by tati

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Warning: This is a SLASH romance fic. There will be violence – there is ALWAYS violence in my stories. Nothing you read qualifies as NC-17 because I have read much worse that still fit the rules, so no tattling!

A/N: I actually have an excuse for not writing: I was on vacation for the last two weeks, and didn't have computer access. My apologies, but I didn't have this fic to use as reference, so I didn't write the newest chapter until now. Thank you for your patience and support.

Several people asked who Harry's attacker was. Um, it beats me. Like I said, someone wrote the plot of that chapter for me and I just worked in the details and the ending. I frankly don't think it's really important. He was just some poor random gay guy who was almost nearly raped himself (as he couldn't help it and would have felt simply awful). Therefore, we'll just say that for his protection and preservation as a character, his name will not be released to the general public. grins How's that?

I've just edited out my response to flames. I'd like to state here and now that I will no longer be taking anonymous reviews, and if anyone flames me twice I will report them. I have lately taken to printing out and then burning flames I receive. It's very relaxingand I suggest it as theraputic treatment for stressed authors.

Also, I apologize to Darak. Yours was indeed constructive criticism and genuine confusion. I apologize and promise it will not happen again. Thank you for taking the time to review in the first place.

--tati1

Chapter 11 – Breakdown Last Time…

Pale, hurt, angry, and quickly becoming ashamed, Draco fled.

"I'm not like Lucius," Draco muttered, pacing the dungeons a few corridors from the Slytherin Commons. "I'm not."

"Then maybe you should start acting like it," snapped Hermione, who had followed him as he left the Headmaster. Ron, behind her, watched Malfoy warily. "Harry has done nothing to deserve what you—"

"Shut up, Mudblood!" snarled Draco, whirling to glare at her. Ron had his wand out in an instant, his expression venomous.

"Try it, Malfoy," he taunted, "and see how far you get."

"This is precisely what I'm talking about!" said the bushy-haired witch, pushing down Ron's wand impatiently. "Mudblood! Potter! You think of us exactly as you were taught to, Draco! And that is why you are growing more similar to Lucius in everything you do. You emulate him. He taught you for so long, and hurt you when you disagreed, didn't he? And now, when you're finally free of it, you're finding that it's one thing to say you're free, and quite another to be so in your actions." Her voice softened. "While you flounder, Draco, it's Harry who pays the price. Think about what it is you truly want, and then look at your attitude. Perhaps change would not be such a bad thing." Draco sniffed disdainfully and looked away, but his face was troubled. Touching his arm lightly, Hermione gave him a small smile and left down the corridor, Ron trailing slightly behind.

When Harry awoke, he found himself in a bedroom he'd only glimpsed through a crack in a door. The king-sized bed against the room's far wall was covered in a sky-blue comforter with white and light blue china-patterned sheets beneath. The carpet covering the floor was clean and white, and two of the doors led to a private bathroom and a walk-in closet. The walls were a deep, almost black, green, and the ceiling was the same shade. The bathroom was marbled green and blue with a dark green sink and blue counter, a dark green bathtub, a dark green shower, and a toilet of the same color. Harry himself was on a small, twin-sized bed with dark green sheets and a dark green comforter that was the source of soothing warmth as he sat with it on his lap in the corner that had obviously been delegated for his bed.

Despite this, he was very, very confused. What on earth was he doing in Severus and Draco's bedroom? It wasn't as though they liked him, after all … he bit his lip and shoved that thought away. It resisted like thorns buried in the skin. They didn't like him, and it hurt. Badly. Especially when all he did was obey and be cooperative … it wasn't like he'd attacked them, after all.

Lost in his steadily increasing depression, Harry didn't at first notice when the door opened and Snape stepped in and paused looking at him. He's okay, was the first, relieved thought to enter Severus' mind. A moment later he froze, realizing what he'd just thought. I do not care if Ha—the brat's okay, he thought harshly, but the relief didn't leave, and he finally brushed it off as relief that Dumbledore wouldn't have even more things to chew him out for. Not that the old man tended towards 'chewing out.' He tended to prefer the more humiliating method of scolding, as though Snape were still a teenager in school. Frankly, Severus thought that Albus' method was worse than justified anger.

Harry was frowning down at his blanket, and Severus wondered why he was so clearly upset. Outwardly, he put on his usual indifferent face and made a small noise as he entered the room the rest of the way, alerting Harry to his presence.

Hearing him, Harry's head jerked up and he hurriedly pasted on a smile.

"Oh, professor, I didn't know you were there," he said softly. His confusion came back. "Erm, I'm sorry, but … why, exactly, am I in your room?"

"Surely you can think of a reason, Potter," the man snapped. He rethought his reply when Harry flinched. "As Lucius in now about, it is dangerous for you to be anywhere alone, and that includes in your bedroom. To solve this problem, you'll be sleeping here, where we can keep an eye on you." Harry nodded uncertainly.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, as Snape sat upon the bed and began to take off his shoes. The man paused.

