The sound of water dripping overhead roused Harry from his unconscious state. He drew in a breath, wincing at the way the air rasped in his throat, which was sore from all the screaming he'd done in the past . . .how long had it been . . .hours, days? He had lost the ability to judge time in this frigid stone cell. His whole world had shrunk to just two things-pain and sleep. Sleep, or what passed for it, brought release from the pain that invaded every pore of his being, thanks to the Cruciatus Curse.

He lay curled on his side, as still as possible, knowing better than to attempt to move. Last time he'd woken and tried to sit up, he'd ended up vomiting convulsively, and then he'd passed out. When he'd opened his eyes, he had noted someone had cleaned it up, though not out of any kind of regard for him he knew. These were Death Eaters, and the only compassion they would show him eventually was death. Harry prayed it was soon, for he didn't know how much more he could take. He'd lost count of the number of times they'd cast the Cruciatus on him, or used that damned knotted cord on him, which hurt worse than Vernon's belt, God help him.

But the worst part was that they didn't even ask him any questions. He was not interrogated and then tortured. He was simply played with. Harry shut his eyes trying to stem the images that rose to the surface. Of the masked figures appearing out of nowhere as he waited with his trunk on the street corner, trying to get his bearings after he'd run away from the Dursleys.

Not that he regretted using his magic on Aunt Marge, God knew the foul woman deserved it after what she'd said about his mother. Serve her right if she became a balloon and floated away forever. The memory of the obese woman drifting through the air screaming and his uncle hanging on to one porky leg and yelling nearly made him smile.

Almost.

A shudder ran through him and he gritted his teeth as it made all the muscles in his body start screaming. But at last the spasm eased and he relaxed a bit upon the hard stone. He was freezing and yet he was also burning up. Fever. Yes, that made sense. Anyone would get sick after lying on a chilly stone floor, feeling like five giants had played football with him.

Stupid bitch. Should have known better than to say such things about Lily to her son. He was a wizard after all, the Boy Who Lived. Although he wasn't going to be alive much longer if he didn't get medical attention, he thought fuzzily. Then again, that was whole point of the Death Eaters snatching him, wasn't it? To kill him, and so prevent him from killing their dark Master, Voldemort.

He sucked in another mouthful of air, let it out slowly. There. That time didn't hurt his ribs quite as much. He wondered if he were slipping into shock. Was this how it felt, this soft drifting? It was much better this way.

Maybe it hadn't been such a brilliant idea to hex Marge, but he'd lost his temper . . .and then he just couldn't stomach being around his awful relatives anymore. He'd had enough of them, thirteen years of their taunts and sneers and hateful looks. He was sick of being called freak and treated like a slave, tired of being Dudley's punching bag and Vernon's scapegoat. Tired of being a no-account brat that didn't matter to anyone.

So he'd left. Grabbed his trunk and Hedwig and took off. He'd had a vague idea of going to Diagon Alley or something before the six masked figures had appeared out of thin air, literally, and ambushed him.

He'd been caught totally unprepared, and they'd disarmed him within minutes and picked him up and brought him . . .here, to the stone cell, his prison, where they intended to make his last moments on earth hell.

He swallowed sharply, his mind spinning off in a totally different direction.

He recalled a soft room, a glowing lamp, and arms holding him. Strong arms that cradled him close and then he heard a voice whisper his name lovingly.

Mum?

"Go to sleep, Harry. It's time for you to rest, baby. Let Daddy rock you to sleep, precious."

He saw his mother's face then, all full of love and smiling down on him, her green eyes glowing with joy as she gazed on her little baby. Her hand stroked his cheek and he sighed and tried to sit up.

Only to have another hand gently push his head back down against a broad shoulder. "No, close your eyes and sleep, son," ordered a familiar voice, deep and silky. Harry squirmed, he really wasn't tired, but then he felt the familiar hand patting him over and over, and he relaxed against his father's shoulder in spite of himself.

