“I’m going back to the Dursleys’ once more, because Dumbledore wanted me to,” said Harry. “But it’ll be a short visit, and then I’ll be gone for good.”“But where will you go if you don’t come back to school?”

“I thought I might go back to Godric’s Hollow,” Harry muttered. He had had the idea in his head ever since the night of Dumbledore’s death. “For me, it started there, all of it. I’ve just got a feeling I need to go there. And I can visit my parents’ graves, I’d like that.”

“And then what?” said Ron.

“Then I’ve got to track down the rest of the Horcruxes, haven’t I?” said Harry, his eyes upon Dumbledore’s white tomb, reflected in the water on the other side of the lake. “That’s what he wanted me to do, that’s why he told me all about them. If Dumbledore was right- and I’m sure he was- there are still four of them out there. I’ve got to find them and destroy them, and then I’ve got to go after the seventh bit of Voldemort’s soul, the bit that’s still in his body, and I’m the one who’s going to kill him. And if I meet Severus Snape along the way,” he added, “so much the better for me, so much the worse for him.”

There was a long silence. The crowd had almost dispersed now, the stragglers giving the monumental figure of Grawp a wide berth as he cuddled Hagrid, whose howls of grief were still echoing across the water.

“We’ll be there, Harry,” said Ron.

“What?”

“At your aunt and uncle’s house,” said Ron. “And then we’ll go with you wherever you’re going.”

“No-“ said Harry quickly; he had not counted on this, he had meant them to understand that he was undertaking this most dangerous journey alone.

“You said to us once before,” said Hermione quietly, “that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We’ve had time, haven’t we?”

“We’re with you whatever happens,” said Ron. “But mate, you’re going to have to come round my mum and dad’s house before we do anything else, even Godric’s Hollow.”

“Why?”

“Bill and Fleur’s wedding, remember?”

Harry looked at him, startled; the idea that anything as normal as a wedding could still exist seemed incredible and yet wonderful.

“Yeah, we shouldn’t miss that,” he said finally.

His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcux, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.(1)

The ride on the Hogwarts express was a subdued one; Harry was preoccupied with thoughts of the summer to come while Ron and Hermione were lost in their own bittersweet memories of their sixth year. Halfway back to London, Harry noticed a fluff ball hovering next to the window of their compartment, feathers buffeting in the strong wind. Nudging Ron, he opened the window and watched with half-hearted amusement as the owl flew straight at the redhead, knocking him in the forehead.“Pig!” shouted Ron. “Honestly, learn to fly.” Ron grumbled a bit more before pulling a rolled up scroll from Pig’s leg. He looked up at Harry with discomfort in his eyes. “This is from mum,” he began slowly, “She says that we are to leave you to go stay at your uncle’s for the next two weeks. She says Dumbledore sent her a message with instructions for you-” Ron paused for a moment looking perplexed.

Harry, too, was puzzled- Dumbledore was dead. How could he possibly send a message to Mrs. Weasley? Curious to see what else the letter said he simply shrugged and motioned for Ron to continue.

“Hermione, you are to go home with your parents and, in two weeks time, we will pick you up. Harry, you too. Bill’s wedding will be three weeks from yesterday,” Ron paused as if coming to a decision. He nodded, more to himself than Harry, “Well, that’s settled. You go to the Dursley’s, get your stuff ready, two weeks- that’s it. After the wedding the three of us,” he motioned to Hermione, “can go to Godric’s Hollow. What do you think?”

Harry did not know why but he had a sudden surge of hope. The plan was perfect. He’d never had to spend such a short amount of time at the Dursley’s- and it would be the last time he’d ever set foot in their house again. Grinning like it was Christmas, Harry nodded. Hermione too affirmed her consent.

Harry saw Vernon Dursley waiting for him at the train station; the look of contempt on his uncle’s face was only deepened when Harry’s friends appeared next to him. The teen saw surprise register on his uncle’s face and realized it must be a bit of a shock for him. ‘After all,’ Harry thought mournfully to himself. ‘Last year the entire Order was with me trying to protect me during the summer.’“Hurry up, boy,” Vernon huffed, squinting at the large trunk and owl that the teen before him was trying to juggle.

