Severus's Apparition was like a freefall, as it always was when he followed the Dark Mark's summons. Neither he, nor any of the other Death Eaters ever had any idea as to where they would end up, and as Apparition was such a precision form of travel once one was accomplished in the skill, it was more than a little nerve-wracking to travel under another's mental guidance.

At least with side-along Apparition, if you were the passenger, there was a physical anchor and you knew that your "guide" would get you to where he was going.

Of course, no-one would ever imagine that the Dark Lord was not one hundred percent sure of where he wanted his loyal followers to end up. The evil sociopath could, at any time decide to torture any, or all of them by directing their headlong rush through the ether to-say, the middle of a fiery conflagration that had been magically set alight and could not be dowsed by either magical or Muggle means, and where anti-Apparition wards had been put in place. Once having materialised within the flames, death was the only outcome.

The Dark Lord had used this form of punishment just recently on a Death Eater with whom he had been seriously displeased. No one had ever found out how Jacques Fontaine had displeased his master.

This, in fact, was a favourite punishment of the Dark Lords, one that he found highly effective. Since his rebirth, The Dark Lord had scaled new heights of corruption and brutality. It was as though he was punishing everyone of his followers for the continued existence and freedom of Harry Potter. No matter that he did not have a legion of followers and that he could little afford to "off" any of those who were truly loyal to him.

He could not work with only an army of ‘Imperioused' slaves because, as good as the Dark Lord was, he could not mentally control hundreds of individuals by himself. Hence his need for loyal Lieutenants.

His ‘Pure Blood' creed was not lent much weight when the psychopath killed off his own followers with impunity. For such a magical genius, the man could be remarkably obtuse at times.

Finally, Severus rematerialized, his feet slightly apart and his heavy Death Eater robes and cloak swirling around his legs. He raised his eyebrows in surprise when a quick inspection of his surroundings showed that he had been summoned directly into a small, tidy kitchen-one that he was not familiar with.

The Dark Lord had taken to using the homes of his faithful for meetings, but this place was a little different from the norm. For starters, it was very small; an ordinary house that obviously belonged to a family who were not particularly well off. A quick glance out of the small window over the sink showed a pocket handkerchief sized, overgrown backyard. Severus was sure that the property was in the suburbs somewhere.

There was no way this home could accommodate a full contingent of Death Eaters, so Severus was confused as to the painful urgency of the summons. Usually such intensity was an indicator of the Dark Lord's fury and when his ire was raised, murder and mayhem were more often than not the order of the day, and the man liked all his faithful to attend these revels. Only total devastation and destruction improved Lord Voldemort's moods.

Of course, since he had tried to possess Harry at the Ministry, the Monster had not been up to anything at all-anything but copious doses of headache potion. Today was the first day, as far as Severus knew, that the Dark Lord had left his rooms within the Lestrange mansion.

Severus had known he was not being summoned by Bellatrix, who had been nursing her Lord since the "Harry incident" and whose touch upon the Dark Mark was much less traumatic than that of the Dark Lord, even when he was in a good mood.

These thoughts had flashed through Severus's mind in rapid sequence and were brought to an abrupt end by the sound of a high pitched, arctic voice.

"We are in here Severus. You have kept me waiting and I am eager to hear your excuses."

Severus's legs were carrying him through the doorway into a neat sitting room before the voice had stopped speaking. He was raising his strongest Occlumency shields around all memories of his interactions with Harry when he entered the room but the sight he came upon shocked him so much, his construction faltered and he nearly made the mistake of looking into Lord Voldemort's gloating, red eyes before he dropped to his knees and made a supreme effort to throw up those walls of steel again. Looking at the filthy toes-the Dark Lord eschewed shoes-Severus was able to layer the lies he and Dumbledore had constructed between the two of them in front of his mental walls of steel. Severus set his lips in a tight line and pretended to kiss the dust covered hem of Voldemort's robes.

The man could enter another's mind with the speed of a striking cobra. Most wizards-even those who fancied themselves talented Occlumens-were ill-equipped to stave off the Dark Lord's less than subtle mind invasion. As far as Severus knew, only himself and Dumbledore could erect a layering system of shielding strong enough, but also subtle enough to fool the man.

But now, Severus had to be even more meticulous, or his life would be forfeited and he would not be around to build any kind of relationship with a certain young wizard...

"I am waiting, Severus," said Voldemort in that hideous sibilant hiss that passed as a human voice these days.

"My Lord," said Severus in the deferential tones he reserved only for his conversations with his enslaver. He tried to keep the horror of what he had glimpsed before he had dropped to his knees out of his voice. Mild curiosity was all he would allow to show. "I was in the hospital wing in the company of Dumbledore, Pomfrey and McGonagall..."

‘The hospital wing, Severus. Is a staff member ill? Are your healing and potion brewing skills in demand, my clever Slytherin?"

"Yes, my Lord," answered Severus. "But it is not a staff member who is ill."

"Rise."

Severus regained his feet easily and looked Voldemort in the eye, subduing the disgust that those mutant features always aroused in him.

