In My Power - chapter 2
Here is my little offering. It would be more but RL is trying at the moment. I hope this fits in with what is going on. Thanks for having me.
Chapter 2 - Welcome Back Professor
By Darkling
Harry interjected before Snape could utter another word. “I thought you understood, sir. This is the only way to prevent you from getting the Kiss. Do you see?”
Snape continued to stare at Harry as if waiting for a sign that the boy was lying. The truth stared back at him. “The Kiss,” Snape echoed, suddenly unsure again. He did not lower his eyes.
They hover over him, a black seething mass, drawing out his warmth, his reason, their voices hissing in his mind. “Ssssssooooon we will have you Ssssseverussssss. Ssssssooon.”
“Yes,” Harry said softly. “The Dementors’ Kiss. This is the only way I could save you.” He grasped Snape’s upper arm and started to gently guide the clearly disoriented man towards the exit. “Come on. Let’s get you home. I’ve had about enough of this place for one lifetime.” With a small tilt of his head he indicated to Hermione that she should take up position on Snape’s other side, which she did, moving behind him and speaking softly so as not to alarm him.
“I’m just going to step to this side, Professor,” she said, grasping Snape’s other arm.
“I can see that, you stupid girl,” snarled Snape.
Harry smiled at Hermione who rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Welcome back, sir,” he said, guiding Snape past the assembled spectators and officials. Harry bestowed a golden smile on a sneering Lucius Malfoy before returning his attention to Snape.
Once outside the chamber, Snape seemed to lose what lucidity he had briefly possessed while within it. He started to shake and gasp and although obviously weakened, tried to wrench free from Harry and Hermione. When Harry managed to stand in front of him and look into his eyes, he saw that they were wild with fear.
“Professor, what is it?”
“No, no more, no more,” Snape cried backing away from Harry. “Please, not that. Not again. Let me go. Not that, please.” He stiffened and dug his heels in, resisting forward motion.
“Professor, professor, it’s all right. We are not going to hurt you,” reassured Harry and when that failed he grasped Snape’s chin firmly and forced the distraught man to look into his eyes.
“Professor, who am I?” asked Harry.
Snape flinched at the sound of his voice and tried to pull away, but Harry held on firmly and insisted, “Who am I, professor?”
A gleam of recognition in Snape’s eyes encouraged Harry and he loosened his grip on the man but did not lower his eyes. “Well?”
“James. You are James Potter.”
Harry smiled sadly. “Well, close. I’m Harry. Remember me, professor? Harry Potter?” He watched the muscles in Snape’s face shifting as he concentrated.
“Potter.”
“Yes. Harry Potter.”
“Harry.”
“Yes, professor, I’m Harry and I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you.”
Snape relaxed a little. “You are not going to take me back there?”
“No, Severus. You’re never going back there. You are coming home with me. I’m going to look after you.”
As he registered what Harry was saying, Snape appeared, by degrees, to return to himself. He straightened his posture and smoothed the tattered remnants of his robes, his movements stiffly dignified. Adjusting what was left of the neck of his shirt, his hand brushed the leather collar. His deft, elegant fingers stroked the leather, realisation dawning on his face.
“I belong to you now.”
“Yes, Severus, you do. It was the only way I could save you.” Harry smiled. “Are you ready to go home now?”
“With you?”
Harry weighed his words carefully, not wanting to trigger another panic attack. “Yes, you will be living with me from now on.” He slowly reached up to touch Snape’s fingers that once more caressed the soft leather around his neck. “It will be all right, really.” His spirits soared when he heard the acerbic reply.
“That, Mr Potter is a matter of opinion.”
Once they were within Harry’s quarters, Harry seated Snape on the sofa while Hermione sent to the kitchen for some soup and then filled the bathtub.
“You make a lovely couple,” remarked Snape coldly over the sound of running water, as Harry sent another elf with word to the infirmary for healing and sleeping potions.
“What?” said Harry, not sure he had heard correctly.
“You and Miss Know It All. A match made in heaven.”
Harry turned to him and snorted softly. “Hermione and me? God, no.”
“No?”
“No.”
Snape almost smiled.
“The water is not hot, professor. You can get in.” Harry stood by the side of the tub waiting for Snape to disrobe. Snape stood, staring at the water as if for the first time.
“A bath,” he said, incredulous.
