The shadowy forms circled him, their raucous laughter like the cries of wild beasts moving in to kill their prey. And behind them-he-was there, his demonic eyes beaming at the frenzied torture. Always him. He was always there, hunting, plotting, hurting. Harry would never be free of him, never.

And then he hurts so much he can't think beyond it. There's only a desperate longing for the people who once loved him, who would have helped and protected him...Please...Please...

"You're safe. It's all right now. They can't hurt you anymore." A voice pulled him from the nightmare, a voice that was both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Harry knew he had heard that voice before, but at the same time there was something so different about it that he couldn't remember where or who it belonged to.

He tried to open his eyes to see, but his eyelids were so heavy and he was so weak. Perhaps it would be better not to, anyway. Perhaps it was some sort of trick and the Death Eaters would be waiting if he looked. Fear clenched his heart again.

But the voice said, almost gently, "You're safe, Potter. Rest now."

Harry became dimly aware that he didn't hurt nearly as much anymore, that he was lying on something soft and comfortable. Maybe the voice was right. Maybe....

Severus watched as Potter fell asleep again. When the boy had first begun whimpering, he had been across the room, lying on the cot he had transfigured for himself and trying to get to sleep after another exhausting day brewing those complicated potions. He had instantly spelled the lights on and looked to see if Potter had wakened.

When he'd realized the boy was caught in a nightmare instead of fully awake, he'd felt mingled hope, worry, and annoyance. Potter must not be as deeply unconscious as he had been. He would probably regain awareness soon, and then they would see if their boy hero was still sane. And at the same time, Severus couldn't help feeling a bit frustrated. He himself was worn out and just wanted to rest. How had he gotten himself stuck playing nursemaid?

But Potter had been crying piteously and twisting, and Severus hadn't wanted him to start his arms bleeding again. So he had known he had to quiet the boy somehow. And deep down, he'd also known that he couldn't leave Potter trapped in his terrifying memories regardless. Severus knew better than anyone what the boy was suffering.

He had gone to Potter's bedside and spoke, his voice coming out so soothingly that it had startled him. When did he speak to Potter like that? When did he speak to anyone like that?

But it worked. After a few minutes, the boy grew still and then fell back into a peaceful sleep. Severus checked to be sure he hadn't hurt himself, but the bandages on Potter's arms were still clean, and Severus started to turn away.

Then he paused. Potter had gotten the bedcovers into a tangled mass around his knees. It was cool in the dungeons, especially at night. The last thing they needed was the boy getting chilled on top of everything else. Severus waved his wand over the sleeping form, and the sheets and quilt straightened and tucked themselves lightly around Potter's shoulders.

Severus' hand twitched towards the boy, almost as if he were going to smooth the child's hair from his forehead. But he caught himself and scowled as he went back to his cot. Even though Potter remained quiet, it was a long time before Severus was able to sleep.

***

Harry woke with a start. His muscles were tensed, and fear clawed at his throat, but he wasn't sure why. Then, in a terrifying rush, it all came back to him-the Death Eaters snatching him from the Burrow, Voldemort, the hours of agony, lying in the cold cellar as his blood soaked into the ground.

His breath caught in a strangled gasp, and he looked around frantically. His eyesight was poor without his glasses, but he did realize he was not in the cellar anymore. But where was he?

The room was fairly large, and was comfortable and attractive. He was lying in a four-poster bed, his head propped on deep, fluffy pillows, and a quilt in shades of blue tucked around his shoulders. A night table stood beside the bed on the right, and his glasses rested atop it.

Harry reached for them, noticing his dirty clothes were gone and he was wearing soft pajamas. His forearms were wrapped in white bandages. Obviously, someone had gone to the trouble to clean and care for him, so he probably was safe now. Maybe.

Harry slid his glasses on and looked around again. A tall wardrobe stood in one corner and there was a midnight blue armchair set in another. A couple of landscape paintings hung on the pale stone walls-one of a clear lake surrounded by snow-capped mountains, and the other of a stormy sea. There was no window, but two narrow doors were set along perpendicular walls. Another little table stood close to his bed, and a cauldron sat upon it. A blue flame danced underneath the cauldron, and whatever was inside bubbled busily to itself.

Harry wondered what was brewing, a little nervously. He eased himself into a sitting position and craned his neck to try to see, but the deep purple liquid was unfamiliar to him.

A slight noise made him jerk his head toward one of the doors, and Harry's eyes widened as Severus Snape came hurrying in, carrying a jar of crushed brown powder.

Snape almost dropped the jar when he saw Harry staring at him, but he recovered quickly and stepped to the bed. Harry flinched before he could stop himself.

"You are Hogwarts, Potter. You're safe now." There was an odd note in the man's voice. It was not exactly gentle, but it was lacking the hostility Snape usually showed for him.

"Hogwarts?" Harry's own voice was so thin and reedy, it almost frightened him.

"Yes. You do remember Hogwarts?" Was that echoing fear in Snape's voice? It couldn't be. The idea of Snape being afraid of anything was ludicrous.

