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All Beneath the Full Moon [COMPLETE]	By : Onkoona Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 9163 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter 2

Tuesday, January 13th 1998, about 1:30 pm.

Harry Potter - once a neglected wizard child in a Muggle family,
then hailed as a Savior by the Wizarding World and subsequently, when
the novelty wore off, ousted by that very same Wizarding World and
most notably by the members of its official authorities - was not
happy at all that his former Head of House, now Headmistress. Minerva
McGonagall had lured him from what he thought was a well deserved
party to mark the Victory over the Dark and Creepy. And he was most
royally pissed off when it turned out it was on account of that
pompous windbag Rufus Scrimgeour, who was the current Minister of
Magic as 'Mione informed him in a whisper.

The man had brought five more Stuffed Shirts and one reporter, all
of whom wanted their 'just a moment of your time, isn't too much to
ask?' moment. Pricks! But Potter knew he had always been too
polite to refuse, the embarrassment of refusing simply outweighing
the effort and persistence it would take to refuse. And really,
refusing might actually take longer than complying.

So, he tried his best to keep everything as short as possible by
giving almost monosyllabic replies - without being outright rude -
especially to the reporter. At least the bubbly reporter wasn't Rita
Skeeter.

But all in all, it was a good hour later that Harry found himself
going down the revolving staircase with Hermione close behind him. As
he waited for her to catch up at the foot of the stairs, she said,
"Well, I think that went well. I'm going to make a few notes on
what we told them about the ritual and pass those 'round, so
everybody's on the same page," she continued as they set off
down the halls towards the stairs.

Harry merely nodded and Hermione continued outlining what should
be done next, with Harry nodding and adding a thought here and there
as they made their leisurely way back to the Room of Requirement.

Talking in this way had been born of months of hunting Horcruxes
and the subsequent search for the Dark Maggot. The hunt itself had
gone remarkably well. It had been adventurous with a good dose of
danger, without turning too grim. The Dark Devil really liked his
Dark and Dingy places. And Dirty places too, so much so that 'Moine
complained that the cobwebs had found their way into her bra and it
itched! At which point Ron couldn't stop laughing. Harry couldn't
help but smile at the memory.

"I'm glad that the Aurors have used Incendio on the Dark
Dodo's remains," Hermione said after she had come to the end of
her to-do list. Over those months and because most of Harry's friends
seriously disliked using the Dark Nutter's self-chosen name, it had
become a game between them to come up with as many different names to
call His Darkly-ness as they could.

Harry couldn't agree more with her remark: this way no deluded
wannabe Death Eater would be able to use it in any ritual. That
thought brought another, more sobering one; they were going to have
to tell Snape that all the other Death Eaters were dead. After all
the man had done for them, Harry felt a little sorry for him, because
he suspected Snape had actually liked Malfoy, and his father too. And
the professor would have known Mrs. Malfoy, too, Harry thought, and
now they were all dead.

Harry could still hardly believe all the things he, and all of
them, had learned about Snape. When they were looking for the
Horcruxes, they had had invaluable help from Dumbledore's portrait.
The old Headmaster steadfastly refused to tell them where or how he
got the intel, but it was always on the money and it actually saved
all their lives at least twice, because they were forewarned. Harry
was sure it had saved them years of work as well.

Then, after the last Horcrux had melted away in the Neutralizing
Potion, the time had come to think about attacking the Dark Meany
himself. That had been early November. But by early December, it
became clear that finding him was not the problem, it was getting at
him. The Dark Keep was surrounded by impenetrable magical devices and
spells. And the moment a non-Death Eater so much as looked at it on a
map, an alarm would go off inside and the Dark Eeew was warned.

With the alarm going off so often, His Darklyness had sent a siege
party to Hogwarts a week after Harry and Co. had started thinking
about the Dark Creep's location. But Hogwarts was in its turn
protected by an equal number of magic spells and devices. It was a
stalemate; the Bad Guys could not get into the Good Keep and the Good
Guys couldn't get into the Bad Keep.

And so December turned to January and that's when the portrait
came up with The Plan. And boy, what a plan it was! Using a Death
Eater to magically get to the Dark Annoyance and, hopefully, kill him
once and for all.

Portrait Dumbledore had made clear it really was a last resort and
that he only knew that it was possible, not how it could be done. The
only thing he said was that what he could contribute was the
guaranteed appearance of a Death Eater at Hogwarts.

He did point Hermione in the right direction by having her read
Tales of Magic by Charles Cardamom, the 1867 edition. It told
of a wizard who wanted to kill another wizard but, like them, he
could not get at the man. So the wizard found an 'item of value'
belonging to this other wizard and used it in a ritual as a conduit,
so he could use a Killing Curse on the enemy. The story did not say
who was the good guy in the story and the more Harry had learned
about the ritual, the more he was thinking the first guy was the bad
one because the 'item of value' was utterly destroyed in the process.

And that brought them to another problem; after the destruction of
all the Horcruxes, what item of value had the Dark Lord left? Answer:
not a 'what' but a 'who'. A Death Eater. And if you thought about it,
Death Eaters were only a tool to His Dinginess and as such easily
classifiable as an item.

So they'd have to capture a Death Eater. And this was when the
portrait claimed he could provide them with their target.

It was a shock that it would be Snape they'd use. Dumbledore said
Snape could be lured to the castle quite easily: some potion
ingredients were so rare that in Britain, Hogwarts was the only place
that stocked them. Not for use in class of course, but for special
brews for the infirmary, etc.

Harry didn't much like to use a person he'd known for so long and
whom he had feelings, even if they were all negative, about.
Especially as it looked like they were going to have to physically
assault the man, with knife and whip: possibly kill him, if
Hermione's research at that point was anything to go by. Ron, of
course, was all for it; "Stick it to the Greasy Git, but good!"
he jeered. But Harry could only feel nausea at the idea.

That had been December 20th. It became clear that it was to be a
full moon ritual and they'd just missed the window for December, so
they set the 'D' date at January 11th, the first of the three days of
the next full moon.

And that was how, ritual all drawn up and ready to go, on that
Sunday night about 11:15 pm, Harry and his friends had ended up
jumping Snape when the Greasy Git had sneaked his way into Hogwarts
under a rather good Notice-Me-Not type of spell.

The first shock of the night, once Dean and Seamus had let the
Death Eater up, was how horrible the man had looked. His clothes were
worn and dirty, he was thin, his face and eyes hollow and his skin a
sickly pallor. There was intense emotion in the black eyes, but
because of Dean's Silencing Spell, Harry could not know what the
emotions exactly were, apart from radiating malice.

