
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7885645.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Other(s), Severus_Snape/Other(s)
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Severus_Snape, Other_-_Character
  Additional Tags:
      Hurt/Comfort, Incest
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2003-10-20 Words: 7696
****** Pain Shared ******
by Joserlin Delamarque [archived by ISF_Archivist]
Summary
     Severus learns that he and Harry are more alike than he’d ever
     thought, far more so than he would ever have wished. Can the man-who-
     suffered help the boy-who-lived? Begins in September of Harry’s
     second year.
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: Dedicated to far too many friends who have been
     forced to deal with the pain and grow-up too soon. This is the
     unbeta’d version, hopefully I’ll get the other copy put together
     soon. Thanks to those who have read it over all the same.
Pain Shared




  Disclaimer: Characters, sets and all the good stuff belong to JKR and her
  affiliated studios and publishers. The plot is the only thing I've any claim
  to, and they can have that too if they actually want it. Author's Note:
  Dedicated to far too many friends who have been forced to deal with the pain
  and grow-up too soon. This is the unbeta'd version, hopefully I'll get the
  other copy put together soon. Thanks to those who have read it over all the
  same.
  =============================================================================
  "Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter!" Severus Snape wasn't a normally happy person, and
  he was even less so when he was being ignored. The boy hadn't even paused at
  the broom shed, where Severus had waited for him after the Quidditch match.
  Instead he had dashed for changing rooms, disregarding the fact that he'd
  missed his scheduled occulomancy lessons for something as foolish as flying
  on a broom while chasing a silly little piece of magic and metal.
  Oh, to be honest, Severus normally wouldn't have minded a bit of free time.
  It was just that these weren't normal occasions. The Dark Lord was beginning
  to amass his armies and show his strength, Albus was worried about anything
  and everything while still trying to calmly run a boarding school, and
  Severus himself was starting to feel the strain of the situation. Teaching,
  spying, running errands, and now he was starting to get nightmares whenever
  he tried to catch a couple of hours of ever so elusive rest. Nightmares about
  the students he was trying to protect and mature being tortured and killed.
  Nightmares about Harry Bloody Potter, who was still their best chance for the
  defeat of the Dark Lord, despite all of the time spent trying to find another
  solution.
  So here he stood, leaning up against the outer wall of the changing rooms.
  Trying to wait patiently, but mindful of the thousands of other tasks and
  responsibilities that were slowly piling up on him.
  "Mr. Potter!" he yelled once more at the closed door.
  Why, Severus wondered, was the blasted boy taking so long to change? Didn't
  he realise that his professor was waiting for him? Red hair passing by caught
  his attention.
  "Mr. Weasley." The so named party stopped, and turned guiltily.
  "Yes, Professor Snape?"
  "Who all is left in there to change?"
  "Um. I think I was the last to leave, Professor."
  "Really? 10 points from Griffindor, for being so tardy," Snape proclaimed.
  Severus knew from the blush on Weasley's cheeks and his downcast eyes that
  Potter had to still be in there. Who else would the brat try to cover up for
  but his friend?
  Making sure that the Weasley child was on his way, Severus pushed open the
  changing room door and silently stalked into the room. The smell of active,
  sweating children assaulted his nose as he glanced around at the clothes,
  towels, and Quidditch gear strewn about the main room. He could see what
  appeared to be Potter's uniform and day clothes folded over on one of the
  benches, but there didn't appear to be any sign of the boy.
  Then he heard the sound of water splashing. Figuring that he really didn't
  want to watch the boy doing whatever it was he was doing in the tub, Severus
  gingerly perched on the edge of a bench to wait, hoping that the miscreant
  had at least remembered to take a towel with him. That is, right up until he
  heard a yelp of pain coming from the adjoining room, and all thoughts of
  towels, clothing and propriety fled from his mind.
  Severus hurried into the other room, to see Harry kneeling on the floor, both
  hands pressed tightly against the lower part of his ribs. What made Sev stop
  in shock, however, was the sight of scars criss-crossing the boy's back,
  shoulders, and even down to his buttocks. Some of them had turned a silver-
  white with time, but others were an angry red and barely healed at all.
  Bruises covered nearly every inch of skin that could be hidden by clothing.
  When the child looked up, turning slightly towards him to lift a tear-stained
  face to the Professor, Severus could see that even his genitals were reddened
  and swollen, from the abuses the child had witnessed.
  "Professor Snape!" Harry whispered with distress. "What are you doing here?"
  "I had come to see why you weren't at your Occulomany lesson," Severus said
  with difficulty. "What happened to you?"
  "I... um... I fell," Potter murmured with little conviction. "Bludgers."
