Harry awoke without a headache for the first time in many days. Blinking rapidly he waited for his eyes to adjust to the bright light. After a moment he looked around letting the events of the past day settle into his mind. A movement at the end of his bed caused him to jerk his head up violently.“Potter, relax,” Snape told him, placing his book on the seat of the chair from which he had just stood. “We need to talk.”

Harry nodded and waited for his former professor to continue.

“First, tell me, does your head still hurt?” Snape inquired.

“No, sir,” Harry mumbled. “I’m fine. How do you know about the Horcruxes?” he rushed on before Snape could stop him.

“Dumbledore told me, Potter,” Snape replied. He nodded towards the locket Harry had strung around his neck, a cracked ring on the same chain as the metal charm. “I see that Dumbledore left you with some good guidance. I was with him when he conquered that ring.”

Harry ignored this. “How do I know I can trust you?” he asked bitterly, absentmindedly fingering the fake locket around his neck.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Snape asked, turning Harry’s question back on him. “You see, Mr. Potter, being a spy for Dumbledore was more dangerous on the Order’s side than Voldemort’s side at times. I had to learn to place my trust in Dumbledore. Anyone from the Order could have betrayed me at any time to Voldemort or his followers. The Death Eaters would never betray me to the Order for fear of punishment from their Dark Lord, but any of the Order members could have.” Snape paused, lost in thought.

Harry glanced down at the bed he was in, surprised to see that the mess he’d made the night before from being sick had been cleaned and no trace was left of the state he’d been in. “I see,” he said darkly, still not entirely convinced. “Anyroad, why did you rescue me? And what was Malfoy doing with you? Won’t he betray you?”

Snape gave Harry a sharp look which quieted him. “I would trust Draco with my life, Mr. Potter, and yours. He would never betray me to Voldemort. Voldemort believes I spy for him; however he has yet to learn any information from me which would be instrumental to the Order’s demise. Mr. Malfoy was with me because he is on our side and has been in league with Dumbledore for many months.”

Harry glanced at Snape, knowing that the Death Eater had purposefully avoided his first question. “Won’t Voldemort be suspicious when he finds I’ve gone missing?” Harry at least wanted to know.

“Of course, but he will never know who took you from his hands. I daresay you are not sorry that you are no longer under the bloody hand of Lucius or your uncle?”

Harry stared, refusing to comment upon Snape’s question. He satisfied himself with a dark glare at the Death Eater before asking, “How did you know about Lucius?” He would not acknowledge that Snape had mentioned two men.

“That is not for you to know presently,” Snape spat, brow creased in a furrow. A rumble from Harry’s stomach softened the frown on Snape’s face. “Would you care for some food? It’s nearly lunchtime.”

Harry barely dared to look up from his comforter. “Food, sir? You really don’t have to. I’m fine.” Just then, Harry’s stomach gave a particularly ferocious growl.

“Potter, didn’t anyone teach you that it is bad manners to lie?” Snape solicited. “Besides, the house elves will feel slighted if you decline their food. There are clean clothes in the armoire which will fit a great deal better than those rags you dared wear into my house-“

Harry began to protest, wanting to say that it hadn’t exactly been up to him as to what he’d been wearing when he’d entered Snape’s house, however Snape held up a hand to silence him.

“-and a bathroom through that door. A house elf will be waiting outside your room to escort you down to the dining hall. Be there in twenty minutes,” Snape ordered. As an afterthought he added, “Your injuries are still healing, Potter, and no doubt will smart if you take it too roughly your first day up. Do not overdo it.” Snape abruptly turned and left, leaving Harry with much to think about. 

Harry’s vision was less painful than ones he had received in his fifth year. Thumping to his knees dully, he attempted in vain to block out the chalky voice permeating through his brain…“Stand, you coward. Do not shrink from me. We trusted you, Dursley,” an icy voice scolded the portly man standing in a darkened room. “You said that once he was in the house he’d stay here. You lied. You have two weeks. Crucio!”

Vernon twisted in pain, mentally resolving to employ whatever means necessary to retrieve the little brat that had put him in this situation.