Since there wasn't much point in talking - everybody but Snape
knew what to do and Snape would be made to do his part when the time
came - Harry took the head of the procession up the stairs towards
the Room of Requirement in silence.

For some reason, he could feel Snape's beady black eyes drill into
his back the whole way, giving him the creeps. It took some quite
considerable willpower to force himself not to look back until the
party had reached the room. Once there he turned around and stepped
aside so Snape could see the set-up that had taken them days to
perfect and so Harry could see the man's reaction.

And there he got the second shock of the night: instead of the
expected fury in the man's eyes, Harry saw profound horror. Horror of
the kind Harry himself had felt in that graveyard after Cedric's
death. And suddenly Harry felt himself back there, held down, blood
forcibly taken, and he was about to step forward and stop the ritual
- no one should go through something like this! - when Snape's
whole body came into action, trying to throw off Seamus and Dean.

It was as if Snape had gone berserk; he contorted and pulled on
his captors as he tried to get his limbs back, the audible crunch of
bones broken not seeming to snap him out of it at all. Harry backed
off instinctively as a tornado-like magical wind localized around the
three with Snape as its centre, breaking the silencing charm.
Whereupon Snape let out such a scream of terror as Harry had never
heard. Dean and Seamus finally let go of the Potions Master, but the
screaming did not stop as the man sank to his knees, seemingly
oblivious to the fact that he had been released.

The sound seemed to last forever but then was abruptly cut off
when Ron cast a spell. Snape's eyes closed as he collapsed like a rag
doll onto the stone hall pavers.

For half a minute there was dead silence, then everybody started
talking at once. Except Harry, who found he could not take his eyes
off his old professor's crumpled form.

oqpodboqpo

It had become clear to Harry, and Hermione, that they were not
going to be doing this ritual with Snape. As Harry told the others of
his decision not to do this, they all looked solemn and even Ron
wasn't jeering anymore; they had all witnessed Snape's reaction and
they had all been deeply impressed by its violence.

"I don't know what we're going to use for a plan now, but I
don't want to be part of anything that puts terror like that in any
other human being. Even if he's a Death Eater. Even if he killed the
Headmaster. Just not," he told them and then he found
himself choking up with the memory of Dumbledore. Having the man's
portrait was great, but even it had told Harry it wasn't really
Dumbledore, just a magical representation of him, and so Harry found
himself mourning for the real man even more, because of the constant
reminder.

oqpodboqpo

Dean, who had missed the speech, agreed with Harry as he reported
on the extent of Snape's injuries: a broken arm, which Dean had set
and spelled. Dean reported that he had put Snape in bed in the
prepared cell, after changing him into bed clothes - a task Harry
hadn't envied, but Dean had called it good practice.

Dean had brought Snape's clothing with him, but was forced to
explain the state of the garments; the moment Dean had tried to open
the sleeve to get at the arm, some repairing spells on the cloth had
failed and the overcoat and coat and shirt underneath had pretty much
disintegrated. Dean showed Harry the treasures that the clothing had
yielded: some five unlabeled bottles of different-coloured potions,
an amulet on a chain, a pouch that refused to open, a Bezoar, a razor
sharp flip knife and some Wizarding money (five Knuts). After looking
through the lot, Harry and Dean put the stuff away in an enchanted
little wooden chest that would only open to the touch of the person,
or persons, who closed it. They both touched the lid as the lock
snicked shut. As a parting remark, the apprentice Healer then said
something that Harry would remember the next night, "Harry, go
easy on the guy, he's been through a lot."

oqpodboqpo

That night, what was left of it anyway, Harry hardly got any sleep
and he knew Hermione got none at all; she had already started looking
for an alternative plan, while he was still filled with the horrors
of this one. Ron was the only one of their company to get a good
night's sleep; nothing fazed Ron for long, it seemed.

oqpodboqpo

The next morning Harry found he'd managed to sleep about five
hours after all, even after it looked like he was going to be
sleepless that night. At 9 am he had a breakfast conference with Ron,
Dean, Seamus and Hermione - who looked frazzled from lack of sleep -
and without Luna, as she had volunteered to watch their prize
prisoner. The portrait of Dumbledore was propped up against a heavy
brass candlestick that stood on the bigger of the large strategy
tables in the Room of Requirement. The room had served as their
headquarters and dwelling - for the trio at least - from the 1st of
October, when it became clear that they needed a safe place, even
inside Hogwarts, where no Death Eater wannabee could eavesdrop on
them.

Dumbledore's portrait had the annoying tendency to fall asleep on
them at inopportune moments; it seemed the portrait magic was not
inexhaustible and needed recharging once in a while. After the fiasco
the night before, Harry had wanted to talk to it desperately, but the
figure of the old Headmaster had stayed stubbornly asleep. And this
morning it wasn't until the meeting had run a half hour already that
Dumbledore woke up.

Hermione reported, in the shortest terms possible, about what
happened and the painted figure had the good grace to look upset at
the reported events. Harry found that its shocked response alleviated
some of his own anger at having been set up to be the cause of
Snape's terror. Because Harry did like to believe that he was a
decent human being, even if he knew he'd probably not get out of
dirtying his hands when he finally got to kill the Dark Loony. He was
prepared to be smudged with a little dirt, but not with stains on his
soul that doing anything like he had almost done the night before was
likely to give him.

The portrait was silent for a long time before saying that they
should talk to Snape. This shocked them; why talk to a Death Eater?
Then the old Headmaster gave them the shock of their lives - and
after what happened the night before that was saying something - the
spy on whose advice they had come to rely with so much confidence was
none other than Professor Snape.

But Snape had killed Dumbledore, how could he be a trusted and
trustworthy spy? Their painted confederate had to explain the
circumstances of his being cursed by the ring and the plan he and
Snape had hatched to put Snape right in the Dark Bastard's lap at
least twice, before all the people present believed him.

Snape was a Good Guy after all, Harry thought, as
Dumbledore rehashed the tale for those who couldn't or wouldn't
believe it the first time. Snape was a Good Guy and as a reward
they had tried to assault and molest him, even considering killing
him last night. Harry felt a cold lump in his throat and a colder
hand around his heart. How could the man ever forgive them?

It was then that Harry let loose at the portrait: accusing the
Headmaster of manipulating them into hurting a possible ally and just
venting his own anxiety at what he almost had done last night. It
wasn't until Dean had removed the portrait to a safer place and Ron
had taken him by the shoulders and had shaken him hard that Harry
suddenly felt his anger deflate, and he let Ron guide him to sit in a
chair, where he sat with his head down and just breathed for a few
minutes, surrounded by the loud silence of the others.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, looking up at the
serious faces of his friends.

