When Professor Severus Snape apparated to number 4 Privit Drive he was feeling quite irritated. Headmaster Dumbledore had left for a Ministry of Magic meeting that morning and left him in charge of what Snape considered a colossal waste of time. As the headmaster prepared to floo to London he called Professor Snape to his office to give him some instructions regarding the school as the Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, was currently visiting relatives in Edinburgh.

“My dear Severus,” he said gently as he concluded his instructions, “would you be so kind as to also watch over my clock while I am gone? I shall return late tonight, perhaps around half ten.”

“Why does your clock require babysitting Albus?” Snape growled.

Professor Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled merrily (much to Snape’s disgust) and he explained, “Actually, the clock is doing the babysitting. It is charmed to tell me Mr. Potter’s whereabouts and his situation.” He indicated the clock in question with a sweep of his hand. There was only one hand on the clock and it had a small oval frame attached to it. Snape was even more disgusted to see that the frame contained a tiny picture of Harry Potter. The picture blinked and smiled cheekily. Severus scowled.

Currently the hand was pointing to ‘Fine at Home.’ There were several options including ‘Mortal Peril,’ ‘Lost,’ and ‘In Trouble.’ The Headmaster ignored Snape’s grunt of distaste and continued. “In light of Mr. Potter’s predilection for trouble I have charmed this clock to let me know his current circumstances. If you could please keep it with you today I would be most appreciative. It hasn’t moved from that position since the children left for summer holiday a week ago so I don’t imagine you will be required to act on anything. However I trust you to handle any situation that may arise.” With that Dumbledore moved over to the fireplace and with a final smile of thanks to Snape he threw in some floo powder and cried, “Ministry of Magic.” In a flash of green flames he was gone.

Snape sighed and with a flip of his wand he levitated the clock and charmed it to follow him. Robes swirling he strode the corridors of the school on his way to the dungeons. The clock followed faithfully behind him. He passed a few teachers on his way but one look at his face precluded any comments about the clock tailing him. He reached his classroom and began assembling ingredients for the potions he planned to brew today. Madame Pomfrey had given him a list of the potions she was running out of and he intended to spend the day preparing them.

He scanned the list and growled, “Bone mending potion, dreamless sleep, and pepper-up potion.... These are all being used up by that Potter menace. The school should add an additional fee to his tuition for potion usage!” This reminded him of his responsibility to watch the clock and he whirled around. The clock was still patiently following him. Another flick of his wand directed the clock to sit on a nearby bench top. It would be out of his way there but easily visible. A glance showed the hand still pointing to “Fine at Home.” Snape muttered, “See that it stays there, Potter.”

Several hours and successful potions later Snape was feeling pleasantly tired and satisfied with a good day’s work. It was just after lunch and he was planning to go to the Great Hall and grab a quick meal without the bother of sitting with his fellow teachers. His eyes moved to the clock just as the hand slid to “Mortal Peril.” His heart skipped a beat and his mind was flooded with visions of the Boy Who Lived lying in a puddle of blood surrounded by Death Eaters. During the moment of hesitation the hand slid to the next position, “In Trouble.” Snape pondered this development. Perhaps the boy had merely taken a fall and the clock, realizing the potential for harm had registered Mortal Peril. Now that the boy had survived he was merely In Trouble for his clumsiness. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Snape went to lunch.

An hour and a half later, after finally ditching Professor Flitwick who insisted on describing his holiday in Greece in excruciating detail, Snape returned to his laboratory. To his continued disgust the hand remained firmly on ‘In Trouble.’ “I suppose I shall have to investigate this,” he muttered to himself. He picked up a few vials of potions he thought might come in handy, including the ones he had just brewed. His voluminous robes contained many pockets for the various vials and packets he routinely carried in his capacity as Potion’s Master. Another swirl of robes and he exited the room.

In a matter of minutes he was striding down the path to the gates of Hogwarts. Once outside the antiapparition field, he apparated to a point near the Dursley’s house. He approached the back of the house warily, stopping in the shadow of the shed and observing the scene. Potter was sitting on the back steps, wand in hand. In front of him in the grass was the body of a man. He could see that the man was dressed in robes so Snape made the assumption that he was a wizard. The man was motionless, apparently stunned. To Potter’s left lay a ladder and overturned bucket. Just as he was ready to come out of the shadows and demand an explanation a car pulled into the drive. A very large, sweaty man levered himself out of the driver’s side of the car. He made his way round to the passenger side and assisted a very bony woman and an extremely obese boy from the vehicle. They made their way to the garden gate, the man in the lead.

As they came through the gate and took in the scene Snape could see the man become very visibly upset. His neck and face went beet red and more sweat broke out on his face. The professor expected them to race to Potter’s assistance. His sneer was already in place when the man bellowed, “Potter!” Potter’s head snapped up and he appeared to wince with pain. “What are you doing outside with that, that ...stick!”? He advanced on the boy threateningly.

As the man approached he finally noticed the wizard lying in the grass. “What is going on here, Potter? We leave for a few hours and you decide to go mad? I hope those freaks from your school find out what you’ve done and expel you for good!” He started to lead the way into the house when Potter finally spoke.

“This man is a Death Eater. You can ask Aunt Petunia what that is later; right now it’s enough to know that he is very dangerous. There were wards around this house to make it impossible for him to get in. Obviously they have failed. Now it‘s only a matter of time before more of his kind follow him here and bring Voldemort with them. It’s no longer safe for you to be here.” His eyes returned to the wizard as he spoke. When he finished he appeared to droop.

The man, who Snape now assumed to be Potter’s uncle, stopped and stared at the boy and then at the fallen Death Eater. He turned jerkily to the two who were following him and pointed to the car. “Get back in the car. I’ll be right there.”

The woman and the boy obeyed immediately, their faces rigid with shock. It was clear they all knew what Potter was talking about. Vernon raced into the house and returned moments later carrying a satchel and a file box. He flung Potter an envelope and said, “We’ve been to the solicitor today, boy. We’ve arranged for you to be declared an emancipated minor, which means you are your own guardian now. We are finally shut of you for good so if you manage to weasel your way out of this mess don’t bother trying to find us.” He indicated the envelope with one stubby finger. “That is your copy of the paperwork. See that you keep it with you.”

His eyes raked over the boy and Snape could tell he was working himself up to do something. Quick as a snake the man pulled his arm back then gave Harry a vicious backhand to the face. The boy’s head snapped backward but he made no sound although the blow knocked him off the step. “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day you arrived, boy,” Dursley said with a sneer.

Potter eyed him from his position on the ground. “Don’t come back,” he said quietly. There was more menace in his voice than Snape thought the boy capable of. Obviously trying not to appear as if he were retreating the fat man did just that. Without another glance at Potter he squeezed himself back into the car and drove away. The boy sat motionless, his eyes back on the wizard. He didn’t look up even when the car flung gravel as Vernon accelerated rapidly in his haste to be gone from the scene.

Snape moved from the shadow of the shed and immediately Potter’s wand was pointing at his chest. The marks from Dursley’s fingers were clearly visible against the pallor of his skin. His eyes shone as if with fever and the hand holding the wand shook slightly. Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Snape walked slowly toward the boy. “It’s me, Potter. It’s Professor Snape.” The boy’s eyes focused on him then, he flinched and dropped the hand holding his wand. He muttered darkly and dropped his eyes.

“What did you say?”

Potter looked back up at him with a look of loathing. “I said, ‘That’s what happens when you cause the deaths of enough people who like you.’”

Snape scowled. “Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means they have to start sending people who can’t stand the sight of you. Sir.”

“You’re rambling, Potter. Please speak in complete sentences.”

“It means, Sir, when you are the Boy Who Bloody Lived, everyone feels they have to send someone to rescue you but if you get enough of them killed then they have to get someone who loathes you to do it.” He flinched again as he raised his head to look Snape in the eyes as he spoke.

Snape decided not to comment on that last statement and instead turned to the fallen Death Eater. He flicked his wand and conjured ropes around his wrists and ankles. Potter looked slightly relieved and spoke again. “His wand is over by the ladder.”

Snape walked over picked up the wand and placed it in his robes. With the toe of his boot he flipped the man over so he could see his face. He grunted, “Grosbeak. One of the Dark Lord’s minions. I wonder how he got here, perhaps just a lucky guess or an apparation gone wrong.” He mused over the effect the emancipation might have had on the wards. Turning back to Harry he said, “Mr. Potter, would you care to enlighten me on what has happened here?”

Harry sighed and peered up at Snape through his fringe.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, boy! Raise your head and look me square in the eye,” Snape snapped irritably.

“I think my collar bone is broken, sir. Makes it hard to lift my head – sorry.” He shifted uncomfortably.

With a sharp look Snape assessed the boy more thoroughly. “Talk, Potter,” he grunted.

A nod and another flinch then the boy spoke. “I was on the ladder cleaning windows when I heard an apparation. I grabbed my wand from my pocket and turned to see who it was. He looked as shocked to see me, as I was to see him. He aimed a curse at me and more or less simultaneously I shot a stunning curse at him.” A contemplative expression crossed the young wizard’s face. “I think that’s why the Ministry didn’t send a letter warning about underage magic. Spells must’ve overlapped and they didn’t detect mine,” he mused. An impatient look got him back on track with the story. “My stupefy curse hit him square in the chest and he dropped where you see him now, wand flew over by my ladder. His curse caught me across the back, just skimmed my skin but didn’t have full effect. Burnt like bloody hell though!” Gingerly he tried to twist around to touch the wound but stopped with another grimace of pain. “The force threw me off the ladder and I landed on my left shoulder. Made it over to the step here and I’ve been waiting for the Dursleys to show up.” He shrugged with the right shoulder and looked at Snape carefully. “That’s it.”

Snape rewarded him with another sneer but also produced a potion vial from within his robes. “This will mend the broken bone.” He handed it to Harry but the boy did not reach for the bottle. Snape glared at him and Harry answered him with a copy of his own trademark expression.

“First rule I learned at Hogwarts. Don’t take any potions Snape offers you,” Harry growled. “I’ll be fine.”

Snape laughed. It was a most unpleasant and evil sounding laugh and Harry cringed. Snape chuckled again. “Where is your trunk, Potter?”

In a matter of minutes Snape had his trunk out of the cupboard and open so Harry could toss in the things he retrieved painfully from upstairs. The potions master looked around dubiously and said, “Is that everything? You will not be returning here.” When Harry nodded he continued. “We shall return you to Hogwarts so Madame Pomfrey can patch you up and do her usual fussing.” He waved his wand and shrunk the trunk down to the size of a matchbox. Before he could pick it up Harry grabbed it and thrust it into his pocket.

“I’d rather not go back to Hogwarts, Professor,” he said quickly. “St. Mungo’s will be much better.”

Snape glared at him and grated, “Don’t be ridiculous Potter. Madame Pomfrey is more than capable of attending to your injuries.”

“I realize that, sir, but I would prefer to stay away from Hogwarts as long as possible.” He crossed his arms and looked steadily back at the potions master.

With a concerted effort Snape refrained from rolling his eyes. “The headmaster will want to talk to you about the attack and arrange for you to stay somewhere for the summer, Potter. They can’t have the savior of the wizarding world living in the streets,” he said sarcastically. He sneered at the boy who bristled at this last remark.

“Well, the savior would like to put off being manipulated as long as possible,” Harry said with equal venom. “I’ll go to St. Mungo’s tonight and speak to the Headmaster tomorrow.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose to somewhere near his hairline. “Manipulated! I hardly think arranging your living arrangements for the summer constitutes manipulation.”

Harry sighed wearily and leaned against the wall. “If I’ve ever made a single decision about my own life I can’t remember it. Just once I’d like to make my own choice about something other than what to have for dinner.” He slid down to a seated position and nursed his left arm next to his body.

“You’re hardly old enough to make that kind of decision, Potter. When you are of age you will have plenty of time to make your own disastrous choices.”

Harry looked up at him sharply. “And what kind of odds would you give on me actually living long enough for that to happen?” he said darkly. Snape flinched. “Didn’t think so.” Harry dropped his eyes and rubbed his face with his hand as he continued to speak, “I’m sure Professor Dumbledore has told you about the prophecy. It’s time for me to start making my own way, making a few of my own decisions. Relying on someone else to bail me out isn’t going to work anymore. Voldemort isn’t going to let up and I need to get ready.

Snape flinched again at the mention of the dark lord’s name. “Potter, as usual you dramatize the situation. Your summer arrangements are hardly on a level with your ridiculous destiny. If you prefer to go to St. Mungo’s then by all means, lets go there so I can rid myself of your presence.” He stepped forward and hauled the boy to his feet by the collar of his shirt. “Let’s go.”

As they exited the house Snape remembered the death eater in the back yard. “I need to notify someone about the man who attacked you, Potter.” He looked down at the boy beside him and, after assessing the tired slump of his shoulders, came to a decision. “Once we are at St. Mungo’s you can firecall the ministry and let them know.” He sneered at Harry’s bewildered expression and continued, “It wouldn’t do for me to notify them about one of my fellows, now would it Potter?”

The boy scowled and replied, “No, I suppose it wouldn’t do at all. Do you think he will be secure until then?”

It was Snape’s turn to scowl as he said, “Yes. He’ll not find it easy to wriggle out of one of my binding spells.” Harry merely shrugged and kept walking, refusing to rise to Snape’s bait. Snape stuck out his wand and moments later they were boarding the Knight Bus. After the customary pleasantries the two were ensconced in comfy chairs and speeding recklessly toward the wizard hospital.

After exiting the bus Harry turned to Snape before they entered St. Mungo’s. “Can we not tell them who I am?” he asked.

“You’re the one who wanted to come here, Potter. Are you changing your mind now?” Snape’s scowl was even more severe than usual although it could have been from the unusually rough ride they had endured on the Knight Bus.

“No, I’m not changing my mind,” Harry growled. “I just think it would be easier if they weren’t all fawning over me like... well, you know.” He finished rather hesitantly and looked up at Snape as if he had no hope of understanding.

Snape, however, did understand. He had been considering this very tactic and was slightly put out that Harry had mentioned it before he could. He coughed and cleared his throat as he tried to think of a way not to agree with the brat but came up with nothing. “Fine,” he finally rasped, “we will call you Neville Longbottom,” hoping that Harry would at least be dismayed by his choice of names.

Harry brightened considerably and said, “Brilliant.” With a final look of loathing for the boy Snape lead the way into the clinic. After navigating through the usual red tape they were ushered into a treatment room.

‘From the looks of the boy we are getting here just in time,’ thought Snape as he surveyed the young wizard. Harry, who had run out of steam while they waited in the queue, was perched tiredly on the edge of the examination table. His face was pale and damp with sweat, the handprint still lividly outlined on his cheek. Lids drooping, he looked as if he would pass out at any moment. Finally a mediwizard breezed in and picked up Harry’s chart. His nametag said Healer Ian Brice.

“Ah, Neville,” said the wizard in a rather impersonal voice, “it looks as if you could use a little patching up.” Harry nodded listlessly and laid on the table as the mediwizard indicated. The man held his wand horizontal to the table and ran it over the boy as he muttered a few diagnostic incantations. “Hmm, looks like a few cracked ribs and a broken clavicle, a rather nasty burn on your back, and some assorted bruises. Anything else bothering you, boy?”

Harry shook his head. Snape snorted and looked disgusted with the whole proceedings. “Can we get started please?” he growled impatiently.

The doctor set the chart down and faced Snape. Obviously put off by Snape’s dark appearance the man went into defensive mode. “Do you have a problem with my clinical technique?” Snape snarled and Harry saw his hand jerk toward his wand.

“Just get on with it,” Snape ground out through clenched teeth. The healer, a rather large man who looked like he probably played beater in school, stood up and took a threatening step toward Snape.

Suddenly the boy interrupted them. He looked like he was worried Snape would get angry and start hexing the man before he could do anything to heal him. He spoke up quietly. “There’s no problem here so can we just get on with this?”

The two older wizards looked at him in shock. They had both forgotten all about Harry as their argument had started to escalate. “Sorry, Neville,” said the doctor. He waved his wand and muttered a few more incantations. Immediately the boy looked better as the magic took effect. Next the man handed Harry a jar of cream saying, “You’ll need to rub this on the burn twice a day for the next few days. Not sure what caused it,” and here he looked speculatively at Snape, “but it’s not fully responding to the spell. This will complete the healing but it will take a little time.” He handed Harry two more potions and said, “Here’s a sleeping draught for later tonight and some bone mending potion.”

Harry took the jar and potions and smiled tiredly at the mediwizard. “Thanks, you’ve been brilliant.” He quaffed the bone mending potion with a grimace and set the others aside.

The man looked appeased and turned back to Snape. “He’ll have to stay here overnight. In the morning the mediwizard on duty will evaluate him and discharge him.” Snape nodded and rose to leave. The doctor stopped him and obviously thinking Snape was Harry’s relative said, “You can stay for a few hours if you like. Visiting hours isn’t over yet.”

Harry hid a smirk as Snape glared at the man. “Why would I want to waste time sitting here?” he snarled. He turned to Harry, “Don’t forget to make your firecall,” he snapped. With a trademark swirl of his robes Snape was gone.

The mediwizard looked shocked. Harry grinned and said, “Don’t worry, he’s always like that.” With a shake of his head the man exited the room, muttering to himself about thankless family members and dark wizards. Harry slipped off the bed and made his way down the hall to the public fireplaces. In a matter of minutes he had relayed his message to a ministry official about the death eater on Privet Drive and been assured that an auror would be dispatched to the scene momentarily.

Harry returned to his room and, ignoring the sleeping potion, began to set his plans into action. Snape’s unexpected arrival had actually worked in his favor. That got the death eater taken care of and no one would be looking for him until tomorrow. He’d had plenty of time to decide what to do while waiting for his uncle to come home and after warning them of the danger he felt he had fulfilled his last duty to his so-called family. Anger threatened to overcome him as he thought about Uncle Vernon but he quelled it and got to work.

He opened his trunk and pulled out a clean set of clothing. Next he retrieved a bandana and his wand. Moving to the mirror he looked around hesitantly and then shrugged. “Guess I’ll find out if I was right about the presence of other people doing magic covering for me,” he muttered as he proceeded to charm his hair to grow longer. When it reached his shoulders he stopped and assessed his handiwork.

Next he tied the bandana around his forehead, covering his scar and holding the long locks back from his face. After donning the clothing he stowed his dirty clothes and the burn potion in the trunk and shrunk it again before placing it in his pocket. He kept his wand out, stashing it in his back pocket despite Moody’s previous warning. Harry moved swiftly out of the room and without hesitation stepped into the fireplace while calmly saying, “Diagon Alley.”

As soon as he arrived in the wizard shopping area he found the camping store and got to work on his plan. He quickly selected a backpack with expandable interior and a weightless charm. He added a small wizard tent complete with a disillusionment charm and paid for his purchases. Before leaving the store he asked the shopkeeper to unshrink his trunk. Harry stuffed it into the pack along with the tent.

Harry ducked down Knockturn Alley for his next purchase. Nervously fingering his wand he kept his head down and tried not to attract any unwanted attention. In a dark and dingy shop he found a small foe glass and added it to his stash. He took a few moments to browse around the store and picked up a hidden wand holster and a privacy disc. The disc worked like a silencing charm to keep anyone from hearing what was being said near it. He scanned a shelf of books and nearly choked when he saw one was titled “Occlumency: Keep Your Mind to Yourself.” Harry’s eyes misted and a large lump in his throat made it very difficult to breathe. Roughly dashing the moisture from his eyes Harry grabbed the book and made his purchases.

Finally he hurried into Gringott’s and changed the rest of his galleons into muggle money. He thought longingly of his vault but decided against trying to access it as it might bring death eaters or Dumbledore down on him. The stack of bills looked pathetically small but the goblin teller assured him with a smirk that he had given him the best exchange rate possible. He wished Hermione were there to negotiate for him.

Harry wearily trudged out of the Leaky Caldron and into Muggle London. His back ached from the burn and his shoulder was throbbing. He kept moving doggedly, refusing to stop until his plan was complete. Slouching against the handrail of the escalator down to the Tube, Harry scanned the faces of the crowd. Luckily there were no familiar faces and the young wizard got on the train safely. Feeling exposed and vulnerable as he waited for his stop he adjusted the bandana to be sure it covered his scar. After exiting the train he stumbled out into the dusk and, after consulting a map posted near the Tube entrance, made his way to his final destination. Grimmauld Place.

Harry trudged wearily down the street. He had exited the Tube at the nearest possible station but it was still taking quite a bit of walking to get to the headquarters. The long day and his injuries were taking their toll from him. He anxiously watched the other people who were walking, checking for any behavior that might mark them as a wizard or witch. The sun had set and the darkness cloaked him, keeping him hidden as he skirted the streetlamps and stayed in the shadows. He chuckled softly and muttered, “Constant vigilance, Potter,” to himself in an imitation of Moody.

Suddenly the headquarters was in front of him. The dark building huddled between its neighboring structures, looking somehow menacing in the gathering gloom. Harry walked past it and ducked into a nearby alley to assess his options. He needed to get into the back yard. That would be impossible from the front so he decided to try cutting across the gardens from the alley.

He looked with dismay at the intervening fences he would have to negotiate. Fatigue sat on his shoulders like a hippogriff, weighing him down. Leaning against the nearest fence he slid to the ground with a groan. “I could really use Hermione now,” he muttered. “A brilliant idea is desperately needed.” His mind wandered to the many ideas she had come up with during the Triwizard Tournament. Inspiration struck and Harry staggered to his feet. He threw the pack down and began to rummage around inside it. With a crow of triumph he withdrew his most prized possessions – his Firebolt and the invisibility cloak. “Go with your strengths,” he said with a laugh. “Sneaking about and flying, that about covers it.”

Harry slung the pack on his back, mounted the broom and draped the cloak over his shoulders. With a quick kick he soared into the air and over the first fence. Number twelve was only a few houses away from the alley and he was in the garden in seconds. After touching down lightly and replacing the broom in the pack he quickly made his way to the garage in the back corner of the yard. He and Ron had never investigated the dilapidated building but he felt sure that what he sought would be inside.

He carefully opened the door and slipped soundlessly inside. It was completely dark in the building and after a moment’s hesitation he lit his wand with a whispered, “Lumos.” Hoping that the Fidelius charm on the house would hide his magic from the ministry and Voldemort, Harry peered into the dim corners of the garage. A large, tarp covered shape immediately caught his eye.

“Gotcha,” he murmured. With a trembling hand he pulled the tarp from the mound and stepped back with a gasp. It was the motorbike. Sirius’ incredible flying motorbike. It looked brilliant – the chrome sparkled in the wand light and the paint gleamed as if it had been recently waxed. “Wow,” he breathed. He stepped forward and touched the handlebars reverently. It felt almost warm to his touch, as if it were somehow alive. With trembling hands he stroked the seat and gas tank. Images of Sirius on the bike with his hair blowing in the wind crowded into Harry’s mind.

Breaking free of his reverie he moved to the garage doors. He had entered through a small side door that would not accommodate the bike. Pulling hesitantly on the handle at the bottom of the door he breathed a sigh of relief as the door rolled up silently. He carefully arranged the cloak over himself and the bike and began to push it out into the yard.

Once outside the building he stopped and closed the door. He found a small gate hidden behind some overgrown hydrangea bushes. It also yielded without a sound, opening onto a small path that ran along the back fences of all the yards. With a faint smile he pictured Sirius as a young man, spelling the door and gate to facilitate getting out without getting caught by his mother. “Thanks, Sirius,” he said softly as he looked up at the star for which his godfather was named. The lump returned to his throat but he pushed on doggedly.

Harry paused as he prepared to push the bike back down the path to the alley. He pulled the broom out one more time and mounted it before he could change his mind. He flew soundlessly back into the yard and up to the silent house. He easily identified Ron’s window and hovered noiselessly outside it. “Can’t leave without saying goodbye,” he muttered. With the tip of his finger he drew a small circle with two small squiggles coming out each side of it. A lightning bolt shape in the center finished the sketch. He smiled faintly and returned to the bike.

In a matter of minutes he was back in the alley with cloak and broom back in the pack. Harry had watched carefully when Dudley had gotten a minibike for his birthday. He had not been allowed to ride it but had memorized the technique for starting it ‘just in case.’ It proved invaluable tonight as he smoothly started the engine and rode away. He couldn’t resist a small whoop of pleasure as he shifted into third gear and felt the bike leap forward powerfully.

Hours later Harry pulled off the country lane he was traveling and hid the bike in a small stand of trees. He had put many miles between himself and London during the night. The need for sleep was becoming impossible to ignore and as the sun rose he pitched his small tent and crawled inside. He fell asleep almost immediately.

oOoOoOoOo

Hermione looked at Ron with teary eyes and said, “I can’t believe he is doing this to everyone.” She wiped at her eyes angrily. “Your poor mum is beside herself with worry, not to mention US!” Finishing the diatribe at full volume she grabbed handfuls of her bushy hair and tugged herself into silence.

Ron, who had run out of comforting things to say, merely repeated, “Yeah, what about us,” in a hollow monotone. After a few moments of tense silence he said quietly, “I hope he’s alright.” He looked blankly out the window. “It’s just not like him to be so...callous.”

The trio minus one had been holed up in Ron’s bedroom for most of the two days since Harry had been reported missing. They had hashed and rehashed the circumstances of his disappearance until they were both sick of hearing about it but couldn’t seem to reconcile themselves to the situation. Ginny had floated in and out of the room in a near trance, disheveled and tear stained. She did not join in their rants, preferring to worry in silence.

“That’s what is so hard to understand,” Hermione said. “He’s always so careful about other people’s feelings. So much for his ‘saving people thing.’” She glared across the room at Ron who shrugged listlessly. Suddenly her expression changed to one of wide-eyed discovery. Ron eyed her dubiously as she narrowed her eyes and brought the side of her extended finger to her pursed lips. “Saving people thing,” she repeated slowly. Ron waited patiently for her to finish her thought. Her eyes snapped to capture his as she said, “Of course, Ron! Why didn’t we see it before?” The finger jabbed in his direction to emphasize her point.

Rolling his eyes Ron said, “You’ll need to clue me in Hermione. What exactly have we been missing in this wretched situation?” He crossed his arms and waited for her to elucidate.

“It’s not like him to be like this,” she crowed. Ron inclined his head and waited for more information. “We’ve missed the point entirely. He’s not running away to get away or save himself, Ron.” She leaned forward across the bed they were sitting on. “He’s protecting us by staying away.”

“What a load of rubbish!” Ron spat. “Why would Harry do that?”

Hermione pushed her hair back from her face. “You know how he agonized over Cedric’s death, blaming himself for everything.” Ron nodded reluctantly. “Well, it stands to reason he’s even more torn up over Sirius. He’s had a week on his own to convince himself that we’re better off without him.” Waving her hand to emphasize her point Hermione continued. “Why would he wait for the Dursleys to come home like Snape said? To warn them so they would be out of danger too, that’s why.” She leaned back against the headboard with her arms crossed in unconscious imitation of her friend.

Ginny walked in at that moment and took in their identical poses. She snickered in spite of her distress and said, “So what’s this, some kind of scrying technique?” The smile left her face immediately as she continued, “I’ll join you if you think it’ll help.” She flopped on the bed next to Ron and crossed her arms as well.

“No, Ginny. Ron and I were discussing this whole thing again.” Here Ron sighed and scowled. Hermione gave him a sympathetic glance and continued. “I think we are wrong in our assessment of Harry’s motives. Don’t you think it’s out of character for Harry to run off like this? Don’t you think it’s odd for him to act so selfishly?”

Ginny nodded and swallowed hard. “That’s the hardest part, I think. Worrying is bad enough but I’m just so ANGRY...”

“Right,” said Hermione. “Angry enough to stop being friends with him?”

“No!” Ginny said quickly.

“I thing Harry may be hoping for that very thing.”

Tears leaked from Ginny’s already moist eyes. “He wants me to stop being friends with him?” She sank back and hid her face on Ron’s shoulder. “Why?” she sobbed.

Hastening to comfort Ginny, Hermione said, “No, not just you Ginny! I think Harry is trying to protect us by staying away from us all. He’s making us angry on purpose so we’ll be safe.”

Reddened eye stared back at Hermione. “Safe from what?” Ginny gulped.

“I reckon he thinks he’s responsible for Sirius’ death and for what happened to all of us at the Department of Mysteries. I think he wants to keep us safe from him.”

Silence followed this statement as the three teens thought over Hermione’s theory. Ron was the first to speak. “That makes a lot more sense than thinking Harry is just out for a lark.” He gave a halfhearted snort. “The prat wouldn’t know a lark if it crapped on him.” Ginny and Hermione both laughed in spite of themselves and the tense moment was broken.

“Well,” said Ginny. “It won’t work. I say we find him and let him know what we think of his trying to protect us.” She looked at the other two for support. “This is a war, after all, and it’s going to take all of us to win it.”

Hermione smiled. “I agree!” Now the trick is to figure out where he is.”

“That’s the trick all right,” said Ron. “The whole order is out looking. How can we expect to just figure it out?”

“We have an advantage,” smirked Hermione. “We know Harry.”

With a matching smirk Ron said, “And we have the smartest witch of all time on the job.” Hermione blushed and Ginny giggled. Then they began to talk in earnest about possible places Harry would choose to hide in.

oOoOoOoOo

Riding aimlessly through the countryside, Harry existed in a sort of haze. Alternating between feeling exhilarated by his freedom and being completely crushed by grief and loneliness, he ate little and slept less. His dreams were assaulted by images of Sirius falling through the veil as well as Voledmort’s hideous and often cryptic contributions. The book on Occlumency consumed many of his evening hours as he lay on his cot and wished things had been different at the Department of Mysteries. He was too distraught to fully clear his mind but the information in the manual slowly began to help him understand the technique.

The miles and hours rolled by unmarked as Harry pushed the bike to greater speeds, trying to outrun his demons. As he rode along enjoying the third sunrise of his independence he noticed an elderly man struggling to unload a lorry. It appeared to be filled with heavy sacks of feed. Without thinking Harry pulled into the weedy yard and stopped beside the laden truck.

“Like some help unloading that?” he asked.

The man squinted at him, obviously unimpressed, and replied, “What would you charge me?”

Harry was a little taken aback. “I just thought you needed help,” he said. The smell of food cooking wafted past his nose from the nearby cottage. He hadn’t felt the need to eat much during his travels but the smell awakened his appetite. With a grin he said, “How about breakfast?”

The man smiled at this and seemed to relax. He stuck out his hand and Harry shook it. “Sean is the name,” he said gruffly.

Harry hesitated minutely. The healer’s nametag came to mind and he said, “Ian. Granger. Um, Ian Granger.”

Sean noted the hesitation but said nothing. He motioned to the truck and said, “These sacks weigh about 50 pounds each, a bit much for an old coot like me. I appreciate the help.” He eyed Harry’s slight build but refrained from comment.

Harry stepped up to the back of the lorry and grabbed one of the sacks. Sean did likewise and led the way into the nearby barn. The smell of horses and hay enveloped Harry like a comfortable quilt as they stepped inside. He inhaled deeply and shifted the sack for a better grip. “Nothing like the smell of a horse,” he said with a smile. Sean grunted agreement and dropped the bag he was carrying onto a pallet.

“We’ll stack them here, Ian,” he said and Harry dropped his burden down next to the one Sean had released. In less than an hour the two had unloaded the entire truck and were on their way to the house. A pleasant looking older woman opened the door and after Sean explained their deal she cheerfully added a plate to the table. Sean introduced her as his wife, Karen. She beamed as Harry loaded his plate with eggs and sausage then lavishly praised her cooking skills.

“I’ll be needing another load of feed, Ian,” said Sean gruffly. “If you’d care for dinner you can help me to unload that too.”

“Sounds brilliant,” said Harry enthusiastically. Together they drove to the feed store and unloaded another large load from the lorry. By this time Harry’s back was tired and his arms were aching. Sean smiled as Harry stretched and groaned.

“Few more days like this’ll put some muscle on you, boy.”

Harry grinned wryly. It was strange how being called ‘boy’ by this man carried none of the negative implications it did when Uncle Vernon did it. “It would be nice to be a little bigger,” he admitted.

Sean gave him a calculating look. “We could use some help around here, if you’ve a mind to stay,” he said as he crossed his arms in front of him. Harry considered the offer for a few moments then smiled and stuck out his hand.

“Same pay?” he said as Sean pumped his smaller hand with his large, calloused one.

“Sounds good to me. You can throw your bedroll in the loft if you’d like.”

“See you in the morning, Sir,” said Harry as he walked to his bike.

“Sir!” Sean yelled at his retreating back. “Sean is good enough for the likes of me, boy. Sleep well.”

When Severus Snape strode out of the floo at St. Mungo’s he was already angry. After reporting the events of the evening to Albus, who looked rather apprehensive about Harry staying in hospital, he spent several hours reviewing in his mind what had taken place. He had the distinct impression that he had been maneuvered but he could not pinpoint exactly how. The boy’s annoying Gryffindorish manner had not wavered. There were no sly smiles or lowered lids that usually marked a student’s amateurish attempts at subterfuge.

Sleep had been hard to come by as he analyzed the boy’s expressions and responses in an attempt to determine just when then deception had taken place. By the time the sun crested the horizon he was in a dreadful temper from lack of sleep and the niggling feeling that something was going to go terribly wrong.

After a quick breakfast in his rooms, Severus firecalled the hospital. “I shall be arriving momentarily to collect Mr. Longbottom. Please see that he is prepared,” he said in an imperious tone to the witch who took his call. She nodded and with a suppressed yawn promised to be sure the boy was ready. Moments later when he stepped from the fireplace Snape was annoyed to see the witch wearing an expression reminiscent of a second year Hufflepuff caught without her homework done.

Snape stepped up to the desk and said, “Is there a problem?” His bad mood escalated immediately to full fury.

“Um, yes sir. It seems, um, Mr. Longbottom, is um, ...”

“Spit it out, girl,” he hissed.

She was saved by the appearance of a mediwizard who breezed in from one of the treatment areas. He was carrying several charts and began addressing the secretary without even looking up. “Okay,” he said tiredly, “I’ve finished with that nasty splinching in room three,” he threw a chart on her desk to punctuate that statement. “The nosebleed in two turned out to be from using a Weasley’s Skiving Snackbox,” he scribbled on the second chart and flung in on top of the first. He opened the final chart and scrawled a note in it. After signing it with a flourish he said, “And I’ve finished my notes on the Longbottom boy who left AMA. I am outta here.” The last chart joined the other two and he looked up into the scowling visage of Severus Snape. His face paled and he took an involuntary step backward as he looked anxiously at the secretary for help. Her eyes flicked between the two men and she swallowed nervously.

“Professor Snape is here to collect Mr. Longbottom,” she said all in one breath. Snape drew himself up to his full, impressive height and looked down his equally impressive nose at the mediwizard.

“Where is Mr. Longbottom?” he asked in a voice full of tightly restrained fury. His fist clenched spasmodically around the handle of his wand and a muscle jumped in his cheek. He tried to calm himself by envisioning the punishment he would heap upon the boy when he caught him but the image of Potter laughing over duping his evil professor drove him nearly over the edge. When the healer, whose nametag identified him as Percy Clinchwood, merely gaped at him like a stranded fish, Snape went into death eater mode.

“Mr. Clinchwood,” he hissed, “I suggest you produce the boy now before I do something you will deeply regret.” His wand was pointed at the healer’s heart. When the man remained frozen with fear Snape snarled wordlessly and stalked over to the room where Harry had been treated earlier. The door flew open without being touched and he strode inside with the healer trailing in his wake. After scanning the room for anything the boy might have left behind he muttered a summoning charm. Nothing.

“Blast!” Snape spun to face the wizard who cringed. “Is it beyond your admittedly limited capabilities to keep track of one dimwitted, underage boy?” he ranted, his voice escalating in volume as he neared the end of his diatribe. Magic, dark and threatening, swirled about the room like a vengeful harpy. Wand poised at the mediwizard’s heart, Snape glared at the trembling man with slitted eyes and bared teeth as he prepared to vent some of his anger.

“Ah, Severus, there you are.” The calm voice of Professor Dumbledore floated into the room just ahead of the wizard himself. With a look of pure loathing Snape lowered his wand and the circling magic dissipated. Dumbledore caught sight of the mediwizard and said cheerfully, “Mr. Clinchwood! Class of ’86, correct?” The man nodded mutely, his eyes still on Snape’s wand.

The headmaster turned back to Snape and said, “Not much to be done here, Severus. Let’s go back to Hogwarts and see what we can do about locating the boy, shall we?” Still glowering at the healer, Snape followed Dumbledore to the public floos and from there to the school.

oOoOoOoOo

Their agreement stretched into several weeks as Sean taught Harry to care for the horses and to ride. The retired military man maintained a small training business, boarded a few horses, and kept some rental hacks for the tourists. Harry took to riding as quickly as he had to flying and within days he was exercising the boarders horses and leading rides for the less intrepid tourists. Sean seemed pleased with his progress and after a week he had Harry helping with the jump training on his young hunter prospects.