"Who is it taking up your time at this time of the year, Severus?"

Severus imbued his voice with the hatred that had always come so easily to him. Today, it required an effort. ‘Harry Potter, my Lord."

If that snake-like face had sported eyebrows, they would have risen. As it was, the high, pallid forehead just creased. "Harry Potter? My Harry Potter?"

No, you bastard, my Harry Potter!

"Yes, my Lord. It seems someone expended a great deal of energy making an attempt to kill the Wizarding World's saviour." Severus's voice was so cold and so filled with contempt, he was surprised not to see icicles forming and dropping to splinter on the floor.

Voldemort made to stand. Nagini, the hideous snake the Dark Lord kept close at all times and was now draped along the arms and back of the chair, raised her massive head when her master moved. She tasted the air with her tongue and Voldemort took the time to stroke her head. He had been sitting in the only piece of new furniture in the shabby room-a comfortable armchair upholstered in Slytherin green linen.

Bellatrix who had been standing beside the chair, jumped to attention and reached out to take her master's elbow to assist him. Voldemort allowed her brief contact whilst he gained his feet but then he removed his arm from her greedy, grasping fingers with exaggerated patience.

So, he is still a little weak. Good.

Severus had only had limited contact with Bella since Voldemort had released her from prison. Azkaban had not done her any favours. The rapturous expression on her insane face faltered for a second but then shone as brightly as ever as she watched the object of her blind devotion pace around Severus.

The two men were the same height and though Severus had not one ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones, it was obvious, even through his fine robes, that Lord Voldemort was nothing more than a skin covered skeleton.

About a dozen pairs of eyes stared at the two wizards, but the only ones that did not show fear were Bella's and Nagini's.

"And why am I only just now hearing of Harry Potter's prolonged stay at Hogwarts, Severus? I have seen you on more than one occasion since school broke up for the summer."

Severus stared into those fierce, eyes. Not a hint of fear did he allow to show. Instead, he pulled out his wand. Bellatrix reacted as he had known she would, and had her own wand pointed at his heart in the blink of an eye. Nagini hissed and flicked her tongue. Voldemort, however, did not even flinch.

Ignoring Bella's aggressive stance, Severus cast a silencing charm within which he enclosed himself, Voldemort and Bellatrix. He knew it was more than his life was worth to allow any of the other people present-including the seven Death Eaters-to hear that their master had been laid low...had shown the slightest weakness, let alone that Harry Potter had given him a headache to beat all headaches, and that it had lasted for over two weeks.

"As your healer, it was my considered opinion, my Lord, that you did not need the worry of Potter's possible demise when your strength was at a low ebb."

"And you truly think that that was a decision for you to make Severus?" hissed Voldemort in a very dangerous voice.

Severus held his ground. It would not do to show weakness now. "You encouraged me to become a healer, My Lord, so that you and your faithful would have one with the necessary knowledge to attend to yourself and those of your servants who needed such services.

"With that in mind, I had indeed thought that it would be my opinion that counted. The pain that kept you low for so long was not an ordinary headache and I had some fears that you could, perhaps, have succumbed to a brain haemorrhage. The pressure in your brain was lethal and no ordinary man would have survived what you have.

"I, as your personal healer, was not willing to risk your life with extraneous information which I knew would upset you, especially when there was naught you could do.

"I understand if it is your wish to punish me, my Lord, but only know that I had your wellbeing at the forefront of my mind the whole time. In my opinion, the knowledge that Potter was ill could wait. The facts could not be changed and I was monitoring Potter's condition carefully...though the old fool of a headmaster would not allow me to take control of the boy's care."

The whole time Severus had been talking, Voldemort continued to pace around him. Severus stood straight and proud and when the creature was in front of him, Severus did not try to avoid his gaze.

There was silence for more than a minute after Severus's last statement. Finally, the Dark Lord stopped in front of his servant. Red eyes bore into black. Severus felt the rough invasion as the powerful Legilimens raped his senses. Finally, after an agonising minute-Voldemort was a powerful Legilimens but he lacked finesse-he withdrew. Severus stumbled backwards a pace but he maintained eye contact. He could already feel the beginnings of the inevitable headache that the mental probing of the Dark Lord always elicited.

Severus cringed mentally. What had just happened to him was what he had subjected Harry to every time they had had an Occlumency lesson. The difference was that Harry had not a shred of Legilimency skill to offset the mental rape. Oh, certainly, he, Severus had not used a tenth of the force that Voldemort had used on him, but if he had-and in his anger at having the boy foisted upon him by Albus, he could very easily have lost control-the boy's brain would have been turned to mush.

What had Harry suffered each night after their lessons?

Severus had not felt real guilt since the time of Lily and James's deaths. But now, the unwelcome heaviness in his chest seemed to be welling up far too often and it was always in response to thoughts of his past treatment of ‘The Boy Who Lived.' He shook himself out of his musings. It did not do to lose one's focus when standing in front of Voldemort.

"You have a very smooth tongue my slippery Slytherin." It could have been a denunciation, but Severus saw the slight upward tilt of the thin lips. But it was too soon to relax.