Ron stepped forward and laid a hand on his shoulder and said,
"Don't worry about it; it's pretty much how we all feel, I
guess."

Harry nodded and would have said something more in an apology but
then Luna approached and informed them Snape wanted to see Harry. The
thought of facing his erstwhile teacher filled Harry with unease and
as he looked at each of his friends, he saw that same feeling
reflected in their eyes. It may be now they knew the man was on their
side, but that didn't make him less of an ogre in any of their eyes;
they all still feared their former teacher. Possibly with the
exception of Luna, who gave Harry her patented ethereal smile and did
not look affected at all.

"Shall we go?" she invited him, sweeping her arm in the
direction of the shimmering privacy wall as she turned around and
walked off in that direction. Harry felt he had no other recourse but
to shore up his courage and follow her.

oqpodboqpo

Harry's talk with Snape was interesting, to say the least. For one
thing Snape didn't yell at him, nor hex him - something the man might
well have been able to do, even if Harry had his wand safely tucked
away in that box - nor did he seriously ridicule him. He did make
Harry feel uncomfortable, but that was to be expected; Snape always
made his students feel uncomfortable.

Then, before Harry could tell the man that they knew all about his
being a spy and an ally and that the ritual was called off, Snape was
reading Harry's instruction scroll and demanding answers about the
source of Hermione's research. All Harry was able to do, it seemed,
was hop to it and get the man the reference books.

As Harry popped out of the 'detention area', as they'd dubbed the
other side of the privacy curtain, Luna asked if Snape had finished
his breakfast and they both ended up stepping back through, Harry
with an arm full of books and Luna with the task of retrieving the
breakfast tray.

Harry had put a finger to his lip to prevent Luna from disturbing
their conversation, but as it turned out, once the professor had the
books and his coffee, the rest of the world just ceased to exist.
Harry tried to get the man's attention but all he got back was a wave
of dismissal, so he decided to let the man read in peace; the poor
guy deserved to know what they had wanted to do to him and later, if
Snape so desired, Harry knew he'd let the Potions Master rant at him
to his heart's content; he deserved that at least. Harry knew he
would take it like a man, because the very fact that Snape could rant
at him meant that Snape was alive to do so, a fact that gladdened
Harry more than he ever thought possible.

oqpodboqpo

Snape had Luna call Harry back less than an hour later. Harry left
her on the 'open' side of the curtain as he stepped through, ready to
take a licking and be grateful; they - everybody on the side of the
Light - owed Snape big time for all the spying he'd done for them,
for all the lives saved.

Snape, apparently, had decided to start off with a staring
contest, one of Harry's least favourite things. No, he was more of a
yeller or an action taker; all this passive-aggressive stuff just
pissed him off. So, most probably after an interval that Snape would
have called too short to determine a winner, Harry opened the
conversation, by asking what he wanted.

The answer surprised him, as all things about Snape seemed to
surprise him of late. The Potions Master started talking about the
ritual. He had 'corrected' it, he said, as he held it out for Harry
to take. Like it was homework, Harry thought to himself; some
homework!

Then the man shocked Harry again by saying, "If you promise
me one thing, I will consent to take part in it."

Harry's heart seemed to stall in his chest; Snape would do this
ritual? Why?! But he knew the answer to 'why', it was the same
answer they, Harry and his friends, had come up with for doing this
goddamned ritual in the first place: because the side of Light was
out of options.

Harry swallowed as he took the scroll, then his hand tightened on
it as the second part of Snape's speech hit his brain. If you
promise me one thing. What 'one thing' would Hogwarts' nastiest
teacher want from him?

Harry's hand loosened around the parchment as he realized that no
matter what Snape asked of him - ten years' worth of detentions
served, his life, his death, his first born (he almost sniggered at
that; how very much like an old Grimms' Fairy Tale!) - Harry would
gladly hand it over in exchange for a chance at organizing the demise
of the Dark & Despicable.

Harry asked, "What 'one thing'?"

"I want your word that once the ritual starts, it will not be
stopped for any reason whatsoever," was what Snape said, and it
surprised Harry so much he hadn't realized he'd turned around and
stepped through the curtain without saying a word back to the man
until he found himself being nudged by the shoulder by someone.

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Even after turning his face into the direction of the query, Harry
still needed long seconds to both interpret the question and place
the face: 'Mione, who looked worn out.

"Yeah," he stammered, then he realized he was still
holding the scroll and he handed it to her. "Snape made a few
changes," he said by way of explanation, before walking off to
the seating area and sitting down heavily.

Snape was prepared to participate in the ritual. Even though
last night the man had not even realized he'd broken his own arm in
his panic to get away from that very same ritual. Harry had seen
the terror in the man's eyes then and he had seen the sadness in them
just now. And the underlying fear. What kind of sheer, Harry
looked for the right word, courage does take to agree to do
something you feared so much?

A memory came to mind: the Headmaster and himself on that little
island in that black lake in that cursed cave. Dumbledore had made
him promise to keep feeding him the poisonous water, made him promise
not to stop for anything. I want your word that once the ritual
starts, it will not be stopped for any reason whatsoever. Snape's
words were as if superimposed on Dumbledore's.

Harry sat up abruptly; he felt the same resolve to do as Snape
requested as when Dumbledore had made him promise. Not just in the
interest of the result - that of the ritual happening - but also out
of respect for the man who requested it.

He had just gotten up from the old stuffed couch and was heading
back to their designated conference table when Hermione appeared
before him, as if from nowhere.

"Harry!" she said, using that
I've-got-important-research-results-to-tell tone of voice. He nodded
to her, indicating she could go-ahead.

"Have you read this?" she asked. And by 'this' she
indicated the slightly rumpled scroll she was holding in both hands.

"No," Harry was forced to admit. He felt a twinge of
guilt for leaving that sort of thing to his best friend, but
honestly, Harry knew he'd never be in Hermione's league where it came
to information processing.

"Okay," was all she said before looking swiftly left and
right, grasping his hand and pulling him towards the nearest empty
bedroom - the one the twins used when they were here, which was not
now. Harry followed her visual sweep of the room and all he saw was
Dean and Seamus working on the Hogwarts defence plans at the smaller
table and Ron looking yet again over the map of Scotland that was
laid out on the main table, his hand caressing his chin in deep
thought. As Hermione dragged Harry off, all three of their friends
looked up from their tasks to give them curious looks. Harry could
only shrug 'I dunno' back at them.

