Snape was not at dinner, and Harry couldn't help wondering if he was angry with him over the events of the day. He supposed he'd find out that night, since there was no way he could avoid seeing him any more. After dinner, he reported to McGonagall's office to serve out his detention. To his surprise, the woman simple suggested he spend the time doing any homework he had been assigned. Granted McGonagall's detentions were never as horrible as Snape's or Filch's - but she did usually assign students some unpleasant task to perform. When half way through detention McGonagall offered Harry a tray of sweet pastries he began to grow suspicious that the woman might in fact feel sorry for him. But whether it was because of the detention he'd gotten due to Malfoy's callousness, or something deeper and related to the information she'd learned about the Dursleys, he didn't know. He wasn't certain he liked it. He'd survived sixteen years without anyone ever feeling sorry for him - he didn't need it now.
She dismissed him after the hour, bidding him a kindly goodnight. And rather than make his way into the Gryffindor common room like he desperately wanted to, Harry made his way down the long staircases toward the dungeons. Following the path he'd learned the night before, he soon found himself standing in front of the portrait of Salazar Slytherin and the large green snake. Both figures smiled at him, nodding in a surprisingly polite manner. "Severus' new bond-mate," the snake said to Salazar in Parseltongue. Harry blushed at that.
"Pity he's a Gryffindor," Salazar replied back in Parseltongue.
"There's nothing wrong with being a Gryffindor," Harry informed them both, also speaking in Parseltongue. Both snake and man were startled by this, and smiled in pleasure.
"Most interesting!" Salazar remarked. "A better match than I had guessed. May you have a long life together!"
Harry just blushed again. "Eldorado," he informed them both, and the portrait swung open, letting Harry into the Potions Master's chambers.
Stepping inside, he saw Snape sitting by the fire, not reading or drinking, but staring moodily into the flames. Not at all certain what sort of reception to expect, Harry took a couple of hesitant steps toward him. "Professor?" he asked quietly.
Snape did not answer him. Despite the fact that neither the point loss nor the detention had been his fault, Harry supposed he was expected to apologize. "I'm sorry about what happened today," he offered quietly.
"And what, pray tell, are you apologizing for, exactly?" Snape asked in a low, quiet voice. He didn't look up from the fire, and his expression never changed, something that made Harry decidedly nervous. "The fact that the entire Wizarding World seems to think I have some how manipulated their hero into marrying me for the sake of my own good name, or that you would only agree to such a terrible fate to get your hands on my money? Or perhaps you are apologizing for the endless stream of questions and speculations we were both subjected to throughout the entire day? Or the looks of loathing and contempt coming from the Gryffindors, or the foul sexual innuendoes coming from the Slytherins? Or perhaps you wish to apologize for the Howler I received in the staff room from Sirius Black who threatened to do things to me I shan't repeat if I so much as looked at you inappropriately?"
Okay, Snape had definitely had a worse day than he had. "Actually, I was just going to apologize for the point loss and the detention," he admitted sheepishly.
Some emotion flickered across Snape's features and the man shot him an unreadable look. "Oh," he said simply, then shrugged. "As awkward as that situation was, taking points away from Gryffindor and seeing Malfoy with a split lip were the only moments of pleasure I had all day."
Unable to help himself, Harry smiled. "Which would probably explain my need to apologize for them."
For a moment, he almost thought Snape was going to laugh. "I'm sure," he agreed dryly. He winced suddenly, clutching at his left forearm and muttering some curse under his breath.
Harry frowned, stepping forward. "What's wrong?" he demanded.
"Nothing," Snape bit out between gritted teeth. But now that Harry had seen the wince, he noticed that Snape looked exhausted, his skin paler than normal.
"It's Voldemort, isn't it?" Harry stated. "He's summoned you!"
"Hardly matters now, Mr. Potter," Snape reminded him, eyes closed, lips still pinched in pain. His hand had tightened knuckle-white around his forearm as if trying to squeeze away the mark hidden beneath his robes.
"How long has this been going on?" Harry asked. He knew the Dark Mark grew progressively more painful the longer a summons was ignored. He hadn't bothered to wonder what might happen to Snape now that he no longer intended to answer the summons. Just how long could Voldemort torture him with it –- and how bad would the pain get?
"Not your concern, Potter," Snape informed him. Harry could see the struggle the man endured to control the pain he must be experiencing.
"Actually, it is my concern," Harry informed him, making a decision and kneeling down in front of the man. With his eyes closed, Snape didn't see what he was doing until Harry touched his arm, pushing the sleeve of his robe up to reveal the dark mark. The mark was black as night, and the skin around it was fiery red and swollen.
"What are you doing?" Snape demanded, eyes glaring.
"This is my fault," Harry told him.
Snape snatched his arm away from him. "It's not your fault, Potter!"
"If it wasn't for me this wouldn't be happening!" Harry shouted back at him.
"You're right!" Snape snarled. "Instead I'd probably be playing the good little Death Eater and suffering the Cruciatus because Voldemort was bored and couldn't find any Muggles to torture."