Harry turned to Hermione and Ron for a quick embrace. “See you soon,” he said lightly. Seeing Ginny chatting with her friends by the barrier, Harry gave a feeble wave and genuine smile that was returned before hurrying off with his uncle.

Uncle Vernon was surprisingly nice, even taking Harry’s trunk from him to put it in the boot of the car before telling him to get in. Harry didn’t take much time to ponder this though as he quickly had to scramble into the car to avoid being left behind. The ride to Privet Drive was quiet, punctuated only at rare moments by Uncle Vernon coughing nervously and checking his watch. Harry preferred the silence to the brusque comments he knew would issue from his uncle’s mouth if he spoke, so he entertained himself by watching the scenery out the window.

It was nightfall before they pulled into the driveway that hugged the perfectly manicured lawn. Harry wondered bemusedly who cared for their lawn whilst he was away at Hogwarts. His uncle crudely interrupted his reverie. “Get your trunk, boy, and don’t take all day,” Vernon muttered darkly before stalking inside, leaving Harry alone in the dark.

Struggling with the weight of his trunk, Harry was unaware of the presence of another being behind him and was unconscious before his attacker dared to make a sound.

Harry awoke with a throbbing headache. Where the hell am I? He thought to himself. He wasn’t panicked; life for him had been too unpredictable to panic at something this small, but he was concerned. He went to move his hands to his temples wanting to assuage the fierce pounding in his head, but found his hands were bound behind him. He was in a dark room; cool but rough wooden floorboards supported his weight. Further examination of the room revealed the outline of a small door. Harry shook his head when he realized where he was--- the cupboard below the stairs in Number 4 Privet Drive.Straining, Harry heard voices just outside his cupboard.

“We can’t leave him in there forever,” a husky female voice cooed.

Harry heard a slap followed by a deep, grumbling voice that grated his sore head, “We’ll leave him in there until I say he can be removed. The Dark Lord will be visiting soon, we cannot afford an attempted escape on the brat’s part.”

Harry was confused. He knew he was in the Dursley’s house, yet the voices were not those of his aunt and uncle. Furthermore, the man had mentioned Voldemort. But the Dursley’s are afraid of magic, Harry mused to himself, more amused than upset. After a few more moments he heard scrapings outside the door followed by the sound of locks being undone.

Harry squinted as a sudden bright light assaulted his tired eyes. A portly man stood before him. After a moment’s hesitation the man squatted down bringing himself to Harry’s eye level.

“Boy, you are going to be stuck here a long time,” Vernon leered at Harry. “We are currently entertaining a group that call themselves Death Eaters. Petunia and I have been rewarded already with great sums. We just have to deliver you. A man calling himself Voldemort will be visiting within the week. Meanwhile you will do our chores and behave as you’ve been taught. A man named Lucius Malfoy,” Vernon paused a moment fumbling the unfamiliar name, “will be giving you lessons throughout the week. I expect to hear not a peep from you. Understood?”

Harry openly stared at the man whose house he had lived in for almost his entire life. It had never occurred to him that the Dursley’s might get friendly with Voldemort if the Dark Lord offered them money. Slowly nodding to avoid causing further pain to his sore head, he felt the small space behind him for his wand; he recalled leaving it in his back pocket. Vernon unfortunately noticed his movement. He kicked out fiercely hitting Harry directly in the ribs. Harry gasped from the sharp pain that reverberated through his side.

“If you’re looking for your wand I’ll save you the trouble,” Vernon Dursley drawled flippantly, ignoring the moan of pain that came from the teen before him. “Voldemort snapped it.”

Harry gulped and gasped in horror as his uncle grabbed him by the collar and pulled his face just inches from his uncle’s. “I’m one of them now, Harry. Watch your step,” he spat, before shoving the boy roughly to the floor. Harry watched, aghast, as the beefy man pulled up his sleeve and shoved the Dark Mark burned on his forearm in Harry’s face. 

It had been three days and Harry was still being kept in his cupboard. He’d seen Malfoy four times and had quickly gathered that his lessons were to be nothing more than practice sessions for the Death Eater; the Death Eater used the boy as a target for anything from dark curses to physical violence.Harry was allowed no food and given one glass of water a day. After his first lesson with Malfoy, he had nursed himself as best he could. His most recent lesson had left him cradling a sprained wrist. He was having trouble breathing as well and was positive Malfoy had cracked at least two ribs when he’d thrown the teen against a wall.