Harry enjoyed the feeling of belonging and contributing. He worked hard and did extra maintenance projects around the farm as well. The barn and surrounding fences gleamed with new paint and the yard was nicely groomed. As promised Harry began to fill out from the regular meals and hard work. His hands, grown soft from a year without Quidditch, grew calloused and his shoulders broadened. He lost his schoolboy pallor from hours of riding in the sun. Karen offered to cut his hair but he decided to keep it long, enjoying the feel of it blowing when he rode his motorbike.

Life on the small farm felt like a dream come true to Harry. Sean’s gentle demeanor allowed Harry to relax and, with the help of the occlumency manual and the hard work, he was able to sleep better than he had in years. For the nights when he was still plagued by nightmares Harry kept the privacy disc under his cot so no one would hear his screams. When thoughts of Sirius or Voldemort threatened to undermine his façade he firmly pushed them aside, refusing to deal with them.

Harry woke early each morning to the sounds of the horses stamping outside the barn, eager for their feed. After nearly a month at the stable the routine was well established. He would ruffle the fur of his favorite barn cat and stretch luxuriously in imitation of the feline. After sliding down the ladder from the loft he would let the horses into their stalls and feed them before heading to the house to break his own fast. He and Sean would discuss the plans for the day and help Karen with the crossword puzzle. It was, quite simply, paradise.

It was a promising day in early July when the wheels fell off. Harry rose early as usual and padded around the loft in his pajama bottoms. He was barely awake until he opened the foe glass. A hiss of alarm skated across his teeth as he saw a shadowy form in its previously blank field. Suddenly fully alert, he staggered to the ladder and practically fell down it in his haste. He hit the ground running and rushed past the nickering horses. Horrifying images of death eaters attacking this idyllic farm that had allowed him to experience a true home pushed into his brain, stifling any coherent thought. Sean saw Harry’s terrified flight across the yard and leapt up from his coffee to intercept him before he could reach his motorbike.

“What’s happened, boy?” he asked as he gripped Harry’s forearms.

“I’ve got to go,” Harry gasped. “It’s not safe, not safe for you, for me to be here. I was so selfish, so stupid!” He brushed roughly at his eyes with his shoulder before looking at Sean with reddened eyes. “I’m so sorry,” he said brokenly.

oOoOoOoOoOoOo

In the short time Sean had known the boy he had never seen him look afraid. Even when old Misty decided to stand on her hind legs and give him a close up look at her belly the boy had merely sidestepped the flailing hooves and waited for gravity to bring the horse back down. Jumping over some pretty nasty obstacles had seemed to evoke a sort of determined concentration but never fear. To see him so unnerved was frightening to say the least. The thing that really made his guts clench was the inescapable feeling that the boy wasn’t worried about himself so much as for Sean. The way his eyes searched Sean’s for forgiveness made him feel sick with dread

Sean took hold of his emotions and roughly suppressed the panic that was trying to overcome him. He gripped the boy tightly and gave a little shake. When the boy’s eyes caught his he released him. “Now, you’re not even dressed boy. Go back to the loft and get your clothes on. Gather your things and I’ll meet you back here in five minutes time.” He saw the beginnings of an argument gathering on the boy’s lips and said firmly, “Go. Five minutes won’t matter.” Some sanity seemed to return to the boy’s eyes and he nodded and ran back toward the barn. With a sigh Sean turned back to the house.

The boy returned with his pack and a determined expression. Before Sean could speak he said, “I’ll do what I can to lead them away from here but, Sean,” and here he gripped the older man’s hand to emphasize the importance of what he was about to say. “If anyone shows up asking about me you must tell them the truth. Don’t lie to try to protect me. It won’t help me and they’ll hurt you for lying.” Again the green eyes searched his in a bid for absolution. “I’m so sorry, Sean. You’ve been brilliant.”

Feeling choked up with the emotion he saw in the boy he said, “Now don’t go apologizing to me, boy. I knew you were in some kind of trouble when I took you in, didn’t I?” He managed a smile at the boy’s incredulous expression. It hadn’t been hard to spot. After years of tending to horses that had been abused by their former owners he immediately recognized the signs in the boy.

The first time he had clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder the boy had tensed up and pulled away faster than a skittish two year old. It had taken patience but gradually the boy had gotten used to contact and eventually even returned some of his fatherly affection. It hadn’t been hard to like the youngster either. A hard worker, fast learner, and always quick with a smile or prank, the boy had brought a sense of fun back to the farm that hadn’t been there since his own boy had died.

Sean pressed a few pounds he had scraped together into Harry’s hands and held his own hands up, refusing to take the money back. “Karen and I have enjoyed having you and if we get a bit of trouble for it we’ll consider it worth the cost,” he said earnestly. He was shocked when the boy grabbed him in a rough hug then released him just as quickly.

“I’ll see to it that nothing happens to either of you,” the boy promised in a voice husky with suppressed emotion. Then he spun around and in a moment he was gone. Sean stood and watched his retreat, hoping that the boy wouldn’t do anything too rash. The look in his eye at the end had been full of danger. It was a look he had seen before on men who were about to go into battle. The impatient stamping of hungry horses brought him back from his musings and he turned away and headed for the barn.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry sped along in the early morning chill. The wind whipped his hair and dried the tears he couldn’t seem to stop. Terror gripped him as he imagined what would happen to the helpless muggles if the death eaters chose to interrogate them. When the noon heat penetrated his emotional haze he pulled the bike over to the berm and took stock of the situation.

“Okay, Potter,” he muttered. “What are you going to do about this?” He considered turning himself into the Order and asking them to help protect Sean and Karen. “I can hear it now, ‘They will be fine, Potter. Don’t worry.’ Then, ‘Oops! Sorry, guess they weren’t safe after all. Oh well, just muggles you know. Well, let’s carry on then.’ That won’t work,” he said quickly. He ruthlessly discarded all plans involving the help of any other wizards. With a grimace he said, “Guess that leaves you, Potter, as usual. You and your ‘saving people thing.’” He smiled bleakly and turned back toward the farm.

As Harry drew within a few kilometers of the farm he pulled over again. After a quick glance at the foe glass he skirted the village to the south. Patiently he crisscrossed the area, zeroing in on the location of the death eater slowly materializing in the foe glass. As the image gradually cleared he realized it was Wormtail. Red rage filled him for several moments before he regained control of his emotions.

“Okay. This is for Sirius. And for Sean.” He drew in a calming breath. “And for me.” He stashed the bike near some trees and continued stalking the traitor. As he searched he layered calm determination over his seething hatred of Petigrew so that by the time the turncoat surfaced Harry’s face was a mask of quiet resolve. A plan had formed of it’s own volition in Harry’s head. All he needed was the strength to carry it out.

Peter was sitting before a small cottage preparing a pipe. The wizard’s robes were tattered and his face looked thin and haggard. His dirty hands trembled as he filled the bowl then lit it with his wand. Harry felt a twinge of pity as he considered what the man’s life must be like as a servant of Voldemort. Having observed Voldemort’s dealings with his minions Harry could well imagine what caused Peter’s worn appearance. The image of Peter laughing with his father in photographs came into Harry’s mind but he squashed his unwanted sentimentality with the memory of his parent’s pleas for mercy as Voldemort killed them.

Harry quickly pulled a quill and parchment from his bag. With a steady hand he drafted a message detailing who Peter was and warning them of his animagus abilities. After signing his name he stood and began to creep closer to the cottage. A large, rounded stone shone dull white in the moonlight. He hefted it, checked its weight in his hand then slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.

When Harry was within a few meters of the cottage’s front steps he revealed himself. “So, Peter, we meet again,” he said as he pointed his wand at Peter’s heart.

Petegrew stood quickly, dropping the pipe. “H-H-Harry!” he bleated.

Harry’s mask like expression curled into a snarl. “Don’t you ever use my name, traitor!” He mastered himself quickly and said, “Let’s go inside.” Indicating the door with a terse nod he stepped behind Petegrew and jabbed his wand viciously into his neck as they entered the cottage together. “Over by the fireplace. Now.”

Before Peter could formulate a plan Harry hit him in the back of the head with the stone. Using a bit of wire scavenged from the muggle floor lamp he lashed the man’s hands together behind his back. He quickly stuffed the parchment in Peter’s front pocket and grabbed the floo powder. “Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office,” he called as he threw in the powder then forced Petegrew’s limp body in after it. As the death eater disappeared in a rush of green flames Harry spun and raced out the front door. He knew he had only seconds before the place was lousy with aurors.

The bike fired on the first try and he leaned low over the handlebars as the sound of apparating warned him that the ministry had arrived. He heard the shouted curses over the roar of the engine and felt the sizzle of spells around him. A hasty shield charm blocked most of them but it was the speed of the bike that saved him.

For hours he fled, turning randomly in a frantic effort to put distance between him and the aurors. As the sun neared the horizon he stopped, exhausted and emotionally drained. A few hexes had partially penetrated his shield and he ached all over from the damage they had wrought on his body.

After pulling the bike into the trees he set up his tent well back from the road. Collapsing into his cot he finally allowed the suppressed emotions to come forth. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks as the anger and fear overcame him. Waves of horror had him trembling as he allowed himself to contemplate what could have happened had Peter been able to turn the tables. His stomach heaved when he pictured the bloody wound he had inflicted on the man.

Feeling more alone and vulnerable than he had ever been in his life he cowered, wishing with all his heart for the company of his friends. Mercifully, fatigue soon pulled him from his misery into the calming darkness of sleep. He managed a few hours of rest before Voldemort’s anger seeped into his head and he was jerked awake by another nightmare.

oOoOoOoOo

Mr. Weasley stumbled from the floo looking highly distressed. The table was full as all who were staying at headquarters were sitting down to dinner. “Arthur! You’re home,” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. A closer look at her husband prompted her to ask, “What’s wrong, dear?”

Mr. Weasley sat at his customary place at the head of the table and ran his fingers through his thinning red hair. As everyone eyed him apprehensively he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a blast. Hesitantly he began to speak. “It’s...” He paused and drew a crumpled parchment from his pocket. Handing it to Ron he said, “Do you recognize this handwriting, son?”

Ron took the proffered parchment and immediately said, “Looks like Harry’s scrawl. Where’d you...” His voice trailed off as he read the letter. His face paled and his voice shook as he asked, “Is this true?”

Mr. Weasley nodded and addressed the rest of the table. “Today Peter Petegrew came through the floo into Shacklebolt’s office. He was unconcious and bound and that note was in his pocket.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “Kinglsey and several others traced his path back through the floo but they were unable to stop the boy.”

Hermione, who had read the letter and was looking as pale as Ron, spoke up. “Is Harry alright? How did they try to stop him?”

“They tried to hex him,” Mr. Weasley said heavily. “He generated a shield that seemed to stop everything they threw at him so I suppose he is alright. Unless he uses magic again we can’t track him.” Molly let out a sob and walked out daubing at her eyes.

Severus stood and without a word he apparated out of the room. Tonks looked at the space he had formerly occupied then back at Mr. Weasley. “What’s gotten into him?” she asked.

He shrugged tiredly. “Who can say with Severus. Perhaps he is checking with some of the DE to see what he can find out about the boy.” Arthur began to tuck into his dinner and the others followed suit. “Luckily it was Kingsley who found the note. He’ll keep Harry’s involvement out of the auror’s reports and hopefully out of the Prophet.” The only sound was the clinking of silverware against the china as the others mulled over this latest information and silently prayed for Harry’s safe return.

Tonks broke the silence with a snort. When the others looked at her for clarification she said, “Well, my boss, Auror Forthwraite, told me what happened at St. Mungo’s when Severus showed up to fetch Harry.” She paused dramatically to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “I guess he went ballistic when they informed him that Harry had left in the night. Nearly hexed the poor secretary who gave him the news.” She snickered a little and said, “I almost hope he doesn’t find Harry. He’ll probably use an Unforgivable before the poor kid has a chance to say anything.” Her mirth was soon extinguished when she saw that the others did not share her sense of humor.

As soon as dinner was over Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand and dragged him upstairs to talk. As soon as they settled on Ron’s bed Hermione began to talk excitedly. “What do you think, Ron? How did he escape? Where could he be?”

Ron held up his hands to stop the flow of questions. “I don’t know, Hermione. Maybe he flew on his firebolt.”

“No, they’d be able to trace him if he was flying, Ron.”

Ron wrinkled his brow. “How would they be able to trace him if he flew?”

“It’s the wizard’s magic that powers the broom.” When Ron still looked confused she elaborated. “Just like the ministry can trace underage magic they can trace anyone’s magic if they want to.” Ron nodded to indicate that he understood that. “So a muggle can’t fly on a broom, right? So you can trace that magic you’re using to fly.”

“I never thought of that,” Ron admitted.

“I wonder if that’s part of why Harry flies so well. Because his magic is so strong, I mean,” Hermione mused.

Ron rolled his eyes and scowled.

“I can’t believe you’re actually jealous, Ron,” Hermione said. “Honestly! Would you want to trade places with him? At least you and I have some say in our futures, some choice. Harry is stuck...just stuck. It’s no wonder he’s run off.” She trailed off, waving her hands distractedly from her position on her back on the bed.

Ron stared at her a few moments before speaking. “So that’s how you see it? Like Harry’s on a one way street?” He frowned and leaned against the headboard. “I always figured he asked for it, brought it on himself a lot of the time.” His voice grew softer, contemplative. “But when you really look at it, he’s had no choice most of the time.”

Rising up on her elbows Hermione looked at him sadly and said, “Yeah. That’s how I see it.”

Ron gazed distractedly at the window then caught his breath in a gasp. Hermione looked at him sharply. “What is it, Ron?”

His lips curved into a wicked smile as his eyes remained on the window. “I think I know how our ‘Seeker friend’ is evading everyone.” He gave Hermione a sly look. “Take a look at that window, ‘Mione.” Hermione rolled over to look at the indicated window. Her sharp intake of breath made Ron’s smile deepen. “Looks like Harry left us his calling card.”

“How can you be sure that’s Harry’s doing?” she asked.

“When we write out Quidditch strategy we use symbols, different ones for each position. That circle with the wings indicates the seeker, see?” Hermione nodded. “Well, we were kidding around one day and Harry says, ‘I’ll fix this up so you’ll know it’s me,’ and he drew a lightning bolt on it. Just like the one on the window there.”

“So how does that tell you how Harry is getting around?”

Ron gave her a superior look, obviously pleased to be the one to have figured something out for once. “Harry and I always figured that Sirius’ motorbike had to be here at Grimmauld Place. I’m betting he came here, probably the night he escaped from St. Mungos, and took the bike.” He smiled fondly as he gazed at the sketch. “Couldn’t resist a prank, the prat.”

“So why come all the way to your window but not come in and speak to you?”

“Well, if your theory about his reasons for running is correct then he wouldn’t have wanted to ‘endanger’ me by revealing himself, would he?” Ron twisted his lips into a scowl. “I’ll going to give him such a thumping when we catch up with him,” he growled. Unable to maintain his displeasure Ron broke into a grin. “Bet he was laughing like a lunatic when he left that there. The twins are definitely affecting him.” Ron held out his hand and drew Hermione up next to him in a comfortable embrace as they basked in the momentary relief afforded by this ‘message’ from their missing friend.

As the days passed without any more sighting of the Boy-Who-Lived life at headquarters reluctantly returned to normal. Snape took his leave of the place for a much anticipated chance to ride the hunt. His foul mood had not improved as the search for Harry continued to come up empty and Dumbledore insisted that he take the chance for some pleasant distraction.

He apperated, appearing near the entrance to the farm, and waved his wand to create the glamour he used when he rode. After transfiguring his robes into boots and breeches he was ready. Snape enjoyed a quiet walk up the treelined drive then he spotted his host, Sidney, who was busily organizing the riders. The man caught sight of him and waved him over.

“How are you today, Mr. Smythe?” he asked with a welcoming smile and handshake.

“Quite well, thank you,” replied Snape levelly. He immediately dropped the man’s hand, hating the muggle custom of contact between mere acquaintances.

A stable lad walked up leading a chestnut gelding. Sidney thanked him and took the lead. “Johnny will be your mount today. He’s a real goer, I think you’ll like him,” he said as he handed Snape the reins. “We’re just about ready to go. Will you need anything?” he asked.

“No, thank you. I am prepared to go whenever the rest of the group are assembled.” Snape eyed the horse. It was well groomed and in good weight. The horse shifted his feet, obviously eager to be off. Snape smiled in anticipation. He could always rely on Sidney to provide him with a good mount for the hunt.

Sidney strode away, shouting to one of the stable lads. He was back in a few moments with his own horse, a glistening bay. A young man followed him, leading a thin, nervous looking gray. “A client asked me to have Ian here ride her horse today. Iron out a few problems if you will. Do you mind if he joins us? He’s a bit young but a competent rider.”

Snape shrugged. “I have no problem with that.” Sidney clapped him on the shoulder and turned back to the stable lad.

“There’s a jacket you can wear in the tack room, lad. Grab a helmet too.” Snape nearly fainted when he caught sight of the boy’s face. The hair was longer and he was much more tanned than the last time he had seen him but it was definitely Harry Potter. The brat couldn’t possibly know how to ride! He had seen enough of the boy’s memories to know there were no expensive equitation lessons in his past. With a curse he resigned himself to babysitting a bumbling novice throughout the hunt.

“Blast that boy! Trust him to show up and spoil my one day of relaxation!” Snape continued to mutter under his breath as the rest of the party mounted up and they walked their mounts out of the yard. Snape glanced at Potter and was surprised to see him competently guiding his horse into the field. Refusing to believe that the boy could ride Snape waited impatiently for the problems to begin.

Hours later Snape was forced to admit that the boy had ridden well. His mount had balked at several obstacles but Harry calmly but firmly convinced the horse to jump. Using the whip sparingly and praising copiously, the young wizard negotiated the ride like a professional. By the end of the day the horse was jumping willingly and the boy was obviously enjoying the ride on a quality animal.

As they walked back to the barn the group was chatting excitedly about the ride and basking in the afterglow of an exciting hunt. Snape was thinking of ways to find out how Potter had learned to ride after he dragged his arse back to headquarters and put the fear of Snape into him. He smiled in anticipation of the look of fear he would generate on the whelp’s insolent face.

The burning of the dark mark on his arm brought him abruptly out of his reverie. A glance at the boy confirmed that he had felt it too. Harry had his left hand pressed to his forehead as he continued to guide his mount with his right hand on the reins. As they dismounted in the yard Snape heard the boy explaining to Sidney that he was feeling unwell. The stable manager took the reins from Potter and excused him for the rest of the day. Impatient to leave as well, Snape handed his horse to a stable lad and after a courteous thank you to Sidney he stalked away. Once out of sight he apparated to the meeting.

After enduring hours of watching the dark lord punish and berate his followers Snape apparated back to where he had last seen Potter. Voldemort was still livid over Wormtail’s arrest and he was venting his anger that none of his minions had captured Potter. He was feeling immensely relieved to have escaped the crutiartis curse himself.

After casting a disillusionment spell Snape skulked about the yard until he found the tack room. The helmet Potter had worn hung on a peg and the potion master ran his hand around the inside of it. With a smirk he came away with a single, dark hair. Pulling out his wand Snape muttered, “Point me,” while keeping a clear picture of the boy in his mind and holding the hair against the wand. The wand obligingly pointed in direction the boy had taken.

It took some time but Snape managed to track the brat down. He stalked into Potter’s campsite, wand out. The camp appeared deserted. A small fire burned in the center and a cup of tea sat cooling nearby. Snape used his boot to prod a pile of blankets that obviously served as a bed. It was empty. Cursing under his breath, the potions master spun slowly with his wand out defensively.

A soft cough brought him around to face a tree stump that stood just outside the fire’s dim circle of illumination. Snape looked around twitchily for the source of the noise. With sudden inspiration he barked, “Accio cloak,” and a silvery mass of cloth jumped into his extended hand from the direction of the stump.

Harry looked up from his seat on the ground. He glared at Snape from beneath his fringe then coughed and swallowed with a grimace. His right hand held his wand but he lowered it from its initial position of pointing at Snape’s heart. Then, with uncharacteristic venom, he began to systematically insult Snape.

“So, what brings you out here, Snivillus? Better fly on home before your master misses you.” When this got no response he continued. “Looking for something to torture? Probably have more luck finding muggles in London. Better try there. Shove off!” Snape continued to stare at him menacingly as he sorted through his observations. Something just didn’t fit. The boy hadn’t risen to his feet when he thought he was about to duel with an enemy. The single cup of tea sat cooling by the fire, untouched. He mused over these seemingly unrelated facts and tried to find the link as he stared into the boy’s mutinous face.

Another aborted cough with a wince and then another insult, “So don’t you have some potions at home that need to be tended to? I think I hear your mum calling you, better dash on back to the bat cave!”

A faint odor, vaguely metallic, teased Snape’s senses. Then he saw the sweat beading on Potter’s face and the trembling of his wand hand and he knew. As clearly as if he had shouted legilemens and ripped the information from the brat’s mind, he knew. The boy was in pain, probably too hurt to even stand and get the tea he had poured before collapsing against the tree trunk that now supported him. He inventoried the shaking limbs, lack of visible injuries, and the pale, sweaty face and concluded that it looked like multiple cruciartis.

He pondered this information as he sneered automatically at the boy’s next slur. Another shot of insight provided him with the realization that the insults, so out of character for the boy, were a desperate attempt to get him to leave.

“What’s wrong, Snivillus? Can’t decide what to do without Voldemort pulling your strings?” Harry sneered up at him in a fair imitation of the Malfoy leer. It looked vaguely disturbing on his normally benign countenance.

Moving swiftly, Snape knelt in front of Harry. He noticed with satisfaction that the boy involuntarily moved back hard against the stump. Glaring into the boy’s startled eyes he said softly, “You can’t even stand, can you, Potter?”

Harry winced away from his gaze then shouted, “Shove off!” as he pushed weakly against Snape’s shoulders. This outburst elicited another cough, which Harry could not suppress. He held his forearm over his mouth as he wheezed and hacked. When he finally managed to stop he pulled the arm away and looked up blearily. His face was even paler and his eyes were unfocused. “I just need to sleep this off,” Harry muttered thickly. He let his head lean back against the trunk and closed his eyes wearily. “Go away, Snape.” The whispered words were laced with a strong scent of blood.

“How did this happen, Potter?” Snape demanded.

Harry smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Grinding his teeth with impatience Snape snarled, “Do not play your games with me. How is it that you are suffering from the crutiartis curse when all the dark lord’s followers were at his side?”

A burst of coughing shook the boy then he swallowed and said, “Yeah, Snape. I saw your greasy head there too. You managed to steer clear of curses tonight.” When the potion master looked disbelieving Harry continued. “My visions. You’ve heard of them, right? Well if there’s enough energy behind the curses they seem to rebound back on me.” Swallowing another cough he bit out, “Fucking great, isn’t it?” He smiled fiercely with bloody teeth then leaned back against the stump with his eyes sliding shut.

“I have to take you back to headquarters, boy,” said Snape.

Harry’s eyes focused momentarily on the potion’s master. “Don’ call me boy.” He attempted to rise but only managed to start another coughing fit. “I’m my own guardian now,” he slurred.

For a moment Snape considered his options then he grasped Potter’s jumper and pulled the boy to his feet as he rose from his crouch. The boy struggled weakly trying to push the older man away. With a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation Snape conjured ropes to bind Harry’s wrists behind his back.

Snape looked into the boy’s eyes and said, “You will go with me for treatment of your injuries. If you stay here you will surely die from internal bleeding or suffer permanent nerve damage.” Potter swayed slightly but seemed incapable of further speech. With a growl of impatience Snape enveloped the boy in his cloak and clasped him to his chest. He pulled a port key from his pocket and they were transported immediately to the kitchen in Grimmauld Place. Snape pushed Harry into one of the chairs surrounding the table.

“Accio potions,” muttered Snape, and two vials sailed through the door and smacked softly into his outstretched hand. He turned to Harry and said, “You need to take these immediately, before you suffer permanent damage from the curses.”

Harry eyed the potions and shook his head. “First rule for being Harry Potter, don’t take any potions Snape offers you.” His head wobbled drunkenly and his gaze was unfocused.

“Take it, it will stop the bleeding in your lungs.”

“Gotta go.” The boy tried to rise. Snape put a hand on his shoulder and forced him back into the chair. With one hand he grabbed Harry’s hair and forced his head back. With the other he raised one of the vials to his mouth and removed the stopper with his teeth. Swift as a snitch, he dumped the contents into Harry’s gasping mouth and, tossing the vial aside, he clamped the boy’s mouth shut and covered his nose at the same time. It happened so fast Harry swallowed the potion before he realized what was going on. Snape released him and he pitched forward onto the table, gagging on the bitter taste.

“You have one more to take. Do you want it the hard way?” Snape looked at him grimly. At this point Harry couldn’t form a coherent thought. He shrugged off Snape’s hands and tried to rise from the chair. The older wizard easily forced him to remain seated.

“Last chance, Potter.” He held the remaining vial in front of Harry’s face. The boy jerked his face as far to the side as he could, jaws clamped shut. Snape looked into his eyes and saw nothing but panic. With a sneer Snape grabbed Harry’s hair and quickly forced his head forward, banging his forehead roughly on the table. The boy’s mouth opened to cry out in protest and Snape forced his head back again and dumped in the second potion. He held Harry’s mouth and nose until he was forced to swallow.

As the boy choked and gagged Snape dragged him to his feet. With a flick of his wand he eliminated the rope binding Potter’s hands and pulled him, more than half supporting his weight, toward the door. He glanced up as they exited the kitchen and saw the Granger girl standing in a corner. She was motionless and silent, obviously stunned by what she had witnessed. With a silent snarl he ushered the boy from the room without a backward glance. When they reached an empty bedroom the boy fell forward onto the bed and before he could protest the elder wizard commanded, “Sleep.” As Harry succumbed to the spell Snape turned and exited the room.

As he strode toward his rooms, Snape reviewed the events of the evening. Had Potter not been found the boy would have died that night but now the brat should recover quickly and completely. Unfortunately that combination and strength of potions was guaranteed to cause the drinker to become violently ill in about 20 minutes. By that time the healing effects would already be completed so it would not negate the benefit of ingesting them but it would not be pleasant.

Snape scowled as he thought of what was to come. He threw his cloak on his bed and considered changing his clothes but decided to wait. The upcoming scene would not be conducive to staying clean. With a resigned sigh he headed back to Harry’s chamber.

Potter lay sprawled on the bed in much the same position he had been left in. Snape sat down in the chair next to the bed to wait. It wasn’t long before Harry began to groan and twisted up into a ball, clutching his stomach. Sweating and trembling he pressed his face into the pillow to muffle his moans. Severus was vaguely disturbed that the boy would seek to hide his distress even when he was in such condition.

The potions master stood and moved beside the bed. He summoned a bucket and as the boy began to retch he held it before him and rubbed his shoulders as he vigorously lost his lunch. When the sickness had passed he helped him rinse his mouth and wiped his lips. As Harry sank back into unconsciousness Snape heard him whisper, “Thanks.” Snape scowled at that and stood up quickly to leave. He cast an unbreakable charm on the windows and then a locking charm on the whole room as he left. Before taking to his own bed he returned to the campsite and retrieved Potter’s belongings.

It was very early. Snape was finishing dressing when he heard a bang from Harry’s room. He immediately went to the door and entered after negating the locking spell. As he came into the room Harry, who was attempting to pry the window open with a poker from the fireplace, spun around to face him.

“Let me out of here,” Harry spat. He looked strangely feral, not like his standard jovial, Gryffindorish self. The usual look of trust was replaced by one of suspicion and wariness. He glared at Snape through eyes that seemed unnaturally wide in his dirt streaked face. Blood dripped from a large cut on his right hand and several scarlet handprints decorated the window panes.

“You’ve cut your hand, Potter. Let me see it.” Snape started to advance on the boy. Potter immediately went into a defensive crouch.

“Stay back,” he ordered, brandishing the poker. His eyes flicked around the room, searching for an escape route. His gaze returned to Snape and he spoke again. “What did you say to me at the end of our last occlumency lesson?”

“What are you babbling about now Potter? Put down the poker and let me heal that cut on your hand.” He pulled out his wand and took another step toward the boy. Potter suddenly pointed his finger, still dripping blood, at Snape.

“Answer the question!” he barked.

“Watch your tone with me, Potter.”

“Expelliarmus!” shouted the young man, still pointing the bleeding digit. Snape’s wand flew from his hand to Harry’s. Harry swayed slightly then pulled himself upright with determination. He pointed the wand at its owner and smiled grimly at Snape’s thunderstruck expression. “Not bad for a wizard with no exceptional ability, eh Snape? Maybe fame is everything. Now, answer the question.”

“Potter, give me my wand and I may consider letting you live to see your sixth year.”

oOoOoOoOo

“I gave you two chances.” Harry’s lips thinned with resolve and he swung the wand in a smooth arc while he barked, “Petrificus totalis.”

Snape’s body stiffened and he fell to the floor with a loud thud. Harry staggered to the open door and muttered, “Accio wand.” His wand flew from the room across the hall and landed in his hand with a satisfying smack. With distaste Harry dropped Snape’s wand on the floor and continued toward the door. “Wonder where my bike is.... He looked in the room the wand had come from and found the motorcycle and his trunk sitting on the dresser, both miniaturized. “Cool.” He pocketed both and headed out again. He heard Snape stirring in the other room. “Shit!”

He broke into a shambling run and half tumbled down the stairs. He stood up at the bottom and looked across the room right at Hermione and Mrs. Weasley. They were both staring at him open mouthed with shock. He bared his teeth in an attempt at a reassuring grin then he turned to continue his escape.

He kept going at best possible speed but the events of the previous evening coupled with the wandless magic were taking their toll. He stumbled to his knees just as a curse shot over his head. He looked back and saw Snape standing at the top of the stair and pointing his wand at him with a murderous expression. His heart thundered in his chest as he struggled to his feet and ran in a zigzag pattern toward the front door. A lucky curse from Snape’s wand finally brought him down. It glanced off his left shoulder and he fell to the ground with a startled yelp. Still conscious but dazed, he tried to rise.

Suddenly, the twins apparated into the middle of the fray. Hermione broke free from her daze and pointed up at Snape. “Bludger!” she shouted. The twins took one look at the situation and grinned. Simultaneously they reached into their pockets, extracted a handful of pellets and slung them toward Snape. A dense wall of smoke immediately formed and Snape was hidden from view. He could be heard coughing and cursing but the hexes had stopped.

Harry made it to his feet, bleeding from the wound on his shoulder and unable to lift his arm. He grinned fiercely at the twins and Hermione. “Thanks, I needed a little interference there,” he rasped as he reached into his pocket and drew out the miniature motorbike. Setting it on the floor he stepped back, waved his hand at it and muttered, “Finite incantatum.” The bike immediately regained its full size.

Harry jumped on and kicked the starter. With a roar the bike came alive. The young wizard pointed his finger at the door and shouted, “Alohamora!” As he gunned the engine he saw Fred mouth, “Nice one,” at Hermione then apparate away with George at his side. Seconds later he was bouncing down the front steps and speeding away in the early morning fog.

Hermione watched Harry ride out the front door. The door swung shut with a loud click. She stood completely still and listened to the fading sound of the bike accelerating away from the house. Inside it was quiet enough to hear the final dispirited hissing of the dying smoke bombs. She wondered idly why Harry was wearing riding boots and breeches.

With a rustle of robes Snape was beside her, his wand quivering slightly as he stared at her with barely contained fury. She felt the power radiating off him as he caught her eyes then she staggered as memories were drawn painfully from her. She stepped back and broke eye contact with a shriek of fury. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

Snape snarled. Obviously restraining himself from hexing her he lowered his wand and turned away. He paced away a few steps then turned back toward her, shoulders bunched with emotion. “What were you thinking, Granger,” he said silkily. “Did you really believe that Potter was better off out there than in here?”

Hermione cringed. “He looked terrified. I wanted to help him,” she stated firmly. She stared at his chin, not wanting to be legilimized again. The thought that Harry had endured that over and over made her nauseated. Reeling from the shock of seeing her friend’s terrified flight and from the violation of the spell she shifted backward and sunk down onto the sofa. She dropped her head into her hands and allowed the distress of what had happened roll over her. Shakily she repeated, “I just wanted to help him.” She looked at him accusingly. “You hurt him last night.”

“Bah!” Snape shouted. “This is unbelievable!” Snape grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.

Molly stopped him with a shouted, “Severus! What are you doing?”

Snape snarled, “Damage control.” Still gripping her arm he propelled her out the front door and pulled her close by both forearms. The door slammed shut, blocking out Molly’s worried gaze. With his face inches from hers he ground out, “Are you aware of what is at stake here?”

She looked up at him in confusion.

“Obviously not.” He gave her a small shake of annoyance. “Think, girl! What makes one, undersized Gryffindor so important to this war?” At her continued look of bewilderment he hissed, “Must I spell it out for you?” He gripped her a little tighter and continued. “Fine. The prophesy that was lost at the Department of Mysteries wasn’t lost. The Headmaster showed it to me.” He paused and seemed to take her measure before continuing. “It says that our Mr. Potter is the only one who can defeat the Dark Lord. And now he is out there alone again with every dark wizard in Britain trying to kill him.”

Hermione stared up at Snape, her mind whirling as she processed what she had been told. As the information gelled in her mind her hands came up and pressed against her lips. “No,” she whispered.

“Oh yes, Miss Granger. What you observed last night was me preventing Mr. Potter from suffering permanent nerve damage from multiple exposures to the cruciartis curse.”

“Oh no,” she whispered again, her voice cracking.

“Yes. Now I must go and see if I can find him again before the Dark Lord does.” He stepped away from her and apparated. Hermione bit her lip to hold back a sob. Unsteadily she turned and went back inside the house.

“Hermione?”

Startled, she looked up. Ron had come down the stairs and stood before her with a worried expression. His hair still tousled from sleep he held his wand in front of him and looked around at the still smoky room. Molly had gone into the kitchen and they could hear her talking agitatedly into the fireplace. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Oh, Ron!” she said unevenly. Instinctively he sat on the couch and pulled her down beside him, clasping her cold hand in his warm one.

“What happened, Mione? Are you all right?” His worried expression only made her feel worse. Tears gathered in her eyes as she gripped his comforting hand. She rubbed at her eyes with her free hand and looked up at the ceiling defensively. Ron searched her face anxiously. “What is it?” he asked frantically.

Haltingly she described what she had witnessed the night before in the kitchen. Ron looked horrified, face stiff with shock. “That’s horrible,” Ron gasped. “We’ve got to go and see how he is.” He started to stand but she pulled him back down to the couch.

“That’s not all that happened, Ron,” she said nervously. She was really worried about how Ron would react to this next bit. His expression of concern bolstered her confidence and she continued. “Harry escaped from Snape this morning,” she said slowly, still trying to work out what had happened in her own mind. “I’m not sure exactly how,” she said quickly before Ron could interrupt her. “But he came running down the stairs, falling actually, as if a basilisk were after him.” Ron stared at her silently.

“He was being chased by Snape who was throwing hexes at him.” She swallowed, reliving the shock and fear of witnessing Harry’s flight. “Harry was dodging like crazy, you know how quick he is.” Ron smiled slightly at that. “Anyway, Snape finally clipped him with something and he went down.” Ron’s smile vanished, replaced with a grimace of sympathy. “Ron, you should have seen his expression, he was terrified. Then the twins apparated in.” Ron’s eyebrows shot up at this.

“The twins were here?” he breathed. “That explains the smoke, anyway.”

Hermione continued. “All I could think of was that I had to help Harry.” She looked beseechingly at Ron. He squeezed her hand again.

“Just tell me Hermione. I’ll understand, I swear.”

She took a breath and continued on the strength of that promise. She described Harry’s escape and her role in inciting the twins to help him. Her eyes already begging for his forgiveness, she finished by saying, “He unshrunk the bike, jumped on it, waved the door open and rode away.” Now she looked away, staring at the wall blankly. “He just rode away.”

Her eyes found Ron again as she continued. “Have you ever thought about the third task? Really thought about how it must have been for Harry?” Ron looked away and hunched his shoulders. He nodded shortly, his arms crossed across his chest tightly. Hermione continued, “I’ve thought about it, pictured it, more times than I want to recall. And I always wish,” her eyes found his, “that I could have been there to help him.” Ron nodded again. “When I saw him running, dodging hexes, it was like I was seeing the third task. I couldn’t help it, I had to help him.”