"Well, sure," Harry gazed at him in bewilderment. He waited for Snape to reprimand him for impertinence-"The proper response is ‘Yes, sir,' Potter!"-but Snape just kept staring intently at him, his black eyes keen and searching.

Harry hesitated, but he had to know, and if that meant asking Snape, then he'd just have to do it. "How?"-His voice gave out, and he had to swallow before speaking again. "How did I get here? Sir?"

"The Order rescued you," Snape's voice was still not unfriendly, and he was staring at him as if he'd never seen anything like Harry before. It was all rather surreal to Harry. Maybe he'd died after all, and this was some sort of strange afterlife. Or maybe he was dreaming. But why in the world would he dream about Snape?

"What do you remember, Potter?"

Harry didn't think he could answer that one. He remembered most of everything, he thought, at least until he'd passed out. But he wasn't sure he could talk about it with anyone, and he certainly couldn't talk about it with Snape. To his horror, his eyes filled with tears and he quickly turned his head away to stare at the wall, hoping Snape hadn't noticed. If the Potions professor ever caught him crying...well, that didn't bear thinking of. Harry would have to transfer to some other school because he would never be able to face anyone after Snape finished mocking him.

But if Snape had noticed Harry's weakness, he didn't take advantage. Instead, the man set the jar with the brown powder down beside the cauldron, and hurried over to the fireplace. He reached into another jar on the mantel and tossed Floo powder in the grate. He knelt and called, "Potter's awake, Albus." He just barely got out of the way before there was a rush of green flame. Dumbledore stepped out and hurried over to the bed.

"Harry!" Dumbledore sat beside him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. Harry was surprised to see tears in Dumbledore's eyes. "I'm so glad you're awake. You gave us quite a scare, you know."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

But Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry, it isn't your fault. I didn't mean to imply that it was. We were just so afraid we'd lost you. How do you feel?"

"I'm okay." He was, wasn't he? He still hurt, but not nearly as bad as before.

Dumbledore gave him a knowing look from behind his half-moon spectacles and Snape snorted.

But before either of them could speak, a thought suddenly occurred to Harry, and he looked up in panic. "Sir! The Weasleys? And Hermione? Are they all right?"

"They're fine, Harry. They're very worried about you, but they're fine. As are all the Order members who rescued you," Dumbledore reassured him. He studied Harry thoughtfully over his half-moon spectacles. "If you're okay though, Harry, then I am a two-headed thestral. The truth, please."

Harry sighed. "Well, I still hurt all over, but not too bad. Mostly, I'm just weak."

"It's to be expected. You were badly injured and you lost a lot of blood," Dumbledore told him. "You will recover, though. Don't worry." He paused and then asked softly, "Do you remember what happened, Harry?"

Harry bit his lip and looked away. He didn't want to lie to Dumbledore, who would probably see right through him anyway, but he didn't want to talk about it either, especially in front of Snape.

As if he'd sensed Harry's thoughts, Dumbledore asked, "Would it be easier if we talked alone?"

Harry nodded gratefully, refusing to meet either Dumbledore's or Snape's eyes.

"Severus, would you mind?"

"Just a moment," the Potions Master replied, more agreeably than Harry would have expected. "I need to add the crushed locusts' legs to this potion first."

They waited in silence as Snape measured out some of the brown powder, added it to the potion, and carefully stirred. Then he left by the other door, closing it behind him.

Dumbledore squeezed Harry's shoulder softly. Haltingly, Harry told him everything that had happened that fateful morning, everything that he could remember at least.

When he'd finished, Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder again and said, "I'm so sorry, Harry. I thought you would be safe at the Burrow. If I'd had any idea that this would happen, I'd never-"

"It was my fault, sir," Harry stopped him. "I shouldn't have gone out right to the edge of the wards. It made it easy for them to grab me. I wasn't thinking. But the Dursleys hate me, and I hate living with them. I was glad you took me to the Burrow."

"Well, at least you're safe now," Dumbledore said. "But Harry, it was not your fault. Not in the slightest, and I don't want you to blame yourself. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded and then seized a chance to change the subject. "Where am I, sir? Snape said we were at Hogwarts, but I've never been here." He gestured to the room.

"Try to keep your arms as still as you can, Harry. They may start to bleed again," Dumbledore advised. "And it's ‘Professor' Snape. As for never being here, well, I don't suppose you have. This is Professor Snape's bedroom."

Harry stared at him, aghast. "Bedroom? You mean, this is his bed?"

Dumbledore seemed amused. "Why, yes, it is, Harry. Professor Snape has been very kind to give up his privacy in order to care for you better."

"But why? Why couldn't I stay in the infirmary instead?" Harry would have thought that Snape would have rather eaten poisonous toadstools than let Harry anywhere near his own rooms, and the feeling was entirely mutual.

"You were badly injured, as I told you. You needed constant attention, and Madame Pomfrey has gone out of the country on holiday and it has proven difficult to contact her. In any case, some of your wounds needed more specialized care than she could have given. Professor Snape was-and still is-the best person to tend to you."

"What exactly is wrong with me, sir?"

Dumbledore considered. "You suffered the Cruciatus curse for hours."