"'Mione, what?" Harry stammered as his view of the room
was cut off by Hermione's closing of the bedroom door. Harry hoped
Ron wouldn't get the wrong idea, especially after all the trouble
he'd had getting his friend to understand that: A. Harry was totally
gay and B. no, Harry wasn't in love with Ron, or even mildly
interested in him in a 'gay way', as Ron had put it. The memory of
the look on Ron's face almost made Harry laugh again; that was
definitely a 'stays funny forever' kinda thing!

It was the serious look Hermione gave him that snapped him out of
his thoughts instantly. Harry didn't like to see looks like that in
the eyes of his friends: upset and profoundly sad. He grabbed her by
her shoulders and asked earnestly, "What's the matter?"

She held out the scroll and said, "Read it." He took it
and rolled it out. It was at least three feet long and Harry was
surprised it was all written in pencil. And, as he tried to read the
first line, the handwriting was so dense and uneven that he had a
hard time puzzling it out. He really needed to get those new glasses.

Exasperated he rolled it back up and handed it back, "Just
give me the gist of it," he asked. And then was surprised to see
his best female friend turn pale. Harry knew Hermione was no
shrinking violet; if she was so affected, it was bound to be bad.

Harry gritted his teeth, took a seat on the edge of George's bed -
it was George's officially, but everybody knew the twins shared a bed
- and repeated, "Just tell me."

Hermione sat on the edge of the other bed and started speaking.
She spoke of 'tying down', of 'claiming of previous owner's marks',
of 'whipping' and finally - and here she hugged herself as if cold -
of 'claiming the body'.

Harry may not have been a scholar or a bookworm of any type, but
he did get what she meant but wouldn't say: raping. Harry understood
that in order to 'claim' Snape as his and use him as a conduit, he'd
have to take him sexually.

The thought made him nervous, but not nearly as repulsed as he
would have thought. In the last eight months he'd had plenty of time
and freedom and available friendly bodies to have indulged in
whatever sexual fantasies his budding sexuality had come up with. And
with the aid of an older lover like Charlie, he'd gone well beyond
his own fantasies, in a short period of time. So while he'd never
thought he'd ever be 'tying up' and 'claiming' someone like Snape,
the thought turned out not to be repugnant.

"So I'm to have sex with the Greasy Git, so what? I'm not
worried," he stated brazenly, cocking a lopsided smile, hoping
he'd look suave.

Harry quickly dropped his smile as he saw the disapproving look on
Hermione's face. She crossed her arms rather theatrically and said,
"Professor Snape might not be seeing it quite that way; after
all he's to be the one strapped down and forcibly, well, raped."
She glowered at Harry for a full twenty seconds before visibly
deflating and adding, "And here's another thing that worries
me," she held out the scroll before continuing, "What he
wrote here, and he basically rewrote the entire ritual, there is no
way he could have known all that detail if he hadn't gone through
this ritual at least once, possibly more times."

Harry found himself feeling the shock he had seen in Hermione's
face earlier; Snape had been subject to this kind of ritual
before? He'd been tied down like that before? Had been raped like
that before?

Harry jumped up and was out the door and on the way to the cell
behind the curtain before he even knew it. All he did know was that
he had to ask, he had to know. He saw Hermione follow him out of the
corner of his eye, but she didn't follow him through the barrier.
Once there Harry waved at Luna as she looked up at the disturbance of
the field and she hopped off her chair and was gone through the
barrier almost instantly.

Snape, clad in Dean's green dressing gown with pyjamas peeping out
underneath that looked very much like the style Seamus liked to wear
and socks and slippers, stood looking out of the entirely fake window
in the left hand wall of the cell-room. He looked peaceful, standing
there with a cup of coffee - or was it tea - in his good hand. The
good hand that was attached to an arm with a very Bad Mark on it.
That thought led Harry unerringly back to why he was here and Harry
was forced to break the mood by calling attention to himself.

"Sir? How many times have you taken part in this ritual?"
He didn't know why, but he had to know. He had to know how much of
what he would soon be doing to the man was already part of Snape's
life. The need was burning inside of him.

Harry could not look away from the haggard face for even a second
as it lost what colour it had and the midnight black eyes closed as
if in slow motion. Harry fully expected to be rebuffed; after all,
this really wasn't any of his business, nor was it strictly necessary
to know this to be able to do the ritual.

The eyes opened again and the jet black irises glittered as Snape
answered, "Six times."

Six times. Six times tied down. Six times whipped. And six
times raped. Harry balled his fist, feeling a resolve go through
him. "You have my word that this shall be the last time,"
he found himself saying, meaning every word of it, letting it sink
into his soul as a solemn vow.

oqpodboqpo

If Harry thought things would run smoothly between them after his
promise he found himself wrong, as he sat through the self requested
prep meeting.

Snape was nasty and spiteful, making every question Harry had to
ask more painful. But oddly, Harry felt that the Potions Master was
actually trying to hold back and he was pretty sure he saw flashes of
fear in the black eyes that were quickly transmuted into burning
cinders of rage.

As best as Harry could, he tried to keep his questions from
angering - or was it scaring - Snape further. And when the question
of the potion recipe came up, Harry prided himself that he had
realized Snape's writing on the scroll had been clumsy and in pencil,
because the man's right hand was in that cast. And so Harry had been
able to offer his services as a scribe for both potions. The fact
that Snape accepted the help without sneering did not go unnoticed,
even if the man found it necessary to double-check the result.

Far worse was their conversation about the, uh, sexual part of the
ritual. Harry - never having had a father to have The Talk with - had
actually never talked about sex with anybody. Oh, he'd had sex with
quite a few people now - almost exclusively boys - and he'd done a
lot of reading in some very explicit books. But talk about it? Never.

The fact that Snape was brutally blunt about the non-consensual
nature of this particular sexual act was both gratifying and
unnerving. Gratifying because Harry wanted, needed, to know the
truth. Unnerving because Snape's candour underlined yet again that
the poor guy had gone through this six times already. No,
Harry warned himself, never let on that you might pity the man; he
would not like it. It would be better if you didn't pity him at all,
but Harry had to admit that that kind of callousness was not in his
nature. And he really hoped it never would be.

Harry realized that all he could do for Snape was to make the
ritual a success and never mention it again afterwards. He made a
silent promise to do both.

The rest of Harry's questions got a bunch of non-answers. This
irritated him, but then he saw the haggard look on the Potions
Master's face and realized that fatigue was doing a number on them
both, and he decided to finish the session.