…. Harry shook it off, gently massaging his temples. Whatever was going to happen would happen, whether he made a fuss of it or not. 

Harry made his way out into the hallway cautiously. He’d had a difficult time getting ready; he was still very sore and had experienced problems with his mobility. The vision he’d received had not helped the process. Nodding to the house elf, he followed the small creature through a multitude of ornately decorated hallways before being ushered into a large room with a long dining table in the centre.“Sit, Potter,” Snape directed, motioning to a chair at the far end of the table. 

Harry lightly sat down in the chair, grimacing when his sore frame made contact with the rigid, hardwood back of the elaborately carved chair. Snape observed this but said nothing, for which Harry was grateful. He’d already taken notice of the blonde Slytherin sitting on the other side of the table and did not wish to be forthcoming with anything.

Conversation was nonexistent during the meal throughout which Harry studied the room they were occupying. After he’d pushed his plate away he looked over at Snape. “Sir, may I be excused?”

“No, Potter,” Snape responded. “Not yet. We have a few things to discuss first. I want you to know that while you are under my roof there will be no messing around, no breaking of the rules, and no gallivanting about. Term starts in two months, I expect you to study until then. You are to stay here. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry was burning with anger. “With all due respect, sir, I am leaving. Thank you for rescuing me, but I must continue in my journey.”

“And pray tell, how do plan on doing that? Do you have any idea as to where the other Horcruxes are?”

“Well, not exactly,” Harry admitted reluctantly, fully aware that Malfoy was staring at him. “But I need to go to Bill and Fleur’s wedding. After that I have plans.”

“Potter, it is poor judgment on your part to attempt this alone,” Snape barked.

Forgetting himself, Harry hauled himself to his feet quickly. “You don’t understand; I am alone! I must do this, alone. Besides I have my friends to help.” From the corner of his eye Harry saw Draco scoff. “What do you know, ferret? At least I have friends.”

Draco’s face hardened before he quickly stood up and strode out of the room. This earned Harry a reproving glare from Snape. Harry didn’t care. He simply glared back at the Death Eater before leaving as well, fuming all the way back to his room. 

Harry awoke from a short nap, refreshed but still extremely sore. Slowly he made his way over to Hedwig’s cage and let her out to roam his spacious room. “I suppose I should let Ron and Hermione know about this,” he murmured while stroking Hedwig. He was reluctant to write the two. How would they react, knowing he hadn’t been able to protect himself from the Death Eaters and that he’d been prey to someone as menial as his uncle. And now he was in Snape’s mansion, along with Draco, with no plans as to where to go before Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know what date it was, or how many days he had left before the wedding. Putting his unused parchment and quill aside to compose the letter later when he had an idea of what to say to them, he fetched a book he’d been given last Christmas and began to read. He did not hear Snape enter his room and was startled when he saw a shadow fall across the page he’d been intently examining.“Sir,” he said, sitting up quickly, wincing as he did so. “Did you need something?” 

“Potter, I am not pleased with lunch today. I don’t care what foolish Gryffindor ideals you hold, you will not put the entire wizarding world in danger because your selfish little mind needs to prove to yourself you can accomplish something by yourself. You are not going to do this single-handedly.”

Harry stared at Snape wondering what to say. Did he really want to do this unaccompanied? He was alone, wasn’t he? Well, he had his friends, yes, but Sirius, Dumbledore, even Lupin to an extent because of his ‘little problem’- they couldn’t be there for him. Approaching his coming of age, he found himself wanting more and more the family that he’d never had. But would it be all bad to not be alone? Might he accomplish more with help? ‘Do I really want to risk getting another person close to me killed,’ he asked himself bitterly. Something inside him rebelled. ‘I have to risk it,’ he concluded.

“I am not going to do this alone,” he quietly told his ex-professor. “You are right; it is selfish to risk the innocent lives of others just so I can do this on my own. I just didn’t want anyone else to die.” Harry stared down at his hands folded in his lap, ashamed.

