Here, in Severus’ chambers, there was nothing. The book he’d taken out earlier turned out to be very boring. Even the pictures, while drawn well, had been of mundane things, like the exact width you should cut Mandrake Root to. The text talked a great deal about the importance of virgin sacrifices. Master had said that a sacrifice was when you gave something up in order to gain something, but what was a virgin and why was it so important?

Putting the book back under the couch, Harry got up and went to the desk. There was a small pile of scrolls on the side and he sat down, taking one off the top and opening it. ‘The Uses of Wolfsbane.’ He only got a few lines in before he gave up trying to decipher the scratchy handwriting. The second one was readable, but even more boring and dry than the Celtic book of rituals. The third was better written, but grossly inaccurate. Harry had read a book once called ‘Misnomers of Wolfsbane’ and he thought maybe this author could have used a copy. He hoped that they weren’t planning on taking any trips to the Appalachian Mountains, because Wolfsbane was more likely to antagonize a Hippogriff, than ward one off.

Flopping bonelessly on the couch, Harry stared at the ceiling, absently tracing a pattern on his stomach with his finger nail. Master had insisted he keep his nails trimmed and well manicured. Actually, they had been getting a little long. He pushed a little harder against his skin and was rewarded with a white line that quickly turned red.

Tilting his head back, he eyed a tall cabinet by the fireplace that was filled with vials. Sitting up, he scooted to the end of the sofa and continued to stare at them thoughtfully. The wards were so strong, he could literally feel them coming off the cabinet, but that didn’t bother him. Master had plenty of things that were warded to keep him out and Harry had long ago grown accustomed to the oppressive presence.

The one in the front was a minty green, but it changed to a metallic purple when he moved his head to either side. Another was lilac and there were three thick, pink potions that looked interesting. He made a quick catalogue in his head of the ones he recognized - ten pepper-up, an entire shelf of healing potions, a row of something Harry thought was pain killer, but as he hadn’t had much experience with them, he couldn’t be sure.

The cabinet lost interest after a while, because even if the wards hadn’t been there, he wasn’t planning on actually drinking any of them, no matter how curious he got. Master had had a much smaller potion cabinet in his room and when he was younger, Harry had taken great delight in breaking into it and drinking contents at random, just to see what it would do. The last time he’d done that had been three years ago. When Master had insisted he stay as a girl until it wore itself off - and it took weeks - Harry had vowed never to do that again. There had also been the time he’d lost his voice for two months. Or the time he’d been five, bored, and ‘pepper-up,’ had sounded like fun. Come to think of it, there were very few times when drinking random potions had yielded him anything other than trouble.

Laying back down, Harry held his arms out and looked at the thick cuffs on his wrists, before dropping his hand to his throat and running fingers over the collar. They had been gifts, marks of Master’s ownership of him and they comforted him when Master was away.

Harry’s eyes had just begun to drift shut when the door to the room slammed open loudly, startling him. He stood in time to see the man Dumbledore come into the room, followed by two women supporting Severus between them. It wasn’t an uncommon site, really. There had been more than one occasion when Master had come back from battle in such a state, but that did nothing to stave off Harry’s curiosity.

He followed them into the bedroom, watching from the doorway as the women laid Severus down. The taller of the two, a woman with grey hair pulled back in a tight bun and a stern face, stepped back, while the other crowded over Severus, pulling back his robes, to expose the wounds.

Albus had faith that Poppy could do her job well enough without him looking over her shoulder, so instead, he watched boy. It was remarkable to think that this boy was really Harry Potter. Of course, it would have been remarkable had it been anyone that Severus brought back, even a nameless muggle child. The thought that this boy had been with the Dark Lord since he was barely old enough to walk, was staggering. Especially when one actually looked at him.

A pained grunt from the bed drew Albus attention and he saw Poppy pulling Severus’s shirt off a bloodied wound on his arm.