Just before he stepped out of the cell space he remembered one
last thing; he asked about the prep for penetration. Harry, over the
past eight months, had become rather good at prepping his partner; he
took pride in making it really pleasurable for whomever he was with.
He realized, too late, the mistake he'd made in mentioning it; Snape
almost exploded after first turning deathly pale. Harry fled.

oqpodboqpo

Harry distracted himself from both Snape and that which they'd be
doing together soon by helping Hermione make the potions and getting
the rest of the setup organized. He even took some time out to
practise using that whip and that was a good thing too, as he hurt
himself with it a lot more than he did the target before he got the
hang of it. In the end he managed to draw blood on the conjured-up
target, two times out of three. It would have to do for that day; he
promised himself more time to practice the next day, so he'd be ready
for tomorrow night.

oqpodboqpo

Harry came back through the privacy barrier into the room proper,
seething. Of course Snape would object to the set schedule! Snape
always puts the kibosh on everything! Harry thought, kicking a
sneakered foot out at the nearest chair, making it skid with a
screech across the wood floor and hit the solid wooden table behind
it with a clang. The sounds were rather soothing to Harry's fried
nerves.

After the chair had come a to complete standstill, Harry realized
the unnatural silence of the room. He lifted his head and saw all
present - Ron, Hermione, Dean and Seamus - give him a questioning
look. He shrugged his shoulders and could only say, "Snape says
it's got to be tonight." He could have added his personal
opinion on that, but he did realize that the Potions Master's
argument had been valid and even if it hadn't been, they needed
Snape's co-operation and therefore his wishes would be catered to as
far as possible.

Harry saw Hermione's lips form a straight line as her brow knit in
thought. She crossed her arms and said, "If needs must, it can
be done." She dropped her arms and added, "We'll need to
double up on tasks, though."

Harry recognized that tone of voice; it meant everybody was likely
to be hopping busy from now on. And it turned out he was a hundred
percent right.

oqpodboqpo

By the time the potions were finished, the room had been
rearranged, the ceiling spelled to show the real sky, all the
participants in the chanting Circle gathered, the new chant's lines
learned and rehearsed, all the equipment set up, all tools cleaned
and blessed, there wasn't any time left to practice with the whip, as
it was already after 5:45.

Harry quickly changed into his own white robe, feeling odd wearing
nothing underneath. He helped Luna tie her belt at the back and was
informed that Snape had been given some privacy to change.

At 5:56 Harry stepped through the privacy barrier to give the
professor his curtain call. He was shocked to see the pale face on
the man, almost whiter than the robe he wore, clutched closed around
him.

Harry was actually embarrassed and even angry that Snape had to
remind him he'd promised to spell the man ready. And red hot anger
suddenly surged through him at the tone his former professor used.
What right did he have to yell at me like that?!

In anger Harry gave Snape just what he'd asked for. As he was
casting, he realized the spell came out a little too hard, anger
tingeing the magic a little more green than Professor Flitwick would
have approved of. He was sure it would have been uncomfortable for
Snape and all he could think through the red haze of rage was: good.

He cast the Lubricus with a little more care and saw Snape flinch
as the orange spell light hit, the greasy hair - which apparently had
gone unaffected by the cleaning charm - falling over the now even
paler face as the man lowered his head.

Harry couldn't help saying "Is that what you wanted?"
before getting a hold of his anger. Yes, he thought, Snape
was unpleasant, yes, deserved to get what he gives. But never had
Harry heard that Snape had raped or murdered, so he didn't deserve
that. The thought instantly snapped Harry out of his rage, just in
time to get verbally chucked out by a Snape who, Harry saw, was bent
almost double over the small table, his hands holding on the edges
pale and trembling. The whole form was trembling.

"Get out, now!" Snape's panicked yell startled Harry
into action; he got out as fast as he could.

Just beyond the barrier stood Luna, her ever-present smile looking
a bit flat. He told her Snape wasn't feeling well and watched her
step through the barrier directly, leaving him wondering why he'd
sent her; after all, Snape always seemed to have loathed her.

Harry just stood still for some minutes, watching the gathered
group making the very last preparations and generally getting
nervous. Then all of a sudden he couldn't stand it any more and stuck
his head through the barrier.

Snape still stood by the table, still holding on to it with both
hands. But now Luna stood close next to him, close but not touching
him, and his hair was stuck to his forehead where he'd lifted his
head up with his eyes closed as he took deep breaths. It looked oddly
serene, calming. Then Luna spoke, "Look at me."

At the command Snape turned his head towards her and opened his
eyes. The curtain of greasy hair prevented Harry from gauging the
professor's mood, which disappointed Harry. But he realized that it
also prevented Snape from seeing him, which, at this point, was a
plus point; no need to antagonize the man more.

Harry could forgive the man his outburst earlier; he had totally
forgotten that Snape's wand was safely tucked away in Harry's care.
And that as a wizard, being without one's wand was like being without
an arm or leg; it made you feel a lesser man; it made you feel
defenceless.

Just what Snape didn't need right at this moment. And in hindsight
it didn't surprise Harry at all that the man had lashed out at Harry
for doing for him what he should be able to do himself: a simple
cleaning charm.

Then Harry heard Luna say, "Nos vultus a alcedonia orbis."
The first line of the chant. Snape's lower male voice joined Luna's
light female one in the next line, "Hic Veneficus futurus
libere." Harry suddenly held hope that it would all work
out; Luna was helping Snape get ready for the ritual, and Harry
realized he ought to be doing the same.

So he withdrew his head and called "Places, everyone!"
The command caused everyone to scurry to their assigned places: Harry
- as main participant - and Hermione - as ritual leader - stood on
the right side facing the designated part of the barrier they had
marked out as its opening. Both wore white robes with nothing
underneath; Hermione's was belted with silver, his was held together
with a single button. On the left stood Dean and Seamus, who were to
act as assistants, wearing black robes with blue belts over their
normal clothing. The rest of the participants would be part of the
chanting circle, and they were dressed in black robes with hoods up,
over their regular clothing. They had spread out to form a wide
circle around the altar, with a wide gap near the barrier, to serve
as an opening that would be closed as soon as all participants had
stepped inside. At the other side of the circle there was a small
gap, the size of a missing person, which had been left open for Luna
who - as high priestess - would lead the chanting.