  "Indeed. Then we should get you to Madame Pomfrey right away." Bloody brave,
  loyal, self-sacrificing Griffindors. He took another look at the expression
  of fear and repulsion on the boy's face and continued, "Mr Potter, I know
  that those injuries were not caused by falls, or bludgers, or even Hippogriff
  encounters. Whoever it was, was stronger than you, taller than you, and
  judging from the bruising on your hips, male as well. Your uncle is my guess,
  being as you haven't even been back in school a full week yet. You need to
  see the Mediwitch."
  "No! Please. I'll be alright." Potter placed his hands against the floor and
  made as if to stand up and prove his health, only to gasp and crumple as the
  pain in his chest stabbed again. His eyes flooded and overflowed once more as
  he tried in vain to bite back the whimpers of pain.
  At this display, Severus felt more than awkward, and wished as anything for
  it to have been one of the other teachers teaching these special Dark Arts
  classes, for someone else to have had to come in search of The Boy Who Lived.
  Self-consciously, he knelt by Potter's side and tentatively placed a hand on
  the boy's shoulder, avoiding the worst of the wounds, and let his other hand
  rest atop the short raven hair.
  Severus was unsure, but had the disturbing feeling that he wasn't helping
  matters at all, for it seemed to him as if the tears became a little faster
  to fall, and the cries became a little more frantic. It wasn't until Harry
  turned towards him completely, and rested his head against his shoulder that
  Severus understood how long it must have been since the boy relinquished his
  control on his emotions, and how long it had been since he'd felt free to
  grieve for the pain he'd endured, if he ever had done so. Severus' own wall
  about his feelings cracked somewhat at the thought of the cruelty the child
  had had to live with, and how much he himself had added to that load. Sev
  began to think, once again, about how much the boy's life had resembled his
  own childhood... the loneliness, the being set apart for being different, and
  now, the scars.
      * Flashback ~ Severus -
  Slowly, carefully, he eased into the lukewarm bathwater. Barely scabbed
  wounds broke open again, turning the water a sickly pink colour. Muscles,
  strained to their limits by Cruciatus, stretched painfully, making him feel
  as if he would end up permanently tensed.
  He reached out and picked up the soft flannel waiting on the edge of the tub,
  and began to cautiously wipe away at the traces of blood, sweat, and other
  fluids that he didn't want to think too hard about. Bloody hell, Severus
  thought to himself as he rinsed away the small trace of soap that he had
  dared to allow himself, that friggin hurts.
  Finished washing himself, he contemplated rinsing his hair, but a combination
  of pain and hope that if he left it a bit dirty, he might be less sought
  after, decided him to leave it alone. Opening the bathroom door to the upper
  hall, his eyes widened as they took in the disaster around him. He could hear
  his stepfather's belt strap making contact with the soft skin of the newest
  mistress of Snape Manor, and cringed. How many people's hides would bear the
  brunt of his sire's latest bout with the firewhisky bottle?
  He could hear his mother's sobs coming through her door, and figured that she
  had heard both the mistress' and his own punishment this evening. He wanted
  to go to her, but knew that the punishment that would befall both of them,
  were he found out, wasn't worth the risk. So many people were trapped in this
  smallest piece of Hell.
  Sneaking back to his own rooms, the only set of chambers in the entire manor
  that didn't have its own bathroom, he quietly shut the door. No sense
  alerting the man downstairs as to where he was now. No sense informing his
  stepfather that he'd missed another opportunity to be with his vulnerable
  heir in the bathroom. Severus warily listened at the door before proceeding
  to his secret stash of potions, hidden under the loose floorboard of his
  room.
  All year long at school he did extra tasks for the Potions Professor so that
  he might have use of the laboratory and a few ingredients to make various
  potions. Some he would sell to other students for money, others were
  diligently hoarded for summer and holiday time necessities. Necessities like
  now. Severus was very thankful to be going back to school in a week's time,
  there was only one bottle of healing potion left; testament to his father's
  exceptional anger this summer.
  Taking one careful sip of the medicine, he cautiously stored it back in its
  place, and softly called for the family's only house elf to come to him. The
  cuts from the whip would have to be tended to tonight, or the scars would
  leave too much evidence for the teachers to ignore. He didn't have to worry
  about most of the other Slytherins saying anything, although there were a few
  that probably should have been sorted as Hufflepuffs, they all had home lives
  near as bad as his own.
  Mishy came quickly with the ointment, and Severus bit into the sheets of his
  bed to quiet his cries at the sting of it. It was meant for the livestock
  some tenants would keep, but in the Snape household, wives and children
  weren't even as worthy as the Muggles' goats for medical treatments. Tears
  traced their winding paths down Severus' cheeks at that thought of how
  unworthy he was, and how insignificant his lot in life would be.
  Alone, desperate, and fearful, Severus counted each minute until he might
  return to Hogwarts. Hoping he might somehow distinguish himself. Hoping his
  mother and he might someday be free of his sire. Hoping to be wanted.