Sleep . . .yes, he'd sleep, he loved to sleep all snuggled against his daddy's shoulder. He was safe and warm and so very comfortable . . .Now he could feel his daddy's long fingers in his hair, stroking it lovingly.

Harry reached out a hand, trying to grasp the phantom image. "Don't go . . .please . . ." he heard himself pleading brokenly. "Mum, please . . .don't leave me here . . .Dad . . .I need you . . .don't let me go . . ."

Tears gathered in his eyes, dredged up from some deep well of anguish within him and flowed like salt and acid down his cheeks. He wanted his parents, only they never came. He was alone and he would always be alone.

He heard the creak of a door from far above him.

No . . .were they coming back so soon? He wasn't ready . . .he needed to rest, he needed sleep, he needed to be held . . .where was his father . . .why wasn't he here . . .? he whimpered . . .

"Hush, Potter. Quiet now!"

He quieted. That voice . . .he knew it . . .he'd heard it in his dreams . . .and while he was awake . . .

"Merlin, they haven't left you with a whole patch of skin, bastards!" he felt hands slipped under him and he gasped for they burned like fire.

But he was too weak to move away and all he could do was cry.

"I apologize, I know it hurts," whispered the voice in his ear. "But I daren't risk using magic here. They would sense my signature immediately. So, I have to carry you . . .try and be still . . ."

He felt himself lifted and pain blazed through him and he screamed, but there was a hand holding his mouth shut and all that emerged was a strangled moan.

"Easy . . .breathe . . .breathe through the pain . . .that's right . . ."

The voice was soft, it curled about him and anchored him, he'd heard it long and long ago . . .telling him to go to sleep. . . .His head lolled forward, and he snuggled against a firm shoulder covered in black velvet.

"Good, sleep . . .just what you need . . .go to sleep . . .you won't feel it so much then . . .I have to walk a bit more, find a safe spot to Apparate."

Harry closed his eyes. He was in dreadful pain but somehow it didn't matter. He was safe now. His father had come for him and he was going home.

Home. A place he had never known.

Except once . . .long and long ago.

"Go to sleep, son."

He knew that voice. His father's voice, soft and silky and loving. He sniffled, half-sobbing. Where was his father? He needed him badly.

"Sleep, Potter, for Merlin's sake."

Ah. He was here. Everything was all right. The voice was a bit more impatient than he recalled from before, but it was the same. The very same.

Harry obeyed and spun away into oblivion, passing out cold in the arms of his rescuer, Severus Snape, Potions Master and spy.

Severus gazed down for a moment at the battered wreck of a young boy in his arms and cursed Voldemort's followers to the deepest circle of hell. No child should ever have to endure what this one had. Pursing his lips together, the Potions Master continued walking down the featureless stone passageway, deep in the bowels of a castle in Albania, the secret base of the Death Eaters.

When he judged he was far away enough not to set off any of the wards and alarms, he lowered his head and concentrated.

Seconds later he Apparated away in flicker of blue light, Harry cradled securely in his arms, to an empty clearing in an ancient forest.

Severus dared not Apparate directly to Hogwarts, not with Harry so close to death in his arms. The strain of Apparition would kill him as surely as the wounds inflicted by the Death Eaters. Severus settled down on the forest floor with his precious burden, feeling deftly for a pulse. There. So faint, but it was there.

The Potions Master breathed again.

It had been pure dumb luck that he had been there this night. Lucius had summoned him right after dinner, saying he had some wonderful news to share with his fellow Death Eater. Severus had obeyed, wondering what on earth could make Malfoy senior smile like that. He knew Lucius quite well and the cold-hearted man never had a smile unless he was casting Unforgivables on some poor soul just prior to killing them.

Severus wondered what luckless Muggle or Muggleborn had run afoul of the sadistic man this time, his stomach clenching in revulsion. He prayed Lucius would not ask him to participate this time . . .because the only participating Severus was willing to do was to offer the poor victim a merciful death.