The fact that Luna was not yet where she was supposed to be caused
a hesitation in starting the chant. But then the barrier shimmered
and Snape and Luna appeared from its depths and were already
chanting, "... profugus. Huic locus est pacis." The
other chanters joined in immediately with the next line: "Nos
vultus a alcedonia orbis."

Snape stopped moving forward but continued chanting "hic
Veneficus futurus libere," once he'd cleared the barrier
completely. Luna moved past Harry, stopped for a moment and raised
her arms, chanting the next few lines - "Nostrum sententia es
videlicet. Nos sentio ut unus. Nos reputo ut unus. Nos factum ut
unus." - before moving onwards to take her place in the
Circle; Harry took a good long look at his former teacher.

The Potions Master wore the white robe in much the same way Harry
did, held closed by its single button. The V neckline of the robe
revealed his naked chest underneath with a thin splattering of dark
hair. His feet were still bare and as pale as the rest of him. His
face, while pale, didn't look as haggard as it had a few minutes
earlier; all the muscles in it seemed to have relaxed and his eyes
shone with an odd tranquillity, gazing as if unseeing into the
farthest distance.

Harry - and Dean and Seamus, being there to assist only - were not
obliged to take part in the chanting. Nor was Snape, if Harry had
understood the Master Spy's instructions correctly. But somehow it
seemed to help the man cope and Harry was glad he had at least that
much. Harry himself was not tempted to join the chanting; he hadn't
had time to learn the lines nor the meaning - though 'Mione had told
him it was all quite positive - so he didn't bother to join in.
Instead he settled in to observe until it was time do his part. Not
something he exactly looked forward to, but needs must.

As the chanting continued, for a while it looked as if nothing was
happening. Dean and Seamus, who had moved to either side of Snape,
first gave each other a questioning look, then they turned their
query filled eyes on Harry, who was also unsure when to start the
proceedings. He was about to give them the signal to begin when Snape
moved his left hand and popped the button on his robe, shouldering it
off so it fell to the floor in a puddle of white silk.

Several gasps could be heard behind Harry and to his left, but
they hardly registered with him as he looked at his former teacher's
scarred and emaciated body. 'Harry, go easy on the guy, he's been
through a lot.' Dean's words came back to him; Dean would have
seen this when he took care of the man last night. The front of the
man was disfigured with two great whip scars running from his left
shoulder to his right hip. They were in an almost perfect parallel
formation and Harry wondered if they had been created with a single
stroke of some kind of double tailed whip. Having now had his own
experience with learning how to wield one, Harry's mind boggled at
the skill it would take to use such a whip.

Dean and Seamus took Snape's action as a clear signal to start.
They each took an arm and marched their 'prisoner' towards the padded
bench that would serve as their altar. Harry followed their progress
with wide eyes and as Snape's back came into view Harry found that
after all the shocks that had come before, he could still be shocked
again: the man's back was a mess of scars. Some were like the marks
on his front - whip marks - but not all. There was a clearly
recognizable six-inch claw mark - four lines spanning five inches at
least - on his right shoulder blade and there was a rough patch - a
severe burn maybe - down his left buttock and hip.

The macabre procession halted at the altar and Dean and Seamus
started by bending the still chanting Snape over the bench. At this
point Harry remembered he was to take the aphrodisiac, so it could
take effect and not clash with the Aura potion he would take later.
It was now he really could appreciate that Snape had insisted that
he'd need it; he'd had so many shocks today that he wasn't sure he'd
be interested in sex for quite some time. And the thought of sex with
Snape had not put Harry off, nor indeed did seeing the man's body,
damage and all. No, it was the possible causes that could have
produced those scars that did; that, and the certain knowledge that
none of it had been done with Snape's consent. And that even this
ritual was not wholly consensual on Snape's part; Snape participated
willingly because there was no other option; what kind of a choice is
that?

oqpodboqpo

Taking the aphrodisiac had the side effect of calming Harry's
nerves, well apart from doing what was said on the bottle. Passively
he watched his friends tie his former teacher down tightly, in such a
fashion that Harry'd be able to get at all the most important parts
of the man. For most of the time that this process took, Harry had
his eyes glued to the - to his - most important bit and Harry's lower
regions wholeheartedly agreed with the choice of view.

As Dean and Seamus finally stepped away - Dean to stand by with
his Healer's bag over his shoulder, Seamus moving next to the small
table, ready to hand Harry what he would need, when he would need it
- Harry stepped forward and accepted the Aura potion Dean handed to
him. He drank the bitter liquid down in one draught and handed the
empty to Seamus, who efficiently put it in the large bowl they'd
designated a 'waste' bowl, that sat on the lower shelf under the
table proper.

Harry knew he had to wait for the Aura-seeing potion to take
effect. For long minutes he just stood there, surrounded by chanters,
looking at his victim, hoping to see whatever it was he was supposed
to see. Aura Seeing, Harry thought, should be part of
Divination, shouldn't it? If only Trelawney had bothered to teach
them this sort of thing in class! If only Harry hadn't dropped
Divination as soon as he possibly could.

Harry was about to get pissed with the waiting - just watching
Snape struggle for breath under those tight belts had lost its charm
quite quickly - when he spied a red glow coming off one of the larger
scars on the man's back. In the instructions it said Harry was to
touch a premade ointment - to which some drops of Harry's blood had
been added - to each glowing piece of skin, to symbolically, well,
not so much claim ownership, as more of a disowning of the skin and
flesh from the previous owners, so Harry could claim it properly with
the whip and the rape later on.

Harry shuddered at the thought of that rape, even if his body -
doused as it was in aphrodisiac - was definitely looking forward to
it. As the differently coloured glowing marks became more prominent
Harry held out his left hand to Seamus, ready to receive the
hand-sized bowl of ointment.

Harry got to work covering the red and the yellow and the blue
glowing marks with the slippery ointment, seeing each area turn an
emerald green. As he worked he wondered idly if green was 'his'
colour. And if that was so, then red would be the Dark &
Dreary's, because all the whip marks were glowing red. The animal
gouge on Snape's shoulder glowed yellow and Harry found another
yellow - a different yellow - glow on an area that didn't seem to
have a blemish to match on first glance, but on closer look, Harry
could see another claw mark, much smaller than the first.

Getting to the two parallel scars at the front, which were now
glowing brightly red, was not easy, but he finally managed. As he
stepped back and handed Seamus the nearly empty bowl, Harry saw
Snape's back glow with splotches of green. All except the Dark Mark,
which glowed a fiery red.