Ron moved closer to Hermione and reached out with one long arm. He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly to his chest. Sobs shook her body as she pressed against him. He rubbed comforting circles on her back, waiting patiently for her to calm herself. As the sobs subsided she sat back slightly and said unsteadily. “There’s more, Ron.”

“Blimey, Hermione, what else could there be?”

She smiled slightly. “Language, Weasley,” she teased gently. Ron smiled, happy to see her regaining her composure. The smile was short lived, however. “Snape told me something just before he left.”

“Snape told you something? That git! Whatever he told you is probably a lie or at best a half truth. Don’t let him upset you, ‘Mione.”

“I don’t think this was a lie, Ron. It makes too much sense.” She sniffled a little and rubbed at her eyes. “It explains a lot,” she said and then trailed off.

Ron waited for a few moments but when she did not continue he said gently, “Earth to Hermione. How about filling us mere mortals in on the details?”

Hermione gave him a smirk, which was of course exactly what he had been trying to achieve. “He said that the prophesy wasn’t lost after all. Dumbledore knew the contents and he told Snape.” She looked at Ron with entreaty. “Harry is the only one with the power to kill Voldemort.” She ignored Ron’s involuntary shudder at the name. “And I helped him to run off again. Now he’s out there alone with every Death Eater in the country after him! Oh Ron, how could I have been so stupid?” Tears began to leak out again, making fresh tracks down her already reddened cheeks.

Ron sat silently, taking in this information. After a few moments he spoke. “Harry is the only one who can kill You-Know-Who? Our Harry?” Hermione nodded. Ron took a deep breath and then blew it out noisily while he stared straight ahead. “Wow.” Then he turned back to Hermione. “So how were you supposed to know this ahead of time and know not to help him escape?”

The silence following this statement stretched out for several seconds. Hermione sniffed. “I should have figured it out, Ron,” she said brokenly. “It’s as plain as a troll in the dungeon. I should have known.” Ron looked at her with a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Hermione dropped her head into her hands.

“Hermione.” She kept her head down. “Hermione,” he repeated. She finally looked up. “There’s no way you could have known.” He rubbed her shoulders. “Give yourself a break. You. Could. Not. Have. Known.” He threw his arm around her and gave her the comfort of his closeness.

After a few moments Hermione sniffed and spoke, her voice muffled in Ron’s pajamas. “We need to tell the order what we have figured out about Harry. Maybe it’ll help them find him before anything happens to him.” Ron nodded reluctantly.

“It seems like a bit of a betrayal, doesn’t it?” he said slowly. “I mean, it’s like we’re letting them in on Harry’s private stuff.”

“We’ve got to try to help, Ron,” Hermione said thickly. She pulled herself away from him and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to get my notes,” she said. Ron nodded again and headed for the kitchen.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry drove for hours, trying to put distance between him and the order. Not long after he started the skies opened up and it rained intermittently throughout the day. It was getting dark when he realized he was shivering and tiring badly. After the initial pain and shock had worn off he was able to use his left arm but as the hours passed it had gotten steadily worse. By the end of the day he was reduced to trying to synchronize the gears by listening to the engine instead of using the clutch. He sent a silent apology to Sirius for treating his bike poorly.

He pulled off the road and parked the bike. As he huddled next to it, trying to get some shelter from the rain, he wished fervently that he could return to the comfort of Sean’s loft. Feeling quite weak and shivery he nearly cried with relief when Hedwig landed on his shoulder. “Hedwig! How’d you find me?” He stroked her feathers softly with shaky fingers. “Things aren’t going so good right now, I don’t have any owl treats for you.” The owl affectionately nibbled on his earlobe. “You’re a good girl, Hedwig.” More nibbling. “What should I do? This is looking a little bleak.”

After one more nip the owl hopped down and then took to the air. Harry watched her flight, feeling deserted. “I guess no owl treats means no owl,” he muttered. Moving slowly, he pushed into the forest a few feet then settled down against a tree. Too tired to set up his tent he let his head rest against the trunk of a tree as he cradled his injured arm. He closed his eyes and tried to ride out the rising pain.

oOoOoOoOo

“You can’t be serious, Albus,” Snape said harshly. “Of all the people you have at your disposal, I am quite possibly the worst choice.” He stood abruptly and made a denying gesture with his hand, slicing it sharply through the air as if to cut himself off from the offending notion. Spending the day fruitlessly searching for the maddening whelp had done nothing to improve the potion master’s already foul disposition.

“Severus,” Albu intoned. “Calm yourself. We are merely suggesting that you try to do as Ms. Granger asked. You have to admit that you fit the profile most precisely.” The old wizard’s eyes twinkled and the barest hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “I think it sounds like an excellent solution.” The smile fought with Dumbledore’s usual benign expression but only found an outlet in his madly sparkling eyes.

Snape snarled and whirled toward the door. “I have to deliver the wolfsbane potion to your tame werewolf,” he said abruptly. “Another of your rescue jobs, Albus.” He slammed the door behind him, cutting off any further comment. His boots rang satisfyingly against the floor as he made his way to his small laboratory. The flagon of potion leapt into his hand at his terse, “Accio potion,” and as soon as he had walked outside the wards on his lab he disapperated.

Reappearing at the walkway to Remus’ cottage he paused to think. The Granger girl had researched her topic well he had to admit. “As if the know-it-all had ever NOT researched something thoroughly,” he snorted. It made sense that Potter would be damaged by the treatment he had received from his obnoxious muggle relatives. It also made sense that the damage would be compounded by the tragic (here Severus snorted again) death of his godfather. It did not make sense to think that he, Snape, would be the ideal person to disabuse Potter of his feelings of worthlessness.

“Harry will believe it from you, Professor,” he said aloud in a mocking, singsong voice. “He knows you would never lie to spare his feelings.” He switched back to his normal tone. “Bah! Let one of his obnoxious fan club be the one to rescue Potter from the depths of despair,” he muttered as he strode to the front door of the cottage. The door opened as he neared and Remus stood in the opening, silhouetted by the light from inside. Snape involuntarily flinched at the sight of the werewolf and steeled himself harshly to show no further emotion.

“Severus,” Remus said softly. “I thought perhaps you had forgotten me.” The werewolf smiled shakily and stood aside to allow Snape to enter. As he walked slowly behind the debilitated wizard he was struck by how Remus’ lycantrophy truly handicapped him. The knowledge made him even more leery of being so close to the werewolf this near to the full moon. In a matter of hours the man in front of him would be transformed into a slathering beast, capable of unspeakable violence. Snape firmly suppressed his shiver of fear and followed Remus, a mask of distaste securely in place on his features.

“I do not forget,” Snape said scathingly.

They sat at the kitchen table and Remus said tiredly, “I’m well aware of that, Severus.”

Hedwig winged her way swiftly through the darkening sky. After a short time she glided through an open window at Remus Lupin’s cottage and landed on the table in front of the two wizards seated there. Remus recognized her immediately and cried, “Hedwig!” She immediately stepped over to him and hooted with distress. He looked at his companion and said, “She’ll know where Harry is.”

“Clearly. Now, take the wolfsbane.”

Remus gave him a feral glare but complied with the order.

“Good. I’ll see if the bird can lead me to the brat.”

Remus sighed dejectedly and ran his fingers through his hair. “Damn this curse! Harry must be in trouble if Hedwig is here like this. Of all the nights to be a full moon!” He pounded the table with his fist and swore loudly. The other wizard sneered and stood up from the table. Remus looked up at him and growled, “Try not to be a total bastard, Severus.” He changed his expression to one of entreaty. “The boy is suffering.”

Severus snorted and moved toward the door. “So I’ve been told.” When he opened the door the owl flew out so he grabbed a broom from the umbrella stand and followed with his characteristic flare. Remus bolted it behind him then added a locking charm. The werewolf returned to the table and sat down with his face in his hands waiting for the moon to rise.

oOoOoOoOo

Severus followed the bird for a few miles to a stand of trees. The motorbike was parked nearby. Hedwig landed on the handlebars and eyed him expectantly. Potter was nowhere in sight but an obvious trail of broken branches and crushed underbrush led off to the right. Muttering under his breath, Severus moved toward the trail. He was preparing a suitably scathing comment for the moment of discovery when the sickening feeling of a wand pressing against his neck stopped him.

“Now, I ask you again, Professor, what did you say to me at the end of our last Occlumency lesson?” Potter’s voice was heavy with malice and the wand jabbed uncomfortably into his neck, just under his jaw.

“I told you to get out and I never wanted to see you in my office again. Satisfied?” Snape slowly turned to face his attacker, the wand still imbedded in his jugular. The boy looked rather the worse for wear. His clothes were wet and the blood from their earlier meeting adorned his face and hands. Leaves were stuck in his unruly hair and his face was pale and drawn with pain. The hand holding the wand at his throat quivered.

Potter lowered the wand but kept it pointed at his chest. Much to Snape’s surprise he let out a sharp bark of laughter. Breathing raggedly, Harry said, “Oi, Professor, what is Dumbledore paying you to make you so tenacious?” He paused to take in a full lungful of air. “I can’t believe you were able to find me again.”

Snape studied him a moment. The month had wrought some obvious changes in The Boy Who Lived. The increased height and musculature he had noticed before but now that they were facing each other across Potter’s wand Snape could see the subtle difference in the boy’s eyes. Previously he had seen nothing but anger and ridiculous Gryffindor courage in Potter’s expression but now those emotions were overshadowed. He looked... resigned.

“I require no monetary compensation to motivate me. The thought of the Dark Lord gaining control of the wizard world is more than enough incentive,” said Severus sarcastically. Potter was about to reply when a spasm of pain gripped him, causing his body to shake from the strain of staying erect. He somehow managed to keep his wand out but Snape doubted if he could have generated even a lumos charm at that moment.

“That was some ... hex, Professor. Doesn’t ...seem to be wearing off. Getting...worse if anything.” The boy finally succumbed to the pain and clutched his left shoulder, dropping his wand from its position of pointing at Snape’s heart. Breathing raggedly as he rode out the pain, Harry leaned against a nearby tree with his eyes clenched shut.

Snape sneered halfheartedly. When he and his friends had tried this spell at Hogwarts none had made it past the first hour. Harry was going on twelve hours now. It was remarkable that he was still able to function, let alone orchestrate the ambush he had just walked into. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that it was a testament to the boy’s strength, both magical and spiritual. “Your execution was good, Potter, but it seems I am still left with the upper hand.”

Harry opened his eyes and regarded his professor blearily. “So it would seem, Professor,” he slurred. He pushed away from the tree and stood, swaying, before Snape with his wand ready. “I won’t go back with you,” he said wearily. He looked exhausted and desperate. Green eyes shifted, looking for a means of escape.

“I will lift the curse, Potter.” Snape nearly laughed at the surprised look on his student’s face. Amusement was followed by disgust that the boy obviously expected nothing from him. “Do you think me so vindictive that I would not release you?” He scowled fiercely as his anger at the situation deepened. It was becoming apparent that Granger’s analysis was correct. ‘Damn it,’ he thought angrily, ‘McGonagall should be here, not me.’

Harry shrugged then cringed at the pain that produced. “I don’t know what to think about you, Professor.” He staggered a little then resumed his dueling stance. “What do I have to do to have the curse lifted?” he asked. It was obvious that the boy was rapidly reaching the end of his endurance. His legs were shaking and his eyes were beginning to loose focus.

Snape scowled at the second reference to payment. Obviously the oblivious idiot thought him to be a mercenary. Reminding himself that he did not care what this whelp thought of him Snape said, “The curse is called Recompesoria. It causes progressive paralysis and pain as long as the victim eludes the caster.”

Snape felt uneasy with this admission but maintained his neutral tone as Harry waited for the rest. His fury at being hexed by the boy had caused him to use a spell he would normally not consider. ‘The boy brought this on himself,’ he thought defensively, ‘I will not apologize.’ “I had intended to immobilize you and lift the curse immediately. Since you only received a partial hit you were able to keep going.” He gave Harry a grim look. “I can lift the curse but you will experience some pain. About half a minute for every hour you have been under the curse.”

Harry looked dismayed. “That’s at least 6 minutes. There’s no other way?”

Snape shook his head. “I had intended to lift it immediately and the result would have been negligible.” With a shrug he continued, “To attempt any other method will only prolong the curse.”

Harry looked at Snape levelly. “Is it worse than Cruciartis?”

Snape flinched minutely. “No.”

“Fine. Let’s get this over with, I’m tired.”

Pulling out his wand Snape stepped back and looked at Harry inquiringly. Harry straightened up shakily and looked at the wand with resignation. “Ready, Potter?”

“Yeah. Just do it.”

A quick wand flick and a muttered incantation and the spell was cast. Harry immediately fell to his knees, clutching his arm tightly. “Gods!” he gasped. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the ground, groaning softly through clenched teeth.

“Don’t ask me what I think of you now, sir,” Harry said breathlessly. He finished the statement with a sort of hysterical giggle that ended with a choked off sob. Clamping his hand over his mouth he pressed his face hard against the dirt to smother any further sounds. Sweat trickled down his scalp, plastering his hair to his forehead. Snape watched impassively as the boy struggled against the urge to cry out.

Finally it was over. Harry took a shuddering breath and sat back on his heels. His eyes were hazy and unfocused as he looked up at the older wizard. “Well,” he slurred, “that was fun. What’s next? Care to practice your cruciartis? I could give you my subjective opinion.” He toppled forward onto the grass and lay there, unconscious.

oOoOoOoOo

A ray of early morning sunshine fell across Harry’s face, awakening him. He looked around groggily, unsure of where he was. An unfamiliar room came into focus as he found his glasses and shoved them into place. As the memory of last night came back to him he sat up, his head throbbing unmercifully. He scrubbed he hands over his face and through his hair, leaving the locks even more disheveled than normal. Standing shakily, he surveyed the room. He was alone.

“Wand, where are you?” he whispered. He shuffled over to the fireplace and ran his hands over the mantle. “Not here,” he murmured. None of the tabletops in the room yielded any better results. Harry became more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by. “Damn. Gotta get out of here. Now.” He nervously ran his fingers through his hair for the tenth time in as many minutes as the need to escape escalated.

With a couple quick tilts of his head accompanied by satisfying popping sounds he straightened up and cleared his throat. “Accio wand,” he said clearly, with his hand outstretched. The strain of performing wandless magic forced him to his knees but the wand flew through a doorway and into his hand. Harry blew out a breath of air and muttered, “Gotcha,” as he stood.

Before he could take a step toward the door a growled, “Finite Incantatum” had him spinning around, wand outstretched. Snape appeared in the opposite doorway, dressed in his usual black robes with his arms crossed formidably across his chest.

“Trying to kill yourself, Potter? How ungrateful, after all the effort I have put into keeping you alive this summer,” he spat as he took a step in Harry’s direction.

Harry took a shaky step backward and leveled his wand at Snape’s heart. His eyes flicked around the room then stopped on Snape. “Where am I?” he asked, still unable to identify the building.

“You are in my home,” Snape replied levelly. “I brought you here after the effects of the counter curse rendered you unconscious.” Harry watched the older man and edged toward the door. It was getting hard to keep thinking of escape when his fatigue was so severe. He imagined himself back in Sean’s loft with the kitten sleeping on his chest. “When was the last time you ate, Potter?” Snape asked, bringing Harry’s wandering mind back to the present.

“Wha? Oh, I don’t know, I’ve been busy lately,” he said. With effort Harry managed to focus on the situation. He took a step toward the front door. “Where’s my bike?” he asked, trying to sound menacing.

“I left it where I found you,” Snape said smoothly. “You can’t expect me to worry about ridiculous muggle devices like that.”

Harry gave him an angry look. Desperate to escape the confines of the small cottage he asked, “What about my pack?”

“It is undoubtedly with the bike,” Snape replied. Harry took another step toward the door, beginning to droop with fatigue. “When was your last meal, boy?” Snape asked again.

Harry’s head snapped up and he locked eyes with Snape. “Don’t call me that,” he growled. “I’m not your boy, get it?” Unreasonable fury gripped him and he desperately tried to calm himself as his scar seared. Using all his self-control Harry managed to occlude his mind enough to stop the pain. His left hand scrubbed at his forehead and his right kept his wand trained on Snape as he moved unsteadily toward the door. As he reached for the knob Snape fired a spell at the door, sealing it shut. Harry shook the knob but it wouldn’t budge and Snape started toward him.

Operating on adrenaline, Harry spun back around and staggered over to a window. He grabbed a book off a nearby table and thrust it through the glass. Heedless of the flying shards he quickly knocked the remaining bits out of the frame and plunged one leg through the opening.

Snape reached him before he could get the rest of his body out the window. Choking in the potion master’s tight grip on his collar, Harry was pulled back into the room. With an angry swish of his wand Snape barked out, “Silencio,” followed by a binding curse. Harry found himself on the floor with his hands tied behind him and unable to speak. He sat glaring up at Snape and breathing hard, anger and pain deepening his respiration.

Snape took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself. After several heartbeats he said, “Now that I have your attention, Potter. When was the last time you ate anything?” Wanting nothing more than to wipe the smug look off his professor’s face, Harry began to incant a wandless curse but no sound escaped the silencing spell. “Now Potter, what would your mother think of you using language like that?” Hearing Snape mention his mother brought on another surge of anger with an accompanying twinge from his scar. Harry forced the rage out and tried to calm himself with steady breathing.

As Harry struggled to occlude his mind Snape grabbed his collar again and dragged him to his feet. Unprepared to stand, Harry sagged weakly and the older wizard had to catch him to prevent him from falling. Once he was balanced Harry shrugged off Snape’s support and stood unsupported but shaking like a leaf. With a tilt of his head Snape directed Harry to proceed into the kitchen.

oOoOoOo

After the boy was seated Snape turned to start the kettle. The calming smell of steeping tea started to permeate the small room as he turned back to his prisoner. Harry had his forehead on the table and was twisting his hands behind his back. Snape could see blood on his wrists. He snarled, “Cease,” and the hands stopped moving as Harry whipped his head around to look at Snape over his shoulder.

“Stop struggling, you imbecile. You cannot escape,” Snape growled. Harry regarded him belligerently over his shoulder for a moment then faced forward. He did not attempt to speak. Snape sighed and took a seat across from the captive wizard. He stared at him without speaking for several moments while the boy glared stonily back at him.

A variety of questions clamored to be asked but he was reluctant to do so. The boy was totally worked up and probing him with questions would be unproductive at best. He considered lifting the silencing spell to see if the brat would say anything enlightening or incriminating but decided it wasn’t worth listening to the inevitable whining. It seemed the best path to keep him confined and dump him on Dumbledore as soon as possible.

Finally he sighed again and spoke. “Widget,” he said in a neutral tone. Immediately a house elf appeared at his right elbow.

“Yes, Master Severus,” the elf said obsequiously.

“You will prepare a breakfast for Mr. Potter and feed it to him. You will not, under any circumstance, release him. After Mr. Potter has eaten you will stay here and ensure that he does not escape.” After a moment’s consideration he continued, this time looking at Harry as he addressed the elf. “If he does escape you will punish yourself, severely.” Harry gave him a look of pure loathing. With a triumphant sneer, Snape turned back to the elf. “Do you understand, Widget?”

“Yes, Master Severus,” the elf repeated. He immediately went to the stove and began preparing the meal.

“I shall return shortly, Mr. Potter. Professor Dumbledore will be most interested to hear of your exploits. Perhaps he will lock you in the dungeons for the remainder of the summer holiday.” The desperate look in Harry’s eyes and the boy’s burst of struggling confirmed that this was exactly what he was afraid of. Snape merely sneered and, with his trademark swirl of robes, left the room.

“Severus! How good of you to drop by. Would you care for tea?” said Dumbledore as Snape stepped out of his fireplace.

“Thank you, Headmaster. Tea would be most appreciated.”

“Severus, you know you can call me Albus. After all these years it should be easy enough for you to drop the formalities.”

Snape sighed and nodded. He took a sip of his tea and eyed the headmaster over the rim of his cup. Dumbledore said, “I can see that you have something important to share with me this morning, my dear boy. I hope it is not too troubling.”

The potion master gathered his thoughts and began. “I find myself in a rather unsettling position.” Dumbledore nodded and waited patiently for him to continue. “As you know, over the last twenty odd years, I have found myself in the …control, shall we say, of two very powerful wizards.” Albus made as if to speak and Snape cut him off. “It was my own doing and I do not blame you for my situation, Albus. But of late,” he said, “I find myself being maneuvered by a third, very powerful wizard.”

Dumbledore’s eyes widened slightly at this admission. He continued to wait for Severus’ explanation. “It is the Potter boy,” he began, and Dumbledore’s expression became even more avid. “As you know, I left headquarters last night to deliver Lupin’s potion. While he was drinking the potion an owl arrived. A white owl.” He could tell he had Dumbledore’s attention now as the man leaned forward slightly. “It carried no message but apparently intended to bring Lupin to the boy.” Snape smirked at the memory of Remus’ anxiety. “I managed to persuade the bird to lead me instead of the wolf and subsequently found him again.”

The smirk fled as he remembered the encounter. Snape struggled with his emotions for a moment, hating the guilt he felt for hexing the boy. In fifteen loathsome years of teaching he had never hurt a student in his care. With a reassuring pat on the knee, Dumbledore urged him to continue. “Just tell me, my boy. I’m sure you acted appropriately.”

Snape looked at the carpet with its swirling gold stars and huffed. “I evidently clipped him with a curse as he was escaping from headquarters. It was Recompensoria.” Dumbledore frowned but said nothing. “He had been under its influence for several hours and was beginning to …weaken.” The headmaster’s scowl caused him to flinch and stop speaking.

“Pray continue, Severus,” said Dumbledore coolly.

“I explained the counter and he agreed to it. After several…tense moments… he was released but then lost consciousness. I apparated him back to my cottage and put him on the couch for the night.” Snape took a fortifying sip of tea. The headmaster appeared to be calming down now that he knew the brat was all right.

“Is the boy still there?” asked Albus civilly.

“Yes, I have secured him in such a way that I feel confident he cannot escape.” Albus’ raised brow prompted him to clarify. Severus described the binding and silencing curses and, still prompted by the eyebrow he said, “I told him the house elf would be punished if he got away again.” The headmaster gave him an amused glance.

“How very Slytherin of you, Severus.”

Acknowledging the jibe with a tilt of his head, Snape continued. “I am here now to arrange to deliver him back into your custody.” He sat back in his chair and idly watched Fawkes preening himself as he gathered his thoughts. After running his finger around the smooth gold rim of his cup he continued. “The dilemma is that, as much as it pains me, I am inclined to agree with Miss Granger in her assessment of Potter’s mental status.” The headmaster’s intent expression prompted him to continue. “I am concerned that he may be susceptible to lapses in judgment while he is in this state. His desperation could make him decide to do something precipitous …”

“Go over to the dark side?” Albus prompted.

Snape snorted. “The boy could no sooner go to the dark side than fly to the moon on that Firebolt of his.” He sobered a bit and continued, “But he might go rogue on you, Albus. Refuse to join the order. That dueling club of his might persuade him to use them to back him or he might decide to go in alone in a suicide mission. I think you need to give him a little rein and let him get to know his own mind. He needs time to grow.” He spread his hands. “Potter asked me what odds I would give that he would live to see adulthood.” He folded his arms as he finished the thought, “I wouldn’t take the bet.”

Albus sat back, fingers steepled, and considered what Snape had said. After a few moments of contemplation he said, “The boy would need someone to check in with,” he said musingly. “He’s still too vulnerable to be left completely to his own devices.”

“How about the werewolf?” said Snape.

Albus gave him a longsuffering look. “Remus,” he said, “would be an excellent choice except he is still recovering from the loss of Sirius. He would have little to offer the boy in the way of stability. To say nothing of his lycanthropy.” He sat back and ran his hands over his long white beard. “I must give this some thought.”

“The boy requires careful shaping, Albus. Otherwise we shall be left with a tool we cannot use. Choose wisely.” Severus glanced at the clock. “I have been here too long. The brat will be finding ways to escape.” He stood and moved over to the fireplace. “If you will firecall me with your choice of guardian I shall see that the boy is delivered there immediately.”

“I will come by in a couple of hours, Severus. Do try not to lose the child in the meantime.” Dumbledore gave a smirk to rival Severus. “Let us hope he hasn’t realized you don’t need to say the words to do wandless magic.”

Snape rolled his eyes and stepped into the fireplace.

As Snape exited the floo he immediately knew something was wrong. The cottage reeked of magic and the silence was ominous. Pulling out his wand, he cautiously eased the door to the kitchen open. He took in the scene and, cursing loudly, moved the rest of the way into the room.

Sprawled on the floor was a tall, dark haired wizard. His robe was rucked up and partially covering his face. Snape knelt and flicked the collar of the cloak aside, revealing the man’s identity. It was Nott, one of Voldemort’s inner circle. He was thoroughly stunned, blood trickled weakly from his nose and his jaw was slack.

Straightening up Snape moved over to the table. Harry slumped in his chair, hands still tied behind him. His eyes were closed and his head was against the back of the chair. He was taking rapid, shallow breaths and a fresh bruise bloomed on his cheek. Snape said carefully, “Potter?”

Harry’s head snapped up. His eyes opened and flicked anxiously around the room, finally settling on Snape. The chair squeaked loudly as Harry shoved himself away from the table and tried to stand. Snape grabbed his shoulders and pressed him back into his seat. “What happened?” he growled. A flick of his wand cancelled the silencing spell.

The boy looked frantically around the room. “Widget?” he slurred. With his eyes sliding shut Harry sagged forward and collapsed on the table. Snape cursed and spun around, looking apprehensively for the elf. He blew out a relieved breath as he saw him cowering by the fireplace.

“Come here, elf,” he said in a calm voice. The elf scuttled over, nervously wringing his hands and staring at the floor. Snape ground his teeth but tried to remain composed “What happened here, Widget?”

“Master Severus, Widget did as you directed. Widget prepare breakfast then feed it to Mr. Potter.” The elf’s bulging eyes moved fretfully to the stunned wizard. “Nasty wizard come through floo. He strike Mr. Potter. Tell Widget to go away.” More hand wringing and shuffling punctuated his next statement. “Widget cannot disobey. Widget must not leave and Widget cannot release Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter stun bad wizard with his eyes.” The elf’s ears rotated back on his head as he looked up at his master with pleading eyes.

Snape snarled and turned back to Harry’s limp form. “Prepare a bed for Mr. Potter,” he said venomously. He ran a quick diagnostic spell then growling, “Mobiluscorpus,” he levitated the boy and began to walk toward the bedroom. Widget had the covers pulled back when he brought Harry into the room and settled the boy into the bed. Snape looked down at the comatose wizard and shook his head. “Potter. Does everything happen to you?”

Returning to the kitchen Snape obliviated Nott then levitated the man to the fireplace. He threw a handful of floo powder in and said, “Nott Manor,” as he eased the wizard’s body across the hearth. Tumbling through the floo network with an unconscious death eater was not a lot of fun but it was safer than trying to double apparate with someone of his size. He had only done it in the past in extreme emergencies. Once at Nott’s home he placed the man on the couch then disapperated.

With a sigh of relief that things were under control if only temporarily, he checked on the potion he had started brewing that morning before Potter woke up. It was ready so he removed it from the heat and after straining it through some bat wings he decanted it into several vials. “Should have known the brat would be using up all my potions. I’ll have to bill Hogwarts for this one,” he muttered. He took one of the vials into the bedroom the house elf had prepared for Potter.

The boy was starting to stir. He struggled weakly, his hands still bound behind his back. Snape could see his shoulders straining as he pulled against the restraints. Still more than half unconscious, Harry muttered a few words of which “fuck” was the only one understandable. His eyes opened slowly and blinked. As he caught sight of Snape he said, “Fuck,” again, this time with more feeling. Snape rolled his eyes and hauled Harry upright in the bed by the front of his jumper.

“Language, Potter,” growled the potions master. He smirked as he noticed the apprehensive way Harry was eyeing the vial he carried. With a contemptuous flick of his wrist he released his grip on the boy’s collar and watched him sag back against the headboard. “Don’t worry, Potter, this vial contains a potion that will help restore you to your usual obnoxious state of being. I do not dare poison you now as the headmaster will be arriving shortly.”

The thought of the imminent arrival of the headmaster had the desired effect. Panic blossomed on the boy’s face. Snape’s smirk deepened as he watched the wheels turning in Potter’s head. It was easy to see the escape plans being developed and then discarded as the young wizard considered his options. Wanting to keep the Gryffindor off balance, Snape leaned in close and spoke in his most malevolent voice.

“However, Potter, your orphan status does make it easier to deal with you. No one to complain about harsh treatment and the like.” His eyes glittered like black ice as he spoke.

The effect on the boy was not exactly as he had planned. Instead of deepening his fears it seemed to bolster his flagging courage. “It’s also convenient for me, Professor. There’s no one to be embarrassed about my disrespectful conduct. No distracting coddling or using them as hostages either. It’s altogether a much better situation, don’t you agree, Professor?” Harry practically spat the last sentence and his eyes matched Snape’s in their malice. Snape felt the boy’s magic tugging at the ropes binding his wrists.

“Stop that, you idiotic boy!” Snape shouted. He leaned in close and put his hands on the wall on either side of Harry’s head. The boy looked properly frightened again.

“Stop what, sir?” he asked quickly.

“If you do not discontinue this use of wandless magic you will permanently deplete your magic core. Is that your intention, Potter?” Snape raged, his face close enough now that he was sure Harry could feel the vibrations of the words hitting his cheeks. The boy was silent, eyes wide and fixed on Snape’s. “You are already suffering from magical exhaustion, any further use and you will likely be in a coma,” snarled the professor.

“But, I haven’t done any magic,” Harry squeaked.

Snape abruptly moved off the bed and turned away in disgust. He looked back with a scowl. “Must I list it for you? At the headquarters you performed wandless summoning twice, as well as the petrificus totalis hex. You then opened the door and unshrunk your possesions. Today I have witnessed accio plus whatever you did to Nott. That doesn’t even touch on resisting the crutiartis curse in your vision and fighting the recompensoria curse while riding that motorbike all day.”

“I used magic to fight those curses?” Harry asked his fear momentarily overshadowed by curiosity.

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed. “Of course, Potter. Why else would some wizards be able to resist better than others?” When Harry still looked blank, he continued, now in lecture mode. “Some wizards are able to access their core of magic to help shield them from the effects of curses. The effects are slowed down or the pain may be lessened. With training some have been able to throw off certain curses completely, especially if the caster is weak in his magic.”

“So now I’ve used up my magic?” Harry asked, aghast.

“Not yet but if you continue in this vein you could do that very thing.”

Harry looked skeptical. Snape rolled his eyes again and continued. “Like it or not, Potter, you are still an underage wizard. It takes time to develop the skill and strength needed to do wandless magic. Most wizards never do it at all. You are doubtless very gifted but even Professor Dumbledore had to be trained to use his magic.” He waved his hand at the boy and said, “Couple the magical exhaustion with your physical fatigue and you have a dangerous situation. You will continue to pull from your magic in an effort to offset bodily weakness.”

He moved back over to the bed and sat on the edge. Pushing the hair back from his face he looked at Harry imploringly. All trace of malice was gone, leaving only bitterness in its place. “You must let me help you through this, or suffer the consequences. And I think you realize that the consequences would be dire for all of us.” Snape snorted at the mutinous look on the boy’s face. “Don’t worry, Potter. It will only be for a short time. Dumbledore will find you a place to stay soon enough.”

Snape flicked his wand and the ropes fell away from Harry’s wrists. Harry gratefully brought his arms in front of himself and rubbed the left shoulder. “I don’t want him to find me a place to stay,” Harry said fretfully. “I can take care of myself now.” At Snape’s raised brow he said, “As soon as I get over this, that is.”

“Why were you using wandless magic in the first place, Potter? You had your wand most of the time.”

Harry rubbed his shoulder some more and said, “I thought that if those prats at the ministry could trace my magic then probably Dumbledore and Voldemort could do the same.” He shrugged. “Seemed like the wandless stuff might be tougher to pin down.”

Snape huffed and said, “How strange to hear you using common sense. Next you will be telling me you’ve signed up for Ancient Runes.”

“How long will this take?” Harry asked abruptly.

Snape could see the boy was tiring. It was important to get the potion inside the brat before he fell asleep again. “I don’t know, Potter. The potion I have prepared will temporarily dissociate you from your magic core to give it time to recover. If you take the potion it should be able to restore itself quickly. Without it…” He left the rest unsaid, hoping the boy would forget his ridiculous ‘rules’ about potions. Harry twisted with indecision but finally relented. He held out a shaky hand and accepted the proffered vial. Snape kept his sneer to a minimum as the boy choked down the potion.

“You’ll need to take it again tonight and at least twice more tomorrow.” Harry nodded unenthusiastically. He tried to sit up straighter but failed. Snape looked at him sharply.

The boy’s skin had gone very pale and there was a hint of sweat on his brow. His fears were confirmed when Harry clutched the front of his jumper and slurred, “’m hot.” The eyes that met his were glassy and unfocused. Snape put his hand on Harry’s forehead. He was burning with fever. The boy gave him a look of pure confusion then said, “I’ve gotta go.” He tried to stand but only managed to pull the duvet over his head.

Snape cursed. The potion also prevented the boy from drawing on his magic to heal himself. “Now he’s sick, how perfect,” he muttered as he pushed the boy back onto the bed and straightened the cover. “Probably exposure. Drat! Now Dumbledore won’t want to move him,” he moaned with his hand over his face. Resigned to a few days of tending to a sick Potter, he went to his potions cupboard for a fever reducing tea. He was brewing it at the stove when Dumbledore stepped out of the fireplace.

“Severus! Are you making tea?” asked the headmaster.

Snape gave him a look of loathing and explained about Harry’s illness. Dumbledore quietly went in to Harry’s room to check on him. A few minutes later he returned and said, “You are right, my boy. He is too ill to move at this time.” There was an irritating twinkle in his eye as he continued. “In any case, I have decided that you are the best man for the job of chaperoning Harry’s summer. I found your argument most persuasive but could think of no one who would be better suited.”

Snape’s teeth were clenched but he refrained from comment. The idea of spending his time indulging the golden boy’s emotional outbursts was beyond toleration. He feared that if he spoke now he would find himself in an even worse situation. Dumbledore’s eyes searched Snape’s. “I know you understand the need to guide him this summer and help him come to terms with his destiny, Severus. Do you also understand that his emotional wounds are part of the problem?”

“Merlin’s balls! You all coddle the brat, Albus. I shall attempt to free him from his erroneous belief that he can save his friends by staying away from them but the rest of Ms. Granger’s treatment will have to wait until he returns to school. I am sure she and the rest of Potter’s fan club will have him back to his obnoxious self in no time. I am neither interested in his emotional frailties nor capable of addressing them.”

Floo powder in hand, Dumbledore eyed Snape speculatively. “We shall see what comes of this endeavor, my boy. I think you may be surprised at the outcome.” His expression returned to its usual annoying smile and he threw in the powder. “Let me know what you work out, Severus.” He stepped into the green flames and was gone.

Snape remained by the stove, mute with anger, for several minutes. He stirred the tea viciously as he seethed. “I can’t believe I have to keep the infernal idiot! And no use arguing, I’ll just end up agreeing to something even more heinous. Blast!” he spat as he gnashed his teeth. By now he was in a total fury.

When Widget appeared suddenly at his side it was only by the greatest effort of self-control that he kept from hexing him. “Can Widget help Master Severus?” the elf asked nervously.

“Yes,” said Snape angrily. He poured some of the fever reducing tea into a mug and thrust it at the waiting elf. “Give this to the brat.” The mere thought of Potter was making him crazy with fury. “Stay with him and come fetch me if he seems to be worsening,” he snapped. With that he turned and stomped off into his workroom.

Several quiet hours and three potions later Severus was interrupted by the house elf. “Excuse me, Master Severus. Widget is preparing lunch now. Will Master eat at the table or shall Widget bring lunch here?” The elf looked at him anxiously, twisting his hands in his tea towel toga.

Feeling much calmer now, Snape answered the elf civilly. “I shall come to the table, Widget.” After setting his ladle aside and extinguishing the flame under the caldron he took a breath and asked, “How is our guest?”

“The boy’s fever wanes and he sleeps but he is restless. Widget puts a privacy charm on the room so Master is not disturbed.” The elf looked at him hopefully, still kneading the towel with his long fingers.

Snape frowned and moved to the door. “Why did you not come for me, Widget?” he asked.

“Mr. Potter’s health improves. Master did not want to be disturbed,” he stammered with his eyes now on the floor.

With a sigh Snape turned back to the elf. “You did as I instructed, Widget. Master is not angry.” As he walked to the guest bedroom he said, “You may continue with lunch while I check on the boy.” The elf scuttled off to the kitchen.

