Harry was being followed. He was sure of it. He had made it all the way across the park and into the backstreets – though the rough ground of grass and gravel had really taken its toll on his ankle – and now he was heading even further out into more rural-looking suburbs, certain that someone was only a few streets behind him, and gaining on him fast.

Harry grimaced as he realised that he had almost spent the entirety of his journey walking in a straight line; his blasted ankle hadn’t permitted for very much independent thought outside of getting away. And now someone was taking full advantage of that weakness!

Please don’t let it be Malfoy, please, please! Though who else could it be? Only a wizard could track someone so well when their quarry was under an Invisibility Cloak, and the only wizard in the vicinity was the very one Harry did not wish to meet. Harry tried to push himself faster, but his ankle had almost given up the ghost. If he travelled very much further, the swollen joint would cease supporting his weight entirely. As it was, Harry could only manage a slow hobble, practically dragging his left foot behind him.

Harry stopped. The only way to stop Malfoy following him any further was to take the older man by surprise, and eliminate the threat by immobilising him long enough for Harry to get away. And the only way to take him by surprise was to hide. He stopped and looked around, panting. It would have to be close by; he wasn’t sure if he could reach it otherwise, even if he were crawling.

Luckily for Harry, five feet in front of him was a large hydrangea bush that spilled partway onto the path. Harry struggled forward, placed himself behind the bush, and sunk down onto the grassy bank the bush was planted on, keening softly under his breath as the movement jogged his ankle. Oh, how he hurt!

Settled in position, Harry pulled the Cloak tight around him, stretched his good leg out as far as it would go over the pavement, and poked the very tip of his wand out through a fold in the Cloak. Hopefully Malfoy would trip over his invisible leg and be disorientated enough for Harry to hex him without any further problems occurring.

Harry chewed his bottom lip. Expelliarmus, then Petrificus Totalus, and then I’ll take his wand and get my broom out of my trunk and be off. Oh God, I hope it isn’t both of them following me! I would never be able to take out both of them in this condition!

Harry started taking slow, silent breaths; desperately trying to stop his vision from swaying in and out of focus. The pain was so much worse now he had stopped moving. In fact, Harry wasn’t even sure he could stay conscious long enough to take care of Malfoy.

Finally, to Harry’s immense relief, he heard footsteps snapping sharply across the pavement towards his hiding place. Harry looked up, his dimming vision almost black at this point, and saw a dark figure striding down the street, long hair swinging, and looking rather Malfoy-shaped. Harry drew in another soft breath and clenched his wand. Almost time.

The figure strode up to, and then past the hydrangea bush; or, at least, he tried to. His foot caught on Harry’s concealed leg and the simple impediment sent him tumbling, causing him to land hard on top of Harry’s right leg, jarring Harry’s injured ankle. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, eyes swimming, and opened his mouth to say a spell, any spell, that would stop Malfoy from getting him.

“Potter?”

Harry’s eyes went wide. He knew that voice well, and it was not Malfoy’s. It had been taunting him in Potions Class for three solid years. His suspicions were further confirmed when two accusing, black eyes turned on Harry, glaring slightly off to the left of Harry’s head.

“Professor Snape!” Harry wailed, more relieved than he could have ever imagined to see his greasy Potions professor. He hauled the cloak off his head and shoulders, and looked down at the man still sprawled across his right leg. His Professor’s reaction to his appearance was not what he expected.

“Fuck! Potter, what have you done to yourself?” Snape’s face leaned closer, and Harry could only just make out the pale features through his blurry vision.

“I don’t feel well.” Harry swayed and felt strong hands clasp his shoulders. “Pr’fessor, Malfoy, you’ve gotta-“

“Silence, you idiotic child, I took care of Malfoy; you needn’t worry about him. Now, Potter, tell me where it hurts.”

“Ankle,” Harry moaned. A wave of dizziness overtook him, and he pitched forward into the Professor’s arms, at last allowing his consciousness to slip away as his face pressed into the dark, woollen robes.

HPSSHPSSHPSS

Severus sighed in annoyance as the child slumped into his arms. Oh, the joys! An unconscious Harry Potter! Praying the leg he had tripped over wasn’t the injured one he carefully pushed up each trouser leg and examined the ankles. He winced as he saw the child’s left ankle had swollen to over twice the size of the right. How in Circe’s name did the child manage to walk this far?

Severus hefted the boy higher in his arms, stood, and prepared to Disapparate, staring down into Potter’s face. When the boy had first pulled the Invisibility Cloak off himself, Severus had almost had a heart-attack. The child had looked – and still looked – as though he were in the grips of some dire illness. His face, chalk white and dripping with sweat, his dull, pain-filled eyes and pitiful thinness had given Severus the brief impression that he was looking at someone who was critically ill.

Severus tutted to himself and Disapparated. Mysteries could wait until he had healed Potter; first, he needed to get him back to his Manor.