Seeing no immediate end in sight, Harry made a plan to escape. Had he been in his right mind he possibly would have reconsidered, but atop being deprived of nourishment, the Death Eaters were making sure he didn’t get more than an hour of consecutive sleep. A masked man would slip into his cupboard at least once every hour and place a well-aimed kick or punch, whichever suited him, to ensure that Harry had no rest. 

Harry awoke with a start- his clothes were soaked with sweat and his hair was matted.That makes number 3, Harry thought bemusedly to himself. He had been counting the number of nightmares he had a day, unsure if he did it for entertainment or just simply a distraction from the pain that was resounding through his body.

The thud of someone descending the stairs above him startled him out of his thoughts. From the sounds in the rest of the house, Harry figured it was around lunch- the time that Malfoy always visited for his lessons.

A rough hand grabbed Harry from under his cupboard and dragged him to the basement of the muggle house. Malfoy was standing at the bottom of the stairs, calmly waiting Harry’s arrival. Harry had yet to gather the courage to ask the Death Eater how he had escaped Azkaban but was still immensely curious- perhaps today he’d ask.

“Hello, Harry,” the blonde man said coolly. “Ready?”

Harry had not the energy to nod and just stood there, bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

“Crucio!” yelled Malfoy.

Harry writhed on the floor in agony but had learned to stay quiet; the first day the man had only continued his torture longer once he learned the boy would cry out- Harry was not going to give him the pleasure of hearing his pain. This man was the same as his uncle; the more Harry showed the pain he felt, the more the older man inflicted.

After a few moments Malfoy lifted the spell. He seemed bored. A hooded figure had joined him and was whispering quietly to the blonde man. Harry was horrified when he saw an evil smile dance upon the Death Eater’s lips.

Slowly, deliberately, Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it at a defenseless Harry. “Sectumsempra,” he shouted.

Harry couldn’t help it. He screamed; a bloodcurdling, chilling, pain filled scream echoed through the halls of Number 4 Privet Drive. Blood gushed out from his wounds, seeping into his baggy clothes. It poured from a long slash along his chest that continued halfway up his neck. A dark chuckle emitted from the throat of the Death Eater.

“Serves you right, Potter,” he sneered. “Maybe this will teach you to respect your betters.”

Harry was loosing blood fast and couldn’t care less what Malfoy was saying. He desperately tried to stop the bleeding, pressing his ratty shirt to the large gash. After what seemed like hours to Harry, but in reality could have only been a minute or two, the cold, blonde man began waving his wand about Harry. Slowly and painfully his wound was being stitched together; blood still continued to flow from his chest. With jerky movements Harry tried to sit up but failed. He looked up at Malfoy and was afraid when his eyes met the coldest, most uncaring orbs he had ever seen.

In a low growl, the Death Eater spat, “Crucio!”

Harry allowed himself only one agonized yelp before clenching his mouth shut. The pain was becoming too much and he felt himself quickly loosing awareness. After a brief moment he knew no more and was borne away to the oblivion of darkness. 

It was dusk. Harry could tell by the sound of the crickets. Slowly he came around, not daring to move for fear of upsetting his injuries and realized he was still in the basement of his uncle’s house. He had no idea how much blood he had lost but knew he was in pretty bad shape. He lay still a moment, taking inventory of his injuries. Sprained wrist, cracked ribs, sketchily stitched and possibly soon to be mortal wound, assorted bruises, and possible concussion- he knew he was not in any condition to move, yet he felt he must escape.Gradually he eased himself into a sitting position but thought it to be a rash mistake when his head began pounding fiercely. Escape, he thought brusquely. I must escape now.

Gathering his courage he slowly crawled to the stairwell. On his hands and knees, Harry began navigating his way towards the door. A sudden noise at the door caused him to shrink into the shadows. The doorknob rattled and from the doorway emerged Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy.

