Hope Has a Place
Part Four
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Harry lay in Snape’s bed, curled up in a ball. Much to his surprise, Snape’s bed was not some gigantic four poster with carved snakes and Slytherin green and silver bedding. The bed itself was a normal sized double, with a wrought iron bedstead to hold the mattress. The bedding was a pale blue cotton, with small white flowers embroidered on it. It was a soothing sort of room but Harry wasn’t sure he wanted soothing.

He still hadn’t stopped crying since Snape returned from his run in with Lupin. He couldn’t stop the tears no more than he could stop the sun from rising. He’d believed Snape, believed him when he’d said that he wouldn’t harm Lupin, but the bloodied robes and scratched hands told another story.

And if Snape had lied about that, what other promises would he be prepared to break?

Specifically his promise that he wouldn't even attempt to pursue Harry until he'd left school?

Harry was appalled to find himself even thinking of it, but he could not deny that the thoughts were there. What if Snape were to do to him what Lupin had? Was this how it was going to be for him from now on? Thinking of every male he knew, not as friends or teachers, but as potential rapists?

Harry shuddered, his tears drying to a trickle and decided to have a shower. When he ventured out to the living room, he saw Snape perched on an armchair, a glass of firewhiskey in his hand. Their eyes met and Harry wondered if maybe staying here might not have been the best idea, but he didn't know where else he could go.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Snape, looking into his glass as though he could find the answers to the universe in its amber depths.

"I'm going to have a shower, then I'm going to bed," said Harry. He didn't acknowledge the apology. So Snape was sorry, was he? Sorry that he'd broken a promise? Harry knew that things between the both of them would continue to be strained until he could talk about all that was bothering him, but he was feeling too fragile for a heart to heart tonight. Mabye after he had his shower and had a good night's sleep, maybe then he could talk.

Snape's bathroom was more luxurious that Harry would ever anticipated. A sunken claw footed bathtub was the centrepiece, and around the walls were shelves of hundreds of cleansing potions and shampoos. Why was Snape's hair so greasy if he had all of these at his disposal? A shower was installed over the bath, but now that he'd seen the size of the tub, Harry was tempted to have a long soak and wash all his cares away. He selected a bottle from one of the shelves an filled the bath with lavender scented bubbles.

He sighed as he sank into the warm water, leaning his head back and just relaxing in the bouyancy. A conjured sponge and bar of soap later, he began washing himself, starting with his neck. It was as his ministrations began to get lower on his body that the panicked. He closed his eyes, trying to banish the memory, but with his eyes closed that only brought it in to sharper focus.

He remembered, he could feel Lupin's hands on him as he held Harry down, crushing him against the desk. Harry could almost feel the desk biting into his stomach and hear his cries as he pleaded with Lupin to stop.

Harry's breath hitched on a sob. He was so dirty, so foul. He scrubbed himself fiercely, rubbing his whole body red raw, trying to get the werewolf's scent off him, his secretions all over his body. Harry attacked his genitals with the sponge, almost as though it was his own body that had done this to him.

It was no use, a bath wouldn't clean him. Harry unplugged the bath, stood up and turned on the shower, the water was a little cold when it first ran, so he turned it up as far as he could stand it. His skin was blistering in the heat, but he barely noticed. He had to get clean. He was so dirty. He had to get clean.

Snape wouldn't want him when he knew how dirty Harry really was. Snape would send him away.

He conjured a scrubbing brush, it looked like the one his aunt used to scrub floors, the bristles were hard and uncomfortable, but he didn't care. Had to get clean.

Harry scrubbed himself so hard that it was hurting, but he could bear the pain if only he could get clean. He had to get clean.

He deserved the pain, didn't he? He was so filthy, so vile, unclean. He wasn't pure any more and he knew Snape saw him differently because of it.

The shower spluttered, the water turned cold and soothed his burning skin somewhat, but he didn't deserve to be soothed. He was still dirty, still filthy. He had to get clean.

But the sscrubbing brush wasn't doing the job, he couldn't get Remus out of him. Harry threw it down to the bottom of the tub and used his hands, used his hands to scratch every last piece of him he could reach. Scratched and scratched until he barely felt it and the water flowed red...

***

Snape glanced at the closed bathroom door for about the fifth time. Harry had been in there over an hour, should he go and check on him? Or leave him to his privacy? Snape mentally catalogued the items on his bathroom shelves. Cleaning potions, shampoos, bath bubbles, nothing that could be considered a danger. Unless it was ingested. Surely the boy wouldn't be that foolish? Remembering the look of utter betrayal on Harry's face when he returned, Snape wasn't so sure anymore.

He marched across to his bathroom door and knocked. "Harry? Are you all right?"

No answer, not that he really expected there to be.

"Harry, I'm coming in. I suggest you get decent for I'm not leaving until I make sure you're all right."

He pushed the door open and gasped in shock.

"Merlin, Harry. What have you done to yourself?"

Harry was curled up at one end of the tub, his knees drawn tight against his chest as he rocked backwards and forwards. He didn't even seem to be aware that Snape was even in the room with him.

Even with what little of Harry he could see, Snape saw enough to know that Harry was in a bad way. Angry scratches covered every bare patch of skin and his whole body was scalded, the skin just too pink. Snape had never needed the spells on his own shower before to stop one from being scalded, but he was surely going to have to add them now. Harry was shivering as cold water continued to rain down on him from the shower. Snape turned off the flow with a flick of his wand.

"Harry? Can you hear me?" The boy didn't even blink, he seemed unaware of his surroundings. "Harry, I'm going to fetch you a towel and then I'm going to lift you out, all right?"

He may have been talking to the wall for all the notice he recieved from Harry.

Snape cast a softening spell on one of his raggedy old towels, probably about high time he invested in some new ones, and wrapped it around Harry's shoulders. Harry didn't even flinch, even though the towel was sure to excaberbate the burns and scratches on his poor abused body.

Snape bent over, scooping his arms underneath Harry's legs and lifted him out, trying to be as gentle as possible. He was not cut out for this. How in hell did he imagine that he would be able to help Harry through this? Especially considering his own feelings for Harry? He was not a nursemaid, he had never looked after anyone in his life, and he was supposed to be able to look after this damaged boy? Just look, one night in Snape's care and the boy had managed to scald himself, scratch himself bloody and had gone into some sort of trance.

Yes, Snape was an excellent choice as caregiver.

He carried Harry to the bed and set him down, willing his eyes to show something other than that blank stare, but it was as if Harry had gone somewhere else. Snape dried him with the towel, deliberately being quick about it and not lingering overlong on those parts of Harry that under other circumstances he would have been drawn to. Once Harry was dried to his staisfaction, Snape returned to the bathroom and retrieved a pain killing potion and a burn salve. Maybe Harry would have been better taken care of in the hospital wing, but Snape knew how Harry would feel about that.

Carefully, he sat Harry up so that his back was leaning against the headboard and squeezed his mouth open so that he could pour the potion down his throat, for Harry was in no state to do it himself. That done, Snape rubbed the salve on the boy's chest and legs, then turned him over so he could do his back. Mission completed, Snape dressed Harry in one of his nightshirts and placed him under the covers. He smoothed a lock of hair out of Harry's eyes and removed the ugly glasses. Harry stared up at him, unseeing, as Snape caressed his cheeks. It was as though his hands didn't want to stop touching Harry.

"Goodnight, Harry," he whispered, placing a soft kiss on Harry's forehead, almost touching the scar there.

Harry gave no indication that he heard.

Snape left the room, glancing back over his shoulder at the still figure on the bed.

Dear Merlin, what were they going to do?

Part Five