Rubbing his fingers all over Harry's old teacher had been a weird
experience. Not exactly repulsive, stimulating really, Harry
realized, though he was very happy to attribute that to the
effectiveness of the aphrodisiac, which still had Harry's anatomy
raring to go. Soon, he promised his lower half.

oqpodboqpo

The whipping was both easier and harder than Harry had expected.
Helped by the relaxing effect of the aphrodisiac, Harry found he
could neatly place two just bleeding lines on the Potions Master's
back. What he had not been prepared for was the ripple in the man's
flesh the blows would produce, nor the extent the lines ran up and
down the scarred back, leaving red weals behind where the skin had
not broken. And he was wholly surprised that the bucking of the body
against the pain made the entire padded bench jump.

In his mind he knew that whipping someone would hurt, but to see
it, well, that was very different. As he watched Snape writhe against
the pain, Harry just dropped the bloodied whip from numb fingers,
having to actively stop himself from casting an Incendio at it, for
fear of ruining the ritual. Instead he promised himself that he
never, EVER, would use such a thing on a person again.

oqpodboqpo

Harry knew time was of the essence, but he needed a minute or so
to regain his composure. He was well aware that while the chanters
were busy chanting, Dean and Seamus were waiting for him to go to the
next stage: the raping.

The very thought robbed Harry of his breath, and not in a good way
either. Suddenly he hated that aphrodisiac for keeping him sexually
aroused and even for its now failed tranquilizing effect. All he
wanted was to quit this horror, and he moved to turn away.

'I want your word that once the ritual starts, it will not be
stopped for any reason whatsoever.' Snape's words.

'You have my word that this shall be the last time.' His
own words.

He had promised. And it was necessary. God, how he was starting
to hate that word! Harry turned back and undid his robe, slipping
it off and handing it to Seamus. He then looked over to Dean, held
out his right hand and demanded, "Lubricant," knowing from
personal experience that Dean had a good slippery one in his bag.

'This situation is hardly going to be comfortable for me,
Potter.' Harry heard the memory in his mind.

Well, that's what you think, but I'm not going to take you in
pain. I may not be able to do it in true pleasure, but I WILL NOT
give you unnecessary pain, Harry thought with grim determination
as he measured out a substantial amount of lube out of the jar and
set to work on stretching Snape for penetration.

It was more than slightly unnerving that the Potions Master did
not in any way react to Harry's efforts but just kept that
half-lidded look to the side, that being the position the man's head
had been strapped down in. The only tension Harry could see was on
the man's neck, caused by the somewhat extreme angle and the steadily
further reddening of the skin around the Dark Mark, reinforced by the
red glow that Harry still could perceive, thanks to the Aura potion.

Finally Harry felt he had stretched Snape's entrance enough so he
felt he would avoid the pain and he lined himself up, still fully
hard - leave it to Snape to come up with a recipe for a potion that
was guaranteed to work, no matter how inappropriate the situation -
and sank into the warm depth.

Harry's body was elated and for a few moments he just indulged in
a few languid strokes in and out. But then he forced his mind back to
the ritual; next he was to 'cast the best spell through the Dark
Mark at the target' How the hell was he supposed to do that?
Snape had said that he didn't know. But Harry didn't know either, and
in the meantime no clue had come to him to push him in the right
direction.

But maybe it had for Snape. Harry asked Seamus for his wand,
grasping it in his left hand. And, while keeping the penetration
intact, he draped himself over the warm scarred back - getting
smeared along his whole front along the way - and put his mouth next
to Snape's left ear. He had to call several times before anything
happened at all and when it did, Harry was surprised to find Snape's
voice to come from inside his own head, not from the man's mouth.

Harry tried to form words in his mind to answer Snape, but it was
fully as hard as trying to learn Occlumency, at which, incidentally,
he'd failed at rather spectacularly. After several failed attempts he
started to use his voice to say the words while he thought them. It
had been an attempt to vent his growing frustration, rather than an
attempt to get the communication to work, but miraculously it did
improve his skill enough that Snape could make out what Harry tried
to ask.

However, the answer the Potions Master gave appeared to be hardly
helpful: /Just go through the Mark. Place your wand and push
though. Just get on with it, you dunderhead!/ Harry bristled at
the name calling and maybe that was what gave him enough strength to
do literally as his most hated teacher demanded. He flipped his wand
around and held it as though it was an ice pick and then plunged it
dead centre into the left eye of the inked skull of the Dark Mark.

The wand was glowing bright green as it sank though the Mark and
Snape's arm, like a hot knife though the softest butter. Blood
started to well up around the entry wound and first it pooled there
and then it ran in rivulets off either side of Snape's horizontally
strapped arm, where it met the drip that was running from the exit
wound down the pointy end of the wand as it protruded out of the back
of the arm. Harry nearly lost his lunch at the sight of the blood
dripping unto the wooden floor beneath.

/Aim and fire!/ Snape's voice rang in his head, just as
Seamus thrust the big bowl - after dumping out the garbage they'd put
in it - under the drip. Aim at what?

/The Red Light! There in front of us!/ Severus screamed
inside of Harry's head, giving him an instant headache. Harry ignored
the pain, the nausea and Seamus' shocked green tinged face that came
into his view. There is nothing there! I see nothing! he
thought back as hard as he could.

For some moments nothing more happened than the continued eerie
dripping of the blood down Harry's wand. Harry was still holding it
ice-pick style, unwilling to let go of it lest it make the wound
worse.

"Uh, Harry," came from Harry's right. It was Dean's
voice but Harry didn't want to move so much as his head, just in case
he missed a communication from Snape.

"Let me heal that," Dean said, sounding almost pleading.
But still Harry held still, waiting.

"No," he said with finality. "Snape told me to do
this, he'll know what to do next." Here's hoping anyway.

Another few minutes passed and the bowl now had about an inch of
fluid in the bottom. Harry knew that that sort of measurement wasn't
very much yet, but the next inch would, due to the shape of the bowl,
cover a much wider diameter and therefore represent a lot more blood.
Snape had better come up with a strategy soon, or Harry would be
forced to call off the ritual.

'It must not be stopped for any reason whatsoever.' The
memory echoed in his mind once more. Well, then, think of
something, you greasy bastard!

Then Harry felt a tug on his wand and he was sure he hadn't moved,
nor was anybody near him, nor could Snape have moved; he was too
tightly bound. Harry took a good look at the point where the wand had
pierced the flesh and was relieved to see the damage hadn't gotten
any worse.