Severus bowed his head respectfully. " I have a long road before me before I can even begin to compete with you, my Lord."

Voldemort laughed, but it was not a noise that engendered happiness in others. Rather, if a person was wise, he or she should be prepared for the worst.

"Ah, Severus, it is so refreshing to be able to exchange words with one as intelligent as yourself."

Bellatrix shot Severus a filthy look. The man she worshipped...her passion...her heart, never spoke to her in that approving tone. Severus Snape should have been punished-and severely-for keeping secrets from their master. She had tried to speak to her Lord about how untrustworthy she felt that Snape was, but her Lord had told her to mind her tongue...he would not hear anything against Snape.

The Dark Lord appreciated the younger man for his brains. As far as Bella was concerned, those brains made it more likely that Severus Snape was able to betray her master and then weave a spell with his intelligent conversation that would set any doubts her Lord had to rest. She had seen it happen many times. Her Lord would question Snape, and then Snape would speak and everything would be explained away and made to sound so feasible.

The Dark Lord's unswerving trust of Severus Snape was the only thing that Bella disagreed with her Lord about. She would go back to Azkaban for another 12 years if Severus Snape was as loyal to Lord Voldemort and the Rising Order as he purported to be.

Oh, how she longed to see Severus Snape tortured.

Bellatrix shelved her seething thoughts as she realised that her master was still speaking.

"I imagine you are wondering where exactly we are, my Severus," Voldemort was saying in a coolly disinterested voice, "and what our two young friends are doing here?" Whatever the ‘two young friends' were doing here, Severus knew from the tone of the Dark Lord's voice that things did not bode well for them.

He turned his head to the side to look into the pale and terrified faces of Draco Malfoy and Theodore Nott. Draco looked at him with pleading eyes but Nott, after the flicker of a glance, stared resolutely ahead.

Severus's voice was coldly indifferent when he replied, "I confess my Lord, that the presence of two of my sixth year Slytherins does have me intrigued."

He allowed his black eyes to leave the terror stricken teens to travel around the room. Narcissa Malfoy was sitting ramrod straight looking as regal and disdainful as ever, even though she was sitting in a worn, mustard yellow armchair that would never have graced even the kitchens of Malfoy Manor for the use of the house elves. Her long, white-blonde hair streamed down the back of her turquoise robes and her white, graceful hands were folded one on top of the other in her lap. She stared straight ahead and did not acknowledge Severus in any way.

In the matching armchair on the other side of the fireplace was a small woman with mouse coloured, greying hair that was falling down out of a sparse bun. Her eyes, large and sapphire blue were surrounded by long lashes and she may once have been pretty, but worry had made her old before her time. Her robes were as shabby as the furniture and she had not moved her terrified gaze from Theodore Nott's face since Severus had begun to look around.

Severus assumed that she was Nott's mother, and as she still had an apron on over her robes, he thought that this must be their home. His assumption was proven when he glimpsed a wizard photograph on the mantelpiece in which Theodore Nott stood proudly beside his father, the man's arm slung over the boy's shoulders. Severus knew the Notts were far from affluent and the shabbiness of the furniture fitted these circumstances.

The Dark Lord's promise of prestige and riches had not materialized for the Notts.

The seven Death Eaters were strewn about the room like living gargoyles in their heavy robes and cloaks. Their eyes were flint hard and their faces carved into lines of greed and cruelty. It was Severus's opinion that after any time in the service of the Dark Lord-if the individual had not come to regret his decision to join the rising Order-all the Death Eaters started to look alike... mercilessness and brutality left a indelible mark.

Three of the largest men were flanking the quailing boys, one stood beside each woman respectively, one stood near a doorway leading into a hallway and the last near the doorway leading into the kitchen. It was as though they were expecting someone to make a break for it, even though it was obvious that both boys and Mrs Nott were all incapable of independent movement and Narcissa Malfoy would never lower herself to attempt anything so plebeian as making a run for it.

"So, Severus, how exactly is Harry Potter faring at this time? Is he going to recover?" Severus saw Nott's jaw tense as he turned back to the Dark Lord.

"It was very touch and go for several days, my Lord. A very nasty poison was brewed by someone who thought he, or perhaps she, was competent."

Nott shot another swift glance at Severus. His cheeks had reddened and against his existing pallor, he looked as if someone had daubed him with copious amounts of rouge.

"The only thing that saved Potter's life was that the potioneer thought he would double his chances and he mixed two brews that should not have been mixed. They worked against each other, weakening the effects of both.

"Still, the boy would have died if Dumbledore had not had the foresight to demand my assistance. Pomfrey and the healer from St Mungos were not up to the task."

"So Potter's continued existence is thanks to you, Severus."

Severus nodded. "It is, my Lord. As I said, it was touch and go for a while, and I did begin to worry that the boy's moribund condition might even be beyond my abilities to rectify."

"You worked overtime to keep that brat alive when you knew our master wanted him dead above anything," screeched an indignant Bellatrix.

