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Proof of Life	By : emilywaters Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 65994 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved. I make no money from writing fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Compulsion

When Marietta left, Harry consulted the clock. He felt so incredibly tired, and wanted nothing more than to just go to bed and sleep. However... Snape was sedated for twelve hours, and would likely wake up terrified and disoriented. This meant, Harry had twelve hours, no, eleven and a half hours, he corrected himself, to make a breakthrough in attempting to communicate with his patient.

Harry finished the bottle of Firewhisky, gritted his teeth, and proceeded to the hearth to place a firecall to Malfoy Manor.

Draco's sneering face appeared in the hearth a moment later.

�Potter,� he spat disdainfully. �What now? You think I'm so indebted to you, you can wake me in the middle of the night on a whim?�

�We found Snape,� Harry said, not willing to get into an argument at this point. Draco's face acquired an uncharacteristically somber expression.

�His body, you mean?� Draco clarified, making desperate attempts to keep his voice from shaking.

�No. He's alive. Didn't you see the article in the Prophet?�

�That was him? He let you bring him home with you?� Instead of relieved or grateful, Draco sounded more scandalized than Hermione was upon seeing Snape's healthcare bill.

�He's not well,� Harry said noncommittally. �Listen, I need your help. Do you have any literature on... er... slavery?�

Back in Malfoy Manor, Draco scowled with disgust.

�Potter, I don't know what you're playing at, but this isn't even remotely funny.�

�Just come over and bring whatever books you've got!� Harry snapped at him, and terminated the firecall connection.

Waiting for Draco to arrive, he opened another bottle of Firewhisky. He rarely drank, and almost never to excess, but this was quickly turning out to be one of those nights.

Draco appeared shortly, with a pile of aged books and scrolls in his hands. He set them carefully on Harry's kitchen table and glanced at him.

�How is he?� Draco asked without preliminaries.

�Stable. Sedated,� Harry said cautiously.

�Sedated? What happened?�

�He's not doing so well,� Harry whispered, cradling his drink in his hands. �Look, it's a long story... for the last seven years, he'd been tortured by Death Eaters, because they got a hold of the Pensieve with his memories... It's all my fault you know. I really should have thought to hide it, in case the school was stormed. Now the Ministry doesn't believe that he's innocent, and they're all after him... Anyway, he's not doing well, you know? I think I scared him, or said something wrong, because he already tried killing himself tonight...�

Draco scowled at him again. �You realize you aren't making any sense at all. And what is this nonsense about slavery?�

Harry bit his lip. �I .. eh... I cast an enslavement spell on him,� he admitted reluctantly. �But I didn't know what it was!� Harry added quickly.

For a few seconds Draco stared at him with pure loathing, and then, without any warning, punched him in the face. Harry's hand flew to his nose, and he felt a warm trickle of blood run down his fingers. He wiped the blood off, and without saying another word took another sip from his drink. Fighting back required just the kind of energy that Harry no longer had.

Draco was towering over him, glaring down at him. �You are going to tell me exactly what happened, from the moment you found him.�

Harry nodded tiredly. �I can just show you,� he offered. �I've got a Pensieve receptacle in my study... just view the memories of the past twenty-four hours. Maybe you can help me figure it out.�

Draco stormed off to Harry's study. Harry heard something fall from the desk, something broke, and Draco returned a minute later with the Pensieve bowl in his hands, setting it on the kitchen table. Using his wand, Harry pulled out the strands of memories of the last twenty-four hours, and deposited them into the receptacle. Without saying a word, Draco leaned forward to view them.

~ * ~

Once Draco was done viewing, he lifted his head and stared at Harry thoughtfully.

�So you had so much fun with Sectumsempra that you decided you were going to try another mystery spell, huh, Potter?�

�That's not fair!� Harry protested, but without conviction.