"If you're trying to shock me, save your breath!" Harry told him, anger boiling inside him. "I've seen what he does, remember? Now just answer the damn question! How long has this been going on?"
"Don't take that tone with me!" Snape roared at him.
Unable to control himself, Harry reared back and kicked the leg of Snape's chair. "I hate you!"
"Good!" Snape shouted back, and then bit back a strangled moan of pain as he clamped his hand over the dark mark once again.
Despite his rage, the sight of Snape in pain twisted something inside Harry, and he couldn't bear to watch. Drawing his wand in desperation, he summoned Dobby to the room.
"Dobby, get the Headmaster, please," he told the little elf. "Tell him he needs to come here immediately."
"Yes, Harry Potter, I is going immediately!" Dobby assured him, vanishing an instant later.
"What in hell did you do that for?" Snape asked bitterly.
Harry didn't answer. Instead he simply stood back and waited, watching as Snape squeezed his eyes shut in pain, his fingernails digging into the flesh of his arm as he tried to stop the agony flaring from the mark. Harry felt raw inside, the whole situation seeming unreal. A moment later he saw the flames of the fire change color as floo powder was mixed with them. Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace.
"Harry, what's wrong?" the old man asked worriedly. Harry just pointed soundlessly toward Snape. Dumbledore took one look at the situation and understood immediately.
"Severus, how long has this been going on?" the old man asked, his voice firm and demanding.
"A few hours," Snape admitted without hesitation.
"Come with me," Dumbledore ordered, reaching out to help the man stand. "I have an idea that might help."
Snape went without protesting, and Harry followed them to the door. Dumbledore just smiled gently at him. "Stay here, Harry," he ordered. "We'll be back before too long. You should probably try to get some sleep."
Recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, Harry stood back and watched them leave the room. A moment later he was alone in Snape's chambers. They felt strangely empty without the other man's presence.
Not certain what to do with himself, Harry wandered around the rooms, looking at things, his mind elsewhere. Wandering into the bedroom, he noticed a letter waiting for him on his nightstand. Curious as to why it hadn't been delivered to him in the Great Hall, he went to pick it up, recognizing Sirius' handwriting on the envelope. He wondered if it had come the same time Snape's howler had.
Opening it eagerly, he read the note his godfather had sent him.
Dear Harry,
Dumbledore has informed me of the events of last night - rather than the fiction the papers printed this morning. I am so sorry this has happened. I can't begin to express my remorse that I can not be there for you, or that I could not prevent the things the Dursleys did to you. I knew they treated you poorly, but I had no idea it had been so bad. If I had, I would have taken you with me that first summer regardless of the legal risks. At the very least I would have sent you to live with Remus. Had I not believed you were at least safe with the Dursleys, I would never have left you there.
I understand the necessity of the marriage - Dumbledore was right, you cannot risk leaving Hogwarts, and Fudge would get you killed in a matter of days. Of that I have no doubt. But I cannot believe that the most suitable candidate they could find for you was SNAPE? Why not Hermione or Ron, or one of Ron's brothers for that matter? Or what about that girl you liked? Cho something? Rest assured that if Snape does anything to upset or hurt you I will see that he's punished! Do not let that bastard push you around or upset you in any manner. You have no obligations or loyalties to him no matter what anyone tells you! I'll be coming to visit as soon as I can. Until then, take care of yourself, and if you need anything send for me or Mooney.
Love,
Padfoot
The letter, despite everything, actually succeeded in making him feel somewhat better. Figuring he'd better send an answer back to Sirius as soon as possible he sat down at the desk in the library and composed a short note to Sirius, assuring him that he was fine and that he shouldn't worry too much about him. Then he set it aside to deliver in the morning.
After showering, Harry climbed into bed, setting his glasses and wand down on the nightstand he supposed had somehow become 'his'. He couldn't help wondering what precisely Sirius' howler to Snape must have said, and he found himself lying awake in bed dreaming up the words Sirius must have used. He imagined it had been great.
It was nearly an hour later before Snape returned, going straight into the bathroom to change. He emerged a while later, dressed as he had been last night in a pair of pajama bottoms, though this time he had his nightshirt already on over them. As he moved around the room extinguishing some of the candles, Harry's eyes were drawn to his forearm. Several coils of what looked to be silver wire were wound around his forearm, covering the Dark Mark.
"Are you all right?" Harry asked quietly as Snape approached the bed.
Snape nodded tightly. "Albus found a way of blocking the pain," he informed him as he climbed in beside Harry.
Harry nodded in acknowledgement and rolled away, turning his back to Snape. To his surprise the man spoke again. "Why did you say it was your fault?" he sounded more curious than angry.
For a moment Harry was tempted to tell the man he was not accustomed to chatting while in bed. Instead he simply opted for the truth. "If I had killed Voldemort, he couldn't hurt anyone else."
"And you think it is your responsibility to kill him?" Snape asked.
"One of us has to die," Harry replied, staring at the shadows lingering around the bed curtains.
A strong hand suddenly closed around his shoulder and pulled him around, pushing him flat onto his back, pinned to the bed. In the darkness he could see little more than a shadow looming over him, but he could feel the heat of Snape's angry glare. His pulse inexplicably raced. "What in hell is that supposed to mean?"