Severus sent a bored look her way. Voldemort was moving around the room, seemingly indifferent to Severus's tale and Bella's interruption. He picked up an ornament from the mantelpiece and studied it, turning it over and over in his long, spindly fingers.

"I am as aware as you are, my dear Bellatrix, that our master wants the brat dead. But I am also aware that he wants him dead by no other hand but his own." Severus voice was full of contempt. "Perhaps if you absorbed more of important conversations than just the parts that herald death and destruction, then you would know precisely what was going on."

Bella flew at Severus with a maniacal screech and her fingers were curved into claws, the talons painted crimson. Severus instantly erected a shield charm to prevent his face being clawed, but another spell flew past his shoulder and it hit Bellatrix in the chest and sent her flying backwards into the wall.

Lord Voldemort strolled over and stood over his fallen lieutenant. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Bella, Bella, Bella. Azkaban did not improve your temperament, my dear." Lord Voldemort sounded as bored as he had appeared moments before. "Did I ask you to step in and question Severus's loyalties?

"And as you are adept in the use of a wand, would it not be more fitting to use that instrument rather than act like a Muggle prostitute and try to claw your adversaries eyes out?

"Perhaps you need a reminder of just what a wand can do, Bella. Crucio!" The piercing scream of agony seemed to slice through everyone's brain like a garrotte. Even Narcissa flinched at the sound of her sister's agony.

Voldemort had only flicked his wand at Bella and immediately lifted the curse. Bella lay slumped against the wall, her breast heaving with the rapid, agitated breaths that even a tiny taste of the Cruciatus Curse caused. She looked at her master, not with reproach, but with love blazing in her mad eyes.

She scrambled onto her knees and wrapped herself around the Dark Lord's legs, sobbing into his robes, as if the man had bestowed a great favour on her rather than having just subjected her to torture. Severus was surprised at Bella's enthusiastic response, because he knew that every movement would be agonising, even after such a tiny dose of the excruciating pain of the Cruciatus Curse. Bella's muscles would feel like every fibre had been tied into knots; the muscles being bound like this always followed the exquisite agony of thousands of white hot knives piercing and slashing every centimetre of skin, muscle and organ tissue.

Bellatrix had so wanted he, Severus to be the one who was tortured, but their fickle boss had turned around and punished her instead. But being as insane as she was, Severus knew she would not question her master's decision. If the Dark Lord had seen fit to punish her, then Severus knew she would think that she must have deserved it.

Severus's lip lifted in a sneer as he watched Voldemort put his hand on Bella's head as if offering her a benediction. He turned away when the freak pulled Bella to her feet and clasped those ‘pale as a dead fish's belly' hands around her face and gazed into her swimming eyes. Severus had an insane desire to make the gesture that was so popular amongst the students-that of pretending to stick his finger down his throat to make himself gag. It happened a lot behind his back at school; he might not have eyes in the back of his head like Moody, but he did have ears and the accompanying noise was quite distinctive.

Severus was not entirely sure how close physically Bella and the object of her devotion were-certainly if Bella had her way, they would be very close indeed-but Severus always wondered exactly what Rudolphus thought of his wife's extreme worship of the Dark Lord.

How fortuitous it was that Rudolphus was in Azkaban and unable to see the antics of his insane wife. Rudolphus was certainly no oil painting but compared to the ‘snake's underbelly' who was the object of Bella's desire now, Rudolphus was the equivalent of Michelangelo's, ‘David'.

Severus's gaze came to rest on the two boys. Nott was still staring ahead at nothing, his hands thrust deeply into his pockets. Severus caught Draco's eye and the terrified boy stared back at him, close to tears and with desperation present in every tense muscle of his body. Gone was every trace of the arrogant, pure-blood Slytherin, and in his place was a terrified child on the verge of losing control of his bodily functions.

Due to years of conditioning, Severus did not start outwardly when Voldemort appeared at his side again. He was aware of his increased heart rate however.

"Who would you say are the most proficient students at potions within the school, Severus?" Voldemort asked.

The question seemed to be irrelevant but Severus's gaze sharpened on the two boys and his hear sank. Within seconds, he had made the connection. Malfoy or Nott, or both had concocted the potion that had poisoned Harry. Along with his dismay-because he knew the likely outcome for these boys-Severus felt an overwhelming fury. One, or both of these children of Death Eaters' had nearly killed Harry Potter...nearly killed his son.

When he spoke though, there was not a trace of anger or dismay in his voice. He sounded coolly disinterested. "There are three students whom I would say have a degree of talent."

"And these students are...?"

Severus gestured towards the two boys. "Mr Malfoy and Mr Nott are two of the three. Neither has the ability of the Mudblood Granger, however."

When Severus saw the red eyes narrow, he looked straight into them. "I can only imagine that the Mudblood has a very recent wizarding heredity that has not been documented. There is no other explanation for her talent."

Severus adhered strictly to the ‘pureblood superiority' creed when in Lord Voldemort's (the Half Blood's) presence. The madman could not admit, even with all the evidence to the contrary-Tom Riddle and he, Severus included-that any, other than purebloods could really have superior magical talent.