"For what?" he asked, puzzled.

"For being a bother." Harry looked very guilty. "I know it can't be very easy for you and Draco to have to put up with me, and I'm sorry." Severus looked uncomfortable, and Harry mentally kicked himself for even trying.

"It's no trouble. Really," said the teacher finally, and stood, his feet now only clad in socks, which Harry found oddly endearing. "If you need anything, just call." Having made the offer and satisfied his conscience, Snape went to leave when Harry called him back, voice only a whisper. Turning, he found the boy staring down at his sheets nervously, bright red.

"Sir," he started softly, almost too low for Severus to hear him, "I was wondering if you … if you'd mind … um—"

"Out with it, Potter," he snapped impatiently. Harry winced.

"Never mind," he said quickly, "I'll just ask Hermione."

"What?" asked Snape, now actually curious, though trying not to show it. Harry swallowed nervously.

"Um, I was wondering if you could brew a potion for me … not that you have to or anything, but …"

"But what, boy?" Harry flinched at the name, but Severus couldn't figure out for the life of him what he'd done wrong this time.

"But I'd really appreciate it if you would, and I sort of need it, so, please?" Snape was silent for a moment.

"What potion is this?"

"I call it the 'Safe Dreams' potion," said Harry, blushing slightly.

"I've never heard of it," said his professor flatly. "What is its given name?"

"That is its given name, sir, and no, I don't think you would have heard of it." In fact, Harry looked rather amused at that notion. "No, but I have the instructions in my trunk, if you wouldn't mind brewing it."

"Potter, first I need to know what it is."

"It keeps away nightmares," said Harry softly. The taller man scowled at him.

"Then why not use Dreamless Sleep?" he asked, annoyed. The brat was being difficult again.

"Because … I … am … allergic to Dreamless," said Harry, quickly thinking up a lie. "And I'd like to try this one." Before Snape could question him further, he slipped out of bed and padded over to his trunk, which was beside Draco's at the foot of his and Severus' shared mattress. He pulled out the roll of papers he'd snatched from Severus before and handed them to the older man, trembling slightly as he hoped he'd calculated everything right, or Snape would chew him out for poisoning himself with his own potion.

Curiously, the man unrolled the parchments and began reading them, frowning thoughtfully as he scanned the sheets. After awhile, he wandered out of the room, Harry forgotten, for his laboratory, muttering something about "never knew nettles had quite that reaction with emery leaves … check that out …" Harry watched him go with wide eyes, wondering and hoping that this would work, and finally block out the horrible visions he'd been subject to since Voldemort's rise to power.

A few hours later, Harry looked up from his Potions homework as Snape re-entered the room, holding a small phial containing a rose-colored liquid. Identifying it as the finishing color to his own potion, Harry let out a relieved breath. It worked. Now all that was left was for him to test it. If it passed the experiment, Harry would finally be assured of no nightmares disturbing his rest – this potion was specially designed to have no addictive components, so he'd be able to take it whenever he wished. Pleased it had gone so well, Harry reached out for his experiment, but paused when Severus made no move to hand it to him.

"Professor?" he said uncertainly as the man held the phial away from his questing fingers. The other man scowled.

"Where did you get this, Potter?" he asked, glaring. "I have never seen this potion before—where did you find it?" Ah … Harry got it now. Snape was worried that maybe Voldemort had supplied it.

"I didn't get it from anywhere unreliable, Professor," he assured the man, unwilling to tell him that the source was reliable because he himself was the source—he didn't wish to face the ridicule.

"That's not what I'm asking Potter!" yelled Snape, making Harry jerk back in fright. He softened his tone. "I want to know because this is an incredibly complex potion and I'd like to meet whomever made it. I'm sure that I could learn much from whichever Potions Master or Mistress created this, but I don't recognize the work, and it's in your handwriting, so even if there were something of theirs in there, you probably left it out when you copied this down. Now," the steely edge was back as Harry's face grew red at the indirect praise, "who made it?"

"No one that you'd believe," said Harry bitterly.

"Come now," said Snape impatiently, "all I want is a name. Surely you can supply that, Potter?"

"Why should I? It's right in front of you," said Harry mockingly, knowing that Severus would never guess what he was saying. It felt oddly refreshing to talk to the dominant like he had last year. Unfortunately, Severus didn't seem to see Harry's new boldness in quite the same light. The man's eyes flashed, the boy's only warning before a huge, torrential wave of anger crashed down on Harry, almost knocking him off the bed and completely destroying any resistance.

Sobbing, he curled in on himself, cowering before the surprised Snape, who blinked and then hardened his expression further.

"Who made the potion?" he demanded of the terrified boy.