When Snape stepped into the bedroom and through the boundary of the charm he was assaulted by the sounds of Harry’s nightmares. “Cedric, no!” the boy called hoarsely. For a moment Snape allowed himself to feel happy that Widget had not called him to stay with the child. Bedside comforting was certainly not his area of expertise. With a sigh he brushed the boy’s damp fringe aside and felt his forehead. The fever was much reduced. Harry struggled with the sheets and muttered, unintelligible this time.

“Potter,” Snape said gruffly. He shook the boy’s shoulder and Harry started awake, eyes wide and glassy. “Potter,” he repeated, “wake up, boy. You’re having a nightmare.” The young wizard looked around the room, obviously still disoriented.

“Professor?” he said with a puzzled frown. His roving eyes settled back on the potions master. “Where…?” he mumbled. He tried to sit up and this time he managed it, albeit unsteadily.

Snape regarded him grimly. “Do you recall coming here to my home?” he asked. He watched the boy struggle to remember. “Do you remember hexing Nott?” Harry rubbed both hands back through his hair and breathed deeply. Eyes on the bed and fists knotted in his dark locks, he pulled up his knees and rested his elbows on them. His face an impassive mask, Snape watched as Harry’s fists tightened and trembled.

“Did I kill him?” It was whispered so low Snape barely heard him.

“No. I obliviated him and returned him to his home. He will awake with no memory of what happened.”

The hands relaxed but remained tangled in the messy black hair. As Snape watched Harry took a deep breath and blew it out noisily. “I just wanted him to stop hitting me,” he muttered. His voice was muffled. Snape stifled a laugh. Here was the Gryffindor hero of the Wizard World, practically unmanned at the idea of killing a death eater. He grimaced at the thought of how he had been cowed by the boy’s wand at his throat.

Harry looked up and caught Snape’s sour expression. Snape scowled as the boy dropped his head back into his hands. Potter’s life with the Dursleys had obviously taught him to expect no sympathy so why would he presume he would receive any here? The boy sighed as he sat up and faced the potions master. “What happened? I remember taking the potion and … now I’m here.”

Snape tried to school his features to eliminate any more scathing looks. He needed some trust from the boy if he was going to accomplish his assignment. “The potion separates you from your magical core so it can replenish itself without you drawing on it. Unfortunately that was the only thing keeping you from being ill. As soon as the potion took effect you were overcome with a fever.” Snape shrugged. “Widget and I have been treating your fever and now it is time for another dose of the magic replenishing potion.” He was unable to suppress a smirk as Harry shuddered at the mention of the potion.

“Accio potion,” snapped Snape. The potion flew into his hand with a pop. He handed the vial over to Harry and eyed him until he gagged it down. Taking the empty bottle from the boy he stood as Harry huffed and fell back against the pillow, eyes closed. Snape stalked out and immediately returned. The tray he carried held a large bowl of beef broth and some bread. The boy sat up, startled. Snape frowned as he watched him swallow and fasten hopeful, questioning eyes on the elder wizard.

“Did you not think you would be fed?” he asked, newly incensed at Harry’s expression. After a moment’s contemplation Snape muttered, “Perhaps you did not.” He moved to the bed and set the tray down next to the boy. After another moment of reflection he spoke. “Your treatment at your family’s hands was wrong, Potter.” He caught Harry’s eyes and held them. “You will be properly provided for here.” The boy flinched away.

“I don’t need to be provided for,” he muttered. “Just get me through this problem with my magic and I’ll be fine.” He glanced at the broth. Snape pushed it toward him and he grabbed it eagerly. In a matter of minutes it was gone. “Thanks, Professor,” he said contritely. “I owe you one. A wizard’s debt, I mean.” Snape picked up the bowl and walked to the door.

“Potter,” he said, “it is the right of every young person to be suitably provided for by adults who have his best interests at heart.” He inwardly cringed at his choice of words.

Harry shrugged. He almost suppressed his wince at the twinge in his shoulder. “Maybe so, Professor. It’s just not working out that way for me, that’s all.” Another shrug, this time just the left shoulder. “It’s not so bad once you get used to the idea.” He smiled uneasily, obviously embarrassed. “Anyway, thanks.” Snape gave him a cold look and left the room. Harry sat back and soon drifted off to sleep.

Snape observed the boy as he convalesced. The young wizard kept to himself most of the time with his face averted. Although he heard nothing at night after Harry went to bed he was sure the boy wasn’t sleeping. In an effort to gain Potter’s trust Snape made it clear that he would provide him with potions to ease his recovery. A flat, unreadable stare was the boy’s only response to the offer. One thing Snape had learned from years of assisting his young serpents with their transition into Slytherin was that the child had to ask for help. The only thing he could do was to be ready to give it when the opportunity arose.

As the hours crawled by Snape began to notice an additional problem with the boy. Severus was reminded rather forcefully of Black each time he looked at him. Harry wore the same pained, caged expression the mutt wore during the time Dumbledore kept him kenneled at Grimmald Place. The young wizard stalked around the cottage, slouched in the library chairs, and slunk to the front door at regular intervals. Snape watched him as he glared out the windows and scuffed his feet through the halls.

On the second day Snape surreptitiously ran a scan on the boy and his magic appeared to have recovered although he was still physically weak. Reluctantly, Snape informed Harry that the cure was complete. The boy immediately jumped up and headed for the door.

“Wait, Potter,” Snape intoned. The boy stopped but did not turn around. Back and shoulders rigid, Harry waited without speaking. Snape spelled the door shut.

“You said I could go,” Harry said flatly.

Snape sighed. “Do you not think it would be prudent to have somewhere to stay?” he asked with exasperation.

“I don’t need any help,” Harry said. His hand was on the doorknob.

“I think you do,” returned Snape. “Your magic is recovered but you are not. You will not be well enough to ride a horse for several more days.”

Harry turned around. “How did you know I was riding?”

A trademark smirk crossed Snape’s face. “I have my ways, Potter.”

The boy frowned. Turning back to the door he said, “I have to find my bike and pack then set up a camp. It’ll take a day or so then I’ll be ready to work.”

“Harry.” The use of his first name stopped him. Snape made an effort to soften his tone. “Be reasonable. You have no where to stay and no money, boy.”

Harry’s eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t. Call. Me. Boy.” He grabbed the knob. Snape grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. The boy stumbled and fell into the corner, knocking the umbrella stand over as he caught up hard against the wall. He righted himself and looked up at the potions master’s tall form completely blocking his escape. Harry’s breath immediately became ragged and he pressed hard against the wall. Brandishing his wand he crouched like a cornered animal, feral and desperate. His teeth were bared and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

Snape raised his empty hands in a placating gesture. Instinctively he legilimized the boy, needing to know what would produce such a reaction. Images of Vernon Dursley, large and overpowering, flooded his mind. The obese man had a young Harry cornered and was punching and shoving him. Harry tried to escape but the larger man easily prevented it. “I’ll crush the abnormalness out of you yet, boy,” snarled the man as he landed another blow. Snape cut the connection and stepped back feeling sickened by what he had witnessed. Harry was on his knees now but still holding his wand on his professor.

“Don’t do that again,” Harry rasped. He struggled to his feet and leaned against the wall breathing heavily. Sweat dampened hair clung to his forehead.

Still holding his hands up Snape said, “Relax, Potter. I merely wanted to know what was frightening you.” He searched for the right words. Persuasion had never come easy to him; he did better with manipulation. “Perhaps you could use this as your home for the remainder of the summer, Mr. Potter. You’ll be free to come and go but you won’t have to hide from the headmaster and the Order.” Then he played his trump card. “Weasley and Granger could visit you here.”

Harry clenched his fists. “You don’t understand anything. I don’t want them to visit! I don’t want to stay with you. You all deserve a safe summer instead of hanging around a Voldemort magnet.”

Snape frowned. “That is our decision to make, Potter.”

“They don’t know what they’re risking. They haven’t seen the bastard face to face like I have.” He ran his fingers through his hair and muttered, “They seem to think this is some kind of a game.” He stepped around Snape and leaned against the door. “That’s why I want to stay alone. It’s easier if I only have to worry about myself instead of endangering anyone else.” He looked away and whispered, “Like at the ministry.”

“I too have seen the Dark Lord face to face and I understand the risk,” said Snape gravely. “It is my decision to make. I wish you to stay.” With a start he realized that he meant it. He smirked to cover the unexpected and unwanted emotion as he said, “If you do not stay I shall have a very difficult time explaining it to the headmaster.”

Harry snorted. “That’s the least of your worries.”

“Believe me when I say that it is not the least. The wrath of Albus Dumbledore is not something to be incurred lightly.”

“Do you think it would be worse than if Voldemort catches you sheltering me?” The boy scowled and reached for the doorknob. “Which way?” he asked wearily.

“Which way is what?”

“My bike. Which way should I go?”

Snape sighed. He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out the shrunken bike and pack. “Your things are here.”

Green eyes snapped up to his and the anger in them almost made him back up a step. “You lied,” the boy snarled.

“Of course,” Snape said mildly. He schooled his features into a frown as he handed Harry his possessions.

Harry eyed his stern expression then tried to open the door. It was still spelled shut. He pointed a finger at the knob and muttered, “Alohomora.” Nothing happened. Scowling with irritation he said in a commanding voice, “Alohomora!” The door remained obstinately closed and he felt no energy drain. “Bloody hell,” he growled. He looked up at Snape and said, “My magic isn’t fixed at all!”

The man looked puzzled for a moment then his expression cleared and he said, “You are still under the effect of the potion. You will not be able to perform magic until tomorrow morning.” He gave Harry another irritating sneer. “You cannot go out alone without magic. Not even your foe glass will work without your magic to power it.”

Looking resigned Harry leaned his forehead against the door. “Can you at least unlock the door,” he mumbled. He placed both fists against the door and lightly struck the wood on each side of his head.

Snape had a sudden realization. All the times the boy was flaunting the rules and traipsing about the castle at night he was probably relieving his feeling of being trapped in the tower dorm. The memories that he had viewed during Occlumency lessons bolstered his theory. Being locked in a closet would have contributed to Harry’s aversion to being confined. One look at the boy’s tense shoulders convinced him to unlock the door.

As the door swung open Harry took a deep breath and stepped out onto the steps. He stayed out there, gazing at the stars, for quite some time after Snape moved back into the cottage. Snape felt confident Harry would not leave until his magic was back. After setting an early wake up spell the potions master retired. The boy was still on the front step.

Hours later, as the sun began to peek over the treetops Snape awakened. After pulling on his robes he walked toward the kitchen. As he passed the door he saw it was partially ajar. Elbowing the door aside he saw Harry dozing on the step, his head against the trellis. His faded jumper was sparkling with dew and the shrunken motorbike was still clutched in his hand. The door tapped against his leg, rousing him. He sat up abruptly and scooted away from the figure looming above him. The boy looked drowsy and somehow vulnerable which irritated Snape for reasons he did not understand.

With a scowl Snape performed a drying spell on Harry and said, “Come inside, Potter. You should eat before you leave.” Wordlessly the teen followed him into the kitchen where Widget quickly served them a large breakfast. Still silent, the boy dug into the meal. After they both pushed back from the table Snape turned to Harry.

He took a firm hold on his temper and said calmly, “So, Potter, can you explain what you were thinking when you decided to tackle a Death Eater by yourself?”

Harry’s mutinous expression pressed Snape’s control to the limit but he maintained his composure. “He was threatening the people I was staying with. He had to be eliminated,” Harry explained. Then the brat crossed his arms. “And it felt good to clear Sirius’ name.”

Snape clenched his jaw but the caustic words escaped. “It felt good, boy! What would it have felt like if the floo wasn’t connected in that cottage or if that idiot hadn’t kept his floo powder handy?” He saw Harry blanch but continued relentlessly. “Your little holiday would have taken quite a different turn if Pettigrew had turned you over to the Dark Lord, eh Potter?” His hand snaked out and clamped on the boy’s wrist. “If you pull another stunt like that I will personally administer the Draught of Living Death to keep you contained until the semester begins. Do you understand?”

Harry shook off his hand and rubbed his wrist. “Yes. Sir.”

“Can you explain your reasons for wanting to continue this foolishness?” Snape asked scathingly.

Harry sighed. “You know the prophesy.” It was more of a statement than a question but Snape nodded in confirmation. “Voldemort will continue to send his death eaters after me and those around me until the job is done. I can’t stay with anyone right now. It’ll just mean more people get in the way and end up dead.” He squared his shoulders and said, “It’s my destiny, my problem.”

“Do you plan to continue with school in the fall?”

“Yes. I can’t…”

Snape didn’t let him finish. “Then your logic is flawed, Potter. You will be endangering the whole school with your presence if we assume your reasoning is correct.”

Scowling at the interruption Harry said, “Hogwarts is different. With Dumbledore there the others will be safe. Besides, how else will I learn enough to kill…”

“Do not say the name again!” Snape barked.

Harry looked uncomfortable. The boy got his emotions under control then spoke. “Thank you, Professor. You’re right. I should leave school completely while I find a way to defeat … You know who.”

Snape frowned. This was not the response he was trying to elicit. “You misunderstand me, Potter. The flaw is your assumption that because it is your destiny to defeat the Dark Lord that you must assume the entire burden alone. Hogwarts will protect you just as it does the other students. You simply need to allow us to get you through the summer.”

Harry rolled his eyes and Snape gave him a glare. “Consider this, Potter. If the prophesy were referring to Mr. Weasley, would you want him to take the responsibility alone or would you want to help him in any way possible? Would you not expect him to take your assistance without question?” Snape drove his final point home, “Would you feel he was rejecting your friendship if he did not?”

Harry became agitated as he contemplated Snape’s questions. His mouth opened several times as if to speak but no words came forth. When he finally did speak he looked the words came out with difficulty. “It’s not the same, Professor. Ron’s got his whole family and of course they’d want to help him, and Hermione and me too, I mean who wouldn’t right? But, I don’t know, it’s just different for me, that’s all!” Harry was completely wound up by this time. He got up from his chair abruptly and marched over to the door.

Snape’s soft whisper stopped him as quickly as if he had shouted. “So you are saying that you are not worthy of the same consideration as Mr. Weasley?”

Obviously distressed, Harry barked, “I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s just different for me! I’ll handle this on my own, just like I always have!” Without turning around Harry exited the cottage and shut the door. Snape heard his shouted “Finite Incantatum,” then the rumble of the engine as it fired. Gravel hit the side of the cottage as the bike sped away. Snape sighed and dropped his head into his hands.

oOoOoOoOo

As the Order meeting let out Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stood outside the kitchen door nodding politely to the adults as they walked past. When the twins emerged Ron stepped forward and said, “Fred, George, a word?” The expressions of false politeness that instantly sprang to their faces made Hermione give up any hope of a productive meeting. Nevertheless she followed the group as they walked upstairs and into Ron’s bedroom.

Ron waited until they had arranged themselves comfortably on the bed before speaking. “We need to ask you what’s being done about Harry,” he began. “No one else is giving us any information.”

Before Ron could continue with their carefully rehearsed plan one of the twins spoke up. “Ah, Harry.”

“Quite the enterprising young lad…”

“He’s making us very proud…”

“Very proud indeed. Continuing our…”

“Fine work of constant chaos…”

“And mayhem. We’re so pleased and…”

“Proud. Yes, very proud.”

They both wiped tears of joy from their eyes and wrapped long, freckled arms around Ron and Ginny in a false display of emotion. “He’s like the child we never had!” they exclaimed in unison. Nearly knocking everyone off the bed in their glee, they exploded in raucous laughter. Hermione considered leaving right then but one look at Ron convinced her to stay. His determined expression bolstered her fading hopes for getting any information from the two.

Ever the strategist Ron assessed the situation and immediately launched into their nonexistent plan B. As the twins began to regain their composure he gestured to Ginny and said, “Poor Ginny is worrying herself sick over the prat. Can’t you tell us anything to stop her from losing any more sleep?”

The youngest Weasley, no slouch in the prank department herself immediately caught on to Ron’s plan. Hermione watched in awe as Ginny turned to the twins with such an expression of woe in her eyes that Hermione had to hold herself back from throwing her arms around her. In a crowning touch a tear rolled down her cheek as she spoke in a trembling voice. “Please, I need to know what is happening to my Harry,” she moaned. “It’s tearing me up with worry.”

Ginny dropped her head into her hands and began to sob. It sounded a bit like laughter so Hermione put one arm around the girl’s shuddering shoulders and spoke up. “Can’t you help us?” she said as she felt Ginny press her face into her robes. The twins looked utterly gobsmacked. Hermione avoided looking at Ron and gazed into their identical expressions of panic with what she hoped was entreaty.

As one Fred and George struggled off the bed and moved to the door. “We can’t divulge any order business,” one of them said hastily.

“Yeah, it’s a spell.”

“A secrecy spell.”

“Dire consequences for anyone who gives up any information.”

With that they opened the door and scrambled down the stairs. The three teen looked at each other and erupted into laughter.

“Sorry,” said Ron as he wiped tears from his eyes, “I could see the plan was bollixed so I went for the long shot. Should have known they’d run from ‘crying Ginny.’” He made quote marks in the air with his fingers to emphasize the last two words.

Hermione looked between the two and asked, “So you’ve used that before?”

With a snort of laughter Ginny said, “Yeah. Whenever we need them to leave so we can get something done.” She looked a little wistful. “I guess it was worth a try but now we don’t know anything about Harry.”

“Actually we do.” The two red heads looked at Hermione. “Obviously they’ve found him and whatever he’s up to is okay by the twins.”

Ron nodded sagely. “And that means he’s causing some chaos somewhere.”

“I just hope he’s okay,” Ginny said. “I hope he’s dealing with what happened in the DOM.” They all nodded, levity forgotten. Ginny looked at the tiny sketch that still persisted on the window. “Come back soon, seeker,” she whispered.

Harry sped recklessly along for a few a few miles before he got his temper under control. As he calmed down he began to scan the area for possible yards that might employ him. He passed up a few small, one man operations that reminded him painfully of Sean’s and made it tough to breath past the lump in his throat.

After a couple of hours of patient searching the perfect yard came into view. A number of boys could be seen bustling about, pushing wheelbarrows and carrying tack. It looked perfect, large enough that he would just be a face in the crowd. Executing a quick u-turn, Harry zipped up the driveway and parked in front of an old building that appeared to be an office. He knocked and waited to be recognized.

A large, dark haired man carrying a cup of tea opened the door and gave him an inquiring look. “My name’s Ian. I’m here to apply for a position,” Harry explained. The man gave him a quick, visual once over and motioned him inside. They entered a cozy office and strolled over to the kitchenette area in the back. After handing Harry a mug of tea and taking a deep swallow of his own he spoke.

“I’m Arthur,” he said with a smile and his hand extended. Harry shook it and smiled back, trying to appear both hopeful and confident. “No good talking business without some tea to wash it down,” Arthur said as he gulped more of the dark brew. He motioned toward the yard with his cup. “We’re looking for an exercise lad and someone to pick up rides on race days. Have you any experience?”

Harry nodded and outlined his duties at Sean and Sidney’s places. He hadn’t ridden in any races but had plenty of experience foxhunting. Nodding at Harry and starting to walk off at the same time, Arthur said, “Sounds brilliant, Ian. Let’s get you in a saddle so I can see you ride.” He turned to go and ran directly into the large pillar that bordered the dining area. A few choice curses rent the air as Arthur vented his frustration.

Hiding his smirk Harry said, “Why don’t you get rid of that column?”

“Ach! This is an old building and it’s a weight bearing support,” Arthur said as he rubbed his forehead. “If we knock that out the whole roof will fall in.” Harry nodded and carefully made note of the curses for future use. They skirted the pillar and made their way out to the yard where Arthur spotted a young man heading into one of the long, narrow barns.

“Patrick! Can you grab Oscar for me?” Arthur looked at Harry with a smile. “We need to give Ian here a test ride and Oscar is due for some work. Two birds with one stone, eh?” Patrick obligingly brought the horse out and watched as Harry tacked him up in the aisle. He gave Harry a leg up and stood back as the pair walked into the school. After jogging around to warm up the horse and check out the arrangement of the jumps Harry indicated he was ready to begin. Arthur guided him through a workout and at the end they were both well pleased.

“Nicely done, Ian,” said Arthur as Harry swung down from the horse. Harry smiled and gave the horse an enthusiastic rub on the shoulder.

“Brilliant horse, Arthur,” he said. “He jumps the moon.”

“You two are a good team.” Arthur regarded him gravely. “We run a fair yard here, Ian. There’ll be no fixing races; we ride to win. It’s not fair to the horse or the betting public to do otherwise. So there’ll be nothing extra for you to make a race come out differently than it should. You okay with that?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Harry intoned. The thought of cheating hadn’t occurred to him but he was relieved to know he wouldn’t be expected to do so.

Arthur stuck out his hand with a grin. “When can you start?” he asked as Harry pumped his hand.

oOoOoOoOo

It was hours after sundown when the sound of a motorcycle coming down the road alerted Snape. He turned down the flame on the potion he was brewing and moved through the house to the front door. A large snowy owl soared up the drive closely followed by the motorbike. Harry clung to the handlebars and drove rather erratically, alternately gunning the engine and then allowing it to nearly die. Once they were near the cottage Hedwig landed on the handlebars and the boy let the engine die entirely. He and the bird coasted forward a few feet and came to a stop by the expedient method of hitting a large oak tree.

Before Snape could get close enough to help the entire collection fell over with a thud. Potter lay there with the bike atop him while the bird noisily protested about the landing. “Shh,” the boy said softly. “Let me catch my breath before you start nagging me.” Harry gently stroked the bird’s feathers but made no move to shift the bike. “So where have you lead me, girl?” he asked when the bird was calmer.

“Right back to my cottage,” Snape interjected.

Harry twitched with surprise then lightly cuffed the owl, who pretended not to notice. “I said somewhere to rest up a bit, not back to the dungeon, Hedwig.” Snape rolled his eyes and then floated the bike off the young wizard. The boy got up but after stumbling several steps toward the cottage he sank to his knees. He did not look up as the potions master quickly appeared at his side.

“Don’t,” Harry said stridently. Snape stopped in the middle of reaching for his arm. “This is hard enough without you helping me,” he whispered. Snape snorted with derision and grabbed Harry by the elbow.

“Might as well start learning to accept a little help right now, Mr. Potter,” he said with a hint of a smirk. Snape supported the boy as they made their way into the cottage. After Harry collapsed into the sofa he asked, “Are you unwell, Potter?”

Harry sank back wearily. “No. Apparently Vol…The Dark Duffer doesn’t want to give me a break, that’s all,” he said tiredly. The boy pushed his fingers through his fringe and heaved a great sigh. “You were right,” he said with a crooked grin. “I was being a selfish prat. I should definitely invite Ron and Hermione to spend some time with me.” He laughed loudly then broke into a rather hysterical giggle. Snape eyed him carefully which only served to prolong the attack.

“Don’t know how you death eaters put up with all that crutiartis crap,” Harry said thickly after he managed to stop laughing. With startling speed Snape stood and tilted Harry’s head back to look at his eyes. The unequal pupil sizes and sluggish reaction to light told him that the boy was suffering from the after effects of the unforgivable again. Muttering under his breath the potion master released him and strode off. He returned with a vial of nasty looking sludge.

“No way. I’m not spending the night heaving my guts out again,” the boy said with an eye on the potion. “I’ll just sleep this off.” With difficulty he stood and tottered toward his room.

“Not so fast, Potter,” said Snape. “If you would listen for a moment I will explain something to you.”

“Now that would be something new,” Harry muttered as he turned and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

Snape’s scowl stopped any further remarks and Harry waited with feigned patience for the man to continue. “The effects of the cruciartis curse are cumulative. If you are not treated between repeated exposures you will develop nerve damage.” He stood and looked into the boy’s unfocused eyes and said, “You will feel like this permanently. Or worse.” He did not have to mention the Longbottoms for Harry to get his point.

“When you received the curse after the Tri Wizard Debacle it was assumed you would not be exposed again so healing was allowed proceed naturally. We cannot assume that anymore, can we?” Harry shook his head and looked at the potion with resignation.

“I was only exposed through another vision. Doesn’t that make a difference?” he asked with a bit of a whine.

“Apparently not, Potter. Go get ready for bed and I shall bring the potion to you. You will not be sick. I was forced to give you a large dose combined with another potion last time.” Snape held the bedroom door open and Harry shuffled in, looking rather subdued. After toeing off his trainers he flopped into the bed and held out a trembling hand for the potion.

Snape huffed and said impatiently, “Is this how you normally sleep, fully clothed except for your shoes?”

A shrug and some uneasy fidgeting was interpreted as an affirmative by the potions master. “We shall address this when you are feeling better,” Snape pronounced. “For now if you will at least remove your jacket it will suffice.” Harry complied and was finally given the potion. He lay back and closed his eyes.

“Thank you, professor,” he muttered, his voice still thick from the noxious taste. Snape eyed him thoughtfully and left the room.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry woke the next morning feeling disoriented. He was sleeping in a large bed instead of his little camping cot and his head was thrumming with a hippogriff sized headache. Before he could stop it a low moan slipped past his lips. He clamped his jaws shut and reached frantically for his wand and glasses. As he fumbled with the nightstand a blurry figure detached itself from a chair in the room and moved toward him as he closed his hand over his wand. Still struggling with the pain in his head and the bewilderment of the newly awakened, Harry flinched away and tumbled onto the floor.

The icy cold floor dispelled any trace of drowsiness and Harry shot to his feet clutching his wand. The sound of chuckling brought back the memory of last night’s return to Snape’s cottage. Harry took his glasses from the older wizard and waited for the scathing assessment of his ineptitude with downcast eyes. When no lecture seemed forthcoming Harry looked up at Snape.

“Interesting method of waking up,” the potion master said dryly. “Looks rather painful to me.” With that Snape returned to his chair. “Please sit down, Potter. We need to talk.”

After retrieving his slippers to shield his feet from the cold Harry took a seat in the chair opposite Snape. Moments later Widget appeared and distributed tea and breakfast. As Harry dug in gratefully Snape began to speak. “Clearly, you will require some type of guardian if you are to make it through this holiday.” When Harry’s expression turned mutinous Snape stopped him from interrupting by holding up his hand, palm out. “I am quite sure that under normal circumstances you could easily take care of yourself. These, however, are not normal circumstances. Would you agree to the truth of that, Mr. Potter?” Harry nodded stiffly, reluctant to agree to anything.

“It is therefore necessary to agree to some type of arrangement that we both can live with.” Harry felt his mouth drop open. Snape looked irritated at this so he hurriedly shut it and composed himself. “The headmaster and I feel it is unreasonable to expect you to return to headquarters so I would like to propose a compromise,” continued the professor. He looked at Harry expectantly. Harry, still reeling with the shock of hearing Snape negotiating with him, nodded mutely.

“You will return here to my home each night. I will be able to deal with any problems you may incur with the dark lord’s curses and see that you are eating properly. You will make yourself scarce during the day and endeavor to stay out of my way as much as possible. Do you think you can handle that, Potter?”

Harry rubbed his aching head as he regarded the professor. “No more locking me in,” he temporized. This new, reasonable Snape was an unknown quantity. He decided to play along for now and see what the man was plotting.

With an inclination of his head Snape accepted Harry’s terms. “So we are in agreement?” he said. Harry hesitated then tipped his own head in purposeful mockery. Snape snorted and stood up. “Fine. Would you like something for that headache?”

Harry snatched his hand away from his forehead. “No thank you sir,” he replied quickly. The thought of more potions was worse than the pain. Glancing at his watch he said, “I found a job yesterday. It’s time for me to go.” He stood up and headed for his pack, his steps a bit more deliberate than usual.

Harry felt Snape’s eyes on him as the professor said, “Are you certain you are well enough? You are not yet fully recovered.”

“Much better today, thank you,” Harry answered without looking up. The desperate need to flee was building inside him. He pulled out breeches and boots as Snape stalked out and shut the door. As he was struggling with the boots Snape returned. He flung something small and round at Harry who caught it instinctively with a seeker’s reflexes. It was a bottlecap from a muggle soft drink.

“That is an emergency portkey. Should a… situation arise you simply tap it with your wand and say, ‘Portus.’ It will activate and return you here. Understand?” Harry stuffed the cap into his pocket and nodded. Snape looked at him with an unreadable expression and said, “Do try to stay out of any such situations, won’t you, Potter?” Harry nodded again and went back to trying to pull on his boots. Sweat began sticking his hair to his forehead as his anxiety escalated. He heard an exasperated sigh from Snape and looked up to see him gesturing with his wand. The recalcitrant boots slid on his feet without further assistance. The potion master stepped aside and Harry fled the room.

oOoOoOoOo

Ron and Hermione were puzzled. They knew Harry had been found but he was still not back. When they asked Ron’s mum she brushed them off with a muttered, “Professor Dumbledore has the situation well under control. Don’t you two worry another minute.” Her concerned expression belied her comforting words and the pair retired to Ron’s room to discuss things. Ginny tagged along as well.

“What do you think is going on?” Ginny asked as soon as the door was shut. The three flopped onto the bed and eyed each other.

“I don’t know,” said Hermione, “but they are definitely not telling us something.”

“Aye,” said Ron. “They’ve found him all right, but something’s up.”

Ginny nodded. “The question is, what?”

With a shrug Hermione scrubbed her fingers through her hair, leaving it even bushier than before. “And where’s Snape?” she asked with a scowl. “He hasn’t been around at all the last couple days. You can bet he’s caught up in this somehow.”

A tear rolled down Ginny’s cheek. “You don’t think Harry’s hurt, do you?”

Ron put out his arm and his sister snuggled into his comforting bulk. “No Ginny, I’m sure if he was hurt he’d be right here so Mum could take care of him. There’s no way she’d let anyone stand in her way, not even Dumbledore. Right?” The red head nodded and sniffled quietly. “There has to be another explanation,” Ron said forcefully. “We just have to figure out what it is.”

“Do you think,” Hermione said tentatively, “he may not want to come back?”

A grim look crossed Ron’s face. “If that’s the case then he’s got some explaining to do when we catch up with him.” Hermione smiled and when Ron raised his other arm she gratefully slid in next to him.

“I think we may have to do some investigating of our own,” Hermione murmured. Ron and Ginny eyed her and grinned. “I have an idea…”

“Definitely too much time around the twins,” Ron said and Ginny nodded soberly before sitting up eagerly to hear the plan.

oOoOoOoOo

A week flew past and Harry fell into a comfortable routine. He would bolt down a quick breakfast while Snape scowled at him from across the table. After enduring a few scathing comments about his lack of table manners he would fire the bike and enjoy a bit of a ride before pulling into Arthur’s yard. He and the other lads would feed and after mucking out they would ride on the downs. The whipping winds and pounding hooves helped to soothe the ache in his heart and for a few hours he managed to push his guilt and grief over Sirius into the back of his mind.

When he was done at the yard there were still far too many hours left in the day. There was no homework to distract him since sixth years had to wait for the OWL results to determine their schedules for the year. He steered clear of Snape’s cottage as much as possible, only coming in at night to eat and sleep. Needing to feel he was doing something to atone he spent hours studying the occlumency manual from Knockturn Alley.

It was near the end of his first week with Snape that he felt he was ready to try the occlumency spell. The methods in the book were different from those taught by the professor and some of the techniques looked rather unpleasant. Harry felt it was a small price to pay to ensure he would not be fooled into leading another person he cared about into danger or death. So when the instructions called for him to spill some of his own blood he did so with grim determination. When he was violently sick after completing the rituals and incantations he bore it stoically in the name of keeping everyone safe. Occlumency with Snape had never been pleasant either, he reasoned.

After a couple of days he became more adept and was able to maintain the occlusion for most of the day. He suppressed a wave of apprehension over the detachment he began to feel. Now when he thought of Sirius it only triggered a vague uneasiness and images of his friends seemed like those of mere acquaintances. Harry quickly banished his fears as this was the very thing that would protect them the most. Should Voldemort penetrate his mental defenses none of those he cherished would be targeted.

Snape seemed to be watching him extra carefully so Harry continued to stay away from the cottage as much as possible. He kept his answers to single syllables and grunts and avoided eye contact at all costs. This of course inflamed Snape’s anger but Harry found himself able to ignore his insults by drifting into the safety of the occlusion trance.

At work he withdrew completely from the other lads, only speaking when necessary and avoiding eye contact with them as well. The only time he felt like himself was when he rode, the bite of the wind brought him back to the moment as he reveled in the exhilaration of the gallops. He vaguely remembered a similar feeling from playing a sport at school but the memory was shadowy and indistinct. The loss of these memories nagged at him briefly but he stood in the stirrups and laughed as the horse’s mane whipped his windburned cheeks.

Snape noticed the boy’s change in behavior but dismissed it. Potter was finally figuring out how to control his emotions and frankly he was glad of it. He had grown heartily sick of the whipped dog expression and the death glares. The rather bland look the brat had adopted was a welcome relief. He became concerned, however, when the bland look was replaced by a totally blank one. When the usual insults got no results he became frankly worried and decided to investigate.

A few hours after the brat had gone to work Snape apparated near the farm. He was relieved to see the owner walking toward the house. A subtle inclination of his head alerted the muggle that he wanted to talk and they stepped into an office near the top of the drive. They walked in silence around a pillar to the kitchenette and the man poured tea from an electric kettle, apparently used to dealing with taciturn strangers.

“What can I do for you, Mr. …?” he asked courteously, handing the potion master a steaming cup.

Snape got right to the point. “I am Professor Snape. I am Ian’s guardian for the summer and I’ve become concerned about his behavior.” He sipped the bitter tea. “Have you noticed anything?” he asked with a casual tone.

The man frowned. “Yes, I have. The boy was always a bit standoffish but the last two days he’s completely withdrawn.” Snape didn’t need legilimency to know that the man was concerned. “I can see he’s hurting over something so I told the other lads to give him some latitude but it seems he’s getting worse instead of better.”

Snape took another sip and set the cup aside. “I agree,” he said heavily. “I will see what I can uncover tonight.” He gave the muggle a look he hoped conveyed camaraderie. “If I find anything…illegal, the boy may be absent from work for a few days. Will that be acceptable?”

To Snape’s disgust the man clapped him on the shoulder. “I understand completely, Professor. The boy’s job will be waiting for him whenever he gets back.” He smiled broadly. “He’s really quite a horseman, you should come watch him ride sometime.” The smile was replaced with a more somber expression. “Please call on me if I can help with the lad,” he said. “I’ve grown quite fond of him.”

With an enormous effort Snape refrained from scowling. The brat manages to worm his way into everyone’s affections, he thought acerbically. It’s no wonder he’s such a spoiled pain in the arse. Even as he formed the thought Snape knew it wasn’t true. The time they had spent cohabitating had shown the boy to be quite the opposite. Still clamping his jaws to hold back his habitual expression of distaste, Snape said, “I will keep that in mind. I hope you will not mention our little talk to the boy.”

The man smiled again and Snape cringed. Such displays of good humor always made him feel slightly nauseated. The man would have been right at home in Gryffindor had he been born a wizard. Snape wondered idly if Potter was drawn to the place by the man’s Gryffindor-like aura or if the young wizard simply brought that out in those he associated with. He nearly lost his breakfast at the thought that Potter might have a similar effect on him. Gathering his wits he pasted a weak smile on his face and after muttering the usual pleasantries he made his escape from Potterland, as he had come to think of it.

When the boy strolled in well after dinner Snape sent a gentle finger of legilimency across the room. Instead of picking up unshielded surface emotions the probe met a rock hard wall with a perfectly smooth exterior. The boy didn’t seem to notice his intrusion so with a subtle flick of his wand he sent a more determined probe but it was unable to even bend the boy’s defenses. His mind went into overdrive trying to figure out what Potter was up to when the boy looked at him without expression and said, “Professor, how was your day?” in a flat voice.

Catching Harry’s eyes, Snape snarled, “Legilimens,” and practically stabbed him with his wand. Nothing happened. Snape thought furiously of all the ways one could learn occlumency and what could produce such a result. The boy merely sat down and gazed at him serenely as if nothing had occurred. “What have you done, boy?” he shouted.

A confused look crossed Potter’s face. A small furrow appeared in his forehead but after a moment the blank look smoothed it out. “I’ve done what I needed to learn to clear my mind of emotions and block intrusions. I’m keeping my mind to myself,” he added without any heat of anger or pride of accomplishment to color his voice.

Snape ground his teeth and thought furiously. Without the drive fueled by emotion and memory the boy was worse than useless to himself and the Order. If the Dark Lord were to capture him in this condition the war would be over before it started. He waved his wand and muttered a hopeful, “Finite Incatatum,” but Potter remained unchanged. Suddenly something the brat had said struck a memory. He grabbed his arm in a grip designed to hurt. When Harry made no complaint he shook him a little and said, “Did you learn this from a book?”

“Yes, Professor,” was the toneless response.