      * End Flashback -
  A few tears fell, unbidden from dark brown eyes, as Potter sniffled one last
  time and began to straighten up from Severus' grasp.
  "Sorry, Professor. I'm sorry for being a bother." Harry carefully drew
  himself to his feet, and recovered his towel from where it had fallen to the
  floor.
  Sorry? Severus was confused, what did the boy have to be sorry for? None of
  this was his fault.
  "I'll be fine. I'm sorry for messing up your schedule. I had forgot about the
  lesson today." Another flash of pain shone in the boy's eyes as he finished
  pulling his robe on.
  Who cares about the bloody lesson, Snape thought. We have to get him to
  Poppy, those marks could be starting to infect, those ribs are likely broken,
  we have to...
  "I am sorry, Professor Snape," Potter continued, interrupting Severus' train
  of thought, "just please. Please sir, don't tell anyone!"
  Potter was begging him? Not to tell anyone... but that was impossible! "Mr
  Potter, I can't promise that. Madame Pomfrey needs to know so she can help
  you get better, I shouldn't like the blame of it if I was to do nothing and
  those ribs of yours got worse. They are broken, you realize. The Headmaster
  should be informed so he can find somewhere else for you to stay, at the
  least. And loathe though I am to admit it, Mr. Black should also be informed,
  being as he is your parents' choice as a guardian." Oh no, the tears were
  returning.
  "Please, no. Just... I'll... I'll see Mme. Pomfrey myself for the ribs, just
  don't tell anyone! Please."
  "Mr. Potter."
  "Please, Professor Snape. Please!"
  "Go then. Make sure you do get to the Hospital Wing. I will hold my counsel,
  for now at least." Severus watched the boy carefully make his way back to the
  school. He was certain he'd regret this decision, but he couldn't help but
  think of himself when he was younger. Slytherins didn't need outside help,
  and from the look of things, neither did Griffindors.
  Feeling every one of his thirty-odd years, Severus followed Potter back to
  the school, noticing that the boy headed for the Griffindor tower instead of
  taking the staircase to the hospital wing. He sighed, and continued back to
  his rooms. It was going to be a long night. Already it was 8 o'clock, and he
  still had marking to complete, healing potions to brew, a delivery to make to
  a certain dark haired boy, and all of that before he could start off for the
  Death Eater Meeting. It certainly was going to be a very long night.
  =============================================================================
  Harry tentatively climbed the stairs back to his dorm room in the tower.
  After parting from Snape, he'd been inclined to just go back to bed and get
  the rest of the tears out of his system before his housemates returned, but
  somehow, his feet had led him to the Owlery instead. Sitting at one of the
  open windows, Hedwig standing guard beside him, he'd tried to work through
  the events of the past few hours.
  Quidditch had been almost too much for him to bear today. Every movement of
  his body, every turning of his broom, had nearly been his last. All he had
  wanted to do was to get to the changing rooms, have everyone else leave
  quickly, and then soak his aches and cuts for a good long time. He'd heard
  Professor Snape calling for him as he crossed the pitch, but just wasn't
  feeling up to dealing with the snarky git right then.
  What a surprise it had been when it was that same professor who came to his
  rescue when he'd slipped while getting out of the team's pool. He had been
  sure that Snape would start berating him for his carelessness once he saw the
  cuts and bruises on his body. He was sure he'd die of shame when he noticed
  the Professor's eyes drifting towards he achingly sore prick and balls... the
  only thing he could be grateful for at that point was that the rest of his
  embarrassment was disguised by the way he had been sitting. He guessed he
  couldn't blame Snape for his recommendation that they tell some people what
  had happened, though he had been somewhat shocked at how quickly the older
  man had jumped to the proper assumption of how the marks had been inflicted
  on Harry's body.
  Harry was also surprised at how the Professor's eyes had glazed over a bit,
  and at the sympathy and empathy they had contained. He wasn't willing to bet
  that Pomfrey, Dumbledore, or Sirius would have the same reaction, though. How
  could they? What Harry had done was wrong, evil, and dirty. Good boys didn't
  try to entice men to do that to them. Good boys couldn't find enjoyment from
  those kinds of acts. Good boys didn't complain about the things their elders
  told them to do. He knew all of that. He knew he was an abomination because
  he was a wizard, and this just proved that he was even stranger than they
  already thought him to be.
  Nobody wanted to be around such a freak of nature. Nobody but the people in
  the Wizarding World would ever understand about the magic, and he dared not
  ostracize anyone here because of his other perversities. He had to try to be
  better, to not cry, to not make demands on other people, to prove that he
  could be worthwhile in some capacity. He simply had to.
