Harry struggled to wake up. Something was preventing him from reaching consciousness and he fought with frantic strength against the confinement. Sticky curtains of sleep kept sweeping over him, restraining him. He bucked and clawed at them but they broke under his hands, only to reform and cloak him again. Muted sounds of fear and distress broke from his lips as he struggled for awareness. As the spell strove to hold him, yes it was a spell, it had to be, he recognized something about it. Something about its…essence reminded him of Snape. As he paused to consider that he slipped back under its influence.

As soon as he managed to claw his way free he was assaulted by waves of burning pain. He struggled to remove whatever was tearing at his face and mumbled, “Get it off… off.” There was a malevolence about it that alarmed him. His arms felt like they were encased in lead as he tried to lift them up to protect his face. He wasn’t sure if he moved them at all. A disembodied voice said, “Stop fighting me, Potter. I’m taking you to get help.” With a massive effort he opened his eyes and looked up.

“Snape.” The blurry shape above him leaned in and transfigured into the professor’s face. He squinted at it; Snape looked worried. The shrouds threatened to overwhelm him again and he thrashed against the onslaught. It felt like Imperius, cloying and sweetly insidious. If he stopped thinking about it he would succumb but it hurt to think. Suddenly he realized that it must be a spell, a sleeping spell. “Stop it,” he croaked.

The voice returned. “Don’t fight the spell, Potter.” It was familiar. Snape. Yes, he’d seen the man’s face before but now it was dark. He fought his eyes open again and saw the aquiline nose looming over him.

“Please,” he whispered, desperate enough to beg. He needed to get this fiery attacker off his face and the spell was making it impossible. As he floated closer to being awake he sensed it again. There was dark magic, coiled like a snake and hovering about his head. He reached up to touch it and recoiled as his hand moved into the dark strands. Instead of passing through formless smoke he encountered a slimy, clinging wetness. He gasped and tried to look at his hand but the spell had him again and his arm dropped to his side.

“What is it, Potter?” Snape’s face swam into view again. He still looked worried.

“Stop,” he repeated from a great depth. He realized the man was carrying him when he stopped and lowered him to the floor. The cold from the stone seeped into his skin and helped him stay anchored in consciousness. “I need … wake up,” he pleaded as his eyes slid shut despite his efforts to keep them open. “Please.”

Suddenly, with sharp stabbing pain from his face and his leg, Harry was awake. Snape’s anxious visage hovered over him as he bit his lips and struggled to keep from crying out. “What is it, Potter?” Snape asked again, his black eyes flicking over him, assessing him.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and groaned. To his humiliation hot tears squeezed out beneath his lids. When he opened them again Snape had his wand out, prepared to cast the spell again. “No!” he begged. “Please, give me a moment.” He breathed in and out a few times, the harsh sounds echoing eerily off the walls of the empty corridor. When he got his eyes open the dark magic was there, writhing and coiling about him. The ends were prodding at him like animated needles trying to sew cloth. When they touched his skin he was pierced with pain and a terrible feeling of foreboding.

“I see it, the dark magic,” he rasped. It felt good to be able to speak freely instead of being sucked under by the spell but his face ached abominably and his tongue felt thick, slow. “It’s trying to…get in. I need to stop it. Don’t spell me under again.” He said quickly as he saw Snape’s face sweep into an expression of reluctance. “Please.” The man lowered his wand and Harry took a shuddering breath. He had to think of something fast.

Harry waved his now curiously light hand through the smoky strands again. They reeked of Malfoy and his peculiar mix of malevolence and distain. Although the smoke stuck to his hand he could not grasp anything; it was formless. Frustrated and desperate to stop the pain and invading magic, Harry pointed his finger at a coil and said, “Petrificus totalis.” It pulsed slightly but otherwise there was no effect. Harry thought for a moment and then realized that the strands were inanimate despite their apparent desire to invade him. He changed his tact and this time muttered a freezing charm. The strand nearest him solidified and fell away.

“What is that?” Snape gasped. Harry looked up at his professor to see uncharacteristic fear in his normally stoic expression.

