgement. Severus crossed to the tea service he had requested earlier. He poured the younger wizard a cup, adding generous amounts of milk and sugar as he said, “I believe you would benefit from a cup of tea, Mr. Potter.”
His fingers brushed Harry’s as he handed over the cup, and the younger man jerked, sending the china cup flying as he shrank back against the pillows. As the spilled liquid splashed across his legs, Harry cried out and scrambled over the side of the bed, where he cowered, trembling, on the floor. Severus ran to him, dropping to his knees at Harry’s side and carefully not touching him as he said softly, “Potter… Harry. Look at me.”
Harry looked up at him with those eyes, so like Lily’s, and Severus fought the urge to be sick at the fear, hurt and betrayal now present in that young gaze. He wondered briefly how much of that look had been there after the battle, and how much was due solely to the abuse he had suffered.
“You’re all right now,” he told Harry gently. “No one will hurt you.”
Harry’s gaze remained wide and unfocused, his whole body shaking violently as he crouched in as defensive a stance as he could manage.
Severus continued to speak calmly to him, making no move to touch him, until a measure of awareness returned to Harry’s eyes. “Harry?” the older wizard asked quietly. “Are you back with me, now?”
Harry focused his gaze on Severus’ face and nodded slowly. “I – I’m sorry, sir,” he whispered.
Severus shook his head. “You have been through a great deal in a very short span of time,” he told the younger man. “I do not believe apologies are necessary.” He watched as Harry nodded, his fingertips plucking at his sodden hospital robes absently. Severus stood and extended a hand cautiously. “Would you like to try returning to the furniture?” he asked, not unkindly.
Harry nodded, but he pointedly ignored the proffered hand as he stood under his own power, moving cautiously to one of the armchairs nearer to the fireplace.
Severus waved his wand to Vanish the remains of the first cup and poured him a second, carefully placing it on a table beside the younger man’s chair before settling himself in the chair opposite with another measure of Firewhisky. A moment of silence stretched between them.
Severus cleared his throat expectantly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said flatly. His fingers were wrapped too tightly around the cup, as though the china was some sort of magical shield he could hide behind.
“That is your decision,” Severus conceded. “Although you may find that you change your mind.”
Harry did not respond; he stared into the fire with a haunted expression, making no move to actually drink the tea he was clutching.
“Would you like to take a bath?” Severus asked. “The warm water might feel good. Cleaning charms will only take you so far, after all.”
After another long stretch of silence, during which Severus wondered if Harry had heard him at all, the younger man shook his head. He paused in the middle of the motion to cock his head at Severus. “Do you – have a shower?” he asked quietly. “I would like to clean up, but I’d rather have a shower.”
Severus nodded. “Of course,” came the soft reply. “Finish your tea and I’ll show you.”
Fifteen minutes later found Harry alone in the bathroom, Severus having provided towels, soap and shampoo before leaving him to himself. Harry had warded the door and now stood at the pedestal sink, hands gripping the porcelain sides, staring into the mirror. He didn’t quite recognize the young, dark-haired man staring back at him from behind square, dark-rimmed glasses, and he wondered briefly how much of the haunted look he now wore was permanent, and whether any of it might fade, given enough time and distance between himself, the battle, and its aftermath.
The thought of the last 36 hours made his skin crawl, and he stripped off the hospital robes and surveyed himself in the mirror. Angry welts, bruises and raised red lines crisscrossed his front. He swallowed heavily as he turned to peer at his shoulders and back, whose conditions were even worse. He closed his eyes, remembering the torture he’d endured. It had been nearly a full day, Snape had said. His entire body throbbed in pain, but he knew it was only thanks to Madam Pomfrey’s healing spells that he was even able to stand. His mind reeled as he began to relive his torment, and he swayed on his feet before steadying himself on the pedestal sink. He forced himself to calm down with several deep, measured breaths, before turning on the shower spray.
Stepping under the warm water, he leaned forward, bracing himself on the wall with the taps as he let the water stream down his back and shoulders. He rested his forehead on the cool stone tiles of the shower and closed his eyes as he imagined the water washing away the dirty feeling that clung to him like oil. After a few moments, he took the flannel and began scrubbing himself vigorously. His movements grew erratic, as moments of scrubbing passed and he felt no cleaner. He ground the flannel against his skin, hoping to scour away the taint of filth that had seeped into every pore. His skin was red, the streams of water sending pain sparking across the raw patches as he fought to feel clean. Growling in pain and frustration, he sank down into a corner of the shower, clutching the flannel, still scrubbing at every bit of exposed flesh that he could reach.
It took a few more moments for his pained sobs to reach Severus’ ears, despite the other wizard hovering just outside. He knocked on the door firmly, but received no response. He knocked again, this time calling out, “Harry? Are you all right?”
When he still got no response, Severus dismantled the wards and burst into the room. Between the heat, the steamy haze and Harry’s pained sobs and whimpers, Severus thought, briefly, that if there was a Hell, it might be very like that room.
Waving his wand, he dispelled the steam and turned off the shower. Ignoring the wet, he knelt beside Harry, who was scrubbing at a patch of skin on the side of his thigh. The area was red and oozing, several layers of skin already lost. Severus gently took the flannel from Harry’s hands and said softly, “Shhhh…”
Harry looked at him with unseeing eyes, softly whimpering as he tried to scoot farther back into the shower and away from Severus.