Lord Voldemort took several deep breaths to calm himself down. ‘Well Severus, as Mr Nott is one of the three most talented potioneers within Hogwarts, it will come as no surprise to you to learn that it was he who was responsible for the near demise of Harry Potter."

Severus allowed his eyes to travel coldly over Nott again. The boy was truly terrified but there was not a hint of contrition in his demeanour.

"Now, as much as I admire Mr Nott's determination to see the end of Harry Potter and his desire to revenge his father, our young Slytherin did not take my wishes into consideration before he put his flawed plan into action.

"Luckily, Severus, you were there to save the day, as it were." The Dark Lord now had his wand in hand and was circling the two shaking boys.

Nott's mother was sobbing quietly, her face buried in her hands. The burly Death eater poked her in the shoulder and the woman made a valiant effort to stifle her sobs.

"If you don't mind me asking, my Lord, how did you find out about Mr Nott's over-zealousness."

"Ah, yes. How indeed? Mr Nott, unfortunately put his trust in the wrong person when he boasted of the fact that he had killed Harry Potter." Nott was now looking at his feet but Severus could see his very red forehead.

Voldemort placed the tip of his wand under the boy's chin and forced him to look up. Then he lowered his snake-like face so that it was level with the boy's. Severus saw Nott's Adam's Apple bob up and down.

"You did not realise that your Great Uncle Armitage would deem it necessary to report your actions to me, did you Theodore?"

When Nott did not answer, Voldemort put the tip of his wand against the boy's cheek and twisted it back and forth. The movement was just a prompt for Nott to answer. His Adam's Apple bobbed again and he shook his head.

"Did you not know, Theodore, that it is my wish that Harry Potter dies by no other hand but mine?"

Nott did not need a prompt this time. He swallowed again; the effort looked painful. Severus imagined that the boy's mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert. "I...I didn't think. I was so angry with Potter." He looked up into the Dark Lord's eyes. Perhaps he saw something other than pitilessness because he continued.

"It was his fault that my Dad was sent to Azkaban." Nott's voice was raspy with fear and lack of use.

No, it was your stupid father's fault because he and his accomplices in crime were too idiotic to defeat a handful of teenagers.

"Why do you think your father is still in Azkaban, Theodore?" Those snake eyes moved to Draco before returning to Nott. "Why do you imagine that ten of my most senior Death Eater's are still in Azkaban? Do you imagine that I could not have any or all of them out of there in the blink of an eye."

Voldemort turned his eyes on Draco again. "Well, Mr Malfoy. Perhaps you can answer the question?"

Draco swallowed to try and ease the dryness in his throat. "You...you're punishing them."

"Indeed!" said Voldemort and he moved away from the boys and began pacing around the room again. Both boy's relaxed fractionally.

"They are being punished. They failed to accomplish the simple task I set them and so they need to learn a lesson."

And who punished you, you madman when you failed to accomplish the task of killing Harry when you transported him to that graveyard. The greatest wizard ever, according to you, and you failed to kill a fourteen year old boy.

"Those who do not follow my instructions to the letter need to be punished Theodore. If you had succeeded in killing Harry Potter, my aim to rule supreme over the wizarding world would have suffered a considerable set back. It is essential to my plan to be all powerful that it be I who kills Harry Potter."

Nott watched the random movements of the Dark Lord as though mesmerized. The only sounds in the room were Voldemort's almost silent footfalls and Mrs Nott's sobs.

Severus found himself tensing. He knew what was going to happen and he could do naught to stop it. Everyone was waiting for the denouement. Everyone in the room jumped when Voldemort spun about to face the boy's and spoke again.

"You, Mr Malfoy are here at my invitation, as is your mother so that you will realise that when I set a task, I expect it to be carried out to my satisfaction."

Voldemort stopped in front of Draco. "Push up your left sleeve and hold out your arm, Mr Malfoy."

Draco looked as if he was about to faint, but he did as he was told. He was shaking so much, the Dark Lord had to grasp the arm to steady it. Without hesitation, Voldemort placed the tip of his wand on the pale flesh of Draco's inner arm. A slight sizzling sound could be heard but it was drowned out almost immediately by the boy's anguished wail.

Draco sagged to his knees but Voldemort held his arm taut and held the wand there for about thirty seconds. The smell of burnt flesh filled the room. When the Dark Lord removed his wand, Draco was barely conscious and he slumped fully to the floor when the Dark Lord released his arm.

He stared down at the boy dispassionately. Severus felt sick. He remembered his own branding as if it was yesterday. It was not as bad as the Cruciatus Curse, but it was no picnic either. Narcissa stared at her son, her face even paler than normal, and her lips set in a rigid line.

"Enervate!" Voldemort pointed his wand at Draco and the boy's pale eyes fluttered open. The pain hit him straight away and he groaned and clasped his arm to his chest as he staggered to his feet.

"You will have to grow a little more backbone than that, Mr Malfoy. Mr Potter suffered the Cruciatus Curse with more fortitude than you have shown tonight. Being branded with my mark is an honour. You should have born it with stoicism."

