"Severus."

He raised his head to gaze at the aging man entering his office. His eyes narrowed to slits, as Albus Dumbledore moved to stand before his desk, his piercing blue eyes, though filled with that odd combination of emotion they always had when turned to him, never leaving his.

"Albus," he returned.

The old man gave a slight nod of his head; Severus was slightly unnerved by now. Without waiting for his mentor to divulge his thoughts, he asked, "You needed something?"

"Indeed." A pause. "I need a favor of you."

Severus' mind, which was already puzzling over Albus' strange behaviour, leapt into overdrive.

"Has something happened?" His mark had not bothered him since that night last June when Tom Riddle regained his body in the form of Voldemort and summoned his followers to him, but that did not mean the evil wizard wasn't planning something.

He suppressed a shudder. He had not been looking forward to returning to his former master, even though he and Dumbledore had constructed a believable story to explain his failure to appear at that fateful meeting. He knew the Dark Lord was livid, and the quiet of the summer so far left him more shaken than having being tortured by the maniac himself.

"Has there been an attack?" Severus asked, studying the man before him. It was clearly evident that something was wrong. The elderly professor's shoulders seemed to be weighed heavier than usual, his usual jovial features drawn and tense, as if expecting the worse and preparing himself for it.

This unnerved the potions master to no end. "Well?" he snapped, rising from his chair. "Will you answer or not?"

"There hasn't", Albus replied finally, breaking their gaze. "It has very little to do with Voldemort."

For a brief moment nothing moved, save the flames alighting the candles around the room, and the shadows they cast. It occurred to Professor Snape that Albus was not getting straight to the point. The explanation for this, he told himself, had to be substantial.

"Have the odds shifted, Albus?" he asked softly.

"I cannot be sure, Severus."

The younger man huffed angrily. "And why is that, Headmaster?" he snapped. "If the odds have possibly shifted then of course it has everything to do with the Dark Lord. Or can't you see that through those damn half moon spectacles?" He paused for breath, watching his superior before him, whose eyes finally reconnected with his own. "Well?" he snapped. "Explain."

Severus would have been amiss to say he was not satisfied. Albus seemed to pull himself together, and collected the posture reserved for imparting important information to the spy that required his assistance.

"It would seem that there are disturbing reports coming out of Privet Drive," stated the old man, keeping a careful eye on the face before him.

The younger man scowled. "The boy." He spun around to approach the line of bookcases behind his desk. "I should have known." Plucking a book from its shelf and scanning it at random, he asked, "What seems to be the problem?"

He could feel the headmaster's eyes on him even as he spoke. "It seems that Harry's aunt has been missing the neighborhood's bi-weekly tea gatherings." At this pause Severus turned to give Dumbledore a disbelieving glare, only to have the man resume speech. "Her fellow tea ladies seem to have become concerned for her safety. It seems that the amount of screaming, which they have all long been accustomed to, coming from the house has reached a frighteningly new level."

At Severus' puzzled look, Albus motioned for him to be seated, taking the seat before the desk for himself. Severus was too intrigued to even chafe at being told to sit in his own office.

"The neighbors," Albus continued," informed Mrs. Figg, who I am sure you know is my informant, that the screaming and even at times begging has become near unbearable for the families closest to Petunia Dursley's residence, as it occurs at random times during the day and more often in the dead of night. Strangely enough, it seems that while the disturbances are more frequent and frighteningly violent in nature than previous summers, absolutely no one is willing to call the muggle police to stop what they consider to be the discipline of a horribly criminal boy."

The potions master's eyebrows were drawn tight above his eyes. "They can't mean Potter, surely."

Albus' already grim features became even more lined as he replied, "I'm afraid that they do. The Dursley's own son seems to have been given free reign over the summer, and hasn't been seen around the house for weeks. He can go and come as he pleases, while no one has seen Harry, which also seems to be the norm."

Severus stared at the man avidly studying him from over the rim of his half moon spectacles. "And so, I assume you wish for me to visit this Privet Drive," he sneered the name in disdain, "and ensure that the child is indeed safe." His lips had curled by the end of this statement, his displeasure at being set this assignment quite evident.

