Five more days passed before anyone but the Death Nurses entered Harry's room. The monotony of the days really got to him, especially after his breathing had calmed down again, and he started to feel much better overall. He still felt chilled most of the time, but he was putting on weight again, and could usually keep warm enough not to shiver with regular clothes . . . a few extra layers, certainly, but without a pile of quilts. After the fifth day of little to do but pace his room, and listen to the caretakers grouse about this duty and make pointed remarks about how it was such a waste seeing to it that "the boy" was healed up, considering where he was headed, Harry had had enough.

Nothing quite annoyed Harry as being called "the boy." Uncle Vernon had called him little else, except when in a particularly vicious mood, as had his aunt, but he would not tolerate it anymore. When Nott made a scathing reference to the condition they'd found Harry in at his relatives house and intimated that they should have just left him there to rot, Harry whirled on him.

"Shut UP! Shut up! I didn't ask for you to get me, I didn't ask to be brought here, and I certainly didn't intend to be fattened for the slaughter. So if you could just SHUT UP about it for five minutes, that'd be really welcome!"

Nott looked almost taken aback, until Avery smirked at him. Then he jumped to his feet and advanced on Harry, wand drawn. "You're the one who needs to mind his tongue, boy. Maybe I should remove it for you."

"Oh, nice," Harry scoffed. "You couldn't get me when I had a wand, but I'm a perfect target for you now that I'm unarmed, huh? Coward."

With a growl, Nott lunged for Harry, leading with his wand, and yelled an incantation Harry had never heard before. Pain exploded in his head, in his mouth, fire-hot agony worse than anything but Cruciatus. Knives attacked his face, his neck and eyes. Inside his mouth he felt a sudden hollowness -- his tongue was gone! He writhed on the floor as blood poured out of him, from his mouth and ears and nose. It sluiced over his face, hot and sticky like he'd bitten into an overripe melon. He couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, and the pain went on and on . . .

Noise erupted nearby, sounding as if it came from deep underwater. Harry was curled in a ball, arms protecting his head as shouts and spells went off around him, and he tried to push the pain into the cupboard of his mind. He swallowed mouthful after mouthful of blood and gagged on the emptiness where his tongue should be. His stomach lurched. Retching, he expelled blood and bile into a puddle his face now laid in. Oh, Merlin. Please. Make it stop . . .

What seemed an eternity later, a hand touched his shoulder. He flinched away, causing a new wave of agony to sear through him. He curled tighter, wishing with all his heart for the pain to just end.

"Harry, let me help. I need to see."

Snape's voice, still sounding as if from the depths of the lake.

Screwing up his courage, he lowered his arms slightly. He tried to open his eyes, but they would not respond, and he wondered, frantically, if he would ever see again.

Snape made a low hissing sound as he saw the damage, but in a moment had incanted several spells that took the worst of the pain away. Harry tried to tell him about his eyes, about his tongue, but could not form the words. All that emerged from his mouth was a pitiful grunting sound, and so he closed his mouth and wished for an end to it all.

----

"Dear Merlin," Severus whispered as he looked at what Nott's spell had wrought. He grasped Harry's head and lifted it a little, a potion pressed to the boy's bloody lips. Half the potion slid back out again to dribble down the boy's front, but at least some managed to get in. It would help with the pain, and the spells he'd cast should grow back most of the tissue and organs -- Nott had really severed the boy's tongue! -- in the next day or so. It would be a wearying, painful night for the boy, though.

"Don't try to open your eyes," he said as he saw the boy struggle to do just that. "They're damaged, and if you expose them to light too soon, it will be permanent. Here," he conjured a bandage and wrapped it around the boy's eyes. "This should help."

Harry nodded his head against Severus' arm, and Severus realized he still held the boy close. He almost pushed Harry away, but there was no one to see. Nott was dead, and Avery was stunned and Petrified, and the door was closed. Still, he needed to be more careful.

"Come on," he said, and stood with the boy in his arms. He was easy to carry, still damnably light for all his appetite seemed to be good. Two long strides brought him to the bed, and he laid Harry on it, then took a moment to clean the worst of the blood away with a Scourgify or three. The boy seemed to have fallen asleep, though his body trembled fitfully, and Severus sighed. How stupid could this one child be? Baiting a Death Eater in this place.

Once done with his cleaning, he glanced over at Nott's body and grimaced. There would be a price to pay for that.

Just as Avery was coming around, the door opened, and the Dark Lord entered, flanked as before by two of his servants. Voldemort stepped over Nott's body as if it were not there, and approached the bed.

"You heard what happened, Severus?" the Dark Lord asked. "And came to assist the boy."

That much was obvious, and Severus dared not lie. "I did, my Lord. I admit I was nearby and heard yelling. When I realized what spell Nott cast, I was afraid the brat would die of blood loss. I knew you would not like that."

"No. I would not like that." The Dark Lord lifted a white, long fingered hand and brushed it over the boy's cheek, then hovered over his bound and blinded eyes. Severus noted that Voldemort's hand never went near the accursed scar. "You did well, Severus," he said, then glanced at Avery getting to his feet, and the still body of Nott, "although I would prefer if you left the punishment of my servants to me, unless I give you leave."

"Of course, my Lord. As you say."

"Always, Severus. Let me remind you, however. Crucio!"

And then his world was pain, and he voiced the screams that Harry could not, and he took comfort in that, until at last it was over and he was on his hands and knees, panting for breath, and Voldemort was gone.

Avery, leaning against the wall, gave him a dangerous look as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. "The Dark Lord said you are to be his caretaker now, Snape. You can stay in here all the bloody time, too, he said, so you won't be too late to stop anyone from hurting the boy next time." Only then did he aim a sneer in the direction of Nott's body, before he pushed off the wall and opened the door. "Good luck to you."

The door closed with a note of finality, and Severus was suddenly unsure if he had just been made a prisoner as well.