  With those thoughts swirling through the chaos in his head, Harry decided
  that he should probably leave now for the dorms. Hopefully most everyone
  would be at the library, or in study sessions to refresh after the summer's
  holidays. He could at least have the night to prepare himself to face his
  year mates. And so, here he was, climbing the final set of stairs from the
  common room to the boys' dorms. He glanced over at the stand by his bed as he
  changed out of his robe, only to see a bottle with some sort of liquid in it
  propping up a letter.
      * Mr. H. Potter, Drink all of this. For pain, infection, and healing.
      * S.S.
  It had to be one of the more advanced healing potions. Harry was curious
  about Snape's motives in send him this, but figured that whatever payment
  he'd want couldn't be any worse than the punishments that Uncle Vernon dealt
  out to him at home.
  Harry settled himself into the bed, carefully uncorked the bottle, and drank
  the potion down quickly. Hiding the note and bottle under his pillow, he
  pulled the covers close about him, and barely had time for a whispered `nox'
  before he was eased into blissful dreamless oblivion.
  =============================================================================
  Severus turned to the blackboard and hiding a yawn, began writing out the
  homework for the class as they finished up their potions. Second year classes
  were so dull and repetitive that he could teach the little buggers in his
  sleep, and had done so on a few occasions. This time though, he'd tried to be
  a little more aware, and it had paid off. He'd seen the slight flinch as the
  boy took his seat, the way he'd held back from the free-for-all that always
  took place when the students collected the ingredients, the slightly
  distanced look on his face as he controlled his reactions and forced the pain
  down.
  Too often had Severus seen the Slytherins act in similar fashions, though
  with persuasion, most of them would at least go to Poppy for the proper
  potions and healing charms. The potion he had left for Harry was one of the
  better ones in his stock, but nothing could heal all of the damage he was
  sure the boy had accumulated, in one go without the charms and magic normally
  used. So, in short the boy was hurting, was too proud to get help for it
  alone, and also needed help to get out of the situation. Why, Severus
  wondered, did all the hard cases have to fall to him?
  "Your assignments for this evening are written on the board," Severus stated
  as he turned back to the class. "I will expect them to be promptly handed in
  to my desk first thing on the day after tomorrow. No excuses will be
  tolerated." He strode to the back of the room, and quietly whispered the work
  to Crabbe and Goyle; the two blockheads still couldn't read more than their
  own names. They were certain proof that there was such a thing as being too
  much like one's father.
  "Mr. Potter," Severus began, having partially completed his inspection of the
  day's work, "what is that?"
  "An enlarging potion, Professor Snape," Harry replied.
  "Really?" Severus took the ladle from the boy's hand, lifted a sample, and
  slowly let it pour back into the caldron. "Looks rather thick to me. Five
  points from Griffindor, and you can stay after class to try it again."
  Weasley and Granger both looked up at that, staring mutinously at their
  professor, but didn't dare say anything. At least they had finally learned
  that he was unlikely to change his mind, and more that likely to take more
  points from their house at any word of discord.
  Finally, the class ended, and the students scrambled to leave the room and
  their terror of a professor behind them. Harry, resignedly, got up from his
  desk, and walked to the caldrons piled on a side bench to begin scrubbing
  them clean. Seeing his intentions, Severus waved his wand, cleaning the
  vessels with magic, as he walked over and closed the door to the hall. Harry
  looked over at him with curiosity.
  "Yes, thank you Mr. Potter, a job well-done there. Now, if you please, step
  this way." Severus led the way into his office, and from there, into his
  private chambers. He carefully watched Harry, noting the way the boy was
  taking in only a distracted impression of the room they were in, while he
  poured them each a shot of Firewhisky.
  "Here, Mr. Potter," Severus said, hading him the glass and pointing him to a
  seat on the overstuffed couch. "Drink this slowly. I doubt you are used to
  it, but I think we both may need it for what is about to be discussed."
  Harry glanced at him warily before touching the deep amber liquid to his
  tongue. Even that small amount made him gasp a little at the strength of the
  liquor.
  "Now then. Why haven't you been to see Madame Pomfrey like I told you to do?"
  Snape continued.
  "I did! She said there was nothing more to be done but wait," Harry stated,
  eyes on the rug beneath his feet.
  "I highly doubt that, Mr. Potter. I know that she has seen such cases before.
  So, tell me the truth this time, why didn't you go to her?"
  "I told you, I did!"
  "You didn't!" Snape spat out, angry at the boy's lies, but at the same time,
  understanding the feelings that were making the child act like this. "Do not
  lie to me boy!"
  This time, his answer was a small sniffle, as the boy bit his lower lip.
  Severus could see him starting to tremble.
  "Why Harry?" he asked, deliberately setting his voice a little lower, trying
  to sound a little more calm. "I suspect that you took the potion I left for
  you, correct?"
  "Yes, sir."
  "Then why not follow the rest of my advice?"