Before the boy could move Severus snarled, “Accio book,” and the manual tugged itself free from Harry’s pocket to land in his hand with a pop. Snape took one look at the well-thumbed tome and shut his eyes with a grimace. “Where did you get this, you foolish child?” he whispered.

Harry shrugged. “Knockturn alley.”

“Did you ever wonder why it was there instead of Florish and Blotts?” Snape kept his eyes closed and spoke softly in order to keep his temper in check. Fear had a way of bringing out the very worst in him.

Another shrug. “No.”

Snape felt his eye twitch. “It’s because it was banned.” He opened his eyes to see Harry’s response. The boy continued to look at him with that blank, disinterested expression. He found himself wishing for the hang dog look or perhaps some good, old fashioned fear. “If the reader follows the directions in this book then he or she will be dissociated from his or her emotions and memories,” and here the boy had the nerve to smile and nod in agreement, “permanently.” He grabbed Harry’s arms and looked with dismay at the ragged incision on his forearm. “Clearly you don’t do anything halfway, Potter.”

Harry frowned again and Snape allowed himself to feel slightly optimistic at this sign. From what he remembered once the victim had completely lost all affect it was nearly impossible to retrieve them. The treatment was to evoke a strong enough emotion to break through the block; once broken it would not renew itself. He looked at his charge speculatively.

A sneer grew on the potion master’s face as he worked out a plan of attack. “You are even more arrogant than your bastard of a father, Potter,” he purred. The boy stared back blankly. “He was truly a fool and worse yet, a mudblood lover. How he could handle the stench of her tainted blood is beyond me. He probably welcomed the killing curse as an end to his misery.”

Harry frowned slightly. “As far as I know his parents were married,” he said. “I don’t understand why you would call him a bastard.”

Snape forced his face into an even more terrible expression. At this point he was sure any first years witnessing this would run back to their mothers begging to be home schooled. Potter remained unfazed with the slightly perplexed expression fading from his brow. Snape continued his attack. “Perhaps it is you who are the bastard. I heard your mother spread her legs for anyone with enough coin. Perhaps you are even MY son,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “I tasted her pleasures many a time, Potter. She was quite the screamer.”

The boy said, “I thought you said her stench was unbearable. How were you able to tolerate it?” The small furrow between his brows returned. Snape ground his teeth and dug deeper.

“Your godfather, or should I say god-mutt, truly got what he deserved,” he said coolly. Snape went in for the kill. “It was brilliant of you to orchestrate his demise. I cheered when I heard what occurred that night in the DoM. The only shame is that he wasn’t tortured beforehand as you believed.” He waited with bated breath for a reaction. Harry’s eyes drooped and he swallowed but after a few blinks he cleared his countenance.

“I’m not sure I agree with your assessment, Professor, but you are certainly allowed to have your own opinion,” he said with only the faintest trace of anger. Snape thought hard. He had pressed all the usual buttons and the boy had failed to react. Perhaps trying to elicit hate or anger was the wrong tactic to use on the Gryffindor Golden Boy. He gripped his wand but stifled the impulse to hex him.

After a moment’s hesitation he hurried into the boy’s room. He returned with the Firebolt. In all his time at Hogwarts, Snape had never seen anyone look so utterly jubilant as Harry did while he flew. During Quidditch matches at Hogwarts he had heard the other teachers remarking upon his unnatural skill but what had intrigued him the most was the boy’s intense delight. The concept of that sort of sustained happiness eluded Snape but perhaps it would be enough to pull the boy’s emotions back from the void he had consigned them to.

Snape thrust the broom into the boy’s unresisting hands. When he did not react Snape led him out the door and said, “Fly.” Harry threw a leg over the Firebolt and took to the sky. The transformation was instant and complete. The lassitude of moments before disappeared to be replaced with passion. Snape’s mouth fell open as he tilted his head further and further back in order to watch Harry fly.

The boy’s body, short and spare on the ground, was perfectly suited for flight. Flawlessly balanced over the broom he shot straight up toward the sun. Snape could see the muscles in the young wizard’s back and shoulders, usually hidden by thick robes when he flew, straining against the thin material of his tee shirt. He gasped as the boy suddenly spun and performed an outside loop, working hard against the centrifugal force. Harry pulled out of the loop and headed toward the ground, eyes slitted against the wind and mouth open to emit a whoop of pleasure. Snape sighed with relief.

Nearly thirty minutes and countless death defying maneuvers later Harry made his landing. Snape had nearly suffered cardiac arrest on numerous occasions during the boy’s ride when the brat had waited until it was clearly too late to pull out of a dive before doing so, feet skimming the grass and face lit up with exhilaration. The knowledge that several people who were released from this dark spell had committed suicide did nothing to relieve his anxiety as he watched Potter’s flight.

The boy landed several yards away from him and as Snape approached he could see Harry’s frame hunch and shudder as he was hit with a storm of returning emotion. The broom fell from his fingers as he tangled both hands in his hair and fell to his knees. As Snape clumsily reached out to clasp Harry’s shoulder the boy pitched forward and pressed his forehead to the turf. The shuddering gasps from his suppressed sobs made Snape flinch away and avert his eyes. He stood there, awkwardly lending his silent support until the boy’s grief was spent.

Snape extended a hand and Harry took it. He hauled the boy to his feet and supported him as they stumbled into the cottage. A whispered legilimency spell showed the boy to be back to his usual, unguarded state. Snape allowed himself a moment to regret the loss of the boy’s ability to block the Dark Lord but the price was entirely too dear. Vowing to help the boy properly learn to occlude his mind, Snape helped Harry into bed. Mercifully he was asleep immediately.

Sleep did not come easily to the potion master as he sat in his own bed contemplating what could have happened. Due to a dangerous lack of vigilance on his part they had narrowly escaped certain defeat at the hands of the Dark Lord. He smirked. Now the responsibility was back where it belonged, squarely on the thin shoulders of a grieving, underage wizard who had no idea how he was supposed to save everyone and accomplish the impossible. Snape snorted with derision and sipped his firewhiskey. This was a situation truly worthy of the greatest irony.

The sound of the front door closing brought him out of bed with his wand drawn in a single movement. He eased the door open and slipped out into the dark. Moonlight fell across Sirius’ bike and by its silver light Snape saw Harry seated on the dewy grass, leaning against the frame. The young wizard’s head was tilted back as he gazed at the sky. His face looked otherworldly in the gleam of moonlight with the traces of his emotion glittering on his cheeks. Gravel crunched under Snape’s boots and Harry’s eyes snapped over to glare at him accusingly.

“Get stuffed, Snape.” The boy scrubbed the tears from his cheeks. “Now I’m back to where I was or worse,” he moaned. “I had it.” His voice trailed off and he looked fiercely at the ground, swallowing hard.

“That wasn’t the way, Harry,” Snape said, his voice rough from the firewhiskey. “You merely buried your feelings so deeply you were no longer aware of them.”

“Big deal,” Harry snarled. “I did what had to be done to keep me from hashing things up again like at the Department of Mysteries. It was worth any cost.”

“I beg to differ,” Snape said harshly. “In that condition you were worse than useless. The Dark Lord would have been able to convince you he was Merlin himself.” He continued in a gentler tone. “Don’t you see it’s our emotions and memories that make us who we are? Without them you were a shell with no notion of who you truly are. You need to hide them from the Dark Lord but never from yourself.”

Harry dropped his head. His voice was muffled but Snape heard him. “I know but at least it stopped hurting for a while.”

oOoOoOoOo

Later the next day, as Snape stood at the window in his laboratory, he saw Hedwig making her way back to Harry’s window. The stubborn brat had insisted upon returning to work despite looking like something a hippogriff wouldn’t eat. He smiled grimly at the owl’s tenacity. “Another of Potter’s determined fan club,” he muttered. The snowy owl hooted softly as she entered the window and the sound was suddenly cut off. “Odd. I’ll have to check on her,” he said as he spelled the potion into stasis.

Wand drawn, Snape pushed open the door to the room he now considered to be Harry’s. The owl eyed him unconcernedly from her perch. Her beak opened and she rustled her feathers but no sound emerged. Frowning, Snape entered the room and looked around suspiciously. He waved his wand and growled, “Revealo!”

A humming sound came from under the bed and Snape knelt down to look. He pulled a wadded shirt from under the bed and shook it out. A small disc fell out and rolled across the floor. Snape snatched it up as it spiraled past. His frown deepened into a scowl as he realized what he had found. “A privacy disc!” he hissed. “Nice try Potter. Let’s see just what you are hiding.” With that he cracked the small charm between his fingers then replaced it and the shirt under the bed.

oOoOoOo

The next morning was July 31. Neither of the cottage’s occupants had slept the night before as Harry’s nightmares kept them both awake without the disc to block the sound of his screaming. Snape eyed the sullen boy over his teacup and debated mentioning the date. The decision was taken from him as an owl sailed through the open window and alighted on the table in front of Potter’s oatmeal.

“Pig,” Harry said quietly. With a quick grab he snatched the owl out of the air as it started to flutter away. After carefully removing a small package from its leg he let the owl rest on his shoulder and fed it some bacon. “Must be my birthday,” he said as he opened the box. “I’d forgotten.” Snape watched him carefully as he read the note and examined the gift, a small wizard camera.

“Who is it from?” Snape asked.

“Ron and Hermione, who else?”

“Who else indeed.” Snape paused and then decided to take the plunge. Harry’s answer would give him an idea of how the boy was feeling. “Did you want to see them today?”

He got his answer as Harry abruptly shoved back from the table, his chair legs squeaking with protest as they scraped across the floor. With a startled hoot, the small owl launched itself out the window. Harry stalked out without a word, leaving the camera and note on the table. The sound of the bike firing alerted Snape that the boy was leaving.

The day passed slowly as Snape puttered about, brewing a few potions for the infirmary at Hogwarts. It was some time after sunset when Harry finally straggled in looking slightly worse for the wear. His hair was even more atrocious than usual and his shirt was torn. The brat tried to go directly to his room but Severus intercepted him.

“What have you been doing,” he asked with an effort to seem unaccusing.

“Nothing.” Harry tried to walk around him but Snape stepped over to block his path. The whelp still had not looked up.

“Look me in the eye then, Potter,” Snape insisted. With obvious reluctance Harry raised his head. It was quite spectacular really. His left eye was swollen completely shut and the other was bruised a stunning purple. Dried blood crusted his nostrils although it appeared the boy had attempted to clean it away. Various scratches and bruises decorated Harry’s skin which was more visible than usual due to the large rip in his t-shirt. Snape grabbed Harry’s hands and tutted over the abrasions on the knuckles.

“Tsk, tsk, Potter. Fighting like a muggle. I’m surprised.” Snape reached for Harry’s face. The boy stood his ground but leaned away from the contact with a wary expression. Snape growled and gently cupped the battered cheek and rubbed his thumb over it. Potter’s unblinking eyes were fastened on his face and the boy’s body was ramrod stiff.

“Relax,” Snape said without his usual venom. “I am merely trying to decide if you need a healing potion.” The boy relaxed slightly but Snape could tell he was still prepared to flee. He considered his next words carefully. “Is this a muggle birthday tradition, Potter? I can think of no other reason for you to be brawling.”

Still evaluating Harry’s wounds, Snape waited patiently for the boy to speak. After a few moments of silence he blurted, “They were harassing one of the lads.” Snape’s bland expression prompted him to expound, “They were bigger than him.”

The potion master tilted the boy’s head to get a better look at his face. “From these injuries I would wager they were bigger than you too, Mr. Potter.” The boy huffed and tried to pull away but Snape’s fingers held him fast. Harry huffed again at the restriction and Severus could feel him trembling. He gently tipped the boy’s head back and looked him in the eyes. “What has you so upset?” he asked. He could feel the boy’s magic boiling about the room, a reflection of his state of anxiety.

Harry gazed at him, his green eyes dark with emotion, then jerked himself free from Snape’s grasp. “I, I don’t know what’s wrong. Just stop pressing me,” he said with his hands held defensively in front of him. He tried again to leave the room but the professor blocked him. Snape felt the swirling magic increasing as the boy turned away and sat down on the couch with his elbows on his knees and hands laced behind his head. “I feel like I’m pulling apart,” he said in a jagged voice.

With a sigh Severus sat down next to Harry and surveyed his tense muscles. This was truly not his area of expertise. He tried to imagine what Albus would say. “Sometimes, Potter,” he began, “it helps to talk about what is troubling you.” He bit his tongue and nearly groaned at his ineptness. Dumbledore deserved an Order of Merlin for dealing with this sort of thing on a regular basis.

A dark laugh was his response. “There’s so much right now I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Start with why you were so upset when I tried to check you over.” Snape kept his eyes on the floor and his voice neutral. He felt sweat breaking out on his back and resisted the impulse to leave the room. The churning of Potter's uncontrolled magic was beginning to jangle his nerves.

“Uncle Vernon would have thrown me in the cupboard for fighting,” Harry said in a trembling voice. He sniffled and rubbed gingerly at his eyes. “If I was lucky.”

Snape clenched his fists and looked over at the boy with some heat. “I’ve told you I am not your Uncle,” he ground out.

“I know!” Harry nearly wailed. “I can’t let it go, I try but I keep expecting you to act like him! Belt up, Potter,” he said in a harsh, mocking tone, “I keep telling myself to suck it up but it doesn’t work.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair and laughed again. “Some bloody Gryffindor I turned out to be. Scared of a fat biffa like Dursley!”

There was no reproach in Snape’s reply. “An adult who was bigger than you and in charge of your care mistreated you. There’s no shame in being afraid in that situation, Potter.” Snape cringed as the description hit a little too close to home. His fingers itched to be around Dursley’s fat neck but instead he wrapped them around the bottle of firewhiskey sitting nearby. He didn’t know what Dumbledore would do in this situation but he could think of only one way to defuse it. Two glasses flew across the room in response to his muttered spell. Snape solemnly filled the glasses and turned to Harry.

“You’ve just turned sixteen, I believe a drink is in order.” Harry stared at Snape and the whiskey then silently held out his hand. Snape lifted his glass in salute and downed the drink in one go. Looking slightly wide eyed, the boy returned the gesture and knocked his own drink back in similar fashion. The potion master felt the cloud of wild magic that had been prickling at his senses begin to dissipate. Smoke hissed from both wizards’ ears and Harry spluttered a bit but, to Snape’s relief, he held out his glass for a refill.

For the third night in a row since he had broken the secrecy disc in Potter’s room Snape was awakened by the sound of Harry’s cries. The occlumency lessons were going well but did nothing to prevent Potter’s persistent nightmares. The keening sound of the boy’s grief grated on Severus’ nerves. It made him feel as if he was intruding on something that should have been private.

Previous nights he had simply waited for the boy to wake himself up but tonight he felt compelled to do something. As he entered the room he saw Potter curled up in a ball of pure misery. The young Gryffindor’s breath hitched as he sobbed into his pillow.

“Nooo, Sirius!” Potter moaned. His hands clutched at the sheets as he flailed about blindly. The sound of the boy’s teeth grinding together made Snape’s skin crawl. He moved quickly to the bed and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. The boy was sweating and his skin trembled at his touch.

“Wake up, Potter,” Snape growled. He shook the boy lightly and watched as he clawed his way up through the shrouds of sleep. Startled green eyes opened wide and latched onto his. The boy jerked out of his grasp and rolled off the bed, wand already out and pointed at him. Snape stepped back and wondered if the boy woke up this way every morning in Gryffindor tower. The image of Potter waking up with his wand at a trembling Longbottom’s throat amused him considerably.

Waiting for the boy’s sleep dulled mind to catch up with the situation Snape scowled, uncomfortable with being on the business end of Potter’s wand yet again. The boy sucked in a few ragged breaths, glanced around the room, then lowered his wand. “What’s going on,” Harry grunted. His voice was an octave lower than normal.

“You were having a nightmare,” Snape said in clipped tones. He had no intention of getting into an emotional conversation with the boy. “It’s the third night in a row. This needs to stop.”

The boy scowled and picked up his glasses. “You wouldn’t be hearing me if you had left the secrecy disc alone.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “The idea is to fix the problem, not pretend it doesn’t exist.” He didn’t have the energy to bring up the occlumency debacle.

“You can’t fix me, Snape,” Harry ground out. “This is as good as it gets.” He scrubbed his fingers over his face and through his hair. Then the fight seemed to go out of him and he sank down to the bed. “I’m sorry I woke you. It won’t happen again.” He looked dully across the room and waited for the older wizard to leave.

With another roll of his eyes Snape said, “Get dressed. We’re going out.” Harry remained motionless, still staring blankly at the wall. Snape frowned in annoyance. “Potter?” The boy started and looked up at the potions master.

“What?”

“I said get dressed.” The boy looked confused. He still didn’t move. Snape grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. Still muzzy from being woken so suddenly, Harry staggered a little so Snape kept his hold on him and walked him over to the wardrobe. “Get dressed,” he repeated and gave him a little shove. The boy obeyed, reaching for jeans and pulling a jumper over his head. He shoved his bare feet into a tattered pair of trainers and turned to the older wizard.

“Good enough?” he said with his arms extended slightly.

“Comb your hair, it is atrocious,” snapped Snape. He mentally cursed the Dark Lord for killing the brat’s parents and putting him in this ridiculous predicament.

“Won’t do any good,” was the sleepy reply. The boy swallowed a yawn and combed his fingers through his unruly mop. The result was slightly less obnoxious than before and on par with most days Snape had seen. Patience exhausted, Snape growled low in his throat and grabbed Harry by both forearms. The action sparked Harry’s memory of a similar episode and he automatically pulled back. “Wait a minute,” he said, finally starting to look awake.

“We’ve waited long enough,” was the snarled reply. He jerked the boy close and with a nasty, wrenching sort of pop they disapperated. When they reappeared on a dark village street Harry yanked his arms out of Severus’ grip and backed away.

“What the fuck was that all about,” he spat as he rubbed circulation back into his upper arms.

Snape regarded him coolly for a moment then replied. “Your nightmares are not getting any better. You are losing sleep and are not able to properly cope with the loss of your godfather.” Harry flinched at the mention of Sirius. “I propose a possible solution.” With a tilt of his head he indicated the shop they had arrived in front of. It huddled between two buildings, appearing to shoulder them aside as Harry watched. The sign above it said ‘Magical Tattoos’ in flowing script.

Harry raised his brows in question and Snape gave a small nod to indicate he should enter. Intrigued, Harry pushed open the door. Inside he found a dark and dingy shop with nothing but a counter and a rather bedraggled, elderly man behind it. Not appearing to be surprised to see the two wizards at such a late hour the man shook back straggly gray hair and looked Harry over.

“So, lad, what brings you here to Wedden Cross?” he asked with a friendly smile.

Harry did not return the smile. Turning to Snape he said, “What brings us here, sir?” Snape gave him a look for his rudeness and faced the proprietor.

“Please excuse his lack of manners. We are here to enquire about a tattoo.”

Harry gave his professor a look of incredulity. “You brought me here to get a tattoo? I thought that was something that muggle boys snuck away from home to get. I’ve never seen one on a wizard.”

The man gave the potion master a grin. “Muggle born?”

With a shrug Snape said, “Close enough.”

“Well, a wizard tattoo is permanent like a muggle one but there’s where the similarity stops. It moves like a wizard photograph.” He shrugged. “It’s a lot of things, depending.”

“Depending on what?” asked Harry.

“It depends on the type of ink used, the magical strength of the subject and recipient, the skill of the artist, and of course the type of emotions involved in choosing the artwork. Really, the results are quite variable. A lot depends on you.”

Snape took Harry by the shoulder and turned him so they faced each other. “Wizards sometimes get tattoos to pay tribute to a comrade. The spirit of the departed may be captured in the artwork, much like in a painting.” He could see Harry thinking about the possibilities. “It is said that some find closure and forgiveness through this mark of respect for the fallen.” He caught and held Harry’s gaze. “I think this will help you with your grief.”

Open mouthed with shock, Harry stared at his professor. Snape could tell that assistance was the last thing the boy was expecting from him and it rankled despite his efforts to remain detached from this ludicrous assignment. He watched as various emotions paraded across Potter’s too expressive face: sorrow, fear, and finally hope all made an appearance.

Harry did not throw off Snape’s grip on his shoulder. He looked over at the proprietor and asked, “What do you need to do it?”

The man had stepped back to allow them some privacy. He now moved up to the counter and said, “A picture is helpful. Also if you have something that the person owned or gave to you, that will be beneficial as well.”

The young wizard looked reluctant. Severus could understand this, he knew Harry had kept Sirius’ existence secret for so long that it would be difficult to speak of it openly. “Go ahead, Potter. No reason to keep it secret now that he is dead.” The boy reacted as if he had received a blow. Severus mentally berated himself for the callousness of that statement as he watched Harry try to master his emotions.

He wondered about the wisdom of taking Dumbledore’s golden boy to be marked but dismissed it immediately. If the old meddler wanted things done his way he should have kept the brat himself. Potter needed some kind of absolution and he was certain that Black’s devotion to the boy would not have faded with his death. As much as he distrusted Black, Snape was certain the man would not fail him in this.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry, feeling strangely numb, reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. A picture of Sirius grinned up at him, waving and mugging. Harry glanced back up at the tattoo artist. It felt strange to share Sirius with anyone but the man’s kind expression convinced him and he held out the photo.

“He was an animagus. If you wait a bit he’ll change into his animal form.” Harry swallowed a wave of emotions that threatened to bring tears to his eyes. “That’s what I would like for the tattoo.” The last sentence came out rather strained but the man nodded and took the photo. He studied Harry’s face for a moment then turned to the picture.

Sirius obliged by promptly changing into Padfoot, with his tongue lolling out happily. Harry blinked back more tears as he watched Sirius’ carefree antics. He was looking at the floor, trying to master himself when the man placed the tattered photo back into his hands. “It’ll make a fine tattoo,” he said gruffly. Harry nodded, unable to speak right then.

The man stood and pushed his chair back loudly. That broke the tension in the room and Harry gratefully slipped the picture back into his wallet. He was hesitant to proceed as the idea of a tattoo reminded him of death eaters with their dark marks but the thought of keeping a bit of Sirius with him was tempting. The promise of easing a bit of his grief and loneliness finally swayed him. “Can we do it now?” he asked.

The man pretended to look around the shop for other customers. Harry was strongly reminded of the twins and a grin split his face despite the heaviness in his heart. “I think you are next in line,” said the man with a grand sweep of his arm. “Name’s Michael, by the way.”

“Harry,” said the Gryffindor, and they shook hands. Michael slapped Harry on the back in a comradely fashion. The boy began a silent countdown from ten as he removed his shirt. When he reached three he saw Michael’s brows join his hairline. He let out a little, “Gads!” of surprise. Without taking his eyes off Harry he quickly sat on the stool he had next to the counter. He grabbed two handfuls of his hair and rested his elbows on his knees, now staring fixedly at the floor.

After a few seconds of harsh breathing, Michael looked back at Harry. “And I suppose that picture was Sirius Black?” Harry nodded mutely. Michael puffed out a lungful of air then made an obvious effort to compose himself. He stood and took a few steps to the doorway and leaned there, facing outward. Harry could see his shoulders beginning to shake. Resignedly Harry reached for his shirt and began to put it back on.

“What are you doing,” came Michael’s voice just as Harry had the shirt covering his face. He pulled it the rest of the way down and replied.

“I assume you aren’t going to do the tattoo now,” he said tersely.

Michael smirked and Harry had a sudden urge to ask him if he was related to Snape. “Never assume,” he said with a laugh. “You know what that does. Now take off your shirt. If anyone is going to ink the famous Harry Potter then it had better be me.” Harry grinned and quickly pulled the shirt back over his head. Snape stepped forward and Harry started with surprise. He had forgotten the man was here.

“I assume you will keep Mr. Potter’s presence here to yourself,” Snape said ominously. “It would be most unfortunate if … certain parties… were to hear of his whereabouts.

Michael blanched but recovered quickly. “One of the rules of the trade. Complete confidentiality. Never you fear, Mr. Potter. You were never here.” Harry looked a little doubtful so Michael continued. “Wizard’s promise.”

Harry looked at Snape who nodded slightly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the knife Sirius had given him. “This was a gift from Sirius,” he said as he held it out to the tattoo artist.

“Great. You just hold on to that while I work. Try to think about him and the things you did together. It will strengthen the spell.” Harry nodded and lay down on the bench. Thoughts of Sirius swamped his emotions and he was glad to be facing away from Snape and Michael.

Several sweaty hours later, it was done. Michael sat back and surveyed the tattoo with a satisfied grunt. “Some of my best work,” he allowed, wiping blood and ink from Harry’s shoulder. “Now I must activate the spell.” Harry sat up stiffly and faced him as he explained. “The tattoo will bind with your magic as that is what will power it, so to speak. The depth of your feelings for Black and the strength of your magic will determine the way the tattoo will turn out.”

Harry stood and moved over to a small mirror on the wall. He half turned and examined the tattoo. It was beautiful and heartbreaking. Michael had captured Padfoot exactly as Harry remembered him. He looked at the artist and said quietly, “It’s brilliant.” Michael smiled and gestured for him to come back over to the bench. After Harry was seated facing away from him he took out a wand.

“This is the part that can be quite painful,” he warned. “The ink will connect with your magic and activate the tattoo. Are you prepared?”

Harry nodded and clenched his eyes shut, shoving memories of Sirius into the front of his mind. Michael raised his wand and with a complicated flourish he chanted, “Connectivus Ambulatorus!” A hiss of pain was forced past Harry’s clenched teeth as he arched from the power of the spell. He stood and stumbled away from Michael’s comforting hand.

Standing with his forehead leaning against the wall, he clutched his shoulder with his left hand and held his right fist against the plaster. Fingers of pain worked their way through him, seeming to search his body for something. He clenched his jaw, refusing to allow any more sounds to escape him. Acutely aware of Michael and Snape watching him, he tried to soften his ragged breathing as the pain continued to course through his body. Minutes dragged by and Harry began to wonder how much longer he could stand it without crying out. Finally, when he had begun to shake with the throbbing ache, it stopped. His knees gave out and he slid down the wall to the floor. He heard Michael stand up and leave the room, only to return moments later.

“Here, boy,” he said gruffly. “This’ll ease the tension a bit.” He held a small glass in front of Harry who had turned and leaned cautiously against the wall. His shoulder felt completely healed as he stretched his right hand for the drink. An amber liquid nestled in the tumbler. Michael handed another similar glass to Snape and kept a third for himself.

“Well done, Mr. Potter. Here’s to Sirius Black, long may he live in tattoo art.” Harry smirked but Snape’s glare kept him from voicing any comments about his low odds of survival. Michael downed the drink, Harry and Snape followed suit. The alcohol burned its way down to his stomach then lay there extending tendrils of warmth and relaxation to his tense muscles. Harry smiled as he imagined Sirius’ reaction to Snape drinking a toast in his honor.

After a few moments of silence Michael extended his hand to Harry and hauled him to his feet. Harry still felt a little shaken up but managed to stay standing. “One of the longest activations I’ve ever seen,” remarked Michael as he eyed Harry, obviously ready to steady the boy if needed. “Should be a very good tattoo by that indication.”

Harry stumbled over to the mirror and turned to examine his shoulder. The image of Sirius was now bounding around on his back, barking silently with enthusiasm. Harry’s eyes bulged and he looked over at Michael. The artist grinned and said, “He’ll settle down some with time.” Harry heard a soft snort from Snape.

Harry looked at the tattoo and smiled. “Wicked,” he whispered, feeling completely awestruck. He couldn’t wait for Ron to see it. A sudden thought struck him. “Michael, will muggles be able to see this? I’m working a summer job with them and this could be hard to explain.”

“Not to worry my boy. A muggle disillusionment spell is part of the price. Wizards will see the full beauty of your artwork but to a muggle it will look like one of their still tattoos.” He waved his wand and Harry felt a sensation like the time Moody had disillusioned him.

Harry paid and after a final satisfied look at Sirius leaping about on his back he donned his jumper and bade Michael farewell. The moon was waning as he and Snape exited the shop. An enormous sense of comfort infused him knowing that Sirius was watching his back. He already felt Sirius’ steadfast love replacing some of the guilt that had taken root in his heart. When Snape faced him preparing to apparate Harry felt overcome with gratitude. “Thank you, professor,” he said. His voice was thick with emotion.

Snape looked at him with a strange expression of relief. Harry wasn’t sure what that meant but he decided not to worry about it. The stars were still visible and he began to pick out the constellations. The dog star seemed especially bright and Harry smiled as he gazed up at it. He felt the tattoo’s connection, warm and comforting like one of Mrs. Weasley’s hugs.

A shadow fell across him. He looked over, still grinning. “Shall we go, Potter?” Snape asked snarkily. “Perhaps we can still salvage a few hours of sleep.”

Harry’s smile did not fade. “Yeah. I just felt like enjoying the stars for a while.”

It was two days after the tattoo and Harry was feeling better than he had felt for a long time. The nightmares about Sirius had ceased and thanks to an improvement in his occlumency there had been no visions from Voldemort. Harry still grieved but it was manageable, not the all consuming sorrow he had felt earlier. The tattoo helped with that too, blunting the loss by giving him a hint of Sirius’ playful aura when he felt lowest.

After a long day of cleaning stalls, taking the horses for gallops on the downs, and the like the lads cleared out quite quickly. As usual Harry hung back to see if any extra work was available. He was never in a hurry to return to Snape’s cottage even though the man had begun to treat him with more respect. Arthur greeted his inquiry with his usual gusto and said, “There’s always plenty to do here, my boy. How about if you and Kelly take the truck into town and get a load of feed?”

This proposal was heard with no enthusiasm from Kelly, a younger boy who had taken a disliking to Harry. He gave Harry a glare and said, “I’ll get my jacket,” without a trace of good humor. Harry shrugged and headed for the truck. He had made it a policy to keep his distance from all the lads. His friendship was a surefire ticket to getting killed or at least messed up a bit.

To Harry’s surprise Kelly slid into the passenger seat leaving him no choice but to drive. When Harry looked hesitant Kelly spit out, “I’m not old enough yet to drive,” and sat back with his arms crossed. After pondering the controls for a moment Harry pressed the clutch and fired the engine. His obvious confusion over the gear shift seemed to irritate Kelly even further. Once they were moving, albeit slowly, down the narrow road the boy became even more upset when Harry made no attempt to converse.

“I suppose you think I’m beneath you, not worth talking to,” he finally said. Harry looked at him in surprise.

“That’s not at all what I think,” he said bluntly. He returned his eyes to the road and did not elaborate. The boy’s hostility was difficult to take but it worked well with Harry’s strategy of isolation so he bore it without further protest.

The boy continued to seethe, glaring at Harry with his arms crossed and his back stiff. At long last he grew tired of being ignored and said, “I know what you are, you know.” He nodded at Harry’s forearm where the concealed wand holster was strapped. “I can see that.” The seatbelts were all that kept the two from hitting the windshield when Harry slammed on the brakes. The truck slid to a stop and Kelly flinched back when Harry leaned across the seat with his teeth bared in a snarl. The wand the younger boy had indicated was now pressed to his throat.

“Just who are you,” Harry growled.

“I’m nobody, just a squib,” Kelly said quickly. “Well, nearly a squib. I can manage a few spells and the muggle repelling stuff doesn’t work on me but mostly I’m a squib. I’m happy this way, even have a great muggle girl friend.” He stopped and eyed Harry with large, pleading eyes. Harry felt sick and disgusted with himself for scaring the boy.

Pulling the wand away and replacing it in the holster, Harry said, “Then what is your problem with me? You’ve been riding me since day one.”

Kelly put on a brave face. Harry was reminded of what he must have looked like in second year when everyone thought he was the heir of Slytherin. “You must be one of those stuck up pure blood types. My mum told me about you. You treat all the muggles like they’re dirt, like they’re not even human. Makes me sick, it does.”

Harry rested his head against the steering wheel and let out a great sigh. “You couldn’t be further from the truth, Kelly,” he said tiredly. It never ceased to amaze him how much it hurt to be misunderstood. He felt Padfoot wriggling about and smiled despite his aching heart.

“Then why are you such a bastard all the time?” the younger boy asked. Harry snorted and threw the truck into gear.

“I just don’t want to get too close to anyone, that’s all. It’s nothing to do with them being muggles.”

“Why then?” Kelly persisted.

Harry stopped the truck again. He looked the younger boy in the eyes and asked, “How much do you know about those ‘pure blood types’ that treat muggles like dirt?”

The boy’s eyes dropped to his hands. “Mum says they’re real bad wizards,” he whispered. “The worst one you can’t even say his name.” He looked back up at Harry. “Are you one of them, Ian? Mum says they’ll kill me if they find out I’m a squib.”

The fearful look in Kelly’s eyes struck Harry like a knife in the heart. “No, I’m not,” he said earnestly. “In fact, they are trying to catch me and I don’t want them to come after any of you just because they see me getting friendly with you. So I’m keeping my distance. Understand?” He clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

The fear in Kelly’s expression changed to something like the hero worship he used to see in Colin Creevey’s eyes. Not sure if this was an improvement Harry hastened to say, “I’m hiding from them so you can’t tell anyone you’ve recognized me, got it? Not even your Mum.” The boy nodded and the rest of the trip in passed in companionable silence.

After the feed was loaded and they were on the way back Kelly said tentatively, “I’ll be your friend, Ian. I’m not worried about those wizards seeing me.”

Harry felt both warmed and chilled by the boy’s offer. The combination made him slightly sick. He looked over at Kelly and said, “Thanks, that’s really brave of you, mate. Just remember to keep yourself safe if any of them show up. That’s the best thing you can do for me.” He thought for a moment and then continued. “In fact, I’d like to show you where I’m staying. If anything happens to me, I want you to run as fast as you can to this cottage. The man who owns it is a powerful wizard and he’ll keep you safe. Okay?” Kelly nodded and Harry drove by Snape’s house and pointed it out.

After they unloaded the feed Kelly said, “Patrick and Robbie are in a musical group. They’re playing tonight at the Thatch.” His voice trailed off and he left the invitation unspoken. Harry found himself unable to refuse the boy’s hopeful expression and agreed to show up later at the pub.

oOoOoOo

It was seven o’clock and Harry wasn’t back yet. Snape paced in front of the window and wrestled with his anxiety. They had no formal agreement for when the boy would come back each night but he had always been here before this. When eight o’clock arrived without a sign of the brat, he cursed and apparated to the farm. After transfiguring his robes into muggle clothing he approached the house. Arthur answered his knock with a friendly smile. “Professor Snape! How can I help you?” he asked.

“Ian hasn’t returned this evening. Do you have any idea where he could be?”

“Ah, well, some of the lads are in a band and they’ve arranged to play at the Thatch tonight. I believe they convinced young Ian to come along.” He gave Severus a concerned frown. “I hope the boy didn’t worry you.”

Snape said, “It’s not like Ian to be late. He must be spreading his wings a little.”

“He’s a very responsible boy, Mr. Snape. I’m sure he’s not getting into anything too terrible.” Arthur gestured to his sitting room. “Care to join me for some tea? I’m just reviewing some tapes of a few horses I’m considering.”

Dredging up a smile Snape declined. “Thanks but I think I’ll head to the Thatch and make sure he’s okay.”

“I know you’re concerned but please take it easy on the boy. The others have been trying to include him since he started and tonight’s the first time he’s taken them up on it. I may be out of line here but I’d see it as a positive step.” The man positively oozed good intentions and his hopeful expression made Snape have to swallow several times to avoid being sick.

Snape smirked. More of the brat’s blasted Gryffindor influence at work. “I’ll be gentle,” he said sarcastically, making a mental note to continue to avoid becoming a member of the whelp’s nauseating fan club. The idea of wearing an insipid smile every time Potter’s name was mentioned was revolting. Arthur looked a little uneasy but gave him directions to the pub and wished him a good evening.

Snape peered in the window at the Thatch. He immediately spotted Harry at a table with several other boys. The young wizard was seated nearest the wall looking vigilant and wary compared to the rest of the pub’s relaxed patrons. His green gaze took in everything as he leaned back in his chair and sipped a pint. With his long hair, tall boots, and stern expression he reminded Snape of the character Strider from a muggle novel he once read. It was a far cry from his boyish appearance of a few months ago.

If nothing else was accomplished by this farce at least the whelp was making the transition into adulthood. He would need every bit of maturity he could muster in the coming war, Snape thought with an unexpected burst of anger. Shaking off the unwanted emotion, Snape headed for the door.

As Snape entered the pub Harry immediately stood and faced him with his hand on his wand. Snape was surprised at how quickly Potter had picked up on his presence in the crowded pub. The boy’s expression went from apprehensive to relieved in a matter of seconds. He left the table with its startled occupants and met his guardian at the door. “Is something wrong,” he asked as his expression went back to concerned.

It struck Snape as rather sad that that would be the boy’s first reaction upon seeing him but he said, “No, I was merely checking up on you.”