Harry froze. He knew that if Snape and Draco caught him he faced certain death. His hands slipped on the floor, frictionless because of his own blood that covered the ground. Smacking his cracked ribs on the edge of the stair Harry could not suppress a low moan. Severus descended upon him. Harry tensed, expecting the blow that he knew was inevitable.It never came. Daring to look up, Harry saw Professor Snape’s eyes laced with concern. Severus reached out towards the boy before him only to stop, seeing Harry flinch violently.

“Harry, how are you?” Severus asked sharply.

Harry was unsure of how to respond to his mortal enemy. He tried to speak but could only emit a loud, raspy moan. Seeing this, Severus descended upon Harry and lifted him by his injured arm. Crying out, Harry struggled in an attempt to get free. Snape quieted Harry and told him to stay still. For a reason inexplicable to Harry, he complied. The professor helped Harry down the stairs and told him to lean against the wall. Draco had followed their descent and was standing idly behind the older Death Eater.

“Harry, can you talk to me?” Snape whispered, trying to focus Harry’s wavering attention.

Harry tried to speak again, but found his throat would not cooperate. Dumbly he shook his head, but regretted it almost immediately as it just increased the pounding in his temples. Snape conjured a glass of water from his wand and held it to Harry’s lips. “Drink,” he ordered.

The teen sipped the water gratefully and leaned back, exhausted by the energy spent. “Sorry,” he managed to choke out.

“There are some things I need to tell you, Harry,” Snape said quickly. “I want you to know that I am innocent. I did kill Dumbledore for Voldemort; I was ordered to, by Dumbledore. We are going to get you out of here…” He broke off seeing Harry slipping out of consciousness.

Harry knew that he was alone in a room with his two least favorite people in the world, except Voldemort himself, and struggled to maintain consciousness. His injuries were too deep however and he slowly lost the battle. 

Harry was warm; warm, comfortable, and stretched out on an extremely soft something. He cautiously lifted his head and opened his eyes. Looking around he realized he was in a large bedroom, decorated with antique furniture. He tried to push himself up but found that his arm was in worse shape than he’d first assessed. Crumpling back on the bed, he recalled the events of his previous consciousness.He heard a noise behind him and gingerly rolled over to find the source. Snape was moving towards him holding several bottles of potions.

Forgetting his condition, Harry leapt out of bed and raised his fist at the older man. “Murderer!” he screamed.

Snape held up his hands in attempt to calm Harry. “I am not, Mr. Potter,” he said severely.

“You killed him,” Harry persisted, shaking an unsteady finger in Snape’s direction. Tears Harry didn’t know were left in him began to well up in his eyes. He collapsed and fell to the floor sobbing.

Unaware of his surroundings, Harry suddenly tensed when he felt an arm snake around his back that drew him towards the bed. Still sobbing, Harry crumpled onto the bed. He felt someone begin to rub his back gently.

“Harry,” a deep voice began quietly, “I did not kill him because I wanted to. He ordered me to.”

This made Harry pause;he allowed himself a last shuddering breath, before reigning in his emotions once more. He sat up stiffly and looked his former professor in the eye. “Tell me,” he mumbled, afraid to miss some information that would be helpful in his mission.

Snape looked taken aback at the teen’s resoluteness. After a moments time he began recounting his tale to Harry. “At Hogwarts, the summer before last school year, Dumbledore and I were investigating the location of a certain black ring I’m sure you have heard of.”

Harry was astounded but also knew that he needed to keep his emotions in check. He nodded to indicate his knowledge and to urge the Death Eater to continue his tale.

“I know of the Horcruxes, Harry,” Snape stated bluntly. “I wish to help you find the rest to destroy Voldemort.”

Snape was one of the few people Harry had ever seen that did not flinch at the name of the Dark Lord. Harry also noted that Snape referred to the man he desired to destroy as Voldemort and not the Dark Lord, as he supposed a Death Eater would.

“Voldemort killed my brother. He killed my brother and Regulus…” Snape broke off as if caught in a memory.

Something stirred inside Harry. “Wait, Regulus. Wasn’t that Sirius’s brother?” Harry asked incredulously.

Snape nodded. “He was my best friend.”

“I beg your pardon, uh sir, but why are you telling me this,” Harry asked noncommittally. Throwing caution to the wind he voiced his true thoughts. “You hate me. Why do you want to help me? And why should I believe that you killed Dumbledore on his orders?”

