Snape woke up abruptly with Albus Dumbledore bending over him. “Are you all right, my dear boy?” Albus asked mildly. Albus’ blue eyes flicked over him assessingly. “Harry firecalled me moments ago in some distress to tell me you were in trouble,” he said. “When I arrived in your fireplace I found you and Mr. McNair here but Harry was gone.”

With a groan Snape sat up and looked over at McNair. The man’s head rested against the hearth with his neck bent back at an unnatural angle. “Dead,” Albus intoned. Snape rubbed his hand back through his hair as he expelled a gusty breath. He tried to assemble his scattered memories of the last hour.

“McNair came over to pick up some potions. He is…was always plagued by headaches.” Snape paused and swallowed. Albus eyed him anxiously. With a wave Snape reassured the older wizard. “I am fine, Albus, just a little scattered.” He glanced over at McNair’s body. “We were having a glass of firewhiskey. Then Potter walked into the room.” He shook his head slowly. “McNair was always fast, almost preternaturally fast. He had his wand out before I even registered the boy’s presence. He said, ‘It’s bloody Harry Potter,’ and called out a severing curse. The boy dodged it,” Snape lowered his eyes to the floor, “or at least he seemed to.” He bent down and trailed a finger through several drops of blood. “Then he raised his arm across his body and flung his hand out, like he was reaching for a windblown snitch.” Albus chuckled at the image and Snape marveled at the man’s ability to laugh at a time like this. “He shouted out a curse and the force of it knocked McNair into the fireplace. I just caught the edge of the blast, it threw me against the wall.”

Albus put his hand on Snape’s arm. “Are you all right?” he asked again.

“Yes, Albus, but we need to find out where Potter is,” the potion master grunted as he stood, using the other wizard’s surprisingly solid shoulder to steady himself. “After performing a wandless spell of that strength and being caught by the severing curse he will be vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?” asked Albus.

“Yes. He’ll be weakened magically and physically. He’ll also be distraught over killing McNair.” He paused. “And injuring me. He may do something … rash.”

Albus frowned. “You think he would harm himself?”

“No, his knowledge of the prophecy will stop him from doing anything like that,” Severus barked. “But at best he will try to hide himself again to ‘protect’ those around him.” He scowled deeply. “Brainless Gryffindors,” he muttered.

The headmaster ignored his disparaging remark and prodded him. “At best, Severus? What do you think would be the worst?”

He grunted. “Try to face the dark lord alone. End this once and for all.” His dark eyes found Albus’ blue ones. “That would be the worst thing and trust me, he’s thought of it.”

“Have you any idea where he would go?”

“No. But I have a possible means of finding him.” He moved over to a table and unlocked the drawer with a complicated flourish of his wand. Withdrawing a piece of parchment he returned to the headmaster. He tapped it with his wand and said, “Show me.”

“Oh Severus,” chuckled Albus, “a Marauder’s Map?”

Severus gave him a very sour look. “No. It only locates Potter and it requires no ridiculous incantations. Its range is limited but hopefully he hasn’t had time to get far.” They scanned the map and both sucked in sharp gasps of air as they saw a small dot labeled ‘Potter’ near the edge of the map. “He has taken the motorbike.” Snape stuffed the map into his cloak and grabbed the headmaster by his forearms. “I will apparate us to a spot nearby.” Albus nodded but held up his hand to stop him.

“A quick word before we go, Severus,” he said. Snape glared. The brat might get out of range of the map if they delayed. Albus gave him a serene smile and said, “Be careful, my boy. Harry needs some understanding at this point.” Snape continued to glare as he waited for the man to finish. “He’s really a lot like you, you know. He’s very strong but he might snap if you push too hard.” Albus gave him a look and Severus dropped his eyes. He knew what the headmaster was alluding to.

“I understand, Albus,” he said. “Can we go?” At the headmaster’s nod he grasped the man’s forearms and with a soft pop they were gone.

oOoOoOoOo

Not long after leaving Snape’s cottage Harry began to regret his abrupt departure. He had left all his belongings and his stash of muggle money in the room he had been using. A mental inventory showed him to be in possession of his wand and holster, the bike, the clothes on his back, and a handful bills from today’s rides. He also had a slash across his ribs courtesy of McNair’s severing curse. A quick check of the petrol tank was not encouraging and a short time later he was forced to switch to the reserve.