Snape stared at the young man before him, flabbergasted. Did Harry Potter, the arrogant, really just say that he would accept help? That the reason he’d been afraid to before was he didn’t want others dieing? Snape shrugged it off and pulled up a chair.

“Mr. Malfoy will assist you,” he told Harry slowly, not wanting to provoke the teen into an argument. ‘Since when have I been concerned with upsetting Potter,’ he thought to himself angrily. “He has extensive knowledge of Voldemort’s past exploits. His help will be instrumental. I believe that you should stay here until you go to the wedding you mentioned and then you can have Mr. Malfoy join you and your friends. Am I correct in assuming you have decided you do not need to go to Hogwarts next year?”

Harry was startled. This was a lot of information to process in one moment. “Yes, sir,” he affirmed.

“That will not do,” Snape said calmly. “You must come for at least the first month. I know that you will be busy trying to find these Horcruxes, but you need to return to the school once more. It is what Dumbledore wanted.”

Harry chuckled darkly to himself. ‘It is what Dumbledore wanted.’ The phrase haunted him. Returning to the Dursley’s was what ‘Dumbledore had wanted,’ and look at the good it had done him. However, it was Dumbledore’s opinion and he felt that he owed it to Dumbledore to follow his last few orders, and if returning to Hogwarts one last time was one of them- well he was going to do it.

“Yes, sir,” he told Snape. “I will go back for some time.” After a moments hesitation he ventured forth another comment. “Sir, the prophecy-“

“Another time, Potter,” Snape interjected, cutting the teen off abruptly. “We have a lot to discuss, later. I am not fool enough to believe Dumbledore passed away without leaving you with the full prophecy. We need not discuss it now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry resettled himself and cringed when his sore side was jostled by his arm. Snape’s brow furrowed. “I thought we’d healed you, Potter,” he said coolly. “I will not have any Gryffindor silliness of trying to get attention when none is deserved.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry blanched inwardly at his inability to hide his discomfort. He’d never had this much trouble when he’d been at the Dursley’s. ‘The Dursley’s never paid attention to you,’ a reasonable part of his mind argued.

“Lay down,” Snape commanded.

Harry complied and waited patiently while Snape ran his wand over his head. Snape’s frown deepened.

“Potter, have you ever had a concussion before?” Snape asked.

“I’m not sure, sir,” Harry said offhandedly, not wanting to reveal anything about his past to Snape.

“I do not believe that’s the truth, Potter,” Snape spat coldly. “I need the truth. You are not healing properly. The only explanation is that you have sustained similar injuries before and your body has had to heal naturally. There would be a resistance to the magical attempts we are attempting now.”

Harry pondered the consequences of lying to Snape and opted for giving the angered man the truth, of a sort, deciding he’d rather not find out how the Death Eater would punish him. “Well, I had a few accidents at the Dursley’s house,” Harry tried to sound casual.

“What kind of accidents?” the older man inquired. He’d always assumed that the Potter boy had led a pampered life. From what he’d seen of the uncle, he knew that he had a short temper when it came to the boy. This had pleased Snape, thinking it to be good for the boy with the over inflated head to have someone at his house that did not gratify his every want.

“Um, just a few here and there; I once fell down the stairs because I wasn’t looking where I was going and so maybe that’s it.”

Having seen Harry’s superior coordination on the Quidditch pitch, Snape believed this to be an unlikely story. Tired of beating around the bush, he delved into the teen’s mind.

Unprepared, Harry was assaulted with memories he’d tried to forget.

He was six and Dudley had just unwrapped a new bicycle for Christmas while he’d received a rubber band. That same year, he was serving the family breakfast when he dropped a box of cereal on the floor by accident. His uncle came at him with two large fists raised in the air and then everything went black.

He was seven and it was Christmas dinner time. Having not finished his chores in the morning, his aunt had thrown him outside of the house to fend for himself in the thick blanket of snow that lay on the ground around the house while the family enjoyed a delicious smelling dinner. Clad in only a T-shirt that was three sizes too big and a pair of ragged trousers, Harry’s younger form stumbled around the neighbourhood, his feelings of resentment and loneliness palpable. Snape watched as the young boy found a small shelter from the icy wind before dozing off. Hours later the aunt called him inside, berating him for dragging the cold in with him.