Snape looked at Harry with harsh eyes. “I don’t hate you. Just because I don’t indulge your every whim like...” Snape swallowed hard and tried to continue. “Like …. Like others do does not mean I hate you.”

“Sir, if you can help me, please do so. If you can’t, please let me go so that I can finish what I started. I’m not going to give up,” Harry told his former professor vehemently. He was sick of this, sick of the constant dance that he played with Snape. He no longer felt anything for the man before him; he simply knew what he had to accomplish and wanted to achieve his goal in the most efficient way possible. He moved to sit up straighter and winced as his ribs protested.

Snape moved towards him, again holding the potion bottles. “First, Mr. Potter, we need to get you healed. Can you tell me what hurts?” he asked.

Harry mused for a moment taking personal inventory before responding, “Yes my head and arm, my ribs, and my back.” After a moments pause, he added with hesitation, “My stomach and knee hurt, too.” He looked up at the professor expecting to be reprimanded for complaining so; he was instead greeted by the same look of concern he’d seen Snape wear in the basement. Harry had no time to marvel at this odd look of Snape’s as he felt himself becoming increasingly tired. The adrenaline from his anger at Snape was wearing off fast and he was succumbing to the welcoming darkness which would alleviate his pain.

Snape noticed the teen’s slowly closing eyelids and began to prod Harry. “Mr. Potter, stay awake. You cannot go to sleep. Potter- wake up!”

Harry was aware of being poked and shied away from the hand. He wanted to go to sleep, wanted to be pain free, and not have to deal with his situation.

Harry panicked at the next voice he heard. “Perhaps if you called him Harry, Severus.” Harry knew that voice, his long time enemy who never let a year pass by without calling his best friend a ‘mudblood.’ Harry fought to wrench his eyelids open intent upon glaring at Draco Malfoy.

“Harry, come on, wake up,” Snape pleaded. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulled the teen into a sitting position. “Focus, Harry, focus.”

Harry shoved his former professor away and jerked his eyes open. Focusing on Draco, he sent a look of contempt filled with malice to the pale boy before giving his attention to his ex-professor. “Sir, I’m really tired. Can’t I just lie down a minute?”

“Harry you have a concussion. Before we stabilize your condition we can’t risk you loosing consciousness,” the older man explained.

Harry sighed in defeat and waited for the Death Eater to continue. Snape handed Harry a bottle of dark green liquid. “Drink,” he ordered.

Harry tilted his head back to drink and immediately dropped the bottle. The room began spinning and he could not figure out which way was up. Collapsing back on the bed he put his uninjured hand to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the nausea. Rolling onto his side he began retching, soiling the ornate comforter that adorned the bed. His ribs smarted and he straightened out, trying to lessen the sting.

He felt cool hands on his hot forehead and tried to breathe normally. He felt a bottle being held to his lips and opened his mouth, allowing the potion to slide down his raw throat. His dizziness lessened and he was able to open his eyes. Too tired to move, he allowed the Death Eater to administer a number of potions before daring to ask a question. “Sir, may I sleep now?”

“Yes, Potter,” Snape replied hotly, disturbed by the extent of the injuries he’d found. “We will discuss the Horcruxes later.”

Harry closed his heavy eyelids gratefully and embraced the darkness that surrounded him.

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.

Someone was knocking on Harry’s door. Groggily, he raised his stiff body into a sitting position and grabbed his glasses. “Come in,” he said loudly.

Draco Malfoy, formidable in his dark robes, entered his room, a smug look on his sharp edged face. He clutched several letters in his hand.

“What are you doing here, ferret boy?” Harry spat. He carefully stretched to loosen himself after such a prolonged sleep.

“Trust me, it wasn’t my idea, Potter,” Draco barked, steely eyes cold. “I was told to bring these letters to you. I respect Severus, which is why I’m doing this. Don’t think for a second that I came here for you.” Draco threw the thick bundle of letters at the foot of Harry’s bed.

Harry glared at Malfoy, wondering why the blonde Slytherin wasn’t at his own house. “Are you going to stand there and gawp at me all day?”