Rain continued to fall, softly at first then with mounting enthusiasm. As his adrenaline waned he felt the pain from McNair’s spell begin to mount. With a muttered curse Harry began to look for a place to pull off. An ancient rock wall with several sheltering pines appeared on the west side of the road and Harry decided it was probably the best he could hope for within the limits imposed by his declining petrol levels. He steered the bike off the road and carefully hid it between one of the trees and the wall. Crouching beside the wall he was sheltered from the worst of the rain. In the dim moonlight Harry grimly settled his back against the stone and prepared to wait for the dawn.

Images of the death eater’s sprawled form kept coming, uninvited to his mind. The unmistakable difference between his vacant, motionless body and Snape’s mere loss of consciousness intrigued him. He wondered if he would look like that when Voldemort was finished with him, like a bundle of rags and flesh that had never known the animation of life. McNair’s eyes were open and had appeared glazed already; just seconds after his spirit had fled. Would his eyes look like that, desiccated and sightless, or would he have the strength to close them before the darkness closed in?

In his last seconds of life McNair had been true to his training. Surprise still tinged his expression as he raised his wand and fired a curse with snakelike quickness. Fortunately for Harry, he was able to see the magic building in the wizard’s wand and read the man’s intent in his eyes. The action had seemed to take place in slow motion as he sidestepped the curse and incanted his answering spell before his feet had stopped moving. Harry remembered the small grunt of disbelief and pain that had been forced from McNair’s lips as he struck the hearth.

Like a broken record his mind returned to that graveyard and the horror that had occurred there. Cedric’s blank stare and the mind numbing fear he had felt as the events of Voldemort’s resurrection unfolded haunted him. A small sob escaped his throat as his thoughts turned to Sirius. His heart ached as he pictured how his life could have been if the promise of living with Sirius could have been fulfilled. Instead he had lead the one person capable of loving him to his death. Suddenly the cold and pain felt like something he deserved rather than a hardship to be avoided.

Harry tried to concentrate on the ticking of the cooling engine and the steady drip of water down the back of his neck, anything to derail this line of thinking. He was partially successful but couldn’t quite manage to avoid one more plaguing thought. He had killed a man. Snape might die too as a result of trying to help Harry. He knew that allowing emotions to control him left him open to Voldemort’s legilimency so he ruthlessly occluded his mind and huddled closer to the wall.

It wasn’t long before he felt the presence of another wizard close by. With a surge of relief he recognized Snape’s signature. The dark and brooding flavor of the potion masters aura had become quite familiar to Harry as his ability to see it had developed over the past few weeks. After a moment’s thought he realized that the second presence had to be Dumbledore. The awesome strength of his magic was evident in the essence of his aura. There was nowhere to hide so he readied himself for the inevitable confrontation.

Mindful of his wound he eased himself into a seated position on the rock wall. After checking to be sure no blood had seeped through his jumper he tugged it down to conceal the gash in his side. He just had time to cross his legs casually and make sure his wand was clearly visible before they were upon him.

“Harry!” called the headmaster through the gloom. “Is that you, my boy?”

Rolling his eyes at being called boy yet again, Harry responded with a curt, “Yes, sir.”

“Thank goodness! You gave us quite the chase young man. Are you all right? Professor Snape thought he saw Mr. McNair strike you with a severing curse,” Dumbledore said mildly.

“I’m fine, sir. Are you all right, Professor?” Harry asked with some trepidation as he eyed the potions master.

Snape scowled. “Quite all right, Potter,” he snapped. “What were you thinking by running off like this?” His sour expression reassured Harry that he was fully recovered. Black eyes glittered with suppressed emotion as he inspected the Gryffindor intensely.

Harry flinched slightly from his scrutiny and endeavored to gain some control of the situation. “I’m doing what I should have done weeks ago,” he stated calmly. He was glad neither professor was close enough to see how his pulse was racing. Predictably Snape retorted with an angry outburst. Harry kept his expression neutral as he cheered inwardly at his professor’s dependability. He hoped to use that to win this confrontation.