  "Because she wouldn't understand!" Harry blurted out, tears beginning to well
  in the green eyes. "She wouldn't understand how I happened to have broken
  ribs. How I could get all the cuts and bruises I have, the potion helped some
  of them, but not all of them! How could she ever understand that? And if she
 couldn't comprehend those things, then she'd never understand the rest of
  it," Harry cried out. The tears that had threatened began to fall, tracing
  silvery ripples down the boys cheeks, making the slightly reddened eyes
  shimmer as he looked accusingly at the Potions Master. It was as if the boy
  wanted to say more and relieve himself verbally, but that he needed to be
  urged on, to be forced to unburden himself.
  "What else, Mr. Potter? What is the rest of it that she wouldn't understand?"
  Snape asked carefully. He had a strong suspicion of what he was about to
  hear, but knew the child would have to say it. All he could do was to try and
  support him, and to let him know that people would care about him.
  Harry took a quick gulp of the whisky still in his hand before whispering,
  "The stuff that happened at night."
  "What happened at night?"
  "My uncle. Vernon. I'm not a good person. They won't even let me out of my
  room when they have company by cause I'm so bad. I don't know how to act, or
  speak, or anything; so I have to stay in my room." Potter sniffled hard,
  trying to get himself back under control.
  Severus waited, but when Harry showed no signs of continuing, he repeated
  himself, "What happens at night?"
  "I get punished a lot. They keep trying to make me good, even though I'm so
  hopeless. Sometimes Uncle Vernon gets up and gives me my punishment at
  nighttimes, even though he doesn't have to. It's just that I'm evil inside,
  and sometimes I like what he's doing to punish me, so he has to be meaner to
  get the point across. He was really concerned for me the once, he had to
  clean my blood off of himself, he was trying so hard to squash the evil
  inside of me."
  Severus' heart broke for the boy who assumed the best of everyone around him
  and the worst about himself. The child would need so much help, and so much
  support, far more than he or Poppy or even the Headmaster could hope to give
  him.
  "Potter?" Severus tried to get the boy's attention. "Does your uncle hit
  you?" A nod was his only response, as Potter tried to hide behind his too
  long fringe. "Does anyone else in that house hit you?"
  "Yes," Harry said quietly, taking another sip of the strong alcohol.
  "Does he ever touch you when you have your clothes off?"
  "Yes." Harry ducked his head back to watch the floor again.
  "Harry, yesterday when we were in the change rooms, I happened to notice that
  your penis and testicles looked rather red. Does he touch those too?" Severus
  asked, wanting to be kind, but knowing the information was too important to
  let slide.
  The tears that Harry was trying to suppress broke free at that, and soon the
  boy was crying softly, obvious evidence of practice at trying to not attract
  attention. He nodded yes, and Severus had the feeling that if Potter had
  tried to speak, his voice would have broke completely.
  "You said your uncle had to clean blood off of himself. Where did the blood
  come from?"
  "Back there," Harry whimpered.
  "How did he make you bleed?"
  "Uncle Vernon was having me clean him with my tongue, he'd said the water
  wasn't working right and that his thing needed a bath. Then he saw that I was
  starting to leak, I'm still not toilet trained I guess, so he spanked me, and
  when that didn't stop me, He put himself inside me. It really hurt, but I
  deserved it. I was bad." Harry had blushed bright red as he told his story,
  and it surely pained him to force the words out.
  "Harry, please. It wasn't your fault. What your uncle did was wrong, and you
  didn't deserve it, and you could never ask for such a punishment." Severus
  could see that his words weren't really being heard by the distressed boy
  that was cowering at the other end of his sofa.
  "No. I was bad. That was to teach me to be better. He had to. How else could
  he make a freak like me understand? He just wanted to help me." Harry managed
  to get out, though it was a speech severely lacking in conviction by the time
  he finished. The boy's face had gone red and blotchy as the tears ran down
  his cheeks. Humiliation at what had happened to him, and a nagging feeling
  that maybe the people who supposedly cared for him really hadn't been caring
  for him after all, were at least partially to blame.
  Severus sighed softly and slid a bit closer, laying one hand on the crying
  child's shoulder. When that seemed to get no change in response, he stood and
  went over to one of his shelves, taking down a large bowl of silvery liquid.
  He walked back to the sitting area, placed the bowl on a low table between
  them, and carefully freed the glass of fire whisky from Harry's hand.
  "Mr. Potter. This is a pensieve," Severus began as he sat on the floor
  opposite the boy. "It's something that is used to store a person's memories.
  By giving the memory somewhere else to reside, it lets you get them out of
  your own mind. Headmaster Dumbledore gave this one to me when I came here to
  work for him. I think that you are actually a very `good' person, Harry,
  which is why I am willing to trust you with this information. I want to show
  you something."