Harry felt something tighten in his throat. God, they hadn’t even allowed him the basic requirements for personal hygiene. “You’ll feel much better afterwards,” he said, tightly. “When you’re done, Hermione has organised a meal for you.”
Snape looked at Harry. “I’m putrid,” he said.
“You could do with a clean up, yes,” agreed Harry and unable to bear the sorrow and shame in Snape’s dark eyes, added briskly, “Better get in before the water gets cold.” He moved towards Snape. “Here, let’s get those clothes off.”
He raised his arms to the few remaining buttons on Snap’s coat but only managed to free one from its buttonhole before Snape pulled away, almost stumbling into the bath fully clothed.
“Whoa,” said Harry and then slightly irritated, blurted “How many times..? Look, I’m not going to hurt you, OK?” He met Snape’s eyes. “OK?” There being no definable response, Harry continued, “Now, stand still while I get you out of these.” He stepped toward Snape and resumed pulling buttons through loops.
“I understand.”
The response was so quiet; Harry almost did not hear it. He stilled and felt something cold settled in his gut.
“What do you understand, professor?” he said, allowing his hands to fall to his sides.
“I must stand still because … you own me now.” Snape looked to the floor. The statement seemed to sap his remaining strength and Harry watched in horror as he slowly turned his back and crossed his wrists behind him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Presenting myself to be restrained.”
Harry stared at Snape’s hands. For the first time he noticed angry red welts around the man’s wrists. Fuck. Running a hand nervously through his hair, Harry thought hard, then, licking his lips, said firmly, “Severus, you are not in Azkaban. You are safe here with me. I am not going to restrain you now and I am not going to hurt you.” Sudden inspiration struck and he moved to face Snape again. “We can talk about all this later. First, I want you to get in the bath and then have something to eat and some rest. Will you do that now?”
He paused, waiting for the effect of his words to sink in and then let out a breath when he saw the almost imperceptible nod of Snape’s head. “Good. Do you want me to help you?” Another small nod prompted Harry to gently undo the last button and then slide the torn and filthy remnants of the once proud man’s fine robes from his shoulders. The cloth whispered to the floor. He helped Snape into the warm, potion laced water.
It was not the vivid traces of the lash or the blue/black evidence of repeated beatings that made Harry want to run from the room. It was not the shadowy valleys between Snape’s protruding ribs that wrenched at his guts and made him tremble with anger. It was the many rivulets of dried blood that stained the inside and backs of the man’s legs that nearly broke Harry.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, stunned. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”
Snape did not respond. He lay as if dead, his eyes closed, his head supported on the backrest, arms floating in the water. Dipping a soft cloth into the water, Harry gently washed Snape’s face, his arms and chest, feet and legs; the only sounds, the gentle swish of water and the scrape of Harry’s shoes on the floor. He tipped a beaker of water over Snape’ hair and then applied a glob of shampoo. With gentle movements of his fingers, he massaged the shampoo into the man’s knotted, dark hair, and then rinsed it clean.
When he was done, Harry sat back on his heels and waited. After a time, Snape opened one eye.
“You missed a bit,” he said softly.
Harry allowed himself a small grin. “Yes, your back, I know,” he said, quite aware of what the man was meaning. “Lean forward and I’ll wash it now.” He grasped Snape’s shoulder and pulled the man toward him but stopped when Snape’s arm shot out of the water to grasp him by the arm. Both eyes were open now and fixed on Harry’s face.
“I do not know why you have done this,” he said.
“Well, you were pretty rank,” replied Harry.
“That is not what I mean.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Harry lathered the washcloth with healing potion. “Just be quiet and lean forward.”
Snape did so, wincing slightly at Harry’s ministrations but making no other sound.
“Are you going to send me back?”
Harry emptied the beaker of water over Snape’s head and back and then reached to grasp his chin and tilt his head back. Rivulets of water ran into Snape’s eyes. Harry wiped them away. “For the last time, I am not going to send you back.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Snape’s gaze travelled to Harry’s mouth. Aware of the moment, Harry licked his lips. He felt strangely nervous; heady and taut like a bowstring. Snape’s chin moved in his grasp as he tried to lean forward but Harry kept his grip sure, maintaining the distance between them. He stroked Snape’s cheek gently with his thumb, and then placed a soft kiss on his forehead.