A fair way outside London and, surprisingly, in the same direction that Potter had been heading anyway, Severus reappeared. Striding forward confidently, he watched as the air in front of him shimmered and a fairly large house materialized as he walked through the wards.

Tharabraye Manor was not an ancestral home: merely something Severus had bought out of his meagre inheritance from his parents, and the savings he had amassed from his teaching job at Hogwarts.

As soon as it had been convenient, he had sold Spinner’s End, and turned his back on his birth town with a sigh of relief. However, he had refused to buy something small and cheap that would remind him of his poor beginnings. Severus Snape was nothing if not proud. And so, he had scrimped and saved, spending all his holidays in Hogwarts until, finally, he had come across an old manor which was well within his price-range. He had bought it, refurbished it, and lived there very happily on his own for nearly five years.

Until now.

Now he had to share his precious home with Potter, and he was not happy about it. Scowling, he let himself in and climbed the broad stairway of rosewood that ran along the wall to the left-hand side of the front door. Upon reaching the top of the stairs he placed Potter in the closest guest bedroom, which was made out in light and dark greens, accented by the mahogany surfaces.

After laying the boy on the bed he pulled out his wand and cast a diagnostic charm on Potter so that he might know the full state of his injuries. He didn’t trust the words of a barely-conscious fourteen year old to reveal all that ailed the boy.

While waiting for the diagnostic charm to finish, he Accio-ed all the medical potions he had on hand around the house. He hoped they would be enough. The last thing he wanted was to have to call Poppy Pomfrey and have her bustling around his house, giving out orders and re-arranging things ‘for the good of the patient.’ Severus shuddered.

Severus frowned as the diagnostic results appeared on the slip of parchment in his hand. Two broken ribs as well as a broken ankle? How had the boy even managed to stand up? Though it would explain why he had been hiding behind the hydrangea. Severus stared down at the skinny imp, surprised and a little disturbed that the boy’s plan of tripping and hexing Lucius Malfoy was rather cunning – more a Slytherin’s plan than a Gryffindor’s. And there was me expecting to find him in the middle of the street, wand out and ready to duel me! Severus snorted and shook his head, arranging the potions necessary to heal Potter in order of strength. Wonders shall never cease!

A quick wand flick vanished the boy’s ridiculous t-shirt and jeans. Severus pursed his lips at the inappropriate clothing the ‘youth of today’ found fashionable. If I had traipsed around in these overly baggy rags, my father would have… well, never mind. The frown on his face increased as he examined Potter’s ribs. What is the boy playing at? Decided to go anorexic these holidays just because the pathetic mutt can’t take him in? Wait a minute, what’s this? I swear the ground he fell on couldn’t have been that rocky… Severus began smoothing salve over the peculiar injuries on the boy’s torso – strangely circular discolorations liberally smattered across Potter’s back. There was even a large bruise on his face, which must have hit the ground pretty hard to cause that kind of bruising.

Very peculiar. Potter always managed to land well if he ever fell off his broom during Quidditch; none of that thrashing around that some of them indulge themselves in. Severus finished smoothing salve over Potter’s face and started slowly feeding the boy potions, which would strengthen him and prevent any internal injuries from worsening, by sitting the boy up slightly and trickling the liquid down the inside of Potter’s cheek. Getting him to swallow was another thing entirely; Potter seemed to have an aversion to letting anything into his stomach. Severus scowled and mentally added the need to brew and nutrient potion to his mental list, as well as a potion to help fortify Potter’s bones once Severus had charmed them whole once again. 

Severus frowned as he once more looked over the list of Potter’s injuries. He shouldn’t have been injured this badly after falling from a first story window, even if the broken ankle was inevitable. He sighed and shrugged. No use wool-gathering; the evidence was in front of his face. Potter must have simply been too unnerved by the Malfoys’ arrival to judge his jump properly.

To make sure he had no distractions, Severus dealt with the boy’s ankle after he had patched up the rest of Potter; setting it correctly before casting the charm Pomfrey taught him to knit the bone back together. The boy moaned a little in his sleep but Severus ignored him. Pain was to be expected, and all that mattered now was that the boy was healed. Potter would have to keep his feet up as much as possible over the next three days to let the bone settle. Severus was no professional healer despite knowing the groundwork, so Potter would have to be careful in the coming days to prevent being left with a permanent limp.

Severus groaned as he imagined the work he would have to put in to keeping Potter in bed. It was the stuff of nightmares. Still, it was better than the alternative; to let the boy run amuck in his house.

His blood suddenly chilled as he realised that the Headmaster had never said how long he was expected to keep Potter. He might very well have to put up with the brat disturbing his peace all summer!

Sneering at that disturbing thought, Severus transfigured some pyjamas out of Potter’s awful clothes and, with another flick, dressed the boy in them.

When he had the covers tucked up to Potter’s chin – no sense in letting Potter catch a chill, was there? The boy had been injured after all – he made sure the window was charmed to only open an inch, set an alarm on the bed to alert him when Potter woke, and locked the door behind him on his way out.

One could never be too careful with Potters…