“Dark magic. Get rid of it.” Not wanting to waste any time explaining, Harry continued to point at the swirling strands and freeze them one at a time. He was relieved to see Snape levitating them into a containment box he had conjured. Once the last of the magic was dispatched he let his head sink back to the floor.

“It’s gone,” he said. The wound on his face was still throbbing but the severity of the pain was muted, manageable now. Snape sighed and banished the box. Harry didn’t ask where it went. He felt Snape’s arms around him as the potion master lifted him off the cold stone. It felt good to trust someone enough to let consciousness go without a battle.

OOoOoOo

Madame Pomfrey stood over Harry’s bed putting her wand into the pocket of her robes with a weary smile. “This boy gets himself into the worst messes,” she sighed. As Snape nodded she glanced at the clock. “I’ve an appointment in Diagon Alley this afternoon to arrange supplies for the school year.” Her eyes flicked over her patient then caught and held Snape’s. “I don’t expect he’ll wake until tomorrow. Could you look in on him a few times this afternoon so I can keep my appointment?”

Snape eyed the boy, taking in his subtly flickering eyelids and quickening respiration. “What would you have me do if he does wake up?”

“I doubt he will but he’ll be badly disoriented if he does. Just reassure him and explain about the traction spell holding him to the bed.” She smiled and brushed Harry’s fringe from his forehead, exposing his scar. “If he is in pain you can give him some potion.” She pulled her gaze from her patient and asked, “Do you mind, Severus?”

With a longsuffering sigh Snape lowered himself into the chair next to the bed. “No, Poppy, my summer has already been rendered unsalvageable. Sitting here for an afternoon will merely continue the agony.” Madame Pomfrey laughed and walked out the door.

Snape watched the little twitches and wriggles that were a sign that the boy would awaken soon. A gasp from the twisted nest of bedding alerted him that Harry was conscious. As he rose to attend his patient the boy sat up like a jack in the box and cast his eyes about the room with feverish alacrity. He struggled feebly to pull his legs free from the traction spell as fretful hands pushed his hair back from his eyes.

“Let me go!” he panted, his face flushed and damp with sweat.

Snape tried to soothe him back into slumber with a murmured, “Easy, boy. You are safe.” He put his hand on Harry’s arm.

Arms thrashing in a mad effort to dislodge Snape’s touch, Harry keened, “Cedric! No! Let me go!” Snape watched the boy’s eyes, wide and glassy, as they scanned the room and knew that Harry saw Voldemort before him in his potion induced hallucination. Compassion, unexpected and unwanted, filled him. No child’s fever dreams should include the Dark Lord dealing out unforgivables and death. He moved closer to the bed and held out his hands to give some physical comfort but he hesitated there, his fingers inches from the boy’s damp skin, unsure of how to proceed.

As a child, Severus received little physical comfort from his father. Elderly at the time of his last child’s birth, the senior Snape contributed little to his son’s upbringing. He was not unkind, merely formal and too distant from the trials of childhood to be properly sympathetic. But Snape remembered once, when nurse was away and he was frightened of a violent storm ravaging the manor, his father had held him. He had felt safe and secure in the man’s thin arms, cradled in warmth against his father’s soft robes. It was that memory that spurred him to move to the bed and put his arms over the boy’s flailing limbs and hold him to his chest. Harry twisted and bucked in terror but with his eyes closed Snape held on through the storm of Harry’s fears, waiting for it to end.

Thoughts of his own father inevitably brought to mind Harry’s father. Snape felt strangely detached from his hatred as he held this boy, this orphan of war. James’ taunting seemed a lifetime away and Snape knew that the man, the father, would give anything to be in his place right now, cradling his son. He had, in fact, given everything to see that his boy would survive and Snape felt suddenly incapable of sustaining his loathing for a man who had lost such an opportunity. Surely losing the chance to be here with his son was punishment enough for even the most grievous of sins. As he held Harry tight and shushed him with empty promises he was amazed to find that giving comfort felt every bit as good as receiving it.

Finally Harry began to relax in his arms and Snape loosened his hold. To his surprise Harry sniffled and snuggled deeper into his arms, burrowing under his cloak. Snape wondered if the boy was thinking of James as well. He dismissed any negative thoughts on that subject and allowed the boy to cling to him, enjoying the reciprocal comfort of shared contact.

