Summary: Harry had always been their strength. When they found out how Dumbledore had been hurting him, they decided to be Harry's strength too. Even if they had to abandon everything to do it. Time Travel

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Categories: Time Travel, Abuse, Slash, Het

Chapter Summary: A strange force took over his body when he saw those bruises. Severus had been resigned to a life of unavenged grievances for himself, but there was no way he would let any one else suffer what he had.

Chapter 1: Their Encounter

Professor Severus Snape was regarded as tough and unforgiving by his students. And while that attitude could be applied to him in the classroom, that was the extent of its accuracy. Actually, Severus had silently endured and decided against retaliation on so much abuse throughout his lifetime that he was ashamed of his passivity.

He had endured his earliest abuses from as far back as he could remember – assault and neglect at the hands of the bigot and insecure wreck that he called his parents. And yet like many victims he was conditioned to ally himself with those he feared. Upon joining Hogwarts, therefore, it was only natural that he was sucked into the Slytherin mindset.

No matter how terrible these abuses of his person had been, however, Severus had long since gotten revenge for them or vented by sharing them with others. Only one abuse had been barred behind cement walls within him, never shared or avenged, filling him with such vitriol that it could account for much of his acidic personality, or so he liked to tell himself.

On his way to deliver the first of his monthly progress reports to the Headmaster, he followed the same path that he had walked in the past toward the main persecutor of his happiness. He no longer even considered the thought of revenge against Albus Dumbledore for his crimes, having long since been resigned to the impotence of his desire for justice.

Standing outside the headmaster's gargoyle was always an unnerving experience. Nobody could prove that the Headmaster watched visitors through the statue, but everybody who had ever set foot in that office believed it with the absolute confidence of schoolchild superstition. Severus jumped, expecting the headmaster to appear from behind the door as it swung open with a sinister click to reveal, instead, the 6th year Harry Potter. His eyes narrowed at the boy automatically, long since conditioned to any Potter as the trigger of his scorn.

The boy walked with his eyes on the steps in front of him, as if he couldn't trust his feet. He limped sideways down the steps, bracing himself against the wall with both arms as he eased his way down. His eyes were narrowed, not with the same disinclination that darkened Severus's, but with the concentration of a sculptor whose tiniest slip would destroy his entire statue. In an instant, Severus's heart stopped. It was impossible.

But Severus knew. As soon as he saw that familiar limp, he knew with absolute certainty that the Headmaster had not stopped his abuse with Severus, but had carried on his perversions against Potter, of all people.

He closed his eyes and took a quiet gulp of air, hoping that the boy would be gone when he reopened them. Dumbledore had gotten away with it easily when it was with Severus, the pathetic Slytherin boy that nobody liked. But the so-called Savior of the Wizarding World? Madness.

When Potter righted himself at the bottom of the staircase, straightening his back and tilting his head for automatic arrogance, he ceased to look suspicious. He could have been any one of the Gryffindor boys, long since brainwashed by his house to reveal his every emotion, no matter how dangerous. He looked up and noticed his professor, the slight widening of his eyes and tilt backward his only signs of surprise. Severus recognized the defiant glare the boy met him with; he was building his defenses to withstand a verbal assault.

"Potter." Severus stated simply, feeling out the situation. Even on the best of days, the teenager was as volatile as a badly made potion.

"Professor." The boy responded with an equally unwavering voice, showing nothing of the suffering that had painted his face a moment ago.

That did it for Severus. He could accept his own suffering, having grown accustomed to mistreatment, but this was Lilly's boy, Severus's student. Blood coursed through him, pounding in his ears, demanding that he act immediately and put a stop to this appalling abuse of power.

"Come." Severus grabbed the boy by the wrist and turned, pulling his suddenly terrified student behind him.

It would have been safer to levitate him, or at least to make his way through the halls more slowly, but the invisible prickle of eyes watching him from within the office drove him to flee. He stalked quickly to the dungeons, whipped on by the pounding in his temples. Once inside his office, he pushed the boy through the doors, shutting and warding them. Potter stumbled into the center of the room and stopped, turning to face Severus with a wary, angry expression.

"What do you want?" He croaked, half defiant and half agonized.

The pull to act, to fix, stayed clamped over his muscles, refusing to let him open his mouth until he had done something. He scurried to his desk and yanked the middle drawer open with a bang of the wood and a clank of the metal handle, removing an emergency potions kit from a drawer and placing it on the desk with a thud. He looked at it for a second, then raised his eyes toward the boy shivering in the center of his classroom.

"I'll fix you." It was as much a command to himself as anything, and Severus wondered if the boy could sense the blazing anger of this strangeforce that had taken over his body.

"Huh?" was all the overwhelmed sixth year could bring himself to respond with.

Severus grabbed the kit and stormed closer to the Gryffindor, who took several running steps backward to maintain distance between them.

"Sir, what are you doing?" Harry asked, fear bleeding into his voice. "Oh. You're going to hand me over to Voldemort now, right? You think I'll just let that happen?" There was an edge of panic in his voice and his eyes were clear, but unfocused, as if studying something in the distance.

