Lucius arrived with a soft 'pop' outside the gates of Malfoy Manor, frantic worry smeared across every feature of his aristocratic face.

The boy he held in his arms was barely breathing, and doing that only because of a breathing spell, his spindly limbs hanging limply from his frail, broken frame.

The blonde man swore, gently placing the boy upon the grass at his feet. The child's breathing had begun to gurgle and become irregular. Drawing his wand quickly, Lucius quickly incanted a spell to clear the boy's air passages, and was relieved to se his breathing improve.

Another 'pop' sounding yards away had the older gentleman whirling around, wand drawn and curse perched on his thin lips, only to come face to face with one Severus Snape, looking very dangerous and ready to curse the Dark Lord himself.

Said Potions Master was at a loss. Of all the things he expected to find upon his arrival at Malfoy Manor, finding the patriarch of said estate kneeling in the grass, cradling Potter's head was not one of them. He was at that moment eternally grateful for his giftedness in Occlumency; he could appear completely focused while his mind reeled from the many shocks of the night.

He had apparated here hell-bent on protecting the little brat, especially now that those damnable Muggles had shattered all of his beliefs of the boy. A wave of guilt crashed over him then. If only he had left sooner, had not wasted precious minutes being difficult with Albus, the boy might now be safely ensconced in one of Poppy's bed, instead of laying helpless before one of Voldemort's most loyal followers, fighting for his life.

Pulling himself from his torrent of thought, he was further floored by the words that slipped from the older man's lips.

"Are you going to help me, hex me or just stand there, Snape? The kid's in a bad way."

It was too easy. Lucius' dark grey eyes were locked with his, and it was so simple to just slip into his mind, and see.

What he saw made his forehead crease.. Heavy with worry and fear, Lucius' mind yielded to his probing, showing him the events that had led up to him being here, tending a broken Harry.

Lucius, sitting at the head of his grand dinner table, servants pandering to his and his simpering wife’s every order…. The blonde man sipping wine, watching his son berate a house elf for refusing to bring him dessert before the first course….. A house elf appearing at his side … ‘The blue globe Master, it red..’ …. His frenzied dash through the house after calmly leaving the dining room …… His sheer panic when he witnessed the events flitting across the surface of the small glass sphere ….. Apparition … Vernon Dursely …. “I’ll take the boy from you. My Lord will be most pleased to have him…..Here, have some gold’…. Panic ….. panic …..Apparition……’

HIs eyes found the boy again, eyes driven by equally opposing needs to keep looking, and to look away. He had once thought he had become far too desensitized to such depravities, he had certainly seen worse, witnessed and participated in activities rendering their victims in far closer reach of death's grasp. But for all the horrors they'd witnessed, his eyes were now fighting to remain locked on the small, broken form.

'How.....how did this happen?'

A high pitched whimpering brought him back from amidst his thoughts of self-flagellation and revenge.

Moving with grace acquired from years of passing through life on the edges of society, he lowered himself to the ground beside the boy, casting a diagnostic spell as soon as his robes pooled out around him.

The results were long, the contents of which had both hardened Death Eaters reeling for a moment. Finally, silently, Severus cast a bone knitting charm, aimed at the child's chest. He cast the same spell three more times, while Lucius repaired some of the damage done to the child's innards, all the while his brain running through the myriad of ways such drastic amount of injury could be inflicted on such a small child, a child!

Lucius preferred not to think. If he thought, he'd get angry, and his anger would only lead him off to do very bad things to both Muggle and wizard.

So, to avoid the potential hassle at the Ministry, Lucius availed himself to the thoughtless stupor of concentration healing afforded.

Unfortunately for him (or, perhaps, others) this lull did not extend to his senses relating to small boy before him. He felt every twitch, every easing of muscle as it released tension, watched as every bruise and lump and swelling faded away, and the fight to remain thoughtless became harder still.

"I assume this is a breathing spell?" said Severus' smooth voice from across their common task.