From the corner of his eyes, Harry gripped the doorframe tighter, his head tilted in concern. "What happened?"

The question took Albus a little off guard, but apparently, was just the distraction Severus needed. "I had a picnic."

Albus could very literally see Harry’s mind trying to work out how a picnic could result in these injuries. Fighting back a smile, he clarified, "Voldemort punished him, Harry."

"Why?"

"For not taking you back."

Albus tried to lay a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off and went to the side of the bed opposite Poppy. "Why didn’t you take me back if he was going to punish you?" He sounded neither angry, nor annoyed, he didn’t seem to care that he’d been taken away, just curious as to what Severus had been thinking.

Severus pain-filled gaze landed on Harry for a moment and his voice dropped into a tone that Albus hardly recognized. "Because no one should have to live as a pet." There was, perhaps, nothing significant in the words themselves, but Albus recognized the statement for what it was. Atonement. Severus would have gladly died tonight, if that was the cost for freeing Harry.

However, Harry, did not hear, nor understand that. Leaning forward over the edge of the bed, he wrinkled his nose in confusion. "But I already am."

Albus saw Severus’ jaw tighten in anger and moved quickly, taking Harry by the shoulders and leading him out of the room. "Come along, Harry. Severus needs his rest."

Harry didn’t protest as Albus shut the door behind him, leaving Poppy to her work. He didn’t miss the questioning glance that Minerva threw him. He would explain this to her later, when they were alone and he didn’t have a bewildered teenager standing next to the couch, staring openly at him with unasked questions playing across his face.

"Have a seat."

"Why didn’t he take me back, Mister Dumbledore? If he was going to be punished like that, why didn’t he just give me back to Master?"

Or perhaps ‘unasked’ wasn’t the right word; hesitant, then, which was perhaps better and worse at the same time. Better, because Albus didn’t want to have to guess at what Harry was thinking. He was good at guessing and he rarely misjudged situations or people, but as he’d often said, those who make few mistakes, were destined to make the largest ones. Worse, because it meant that caution was one more skill Harry would have to learn.

"Have a seat and I’ll answer any question it is within my power to do so."

Harry sat and Albus leaned down, cursing his old back as he picked up the shirt laying on the floor, handing it to the boy. "Now, why don’t we start with, my name is Professor Dumbledore."

Harry gave the shirt a sour frown, but pulled it on over his head. "Professor Dumbledore."

"Also, there’s the matter of you calling Voldemort ‘Master.’"

"What’s wrong with that?"

"It bothers some people. You’ll have to start referring to him as Voldemort."

Harry shook his head frantically, remembering the one time he’d tried the name out after he’d heard Malfoy say it. Master hadn’t hurt him, but the anger and disappointment had been enough to convince him not to do it again. "I can’t. Master forbids it."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and smiled soothingly. "Then, how about Tom?"

"Tom?"

"That is his name, Harry. Will you be able to remember that?"

Harry nodded, "Why didn’t he take me back to Tom?"

Apparently, persistence was one thing Harry had in abundance. "Severus believes that what was done to you was wrong and one day, Harry, you will understand why."

Harry bit his lip, "Master raised me. He’s nice to me, and he takes care of me. I’m never hungry, seldom bored, I get gifts. I’m happy. So what does it matter that I’m his pet? Why does that bother Mister Severus?"

"He owed your father a great deal, Harry, and he never managed to repay him. With your father dead, he owed that debt to you."

"I..." Harry hesitated, "I had a father?"

"Yes, he and your mother died trying to protect you from Voldemort. They were both very good, people, Harry, and they loved you very much."

Harry lifted his legs up, resting his chin on his knees. "What were their names?"

"Lilly and James Potter."

Dumbledore was smiling, his eyes were twinkling, but there was something sad behind them. "Potter. So that would make me... Harry Potter?"

The door to Severus’ room opened and the taller of the women stepped out. She crossed her arms over each other, "Professor?"