"No." Severus murmured, calm drowning him. There was a faint buzzing in the back of this head, like the whistle of air from a stuffed nose, as he set the kit down on a chair.

The chair's leather squeaked like a dying rat, and Potter's eyes fell toward the sound, his cheeks paling. Severus observed this only in the back of his mind; in the front of his mind, the buzzing persisted, like a fly screaming fix this, fix us, fix him. He could think of nothing else.

"Potter." He spoke softly. "Harry. If I'm to heal you, you'll need to take off your clothes."

The boy flinched more visibly this time and tossed his head, rejecting what he had just heard. "You're insane." He scoffed, not incorrectly. "I'm not undressing in front of you. And I'm not injured! Take me to the hospital wing if you don't believe me."

As if the boy would let that happen. Severus knew that he would flee as soon as he could escape, or otherwise he would let Dumbledore take care of the Healer. Severus would have done the same in the past.

"Do it!" He barked, anger or terror or something resurfacing, consuming him in his drive to make it all better.

And as if those words were a spell, Potter's face went blank. His hand jerked to his neck, where there was a magical knot only the wearer could untie, and before either of them could think twice, Potter's robes fell to his feet.

Dumbledore's preferences had degenerated over the years. The boy wore only boxers underneath his robes, likely at the headmaster's command, but Severus noticed this only passingly as he choked on his tongue in horror. The child's sides were covered in finger-shaped bruises, with dark rope-burns sprawled across his chest, accompanied by an array of scars and abrasions. There were even darker rope burns around his lower arms, and signs of chafing from being bound repeatedly.

"Turn around." Severus breathed, half to himself; Potter only yelped at the sound of his voice. He pulled his arms over his chest, apparently unwilling or unable to bend down to reclaim his robes.

Hunched, the boy lost more control over his face, revealing confusion that he likely meant to hide. The only reason he didn't flee to a corner of the room was probably some dim hope that he could still hide the truth. Either that, or some fear of being undefended as he moved.

We have to get away. He'll find us. The buzzing became an ocean, each wave another push to make something happen. But, muscles tightening as if he really were bracing himself against the forces of nature, Severus told himself that healing had to come first.

Sex had been new to him when the Headmaster introduced it, but it had been in the Slytherin's nature that, had the Headmaster also entered into his father's territory, physical violence, Severus would not have endured it. Apparently, this was not the case with Potter, and the Headmaster knew it. The permanent signs of abuse that marred the boy's skin were proof of that.

Severus growled, reaching into his potions. "Come over here, Potter."

Harry took a step back, trembling in both fear and defiance. "Harry." He tried again. "These will make the pain stop. You know that."

The boy shook his head, tightening his grip on his shoulders. Another wave struck, demanding that Severus grab him, see with his own eyes that the boy was healed. Again, the professor dug in his feet. He held out salve and 3 potions, one to ease pain, one to calm, and one to speed the healing of the skin while fighting infection.

Potter hesitated for a moment before shaking his head again. He likely recognized at least one of the potions, and knew somewhere in his mind that they were safe. But he couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Couldn't trust. Just like Severus.

Severus set them down on the chair next to the kit and backed away. "The salve should help with both the rope marks and the open wounds. Can you put it on yourself? Or are you too weak?"

The final barb was unkind, but necessary, the noises assured him. The Headmaster had surely seen Severus take Harry away with him. Even if he thought the Slytherin too cowed to do anything about it, he would appear sooner or later to make sure. Harry was scared, and wouldn't do anything on his own, so Severus had to fix him as quickly as possible.

The challenge did the trick, though. Harry stomped forward and grabbed the salve, which Severus had already opened before he set it down.

"Don't watch." Harry ordered, scooping some of the yellow substance with his fingers.

Severus turned away obediently, though he burned to make sure the boy applied the salve correctly. "It doesn't take much." He instructed. "Just a light touch should do it. It'll need to be applied a few times before they heal."

"I know." Harry grumbled, breathing sharply at the sting of the potion.

"Do you?" Severus prodded, glad that that the child was talking again.

"You've said it yourself, sir. I get myself injured all the time. This is nothing new."

"…It'll need time to dry, as I'm sure you know. No cloth should touch it for a little while." No response. "You should take the potions too. They'll fight off the pain for a bit."

Severus turned and observed as the boy swallowed the pain potion and shuddered, face flushing as he looked up with startled, wondering eyes. Keeping extra strength potions in his kits might have inadvertently helped him win the boy's trust, it seemed. Harry drank the next two potions, his eyes glazing over just slightly as the calming potion took effect.

"How long?" Severus murmured, unable to raise his voice beyond the pitch he would use to address a wild animal. "I will get the answer, one way or another."

Harry had no reason to doubt that. "Since first year." The child responded just as quietly, once again diverting his eyes toward his feet. Extra-strength calming potions such as the one he had just consumed tended to make people freer with information.

As the next waves crashed around his ears, Severus sighed, weary from a lifetime of misery and ready to take on yet another responsibility. "I won't let him touch you again."

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