“Never, ever,” he said.
Chapter 2 - Welcome Back Professor
By Darkling
Harry interjected before Snape could utter another word. “I thought you understood, sir. This is the only way to prevent you from getting the Kiss. Do you see?”
Snape continued to stare at Harry as if waiting for a sign that the boy was lying. The truth stared back at him. “The Kiss,” Snape echoed, suddenly unsure again. He did not lower his eyes.
They hover over him, a black seething mass, drawing out his warmth, his reason, their voices hissing in his mind. “Ssssssooooon we will have you Ssssseverussssss. Ssssssooon.”
“Yes,” Harry said softly. “The Dementors’ Kiss. This is the only way I could save you.” He grasped Snape’s upper arm and started to gently guide the clearly disoriented man towards the exit. “Come on. Let’s get you home. I’ve had about enough of this place for one lifetime.” With a small tilt of his head he indicated to Hermione that she should take up position on Snape’s other side, which she did, moving behind him and speaking softly so as not to alarm him.
“I’m just going to step to this side, Professor,” she said, grasping Snape’s other arm.
“I can see that, you stupid girl,” snarled Snape.
Harry smiled at Hermione who rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Welcome back, sir,” he said, guiding Snape past the assembled spectators and officials. Harry bestowed a golden smile on a sneering Lucius Malfoy before returning his attention to Snape.
Once outside the chamber, Snape seemed to lose what lucidity he had briefly possessed while within it. He started to shake and gasp and although obviously weakened, tried to wrench free from Harry and Hermione. When Harry managed to stand in front of him and look into his eyes, he saw that they were wild with fear.
“Professor, what is it?”
“No, no more, no more,” Snape cried backing away from Harry. “Please, not that. Not again. Let me go. Not that, please.” He stiffened and dug his heels in, resisting forward motion.
“Professor, professor, it’s all right. We are not going to hurt you,” reassured Harry and when that failed he grasped Snape’s chin firmly and forced the distraught man to look into his eyes.
“Professor, who am I?” asked Harry.
Snape flinched at the sound of his voice and tried to pull away, but Harry held on firmly and insisted, “Who am I, professor?”
A gleam of recognition in Snape’s eyes encouraged Harry and he loosened his grip on the man but did not lower his eyes. “Well?”
“James. You are James Potter.”
Harry smiled sadly. “Well, close. I’m Harry. Remember me, professor? Harry Potter?” He watched the muscles in Snape’s face shifting as he concentrated.
“Potter.”
“Yes. Harry Potter.”
“Harry.”
“Yes, professor, I’m Harry and I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you.”
Snape relaxed a little. “You are not going to take me back there?”
“No, Severus. You’re never going back there. You are coming home with me. I’m going to look after you.”
As he registered what Harry was saying, Snape appeared, by degrees, to return to himself. He straightened his posture and smoothed the tattered remnants of his robes, his movements stiffly dignified. Adjusting what was left of the neck of his shirt, his hand brushed the leather collar. His deft, elegant fingers stroked the leather, realisation dawning on his face.
“I belong to you now.”
“Yes, Severus, you do. It was the only way I could save you.” Harry smiled. “Are you ready to go home now?”
“With you?”
Harry weighed his words carefully, not wanting to trigger another panic attack. “Yes, you will be living with me from now on.” He slowly reached up to touch Snape’s fingers that once more caressed the soft leather around his neck. “It will be all right, really.” His spirits soared when he heard the acerbic reply.
“That, Mr Potter is a matter of opinion.”
Once they were within Harry’s quarters, Harry seated Snape on the sofa while Hermione sent to the kitchen for some soup and then filled the bathtub.
“You make a lovely couple,” remarked Snape coldly over the sound of running water, as Harry sent another elf with word to the infirmary for healing and sleeping potions.
“What?” said Harry, not sure he had heard correctly.
“You and Miss Know It All. A match made in heaven.”
Harry turned to him and snorted softly. “Hermione and me? God, no.”
“No?”
“No.”
Snape almost smiled.
“The water is not hot, professor. You can get in.” Harry stood by the side of the tub waiting for Snape to disrobe. Snape stood, staring at the water as if for the first time.
“A bath,” he said, incredulous.