But not this time. This time Severus had been shocked speechless when he saw who was lying in that dingy frigid cell.

Harry Potter, the Golden Boy, half-dead and delirious.

It had been another stroke of luck that he'd managed to convince Lucius to leave him alone with the brat, thus enabling the Order's best spy to rescue the savior of the wizarding world.

Severus knew he was pressed for time. The Death Eaters would not be fooled for long by the doppelganger he'd left behind and once they discovered the ruse they would be after them like bloodhounds on a criminal's track. Still, he could not endanger Potter's life any more than absolutely necessary.

He rummaged about in his emergency potions kit, withdrawing a flask of his strongest pain reliever, the one he usually used on victims of the Cruciatus Curse, a formula of his own invention.

Uncapping the flask, he gently shifted Harry against his shoulder, propping him up so he could administer the draft.

Harry groaned, not liking this new position. It really hurt.

"Potter . . . Harry, I need you to wake up . . .just a bit . . ."

Harry stirred, muttering. Why did he have to wake up . . .it wasn't morning, was it? Besides, he hurt awfully . . .all he wanted was to sleep . . . so the pain would go away . . .

"Come on . . .wake up . . ."

Why was his father so bloody insistent? Couldn't he see Harry was in pain? "Oww . . .hurts . . ." he hissed.

"I know, but you need to take this . . .now open up . . ."

Harry felt the cool lip of a bottle being pressed against his lips and he opened his mouth obediently. This was medicine, he was sick, and his daddy always gave him medicine. "Be a good boy and drink it down, child. Don't spit it out, swallow it. There's my good boy."

He could feel the medicine flow down his throat and he swallowed hard. It hit his stomach and for one instant he thought he was going to vomit it right back up.

But a hand was rubbing his throat and holding his head back. "Good, a little at a time . . .don't think about your stomach . . .just breathe, Harry. The nausea will pass, just concentrate on my voice . . ."

He obeyed, and to his surprise the sick feeling in his stomach was easing as the potion began to work.

Severus waited a few more minutes, then when he was sure Harry wasn't going to spew the potion all over, he put the vial back to the boy's cracked lips and coaxed him to swallow another portion.

"Yes . . .open up . . .now swallow . . .gently . . ."

Harry felt more of the potion slipping down his throat and he sighed, for it tasted strange, but at least he didn't feel like throwing up any more. He felt the hand on his throat again, massaging it gently until all the potion went down.

Then Harry felt himself being shifted upright a bit more and he whimpered, for the movement sent spasms of pain through him.

"Hush . . .you'll be fine, but I need you to sit up some more . . .You don't want to choke do you?"

Harry shook his head, he could feel the pain starting to ease. The cool rim of the glass pressed against his lips once more and he promptly opened his mouth.

"Good . . .drink it slowly . . .don't make me waste a drop, you'll need it all. Swallow. Nice and easy."

The third dose went down easier than the previous one and Severus relaxed a fraction. The vial of pain reliever was almost empty. Snape made Harry finish it all, then he cradled the boy in his arms again and teleported them to the Forbidden Forest.

Once there he removed yet another bottle of pain reliever from his cloak and administered it to the ravaged boy as well. This time Harry drank the liquid much easier.

Severus was relieved. He had feared he was too late but actually he was right on time. Once more he coaxed the half-comatose child into swallowing the pain reliever, until he was satisfied that Potter's wounds were sufficiently dulled before Apparating the rest of the way to the castle.

He was amazed at the boy's pain tolerance, that was not something he'd expected the kid to have much of, considering the type of household he'd grown up in. But Potter's pain tolerance rivaled his own, shockingly enough, otherwise the kid would've been howling by now, even with the double dose of potion. Brave as a Gryffindor yet stoic like a Slytherin, Snape mused before gathering the boy up in his arms and blinking directly in front of the school gates, which swung open at his whispered command, and allowed him passage to the infirmary.