Harry’s mobile features changed to a puzzled frown as he asked, “Why?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “You are normally in by this time. I was concerned.” Harry continued to look puzzled which Snape found unaccountably annoying. Before the boy could ask why again he said, “It is customary for one’s guardian to be familiar with one’s schedule and become concerned when there is an unexplained deviation.” He watched impatiently as Harry processed this.

“Oh. Sorry, didn’t realize it worked that way. Um, would you like a pint?” Snape eyed him suspiciously but realized that the boy was telling the truth.

“In the future it would be polite to inform me if you will be staying out later than usual.” Harry nodded agreement and Snape relaxed. “I think a pint would be an excellent idea.” Harry nodded again and waved two fingers at the waitress as they sat down. After introducing Snape to the other lads Harry fell silent, leaving the potions master to flounder through an inane conversation with the muggles. During a lull in the conversation Snape bid the boys farewell and rose to leave. Harry went with him, still not saying anything.

Snape pointed out that it would be unsafe to drive after drinking so Harry agreed to walk home with his guardian. They strolled along in silence for a time then Snape spoke. “They seem like a friendly lot,” he said dispassionately.

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

Snape nodded and they walked for a time in silence again. “”Why do you not return their friendship? It does not seem like your normal behavior.” Snape kept his visage neutral but shifted his eyes to peer at Harry and gauge his reaction. The boy kicked at a stone in the road and shoved his hands deep in his pockets.

“They don’t need my friendship,” he said. His voice was cold.

Returning his eyes to the path Snape nodded again. “Why then, do you think they continue to pursue it?” Harry shrugged and kept his eyes on the ground as well.

“I dunno. They’re better off this way,” he declared.

“I must repeat my previous belief that it is their decision, not yours, Harry.” Snape stopped and turned to face his young charge. Harry faced him as well and Snape watched many conflicting emotions cross his face.

“It’s not fair to them,” Harry said forcefully. His unhappiness showed in every line of his body from his slumped shoulders to his scuffling feet.

Gently Snape put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. Harry tensed but did not pull away. Counting that as a small victory Snape said, “It is not fair to constantly rebuff them. It is not fair to you either. And who wins when everyone is unhappy?”

Harry huffed. He looked up and Snape could see unshed tears glittering in the boy’s green eyes. “You can’t protect them, Potter. Not from everything. And it hurts everyone when you behave like this.” He was amazed to find himself wanting to physically comfort this boy. The same brat that was the bane of his existence was now weaseling his way into what was left of his emotions. His stomach roiled as he realized he was dangerously close to joining the Potter fan club.

“Don’t,” Harry said roughly. Staving off the inexplicable desire to do more, Snape squeezed the boy’s shoulders and dropped his hands. Together they turned toward the cottage and strode along in silence. Once inside Harry went quickly into his room before Snape could pursue the conversation. He could hear the boy pacing the floor but elected to let him think over what had been said.

In the days that followed Snape noticed some improvement in the boy’s attitude. Breakfast became a time for conversation instead of Harry’s previous routine of bolting his food and leaving without a word. Snape accepted this change without comment as it seemed the young wizard was very uncomfortable about making the overture. His downcast eyes and one sentence responses were irritating but a step in the right direction. Harry surprised Snape by showing up early a few evenings and reading in the library.

Snape arrived home from a staff meeting early one evening to find his charge pacing the parlor. As he stepped from the floo Harry’s anxious eyes raked over him. The boy’s tension was obvious but he said nothing as he looked the potions master up and down, avoiding his eyes. With a curt nod the boy spun and walked stiffly out the back door. Confused, Snape followed him and watched as Harry stopped and stood rigidly, arms crossed and eyes on the horizon.

“Harry?” Snape said softly. “What is wrong?”

The boy remained facing away. Snape could see he was strung as tight as a bow and trembling slightly. After a pause Harry forced out, “Nothing.”

Snape rolled his eyes theatrically and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “What is it? You are obviously upset.” Harry shrugged off his hand and stepped away.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside.” He scrubbed at his scar with the heel of his left hand. Snape noticed with surprise that he was clutching his wand in his right. Suddenly losing patience, Snape grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face him.

“What is it?” he repeated, this time louder and with a frown. The boy avoided his eyes but made no further attempt to evade him. “Just tell me and it will be done.”

Harry swiped at his scar again and said, “It’s my scar. It’s been hurting all day. Stabbing me over and over.” The hand holding the wand combed through his hair and Snape noted idly that there was clover entwined in the strands. “I was worried, you know, about what he was doing that he would be stabbing me like that.” The boy took a deep, shuddering breath and stopped.

Starting to get concerned, Snape tried to lead Harry back into the house. The boy jerked away and hissed, “No.” He sucked in a few more breaths and said, “I came home after the last race.” His green eyes slid quickly over Snape’s face without pausing. “You weren’t here. You’re always here. I didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know if you needed help.” Ragged breathing punctuated Harry’s staccato sentences.

Snape took a step back from the boy and said, “You needn’t get so concerned about my welfare, Potter. I’m the adult here.” Potter’s anxiety was unnerving and unwanted.

A barking laugh was his response. “It doesn’t work that way, Professor. Don’t you get it?” The boy stared at his feet. “That’s why I can’t do this! You don’t get to choose.”

Suddenly Harry clutched at his scar with both hands, his wand clattering to the ground. Snape grabbed his shoulders but the boy wrenched away with a cry. “Don’t look at me, not in the eyes! Ahh, Merlin, stop it!” he snarled. When the potion master continued to try to face him he struggled away from him and staggered toward the trees. “Don’t do it! I’m a bloody Basilisk – look into my eyes and you die! Even Dumbledore won’t look at me when I’m like this,” he groaned. Knocking the man’s hands away he lurched a couple of steps and waved his hands. “Go back in the house,” he pleaded. He muttered a privacy charm and sunk to his knees.

Snape stepped closer and into the range of the spell. He heard Harry’s voice, higher than normal, repeating frantically, “Gotta clear my mind, clear my mind!” The boy convulsed and screamed, “Clear out, bastard!” then wailed, “Stop!” With both hands pressed to his forehead and his eyes clenched shut the boy presented a pathetic picture. Feeling helpless and afraid, Snape knelt beside Harry and grabbed his shoulders again. Harry twisted his face away, “Go away, he’ll see you,” he moaned.

There was no time to think about what anyone else would do. Grabbing the boy’s chin Snape forced Harry to make eye contact. “It’s like you just said, Mr. Potter. You don’t get to choose.” Maintaining the visual lock he said firmly, “Clear your mind, I’ll help you.” Harry whimpered but tried to comply. The boy’s eyes flashed red for a second but Snape did not back away. “Clear your mind,” he repeated. The boy was sweating profusely and shaking but he rallied. Snape could tell by his steadier breathing that he was succeeding. Suddenly Harry slumped forward, his forehead resting on Snape’s chest.

“He’s gone,” he whispered. They sat there in silent support until Harry’s shoulders stopped shaking. The boy raised his head off Snape’s chest and lifted his eyes to meet his professor’s. Wordless thanks passed between them and together they rose and returned to the cottage.

Harry slumped on the couch and Snape went into the kitchen to prepare some tea. As he carried the pot into the living room he paused in the doorway to look at the boy. Harry was nervously running his fingers through his hair. The act strongly recalled the boy’s father but there was no arrogance in Harry’s actions. Instead it made him look vulnerable and uncertain. The clover that was stuck in his hair came away in his fingers and Harry looked at it bemusedly.

“Why do you have grass in your hair?” Snape asked as he handed Harry his cup. The boy looked blankly at the grass then up at the older wizard.

“What?” Snape patiently repeated his query. “Oh. Um, I had a fall today.” Harry waved his hand vaguely and Severus noticed his ring finger was bent at a rather odd angle. When he pointed this out Harry grunted, “Broken,” as he sipped his tea.

Snape sat back with his own cup and surveyed his charge over the rim. “Doesn’t it hurt?” he asked. Harry gave him another perplexed look.

“I think my finger is the least of my worries.” Snape’s subtly raised brow prompted him to admit, “Yeah, it hurts. Satisfied?”

“And were you planning to come to me for help with it?” Harry frowned.

“There hasn’t exactly been time.” The boy looked at Snape’s bland features and sighed. “Professor, could you help me with this finger please?”

Setting his cup on the table Snape moved onto the couch next to Harry. “Let’s see it.” The boy rolled his eyes but held out the offending digit for inspection. Snape squeezed and prodded the finger, bringing tears to Harry’s eyes but the boy clenched his jaw and did not allow any sounds to pass his lips. Snape resisted the impulse to continue until the boy cried uncle. Instead he flicked his wand and the finger straightened abruptly.

“Yeeee!” Harry hissed. “That was worse than the breaking.” He waved his hand and grimaced. Snape smirked and went back to his own chair.

oOoOoOo

Days later Harry arrived at the track with the feeling it was not going to go well. Mounted on Arthur’s mare, Godiva, he waited nervously for his instructions. He looked down into Robbie’s familiar face. “Alright there, Ian?”

“Yeah, thanks Robbie.”

Robbie gave him a smile and a brotherly tap on the leg. “Safe trip,” he said and stepped away. Robbie’s concern gave Harry a warm feeling of belonging closely followed by guilt for the way he had treated the boy. He hadn’t thought any of the boys cared about his attitude but after his discussions with Kelly and Snape he realized that was wrong. Being nobody’s friend was turning out to be more difficult than it seemed. He wondered how many of the boys thought he was being elitist instead of merely invisible as he had intended.

Pushing those thoughts aside he concentrated on the upcoming race. The mare was nicely trained and Harry knew her well. The thrill of racing energized him like nothing else except Quidditch. As the race began he laughed aloud and felt Sirius bounding along in time with Godiva’s pounding hooves. They jumped around fast and clean and brought home a victory. Arthur was pleased and the young wizard blushed as the trainer heaped on the praise. It felt good that these people appreciated him for his own merits, not because of his scar. Their trust made his deceit trouble him even more than before the race.

. Things went downhill as the weather deteriorated. He picked up a couple of rides from other trainers after finishing his duties with Arthur. Rain bit at his cheeks during his next ride and the horse slipped on the wet turf at the fifth fence, sending Harry tumbling hard into the base of the jump. A hoof caught him fiercely in the shoulder blade as he fell and added to his misery. He trudged back to the stabling area where he listened to the trainer explain what happened to the owner. The regulation slap on the back jarred his bruised shoulder but he clenched his teeth and smiled.

The next race was no fun at all with the rain and sore shoulder but with some artful riding he managed to bring the flagging horse home a respectable fifth. The trainer grunted and handed him his pay envelope without comment. Harry gritted his teeth to hold back a surly retort. Limping back to the changing room he grabbed his kit and stalked off to his motorcycle. The thought of returning to Snape’s cozy cottage was most welcoming and he decided to do just that instead of lingering at the track.

The wet ride home seemed to take longer than usual. The sting of the rain was amplified by his speed and by the time he reached the cottage he was thoroughly miserable. He parked the bike and hobbled up the steps to the front door. A hint of dark magic subtly tainted the air but, anticipating a comforting mug of hot chocolate, he walked straight in without knocking or announcing his presence. It was hard to say who was more shocked: Harry, Snape, or the deatheater who was sipping firewhiskey by the fireplace.

Moments later Harry knelt beside the still form of professor Snape. “Oh please, don’t be dead,” he keened. With hesitant movements he touched the man’s face. He felt warm and alive, not like the already cooling McNair. Breathing a sigh of intense relief he stood and staggered over to the fireplace. The small pot of floo powder tipped over and spilled across the mantel as his shaking fingers brushed against it. He scraped together a handful and tossed it into the flames. “Professor Dumbledore’s office,” he said unsteadily

On his knees before the flames, Harry was sharply reminded of the last time he had spoken through the floo like this. Images of Sirius at Grimmauld place washed over him but he fought them back, concentrating on the task at hand. He thrust his face into the blaze and called out, “Professor Dumbledore?”

His relief at seeing the headmaster was so great he almost fell back out of the fireplace. Instead he took a careful breath, mindful of the soot, and said, “Please sir, Professor Snape is hurt and needs you to come right away.”

Dumbledore stood immediately and made his way toward the fire. “Step back from the floo my boy,” he said calmly. “I shall be through directly.”

The thought of facing the headmaster sent Harry into a panic. Lurching to his feet he fought a wave of dizziness and staggered out the front door. Like a shining patronus in the swirling sea of his emotions, the bike waited in the front yard. No longer conscious of the cold and rain, he mounted the bike and kicked the starter. Mercifully it caught on the first try and without a backward glance he was away.

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.

Harry woke suddenly and bit back the moan of pain that tried to work its way out of his throat. The summer without the backup of his friends had made him wary about revealing anything until he had assessed the situation. A quick scan through slitted eyes informed him that he was back in his room at Snape’s cottage. After determining that he was alone Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, concentrating on relaxing and riding above the throbbing in his head and side. After a few moments he was able to sit up.

Like a penseive with only one memory in it his thoughts returned to yesterday, replaying the incident in painful detail. Snape’s expression of dismay haunted him as he remembered McNair’s shout and the blur of his wand as the death eater threw the first curse. Harry pitied Snape for having to deal with him and all the problems that always seemed to follow him around. No matter who was stuck with him, he mused, they always ended up with some dark wizard blasting away at them.

As he continued to consider the bad things that had befallen the people who had dared to care about him his thoughts turned to the Dursleys. The muggles had somehow managed to escape the curse of his presence whereas smarter and more talented wizards fell around him like the cards in an exploding snap game. Harry raked his fingers through his tangled hair as he mulled over the apparent dichotomy.

The realization hit him hard and he leaned forward with his head between his knees, swallowing fiercely against the bile rising in his throat. The Dursleys were immune to his affliction because they loathed him. For the ten years he had lived with them they had sustained a steady level of hatred and abuse. They had never failed to find ways to make his life miserable, never overlooked an opportunity to belittle or degrade him. Harry despised them for it but the Dursleys stanch hatred had kept them safe for many years from whatever kind of freak curse he carried. It had been his parent’s and Sirius’ love for him that had gotten them killed.

Snape’s hatred, unwavering for five terms at Hogwarts, had begun to wane as they spent the summer together. Harry had noticed its decline and had rewarded the man by relaxing his vigilance, getting too comfortable and nearly letting that death eater get the best of him. He had started to feel like he was a normal person, deserving of Snape’s reduced animosity. It was that reduction in spite that had made Snape vulnerable to his affliction. Harry’s throat constricted as he recalled the selfish pleasure he had felt when Snape’s assessment of him started to change.

The name the Dursleys used most often to describe him made his stomach clench again and he had to struggle against the renewed desire to retch. Freak. They were right about that too. What other word would describe someone like him who cursed everyone who cared about him to either death or grievous injury? He wondered how Ron and Hermione had escaped this long. It was the one bright spot in this otherwise bleak situation that they were free of his dangerous presence for the summer.

Freak. It was time he accepted the fact that he was a freak. The muggles had recognized that he was different, flawed, but since they were nonmagical they had no idea just what it was that made him so bollixed up. Once he entered the magical world and the issue of Voldemort came to light he should have realized what he was. A weapon. It was ridiculous for him to expect to be a normal person when, in truth he was not. Weapons did not have friends. Weapons did not have homes or deserve the consideration normal people got. The sooner he faced the facts and got on with what he was born to do the better. The longer he waited, cowering in fear from the inevitable, the more people Voldemort would have time to kill. The recognition of his fate made Harry feel a bit of a release and he smiled grimly.

He stretched a bit and this time the moan of pain got past his defenses. He heard steps in the hall and Snape walked into the room. The concern on his normally expressionless face confirmed Harry’s suspicions. The potions master had been fine until he started to care about Harry’s well being. Since he couldn’t even trust the man who hated him most to continue to do so, Harry knew the only solution was to put some physical distance between them.

oOoOoOo

Snape couldn’t believe how quickly the gains of the last couple of weeks could be undone. With one flick of his wand McNair had negated all the progress he had made with his assignment of gaining the boy’s trust. The process had been slow but he had kept at it, treating the boy rather like a potion that needed to be nursed along with plenty of stirring and adjustments to the flame. Harry had gradually opened up a bit and Snape had begun to notice the boy increasing the amount of time he spent at the cottage. More than anything it seemed the boy needed a home, a place to belong.

It was ironic that the day he would finally come back early looking for refuge would be the day McNair would choose to come calling. The sight of the boy dueling the infinitely more experienced death eater was one he would not soon forget. The brat’s magic must be stronger than his academic record indicated. He mused over the implications of that fact and how it fit with the other things he was learning about the boy during their forced cohabitation.

A muffled moan alerted him that Potter was awake. As he entered the room the boy was sitting up in bed with an odd mixture of pain and defiance on his face. Snape asked him how he was feeling and in response Harry rolled out of bed and staggered toward the loo, his boxers slung low on his slim hips. His stumbled a bit and clutched at the mark from McNair’s hex that stood out starkly against the pale skin of his torso. Knowing from experience that it took at least twenty-four hours and multiple potions for a severing curse to stop hurting, Snape didn’t take the boy’s muttered, “I’m fine,” as truth.

When Harry emerged moments later and reached for his clothes Snape said, “You will stay here today and recuperate. I shall contact Arthur and let him know you are unwell.” Snape decided to wait until the boy was feeling better to ask about the auras. The hallmark of a good spy was the ability to wait for the right moment to get information and he prided himself on his talent in that area.

“No. I need to go to work,” Harry rasped. He pulled jeans on over his boxers and grabbed a jumper out of his trunk. Snape watched without comment as Harry tried to raise the shirt over his head but stopped short with a faint whimper as he hit the painful restriction of the healing wound. Instead of giving up as Snape hoped, the boy merely rolled up the garment and slipped it over his head using his right arm only. When he eschewed the issue of socks by sliding his bare feet into his trainers Snape stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder.

“Why must you be so obstinate?” he growled. “Surely your workmates are capable of making due without you for a day.”

“I can’t stay here,” Harry muttered. “It’s not safe.”

Snape bristled. “I assure you, Mr. Potter, you are quite safe here.”

The brat looked up at him from beneath his fringe, his expression saying, ‘It’s not me I’m worried about,’ as clearly as if he had spoken the words aloud. Harry shrugged off Snape’s hand and headed for the door. Snape knew that to keep him here he would have to physically restrain the boy so he elected to let him go. He wondered if Arthur would be perceptive enough to spot the boy’s incapacity and send him home. That led to further speculation as to where he would go if dismissed. The sound of Widget’s high pitched voice asking if ‘Master Harry’ wanted to eat stopped abruptly as if cut off by the slam of the front door.

Snape occupied his time with a particularly difficult potion. As the hours passed and the potion curdled under his distracted fingers Snape finally gave up and headed for the door. Before he could open it he was stopped by the sound of someone knocking. He cast a spell to render the door transparent from the inside out and saw a small, nervous looking boy standing on the stoop. After composing his expression into his best ‘what were you thinking you blithering idiot’ sneer he opened the door with a snap of his wrist. The boy cringed back and stared up at him with round eyes.

“Mr. Wizard?” he quavered.

With an enormous effort Snape managed to refrain from laughing aloud. He started to speak and had to stop as the mirth threatened to bubble up from his diaphragm and out into the air. Desperate for control, he pictured Longbottom qualifying for NEWT potions and all traces of humor were painfully dismissed. Snape drew himself up to his full impressive height and sneered down at the boy. “Yes?”

Making an obvious effort to rein in his fear, the boy gulped and said, “I’m a friend of Ian’s.” He looked down at his shuffling feet and said softly, “I’m a squib.” Snape nodded at this surprising admission and continued to glare down imperiously. After another convulsive swallow the boy continued. “He told me if the dark wizards ever showed up to get him I should come here because you would protect me.” Snape felt his heart skip a beat as the humor of a moment before was replaced with cold terror. In a remote corner of his mind he pictured Potter having this conversation with the quivering boy before him. Stupid Gryffindor.

“Have the dark wizards attacked?” he asked with artificial calm.

“No sir,” the boy assured him. Snape, who hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, sucked in a lungful of air. “There are no dark wizards. I’m here because Ian said you were his guardian and, well, I think he needs you right now. As a guardian, I mean.”

The boy resumed his shuffling and Snape ground his teeth in frustration. When the youngster did not continue the potion master barked, “Will you kindly get to the point, boy?” When this seemed to create even an even deeper silence Snape rolled his eyes and said, “Let’s start with your name.”

The slight blond looked up at Snape with a tentative smile. “I’m Kelly,” he said. “Maybe Ian has mentioned me. We’re friends now.”

Snape took a firm hold on his patience and said, “Ian and I do not usually discuss his friends.” The boy’s crestfallen expression made Snape worry that he might leave before telling him why he was here. He scrambled for time by saying, “Ian isn’t very forthcoming. Surely you’ve noticed that about him.”

That apparently was the right thing to say. With a conspiratorial smile the boy said, “Yes, sir. That’s why I came here today. Ian needs help and I’m sure he won’t ask for it.”

“What exactly is the problem, Kelly?” Snape asked. He crossed his fingers and hoped that had been enough social interaction to get the boy to spill his story. Dealing with members of Potter’s tenacious fan club could be difficult at times. Their determined cheerfulness and complete lack of artifice made them hard for a Slytherin to fathom.

The boy frowned. “When Ian showed up for work today he wasn’t feeling well.” Snape nodded to persuade the boy to continue. “Arthur saw how much he was hurting and told him to go home for the day. Ian took off on his bike,” he said with another grimace, “but as I was walking home I saw the bike behind one of the boarder’s barns so I went in to check on him.”

It seemed like the boy needed more encouragement so Snape said, “Was he in the barn?” This was taking an inordinate amount of time. He hoped Potter wasn’t bleeding.

“Yes,” Kelly said, “he was in one of the stalls. I woke him up and tried to get him to go home but he just kept asking me if I was serious.” The boy looked up at him with an earnest expression. “I’m worried that he might be sick or something.”

“He kept asking if you were serious?” Snape mused. With a jolt he realized what Potter had really been asking and felt some of the fear trickle back in. If the boy’s condition was bad enough to cause him to mistake this whelp for Black then he clearly needed help. McNair always said his hexes had a little something extra on them. Snape was starting to wish he had asked the man just what he meant by that.

He gently legilimized the boy and got a good image of where Potter was holed up. “I’ll handle it, lad,” he said as he stepped out the door and closed it behind him. “Thank you for alerting me to the problem.” He urged the boy down the steps and as soon as he had turned toward the lane Snape apparated.

Appearing in the main aisle of the barn Snape was relieved to find no one there to witness his arrival. Obliviating a dozen or so muggles might show up on the ministry’s restricted spell radar. He went directly to the stall he had seen in Kelly’s memory and slid the door aside. A smallish gray mare looked up from placidly chewing her hay and stared at him hopefully. He looked around the corner and there, under the feed tub, with his back to the wall sat Potter, wand out and eying him with a wary expression. The boy looked quite a bit worse than he had that morning. His hair made a stark contrast against his pale forehead where it was stuck down with sweat, his breathing looked labored, and he was shivering.

Snape watched the boy struggle to speak, his mouth opening and shutting a few times before he said, “Snape,” in a hoarse voice. Taking that as permission to help, the potion master started to move into the stall. Harry tried to scramble backwards, his feet digging furrows in the straw as he pressed back against the rough wood. “Stop,” he rasped with his wand trained on Snape’s heart.

Snape sneered and said, “I am heartily sick of you threatening me with that, Potter. We both know you don’t have the balls to hex me.” He started to move forward again but paused when Harry dropped his wand and pointed his finger at him instead. He knew the boy’s wandless magic was unpredictable and also unfettered by the threat of discovery from the ministry. The idea of being blasted around like he was the previous afternoon was unpleasant to say the least.

“Get out of here, Snape,” Harry whispered.

As he processed the brat’s request Snape began to get angry. The boy’s emotional barriers had gradually fallen over the time he had spent at the cottage but now he could see them in his eyes just as strong as they had been on day one. The waste, the incredible waste, grated against Snape’s nerves and made him injudicious. Without his usual Slytherin-subtlety Snape spat out, “What happened to your learning to accept help when you need it, boy?”

Potter glared at him with his arm still extended. Magic thrummed about the stall causing the horse to shift her feet nervously. “Don’t call me that, Snape,” he said in a low tone.

With a snort of cruel laughter Snape said, “You need to learn develop a thicker skin, boy. A weakness like that draws abuse like shit draws flies.” When the brat did not react Snape asked in a scathing tone, “What are you doing here, Potter?” As he attempted to get his anger in check Snape wondered if all the idiots in the boy’s fanclub felt this insidious loss of self-control before they succumbed to his thrall.

The brat finally lowered his arm. “Dumped my bike,” he said. “Came in here to wait ‘till I felt better. Not working yet,” he muttered as he leaned back and closed his eyes. Harry shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself as he settled back into the corner. “Go ‘way, Snape. Lemme sleep.”

Severus’ anger began to evaporate as he sank down to his haunches. The boy’s expression of defiance didn’t quite cover up the obvious pain he was feeling. “Let’s get you back to the cottage,” he murmured. Potter’s green eyes opened up again and regarded him blearily.

“Go. Away.” With a snarl Snape stood up. Before he could begin a tirade Harry said, “I’ve never asked you for anything.” He closed his eyes and took a breath. “I’m asking you now to leave me alone.” Snape was struck by the hopeless expression on the boy’s face. He backed away a bit and considered his options. Certainly Dumbledore would not want him to leave the brat here alone and suffering but would he condone stunning him in order to bring him in? The etiquette of a situation like this was beyond his poor grasp of acceptable social behavior.

Potter interrupted his thoughts. “Will I die from this hex?”

Surprised, Snape spoke without thinking. “No.”

“Will I suffer any permanent harm if I don’t get treatment right away?” The unspoken threat of ending up like the Longbottoms hovered in the air between them.

Unable to formulate a lie with the brat staring at him so openly, Snape said, “No, you will not suffer any permanent harm.”

Even though he was very obviously hurting the boy smiled at that bit of truth. “Thanks,” he said and Snape knew he was thanking him for being honest, not for the information. Potter’s expression sobered and he continued. “Then just let me be here, alone. I’ll be back as usual at dark.”

“What is so important about staying here and avoiding treatment?” Snape asked. The situation made no sense. “If you intend to return later then why not come back now and let me begin the therapy?” Snape ground his teeth in frustration. He prided himself in being able to understand and anticipate people’s motives.

Harry stared at him with what looked like consternation. “Don’t you get it, Snape?” he asked, eyes wide and fixed on his. As the boy searched his expression Snape saw comprehension dawn abruptly. The brat smirked a bit then said, “It’s taken me a while to catch on but I figured you knew all along.” With a shrug and a sigh he settled back against the wall saying, “Whatever. Go home, professor. I’ll be there later.”

It felt like Snape was pounding his forehead against an invisible wall. The boy’s actions made no sense at all and the notion that Potter thought he should know what he was babbling about was maddening. The information that he had gathered over the course of the summer swirled around his head but refused to congeal into anything that could explain the brat’s behavior. The Granger girl said he had problems with self esteem. He had left St. Mungo’s on his own in a rather well thought out escape. On more than one occasion he had refused treatment of painful injuries. Grief over his godfather’s death had him nearly incapacitated. All these facts and more, seemingly unrelated, refused to get together and, well dammit, relate!

As Snape considered the facts he felt Potter’s eyes upon him. The boy looked worn out. “Please go,” he said. “I really want to rest and I can’t do it while you’re here.” With a disgusted sigh Snape apparated home without another word.

-

Snape waited and pondered the boy’s actions. As the hours fled he was no nearer to understanding what Potter meant. One thing he was sure of, whatever it was wasn’t good. Any conclusion that made the boy believe it was best for him to camp out in a horse stall instead of seeking treatment was obviously flawed. Potter’s inability to see that frustrated him to no end. He occupied his time by brewing a few potions he thought the boy would need when he deigned to come home. Snape caught himself referring to his cottage as ‘home’ to Potter and ground his teeth. “Nauseating,” he said aloud before gratefully transferring his attention back to the potion he was working on.

oOoOoOo

Harry drifted in and out of consciousness. Persistently hazy from fever he knew he felt retched but shouldn’t go back to Snape’s for some important reason. Unable to get his mind around much more than that he alternately shivered and sweated through the day. His side ached abominably despite the potion Snape had given him last night.

When the sun started to sink low on the horizon Harry found himself in a relatively lucid state so he decided to make the trip back to the cottage. He pulled his aching body up out of the straw and staggered into the aisle. The waning sunlight stung his bloody eyes as he mounted the bike and headed for the cottage. Cool air generated by the bike’s speed lifted his spirits and cleared his mind enough to keep him on the road for the journey but when he arrived he began to wilt again as his temperature spiked. By the time the bike was resting on its kickstand Harry had skated back into the hazy world of fever dreams.

The three steps leading to the front door looked like Mount Everest to the tiring young wizard. He fervently wished he could just apparate up them and to the door but since that was impossible he summoned his strength and began his assault upon the summit. To his immense relief the door opened and a tall, dark haired wizard stood framed in the doorway, arms crossed and cloak swaying slightly in the breeze.

oOoOoOo

“Sirius?” Potter asked with a hopeful tone. His expression tugged at Snape’s unwilling heartstrings. He quickly steeled himself against the boy’s insidious influence. A strange desire to bask in the glow of that smile had to be squelched as he found himself considering ‘being’ Black for a few moments. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have someone look at you so.

“No Potter, it’s Professor Snape,” he said quickly. As predicted, the sunny expression faded. Snape did not expect to feel the pang of regret that yanked at his heart. Before he could berate himself for ridiculous sentimentality the boy spoke again.

“Pro-professor? Is it time for class?” The confusion on Potter’s face made Snape’s emotions, unstable from lack of use, shift to anger. He grabbed Harry’s shoulder with the force of that fury but immediately gentled his grip as he felt the heat of fever through the fabric of the boy’s jumper. What had McNair added to his severing hex to produce such a result? A momentary feeling of professional envy surged through Snape before he returned his attention to the boy who was trying to pry his hand away.

“Come inside, Potter,” Snape said as he attempted to master his anger. He wondered if all the idiots in the boy’s fanclub felt this insidious loss of self-control before they succumbed to his thrall. With a sneer forced on his face he watched the shivering boy stagger up the stairs and into the house.

As he began to rummage through his robes for a fever reducing potion, Snape said, “You should not have left the cottage, Potter.” His hand closed around the familiar flask and he held it out to the boy. Eager to get the boy out of his sight so he could stop the unpleasant seesawing of his emotions, Snape said, “Take this and then I’ll help you back to your room.”

The brat eyed the potion but before he could speak Snape said, “Don’t give me any rot about ‘rules,’ Potter. You’ll take this potion one way or another.” The boy snarled but accepted the vial and drank. The effects were immediate. Snape was relieved to see the glassy appearance leave the boy’s eyes as the rasping sound of his breathing faded to normal.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “I can manage from here.” He straightened up, one hand clutching the nearby coat rack in a white knuckle grip. Snape watched color start to come back into the brat’s cheeks and awareness to his eyes. As the boy started to press past him Snape felt his anger returning. The boy’s rejection pushed at him in ways he didn’t like.

“Clearly you have forgotten your agreement to allow me to assist you in recovering from this,” he said with some of his frustration leaking out in his tone.

Potter stepped back against the wall and eyed him assessingly. “That was weakness on my part,” he said. His face was a mask, devoid of emotion. Snape ground his teeth in frustration, preferring the fever addled Potter to this stone walling one.

“That wasn’t weakness,” he snapped, “it was reality. You need help to get through this. Magical help,” he corrected as he saw Potter start to protest. “These muggles might want to help you but you’re a wizard, boy, and your problems are something they can neither comprehend nor contend with.”

The boy gave him a venomous look and started to walk past him again but Snape stepped into his path. He saw Harry flinch as their shoulders met, he’d forgotten about the wound from the severing curse as his anger took over. Drat the boy, he thought, for hiding everything from him and for manipulating him again. Any normal wizard would be begging for his help. And that, he reminded himself, is the problem. Potter isn’t normal, not when it comes to issues of trust and his own well being.

Snape tamped down his ire and gently grasped Harry’s shoulders, ignoring for a moment the pain he knew it would cause the boy. He waited with all the patience he could muster for Harry to make eye contact with him. When the green eyes finally met his Snape said, “Talk to me, Potter. Why are you pulling away?”

Harry looked at him for a moment longer and Snape held his breath, shaken by the depth of emotion he saw hidden there. He wondered if some of it was his own, reflected back at him by the glossy surfaces. The boy dropped his eyes and shrugged awkwardly. As he spoke he rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “I just got too comfortable,” Harry grunted through clenched teeth. “It won’t happen again.”

“So you are saying that McNair’s presence in my cottage was due to your comfort level being too high? Forgive me, Potter, if that just doesn’t make sense to me,” Snape snapped, his anger struggling loose from his grip on it. His fingers dug into the boy’s shoulders until he mastered his emotions and was able to relax his hold, to Potter’s obvious relief.

Harry sighed and shifted his feet. His discomfort was obvious but he still refused to ask for help. Snape seethed but made himself wait for the boy’s response. “That’s not why he was there but if I had been more careful…”

“What, McNair might have lived? Merlin, boy! McNair chose his path long ago and he knew what his end would be.” Snape released the boy with a little shove and waved his arms in uncharacteristic agitation. Frustration was making his blood boil. “Is there no end to your guilt complex?”

“If I had been more careful you wouldn’t have been hurt!” The boy’s hands moved over his torso, fitfully tugging at his jumper over the area of his wound. “I couldn’t stand it if anyone else dies for me. I just couldn’t take it.” Snape tensed as he watched Potter’s eyes glide over the exit he was blocking. When the boy leaned against the wall and slid down to a sitting position Snape relaxed marginally.

In an attempt to steer the conversation on to safer ground Snape asked, “How are you feeling, Potter?”

The boy’s automatic, “Fine,” did little to dispel Snape’s irritation.

“You feel like dragon dung and the wound from McNair’s hex is aching and burning like hell. Is that perhaps a bit more accurate, Mr. Potter?” The brat stared at him with his shuttered eyes for a moment before nodding. Snape smirked and said, “So what was so hard about that?”

“Took the healing potion,” the boy muttered. “Should be alright by now.”

Snape’s patience was at an end. “When was the last time Madame Pomfrey gave you just one potion, Potter? Did you think that was just to keep you in the infirmary longer?” The boy’s expression showed that was exactly what he thought.

“I don’t need coddling,” Harry said as he nervously raked his hand through his hair. “I’ll be fine.” He moved to get up and Snape shoved him back, hard. That drew a surprised sob of pain from the boy and Snape felt an unwelcome burst of satisfaction at having breeched his defenses. After a few seconds of harsh breathing and clutching his side Potter raised accusing eyes and spoke.

“Bloody hell, Snape,” he rasped. “What was that for?”

Snape stood in front of the boy, breathing raggedly. His anger spiraled out as quickly as it had arisen, leaving him feeling empty. He tried to collect his thoughts into some semblance of their usual, orderly arrangement. Pushing the boy had been purely instinctual and he tried to come up with a reason for Potter and for himself. The idea that he wanted to see the brat squirm with pain scared him; that couldn’t be the real motive behind his actions. Unable to come up with anything, Snape turned away and ground out, “Go to your room. I will bring the necessary potions.”

He heard Potter use the wall to get himself up and, after a few moments of what Snape assumed was painful regrouping, the boy walked away without a word. When he heard the mattress take the boy’s weight he finally trusted himself to move. After administering the potions to the still silent boy he returned to the parlor where the half empty bottle of firewhiskey waited.

oOoOoOo

As Snape turned to go Harry sank back into the pillows. The healing draughts had already begun to work and he was feeling pleasantly sleepy. The sight of the potion master’s gaunt form framed in the doorway, still tense from some repressed emotion, gave him an unexpected feeling of security. He knew without a doubt, that when he woke up the man would be there, irritable and caustic as ever, to take care of what he needed. To take care of him, weapon or not. He nearly laughed at the idea.

Looking at Snape’s retreating back he saw that same greasy haired, yellow- toothed git that he and Ron had hated for five years. But as he looked his perception …shifted… and he saw something else too. The greasy haired git was still there but there was something else: a man who did what he thought Harry needed whether Harry liked it or not. He never figured Harry was too young or too fragile or cared for him too much to burden him. He just told him the truth as he saw it, the unfiltered, unadulterated truth. He didn’t let Harry get away with anything either because he probably thought Harry needed the discipline in order to deal with the rest of his fucked-up life.

Snape’s definition of what Harry needed didn’t always coincide with what Harry thought he needed but in the long run he had to admit it had always worked out. Throughout all the spiteful remarks, the pranks, and the full out hatred Harry had shown the man he had proved to be a steadfast supporter of the Order and, if only by default, of Harry himself. Even the Occlumency lessons, although harsh in the extreme, had been Snape’s best effort to teach someone he probably thought was a worthless shirker.