Harry felt something tighten in his throat. God, they hadn’t even allowed him the basic requirements for personal hygiene. “You’ll feel much better afterwards,” he said, tightly. “When you’re done, Hermione has organised a meal for you.”
Snape looked at Harry. “I’m putrid,” he said.
“You could do with a clean up, yes,” agreed Harry and unable to bear the sorrow and shame in Snape’s dark eyes, added briskly, “Better get in before the water gets cold.” He moved towards Snape. “Here, let’s get those clothes off.”
He raised his arms to the few remaining buttons on Snap’s coat but only managed to free one from its buttonhole before Snape pulled away, almost stumbling into the bath fully clothed.
“Whoa,” said Harry and then slightly irritated, blurted “How many times..? Look, I’m not going to hurt you, OK?” He met Snape’s eyes. “OK?” There being no definable response, Harry continued, “Now, stand still while I get you out of these.” He stepped toward Snape and resumed pulling buttons through loops.
“I understand.”
The response was so quiet; Harry almost did not hear it. He stilled and felt something cold settled in his gut.
“What do you understand, professor?” he said, allowing his hands to fall to his sides.
“I must stand still because … you own me now.” Snape looked to the floor. The statement seemed to sap his remaining strength and Harry watched in horror as he slowly turned his back and crossed his wrists behind him.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Presenting myself to be restrained.”
Harry stared at Snape’s hands. For the first time he noticed angry red welts around the man’s wrists. Fuck. Running a hand nervously through his hair, Harry thought hard, then, licking his lips, said firmly, “Severus, you are not in Azkaban. You are safe here with me. I am not going to restrain you now and I am not going to hurt you.” Sudden inspiration struck and he moved to face Snape again. “We can talk about all this later. First, I want you to get in the bath and then have something to eat and some rest. Will you do that now?”
He paused, waiting for the effect of his words to sink in and then let out a breath when he saw the almost imperceptible nod of Snape’s head. “Good. Do you want me to help you?” Another small nod prompted Harry to gently undo the last button and then slide the torn and filthy remnants of the once proud man’s fine robes from his shoulders. The cloth whispered to the floor. He helped Snape into the warm, potion laced water.
It was not the vivid traces of the lash or the blue/black evidence of repeated beatings that made Harry want to run from the room. It was not the shadowy valleys between Snape’s protruding ribs that wrenched at his guts and made him tremble with anger. It was the many rivulets of dried blood that stained the inside and backs of the man’s legs that nearly broke Harry.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, stunned. “Oh god, I’m so sorry.”
Snape did not respond. He lay as if dead, his eyes closed, his head supported on the backrest, arms floating in the water. Dipping a soft cloth into the water, Harry gently washed Snape’s face, his arms and chest, feet and legs; the only sounds, the gentle swish of water and the scrape of Harry’s shoes on the floor. He tipped a beaker of water over Snape’ hair and then applied a glob of shampoo. With gentle movements of his fingers, he massaged the shampoo into the man’s knotted, dark hair, and then rinsed it clean.
When he was done, Harry sat back on his heels and waited. After a time, Snape opened one eye.
“You missed a bit,” he said softly.
Harry allowed himself a small grin. “Yes, your back, I know,” he said, quite aware of what the man was meaning. “Lean forward and I’ll wash it now.” He grasped Snape’s shoulder and pulled the man toward him but stopped when Snape’s arm shot out of the water to grasp him by the arm. Both eyes were open now and fixed on Harry’s face.
“I do not know why you have done this,” he said.
“Well, you were pretty rank,” replied Harry.
“That is not what I mean.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
Harry lathered the washcloth with healing potion. “Just be quiet and lean forward.”
Snape did so, wincing slightly at Harry’s ministrations but making no other sound.
“Are you going to send me back?”
Harry emptied the beaker of water over Snape’s head and back and then reached to grasp his chin and tilt his head back. Rivulets of water ran into Snape’s eyes. Harry wiped them away. “For the last time, I am not going to send you back.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Snape’s gaze travelled to Harry’s mouth. Aware of the moment, Harry licked his lips. He felt strangely nervous; heady and taut like a bowstring. Snape’s chin moved in his grasp as he tried to lean forward but Harry kept his grip sure, maintaining the distance between them. He stroked Snape’s cheek gently with his thumb, and then placed a soft kiss on his forehead.
“Never, ever,” he said.