It was hours later when Snape woke to find himself still wrapped around the dozing Gryffindor that he realized what had happened. Somewhere in those chaotic moments he had crossed the line. He, Severus Snape, had joined the ranks of the Potter Besotted. With a quiet groan (wouldn’t want to wake the poor boy, would we) he slid free of Harry’s grasp and pulled the blankets up snugly. Looking down at the sleeping wizard Snape tried and failed to generate a scowl. With a disgusted snap of his robes he turned and strode out of the room.

oOoOoOo

When Harry next dragged himself from the confines of sleep he was relieved to find there was no spell holding him there. His face still ached unmercifully but his leg felt numb like it did when as a child he had been crouched in his cupboard too long. Panic heated his veins when he realized he couldn’t move it at all and before he could stop himself he was shrieking and trying to sit up to see if his leg had been amputated. To his relief the wails only came out as a muffled, “Umph,” but he was appalled to find he was too weak to do much more than twitch his fingers.

“What is it, Potter?” Snape’s voice penetrated the panic but he was still wide eyed and gasping with fear. If Voldemort knew he was in this position he wouldn’t need a death eater to finish him off. Hell, he could send Dudley to do the job. He tried to gather the strength to sit up but was unable to do so.

Snape’s face appeared above him and the man’s eyes traveled over him. “Ah,” he said, “You are lucid.” With a flick of his wand he raised the head of the bed so that Harry was sitting up. Looking a bit apologetic Snape explained, “We had to give you quite an assortment of potions. The result was rather emotionally unsettling for a few hours.”

Still reeling from waking up in such a terrifying manner and seeing such an unusual expression on the professor’s face Harry said, “We?” without even realizing he had asked a question.

“Yes, you are at Hogwarts for a bit so Madame Pomfrey can patch you up and do her ridiculous fussing.” Snape indicated Harry’s leg with a thrust of his chin. “Your bones have been mended and the curse damage seen to.” Harry could tell there was something else the man was reluctant to bring up so he waited without speaking for him to get to it. It didn’t take long.

“Lucius struck you with his wand, do you remember?” Harry nodded. “That leaves a wound that is very…resistant to treatment.” Snape fingered the sleeve of his robe and Harry sighed.

“Gonna have another scar, aren’t I?” He found enough strength to lift his hand and fingered the wound with a wince. “Maybe it’ll take attention away from this one,” he quipped, pointing at the scar on his forehead that made him famous.

Snape twisted his lips in a parody of a grin and for once he didn’t say anything disparaging. Taking this as a compliment of sorts Harry smiled back. “Ron and Hermione get back alright?” he asked.

“Yes, the portkey brought them both safely to my cottage.” Snape sat down in a chair near his bed and leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees. “The portkey was meant for you,” he said softly. Harry flinched away from his probing gaze, shifting nervously on the bed as Snape waited for him to respond.

After a few moments of silence Harry spoke. “It was the only thing I could think of,” he said with his eyes downcast. His arm came up automatically to rub his forehead but Snape caught it in a gentle grip and prevented him. He huffed, already frustrated with being restricted. Snape gave him an unreadable look and dropped his arm.

When Harry did not elaborate Snape frowned and said, “It’s not up to you to save everyone, Potter. You should have come back to the cottage and alerted me. I would have taken care of it and you wouldn’t have ended up here.” He gestured to the bed. “That is what you should have thought of.”

Harry shifted his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, suddenly tired beyond endurance. “If Crabbe and Goyle had gotten them into the trees they would have been apparated away to some death eater stronghold or worse.” The thought of his friends enduring torture at the hands of his enemies made him feel like he would be sick. He coughed into his fist to cover the gagging, choking feeling in his throat. “I’d make the same decision again,” he rasped. “Right or wrong, it was the only choice.

With a sigh Snape handed him a glass of water with a straw. As Harry gratefully washed down the bile in his throat Snape said, “Perhaps, Potter, you need to consider your own safety as being as important as the safety of others.”

Harry laughed, a harsh sound like one of Sirius’ barking laughs. “Trelawney took care of that with her little prediction, didn’t she,” he said bitterly. Expecting Snape to laugh or at least berate him for feeling sorry for himself, Harry was surprised to see the man lean forward and peg him with a serious stare.