  With Harry's curious eyes on him, Severus quietly spoke the spell, waved his
  wand, and let the scene unfold between them.
      * Pensieve Recollections -
  *A dark-haired boy stares in the mirror, contemplating a new scar. This
  latest one ran from the line of collarbone right up to his hairline. He
  carefully smoothes his hair to cover the mark and tugs his collar a little
  higher. With a slightly glassy look, he turns away and heads towards the
  door. There is company to dinner tonight. It will be tense, but not as much
  so as it would be if there was only family present...
  *The same boy, with his slightly too large nose, sat crying as his parents
  fought and argued. He tried to stifle his sobs, to quiet his whimpers of
  distress, but it was of no use. Once his mother had blacked out from the
  force of the blows to her head, his stepfather's hatred smeared face lifted
  and sought the boy's form. Two swift steps, punctuated with pistol like
  sounds snapped out by the heels of his boots, and the rest of the man's anger
  and drunkenness was dealt upon the youth. The soft slapping sound of hand on
  chest, arms, face, and legs filled the rooms. Houselves cowered within hidden
  alcoves, waiting...
  *Another fly fell, stung by the beam of an accurately wielded wand. The
  wand's owner looked on with bored detachment as he pushed limp hair away from
  his mouth and flicked his wand hand again. His mother, dead these last two
  months, wouldn't have approved of his spending so much time alone in his
  room, but it was safer than spending it downstairs in his ever so precious
  but rapidly dwindling library. His stepfather had no love of books, only of
  the liquor that could be bought from the money earned by selling the volumes.
  So many of the classics were gone, only to live on in Severus' memories of
  them being read to him by the only person in his life that had seemed to
  care. He only hoped that tonight wouldn't be so bad. There was another dinner
  party planned, and with any luck, his stepfather would be more interested in
  his business contacts than in his not-quite-son...
      * Soft, wet, sucking sounds curdled in the air like sour milk, only to be
        punctuated by the rhythmic creaking of the mattress beneath and the
        gasps and sobs of the one who knelt there. How could the night have
        gone so wrong? How could his father have bartered his son's virginity
        for the sake of a bad debt? What did he do that was so bad to deserve
        this kind of treatment? The man over him, half smothering him with the
        stench of unwashed body and too much drink, grunted and spasmed,
        finally pulling himself from Severus' body. Relief. He was in pain
        still, but all the same, was relieved. Three times he had been invaded,
        once by each of the men, and he knew their bodies, the sheets, and his
        own arse were liberally painted with blood. Surely that was all, for he
        thought not that he could endure any longer. But once again, life
        cheated him and declared him the loser, as he felt his body being
        forced open...
      * The sullen, quiet boy sat alone on the train. He had turned further
        into himself in the last few days at home, in the house with the four
        older men. He was grateful for the chance to go back to Hogwarts and
        get away from the Manor house, but how was he to explain the scratches
        and bruises, the tears, the extra padding in his pants to keep the
        blood from showing through? He didn't know. He didn't really care...
      * One week. He had been back at school for an entire week, yet the blood
        had only slowed, not stopped. The pain in `there' had become worse over
        the last few days. Even Lucius, two years elder and unofficial ruler of
        the House of Slytherin had noticed his withdrawal into himself, and had
        gone so far as to ask Severus to shape up, clean up, and move on. Of
        course Lucius would notice his reaction... the older boy had known the
        same treatment in his life...
      * Humiliation. Utter and complete humiliation to be bent over one of the
        infirmary beds, bare-arsed, with the school's nurse touching him and
        `hmm-ing' to herself. The Quidditch coach had accosted him after the
        game and mentioned how his robes might cause less comment if they
        weren't smeared with infection. The man then had manhandled him to the
        hospital wing, and appeared as though he would have been content to
        stay and watch, that is, if Madame Pomfrey hadn't shooed him out the
        door. At least the old lady was gentle, and she did talk to him about
        what she was doing. That did make him feel a bit better about the
        proceedings. Not that he was given much choice in what was happening
        all the same, he assumed it had to do with what she'd mumbled under her
        breath about idiot men and depravity. A few potions, a couple of
        charms, and he was ready to go. Madame Pomfrey wasn't so easily
        satisfied. She persisted in talking, soft and gentle, until he'd poured
        out the whole story, along with his heart, his soul, and far too many
        tears. Then she'd held him; as though he were as fragile as a spun
        glass ornament, and let him weep the rest of his troubles onto her
        strong shoulders. It might not have been much for many people, but it
        was more than he could remember having since before his dad had died...