“Just what is that supposed to mean, Potter,” Snape snarled. Dumbledore’s hand on his arm appeared to inflame him even more. “We are not here to cater to your overindulged whims,” he said heatedly. “You will accompany us back to the cottage where we will attend to any wounds you have sustained and discuss the situation.” He stepped forward and reached out to grab Harry’s arm.

Before the professor could make contact Harry had his wand up and pointing squarely at Snape’s chest. “Not so fast, Professor,” Harry said grimly. “I think I have some say in this.” He took a calming breath. “I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me these past few weeks. It’s obvious though that I should be moving on.” Attempting to look casual he leaned back slightly and crossed his arms. The throbbing in his side ratcheted up a notch but he felt the advantage he gained from the posture was well worth the price.

True to form Snape deepened his scowl and gave Harry a glare that would send a lesser wizard screaming for his mum. With another mental cheer Harry waited for the tirade. He planned to get the professor so worked up he would not notice Harry’s injuries and agree out of spite to letting him go. This is where the plan began to fall apart. Instead of delivering a rant of epic proportions Snape took a breath, stepped back, and turned to Dumbledore.

With an obvious effort to control his temper Snape said conversationally, “I have been subjected to this manipulation before, Albus.” The headmaster inclined his head to invite Snape to continue. “The last time he was hiding injuries and attempting to persuade me to leave. I suggest we proceed with the assumption that he may be trying a similar maneuver this time.” He turned back to Harry. “I must admire your attempt, Mr. Potter, very Slytherin of you. However, I was not fooled then nor am I now.”

Cursing inwardly, Harry remained outwardly calm. “If you remember, Professor, at the time I was unable to even walk.” Steeling himself to show no weakness, he slid off the wall. “As you can see, I am quite fit today.” Harry thanked the darkness that helped to cloak his condition.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer. “Touché’, Potter,” he said silkily. “Come over here, now.”

To Harry’s dismay Dumbledore spoke up. “It seems as though you boys have this well in hand. I shall return to your cottage, Severus, and deal with Mr. McNair,” he said and with a nod to both of them, he disapperated. Snape looked at the space formerly occupied by the headmaster and smirked.

“Clearly the ‘boy’ epithet is not meant to harass you exclusively, Potter,” he drawled. Harry had a moment of hope that the whole mess was about to blow over. This was dashed when the potion master locked eyes with him and said, “Now, I believe I asked you to come over here.”

Glaring angrily at Snape, Harry elected to stay where he was. Snape lowered his lids and peered at his charge through his lashes. He practically purred as he watched Harry stew for a moment. “We can dispense with this whole charade if you like, Potter,” he said finally. Harry nodded, eager to get rid of Snape so he could sit down again. His legs were starting to shake and the wound in his side was throbbing unmercifully.

“Fine. Lift your shirt.”

Harry stared at him with eyes round from shock. “I beg your pardon?” he croaked.

“Oh, do not read any ridiculous innuendo into my request, Potter,” Snape said as he rolled his eyes theatrically. “Just lift your jumper so I can see if you are wounded.” Harry knew he was beaten. Eyes downcast he grabbed the hem of his shirt with his right hand and lifted it over his head with one motion. Snape narrowed his eyes at the sight of the open gash traveling up Harry’s left side from hip to the middle of his ribs. Blood oozed messily down his torso and pooled in the waistband of his breeches. Droplets of rain hit his skin and created tiny islands within the scarlet.

“And you sought to hide this from me why?” Snape asked sarcastically.

“I don’t need any help,” was the muttered reply. Deeply embarrassed, Harry kept his gaze averted.

Snape sighed. Harry could see him searching for an appropriately scathing reply. The result was not what he expected. “Look, Potter. Harry. I know we have never been on friendly terms.” Harry smirked at this understatement. Snape’s glare cut off any comment he might have made. “But that does not change the fact that you still deserve to be treated fairly. Being tossed out of your uncle’s house and left to fend for yourself is not fair. Dealing with the threat of the dark lord alone is certainly not fair.” He paused and gathered his thoughts. Harry stood rigidly, not sure where this was leading.