"I do," replied the headmaster, ignoring his Potions Professor's tone.

Sneer firmly in place, Snape asked, "And if I refuse?"

"You will not."

The younger man shot up from his chair, fiercely glaring down at the seemingly frail man before him.

"I refuse," he snarled.

His purposeful stride across the room was cut short by Albus' next statement.

"You would willingly harm Lily?"

He could go no further. How dare this old fool bring her up? How had the old fool even come to think to use that against him? The heart he thought barely capable to beating, let alone feeling, constricted painfully in his chest. "How dare you?" he demanded in a cold, soft voice. He took a shuddering breath, in which the world seemed to spin on its axis. "You have no right!"

"How dare I?" Albus asked, one eyebrow arched in mock confusion. "I continue to labor under the impression that your love for Lily Evans burns as bright today as it had when you first became friends. If something has changed my boy, please enlighten me."

When the old man paused, Severus growled menacingly at him. He could do no more than fix the man with his best death glare and hope he would die on the spot. No retort, no matter how well worded or well timed could convince the man that he hadn't gotten through to Severus. Because he had, and he knew it.

As did the Potions Master himself. He could, in no way willfully harm Lily, not even under direct threat of the Dark Lord. The traitorous thoughts that had plagued him since the time he knew the boy existed assaulted him now.

Of course the boy carried a small part of Lily with him. He was reluctant to admit that the boy even had a few of her mannerisms, and that the boy would so blatantly mix them with his father's arrogant attitude made him want to rip his hair out in clumps.

And the boy’s eyes, Merlin, Lily's eyes, every time he thought he had a break from the boy, there they were, haunting him with the memories of their last, secret meeting, and the letter that remained unopened from one James Potter that had arrived not three days later.

Pulling himself form his mass of whirling thoughts, Severus stalked over to the door, unceremoniously yanking down a long heavy traveling cloak, vials of various emergency potions stashed within clinking softly as he donned the thick material and threw open the door, choosing to ignore Albus' continued ramblings of 'love never dies' and 'true friendship lasts forever' and such along those lines.

"There is no need for you to await my return," he snarled, before banging the door shut behind him.

~*~

The air was warm and muggy that night, as it tended to be during the summer. The houses were all dark and silent, the area heavy with the feeling of deep sleep. No one anywhere was stirring. No one important, that was, except the messy black-haired boy who suddenly shot up from his bed, shivering and quaking from head to foot, before he involuntarily lurching over the edge of his bed, and throwing up.

Harry crawled over against the wall and huddled his knees against his chest. He couldn't stop the sob that tore through his thin frame. At the back of his mind he was vaguely worried whether or not it was loud enough to wake Uncle Vernon, but another icy shiver cut through him as details of his nightmare swam before his eyes.

Voldemort turned his red, cold gaze to Harry. A wall of death eaters rose high around them, blocking out the moon in the inky black sky above. Harry couldn't move. Crude ropes cut into his skin in places when he breathed, which was frequently, and shallow. His heart was beating in his ear, sprinting in compared to its normal steady pace.

He stopped his stroll mid stride and turned back to Harry, an evil glint flashing in his eyes. Stopping short, he simply stood there, loose robes blowing in the breeze. Then, almost lazily, he flicked his wand.

'Crucio.'

He thought he would die. The pain was almost too real to be a dream. Things passed in a wave after wave of pain and nausea.

Crucio.... Someone screaming.... Crucio.. Cedric dead.... Crucio... Wormtail sniveling in a corner......his scar nearly splitting open...... Crucio... Petunia screeching at Harry for not catching and breaking a plate Dudley has thrown at his head... Crucio... Voldemort's cold, cruel red eyes locking with his..... Crucio... Vernon pounding on the closed door of his cupboard, yelling at him to shut up before he came in and made him... Crucio... Voldemort touching Harry's forehead... Crucio...Vernon pulling Harry through the graveyard, Harry nearly falling down tombstones arranged to look like stairs that he didn't remember before ..... Crucio.... Voldemort's eyes glinting maliciously as Vernon slammed Harry's head into a tombstone, again and again.....