      * The short matron of the medical wing bustled about making sure her
        stocks were in order, the beds were made properly, and such other
        activities common to similar locales, when Headmaster Dumbledore
        entered the room. He greeted the two occupants, and proceeded to sit
        beside Severus' bed. The boy was clearly nervous about what was going
        to happen, and his fears weren't at all helped when the older man began
        to talk about sex, propriety, and what fathers, and even stepfathers,
        shouldn't do with their children. Severus turned accusing eyes on the
        lady he'd thought to be his friend, only to have his glare diminished
        somewhat by the look of sympathy, fear and honesty in her eyes. They
        explained to him that what had happened to him was wrong, that he
        wasn't to blame in the slightest, and that they loved and cared for him
        just as much as the others, even thought they would never show that in
        the physical manner his step-father had preferred. He began to
        understand it. He began to hope again...
  A few more memories poured forth after that. All of them involving an
  elegantly aging Severus Snape telling his woes to the nurse. Poppy's comfort
  became a touchstone of familiarity and family for the lonely man. Through
  her, he began to trust others again: first Albus, as was shown in Snape's
  return to the fold at Hogwarts after the Death Eater missions became too
  much, and later others among the teaching staff, Minerva, Sinistra, Remus.
  Finally, a new Severus Snape came to the fore. He was still snarky and quiet
  and bitter, but he was also fiercely protective, dedicated, and for his
  students, though they might never know it, caring.
      * End Recollections -
  "Can you see now why I want you to go to Poppy?" Severus asked as the spell
  faded away. "That's also how I know she will understand what happened to you.
  In all the years I've been at Hogwarts, Harry, she has never told a soul, and
  neither has Albus. I really think you can trust that they will care for you
  just as much, if not more," Severus said quietly against the boy's ear, for
  as the memories had played out, the boy had come around the table and now lay
  against the older man; arms wound firmly about his shoulders, head tucked
  close against his cheek. At times, Harry's entire body would shake with the
  strength of his cries.
  "Potter... Harry, please. Will you go and see Madame Pomfrey? You need more
  help than I can give you; not only for the wounds I can see, but also for the
  wounds you keep hidden in your memories." The dark haired boy sobbed again,
  pressing his face harder to Severus' shoulder. "Please Harry, I will go with
  you, if that helps at all. I want to be there. I want to help you. Please,
  will you go?"
  The boy seemed to settle a bit at these words, although he pulled away
  slightly, and Severus relaxed his hold a little, allowing the movement but
  not allowing the boy to push away his touch. Then, movement, Harry gave a
  slight nod of his head, as he agreed to Severus' pleas.
  "You will come with me though?" Harry shivered, still not lifting his head.
  "Of course I will. I will always be there for you when you need me," Severus
  stated firmly, wrapping his arms around the smaller body to try and quiet the
  tremors. "Always."
  =============================================================================
  Harry had talked a bit longer with Severus within the sanctuary of the
  professor's rooms before they both started along hallways and up staircases
  to the white, sterile atmosphere that resided within the hospital wing.
  Severus' hand on the young boy's lower back guided him over to one of the
  private rooms along the far wall. There he sat nervously while the man went
  to fetch Madame Pomfrey. He wasn't sure how he was going to manage to tell
  his story again, or how he had even managed to tell it the first time; but in
  the end, it turned out his fears were unfounded.
  Severus perched on a chair beside the bed Harry was lying on and held his
  hand the entire time the nurse examined him. Whenever the exam turned more
  personal and more emotional, the professor would lock eyes with him, and the
  care and support Harry read in the chocolate brown gaze would ground him
  enough to allow the embarrassment and nervousness to fade. Both the professor
  and nurse would talk to him, tell him about what had happened to his body,
  about what kinds of normal responses boys his age had to stimulation, and
  about how they were trying to help him. They even asked for his input and
  choices on some of the aspects of his healing.
  Finally, his body and all of the places inside of it stopped hurting. The
  relief of it all caused his eyes to tear up again, and the two helping him
  feel better didn't push him away or berate him for his weakness. Instead,
  they gathered him close between themselves, gently wrapped arms about his
  shoulders, and whispered words of love and hope to him while one of Severus'
  hands slowly rubbed up and down his back. It was so little, and yet it was so
  much. So much more than he could ever remember having. So much of what he had
  wanted and needed, but been denied access to, for most of his life. He could
  only hope that it would never end.
  And end, it didn't. The healing of his body may have been affected quickly
  once he was convinced to seek for it, but the healing of his mind and his
  soul, while started that day, continued for months and years afterwards.
  Counselling sessions were set in place by Poppy, and one or the other of the
  adults were always there to accompany Harry to those meetings.
  More importantly, that support never ended at the exit doors of the therapy
  clinic. Harry was told and shown that he was always welcome to stop by the
  infirmary at the school; and Severus would often give Harry extra detentions,
  just to give the boy reason to stop by his office for a chance to talk. Those
  extra efforts on everyone's parts were what stuck in Harry's mind. Those were
  the things that memories and life changing behaviours were based upon. Those
  were the signs of people going above and beyond the duty of their callings,
  and how barriers were let down between souls.