Draco sneered at him. �Potter, this is so like you. Prancing around, casting unknown spells, thinking you know better than everyone else, while really, you don't know fuck-all.�

�Fine!� Harry hissed. �You're right! All right? Now, are you going to berate me, or are you going to help?�

�Help,� Draco murmured, bemused. �All right. Do you know how slave-bonds work?�

�Me? Draco, twenty-four hours ago, I had no idea they still existed.�

�Of course,� Draco said dismissively. �Well, here's a brief summary for you. The enslavement incantation doesn't automatically generate a demure, obedient subject. It merely primes the victim's, pardon me, the slave's mind, making it ready to accept the Master's training. The first months after the incantation is cast are critical. That's when the slave is absorbing new rules, learning his owner's wishes, so to speak. This is why he's responding to you the way he is. Severus is not doing anything but going by the rules he has learned. Or trying to, anyway.�

�Rules? What rules?� Harry spat. �This shouldn't be happening! I haven't even seen him in seven years! He hasn't been trained as a slave!�

�Hasn't he?� Draco asked sternly. �What do you think his seven years of captivity were, if not training how to be the perfect slave?�

Harry's face drained of all color. �I didn't mean for any of it to happen!� he protested. �He must realize that!�

Draco was eyeing him thoughtfully. �Even if a part of him realizes that, the bond doesn't.�

Harry sighed deeply. �The bond has a mind of its own?�

�In a manner of speaking. Remember, it's a subconscious force. It interprets everything in terms of his his position relative to you. As far as the slave-bond understands, his Master walked away from him in the Shrieking Shack, abandoning him to whatever happened to him later. Everything he has endured over the past seven years, the bond sees as your will.�

�I didn't mean it to happen,� Harry whispered bitterly. �Doesn't that count for something?�

Draco shrugged and without invitation poured himself a glass of Firewhisky.

�So where did I go wrong last night?� Harry asked. �What did I say, or do, to make him react this way?�

Draco took a sip of the drink and cringed slightly.

�It's more what you didn't say, or didn't do, I think,� he mused. �You two inhabit different realities. The entire evening you were talking past each other.�

�I gathered that,� Harry conceded. �But... specifics, please?�

�The moment you brought him home, he asked you for instructions. You gave him none. What was he supposed to believe?�

Harry stared at him quizzically.

�He assumed that you had no actual use for him, other than to torture him,� Draco said. �He spent the entire evening anticipating something horrible happening. Remember how he reacted when you asked him if he wanted something to drink?�

Harry mentally went back to that moment. �He asked for water,� Harry said hesitantly.

�No, he didn't,� said Draco. �He didn't say water, please. He said, I want water.�

Harry rewarded him with a blank stare.

�It wasn't a request,� Draco explained. �It was a confession. He confessed what he needed, expecting you to use it against him.�

�He expected me to deny him water?!!� Harry was so flabbergasted he forgot he wasn't supposed to yell.

�I think so,� Draco agreed. �Then, when you didn't... he assumed you had something far worse in mind.�

Harry shook his head and shut his eyes tightly. This wasn't happening, he thought. They had won the war, and were living in a civilized, normal world. This was just an elaborate, surreal nightmare. He opened his eyes, hoping to wake up next to Ginny, only to find Draco staring at him from across the table.

�The entire evening he expected to be hurt,� Draco continued. �Him thinking he was useless... The broken glass... the burned dinner.... your wife leaving...�

�None of that was even his fault!� Harry protested.

Draco smiled bitterly. �Only because you are inhabiting a different reality, Potter. He's not thinking like you. Over the last seven years, he was likely tortured for as little as looking at someone the wrong way, or saying the wrong thing. You may think you were kind to him, but he spent the entire evening waiting for you to punish him. When you didn't, he assumed you were delaying, and planning something awful. The longer you delayed, the greater the tension became. Eventually, he decided he couldn't handle whatever you had in mind for him, and chose to make a gracious exit, of sorts.�

Harry frowned. �Is the anticipation of being punished a magical compulsion, or a learned response?�

�Both,� Draco said. �The learned response is to expect punishment, but the response was learned and reinforced in part due to the magical compulsion.�

For a few minutes, Harry sat in silence, absorbing Draco's words.

�So... what do I do now?� Harry asked.

�Try to learn as much as you can about the spell. You say it was one of his own?�

�Yes,� Harry confirmed.

�That's both good and bad,� Draco mused. �Considering the source, the spell is likely very powerful, possibly irreversible.�

�Shit,� Harry muttered under his breath.

�On the bright side of things, considering the source, the spell is likely more practical than malicious,� Draco said almost calmly. �Eventually, you should ask him about the details of the spell. Just probably not right away.�

�Yes,� Harry agreed. �I don't think we are ready to have this conversation yet. What do I do in the meantime?�

Draco shrugged, obviously ill at ease. �I brought you some books. Read them over. Most books will recommend clear, unambiguous instructions, positive reinforcement for doing something right, prompt, strict punishments for mistakes...�

Harry glared at Draco. �You really think I am going to hurt him, after all he'd been through?� he asked very quietly.