So as he looked at the hateful potions master with his sallow skin and stained nails he saw something else layered over that. Here was someone you could trust to do what he thought was right without fail. That, he figured, was the thing that made Dumbledore so sure of his loyalty. Snape had deviated from that once when he’d joined the death eaters and now he was prepared to pay the price, whatever it was. Even if it meant babysitting a snot nosed Gryffindor for the entire summer, Harry thought with a sleepy smirk. Too bad that attitude was going to get him killed.

It was three days after Harry’s little adventure when Hermione and Ron paid the entry fee and walked into the race track, each sporting binoculars and a glamour spell courtesy of the twins. They looked around briefly and made their way out to the grandstands. The track looked run down and the people attending were definitely a little on the rough side. “I hope this one pans out,” said Hermione as she put her hand on her jacket pocket for a reassuring feel of her wand. “Otherwise I’ve no idea where to try next.”

Ron nodded and raised binoculars to his eyes. He’d begun to loose faith in Hermione’s assertion that the boots and breeches Harry had been wearing on the day he escaped were proof that he was working as a jockey. This was the fifth track they had visited. At least it was something to do to keep their minds off Harry’s continued absence. He scanned the riders and their mounts that were circling the saddling enclosure.

“I don’t see him in that bunch,” he said curtly. “Shall we look around for the changing room?” Hermione nodded and they wandered back up the aisle and to the corner of the grandstand closest to the barns and other buildings. Ron inspected the area with his binoculars, carefully looking at each face. His breath caught and he grabbed at Hermione’s shoulder, clumsy in his excitement.

“There he is!” he said in a fierce whisper. He pointed at a small building to their left with several young men lounging against it. One of them was instantly recognizable with his unruly hair and slim build. “It’s him, Hermione! I can’t believe it,” Ron gibbered. He gave her a wide grin then pressed the glasses to his eyes again. “He’s talking to someone, an older man. Maybe he’s going to ride for him.” He looked back at the young woman at his side. “It’ll be wicked to see him ride, won’t it?”

Hermione grabbed Ron’s glasses and with the strap half strangling her boyfriend, used them to see for herself. “Oh, Ron! He looks good. He’s a little thin though.”

Ron snorted. “Okay, Mum.” Hermione gave him a dirty look. “He’s working as a jockey, ‘Mione. Of course he’s thin!” The two smiled broadly at each other. Ron grabbed her around the waist and spun her into the air. “I can’t believe we did it!” They both were laughing hard, attracting the attention of a few annoyed racegoers. With a pair of delighted grins they clasped hands and walked back to their seats in the grandstand. Ron pulled a program out of his pocket and they perused the entries for the next race.

“Hard to say which horse he is riding,” said Hermione. “I’m sure he’s not using his real name. We’ll just have to watch for him.” She sat back in her seat but her excitement kept her from relaxing. They didn’t have long to wait. The announcer came on and began to introduce the jockeys and their mounts for the first race as the horses walked out onto the track. They immediately spotted Harry on number three and nearly fell out of the stands laughing as he was introduced as Ian Granger.

“Granger!” laughed Ron. “I can’t believe he’s going by your name.” He deepened his voice and put on a fake frown, “I’m going to have to ask the boy what his intentions are for you, Miss Granger.”

Hermione giggled and said with a grin, “I always knew Harry was the progressive type but taking my name? How romantic!” She rolled her eyes theatrically. Ron laughed aloud and turned back to the track to watch the horses line up at the start.

“There he is, ‘Mione, next to the brown horse there with the green saddle pad. This is kind of exciting, isn’t it?” Ron said enthusiastically. Hermione nodded and took up her field glasses. She focused on the horse then moved her gaze up to the rider. Harry sat tall, swaying gently with the strides of his mount. He chatted calmly with one of the other riders, unaware of his friends watching. He wore a green silk jacket with a white diagonal slash on it. His helmet had a green cover with a white ball on top.

“He looks good, kind of confident. Oh, they’re at the gate.” Hermione gasped and dropped the glasses as the starter released the field. The horses thundered for the first fence in a straining, churning group. They struggled to catch sight of their friend as the jumpers vied for position in the approach. The crowd groaned as one as one of the horses fell, spilling his jockey onto the turf.

“It’s not Harry,” Ron said quickly as Hermione looked aghast at the fallen jockey. “He’s still in the pack.” She sighed with relief but still watched the fallen boy anxiously until he regained his feet and stalked off after his horse. As she returned her eyes to the race the horses were at the next jump and she watched Harry and his mount take it easily, running steadily with the pack. She lifted her glasses again to see Harry grinning at the jockey nearest him as they thundered toward the next obstacle. She looked at Ron and smirked, “Same old Harry.” He beamed at her in response and put his glasses up to watch the rest of the race.

The pack made its way around the course, closely grouped until they reached the last turn in the back field. As the horses started to tire they began to spread out, the stronger ones taking the lead. Harry and his mount remained steady, galloping easily and taking the jumps out of stride. The young wizard looked poised as he guided the horse surely over the course, his expression determined as he concentrated on the race and the animal beneath him.

Hermione and Ron watched, entranced, as the race progressed. Harry’s horse tucked in and continued to come along strongly. As the leaders hit the ground after the last fence he was among them. There was a scramble and turf flew as they fought for the lead. As the knot of horses crossed the finish it was Harry’s whose neck stretched out to cross the line first. The characteristic fist in the air let them know he had won.

After screaming themselves hoarse Ron and Hermione sat back and looked at each other with identical grins. “Bloody brilliant,” enthused Ron, and Hermione could not find it in her heart to chastise him about his language. Together they basked in the glow of their friend’s accomplishment and watched as he and his horse made their way to the winner’s circle.

A quick flash from a camera and Harry hopped off the horse. The trainer clapped him on the back and the pair exchanged words and smiles. Making his way quickly through the small crowd of happy people who were attending with the horse’s owner Harry moved back to the lineup outside the changing room. With much grinning and friendly punches in the arm the scruffy looking boys fell back into their attitude of studious casualness, waiting impatiently for their chance to ride too. In moments Harry was approached by another trainer and left the area with a quick smile and raised brow over his shoulder for his comrades.

“He’s not listed in the program anymore today,” Hermione mused after studying her copy. “He must substituting for someone who is sick or…something.” She did not want to mention the high probability of injury in their friend’s line of work. It seemed like she needed to knock on wood. Ron gave her a look that said he understood her hesitation.

“Looks like our Harry is a hot commodity today,” observed Ron dryly. He dropped his glasses and turned to face Hermione. She returned his look and leaned back into her seat.

“Yeah.” She suddenly gave him an impish grin. “Shouldn’t we try to cash in on his hot streak?” Ron looked confused so she explained, “We should place a bet on the next horse he rides.”

Ron’s confusion turned to amazement. “I can’t believe the future Head Girl and all around genius of Hogwarts is suggesting this.” He put his hands to his face in mock horror. Hermione smacked him on the top of the head and laughed.

“It’s not like it’s illegal or anything,” she retorted. She quickly explained how to wager and the two walked over to a betting window as they waited for Harry’s substitution to be announced. When the announcer confirmed that he would be in the next race on horse number 5 they stepped up to the window. They put five pounds on him to show and returned to their seats, excitedly clutching the ticket.

Harry brought the obviously tiring horse in for a hard fought second place. He hopped off the heavily breathing horse and tossed the reins and his silks to the stable lad. As the horse was lead away the trainer pressed an envelope into his hands. They conferred for a few moments before shaking hands and moving apart. Harry brushed the mud from his breeches and headed back toward the changing room. The lineup was smaller now as the day neared it’s end.

As they watched him from the stands Harry scrubbed his hair back with his hand and chatted with the boy next to him. “He looks tired,” said Hermione.

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “Trust Harry to not know when to stop.” They shared a rueful smile and each thought about other times when Harry had refused to admit to being too hurt or tired to continue.

“Some things never change,” added Hermione. They sat back and enjoyed some lunch from the concession stand, using the money they had won on Harry’s last race. Ron’s contented look as he munched on the sandwiches and cakes prompted her to repeat, “Some things never change.” They both laughed and waited patiently for the end of today’s racing.

Hermione was on her way back from getting some soda when she saw the trainer from Harry’s first race talking to three angry looking men. When one of them pushed him back against the wall Hermione ducked behind a pillar to listen and see if Harry’s friend was in trouble. It was too far to hear everything plainly but it was clear the conversation was not amicable.

“…do as…told,” growled the dark haired man who was holding the trainer against the wall.

The trainer struggled a bit in the man’s cruel grip. “I won’t sell out my horses or my owners to the likes of you, Jerry,” he said, his voice carrying well across the aisle. Hermione remembered from the program that the man’s name was Arthur. His bravery reminded her of another Arthur she knew.

One of the men stepped forward and with a speed and viciousness that drew a startled gasp from Hermione, he threw two quick punches to Arthur’s midsection. The man holding him, Jerry, said, “That’s…taste of…you’ll get…cooperate next time.” Before she could draw her wand they released him and faded into the crowd. Arthur sucked in a breath and shakily walked in the opposite direction.

When Hermione slid into her seat with trembling hands and a pale face Ron grabbed her shoulders and said, “What is it? What’s happened?” Hermione described what she had witnessed as Ron clasped her hands reassuringly. “Looks like Harry has found himself another spot of trouble to get involved in. Wonder if he knows what’s going on.” The pair sat back and stared at the track, the idyllic day spoiled by the violent reminder of real life.

When it appeared Harry was ready to call it a day he was approached by another trainer. The man looked at Harry nervously and began talking quickly. Harry nodded a few times and after apparently coming to an agreement they marched off toward the stabling area. The two friends sighed and sat back, resigned to waiting through one more race before they could approach their comrade.

The horse was lead into the saddling area followed by Harry and the trainer. It sidestepped nervously and tossed its head. Foam dripped from its mouth and its sides were already sweat stained. The trainer stood in front of it as he continued to speak to Harry. Suddenly the animal reared up and struck out with his forelegs, dragging the shocked stable lad up into the air. Harry caught a glancing blow in the chest from the horse’s hooves and was driven backward to the turf.

There was a collective gasp from the stands. Harry got up immediately and brushed himself off with shaky hands. He walked up to the horse and quickly swung himself up into the saddle. The trainer stood at his stirrup, looking anxiously at the boy and speaking in rapid spurts. Ron and Hermione saw Harry’s curt dismissal of the man’s concern and watched with trepidation as the horse and rider moved out of the paddock with quick, nervous strides.

“Oh dear,” said Hermione. “That didn’t look good and now you can tell he’s hurting.” She turned to Ron in frustration. “Why does he have to be like that, anyway? Why can’t he admit that he’s been hurt and take a pass for once?”

Ron was silent for a moment, watching Harry ride out to the starting line. “I’ve wondered the same thing,” he said slowly, almost reluctantly. He looked into Hermione’s eyes as if deciding whether or not to continue. Her questioning gaze prompted him to carry on. “I reckon it’s the way those muggles treated him. Never loving him and all that, you know. Anyway, when we were hurt or sick our Mums spoiled us and made us feel better. I reckon when he was sick they probably treated him even worse, complaining about all the trouble or something.” Ron paused then finished his thought. “He probably learned the hard way never to show any weakness. And all this you-know-who business hasn’t helped any.” He shrugged and sat back with a sigh, hugging his field glasses to his chest.

With her mouth slightly agape, Hermione stared at Ron. “That’s the most insightful thing I’ve ever heard you say,” she muttered. Ron smiled and shut her mouth with the tip of his finger against her chin. Together they waited for the race to start and hoped for the best for Harry.

It was not to go well for the Gryffindor in his third trip of the day. The horse reared and paced about before the start and once the race began he continued to give Harry trouble. Bucking several times before the first fence he managed to get the boy loose in the saddle and a wild twist in the air over the jump completed the job. Harry hit the ground hard. He lay on the turf for several moments getting his breath back and hugging his sore chest. Before his friends could panic he was up and walking back toward the stabling area where the horse was already standing docilely as his lad removed the saddle.

Ron and Hermione stood up and made their way back to the parking lot. “How will we meet up with Harry?” Ron asked. Hermione looked around and saw a row of motorcycles parked near the stable.

“Why don’t we wait over by the motorbikes? He’ll have to come out here eventually. I don’t think we can get into the stable area without an invisibility cloak,” she quipped. Ron gave her a smirk and walked over to the cycles.

“I bet this one is his,” he said excitedly. He pointed to a black Triumph that gleamed in the sunlight. It was obviously older than the other bikes but was lovingly maintained. Hermione nodded and looked around at the dispersing crowd, wondering how long it would be before Harry made his appearance.

The crowd thinned out as they waited. Suddenly two men in robes appeared in front of them. White masks hid their faces but they could see their cruel eyes. The taller one pointed a wand at them and barked, “Expelliarmus!” Before the two teens even knew they were being attacked their wands were gone and a binding spell had linked them together at the wrists. The smaller man calmly said, “Finite Incantatem,” and the glamour spells were cancelled.

The first death eater motioned to them to walk away toward the trees that bordered the lot. He spoke, his voice harsh and grating. “What a coup, a ministry official’s brat and a mudblood. Should be able to get some solid ransom for you boy, and you,” he turned to Hermione with an evil leer, “should provide some interesting entertainment.” He laughed as she clung to Ron, tears filling her eyes.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry walked back toward his motorbike, moving a bit stiffly since his crash. A few of the other lads gave him rueful, sympathetic grins which he returned as he walked. He was eager to get back to the cottage and speak to Snape. For the first time since he began riding for Arthur he had sensed dark magic being done at the track. His first reaction was to protect those around him the only way he knew how, by leaving and taking the threat away with him but Snape’s impassioned insistence that he be allowed to help made him decide to return to the cottage instead. He wondered if the foe glass would show anything.

Just before he came around the corner of the barn he sensed a dark magical aura again, this time quite near. He put his back against the wall and snuck a glance at the parking lot. He was horrified to see two death eaters with Ron and Hermione bound between them. The dark wizards were focused on their captive’s fear, drinking it in and anticipating their torture, unaware they had been seen. He stepped back out of sight and tried to focus instead of giving in to the panic that was making his hands sweat and his heart race. In minutes they would have his friends in the cover of the trees. Harry knew he had to do something before the wizards had a chance to take them somewhere he couldn’t find them.

“Time to do what you were born to do, freak,” he muttered as he tried to think, discarding ideas as quickly as he came up with them. Finally he remembered the portkey Snape had given him. In the next second he had it out and with a whispered wingardium leviosa the bottle cap was floating before him. Next he touched it with the tip of his wand and muttered, “Portus.” He moved back out into the open, running toward his friends and their captors with his wand directing the portkey to stay beside him.

When he was within several meters of them he saw Ron glance in his direction. He acted immediately. Swinging his wand and barking out a banishing spell, he flung the bottle cap to Ron and cried, “Catch, Ron!” His friend looked shocked but grabbed the object speeding toward him without question. The second it touched his hand he vanished, taking Hermione with him.

Harry immediately turned to the two death eaters and grinned. “Didn’t expect that, now did you?” he quipped. They both growled and pointed their wands at him, incanting hexes through teeth clenched with fury. As the spells sped toward him Harry was surprised at how composed he felt. He put up a shielding spell and launched a stunning curse at the nearest wizard. It’s because I’m a weapon, he realized as the spells battered his shield and rocked him back. Weapons don’t feel panicky; they just do their jobs. As the first wizard dropped and his next spell glanced off the second wizard’s defense spell Harry put his saturnine thoughts aside and got down to business.

His confidence was shaken as a blasting curse hit him in the back, forcing him forward and opening a bloody gash across his shoulders. Falling painfully onto his hands and knees, Harry watched his wand slide across the damp turf just out of reach. As he turned to face his assailant his expression turned from agonized to shocked. It was Lucius Malfoy.

“How’d you get out of Azkaban, Malfoy?” Harry panted.

With a sinister leer Malfoy replied, “No prison can hold me for long.” His eyes were wide in his gaunt face giving him a manic expression. Harry shrank back from the man, thinking furiously. He needed inspiration, a plan. He looked up at Malfoy who was standing over him in his immaculate robes with his perfectly coiffed hair.

When the idea struck him he acted without hesitation. “Say Malfoy,” said Harry with a leer that would have made Draco proud. “How do you keep your robes so perfect without a house elf?” He laughed, looking up at Lucius to gauge his reaction. It came more swiftly and viciously than he expected. The dark wizard face convulsed with raw hatred as he brought his wand arm back and whipped it up violently across Harry’s face, cutting a gash across his right cheek, up across his nose and narrowly missing his left eye. The force of the blow lifted him up and threw him back a few feet. He landed with a sickening thud right next to his wand. Grabbing the wand he rolled to his right to avoid Malfoy’s curse. Pain lanced across his shoulders as the gash ground into the dirt but he staggered to his feet, firing a severing spell as he rose.

Malfoy blocked the curse but it knocked him back a few feet. Before Malfoy could recover Harry shot a stunning curse at the shorter death eater who he now figured to be Goyle. The man grunted and fell to the ground unconscious. ‘Two down,’ thought Harry as he spun back around to face Malfoy. His count was quickly proven wrong as Crabbe groaned and began to rise. The combatants were distracted by the sound of someone apparating nearby and they waited silently as Snape appeared, black eyes glinting angrily in the sun.

Harry froze and felt his gut clench with indecision. His previous mistrust warred with his newly found respect for Snape. With an angry shake he threw off his hesitation and sent a petrificus totalus spell at Crabbe whose attention was still diverted. He sensed Malfoy gathering his magic to curse him so he threw himself to the left, firing another stunning curse as he went. Both spells missed. As he rolled to a stop with the dust from the parking lot filling his lungs, Harry could hear Snape running toward the fray. He knew he had to do something or Malfoy would have a clear shot at the exposed potions master.

As Malfoy spun and pointed his wand at Snape, Harry lunged at him. Visions of Sirius falling through the veil propelled him with desperate strength into the death eater; he couldn’t let anyone else be killed protecting him. They fell together, tangled in a great jumble of limbs. Harry’s head hit hard against the ground and his vision grayed. Moving sluggishly, he tried to bring his wand into play as Malfoy pulled free and staggered up, shoving Harry onto his back. He blinked up at the dark wizard, trying to clear his vision and arching instinctively from the burning pain of the curse burn on his back.

Harry saw Malfoy’s face twist into a snarl and he tried to move away as the deranged wizard turned his back on Snape and raised his wand but his battered body refused to respond. As Malfoy incanted the cruciatus curse Harry’s world dissolved into agony. It continued for what seemed like forever then suddenly, blissfully, the pain stopped. Harry looked up into the expressionless face of Severus Snape. To his left lay Malfoy, apparently stunned. He dragged in a couple of deep breaths past the cramping muscles in his chest and tried to get his scattered wits to settle down.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry realized his eyes were closed and with an effort he opened them and looked back at his professor. Snape looked strangely relieved at that and continued. “I have to contact the order. They will get some aurors over here to clean up this mess.” He kicked Malfoy none too gently to emphasize his point. “I shall return momentarily. Stay here.” Snape turned and took a couple of steps before disapparating.

Harry watched numbly then struggled to his feet, his mind still cloudy from the injuries he had sustained. Thoughts flitted through his brain, disjointed and unorganized, but there was one reoccurring theme. ‘This is all your fault. All your fault. You need to finish this. Finish it.’ Snape’s reprimand about not running faded as self-recrimination took over. Sirius’ motorbike looked about a mile away but by determinedly putting one foot in front of the other he made it.

After thanking the gods for electric start Harry drove away. The bike wobbled a bit as his steering was a trifle shaky but he made it out to the road. “Right or left?” he said aloud to himself. With a shrug and a wince for his bruises he gunned the accelerator and headed left. Finding Voldemort couldn’t be too hard, he reasoned, since the bastard was hunting for him with all his resources.

Snape reappeared in the parking lot, just minutes after leaving. He hated to leave the boy but the death eaters had to be taken into custody. If allowed to escape they would give away Potter’s location and his own treason. The aurors would be just minutes behind him along with a few obliviators to take care of any muggles who had observed the altercation. He needed to move quickly.

Surveying the area and taking in the severe lack of Potter, Snape growled, “Where is that dratted boy.” The memory of the boy’s eyes, filled with pain and barely cognizant, made him wince. “Shouldn’t have left him.” He ran over to where he had seen the bike. Nothing. As he walked back toward Malfoy he saw an envelope lying on the ground, wrinkled and smeared with scarlet. He picked it up and examined it curiously. The red smear was blood and inside it was filled with paper muggle currency. “This must be the brat’s pay envelope,” he muttered. He stepped up to the death eaters who were starting to stir. After stunning them all he conjured ropes to bind them then disapperated.

Snape arrived back in his living room with a crack. Hermione and Ron, sitting side by side on the couch holding hands, jumped up immediately. “Is Harry okay? Where is he?” they asked in unison. Snape shook his head and dropped onto the sofa with his head in his hands. The boy’s disappearance made his chest tighten in a most disturbing manner. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, trying to ignore the teens who were staring at him with apprehension.

After enduring a few moments of their openmouthed distress he relented. He screwed a black look on his features and said, “He got away from the death eaters. In fact they are all in the custody of ministry aurors as we speak.” Ron and Hermione looked relieved but then perplexed.

“Then where is Harry?” Ron asked again.

“Once the situation was secured I disapperated to inform the order. When I returned he and the motorbike were gone.” He scowled at them both in frustration, unable to understand the boy’s motives. “He was injured in the scuffle, Malfoy even managed to get a crutiatis curse on him before it was over.”

“Malfoy?” Ron said with a frown. “Neither of them looked like Malfoy.”

With a muttered oath Snape said, “There were three when I arrived. That at least justifies the predicament he was in.” He twirled his wand through his fingers to distract himself from the memory of Harry twisting under Lucius’ curse. “The important issue now is determining where he has gone, despite my strict orders to remain at the scene.” He balled his fists and wished heartily the boy were here so he could make him wish he wasn’t.

Hermione whispered, “He’s gone after Voldemort. It’s the only explanation.”

“That’s Harry for you,” Ron murmured “Sometimes you can’t predict what the prat will do.” He caught Hermione’s eyes and took her hand in a comforting gesture. “We have to find him quickly, stop him before it’s too late” he said. He looked back at the potion master and asked, “How badly was he hurt?”

Snape scowled again as he pulled out the map to see if Potter was within it’s scope. It was blank. He threw it down and said, “He had a nasty slash across his face, it looked as if Malfoy wanded him.” Ron gasped at that and Hermione looked confused. Snape clarified, “It’s particularly malicious to wound someone physically with your wand. The injury often takes a long time to heal and leaves a nasty scar.” He sighed, “And it’s exceptionally painful.” Snape’s gut clenched when he thought of the boy with yet another scar to remind him of his ridiculous destiny.

As he fingered the bloody envelope Snape recalled the times Potter had thanked him for taking care of him this summer. His face twisted into a scowl as he wondered if the boy would thank him when he was captured by the Dark Lord and Snape was forced to torture him to maintain his cover. Suddenly he was struck with an inspiration. He jumped up and hurried out of the room, returning minutes later carrying a small caldron. The teens’ questioning gazes prompted him to speak. “There is a way to stop him, bring him back.” His black eyes bored into them with savage intensity. “It involves blood magic.” He let the question of their assistance hang unspoken in the air.

As he set down the caldron Harry’s friends shared a look. “What do we do?” Ron demanded as Hermione looked on with an intense expression. Snape’s smirk lasted only seconds before it was gone and he was preparing the caldron and instructing them on the spell. He tossed the envelope into the caldron then magically removed the paper, leaving only the blood behind. Hermione gaped at the intricacy of the spell but mercifully Weasley kept her from asking questions and distracting him. Every second let the brat get further away and closer to danger.

“Potter foolishly offered me a wizard’s debt,” he explained with a sneer. “I will call it in, forcing him to return. We must scry his image to inform him that I am exercising my prerogative. It will take the three of us to do the scrying.” He held up his lean hand to forestall their questions. “Explanations will have to wait.” He bent down to draw a triangle on the floor. With his habitual economy of movement the potion master placed the caldron in the center of the figure and briskly directed Harry’s friends to each stand at a corner while he took the third position.

“Join me in this incantation. Together we will summon an image of Mr. Potter in his current location.” Hermione’s questioning expression stopped Snape’s monologue. “There is no time to explain everything, Miss Granger. You must trust me in this if you wish to stop your friend before the dark lord detects his presence.” She clamped her lips shut and nodded to indicate her compliance. Ron merely held his wand at the ready, his eyes showing nothing but concentration.

Snape nodded, his lank hair framing his face, as he stabbed his wand into the caldron and he began to chant. “Revelo, Distantania, Communicada,” He repeated the phrase and then the two younger wizards joined him with their wands also in the caldron. Above it a wavering image began to form. As the chanting gained in strength the figure began to be recognizable as Harry. He was crouched over the handlebars of his motorbike, his face a mask of pure hatred. The angry red mark from Lucius’ wand stood out starkly against his fair skin and blood was drying on the sharp planes of his face.

With his teeth clenched and lids slitted against the wind Harry looked ready for battle. His eyes, glittering with malice, seemed to catch on the three wizards as they incanted the spell, causing Hermione to gasp and the chant to falter momentarily. The image flickered then stabilized as she regained her composure. When Harry’s likeness looked substantial and unwavering Snape halted the chant. “I call upon you, Harry James Potter, to fulfill your Wizard’s promise. Return to my presence immediately for instructions to fulfill the debt.”

The three stood shoulder to shoulder around the caldron watching as the full power of the summons hit Harry. His heated expression turned glazed and he stood up on the brake pedal with all his strength. The back tire locked up and the bike skidded crazily. With a sickening lurch the motorcycle bucked into the air then crashed into the berm. They looked on in horror as bike and boy tumbled for a few yards before the bike finally fell down on top of Harry. When his eyes slid closed the image flickered and disappeared with a pop.

The sound broke the frozen tableau around the caldron and Ron cursed loudly. “Bloody hell! We’ve got to get to him! Can you apparate us there?”

“I cannot. I did not recognize his location.” Potion stained fingers gripped the edge of the caldron as Snape’s frustration began to mount.

“Is Hedwig here?” When Snape shook his head Ron broke ranks and slid to his knees in front of the fireplace. Throwing a careless handful of floo powder into the flames he stuck his head in as he shouted, “The Burrow!” Snape and Hermione watched as he shouted into the house and soon Molly Weasley’s voice answered him. “Mum!” he shouted, “Send Pig through to me. I’m at Snape Manor. It’s life and death, Mum!” They heard her muffled response then Ron said, “Yes, through the floo! I need him now!” He sat back on his haunches and looked up at Snape. “Do you have a couple of brooms?”

Catching on to Ron’s plan, Snape snapped, “Yes,” as he left the room at a run. He waved his hand in acknowledgement of the young wizard’s demand for a length of twine. Pigwidgeon’s cage came rocketing out of the fireplace and caught Ron hard in the midsection. With an oof and a muffled curse he landed on his back, cradling the sooty owl. Sitting up with surprising speed he pulled the frightened bird from the cage and began to soothe him by lightly stroking his feathers and crooning in a soft voice.

Hermione still stood next to the caldron with her mouth agape. “What are we doing, Ron?” she asked. Just then Snape returned carrying two brooms and a small ball of string.

“Brilliant,” said Ron. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her outside, closely followed by Snape. “We’re going to use Pig to find Harry, ‘Mione. We’ll follow on the brooms and keep him from getting too far ahead by tethering him with the string.” As he spoke he was tying the cord to Pig’s leg. He looked into the owl’s eyes and said, “Find Harry, Pig. You’ve got to take us to Harry.” The bird looked solemnly back at Ron. “Do it for Sirius, Pig.” There was a catch in Ron’s voice as he pleaded with his owl. The owl ruffled his feathers, obviously preparing for flight.

“Get on the brooms,” Ron breathed. He pulled Hermione on in front of him as Snape mounted alone. Pig launched himself off Ron’s shoulder and the wizards kicked off into the air with Hermione securely positioned between Ron’s arms. Snape muttered a disillusionment spell as they followed the tiny owl.

After flying for several minutes Pig began to head downward. Hermione let out a cry and pointed to the roadside. “There he is, Ron!” With a shout of praise Ron released Pig and aimed the broom downward. Snape followed suit and they landed near the accident. As they rushed to Harry’s side he was struggling to rise and muttering incoherently.

“Go… promise… geroff…,” he panted. The bike still lay across Harry’s midsection and blood stained his lips. Hermione knelt beside his head and gently brushed his fringe off his sweaty forehead.

“It’s okay, Harry. We’re here now,” she soothed. Harry squinted up at Hermione. His eyes were glazed and his expression strangely vacant.

“Have to…manor.” He appeared to focus on her. “Help me…” Harry groaned and thrashed in a feeble effort to extricate himself. More blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth and he coughed, sounding too weak to expel the liquid from his airway. Hermione noticed with revulsion that his right leg was bent at an unnatural angle.

“Harry?” Ron whispered. The boy did not respond other than to continue to push at the bike. “Bloody hell, it’s the spell! It’s like he’s under imperius.” He turned to Snape who was staring impassively at the fallen Gryffindor.

“Actually, Mr. Weasley, it is worse. It turns the …recipient’s… magic against him. In fact, the stronger your magic is, the more you will be compelled to obey the summons.”

“How is that possible?” asked Hermione.

Snape sighed. “A wizard’s promise is linked to his magic. The magic makes sure you keep the promise.” He shrugged. “Clearly, Mr. Potter here is quite well endowed.”

“Lift the bloody spell, Snape,” Ron snapped.

“There is one more issue to be resolved here.” He crouched before the struggling boy. “I am here, Mr. Potter, you may cease trying to get to the manor.” As the boy relaxed with a soft groan Snape waved his wand and floated the bike away. He eyed Harry’s pain lined face as he weighed the risks and benefits of various scenarios. There were things he needed to know. In a matter of seconds he made his decision and spoke.

“Now you must comply with my instructions to fulfill your promise.” His eyes flicked to the two teens who were watching with trepidation. With a patented smirk he returned his attention to Harry and intoned, “You will explain your reasons for avoiding contact with your friends this summer.”

“Professor,” Hermione shrilled. “You can’t force him to tell something like that! It’s immoral!”

Snape drilled her with his blackest gaze then laid his hand on Harry’s arm. The boy flinched but turned his unfocused gaze to the potion master. “You will explain now.”

Harry’s mouth opened and shut as he appeared to fight the compulsion. “I…I’m a danger. Need to…stay ‘way from me. To be…safe.” He paused and gulped.

Snape’s kept his eyes on the boy, compelling him to continue. Harry struggled against the force of the spell, clawing at the earth and twisting his face away from Snape. Hermione whimpered and looked away with her hand over her mouth. Finally the words were drawn forth. “I’m…not worth... Just a …” Here the pause was very long and Harry literally moaned with distress before speaking. “A freak…a weapon…a murderer. The Dursleys… right all along.” He choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob then the words flowed freely. “A fucking freak that gets everyone who cares about him killed.” He stopped for a moment then finished up by saying, “I’ll be dead soon anyway. It’s either him or me according to the… prophesy. Not worth the risk…dead already, just don’t know it.”

Harry sank back against the damp ground and closed his eyes. Two tears leaked past his lids and slid down his cheeks, leaving a trail through the blood and dirt. Snape continued to stare at him for several moments before he turned back to the two stunned Gryffindors. The boy’s words had affected them more than he anticipated and himself more than he could admit. The silence stretched out too long and Snape felt compelled to end it.

“The war has begun,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It will call for… sacrifices from many of us.” Potter’s friends nodded, their eyes still glued on Harry’s still form. “Potter,” he indicated Harry’s body with his chin, “will play a huge role.” The Gryffindor began to stir, reaching for the wound on his head and whimpering faintly through clenched teeth. Snape cast a sleeping charm and Harry relaxed again.

“His rather unconventional upbringing has left him incapable of expressing himself,” Snape muttered. He took in the teens’ unspoken agreement with his assessment as he continued, “and the resultant frustration is causing him to behave erratically.” He eyed the two young wizards, their rigid poses still expressing outrage at his presumptuous use of the promise. In a harder tone he said, “I needed to hear this in order to comprehend the problem and help him. Understand?”

When they were both still silent and gaping he tried another tact. The boy’s words were already causing a reworking of strategy in his busy, Slytherin mind and he needed their compliance to plug the holes left in the Order’s defense plan by Potter’s self doubts. He refused to admit to relief at the knowledge that this would also work to heal the boy’s tortured soul. Knowing how much Potter treasured their lives he sent a rare entreaty to Merlin to keep them from harm in the coming conflict. He made no such pleas on Harry’s behalf, not liking to ask for the impossible.

He spoke into the silence, choosing words he hoped would break them free from the doubts they were having regarding his loyalties. It didn’t require legilimency to discern their wavering trust. “It was also necessary to facilitate our side of the war effort.” This got their eyes to leave Potter’s sleeping form and latch onto him.

“Why, professor?” Granger wrung her hands, still distressed over the boy’s forced confession.

“He won’t do this thing for himself.” Snape didn’t have to elucidate. They all knew what Harry had to do. “The idea of killing sickens him but yet it must be done.” Two unwilling nods punctuated this statement. He made sure he had their eyes on him and said, “For you, to keep you safe, he will do it.”

“I, we, can’t make him do something he thinks is wrong,” the Weasley boy stuttered. “It wouldn’t be right. Or possible,” he added.

“If you do not then Voldemort wins and the wizard and muggle worlds will be subject to his rule. Do not make the mistake of underestimating him,” he glanced back at Potter, “either of them. If the prophesy is to be believed then here lies our only hope for salvation.” They all gazed at the sprawled form. Harry chose that moment to fight the sleeping spell, stirring restlessly and twitching his hands toward the wound on his forehead.

“The spell will not hold him for long. His magic is growing much stronger this summer,” Snape muttered. He hoped he could get this through their heads quickly so he could attend to the boy while he was still quiescent.

“Professor, perhaps there is another way. It can’t just come down to him…” Snape scowled at the disbelief on the girl’s face. She would fight the idea of the prophesy until proof was shoved in her face. Her contempt for divination was well known.

“Believe me, Miss Granger,” he interrupted. “Over the last two years I have researched all possible means of exterminating the dark lord. I have found none. If he cannot do it, we are lost.” He waited for her to realize that to argue further would be to impugn his research methods. “And for him to complete this task he will need both of you by his side, giving him a reason to keep trying.”

Harry mumbled and began to rouse. With his hand gently touching the boy’s forehead Snape muttered, “Somnus.” He looked back at Harry’s friends. “It will be so difficult that he will not believe it is possible to succeed. He will falter and it will be up to the two of you to sustain him.” He read understanding in their expressions and as it hardened into resolve he allowed himself to feel a shred of hope.

With the bottle cap that had served as the portkey on his outstretched palm Snape said, “Take this and return to my manor. Use the floo to get back to the burrow. I shall attend to Mr. Potter.”

He sighed as he glanced at the motorbike. “The boy won’t rest if this dratted bike isn’t taken care of.” He shrank the offending machine and stowed it in a pocket in his robes. Next he incanted a spell and a splint formed around Harry’s leg. With a grunt he hefted the unconscious boy into his arms. Harry’s head fell slackly against Snape’s shoulder. The boy looked small and vulnerable, a far cry from the warrior they had observed earlier.

The other two teens were still standing there silently watching him. Tears shone on Hermione’s cheeks and Ron looked stunned. Snape realized that they would not leave until he reassured them that they would be informed about Harry’s condition so, scowling dramatically he said, “We shall speak in two days time.”

He pulled out the portkey that he carried in case he ran into trouble at a death eater meeting. It was spelled to take him directly to the dungeons at Hogwarts. He had scoffed at Dumbledore’s insistence that he carry it, knowing that if his duplicity were discovered Voldemort would hardly give him the opportunity to activate any form of escape. The implication that the headmaster had predicted this senario had him applauding the man’s tactical genius. With the trademark pull at his navel he and Harry were on their way back to the castle.

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.

The next day Snape brought Harry back to the cottage. Thanks to Madame Pomfrey’s expert care and a wizard’s constitution, the boy was up and about, prowling the hall and obviously itching to get out. Severus watched the little winces and nearly suppressed wobbles that told him the brat needed the rest despite vigorous lobbying to go to the barn. With a mild twinge of something he assumed must be regret he ignored his promise to speak to Harry’s friends today and instead kept a surreptitious eye on his charge.

Snape wondered what Harry was thinking, what his feelings were on the talk they had. Then he wondered when he started worrying about anyone’s feelings. Resisting the urge to legilimize the boy was difficult but with his new understanding of Harry’s motives he was able to get a good idea by mere observation. He didn’t like what he saw.