A sudden, sharp blow to his chest had him instinctively curling into a ball. Through the pain raking every single inch of him, his mind vaguely registered that he was no longer in the room the Dursely's had given him, nor was he in the graveyard, once again facing Tom Riddle, as he had thought. The wave of relief that originated somewhere beneath his knees was swept aside by a tidal wave of panic as he took stock of his situation, from beneath his beefy uncle's repeatedly pounding feet.

They were in the front hall, before the still closed front door, his uncle bellowing at the top of his lungs that he had had enough, and that this unnaturalness would stop now before he committed murder. Harry's brain idly commented that he wasn't too far from that end, while his aunt was literally screaming at her husband, begging him to consider the neighbors and the fuss it would cause it he kicked the boy out in the middle on the night, all the while calling Harry every foul thing she could think of, and some he was sure she had overheard her husband use earlier.

Harry realized, as his uncle swept him from the floor and out into the thick night air, that he was not going to live to see tomorrow. He waited for the panic to mount, but it didn't. He had always known he was going to die, and had always had a fair idea as to how he would go, either at wand point courtesy of Tom Riddle, of under the considerable hulking mass that was his uncle.

He landed heavily when his uncle threw him bodily across that yard, missing the small picket fence by mere inches. Harry couldn't help the small scream of pure agony the jarring fall had wrenched from his lips.

His left leg was broken; he was sure, in at least two places. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he did. His ribs were nearly unbearable, and he was stabbed with a sharp something every time he breathed. But he had more pressing matters to attend to, particularly as he couldn't feel is wand arm, and that one of his eyes were swollen shut. Adding that to the fact that his stomach was swollen and oddly painful, and that his head hurt like hell on every possible side, Harry considered that he might be in the worst possible shape possible if he wanted to escape his uncle.

It suddenly occurred to Harry that Lucius Malfoy's voice was not one he should be hearing on Privet Drive. But there it was, exchanging pleasantries with his uncle over the fence as if the two men were old high school friends at a reunion. Harry's stomach did an odd kind of motion when he realized that the men towering above him were bonding over him. He cringed, despite all his injuries.

Malfoy wanted to take him away. Harry shuddered. He didn’t need a clear head to know what that meant. He’d be before Voldemort within the hour. Living to see tomorrow was definitely out of the question.

The things they were saying! The panic that refused to make itself felt earlier came crashing down with a vengeance. Vernon was going to give him to Malfoy. With another swift kick to the chest and a parting snarl, Vernon retreated into Number Four Privet Drive, and Harry was left with the Dark Lord’s right hand man.

He struggled to catch his breath. If he could just keep quiet and make himself as small as possible, Malfoy might let him live to see tomorrow. He was idly wondering whether or not it would be possible to achieve his animagus transformation, and whether or not it helped to hope it was something small when he noticed that he was floating mid-air.

Painfully aware of just how completely helpless he was, Harry tried to brace himself for the worst. Lucius’ voice cut into his mind’s frantic rambling.

“Hold on, Potter. Don’t go and die on me yet. It won’t do for me to have gone through all this trouble for nothing.”

Harry’s mind was in overdrive. He got one oddly twisted image of Lucius presenting him to Voldemort wearing a violently orange bow, Voldemort’s high-pitched girly shriek of pleasure and Nagini winding herself around his neck before it was too much.

Harry Potter breathed once, twice, shuddered, and breathed no more.

To say Severus Snape was livid would have been the supreme understatement of the year.

The night sky was clear, perfect for moonlight brewing. But Severus was not availing himself to the beneficial qualities of the lunar cycle. He was not even outside. In fact, Severus was firmly ensconced inside a building. And not just any building, mind you. No, Severus was in a Muggle building, and more specifically, the very last Muggle building he ever, ever wanted or expected to find himself in.

Number Four Privet Drive.

If Severus hadn't already been dangerously close to murder, the Dursely's would have put him there within minutes.

"NO! I WON'T HAVE IT, DAMNIT! " was the first thing that he heard as he Apparated in what was certainly the main hall, followed by thunderous footfalls on the stairs facing him.