The school nurse told Harry that it was pneumonia, whatever that was. For telling his uncle this, he received a beating and was sent to his cupboard for a week without food. Becoming sicker and sicker Harry recalled the only time he’d ever gone to the doctor was when his aunt finally conceded that he wouldn’t live without external help. Every night his uncle would punish him for being sick.

He was eight and washing clothes in the upstairs laundry room. His uncle Vernon had returned from work early, angered because a business deal he’d been counting on had fallen through. Searching out the small boy, he found Harry cowered in the small space between the washer and dryer. Snape was shocked by the look of rage on Dursley’s face upon finding Harry. The memory continued; Harry’s skinny form was beaten by his uncle and then tossed down the narrow stairs like trash. The memory faded into darkness.

He was locked in his cupboard again, without food and without light. The Dursley’s had gone on vacation and had left Harry in his cupboard with a loaf of bread and two jugs of water, not telling him how long they’d be gone. It had been two days since he’d finished the bread and he had only a cup of water left. The memory transitioned into a bright light assaulting the small space, followed by two large hands reaching for Harry.

Age nine flashed before Harry’s eyes and his older self cringed at what he knew was coming. He desperately tried to shove Snape out of his mind, but was failing miserably.

He was vacuuming the upstairs hallway when he heard his uncle open the front door to the house. Knowing he would be in trouble for his unfinished chores, Harry tried to vacuum faster. Dudley saw this from his bedroom door and started laughing. He emerged from his room, punched Harry in the side, making him gasp for breath as he heard a crack. Harry watched, horrified, as Dudley opened the vacuum cleaner and removed the bag filled with filth that Harry has spent the day collecting. Dudley’s cold eyes never left Harry’s as he tore the bag in half and threw its contents upon the clean floor. “Father,” Dudley called. “Harry has something he wants to show you,” he yelled, before smirking at Harry and sauntering off.

Vernon charged up the stairs already angered at having been interrupted. He searched for Harry and found him kneeling by the mess, trying to clean it up. “Boy, come here,” he spat vehemently. Harry trudged over to the large man and did not wince once when he felt the thick arm of Dursley slam across his side where Dudley had injured him earlier.

Snape watched the memory in horror, seeing his least favourite student get pounded by a man seven times his size.

“Go to your cupboard, boy,” Vernon said cruelly after this had carried on for some time. Harry had not the strength to lift himself and make his way down the stairs. Seeing this, Vernon kicked him down the long hallway, ignoring the blood smears that were tainting the white carpet. One final kick sent Harry over the edge of the top stair, all the while laughing maliciously. Snape watched the memory in horror as he saw Potter’s thin body crash against each stair, creating new injuries each time the stairs made contact with his small frame.

Harry could not stand for Snape to see the next memory, and in an act of will threw the Death Eater out of his mind. Silent tears were running down his face as he turned away from Snape.

Snape sat there a moment before daring to look over at Harry. “I’m sorry, Potter,” he said softly. “I knew nothing.”

Harry could not bring himself to look at Snape. His shame and humiliation was overt. “You had no right to look at my memories,” Harry said dully. He knew nothing he said now would change Snape’s mind. He had seen how weak and vulnerable the “chosen one” was; there was no hope for the wizarding world.

“Potter,” Snape beckoned. “Look at me.”

Harry slowly turned his brimming eyes towards Snape.

“None of that was your fault. Do you understand?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded feebly, but knew that Snape was lying.

Snape took him by the shoulders and firmly stated again, this time more vehemently, “None of it was your fault. None of it.”

There was so much force and intensity behind what Snape said that it actually made Harry question his assumptions before that it was his fault. After a moments pause he mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

“You should rest today so that your injuries have a chance to heal. I’m sorry about breakfast. I don’t want you to feel trapped here,” Snape murmured before leaving the room.

Fatigued from the emotional battle he’d fought in front of Snape and the recollection of his memories, Harry fell into a fretful sleep.