“It is reasonable for you to expect to be helped by an adult who is functioning as your guardian. It is okay to ask for that help,” Snape’s eyes raked over him as he drove his point home, “even if the Dark Lord is after your life.” Feeling completely wrong footed by Snape’s speech, Harry leaned back against the wall and pulled his jumper back down. For several moments he was unable to formulate a response.

Snape saved him from having to reply by saying, “I shall apparate you back to the cottage where we can deal with your wound.” He pointed his wand at the motorcycle, shrunk it and summoned it to him. After pocketing the bike he turned to Harry. Moving carefully he took the boy by the forearms and held him close. In a flash of disorientation they arrived in the kitchen of the cottage. Thankfully, Dumbledore and the body of the death eater were gone.

Harry slumped into a chair and rested his elbows on the table. He ran shaking hands through his wet hair then rested his forehead on his palms. Feeling Snape’s eyes on him he looked up. “I have a healing potion for you,” said the potion master. He held out a goblet filled with a viscous liquid. “You will need to take all of it,” he directed. “When did you eat last?”

“Yesterday,” said Harry dully. Snape glared at him and moved over to the cupboard to pull out bread and cheese. Feeling like he had to defend himself Harry elaborated, “I don’t eat breakfast on the days I will be riding. I need to make the weight.”

“It is not appropriate to go without eating when you are sixteen, Potter,” Snape snapped. “I doubt that you have any trouble ‘making the weight.’” Harry shrugged and started drinking the potion. His shaking hands made it difficult but he managed to drink it all without spilling any. After setting the goblet on the table he wiped his lips on his sleeve and started to stand.

“Sit down,” Snape ordered. “You will eat this sandwich and I will check you for any further injuries.”

Harry took the sandwich but did not sit. “I am fine,” he insisted.

“You are apparently a poor judge of what fine is,” Snape stated shortly. He lifted Harry’s jumper and eyed the healing wound. A long finger prodded Harry’s ribs and he yelped in surprise. “Hmm. Looks like a fractured rib or two.” He moved his eyes to Harry’s. “Anything else you are hiding, Potter?”

Afraid of being legilimized, Harry broke eye contact. “Nothing important, sir.” Snape waited and after a short pause Harry said, “Well, I had a bit of a wreck today.” Snape motioned for him to pull up the jumper again and he complied with a Snapelike roll of his eyes. He heard the potion master hiss when he saw what was undoubtedly a spectacular bruise just below Harry’s left shoulder blade. “The healing potion should take care of that as well so I didn’t think I needed to mention it,” he said, embarrassed at having Snape examine him so.

Snape crossed one arm over his stomach and rested the other elbow against it as he rubbed his hand over his face. “It is okay to ask me for help, Potter. Do you understand? It is not an imposition nor is it a sign of weakness.” He poured more of the potion into the goblet and handed it to Harry.

As his fingers closed around the cup Snape caught his eyes and said, “You must stop this running, Potter. It doesn’t help; do you understand?” Snape’s eyes glittered in the candlelight as he spoke. Harry found himself unable to look away and after a moment he nodded. Snape broke the contact and said, “You will need more to take care of that deep bruising.” As Harry downed the potion he summoned another bottle. “Here is some bone mending potion for the ribs.” Harry downed that as well and winced as the bones began to knit together.

“I shall assume you are not hiding any more injuries,” Snape intoned. Harry, who was beginning to feel the effects of the potions, nodded drowsily. Healing potions always made him feel dozy and the double dose was making him anxious to go lie down. “I am curious, Potter,” Snape said, unaware of the potion’s sedative effect on his charge. “Why did you not feel the need to identify the headmaster and I this evening?”

Harry blinked at the professor and tried to think. “Don’t need to when I can see your aura so plainly, do I?” He turned to head to his room but staggered badly at the first step. Snape quickly supported him and eyed him a bit anxiously.

“’s fine. Potions make me sleepy, thas all,” Harry slurred. His lids sagged nearly closed. “Big dose,” he whispered as he started to slump. The floor looked very enticing and with a sigh he tried to lie down on the tile.

“Potter, get up,” Snape said sternly and pulled him back to his feet. “What’s this about auras?” He shook Harry’s arm but Harry was too intent on reaching the floor to answer him. “Trust you to have an abnormal reaction.” The rest of his diatribe was lost on Harry as he fell blissfully asleep.