"I'm sorry, my Lord,' gasped out Draco. I will try to do better."

"No, you will not try. You will succeed."

Draco nodded quickly but Severus could see the involuntary swallowing that showed he was not far from vomiting.

Voldemort forgot about his new recruit as he turned to Theodore Nott again. "And now for your punishment, Mr Nott." He raised his wand and Nott fell back several paces, his face slack. The three Death Eaters stumbled away quickly, unwilling to be in the range of fire.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Mrs Nott's high pitched scream was cut off as though she had been struck dumb.

It took Severus's senses a few seconds to catch up with what had actually happened. He blinked. Theodore Nott was still standing, his mouth open in a silent scream and his hands spread over his chest in a futile effort to stop the killing curse.

He was staring, horror struck at his mother, as was everyone else in the room. Mrs Nott was slumped sideways in her chair, her eyes staring and her mouth open in the scream that had been cut off.

She was dead.

"Your punishment, Mr Nott."

8888

Nymphadora Tonks replaced the cup in it's saucer after she had finished the admittedly delicious tea that Petunia Dursley had prepared for her. Tonks had kept the pot warm magically and had just indulged in her third cup.

It had been three hours since Severus had left and the Dursleys had gone to bed about two hours ago. The boy, Dudley had wanted to stay with Harry but Tonks had encouraged him to go to bed also. He had done so reluctantly.

Tonks listened to the rumbling snores that were coming from the bedroom on the left, closest to the stairs. Vernon Dursley was making a shocking racket and Tonks could not understand how anyone else in the house-or the houses next door for that matter-could sleep through the horrible cacophony.

Tonks yawned and then stood up. Harry had not moved a muscle since she had been there. But then, of course, he was not in a normal sleep, was he? She moved to his bedside and as she had done several times over the last couple of hours, she pushed Harry's fringe back and looked at his scar.

The lightning bolt had been livid when she had first arrived in the room; it had stood out, upraised and taut against the pallor of the rest of Harry's face.

There had been little change over the three hours, perhaps it had become slightly less livid and taut up to when she had last looked, forty minutes ago.

But now when she looked, Tonks could see a definite difference. The jagged scar had settled down to it's regular appearance, a white lightning bolt mark that felt like any other old scar-a tough ridge of tissue. Harry no longer felt hot either. It should be safe to revive him now, just as Snape had ordered.

Tonks pointed her wand at her young friend and whispered, "Enervate."

Harry's eyelids fluttered, and Tonks found herself coveting those long black eyelashes. Why was it always the boys who had the most gorgeous eyes. Harry had the gorgeous eyes to go with those lush lashes.

Ginny Weasley had really scored a goal when she had hooked Harry Potter. She put her head to the side and watched fondly as the young boy blinked the sleep and confusion out of his eyes.

Then again, Harry had scored a goal when he had hooked Ginny Weasley. She was a babe.

Harry pushed himself backwards and winced. He felt really stiff and sore. What the hell had happened?

"Hey Sleepyhead," said Tonks with a grin.

Harry blinked again and reached for his glasses. "Tonks?"

"Welcome back, Harry. How does your scar feel?"

Harry touched his scar and everything came flooding back to him. He was at the Dursley's. Professor Snape had bought him and he had given Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon a hard time.

And Dudley. He and Dudley had been getting on. The dementors had caused Dudley to have a change of heart about Harry. He and Dudley had been talking in his room.

Harry looked around. Yeah, this was his room all right. There was the rickety old desk and chair that he had to prop up on one corner with a pile of books because one of the legs was missing. There was the grotty old veneer chest of drawers next to the bed.

But the bed was not the bed he had slept on since he had been using Dudley's second bedroom. This was his new bed; the one in the new room in Snape's quarters. What was it doing here?

"How did this bed get here?" he asked Tonks, who just looked confused, and a little worried.

"Sorry? Wasn't it already here?"

"No, it was in Snape's quar..." Tonks was looking at him as if he was mad. "Never mind," he finished lamely. He rubbed his scar again.

"My scar hurt really badly. Voldemort was totally pis-er really angry."

"Just say like it is Harry. You don't need to stand on ceremony with me. The evil bugger was totally pissed off."

Harry's face had reddened but he grinned. "Yeah, he really was. I take it you're babysitting me because Snape was summoned."

"You've got it in one. But before he went, he stunned you because you were in so much pain. He wouldn't leave you alone with the Muggles."

Harry slumped back against the headboard. He was really worried about Snape but he wasn't about to tell Tonks that. She'd think he was mad. As far as everyone knew, he and Snape hated each other. It would take far too much time and effort to explain everything that had been revealed over the last few days. Hell, he was still trying to come to terms with the fact that his dad and Snape were cousins and therefore he and Snape were cousins also.

"He doesn't want all his hard work fixing me up to be undone again. My uncle can be a bit rough," he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

Tonks looked appalled but refrained from commenting. They sat quietly for several seconds until finally, Tonks crossed to the desk and tapped Petunia's best teapot with her wand. Harry saw steam come out of the spout.