"It means either I kill him or he'll kill me!" Harry told him, a basic fact of life he'd come to accept. Snape's hand felt hot against his shoulder. "Either way one of us dies, and in the mean time everyone else suffers for it!" Not to mention the suffering that would follow if Voldemort was the one who got lucky first.
"People suffer because Voldemort is a sick, evil monster who has been doing terrible things long before you were ever born. And before him it was the Wizard Grindelwald, and Dumbledore was no more responsible for his crimes than you are for Voldemort's. Take responsibility for your own actions, but don't take the blame for Voldemort's!"
"My own actions consisted of letting Peter Pettigrew live when I should have killed him," Harry said bitterly. "Thanks to that one stupid action Sirius is still on the run, Cedric Diggory was murdered, and Voldemort was raised from the dead."
"You're not a killer," Snape told him. "And no one expects you to be!"
Harry stared at him in disbelief. "Sixty-three Aurors died defending me last year. And forty-seven Death Eaters died when I took the Eye of Odin from Voldemort. You're right, I'm not a killer; I'm a mass murderer! And if I had it to do all over again I'd kill Wormtail and spare myself the sheer numbers!"
"Those were causalities of war," Snape's voice was harsh with emotion, thought which ones Harry couldn't guess. "And you were in no way responsible for any of them. Murder is taking a knife in your own hand and plunging it into someone's living heart. There is a difference! A huge difference! And one I hope you will never know. And even if you had killed Pettigrew, I have no doubt Voldemort would have found someone else to bring him back."
"Then maybe there are just somethings that are enviable," Harry said bitterly. He shook off Snape's hand, which still rested on his shoulder, and rolled away from him again. "If that's the case I guess we all better hope that it's inevitable that I learn how to kill sooner rather than later."
Snape didn't reply and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the tears he felt stinging them. He wouldn't cry. He never had before, and he wasn't going to start now.
Snape woke several hours later, startled awake by the strangled cry of fear beside him. Turning, he saw Harry thrashing again on the bed, his sleeping face twisted in agony as he fought with an invisible attacker. Cursing under his breath, Snape reached for his end table, scrambling to find another vial of Dreamless Sleep Draught. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten it, not after promising the boy last night that he would have as much as he needed. And after the events of the evening and the conversation they had both fallen asleep to, he should have known there would be nightmares forthcoming.
Finding the bottle, Snape reached for Harry, shaking him awake, calling his name softly. Once again the boy flinched away from him, so violently this time that he threw himself out of bed and slid off the side, landing on the cold floor with a muffled oomph. Severus scrambled quickly out of bed himself and made his way around to the boy's side.
Sweating and dishelved, but thankfully awake, Harry stared at him in alarm, breath coming in desperate gasps. Not thinking, Snape just caught hold of his shoulders, pried the stopper of the vial off with his teeth, and held the glass to the boy's lips. "Drink!" he commanded.
Harry downed the contents without question, making no move to escape his embrace. Once the vial was empty the boy flushed and looked down in either embarrassment or shame.
"I'm sorry," he told the boy. "I had meant to give that to you before you fell asleep."
"Not your concern," Harry informed him tightly, repeating back the very words Snape had said to him that evening when the mark on his arm had been burning. Taken aback, Snape was momentarily at a loss for words, wondering if Harry had said those exact words on purpose. Guessing he was feeling vulnerable and thus defensive, he concluded that he probably had. Clever Gryffindor, he thought to himself, almost saying it out loud and awarding house points.
"Actually it is my concern," he said mildly, determined to turn the ruse around. The boy looked up at him in surprise, his eyes narrowing. "Can't sleep with you thrashing about like that," Snape explained, pointedly steering the conversation away from any thought of blame or responsibility.
Harry snorted in disgusted amusement, shaking his head. "Is this where I tell you again that I hate you?"
"If it makes you feel better," Snape agreed. Noticing that the boy had begun shivering, he pulled him to his feet. "Back in bed, before the potion knocks you out."
Harry didn't protest as Severus helped him back into the bed. As Severus climbed in beside him, he noticed the boy's eyes drifting shut, the potion taking affect. "What did you dream about, Harry?" he asked softly, knowing he was half asleep already.
"The dead," he answered. "It's always the dead." And then he was out like a light, safe in a dreamless slumber.
The light from the lone candle Snape had left burning flickered off the silver bands of the wire wrapped around his arm as Severus reached out to touch the scar on Harry's forehead. They both bore their share of scars, he realized. His own might be older and more numerous, but Harry's went far deeper. It really hadn't occurred to him how much they might actually have in common. But the conversation he'd had with Harry before falling asleep had been alarmingly similar to conversations he'd had himself with Albus Dumbledore. Maybe the old man had had a point when he'd pushed them together. Pity they disliked each other so much - he almost wanted to hold Harry in his arms and keep them both safe from the evils of the world.
Sighing he settled down beside his bond-mate and watched him sleep, eventually drifting off himself without ever noticing that he still had one hand on the boy's warm shoulder.