The boy was avoiding eye contact and had yet to ask for any potions to alleviate the pain Snape knew he was enduring from the wand wound. The wrinkle in the young wizard’s forehead and the tooth prints in his lower lip spoke volumes about his level of discomfort. Having seen the boy endure broken bones with a complete lack of visible pain, it took extreme restraint to keep from grabbing the brat by the front of his robes and forcing a pain relieving potion down his ungrateful throat. He hoped the boy would be self absorbed enough to miss the grinding of his teeth as they passed in the hall.

After a long day of biting his tongue, Severus sat down to dinner with his ward. Harry dropped into his chair and after removing his glasses, propped his elbows on the table to give his face a lingering rub. When he finished kneading the scar, now a thin white line from the corner of his jaw, up across his nose and ending at his left eyebrow he gazed across the table with bleary eyes. The sight sent a pang of concern straight to the potion master’s previously unreachable heart. Severus silently cursed Malfoy, who had practically filleted the boy, for Merlin’s sake, and felt his face heat up with his anger. The loss of control made Severus even angrier and he stood up with an abrupt jerk, knocking his chair to the ground as he strode from the room.

After ten minutes of prowling around his laboratory Severus was no closer to the control he sought. It was strange, he mused, that for five years he had heaped misery on this boy and now, after spending a few weeks in his company he found himself in a fit of anger over the thought of someone hurting him. He wondered if Black had felt this irrational protectiveness over the boy. The whole mess at the DOM was starting to make a lot more sense to him. A completely unexpected wave of empathy for his former tormentor came over him but he squelched it with the awareness that Black was always so out of control he probably never noticed the difference.

Uneasy with this line of thinking, Snape made an attempt to justify his behavior. He was hungry and that was turning his anger at the situation into irrational fury at Harry whose presence was keeping him from the dining room. Yes, that was it. Stalking back into the room he ignored the brat’s startled flinch and headed to his place at the table. After righting his chair with a wave of his wand he sat and summoned a serving dish.

As the first bites took the edge off his irritation he became aware of Harry’s eyes on him. He wondered why the boy was watching him until he realized he was eating stew, a dish he normally eschewed as being too common. Widget had begun to serve it because Harry favored it but Snape always made sure to eat something else. “Gods!” he growled, throwing down his fork in disgust. Now even his eating habits were subject to contamination by The Bloody Boy Who Lived.

After getting a new plate and filling it with something more civilized Snape finished satisfying his hunger. As he ate he watched the boy who kept his expression carefully blank as he toyed with his sticky dessert. The potion master consoled himself with the knowledge that he would never stoop to consuming anything as disgusting as treacle tart. The very idea made him nervous and he declined any dessert rather than risk eating something else from the boy’s ridiculous menu.

Widget collected the dishes as Snape sat back with an irrefutably non Potteresque glass of merlot and turned to Harry. Since waiting for the boy to come to him had not worked he decided to go for a more direct approach. “When are you planning to ask me for pain relief?”

Harry dropped his poker face and a bewildered expression took its place. “What are you talking about?” When Snape raised an eyebrow and glared he expected the boy to confess his discomfort. Instead he watched the shuttered expression he had come to associate with Harry’s efforts to occlude cross the boy’s face and heard the famous Potter standby phrase, “I’m fine.”

The boy’s withdrawal spiked Snape’s anger again and he snarled, “Did nothing I spoke about yesterday mean anything to you? Or are you a completely hopeless imbecile?” He slammed his fist on the table and felt a twinge of shame when the boy flinched away with a wary look on his face. They had built a fragile trust and this anger was in danger of damaging that, perhaps irreparably. Snape found that was something he didn’t want to risk and he made a concerted effort to rein in his temper.

“Why are you avoiding help for the pain from the wanding?” he asked in a voice that he was pleased to note held no trace of emotion.

Harry lowered his eyes and tugged his fingers through his hair. In a subdued voice he answered Snape’s original question, saying, “I heard everything you said.” He drew his fingers across the table and gazed at the design created by his fingerprints as if he could read it like the tea leaves in Divination. “I heard everything, I’m just not sure what I think about it.” As the boy continued to avoid his gaze in favor of the tabletop Snape drew in a breath and let it out slowly.

“Fine,” Snape said. “I can respect your need to consider the facts.” Harry’s unguarded expression of shock at those words did not help his temper but Snape managed to keep his expression under control. “In the meantime, will you accept some help with your recovery?”

Harry’s hand strayed to his new scar then went back to smearing the table. “It’s not that bad,” he asserted. “I’d rather not take any potions, they make me…dozy.” His eyes finally came up and he held Snape’s gaze. “It won’t matter, will it?”

Snape sighed. He remembered the last time Harry had asked a similar question and wondered how much consideration Harry was really giving to their discussion. If the boy found it acceptable to endure unnecessary pain but would not endanger the war effort by incurring any permanent damage then he must still think of himself as the order’s weapon. “No, it won’t matter other than you are suffering needlessly.”

With a shrug Harry slid away from the table and stood up. “I just don’t like feeling drugged. Can’t afford it, really.” He was pale and Snape noticed a sheen of sweat on his forehead. As he watched the boy shuffle off to bed Snape let his head drop into his hands. He had done all he felt he could to help the young wizard. It was up to Potter now. He had to take that information and use it to help him heal the damage inflicted by the Dursleys.

The next morning the sun woke Snape. He was not surprised to see that Harry’s bed was empty and the bike was gone.

OoOoOoOoOo

Hermione waited with Ron at headquarters. It was three days after the incident at the racetrack and they had told no one about their deatheater encounter nor the ensuing drama with Harry. She had spent hours the first day researching the wizard’s debt and the scrying technique Snape had used. Having exhausted the library and its calming effect she was growing desperate for information. It was a measure of her anxiety that she was considering Ron’s plan to use the floo when Snape arrived after lunch. He ignored the teens and addressed Mrs. Weasley. “I am restocking my laboratory and could use the assistance of Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger. Could I perhaps borrow them for the afternoon?”

Mrs. Weasley, who was quite put out with Ron for a prank he had pulled on Ginny that morning, was all too eager to agree. “I think it would be good for them to get out of the house for a while and do something productive.” She turned to Ron and Hermione who was trying not to look too eager. “Get changed into some work clothes and go with Professor Snape for the afternoon. Perhaps, “she said with a glare at Ron, “it will take the edge off if you do something productive for a change.”

It was only a matter of a few minutes before they were changed and back at the floo. “We’re ready Professor,” said Hermione. She schooled her features to look unhappy at the prospect of spending the day in the professor’s laboratory. While upstairs she had instructed Ron to do the same but he was having less luck. Instead of looking discontented he was managing to look somewhat sleepy but fortunately it was good enough to fool his mother.

When they stumbled out of Snape’s floo he pointed to a large, dusty cabinet. “We will empty this and evaluate the contents for freshness.” He met the shocked stares of the two teens with a sneer. “Did you think I would not capitalize upon this?” Hermione trod heavily on Ron’s foot when it looked like he would protest. She met his eyes and gave a quick shake of her head to silence him.

“Just get it done, Ron,” she hissed. “The quicker we finish the quicker he’ll start talking.” He scowled and his ears reddened but he grabbed a vial and began checking its contents.

Several dusty hours, two spilled potions, and one minor explosion later they were finished. Snape led them into his office where he had the house elves bring tea. Hermione frowned at the use of “slavery” but eagerly sipped her tea, rinsing the dust from the cabinet out of her throat. The biscuits were quickly demolished by Ron as Snape watched with ill concealed distain. “If you have finished inhaling your tea?” the potion master said with a subtle inclination of his head. Ron wiped his lips with his sleeve and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Professor. Could you please tell us how Harry is?” Hermione tried to be patient but worry was eating her up inside. She tugged on her hair and worked on keeping her expression politely respectful. When Snape did not immediately reply she blurted, “I’ve read about wand wounds. According to Miranda Wandworks it’s hypothesized that residual dark magic plagues the victim and the degree of pain is directly proportional to the amount of dark magic practiced by the wizard who inflicted the wound.” She twisted her hands in her lap and would have continued had Ron not grabbed her hands and silenced her with a look.

Snape snorted inelegantly. “The brat is fine as usual. Ms. Wandworks’ information is definitely correct but your friend has found his own way of dealing with the problem.” He held up a thin hand, palm out. “I will allow him to explain it to you. The mark from Lucius’ wand still plagues him but he has returned to his summer employment today.” Snape scowled as if he had tasted something foul. “It would be easier to manage the wound if he were less adverse to potions.” Feeling limp with relief Hermione sat back in her chair and nursed her tea as she waited for Snape to continue.

Ron spoke up with a grin. “That sounds like our Harry.” The grin faded and he asked, “Does he remember anything from… that day?”

With a trademark swirl of robes, Snape stood and paced in front of the fireplace. “He has not spoken of it other than to ask about the two of you. I do not believe he will recall the confession he made.”

When it did not appear he would continue Hermione prompted him by saying, “I’ve thought a lot about what you said about Harry, professor.” Snape leaned against the mantle studied them both with his glittering black eyes. Feeling cowed by his intense gaze, Hermione wondered how Harry tolerated it every day. She tried to appear unfazed as she waited for him to speak.

Finally Snape broke the silence. “And what have you concluded, Miss Granger?”

Hermione took a calming breath. She really wanted to know what the potion master thought about the situation, so calling on her rather miniscule powers of misdirection, she kept her voice steady and said, “I’m not sure I know enough to have a conclusion, sir.” As she sat back and crossed her ankles, she kept her eyes on Snape’s face and her expression mild, hoping to elicit an explanation from the normally taciturn profession. Ron watched their verbal sparring with parted lips, his teacup forgotten in his lap.

Snape sighed and sat down opposite them. He ran his finger around the gold rim of his teacup as he contemplated his next words. “There is little more to know. The dark lord is back and claiming to be immortal.” He looked over at the two teens who nodded their concurrence with his statement. “The headmaster and I have examined this from every angle and have found no means of defeating him.” Ron nodded but Hermione could not prevent a dubious expression from crossing her face. It did not escape Snape’s sharp eyes and she mentally winced as she smoothed her visage. Snape sighed again. “You will have to accept that for now, Miss Granger. Perhaps the headmaster will share his notes with you later.” Hermione blushed and looked at her hands as she nodded.

“The dark lord has heard part of the prophesy; enough to believe that Potter is a threat to him, enough to know that he must destroy him.” Snape did not wait for them to agree before continuing. “The boy must attempt to fulfill the prophesy, whether you accept it as truth or not, Miss Granger, or the dark lord will kill him.” As Snape paused Hermione glanced over at Ron. He nodded at her, obviously in agreement with the potion master’s analysis. It didn’t matter if it were true or not, Voldemort would not risk leaving Harry alive to find out. Hermione felt her gut clench as she accepted the reality of the situation.

“This is where you come in. The boy’s lack of self worth will lead him to destruction; you have seen the truth of that. When he believes his own demise is the only solution you must convince him otherwise. You must persuade him to keep fighting.” Snape spread his hands, his long fingers pointing at them in supplication. “It appears this is the only way to defeat the dark lord… and to save… Potter.”

Hermione sat back and contemplated Snape’s hypothesis. Having come to the same conclusions herself she had hoped for a different analysis from the potions master. She glanced over at Ron, expecting him to look completely gobsmacked. Instead, the redhead’s forehead was creased in thought. He looked exactly as he did when assessing his chessboard and planning his next move. She wished she had access to his thoughts at that moment. Their introspection was interrupted by a soft pinging noise.

“The brat is nearing my cottage.” Snape stood back and indicated the fireplace. “Use the floo to return to headquarters, I must go back. It seems it is reassuring for him to come h…. return and find me there.” He rolled his eyes. “I cannot believe I have sunk to this level.” With a pop he was gone.

Hermione gaped at Ron as they moved to the fireplace. “Never thought I’d see the day,” she said, her eyes round with shock.

“Me neither, ‘Mione. Me neither.”

oOoOoOoOo

The following day Snape spoke with Ron and Hermione again as they continued to help him organize his laboratory. A sort of truce was established between the former adversaries as ideas for helping Harry were bantered about. Hermione favored the direct confrontation approach but Ron and Snape knew that Harry would simply pretend to agree to everything then fall back into his old ways in short order. Ron’s ideas usually involved highly convoluted scenarios that both Snape and Hermione could not imagine would ever play out. After describing another elaborate plan and having it shot down Ron sat back, exasperated.

“If you’re so smart why haven’t you come up with a plan yet? Sir.”

Snape surveyed him over the tops of his steepled fingers and sighed. “I don’t know how to get through to him. We will need a bloody miracle.” He wrestled his trademark sneer into place. “And I do not believe in miracles.”

oOoOoOoOo

Harry rolled into the yard just as the sun was beginning to break the horizon and parked the bike next to the other lads’ cars. The first four days back had been pure hell. Arthur had taken one look at his enfeebled condition and assigned him the easiest jobs he could find, all of them non-riding. After painting fences and cleaning water buckets for what seemed like forever he had been proclaimed fit to ride and he was eager to get back in the saddle today.

The work had given him time alone to think about what Snape had said in the hospital wing. In an abstract way he understood what the professor had been trying to tell him but when he tried to apply it to his own life he found himself unable to get past the idea of putting Ron and Hermione or even Snape in danger. It was up to him to see this thing through and it didn’t require anyone else he cared about getting hurt or worse. They were just going to have to see things from his point of view, he decided.

With a yawn he rubbed his hands through his hair and over his face. It had been a week but he still flinched as his fingers came into contact with the wand wound. He’d had Snape cast a glamour to hide the scar from the muggles but it still ached unmercifully. Refusing to dwell upon his troubles he shook his hair back and surveyed the still darkened sky, muttering, “Bloody hell! Who invented mornings anyway?” He noticed the light on in the clubhouse and decided to put his head in the door to say good morning to Arthur. A cup of tea would do wonders to clear his foggy head. As Harry neared the door he overheard unfamiliar voices.

“This’ll teach you to ignore our instructions, Art, my boy,” snarled a strange voice. Soft thudding noises punctuated the end of the sentence. A groan of pain twigged Harry as to what was happening. He started to grab the door handle when another voice stopped him.

“Maybe we need to get some of your lads in here and drive the point home by giving them some of this too.”

Arthur’s deep baritone, driven higher than normal by pain, came through the door. “Don’t hurt the boys! They had nothing to do with this.” Harry could hear Arthur struggling as more thuds resonated through the entry. There was a loud groan followed by a thump and the floor shook as the man’s body hit the ground.

“It’s everyone’s problem when our boss looses money because you don’t follow orders to loose when we tell you to. Maybe we need to get that new jockey of yours and shoot him in the kneecaps. That’ll slow him down!” The man laughed menacingly and Harry heard the sound of a gun being cocked. He backed away from the door and thought furiously. From the voices he could tell there were at least three unfriendlies in there. He would need the help of the other lads in order to save Arthur.

Without further hesitation he fled to the yard. Grabbing Kelly and Patrick he called urgently to the others to join him in the tack room. “There are some thugs beating up Arthur in the clubhouse,” he said breathlessly. As one they stood to race to the rescue. “They have a gun,” he said loudly. The exodus stopped as quickly as it had begun.

What’ll we do?” squeaked Pippin, one of the younger lads who seemed to look upon Arthur as a surrogate father. The boy wrung his hands as his eyes darted nervously from Harry to the door. Clearly he was expecting Harry to come up with a plan. “We can’t let Arthur get killed.” Harry swallowed and stepped forward.

“He’s in trouble for not fixing races. We’ve all said how much we like it here because we can ride to win. Now’s the time to ante up.” He assessed all the boys in the room with a hard green stare. “Who’s in?”

Patrick stepped up. “We’re all in Ian, but what can we do against a gun?”

Harry looked at Kelly quickly. The squib immediately realized Harry’s problem. “It will have at least six bullets. They can fire very rapidly but once the magazine is exhausted they must reload.” He gave Harry an anguished frown. “It’ll kill you, Ian, if you’re hit in the right spot.”

Harry swallowed his fear at the thought of being shot. Arthur needed their help and there was no time to hesitate. “Right. I’ll go in the front and distract them.” He nodded to the two oldest boys in the group. “Patrick, you and Robbie sneak in through the window in the back and get Arthur out as soon as they are diverted.” They bumped fists and started to move out.

“What about the rest of us?” said Pippin. “We want to help too.”

Harry eyed the rest of the lads. He knew Arthur would rather die than have any of the youngsters under his care get hurt. He also knew the lads needed to help just as he had when he thought Sirius was in trouble. “All right. I want you to help me distract them. Andrew, do you still have those fireworks?” At the boy’s nod he grinned. “Grab them and, uh, ignore the safety warnings. Get it?”

“Right you are, Guv!” Andrew chirped with an impromptu salute. He scuttled out the door like there was a hippogriff on his tail.

“Pippin, get the rest of the lads and grab pitchforks or whatever else looks sharp and back me up. One thing though, if things start to go badly, I may have to resort to, er, extreme measures.” He caught Kelly’s eye and the boy nodded quickly. “If you hear me yell, ‘Stupify,’ or anything like that it means I’m setting off a, a…” he trailed off, waving his hands in vague circles.

“An incendiary device,” supplied Kelly, his eyes sparkling.

Harry snapped his fingers and pointed at the squib. “Exactly!” He moved quickly toward the door. “Let’s get moving before they kill him.” The boys raced out and to their respective tasks. Harry grabbed Patrick’s shirt. “Let’s get this done before they get back,” he hissed. The taller boy nodded grimly and together with Robbie they marched off to the clubhouse. As the teens reached the front door they paused. Harry looked up into their pale, scared faces. “Keep your heads low. In and out quick and simple,” he said with a grin.

Patrick slugged him in the shoulder and said, “Just you keep your own head low, Ian.”

Robbie grinned too but then turned serious. He squeezed Harry’s shoulder. “Safe trip,” he said and tugged Patrick off into the shrubs surrounding the building.

Harry took a deep breath and expelled it noisily. “Show time,” he muttered. He laid his hand on his tattoo and bolstered his courage with Sirius’ unflagging presence. With an unsteady hand he grasped the doorknob and walked into the room. His eyes went immediately to Arthur who was leaning against the pillar he had run into on their first meeting. Harry’s resolve strengthened as he remembered the many times the horseman had helped him and the other jockeys. ‘I’ve faced Voldemort, for Merlin’s sake,’ he thought. ‘A few nasty muggle yobs should be a piece of cake.’

“So, Arthur. It’s your jockey,” sneered the tallest of the group. He turned to the man next to him and said, “Maybe you’ll get to shoot his kneecaps after all, Jack.”

Harry spoke up. “You’ll have to do better than threats, asshole,” he said boldly.

The tall man laughed. “Take a look at your boss, kid. We’ll do better than threats, don’t worry about that.” Arthur wearily raised his head.

“Get out of here, Ian. This is my problem, not yours. Your safety is more important than me, get out!” he pleaded. Harry nearly stumbled as Arthur’s words registered. That was exactly what he said to Ron and Hermione. He finally understood why they refused to back down. He might be the only one who could kill Voldemort but it was their fight too and just because he cared for them didn’t make it any less so. He laughed as the irony hit him. Leave it to me to finally figure it out at a time like this, he thought as he squared off to confront the muggles.

“Not bloody likely, Arthur,” Harry rejoined. “This is my fight too.” He smiled widely as his usual sangfroid took over. “Besides, wanker,” he said to the tall muggle, “I’ve got an advantage over you three toothless wonders.”

“What’s that, boy? You gonna bite my ankles or somethin’?” The three roughnecks laughed and as one they took a step toward Harry. Arthur moaned and slid back down to the floor. Harry grinned and beckoned them closer with a wink.

“I’m not gonna bite you, I’m gonna wipe up the floor with you, butt head,” he said provocatively. The tall man sneered and strode toward the wizard with fists clenched. With his peripheral vision Harry saw his accomplices slide through the window, grab Arthur and begin to drag him to safety. Robbie clamped his hand over the trainer’s mouth as he tried to protest. Keeping his eyes resolutely on the men in front of him Harry continued to play his role as a diversion. “You see, gentlemen,” he continued in a loud voice, “I have an advantage.”

The third man scowled. “Let’s get him,” he said murderously. “I’m through playing games.”

“You see,” Harry said in a loud voice with a quick step backwards, “I am completely insane.” The three men stopped and looked at each other uneasily. “That’s right, boys. So you’ll never know just what I’m going to do. Completely unpredictable, that’s my advantage.” He mock lunged toward Jack then laughed uproariously when the man flinched backward. He was dimly aware of Robbie and Patrick heaving Arthur through the window.

A small groan escaped Arthur’s lips. Harry yelled and quickly surged forward to keep the men’s attention. He swatted the tall man on the nose then with seeker quickness he jumped back again as the man took a swing at him. “Completely bonkers, batty, that’s me!” he called gleefully. He ducked and spun as the three began to come at him. Feeling like he was flying against the Hungarian Horntail again he grinned with fierce joy. He felt Sirius romping across his shoulders and laughed aloud as he rode a wave of adrenaline.

Suddenly the door burst open and the other boys poured in, pitchforks and shovels ready. Dismayed, Harry paused and that was his undoing. The third man threw a punch that connected and Harry fell hard, his temple striking the floor with sickening force. Gray shadows threatened to overtake his vision as he struggled to gain his feet. The stable lads stood behind him, nervously brandishing their makeshift weapons.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” brayed Jack. He swung the pistol in a careless arc. “More examples for the other stables. Who do you think I should shoot, Jerry?” He looked at the man who had hit Harry. Jerry wordlessly pointed his chin at the wizard. Jack laughed and before Harry could react he pointed the gun at him, squeezing off a shot with a look of vicious delight.

Searing pain arced through his body and Harry grabbed his thigh. As hot blood squirted through his fingers instinct drove him to try to staunch the flow with his hands. Biting back a howl of pain he fell backward onto the floor, the room swimming in a haze of white hot agony. He was dimly aware of a horrified silence from the lads, which was broken when three bottle rockets howled through the window, spraying the combatants with sulfurous fumes. As the thugs hit the ground with their arms over their heads Harry ground out, “Run now!”

The fireworks ricocheted about the room in a terrifying shower of sparks and smoke as the boys flung their weapons aside and scattered, leaving The-boy-who-lived looking straight into the murderous eyes of his attackers. Harry felt consciousness slipping away as his blood pooled on the worn linoleum and he knew he had to come up with something quickly. If the yobs escaped they would continue to exercise their scare tactics on other innocent victims. As shadows converged in his vision his eyes lit on the column in front of him and inspiration struck.

“Wanna see something really insane?” he said with a ghost of his former grin. Pointing a shaky finger at the pillar he gathered his strength, feeling the magic coiling inside him, ready for his command. “Reducto!” he cried. Wild magic flowed out, fueled by his anger and pain. The pillar exploded and with an eerie groan the roof collapsed over him and the attackers.

As the debris pinned him to the floor and his life continued to seep out the bullet hole in his leg Harry managed a coherent thought. ‘How ironic that I should finally figure out what my friends have been trying to tell me and now I’m going to bleed to death before I can apologize.’ Consciousness fled and he lay unresisting beneath the settling timbers.

Hermione sat beside Harry’s hospital bed and reread her transfiguration text. She sighed and set the book aside. The quiet in the hospital wing was soothing and conducive to studying but she longed for her friend to wake up and speak to her. Leaning forward she brushed Harry’s soft fringe off his forehead in a gesture of fond exasperation. Her smile turned into a look of reflection as she gazed at his battered face and recalled the events of the previous day.

After Harry left for work Snape had summoned them to his cottage. Having found unexpected enjoyment in the work they did at his office, the three unlikely conspirators planned to organize the professor’s home laboratory. Less than an hour into the task a young man had driven up in a cloud of dust and flying gravel on Harry’s bike. Hermione had been terrified when she realized that Harry must be in trouble but now she smiled as she recalled Snape’s reaction. The man had gone ballistic, grabbing the hapless boy and trying to shake the story out of him.

“Wait!” the boy gasped, “It’s me, Kelly! I came as fast as I could, Ian needs help!” Brushing tears from his dusty cheeks with his forearm, the young man stepped away from Snape and gave him an injured glare. Hermione remembered admiring the boy’s mettle, it wasn’t easy to stand up to an angry, former death eater.

Once Snape realized the boy wanted to get help for Harry he listened to his account with mounting agitation. As soon as the story was out the potion master seized the teens in a frantic embrace and apperated the lot of them to the yard. Hermione brushed away a tear as she recalled her horror upon seeing the collapsed building. Dust hung in the air and the broken timbers were settling with sharp cracks that made her heart jump in her chest. Chaos reigned, boys carrying various barn implements yelled to each other and scrabbled ineffectually at the debris. One small boy was sobbing, “Ian! Ian, are you okay?” pulling at the rubble with tears tracking the dirt that clung to his face.

Snape immediately cast a charm to locate anyone still living under the ruins. Two spots of glowing blue light became visible in the crumbled building. “I’ve never seen Snape look so relieved, Harry,” she whispered to the unconscious boy. Harry shifted, humming softly and Hermione searched his face for signs of arousal. With an eye on his furrowed brow she smoothed his hair again and continued her reminiscing.

The wizard began to levitate large pieces of wood and plaster off one of the areas where the charm had detected life signs. The teens shifted smaller bits of debris and within minutes they had uncovered a tall man. “That’s one of the men who attacked us,” cried Kelly. With a look of pure hatred Snape spelled ropes to bind the man who regained consciousness and appeared to be only shaken up.

Everyone attacked the next area Snape indicated and after a few breathless minutes there was a shout. A hand was uncovered and Hermione recognized that hand. “It’s Harry!” she cried around the lump in her throat. Ron and Snape joined her as with painstaking care they exposed the injured wizard. Completely slack and covered with white plaster dust, he looked like he was dead. Only the mark from Malfoy’s wand and wound in his leg showed any sign of life; both were seeping bright crimson.

After a long moment of silent horror Snape had lifted him gently and without a word he disapperated. Now that the excitement was over Hermione was able to marvel at Snape’s ability to dual apperate so many times. She smirked and muttered, “That must have been some adrenaline rush, my friend.” She and Ron had been left to their own devices for a short time but the magical reversal squad had shown up moments later to take care of the muggles. The Gryffindors had demanded to be taken to Hogwarts but when Mr. Weasley finally arrived he had produced a portkey to take them back to the Burrow.

As soon as they had staggered to their feet in the kitchen of Ron’s home they had flown to the fireplace to ask about Harry. Professor Snape had answered their call and tersely informed them that Madame Pomfrey was still working on him. Before he could finish telling them to wait for news they disconnected and flooed to the Great Hall. By the time they arrived in the infirmary the mediwitch had completed her initial therapy and they were allowed to sit with the still unconscious Harry.

As soon as he was assured Harry would be all right Snape had left Hogwarts and apperated back to the yard. After getting the story from Harry’s muggle friends and checking on Arthur, he had returned to the dungeons for a bit of rest. "I'll bet he nearly collapsed after all that apperating." Hermione said with a frown of concern but then she stifled a giggle. “I’d give a galleon to have seen their faces when Snape showed up,” she whispered. The image of the potion master in full ‘Snape’ mode interrogating the boys kept cropping up in her imagination and setting off bursts of laughter. According to the professor only Harry and the three thugs who were trapped in the collapse of the building were injured. “Typical luck for you, Potter,” she said aloud as she mentally cataloged his list of injuries. He had nearly joined Sirius behind the veil.

Hermione sighed. “You gave us quite a scare, Harry,” as he stirred again. A shadow loomed above her and Hermione looked up into Professor Snape’s scowling face. Undaunted by his expression she smiled and was rewarded by a deepening of his frown. The professor laid his hand on Harry’s forehead and felt for tension in his limbs then turned away and sprawled in the other chair. Taking in Snape’s more relaxed posture and the lack of acerbic comments, Hermione speculated to herself that perhaps Harry was not the only one to benefit from the events of the summer.

“Madame Pomfrey says it will be another day before he regains consciousness,” she said in an effort to be helpful.

Snape smirked. “Our good mediwitch is not as familiar with Mr. Potter’s habits as I. He will awaken soon I dare say.”

With a slight frown Hermione said, “Ron said the same thing. He went to the kitchens to get some treacle tart for when Harry wakes up.”

Snape responded to her look of confusion. “Once Mr. Potter starts to stir he will not stay insensible for long. Perhaps dreams are not the safe refuge for him that they are for most.” The potions master steepled his fingers and gazed at the Gryffindor with a speculative expression. Silently agreeing with Snape’s opinion, Hermione sat back and rubbed her tired eyes, wondering if it would always be so for her troubled friend. Harry stirred again and muttered something unintelligible. Eying her position near Harry’s side, Snape smirked and said, “It would be wise to give the brat a bit of space. His awakening after such situations is often rather abrupt…”

As if on cue Harry sucked in a deep breath and struggled out from under the blanket, reaching frantically for his wand and glasses. The sudden movement must have kindled the pain from his still healing injuries as he curled up defensively as soon as he had his wand clutched in his fist.

“Fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

“…and punctuated by rather uninspired and repetitive obscenities,” Snape said, finishing his interrupted statement.

Harry’s eyes darted to Snape and he said, “Fuck,” again only louder.

“Harry!” admonished Hermione. She was immediately remorseful for being critical and blurted, “Sorry, Harry, it’s so good to see you awake at last.” With a relieved smile she leaned forward to hug him. She felt his body go rigid in her arms and began to pull away but a look from Snape made her hang on. After few uncomfortable heartbeats he relaxed, his breath warm against her shoulder as he released the lungful of air he was holding.

Hermione settled into the embrace, ready to hold Harry for as long as he needed. His body felt different than it had on other occasions when Hermione had dared to hug him. The usual scrawniness was replaced by unexpected size and strength. It felt like the summer had somehow sculpted him, carved him into the shape of a man. The word ‘honed’ came to mind but she shied away from it, hating the connotation that Harry was indeed a weapon, as he so feared. As his arms came up around her, hesitant at first then wrapping around her smaller body with alacrity, she found herself encased in wiry steel. Unlike Ron’s hugs, which were warm and comforting, this one had a desperate edge as if he feared she would try to escape. As suddenly as she had begun their hug he ended it, gentle hands on her forearms moving her away from him.

As she met his gaze she saw the same changes in his face. Now that he was awake it was apparent that the strong lines of a powerful wizard had replaced the rounded contours and soft chin of youth. She knew it was inevitable, and even necessary for his survival, but a part of her grieved for the passing of the boy she had known. She hoped this man would still be a friend to her and to Ron. A ghost of a smile drifted across his lips and her hope grew as she recognized the inextinguishable spirit she had grown to cherish like a brother.

OOoOoOoOo

Snape watched the two Gryffindors embrace and grappled with his feelings. Initially he had practically choked on the need to voice his revulsion at witnessing the mawkish display. But when he saw Harry’s shoulders tense at what should have been a pleasant, friendly touch he nearly cast Imperio to keep the Granger girl from withdrawing. The brat’s subsequent relaxation left him both relieved and ready to take house points for PDA. The emotional rollercoaster ride had Snape teetering on the edge of nausea so he stood as if to leave.

“Wait,” Harry said, his voice still rough from disuse. Snape turned and waited for Harry to extricate himself from his clinch with Granger. “Professor, you and Hermione and Ron were right.” He swallowed with a wince and Hermione wordlessly handed him a glass of water. “I’ve been a right arse about this whole mess with Voldemort,” he rasped after a grateful sip from the glass. “I’ve been bigheaded and completely self absorbed. I want to apologize and thank you for putting up with all my crap. I know I need to let you all help, it’s not just up to me.”

Intrigued, Snape eyed the young wizard. Whatever had taken place in that stable yard must have been quite a revelation; perhaps they had gotten their miracle after all. He hoped that someday he might be privy to the details or at least uncover them in an Oclumency lesson. The idea of dragging the information from the brat’s protesting mind still held some slight appeal and Snape smirked with anticipated pleasure.

He continued to watch as Harry sank back into the pillows and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. The boy’s expression was carefully masked; Snape wondered if he was occluding. From the door way came a snort of laughter and the potions master shook off his musings to look. Weasley stood there with a tray of food and a grin worthy of his deranged twin brothers. “Don’t you want to apologize to me too, you prat?”

Harry grinned and Snape watched most of the strain that had plagued the boy all summer melt away. “I figured you’re such a wanker all the time that this just makes us even.” The redhead’s grin grew even wider as he walked over to Harry’s bed and plunked the tray down on the table. Grabbing the front of Harry’s pajamas he hauled the smaller boy upright in the bed as Hermione rushed to put pillows behind him. Snape caught a flicker of unease in Potter’s eyes as his friend advanced upon him but he was gratified to see it was immediately extinguished.

“Hurry up and eat this before Pomfrey shows up and goes nutters over you, hero boy.” As Harry dug into the tray he asked about Arthur and the stable lads. After Weasley reassured him that they were well the two began to discuss Quidditch and trade insults as if the summer apart had never occurred. With a smirk Snape turned and headed for the door but stopped short of his goal when he heard Harry gasp.

“Ron…” he stammered, staring at his friend with eyes round as a house elf. Snape was back at his side in an instant as Harry reached for Weasley’s arm, pushing back the sleeve. The boy’s fingers flinched away from his friends arm then returned to gently stroke the scars left by his accident in the DOM. Harry’s eyes went to Ron’s startled face and he asked in a low voice, “Doesn’t this hurt, Ron?”

The redhead jerked his arm away and pulled the sleeve back down to cover the scars. “It aches a bit,” he conceded, “Nothing to worry about. The healers said it just takes time.” He rubbed his arm and an expression of distaste crossed his face as he repeated, “It’ll clear up with time.”

Harry fell back against the pillows and stared at his friend. An incredulous expression followed by one of indignation crossed his mobile features. Snape was still trying to figure out what was going on when Harry said, “Can you conjure another containment box, Professor?” Realizing what the boy was talking about, Snape quickly conjured a box and levitated it onto the bedside table. Meanwhile Harry snagged Weasley’s arm again and was eyeing it with revulsion.

“What’s going on, Harry?” the redhead stuttered, trying to pull away again.

“Hold still, Ron.” Harry glared up at his friend. “Stop fighting me. This isn’t going to go away on it’s own.” The freckled teen stopped struggling but continued to look fearful and his body was tensed for flight. Harry caught the other boy’s gaze and held it. “Trust me,” he whispered. Under the strength of that promise the boy nodded, giving his complete confidence to his friend, and when Harry muttered his freezing charm, Weasley didn’t flinch. As shards of dark magic fell away Granger broke her unusual silence with a stifled gasp.

“What is that,” she hissed as Snape levitated them into the box. For his part, Snape ignored her and concentrated on Potter. It was not a good idea to be doing magic so soon after awakening from a healing sleep but he knew it would be useless to ask him to wait. Luckily the extent of Weasley’s affliction must have been mild as the boy finished quickly and sat back again after releasing his friend’s scarred arm.

“Dark magic,” Harry said with a look of distaste. “Probably been there since the DOM.” He looked at Weasley who was examining his forearm with an awed expression. “Alright there, Ron?”

“Better than alright, Harry,” he breathed. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s been aching and burning the whole bloody summer.” He raised his eyes from their scrutiny and looked at Potter with openmouthed wonder. Snape felt mildly ill at the adulation in his expression but banished the box without comment. “How’d you do it, mate?”

With a tired grin the brat said, “Just a little something I picked up over the summer.” Both his friends appeared completely gobsmacked and ready to pump Potter for information but Snape took in the tired slump of his shoulders and stood up.

“You need to rest, Potter. Weasley, Granger, out.” He didn’t have the energy to muster a full Snape snarl but his words were effective enough. Both teens jumped up as if stung and scuttled toward the door.

“We’ll visit later, Harry,” the Granger girl called out as they shut the door. Harry gave them a wave and sank back in the pillows with his eyes shut. The words of complaint for the dismissal of his friends never came and within a minute the boy was breathing in the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. After looking around to make sure no one was watching Snape tugged the comforter up over the young wizard’s chest and followed the two Gryffindors out the door. The Granger girl was waiting for him and he hoped she hadn’t witnessed his lapse. He preferred to keep his membership in the Potter fan club as his own dirty little secret.

“Professor Snape?”

“Yes, Ms. Granger?”

“Thank you.” A subtle lift of his brow was her only answer. “For taking care of Harry this summer. He looks a lot better, more like the old Harry. I know it’s a lot your doing and I want to thank you.” She nodded to the infirmary. “Merlin knows he never will.”

Snape turned to fully face her. He glanced through the window in the door at the slumbering wizard. “I am sure he will appreciate your presence again today, perhaps at dinner time.” The insufferable girl grinned at him and scurried off to join her red haired compatriot. He rolled his eyes and made a mental tally of the days until the meddlesome trio would be gone from Hogwarts.

As he stood and enjoyed the silence in the hallway Snape spoke softly to himself. “Well, Mr. Potter, we shall see what this year brings. Perhaps you are not so broken after all.” He swirled his robes around himself and headed for the dungeons.