“Harry,” he began. Hearing his professor use his given name gave Harry an unpleasant surge of dread. He shifted, trying to drag himself into a sitting position but found his leg was still somehow attached to the bed. As he instinctively tried to pull free his body responded with a cacophony of distress. Snape forgotten for the moment, he closed his eyes against the dizziness that accompanied the rising pain.

“What’s wrong with my leg?” he hissed between clenched teeth. The helplessness frightened him and the fear of facing Voldemort in this condition returned, changing the fear into panic. Ignoring the discomfort in his body he flung off the blankets and attempted to pull his leg free but all he managed was to sit up and ratchet up the pain several more notches. He was relieved to see his toes wiggle obediently when he was able to get the instructions to them through the painful static in his mind.

Firm hands pressed him back into the mattress and once he was lying on his back and the blankets were replaced Snape said, “Your leg was badly broken so Madame Pomfrey has recommended a day of traction.” Harry must have looked confused as Snape elaborated. “She placed an immobility spell on it along with a traction spell and some healing charms to augment the potions. It takes about 20 hours to fully repair the fracture. Otherwise it might heal shorter than the other leg and you would be left with a limp.”

Harry nodded and bit his lip to keep back the whimper that was trying to slip past his defenses. He stared at the ceiling and waited for the world to stop tilting and his leg to go back to being numb. A glance at Snape’s face did not offer any hope for sympathy so he bit back any further questions and kept his silence, waiting for the man to leave him alone.

oOoOoOo

Snape observed the boy grappling with his fear and pain. Harry’s reticent behavior irritated Snape, pushed his patience to the limit. As he seethed at the boy’s arrogant refusal to ask for help he considered what he had learned at the scene of the accident. He wondered what effect ten years of casual cruelty would have on a person’s psyche. The legilimency memory of Harry treed by a dog, bitten and bleeding, his family laughing cruelly below came unbidden to Snape’s mind. Perhaps his refusal to confess to being in pain was a learned defense against such treatment rather than ridiculous Gryffindor pride as he had assumed.

If the boy’s childhood had been as bad as Snape was beginning to believe, it could explain quite a few of his annoying habits. Never being able to depend on an adult to handle things for you would force a child to attempt things that any normal child would gladly bring to a grown up.

A smothered whimper from the boy brought his thoughts back to the present. Despite his explanation the boy was still testing the restraints. Snape smothered his initial angry reaction and looked at the boy from his new perspective. Perhaps the confinement, although therapeutic in nature, made him feel too vulnerable. Snape’s presence should have been reassuring but his inability to trust an adult to help would negate that.

Snape sighed and handed the boy his wand before he could attempt to rise again. The change in Harry’s expression convinced the potion master that he had been correct in his thinking. The boy leaned back against the pillows, clutching the wand like a lifeline. The furrow of pain on his brow did not subside but the fear in his eyes was gratifyingly lessened.

Snape mulled over these changes in his perception of the boy’s motivation. He found himself unable to sustain any level of animosity as he reconciled the boy’s list of violations against the now obvious reasons for the behaviour. All the notorious escapades that the other teachers had ignored in the name of Gryffindor bravery now looked like acts of desperation. He wondered who was worse, him for punishing the boy or the others for encouraging him.

oOoOoOo

As he relaxed with his wand the full memory of yesterday’s events washed over Harry and he trembled: the sickening crunch when the horse catapulted him into the jump, the utter terror of seeing his friends in the clutches of the death eaters, Malfoy’s wand tearing into his flesh, the searing pain of cruiatus being cast upon him, and his despair as he rode off looking for Voldemort. He wrapped his arms around his torso, wishing he could curl up and block out the world for a while, feeling like he might break apart from the strain of keeping it all together on his own. Sudden longing for Sirius rushed over him and wrung his heart painfully. He felt the tattoo stirring but could take no comfort from it today.

“Harry.”

He blinked and then flushed with embarrassment as he felt tears trickling down his cheeks. As quickly as he wiped them away they were replaced. Unable to even turn onto his back to hide this humiliating display he put his hands over his face and forced out, “Please, professor.” His voice broke and he couldn’t manage to say anything more. Hoping fervently that Snape would get the message he crossed his arms over his face and squeezed his fists, trying to hold in the emotions that were bubbling over.