"M-me," whispered Harry, flinching as Snape glared down at him incredulously.

"Ridiculous! Potter, you had better tell me the truth, or—" Helpless, and unable to lie in his current state, Harry sobbingly repeated his answer.

"Me, me, I made it, I made it! Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry. I made it, I'm sorry. Sorry…" Completely cowed and willing to submit, Harry began rocking, repeating himself in a desperate try to make the Fallen understand that he was doing everything he could—that he would do anything for Snape.

Had the man told him to kill himself, Harry would have done so instantly.

At that moment, staring at the shaking form beseeching him, Severus fully understood what was precisely so dangerous about Harry being on his own. Had Snape told Harry to kill his best friend, the boy would have done so, no questions asked. Had Severus decided to rape him, the boy would have offered himself willingly. Had Severus or anyone else gotten Harry into this state and told Harry to do something, the boy would have done it, and not realized it until the hold was gone. Horrified, Severus backed away a few steps, and then realized that he was about to run away. Even in his sudden fright, he couldn't do that. Not with poor Harry so terrified and broken. He'd never seen the teen in this state before, and had no wish to see it again. It … wasn't Harry. And suddenly Severus realized that he didn't want Harry to comply with his every wish. He wanted Harry to be … well, Harry. The annoying brat. He didn't want this eager-to-please thing whimpering before him in abject, terrified subjugation. He wanted to earn respect, not crush the tiny form before him in foolish anger. And he didn't want the guilt he knew would plague him if he left the boy to deal with the aftermath of his rage on his own. Slowly, Snape sat beside the trembling form on the bed, which froze, trying to see what it was that the man wanted him to do. He'd do anything.

But rather than snapping out an order to the shivering youth, Severus slowly drew the dark-haired teen into his arms, holding the frightened form and gently soothing Harry's tears as he stroked the boy's hair reassuringly. Quietly, he began to rock the small, emerald-eyed teen as Harry curled up on his lap, hiccupping and crying as he begged Severus to tell him what he wanted Harry to do, tearfully apologizing for everything he'd ever done, swearing that he'd do whatever the dominant wanted if he'd just please not be mad at him …

"I'm not mad," Snape assured him in a calm baritone. "I only want you to relax; I'm not mad at you. I don't want you to do anything for me. I … apologize for scaring you so badly. I was simply angry that you were being disrespectful. I should have seen that that was the most relaxed you've been this year, and not hurt you for it. I still wish that you would tell me the truth, but—"

"But I did, oh gods I did," whispered Harry desperately, clinging to Severus' upper arms and looking up at the black-eyed man in despair. "I'm telling you the truth; I wouldn't lie to you master. Please, please, I'm sorry that it's not what you want to hear. Gods, I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad. It's me; I made it. I'm sorry, I—"

"Potter, there's no way you could have made it," interrupted Snape, deliberately keeping himself calm. "You are one of the most dismal Potions' students I've ever seen. And please, don't call me master. I'm not angry with you."

"But I made it," wept Harry, not hearing the assurances. "I'm not good at Potions, master, not like you are—" The flattery was so blatant it was sickening, and reinforced the man's determination to fix the damage he'd caused. "—but I can make potions on paper. It makes sense then. Please, I'm sorry that I can't do the magic—it's too far beyond me. Please, I'm sorry I made it. I won't do it again. Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…" Eventually, Snape stroking his hair and rocking him gently, Harry's whimpers died down and he fell into a restless slumber, crying even there and occasionally muttering audible 'I'm sorry's as the guilt-filled Potions Master held him close and thought about everything that Harry had said.

Is it possible? Was it possible for Harry, almost as bumbling as Longbottom when it came to Potions hands-on work, to create potions—like the one he'd just had Severus brew—in his head? It seemed inconceivable to Snape … but he would have to check it out. Every time before, he had never even looked at the work Potter had handed in, though he usually read the essays and struggles of everyone else in dark amusement if nothing else, and had always simply failed the brat on whatever he did—not that he needed to work for Harry to screw up on the Potions practical. But if the teen was telling the truth … and Severus Snape had the sudden horrible feeling that Harry was … then he'd been missing a great deal on a matter of silly prejudice for the past four years.

But he could fix that.

Relieved to have found a plan of action, and still smoothing the soft hair beneath his palm, Severus rocked the sleeping boy comfortingly long into the night, only going to bed when Draco appeared at one in the morning, having been at his mother's apartments up to that point, and forced the dark-haired man to go to sleep. The Potions Master collapsed on his bed with the blonde after Draco placed Harry under the covers of his own bed, and quickly fell asleep, exhausted by the turmoil of the day.

A/N: Sorry this took so long, and sorry it's so short, but really, this was the perfect ending point for this chapter. BTW, really enjoyed typing the last few pages – didn't intend for that to happen!