"Let's have a cuppa. You must be parched." Harry latched onto the change of subject and nodded. The ubiquitous cup of tea. What would they do without it?

He started to pick at the fabric of his pyjama pants; he frowned. Where had the pyjama's come from? The same place as the bed presumably. Snape must have done all this.

But why? The other bed was usable, after all-not particularly comfortable but better than the sofa or the floor. It seemed that Snape was really taking his responsibility for Harry seriously.

Harry had tried not to let it mean too much but he couldn't help the little leap in his stomach when he thought that perhaps he finally did have a relative who was at least a little concerned for him; a relative who might actually be a little upset if anything was to happen to Harry.

Snape had certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty when it came to this latest episode with the poison. He had not only saved Harry's life again, he had actually nursed him and gotten him back to almost full fitness. He had put up with Harry in his rooms; he had even given up his bed for Harry.

If anything happened to Snape while he was in the company of Voldemort, Harry didn't know what he would do.

Please, let him be all right. If the pain in his, Harry's scar had nearly cleaved his head in two, then Voldemort was really, really pissed and that did not bode well for anyone who was near him.

Tonks had summoned another cup from the kitchen and now she passed Harry a cup of Petunia's delicious brew. She had had to fill the Potter again as well as heat it, but it was still Petunia's brew.

Tonks was lounging back in her chair (obviously conjured) with her feet up on the bed. She was blowing on her tea to cool it a bit. "After you have this Harry, I think you should lie down and try to get some proper sleep."

"I won't be able to sleep until I know Snape is all right."

"Severus will be fine. He's been doing this for a long time, Harry. You don't have to feel responsible for everyone just because He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named has made you his prime target because he failed to kill you fifteen years ago."

Harry didn't look at Tonks. He sipped his tea to hide his relief. Tonks didn't know the contents of the Prophecy. Thank God. It seemed that when Dumbledore had said that the Order knew, he had meant senior members of the Order. Probably, McGonagall, Moody Snape and maybe Lupin.

He hadn't told anyone the contents until after the Ministry fiasco, or else Sirius would have known and Harry was sure Sirius would have told him.

After Harry had finished his tea, he made a trip to the bathroom. When he came back, Tonks was opening the window. A beautiful Snowy Owl hopped onto the sill.

"Hedwig!" Harry cried and Hedwig launched herself across the room to land on Harry's shoulder, where she gently nipped at his ear and then ran a lock of his hair through her beak.

Much to Harry's embarrassment, he felt tears well up. He buried his face against Hedwig's snowy breast. He had missed her terribly, but he had only seen her that afternoon. It was so good that she was here, at Privet Drive to keep him company. She would keep him grounded until Snape returned.

Tonks was great fun, he really liked her but he could not talk to her about Snape.

Harry made a valiant effort to pull himself together. He walked over to the desk where he coaxed Hedwig onto his arm and then onto the desk. Dumbledore had kept his promise and had sent his owl, but Harry didn't have her cage. Ginny still had the cage, so Hedwig would just have to sleep on the desk.

Harry was just lamenting the fact that he didn't have any owl treats when he noticed the red ribbon tied to Hedwig's leg. A little Hessian bag hung from the ribbon and when Harry detached it, he found a small amount of owl treats.

Harry grinned, Dumbledore thought of everything, and so, it appeared, did Tonks. The Metamorphmagus had taken one of Petunia's empty cups to the bathroom and half filled it with water.

Hedwig hooted softly and buried her beak in the cup. It was a very thirsty trip between Hogwarts and Surrey.

Tonks now chivvied Harry back into bed, where, much to his embarrassment, she tucked him in. "Snape expects me to look after you properly Harry, and you need your sleep. It's not that long since you were on Death's door, after all. Severus Snape is unpleasant even when he's trying to be pleasant, so I don't really want to cross him when he's pissed of."

Harry nodded his understanding and he turned over to face the wall.

"I'll just be resting in the chair, so if you want anything, just call out."

"Thanks, Tonks," said Harry, but then he whispered to the wall, "but I'm a big boy now."

Harry knew he wouldn't sleep. He was too worried about Snape. Though maybe everything was all right now because his scar wasn't hurting that much anymore. Just the usual prickling and he had become so used to that, he wasn't always aware of it.

Still, he would stay awake until Snape came back. Surely Snape was coming back, if only just to let him know he was all right.

What was the deal anyway. Was someone going to be with him for as long as he was at the Dursleys. Snape had never said. But surely if he had gotten Tonks to baby sit him, that meant he didn't want him to be left alone with the Dursleys. Or maybe that was because he had been unconscious and would not have been able to protect himself at all if Uncle Vernon decided he would take up where he left off last year after the dementors had attacked Dudley.

Harry yawned.

This bed really was very comfortable. Too comfortable. He didn't want to go to sleep. He had to stay awake until Snape got back, or sent word.

Uncle Vernon was snoring again. His rhythm had faltered a bit when Hedwig had arrived and Harry had been so happy, he had cried out. How lucky was it that Tonks had been here, because if Vernon Dursley's sleep had been disturbed by Harry in the normal course of events, Harry would have probably woken up in the morning with fresh bruises.