Instead of leaving, Snape leaned back and settled into his chair. Minutes ticked by as Harry struggled to master his emotions, trembling and breathing harshly into the canopy of his arms. Finally the tears stopped and his respiration evened out but he did not feel ready to uncover his face. Snape obviously noticed he was doing better as he leaned forward to speak again.

“Will you drop your arms?” he asked in a calm voice. Harry responded by shaking his head. He still didn’t trust his voice to work without breaking. He heard Snape sigh but the man did not try to force his arms down. “Very well,” he said. “There are things I must say to you and it would be easier if I could see your expression but I shall attempt to do without.”

There was a long pause during which Harry concentrated on breathing and forcing his emotions back down inside. Wondering what the potions master wanted only made him feel panicky and made his eyes burn. When Snape finally spoke, the subject was completely unexpected.

“The Dursleys had no right to treat you as they did,” he said. Forgetting his embarrassment Harry lowered his arms and stared at the potions master. Where did this come from? “You are not a freak, Potter. Nor are you merely a weapon designed to carry out the contents of some ridiculous prophesy.” As the older wizard’s eyes caught and held his, Harry felt the force of the man’s convictions. “What you are is a young, half trained wizard with more on his plate than he can expect to handle alone. What you are, Potter, is someone who desperately needs help but refuses to accept it.”

The black eyes flickered over his face, gauging his reaction. Feeling trapped, Harry reacted defensively. “What I am is tired of everyone telling me what I am,” he said acidly. When the expression on Snape’s face turned angry Harry hastened to add, “Sir.” This did nothing to dispel the heated look in the older wizard’s eyes and Harry attempted to shift backward again with the same, painful results. The resulting escalation in his emotions ruined his careful work at mastering them and he lashed out, crying, “What do you want!”

He turned his reddened, tear dampened face toward the wall and concentrated on breathing in and out slowly. Once released, the emotions refused to be mastered again, pouring forth like the foam from a shaken bottle of butterbeer. Harry scrubbed his hands over his eyes and hissed as he encountered the gash on his face.

“I want you to admit that you need help and accept it from those who are trying to give it to you,” Snape said as he forced Harry’s hands away from his face.

A harsh laugh escaped from his lips as he grappled with himself. “Look what happened to you when you started trying to help me,” he said in a louder voice than he had intended. “Nearly killed you too.”

“Too? Who else have you killed, Potter? You can’t possibly be mourning over McNair!” Snape’s cool exterior snapped and Harry got a glimpse of the man’s typical nature. Strangely, the bit of vitriol helped to calm him a bit. Snape quickly got his mask of quiet concern back in place but Harry held on to the image of his snarl, comforted by the familiarity.

“You know who I’ve killed,” he said as he got his emotions to slip back into their restraints. “If you use your Slytherin self preservation instinct you’ll stay away from me, professor. I’ll just bring you down too.” He tried to move again but was thwarted by the restraints. He maneuvered himself up on his elbows as he raised his eyes to Snape’s and said, “How much longer do I have to be under the traction spell? It’s driving me starkers being tied up like this.” Ever since the third task being confined made him break out in a sweat.

A raised brow was Snape’s response. “It is a few more hours, Potter.” He looked disgusted when Harry winced but to his relief Snape said, “You can release the spell with a finite incantatum if it becomes necessary. Does that make it more tolerable?” Harry immediately felt better, smiling with relief as he relaxed back into the bedding with his wand. Just knowing he could get free made an enormous difference. Snape sneered but made no move to disarm him.

“Now if you are finished trying to get me off the subjective perhaps we can finish our discussion.” Harry winced but did not attempt to deny Snape’s allegation. “I must insist that you give serious consideration to what I have said. There is no ‘curse’ in trying to help you or feeling affection for you.” When Harry opened his mouth to protest Snape interrupted him. “The people you feel you have killed were all engaged in dangerous activities. Your parents were aurors, actively defying the dark lord. Black was dueling Bellatrix and Diggory was participating in that ridiculous excuse for a school activity.” He glared at Harry for a moment, seeming to dare him to refute his logic, before continuing.