Severus held up his hands as he inched closer to Harry. “It’s all right,” he soothed. “Harry, you’re alright now.” When he was close enough, he reached out and gently took Harry’s hand in one of his.
Cornered, with nowhere left to retreat, the fight seemed to go out of Harry. He slumped down and began to cry; deep, anguished sobs that wracked his body as he struggled for breath. Severus flicked his wand and healed the oozing patches of raw skin before returning the length of dark wood to its holster. Wandlessly, he set the taps of the bathtub running, and then turned, scooped Harry up and stood in one fluid motion. The younger wizard stiffened and probably would have renewed his struggles, but Severus cradled him to his chest and softly murmured, “Shhh… you’re safe now.”
Harry allowed himself to be deposited in the warm bathwater. Severus kept his arm around the young man to steady him as he Summoned a new flannel and began gently rubbing circles over Harry’s chest.
Severus kept murmuring soft words of comfort as he ran the cloth over the Harry’s body. Gradually, his sobs subsided and he began wiping ineffectually at his tear-stained cheeks. Severus brought the flannel up and gently wiped at his face.
“Harry?”
The young man looked away uncertainly. “Y-yeah?”
Severus sighed. “I understand that you may not be ready to talk about what happened. But between Madam Pomfrey’s tests and my own experiences, I have a fairly good idea of what you went through.” He kept his voice low and modulated as he continued, “You don’t have to speak of it with me, or with anyone else, until you choose to do so; but it might help you to talk about it.”
He fell silent, letting the moment stretch between them in silent invitation. When Harry remained silent, he sighed softly, but continued, “I’m going to continue washing you. I’d like you to try to imagine that everything that has happened has left a layer of paint or grease on your skin. As I pass the flannel over your skin, that layer will lift up and be washed away until you are completely clean. Can you imagine that for me?”
Harry nodded slowly, his breathing shallow and uneven. “I- I’ll try,” he whispered.
Severus gave an encouraging nod and brought the flannel up to the top of Harry’s head. Severus slowly and methodically ran the cloth over Harry’s hair, down behind his ears and his neck, before coming back up to wipe his face again, letting the soft cloth soothe as he worked down over Harry’s chest and across his abdomen. Severus gently washed Harry’s arms, hands and fingers, taking care to brush the cloth over every crease and knuckle before moving lower. Harry let out a whimper, but Severus was careful not to let his movements slow or linger in any one place. When the flannel had been run along the soles of Harry’s feet, Severus spoke again.
“Do you feel like the taint has been removed?”
Harry sighed and shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever feel clean again,” he admitted in a whisper. His hands were bunched protectively in his lap, head down as he avoided Severus’ eyes.
The older wizard sighed, bringing a hand up to smooth the wet fringe back from Harry’s forehead. His thumb dipped down to caress his cheek. “I know,” he managed, as Harry met his gaze for the first time since he’d entered the bathroom. “But you will. I promise.”
Harry nodded lifelessly as he dropped his gaze back to his lap.
This time, when Severus brought the flannel up to the top of Harry’s head, he murmured softly, “Imagine the water washing it all away.” Severus repeated the washing ritual slowly and carefully, reminding Harry with each stroke of the flannel that he should imagine the water cleansing any remaining traces away.
The flannel caressed Harry’s neck. “Imagine that the water leaves nothing behind,” Severus intoned softly.
Severus brought the flannel firmly across Harry’s stomach, dipping into his navel briefly. “Clear your mind and just imagine all the taint washing away,” he heard Severus saying.
“Every tiny bit is being swept off by the water and the flannel,” Severus murmured as he smoothed the cloth over the back of Harry’s knee.
When Severus reached the soles of Harry’s feet the second time, he let the water drain from the bath in a final, symbolic gesture. Helping Harry to stand in the tub, Severus wrapped him in a large towel and carried him to the bedroom, where he was deposited on Severus’ oversized bed.
Severus handed Harry a pair of pyjama bottoms and turned around so that he could dry himself off properly. After a moment, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.
Severus turned to see Harry standing beside the bed, the pyjamas hanging off his hips as he held the towel out. “Should I – put this back in the bathroom, sir?” he asked timidly.
Severus shook his head and took the towel from him. “Get in bed. You can sleep here tonight,” he said gently. Harry obediently slid underneath the covers. The older wizard looked at him for a long moment before turning toward the door. “I’ll see that you’re not disturbed.”
“S-Sir?” Harry’s quiet plea stopped him cold. “Severus… please… would you…?”
Severus turned to see Harry propped on one elbow, reaching his free hand toward him, and returned to sit stiffly on top of the covers beside the young man, who settled back down immediately and curled his hand into Severus’ with a quiet desperation.
“Please… don’t leave me alone. Please…” he whispered brokenly.
Severus gave a small nod. “As you wish, Harry. I will stay with you tonight.” He shifted back so that he was resting against the headboard with his legs stretched before him. Harry shifted over to make room, careful to let nothing but their joined hands touch.
“Thank you,” Harry whispered.
“You’re welcome,” was Severus’ soft reply.
--fin--
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 12:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-07 02:11 am (UTC)