This bed really was great. Just as comfortable as his bed in Gryffindor Tower, in fact. Nearly as comfortable as Snape's bed. Now that was some bed. It was like sleeping in the midst of a fairy tale with those cool carvings all over it.

Though sleeping in the midst of a fairy tale didn't do much for Snape's disposition, did it? The Greasy Git was unpleasant on a day to day basis at school. But hang on, he wasn't a greasy git anymore. His hair was clean wasn't it? And he wasn't as nasty these days. He could talk to Harry in a reasonable tone.

Who'd a thought?

Severus Snape and Harry Potter had been in the same rooms for ages and they hadn't killed each other. But that could change, couldn't it?

Snape didn't sound too happy at the moment, did he?

What the hell was wrong now? He hadn't done anything wrong, had he? Or maybe Snape was just sick of him staying in his rooms, in his bed.

"Thank you Nymphadora, but allow me to know whether I need to rest or not. You may go."

Nymphadora. Was Tonks staying in Snape's rooms too? Was he kicking her out. Would Snape kick Harry out too?

He didn't want to go. He liked it here.

"Please don't kick me out."

"Potter."

"No. Please, I don't want to go. I like it here!"

"Potter...Harry, wake up."

"No, leave me alone. I can stay down here. Snape said I could stay."

Harry tried to shake the hand off. "Please, let me stay..."

The hand shook harder and Harry's eyes flew open.

It was still dark but he could see a figure standing over him. He cried out and began lashing out at the person with clenched fists. A battle raged silently for several seconds, except for grunts and some heavy breathing. Harry panicked when his wrists were caught between two strong hands and his arms forced up above his head.

He began to buck and had just opened his mouth to scream when a hand covered it, stifling the noise. His wrists were being held in one strong hand. He struggled even harder.

"Harry!" whispered an urgent voice in his ear. "Harry settle down! You're safe. It's all right, it's me. It's Severus."

Severus. Snape was back. He was OK.

All of the fight went out of Harry and he deflated like an old tyre. The hand over his mouth relaxed and the grip on his wrists was released. A second later, the light came on.

Snape was half lying on the bed looking a little worse for wear. He looked at Harry who stared back, blinking owlishly in the dim light.

Snape sat up and pushed his hair out of his face. Harry scrambled to a sitting position also. He reached for his glasses.

Snape was fingering a swelling below his right eye tentatively. He looked ruefully. "I trust you are fully awake now?'"

Harry looked appalled. "Did I do that? God, I'm sorry. I must have been dreaming. I thought someone was attacking me."

"I was trying to wake you up, you idiot child. You were thrashing around."

"I didn't think I would sleep. I was waiting for you." Harry lowered his head and his next words were a whisper. "I was worried."

Silence greeted this statement and after a few tense moments, Harry looked up. Snape was staring at him with an expression on his face Harry hadn't seen before. It looked like a mixture of exasperation and concern.

"You don't have to worry about me Harry. I've been doing this for a long time."

Harry was horrified when his eyes filled with tears and he lowered his head to try and hide the fact. "But he was so angry," he whispered in a choked voice that made the effort of hiding his distress pointless. He buried his face in his hand and allowed his misery to wash over him.

Everything that had happened in the last few weeks welled up and overflowed. His body shuddered with sobs and he couldn't stop them, even though he knew Snape was sitting right there.

Memories flooded his mind, though they had never really been that far away. The horror of his vision of Sirius being tortured, Umbridge's near use of the Cruciatus Curse on him, his headlong rush to the Ministry resulting in Sirius' Death, Voldemort's possession of him.

And then the attempt on his own life and the revelations that had followed his recovery. His misery was just so great that he wanted to scream, to rail at the world. Why had he been born? Surely no one should be born to live with the horror he had to live with on a day to day basis.

Why hadn't he been killed with his parents? Then he wouldn't have known any of this. His life would have been those short fifteen months when he knew he would have been happy with James and Lily. His parents had been so young, but he knew they had loved him.

And then they were gone and he had not even had memories of them. The Dursleys had deprived him of even that. And now, the memories he did have were inextricably interwoven with the reality of Voldemort and he didn't think he could stand it any more. His life was one big howl of misery.

Harry didn't know how long he cried; he didn't care. He forgot that he had a witness until he felt a gentle hand on the back of his head. He gasped and jerked his head off his knees. His glasses slipped down from the top of his head where he had pushed them.

Harry stared at Snape, the tears still overflowing. Snape reached forward and took the tear streaked glasses off his wet face. His hand was still resting on Harry head. Harry screwed his face up again and tried to move away from the hand.

But Severus wouldn't let go. Instead, he exerted a small amount of pressure and pulled Harry towards him. Harry resisted for a few seconds, and then with another howl of anguish, he buried his face in Snape's robes and allowed his desolation to overflow.

Severus sat awkwardly on the side of the bed and did his best to comfort his son. He wasn't sure he did any good because comfort was not part of Severus Snape, Death Eater's repertoire.