“I told you, dumbass, Severus sent me in here. I’m not ‘gawping’ at you. Don’t flatter yourself like that. I don’t swing that way.”

“Sod off, bighead,” Harry growled before reaching for his letters. Leaning too far, his side burned in discomfort and he was unable to suppress a small gasp of pain.

“What is your problem, Potter? Golden boy get in a little accident?” Malfoy’s eyes glinted.

“If you say one more word to me, Malfoy, I will make it your last,” Harry threatened.

Draco looked amused. “And, pray tell, how are you going to manage that?”

Harry was burning with rage. He was furious with the prat that stood before him; Dumbledore’s death and the mess that he was in fueled his passion. Clumsily he launched himself at Draco making them both fall to the polished hardwood floor. “I told you to sod off, Malfoy,” Harry yelled, swinging wildly at the young man before him. “And when I tell you to sod off, I mean for you to sod off.”

Both boys tumbled across the floor, each trying to get a punch in at the other. Harry was dimly becoming aware that his body was no longer completely under his control. Pain was shooting through his frame. He aimed a particularly fierce punch at Malfoy. The Slytherin was able to dodge it and Harry fell forward, smacking his head upon the floor.

IOIOI

Voices. Quiet voices. Harry could hear them coming closer to him, or maybe it was just himself coming closer to the conscious world. His head throbbed and he emitted a smothered moan.

“Potter,” a deep voice addressed him. “I am going to raise you to a sitting position. I need you to drink this potion.”

Harry felt a vial being pushed to his lips and obediently he swallowed the foul tasting liquid. His head stopped pounding and he found he could open his eyes without pain. Snape was standing above him, holding quite a number of potion bottles.

Draco was sitting in a nearby chair, nursing a swollen wrist, his face was impassive, but from his terse movements, Harry could tell that he was still fuming. The proud Gryffindor sent him a glare before refocusing on Snape. “Sir, can he leave?” he asked, motioning to Malfoy.

“No, Potter,” Snape said icily. “I want no more fighting between the two of you. It will help nothing.”

Harry carefully sat back against his plump pillows with a dejected sigh. “Hmph,” he mumbled.

“I want you to understand, Harry, that neither of us are truly how you perceive us. We are not your enemy. In fact, we share a common enemy with you- Voldemort. If we are to stop him, both you and Draco must learn to cooperate.”

“Severus, it’s him, the golden boy, I wasn’t doing anything,” the blonde haired Slytherin drawled.

“Do you truly expect me to believe that?” Snape inquired, one eyebrow raised.

Draco lowered his gaze. “It was worth a try,” he muttered.

“Potter, I want the two of you to understand that I am here to help, but I am also at the beck and call of Voldemort.”

“Sir,” Harry interrupted, “is Malfoy also not at the service of Voldemort?”

“I am in the room, Potter,” Draco growled. “You could have directed the question to me.”

Harry ignored this comment, focusing his attention on his former professor. He was shocked to see lines on his face that were not his in the previous year. He knew his professor was relatively young to others at Hogwarts. He gulped anxiously as he waited to see if the man would respond to his inquiry.

Snape met Harry’s gaze, eyes revealing nothing of how he felt. “No, Harry,” Snape informed the young Gryffindor. “After Draco and I fled the grounds at Hogwarts, I hid Draco and returned to Voldemort. I told him that in the melee, Draco was killed by an unfriendly curse and I had not had the time to retrieve the body. No one saw us in our final escape, so the Death Eaters could not tell Voldemort otherwise.”

Harry was awed at the forethought showed by his two enemies. Former enemies, he corrected himself mentally. At least former if I choose to believe what they are saying. “I see,” he verbalised his acknowledgement curtly.

Snape drew a long breath and finally spoke. “Well, I think that is as far as we are going to get right now. Draco, you are free to leave, Harry and I need to discuss a few things.”

“Whatever,” was the dark acknowledgement they received from the blonde man. He quickly stood and left the room, pulling the door closed a bit harder than was necessary.

Snape turned to Harry. “I understand that you and he were not made to like each other, but for the sake of the wizarding community, try to at least accept that he is good.”

“Yeah,” Harry grumbled noncommittally.