Harry nodded, shuddering a little. Dumbledore's hand moved from his shoulder to stroke his cheek in wordless comfort. Then he continued. "We've been very concerned that your mind might have been damaged from that, but--"

"Like Neville's parents," Harry whispered, feeling a fresh rush of sympathy for the Longbottom family.

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, but after talking with you, I feel confident that you are quite sane, as much as ever." The corners of lips quirked.

Recognizing the headmaster's quip as an effort to make him feel better, Harry tried to smile back.

"Then the knife that was used to cut your arms had been dipped into poison, and the poison got into your bloodstream. It damaged your liver and spleen, but Professor Snape has been giving you potions for that. They are not completely healed yet. You will feel tender and sore for a time, and you have to have enzymes added to your food for a few weeks until your liver starts producing them on its own again, but with proper care, it's nothing to worry about, Professor Snape and Miss Delacour assure us."

"Fleur?" Harry questioned.

"Yes, she's been assisting Professor Snape. She's very good at Potions, you know. You lost a lot of blood, as I already mentioned, but Blood-Replenishing Potions are helping with that. Most concerning at the moment, is that the knife that cut you was also cursed with Dark Magic, and the wounds on your arms are resistant to traditional healing methods. They're still open and prone to start bleeding again. Now, Professor Snape is working on some very potent Healing Salves for your arms, but it will be a few weeks before they're ready. So in the meantime, you will need to stay here to recuperate."

"Stay here? But couldn't I go back to the Tower or the infirmary now? I'm better than I was." Harry couldn't imagine anything worse than having to stay in Snape's quarters for weeks. The whole summer would be over before he got to leave.

Dumbledore sighed. "I know you and Professor Snape have had your differences-"

It was all Harry could do not to snort at that, but he thought it would just be too rude.

"But you need to be with someone who can deal with cursed magic. Professor Snape has been very gracious in agreeing to have you stay here."

Dumbledore didn't add, " and I expect the same from you." But Harry could see it in his expression.

"Harry," Dumbledore paused, then said slowly, "I believe that Professor Snape is beginning to see you from a new perspective. If you are willing to let bygones be bygones, the two of you might be able to come to a new understanding."

"Maybe I don't want to let bygones be bygones," Harry burst out. He didn't want to be rude to Dumbledore, but this was too much. "Maybe I don't want to come to a new understanding. It's all his fault, anyway. He hated me from the very first day, from the very first Potions class, and I hadn't done anything to him. He ruined everything!"

He looked away, blinking back the tears that had suddenly filled his eyes.

"Harry," Dumbledore's voice was filled with compassion and he once more ran his fingers over Harry's cheek. Harry bit his lip and struggled fiercely to keep breaking down completely. He could not imagine why he was so upset. He must weaker and more affected by the kidnapping than he'd realized.

"You're bleeding."

Harry looked at his arms and was surprised to see red stains on the white cloth. Dumbledore waved his wand, and the blood vanished.

"I'm sorry for upsetting you, Harry. You need to try to stay calm, all right?"

"Why couldn't I stay with you?" Harry didn't mean for his voice to sound so plaintive, but he really, really didn't want to have to stay here with Snape. The professor might be civil as long as Dumbledore was around, but alone with him was another matter. Harry didn't for one minute think that Snape was willing to come to a new understanding, whatever that meant.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I'm just not able to give you the care you need right now." He held up his other arm, which had been mostly out of sight, hidden in the folds of his robes. Harry was surprised to see it wrapped in a thick bandage like his own.

"Did it hurt you too, sir? The curse from the knife?"

"Oh, no, Harry. I had already done this before you were abducted. This is a different kind of injury from yours," Dumbledore explained easily. "But I am afraid I am not able to keep you with me right now, and Professor Snape is the only wizard I trust to be able to heal you. I will visit you as often as I can, though, and Professor Snape has even agreed to allow Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger to visit for brief times. They're here and they're very anxious to see you. Shall I fetch them?"

Harry opened his mouth to say ‘yes,' and then at the last minute changed his mind. Hadn't he realized that it was too dangerous to stay friends with Ron and Hermione even before the Death Eaters had grabbed him? Hadn't that attack just proven he was right? It would be the hardest, most painful thing he'd ever done, but he was going to have to cut his friends out of his life. It was for their own good.

"No, thanks, sir. I'm pretty tired. I think I'll try to go back to sleep." Harry made a show of rearranging the pillows, taking off his glasses, and lying down.

Dumbledore looked surprised, but he nodded. "Very well, Harry. I'm sure they'll understand. I'll come down again later."

He left by the doorway, and a moment later Snape came back in. "Your idiotic Gryffindor friends may not stay long, and there'll be no rowdiness. I've got better things to do than stand about and heal wounds that bleed at the drop of a pin." There was the familiar sneer, and Harry wondered again why Dumbledore persisted in his delusions of the two of them getting along. It was just never going to happen.

"My friends aren't coming down," Harry forced himself to add, "Sir. I'm tired."

Snape gave him another long searching look and Harry closed his eyes to get away from it. When he cautiously opened one eye a slit, Snape was gone.