Dumbledore nodded to her and stood up, taking a blanket from the side arm of the sofa. "I’ll be there in a moment." She nodded and turned around, going back into the room.

Wrapping the blanket around Harry’s shoulders, Dumbledore put a hand on the boy’s head, "Lay down and get some sleep. We’ll talk more later."

Harry nodded and watched Dumbledore disappeared through the door. Potter. His name was Harry Potter.

*****

Severus crawled his way back into consciousness, instantly aware that something was wrong. The right half of his body was warmer than the left and too heavy to move. He fought a groan. It wouldn’t be the first time Voldemort had held him under the Cruciatus long enough to do temporary nerve damage. At least it wasn’t as bad as last time. Last time he’d been cold all over and mostly numb. Currently, he could feel every ache and pain in his extremities and they were considerable.

Thankfully, it was a weekend. With any luck he’d be up and moving by Monday, he’d just have to pass his detentions to someone else. Hm, McGonagall would give them lines, Flitwick would make them clean and sort his bins. It would have to be Filch, then, he didn’t trust anyone else to make the little brats suffer properly.

He’d have to send a message to Poppy, as well. Visible injuries would have been easily treated the night before, but with the Cruciatus it was always better to wait a few hours and see what the lingering affects were. However, in order to message Poppy, he would need his wand and to get that, he would have to open his eyes.

Reluctantly, he forced them open... and found himself staring at a tangled mess of dark hair. For a moment, Severus very nearly panicked. The last time he’d woken up with someone in his bed... well, he didn’t like to think about the last time. Although, at least last time he’d had the common sense not to bring them back to his own room. Wait a moment. Severus looked around, reassured to find that this was, indeed, his own room.

The body next to him shifted and groaned softly as his head lifted up and the eyes opened. Severus was assaulted by the brightest green eyes he’d ever seen. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, he’d known someone else with eyes like that, someone who’d died a long time ago...

His memory suddenly caught up with him and Severus sat up so quickly that he dumped a once-again-shirtless Harry nearly off the bed. He was relieved to find that without Harry there, that side of his body was in the same state of normal post-Cruciatus ache as the other. That meant there most likely wasn’t any nerve damage. Vaguely, he wondered if he weren’t building up some kind of immunity to it; the only reason he was alive and sane was because he was the only Potions Master among the Death Eater ranks and the only spy Voldemort had in Hogwarts.

Severus was still calculating his pros and cons of his current situation, his brain hindered by the potions Poppy had given him the night before and by the distracting expanse of pale skin, when Harry rolled forward and threw his arms around Severus’ waist, "Good morning, Mister Severus!"

Severus scrambled off the edge of the bed, before he remembered that he was a grown man and grown men do not scramble. His feet brushed against cotton and he looked down, seeing the shirt laying on the rug next to him. He picked it up and threw it at the boy. "Put that on and do. not. take. it. off. again."

Harry held it in his hands and pouted. "But, I don’t like it." Severus kept his face impassive. "It itches." After a moment, Harry sighed, pulling the shirt back over his head.

To his eternal shame, Severus found that the less skin he was looking at, the clearer his head seemed to be. This was what he got for ten years of self-imposed celibacy; which irked him, because it meant that Sirius Black was right and he hated it when Black was right.

Harry shifted to sit cross legged and Severus found himself noticing that Harry’s thighs were just as uniformly creamy white as the rest of him. "We have to find you trousers." Not his, though. Even with a belt, he didn’t think his would stay on that slender frame.

He ran through his inventory of students in Slytherin. It would have to be someone with Harry’s approximate build, someone with clothing to spare, someone he could trust...

Harry watched as Severus’ face lit up and the man pointed a finger at him sternly. "Do not move." Severus started to turn away and walk out the door, but stopped after only two steps and turned round again, his eyes narrowed, "And don’t remove any clothing."

Harry smiled up at him innocently, "Yes, Mister Severus."