  Everyone mentioned how changed the Potions Master was of late. Teachers
  commented on how much happier he seemed. Students gossiped about how the
  snarky git was loosing his sanity. Severus' behaviour even shocked himself
  when he finally uttered the words: "Longbottom! That's correct!"
  Harry was a whole lot more at peace with himself and the world around him.
  Quidditch had become a fun thing to do with friends and not the only way he
  had to release tension and put aside his unhappiness. Hermione saw him
  applying himself more to his studies, to her delight. Ron was a little
  confused at the changes that had overcome his friend, but he tended to accept
  it all with his devil-may-come good attitude.
  Only Poppy was left on the sidelines, smiling at her two special children.
  She saw the relaxation that had come with Severus' facing of his own demons
  for the sake of the Boy-Who-Lived, and how Harry had accepted that gift along
  with the knowledge that what had happened wasn't his fault and that he didn't
  need to blame himself for things that he couldn't change.
  Poppy already knew that Harry would never be returning to number 4 Privet
  Drive, she had told the Headmaster herself in the hour after she'd calmed
  both Severus and Harry into much needed rest. The look on Albus' face was
  something she hoped never to see again, but was fatalistic in accepting that
  she would probably be forced to anyway. That man was fiercely protective of
  all his students, his children really, and she knew she would sleep better
  herself for not knowing what had become of Mr. Dursley. Regardless of what
  the future would bring, she was glad to know that at least two people were
  better equipped to face it than they had been.
  =============================================================================
  Sixteen years later - Harry's tenth year reunion.
  "Professor Snape! Are you still teaching here? I would have thought you would
  have moved on to a research position after Voldemort was killed?"
  Severus looked at the dark-haired man in front of him. "I tried it for a bit,
  then I had to talk to Albus and ask for my old job back. I found out that I
  had grown far to accustomed to having the little brats around all the time...
  couldn't formulate a proper potion while in all of that officious silence."
  Strange how even after ten years apart it felt like the mere passing of
  seconds. He hadn't even needed to actually see the boy; just hearing his
  voice had been enough to reinstate the camaraderie they had grown to enjoy.
  "Really?" Harry laughed. "I knew you didn't hate us as much as you put on.
  Just had to be the greasy bastard for effect, didn't you?"
  "I'll have you know that I've never had to effect any such act!"
  "Hmmm... and I'd believe you, if not for the way your eyes are laughing at
  me! I think you've been around Dumbledore too long."
  "Well, he does have that effect on people," Severus said contritely. "Just
  look at how Pince has mellowed," Severus continued, pointing with one potion
  stained finger towards the beverage table where Madame Pince properly sipped
  from her teacup while wearing a pink and purple striped pair of knee socks
  under her sombre black skirt.
  "That reminds me, I've not yet seen Dobby around. Does he still work for
  Dumbledore?"
  "Yes and no. He still works in the castle, but no longer just for Albus."
  Severus looked pointedly towards two white clad house elves following after
  Madame Pomfrey. "Ever since the final battle when some of the elves were sent
  to the infirmary to help Poppy with the injured, Winky and Dobby decided that
  they were more needed there. They've been training as her apprentices ever
  since." Severus was clearly amused by the notions the elves took into their
  heads, and the abilities of those two in particular, to rise to any
  challenge.
  "Poppy," Harry murmured thoughtfully, "how is she? I mean, I owe her such a
  lot and I've never really thanked her for all of what she did for me. I
  haven't even been around here as much as I'd like to be lately, what with
  Auror training and then hunting down the escaped Dementors and defectors.
  I've never even properly thanked you, have I?" Harry said, looking up at the
  older man with quietly pensive eyes.
  "Poppy's been doing well, how could she do otherwise with a following of
  house elves? As for the rest, you don't need to thank me, Harry. I think I
  owe you just as much."
  A pregnant silence reigned as each man drew forth his own carefully preserved
  memories from Harry's recovery. Eventually, the moment passed as the
  Headmaster drew everyone's attention for the opening of the reunion
  festivities and the commencement of the formal dinner in the Great Hall. Old
  friends were re-met, food was consumed, although without as much gusto as it
  had been when the hall was filled with growing adolescents, and speeches were
  made.
  "Mr Potter. Could I speak with you a moment?"
  Harry startled a little, and looked over at the Potions Master that had snuck
  up on him and another knot of classmates. Smiling a little to himself, he
  quickly excused himself, and proceeded to follow the man down to his dungeon
  apartment.
  With the ease of long practice, he hung up their outer robes while Severus
  walked to the sideboard and poured them out their customary shots of fire
  whisky. They settled into the over-stuffed chairs that bracketed the lit
  fireplace, and lapsed into silence. But then again, between the two of them,
  words really weren't needed.
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