“I have some potions that you need to take to assist with the healing that we began two days ago. I have written to Mrs. Weasley informing her that you are currently in residence at my manor and that I will deliver you to her house in time for the wedding. I did not, however, give her any information about your current state or reasons past your well being for your current location. Provided that your healing continues in an adequate manner, you should be able to embark on your journey after the ceremony with your friends and Draco.”

“I understand, sir,” Harry said.

“Drink these,” the Death Eater ordered, handing Harry two bottles containing light blue liquid.

Harry obeyed and immediately felt more at ease with the entire situation. “Sir, what was in those bottles?”

“The first was a simple nutrition potion, and the other was a calming drought. I figured it would be easier for you and I to discuss some things were you under the influence of something that would encourage you to speak. I will not make you speak of what you have endured, but I do insist that you at least consider talking to someone.”

“Sir, was that entirely fair to give me those?” Harry asked, somewhat giddily.

Snape frowned for a moment. “Potter, in my opinion, you will be angered with me once the effects of this potion wear off, however, I felt that you would not be open to speaking with me under usual circumstances.”

“I see,” Harry said, his voice lacking any seriousness.

“Now, Harry, I realize that it will be quite awhile before you trust me, but I want you to understand that what you have gone through at the hands of your uncle was unfair to you. You did not deserve any of it.”

“Sir, you say that, but I can’t believe you. If what you say is true, why didn’t anyone ever say anything? Dumbledore or whoever sent my Hogwarts letter knew about the cupboard. They knew of that, how could they not know about the other things?”

“Harry, I am not the one who can answer these questions. I don’t have answers to these questions, but with your permission, I would like to examine your mind further.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Even under the influence of the calming draught, Harry began to panic.

“Harry, if I am to understand you better and help you, there is information I need.”

“No, sir. I am not ready to have you poking in my mind again. Please leave. I am tired and wish to go to sleep.”

“Harry, think about reconsidering. Try not to be too angry with me when the potion wears off.”

“Please, sir, leave,” Harry requested once more, this time with added vehemence.

“As you wish,” Snape said respectfully before exiting the large room.

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Harry,
I am so worried about you. You haven’t responded to any of my letters. I wish I knew that you are alright. Ron says that he hasn’t heard from you either but told me not to worry and that you probably just had your hands full with stuff. Please, if you get this, just drop me a line letting me know you are okay. Hope you are well. My summer’s been pretty uneventful so far.
Lots of love,
Hermione

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Harry,
Mate, haven’t heard from you in a bit. Hermione keeps writing me all worried about you. You know her… always panicky. When you get this, just send her something to make her lay off me. The wedding should be fun. I hear that they are trying to get some famous muggle to sing at their wedding. How weird. Anyroad, write back when you get the chance. Make Hermione happy. My parents are kind of worried about you. They say that if that if you don’t write before the week is up, they are going to visit Privet Drive. We don’t want a repeat of last time, so just send a line back.
See you,
Ron

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Harry,
I’m very worried now. You haven’t written to Ron or me in so long. I hope you are well. It wouldn’t do for something to happen before the wedding. Please write back. Ron and I are keeping in contact so just write to one of us if you don’t have a lot of time. I hope those muggles are treating you right.
Love,
Hermione

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Harry finished reading the letters and quickly drew out a piece of parchment so that he could respond to Hermione. He didn’t want her worrying. He was just beginning when he heard a tap on his window. It was pig.

Harry,
Mum got a letter today saying that you are staying with someone of the group. She told me not to be too specific in case the letter got intercepted. Well, I guess that means you’re okay. I know that Hermione is a lot calmer now. When you get this, just send her something saying you’re alive and that you are coming here in time for the wedding. I used Ginny’s owl to send her a message saying you were okay.
See you soon,
Ron

The Gryffindor sat on his bed, deep in thought. He was grateful to his friends for their concern, they were the family that he’d never had, yet, he was anxious about their reunion, wanting to avoid any awkward questions. He scribbled quick notes to both Ron and Hermione to reassure them and then drew out his textbooks, intent on commencing his summer work. Snape was adament that he should return to Hogwarts for a time, and he didn’t want to look an idiot when he turned up his first day back.

Bemusedly, he opened his Transfiguration text and began reading.