Then he heard Snape's voice in his head, /Let me guide your
wand./ Harry was puzzled by this - how could Snape guide
anything, tied up like this - but gave his consent. What he felt next
was something he would never be able to describe later, because he
simply couldn't understand it while it was happening. While he was
holding absolutely still, with Snape tied up beyond the hope of
movement underneath him, he felt his hand move, his wand point in an,
to him, arbitrary direction.

His hand was moving, while it was completely still at the same
time. Then it stopped and it felt to Harry as if the whole world
suddenly shifted around him, just to realign his still hand with the
moved hand. It was a recipe for instant nausea and Harry forced the
bile down as best he could. Then his nausea evaporated as he was
suddenly infused with a wave of pure power. /Cast the spell!/ he
heard in his mind and he obeyed instantly, letting out all that power
in a bright green lethal spell.

Harry might not have been able to see the target before, but when
the spell hit, he saw the green spell explode a stationary red star
almost in slow motion, and then the explosion started imploding into
a deep black hole and underneath him he could feel Snape - the
essence of him, not his body - being pulled away though the Mark on
his arm.

No! Harry screamed in his mind and he let go of his wand,
only to put his hand over the evil red glowing Mark on Snape's arm.
No! He was not letting that madman have Snape, Snape was
his!

Harry's hand gripped tightly, preventing Snape's essence from
passing though the conduit. He felt Voldemort pull violently on the
Mark, still he held on. He felt Snape - his body - start to buck in
convulsions under him, but still he held on. He imagined he could
feel jet black tendrils wrapping around Snape trying to capture Harry
himself as well, but still he held on.

He held on as the world seemed to go black altogether and Snape
let out a eardrum-shattering scream, thinking they'd at least be
going together into death. Then the dark receded and Snape lay
deathly still underneath him, eyes closed, but breathing, if
shallowly. And Harry came in tune with his own body, all sticky with
sweat and blood and that disgusting ointment.

"Harry?" Seamus's voice from his left. The world started
to register again with Harry as he looked about the now completely
silent room, while leveling himself up from his position of lying
over Snape. His left hand came away from Snape's arm, dripping with
blood. He looked at it for a moment and the nodded to Seamus first
and then to Dean he said, "I think we did it. Go clean him up."

It really wasn't until he'd said it, we did it, that he
realized that they had.

oqpodboqpo

Cleaning up was a rather grisly experience. Dean quickly
established that Snape wasn't dead and that the blood loss was not
life-threatening, but to everyone present, human blood is awfully red
and nearly everyone in the group was seriously nauseated.

Harry left Dean to take care of Snape while he let Seamus and
Hermione clean him up by spell and by hand; they spelled him into
some clothes, a hastily transfigured dark red Muggle style jogging
suit with the Hogwarts crest over the heart at the front and a bigger
version on the back. Harry was very grateful for the quick cover up;
it made him feel instantly clean and warm and definitely on the side
of the Light.

"Harry?" Dean drew his attention just as he'd stretched
his back to get the kink out of it from having bent over like that.
He left Seamus and Hermione to deal with the rest of the clean-up and
quickly looked 'round to see how the others did. He caught Luna's eye
and she nodded as she was talking quietly with the complete chanters
group gathered around, apparently riveted by whatever it was she was
saying.

He cleared his throat loudly, drawing everybody's attention -
except for Dean's, who kept to his task of caring for the wounded,
just as Harry expected of him.

"Everyone, thank you for taking part in the uh, nasty
business. I'm sure you'll all be glad to know that I think we
succeeded; I think the Dark Whatsit is dead, finally!" He
stopped to take a new breath and everyone gave a cheer. He continued,
"However, we'll have to wait for proper confirmation before we
start spreading this news around; who knows, I could be wrong."
There were some sniggers at that. Harry was gratified to know all his
friends trusted his word so much, but it would be smart to be a
little prudent, he thought.

"There is one other thing," he continued. "I
consider what happened here tonight as part of our oath of silence
for DA business." He gave everybody a serious look, letting his
gaze sweep the entire group, some of whom were still smiling after
their cheer. "You'll appreciate that when Professor Snape wakes
up, he's likely to be seriously pissed off if he finds that people -
people other than us - know about what we tried to do to him last
night and did do to him tonight. In fact, if any adult finds
out the exact nature of what happened here, we all stand a good
chance of ending up in Azkaban." He looked the group over again
and now met nothing but serious faces; they all got the warning,
Harry felt.

It was Cho who asked, "Should we reaffirm our vow? I'm
willing to do that, if you think it's necessary," she added in
her shy tone of voice.

Harry gave that idea a moment's thought. They had all sworn an
oath of secrecy at the inception of the DA, a few years back. This
group had sworn again at the start of the school year, back in
September.

"No," he said with conviction. "A full vow isn't
necessary at this moment. I think, if Snape wants one, we should be
prepared to take a vow to him personally. But for now a simple
promise will do." He drew himself up to his full height, put his
hand on his heart and said solemnly, "I promise to keep what
happened in the last forty-eight hours in this room a secret."
Then he stood as everybody present - again except Dean - stood
straighter and, hand on heart, as a chorus repeated his words.

He then turned his attention to Dean, who had unstrapped Snape -
still unconscious - and had levitated him to a padded table the room
had magicked for their need. Snape was already dressed in the same
pyjamas as earlier, but was oddly enough laid out on his front
instead of his back. Then Harry remembered the whip marks he had had
to put on the Potions Master's back and he tried not to feel the
shudder of revulsion at the memory of having had to do such a thing
to another human being.

Dean was sitting perched on a high stool with Snape's naked left
arm in his lap, with the pyjama sleeve rolled all the way up the arm
so he could work on cleaning the exit wound. Harry took a peek over
his friend's shoulder; the wound looked like a perfect red circle
about a quarter inch wide. Now that it wasn't bleeding, it had lost
its horror and Harry could look at it without wanting to toss his
cookies.

"Dean," he said. His friend looked up from his work and
said matter-of-factly, "Oh by the way, I promised too."
Harry nodded. And Dean continued talking, "And meanwhile, you
may want to look at this." He then, very carefully, turned over
the arm and on the front was, apart from a matching circular red
hole, a bright red lifesize hand print sitting just where Harry's own
hand had grasped Snape's arm in order to stop the Dark & Now Dead
from dragging Snape with him into Hell, or wherever that blackness
would have led.

Harry raised his own left hand, turned it so he could see the back
of it, curled his fingers into roughly the grip he had used, and
compared it with the imprint. It was an exact match. Oh, Merlin!
Snape was going to kill him when he found that Harry had marked him!

oqpodboqpo

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TBC

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All Beneath the Full Moon [COMPLETE]