“Have you forgotten what happened to you during your escape from the dark lord after the tournament?” Snape snarled. “Nothing major, just a few crucios, being tied to a head stone while your blood was taken and, oh yes, nearly getting killed by someone you thought was a trusted member of the order. I can certainly see why you feel it was your fault that Diggory was killed. After all, you had it so easy.”

Harry stared at Snape, struck dumb by what he had said. “If I hadn’t convinced him to take the cup…” he began but Snape interrupted him again.

“If he hadn’t stopped to help you he would have gone there alone and been killed. You would have escaped torture and avoided being part of the dark lord’s resurrection. Do you blame him for your misfortune?”

“No!” Harry shouted. His emotions, already unstable, seesawed wildly.

“Then why are you responsible for his?” Snape asked with his hands wide apart and cutting through the air angrily.

“Because,” Harry retorted without thinking, “It’s my responsibility to kill Voldemort. It’s all up to me.”

Snape snarled. “Blast Albus for telling you that ridiculous prophesy.” He pierced Harry with a glare. “You do realize just how shaky the art of divination is, don’t you? Even if it is true, which is debatable even with the most reliable of seers, the interpretation leaves it wide open to possible outcomes.” He stood up and strode to the window, staring out at the darkening sky as if it were somehow to blame for everything. “Don’t throw your life away because of some half baked drivel spouted by that old fraud.”

With a frown Harry said, “Seems pretty clear to me. And she was right about the thing with Wormtail.” The memory of that night made his guts clench and he tried to rub his eyes but Snape returned to his bedside to restrain him again. He shook off the limiting hand and moaned, “If I hadn’t stopped them killing him… I should have known…”

“That was impossible to predict given what she ‘Saw.’” Snape scowled and stood up so he could pace back over to the window. “Don’t you see, Potter? She could have been talking about anyone, it could have been any death eater that was returning to him. Hell,” he ranted with his hands spread and flexed like talons, “it could have been referring to me.” He brought his nose to within inches of Harry’s and said, “There was no way for you to predict that outcome. No way at all. Can’t you see that?”

Unable to back away Harry was forced to meet Snape’s glare. He stammered out a reply, “Um, y-yes, I g-get it.”

“Then stop this ridiculous guilt complex you are carrying. This is war, Potter, and people will die. Despite our best efforts to prevent it, people will die and if the headmaster’s interpretation of the prophesy is correct you will be in the thick of it. If you allow yourself to fall apart you will doom our cause to defeat. You need to be strong, understand?”

Harry nodded, then said, “But if I keep them away from me they’ll be safer at least. Less likely to meet up with death eaters and … you know. Can’t you see that?”

Snape grimaced and then, quite unexpectedly, sat down next to Harry on the bed. The bed tipped down with his weight but the magical traction held Harry in place. Head bent forward with his hair creating a curtain to hide his face, Snape sat silently for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, the rage of a moment before replace with something like gentleness.

“You once said to me, ‘You don’t get to choose.’ Do you remember that?” Snape looked at Harry for conformation. “That was very true, Harry. You can’t choose their destinies and you won’t get to choose who is standing next to you if there is a final confrontation. The people who care about you are going to be there, either by your side or sneaking behind you, they will be there. Even if you manage to alienate them they will be there because this is about all wizards, not just the ones that are close to you.” He paused and gave Harry a chance to think about what he had said. The sound of the clock ticking in the hall reminded Harry that time was running out for all of them as Voldemort gained strength and followers.

After a few moments Snape continued. “Don’t cripple yourself by trying to drive your friends away. It won’t protect them, it will only hurt them and you. You’re not the dark lord, operating alone without caring about the lives of others. I for one believe that if you have ‘a power the dark lord knows not’ it is your ability to inspire others to stand beside you. Do not waste that power in a misguided effort to protect the unprotectable.”

As suddenly as he had started, Snape was finished. He stood and placed a hand on Harry’s forehead. “You are still feverish.” After producing a vial from inside his robes he handed it to Harry and said, “Drink this fever reducer and get some sleep.” With a swirl of robes he was gone, leaving Harry to think about what he said as sleep claimed him.