"Yes," Lucius replied as he completed a skin mending spell that knitted together a nasty gash from Harry's cheek to his hairline. He really hoped Severus wouldn’t begin to indulge in his penchant for asking a multitude of questions just yet. He needed all of his concentration to concentrate of healing the ridiculously broken boy. Hadn’t Draco said the child attracted trouble like a magnet did metal? Though the details of what exactly metal and magnets were still were a bit fuzzy to him, Lucius believed he was beginning to understand.

They worked together in continued silence for a time, till Harry’s pale skin no longer looked like a tie-dye experiment gone wrong, much to Lucius’ relief. Severus was, despite outward appearances, giving himself the lecture of a lifetime. Every bruise he had healed served as ammunition for his already loaded tongue, and the angry diatribe he was directing at himself only continued to grow longer and longer the longer he gazed at the child he had thought he hated.

He growled. No, he did not hate Harry Potter. But he did hate Vernon Dursley, even more so than he did Voldemort. That the man could do this, and more, he suspected, to a child was simply too horrible to think about. Or at least it would be, for any other man than one who had seen an unborn infant torn from its mother’s womb and boiled alive. For Severus, it was simply maddening.

He was getting angry. For heaven’s sake, were his Occlumency shields of no import today? Could he force down no emotion? He raised his eyes from the deeply breathing unconscious teen before him, searching for a distraction. His eyes lit upon Lucius, who was absently flicking at a clod of dirt that had attached itself to his trousers.

Snape’s eyebrows furrowed. Lucius didn’t wear trousers…. Or at least not Muggle-made wear…. At least not that he knew of….

“I did not think that you would revert to such dangerous practices as changing your taste in clothes so soon after the Dark Lord’s return, Lucius.”

Surprised steel grey eyes met his before falling once more to consider his apparel.

“That’s curious. I hadn’t even realized I’d changed into these.” Eyebrows furrowed, he looked up at Snape. “Of course, I hadn’t realized I even had a pair of Muggle trousers, mind you, but – “

He was cut off by a soft, high-pitched whimpering. Harry lay writhing on the damp ground between them, his face scruntched up in an approximation of pain.

Lucius watched, vaguely amused, as Severus gathered the weakly flailing boy to his chest, whispering soothing words to the distressed teen. “Relax, you little idiot. You are safe. Stop twitching, you adolescent nuisance. No one is going to hurt you. Relax, little idiot. Relax.”

Eventually, to Snape’s surprise, Harry did. The child ceased his struggling and relaxed against his chest. His heart still pounded at a pace too swift for Snape’s liking, as was his breathing, but the child did relax, and Lucius fought to hide a grin when Severus raised defensive eyes.

Because frankly, he was at a loss. What the hell had he just done? What was he doing? Was he seriously cuddling the bloody Boy-Who-Lived? He rested his chin atop the mess of black hair. What the hell was HAPPENING??

Lucius’ worried expression distracted him from his musings. “That scar is absolutely livid,” the blond man whispered. “Perhaps we should take him inside?”

One elegant, potion stained finger traced the lightening bolt shaped scar. It was hot to the touch. “Perhaps. I’m not sure if this agitation has to do with his injury…”

He trailed off, hand suspended in mid air. His brain had tunneled, focused on only one object. His Mark. It was in full blown summoning mode, burning in a sensation he was none to pleased to reacquaint himself with after thirteen long years of absence.

Obsidian orbs locked with steel. Severus knew at a glance that he was experiencing the same pain, without the advantage of Occlumency shields to deaden it.

“We must go.”

A small hand fisted in the robes over his chest. “No.” The whisper sounded dry and painful. Severus had a minute of worry over the slight fever that was building, as well as the single drop of blood trickling from the livid scar, before the child’s next words made it to him. “He’s right behind you.”

Severus froze, the blood running through his veins congealing in fear. Could it be? Surely not. Even the Dark Lord could not transverse the Malfoy grounds without setting off the wards. It wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be …..

There was a dramatic sigh. “It figures the boy would spoil the surprise. Must I always want for entertainment?” The rustle of robes. “No matter, no matter, I shall be entertained in moments. Mere moments away.”

Severus suppressed the urge to shudder. This would not end well.