Draco shrugged again. �He's a slave now. What else can you do?�

�I can treat him like he's human!� Harry spat angrily.

Draco drained the glass of Firewhisky in a single gulp. �Really, Potter?� he asked with surprising venom in his voice. �Why start now?'

�What's that supposed to mean?� Harry demanded, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

�You bloody well know what I mean,� Draco said. �He was never human to either you, or Dumbledore. He was a tool to one of you, and a bogeyman to the other. Your admirable desire to set things right comes about a decade too late, if you ask me.�

Harry slammed his glass on the table. He could be spiteful too, when the occasion called for it, and this definitely qualified.

�Oh, and I suppose he meant more to you and your goddamn family?� Harry demanded. �He did more for you than your own father! Tell me, how did your mother see him? As an expendable half-blood, ready to be sacrificed for her spineless son? She begged him take an Unbreakable Vow for you, Malfoy! An Unbreakable Vow! That's pathetic, if you ask me!�

The words achieved their desired effect. Draco bolted to his feet, and grabbed Harry by the collar of the shirt. �Don't you dare...�

Harry looked at him with disgust. �Don't I dare?� he repeated, throwing Draco's hands off. �This is your fault as much as it's mine. He killed Dumbledore on your behalf, to save you and your family! If not for the lot of you, Snape would be free, healthy, and have the Order of Merlin on his desk.�

Draco's face went ashen at those words, and Harry instantly regretted them, but not enough to take them back. Tense, uncomfortable silence hung between them. Finally, it was Draco who breached it.

�Potter,� he intoned softly, �did... Severus ask about me at all? Any of us?�

Harry shook his head. �Sorry. I don't think he's able to think of anything like that now. I'm sure he'll ask when he starts coming around.�

�I suppose,� Draco agreed. �Listen... if you need money or anything for him, let me know.�

�Will do.�

Harry's mind went back to his conversation with Marietta. Draco was still lingering in the kitchen when Harry asked, �Draco... maybe we can find a mind-healer for him. Someone who won't judge him, but will just treat him.�

Draco smiled without happiness. �With the political climate the way it is? Good luck with that. Our kind aren't regarded kindly these days. I should know, I can't even get a counselling session for depression without it turning into some kind of mind-game, and coming back to my grievous war crimes.�

Harry swore under his breath.

�Really, Potter, don't look so forlorn,� Draco said calmly, with just a faint note of mockery in his voice. �You won the war. You should be wallowing in victory. That's what I'd do.�

�You would, wouldn't you,� Harry muttered.

Draco turned around and walked back into the living room, heading to the hearth. Harry followed him to see him off. Draco moved automatically and almost mechanically, as his hand reached for the bowl with the Floo powder.

�Draco,� Harry said quietly. �I'm in way over my head here. Be honest. What do you think I should do?�

Draco's hand shook slightly, and some of the powder fell to the floor.

�You really want my honest opinion?� Draco asked in a tight voice.

�Yes.�

�I think you should have let him go,� Draco said softly.

�Let him go... you mean, let him die?� Harry whispered, horrified by the suggestion.

Draco nodded wordlessly.

�Tonight, or back at the Shrieking Shack?�

�Either,� said Draco, avoiding looking at him.

There was a lump in Harry's throat and he stammered out accusingly, �How can you even suggest something like that?�

Draco's smile was painful and bitter.

�Just look at him, Potter. He gave his all to your side... only to end up like this? This is worse than the Dementor's Kiss. The way he was before... strong... proud... independent... he'd never have wanted this... to be this way... helpless, broken, exposed, at your mercy. That's not life, not for someone like him, and you know it. If he tries again, you should let him go.�

There was a little too much dangerous truth in Draco's words, and Harry knew that he could not afford to think along those lines. Feeling unsteady on his feet, Harry leaned against the hearth and stared, mesmerized, at the fire within it. The flames were dancing with hypnotic intensity, casting dreadful, demented shadows across the living-room.

�I'm not giving up on him,� Harry said stubbornly.

�Of course not,� Draco said mirthlessly. �That would offend your Gryffindor sensibilities.�

It hurt too much to even try to respond to that, so Harry didn't.

Draco left a moment later, and Harry sank onto the couch. He checked the time, and decided to get some sleep, after all. He cast a healing spell on his nose, then flicked his wand again, setting an alarm charm to wake him three hours before Snape.

To Be Continued...

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Proof of Life