After a full minute of staring at the very red-faced being that had practically fallen down the last few stairs in its hurry to vent its anger, Severus finally decided that it, the thing, was a man. A very large man.

With a flick of his wrist, the blob, er, man became a very angry immobilzed being. He was nearly blue in the face now. Severus shook his head. Stupid Muggle. "I immobilized you because I preferred not to be knocked over in a manner reminiscent of a freight train. I did not, however, render you incapable of breathing," he sneered.

The huge blue faced man erupted. "HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU FREAKS JUST POP IN HERE AND DO YOUR FREAKY UNNATURALNESS ON ME IN MY HOUSE! I WON'T HAVE IT!!! I'LL SHOW YOU! I'LL SHOW YOU JUST LIKE I SHOWED THE BOY YOU DAMN FREAKS COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO LOOK AFTER YOURSELVES. DROP HIM ON MY DOORSTEP, WILL YOU! WELL I MADE SURE THE DAMN WHELP KNEW EXACTLY HOW I FELT ABOUT IT. AND IF HE FORGOT EVERYTIME HE WENT OFF TO THE FREAK SCHOOL OF HIS, I MADE SURE HE'LL REMEMBER IT FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE!" An evil smile crossed the man's face. Severus was vaguely stunned. Besides the disturbing things he was hearing, he did not think it possible for an immobilized person to be able to shout that loud, especially not a Muggle.

The being's next words brought him forcefully from his musings. "Or at least for the rest of the night." He gave a low, disturbed chuckle. "If he lasts that long."

"What do you mean, Muggle?"

But Severus got no response, for Vernon Dursley continued to cackle madly, which, for all intents and purposes, he was.

Fuming, Severus marched past the disturbing pile of waste and went off in search of the other two occupants of the house.

Of course, once he was on the stairs, the Muggle's manic laughter following him still, the thought of using Imperio on the fool was beginning to appeal to him. He would very much like to vent some of his anger on the form below him that was suddenly very quiet. He was certain that under those many layers of flabby skin there were enough nerve endings for him to feel sufficient pain.

A vein pulsed in his temple. Severus paused on the stairs and tried to steady his breathing. It would do him no good to lose control and kill them all.

‘Occlumency’, he thought shortly. ‘Clear your mind.’

The dark haired man breathed deeply. In through his nose, large and protruding that it was, hold, and out through his mouth. After a few minutes he felt considerably calmer, and continued upstairs, grateful for the silence hat pervaded around him.

“You should hurry, O Great Wizard,” came a high-pitched sickeningly sweet voice from the floor below. “Your magic won’t be able to bring him back from the dead.”

With carefully measured steps, he returned to Vernon Dursely’s side. Jabbing his wand into the side of his massive head with what he knew to be far too much force, he utilized his silkiest whisper. “Just what do you mean, Muggle?”

Completely ignoring the shiny bit of wood causing the beginnings of a small circular bruise on the side of his head, Vernon turned large, innocent looking eyes to the angry wizard. “Oh, nothing, sir. Except that if my tender care of my dear, dear nephew left anything to be desired in the way of mortal peril, I’m sure the nice freak in the expensive Muggle suit will take care of that.”

A vein pulsed in his temple. Vernon Dursely was quickly climbing the ranks of his list of people he hated the most. He imagined that he had already surpassed Sirius Black in place number four, and that was a difficult feat.

He studied the sickeningly flabby face before him. “Muggle, I promise you, if that child comes to any harm – “

Dursely’s harsh, cold laughter cut him off. “Well then, you better dish out whatever you were going to say, you slimy bastard. The boy’s had more than harm come his way, I can tell you.”

And just like that, Vernon was up to number two. With narrowed eyes and a scarily steady hand, Severus whispered ‘Legimens,’ and none-too-gently entered the Muggle’s mind.

Ten minutes later, a livid, white faced potions master stood over an entirely too smug looking Vernon Dursley. He had disposed of his wand, deep within the confines of his inner vest pocket, and was standing stock still, the only movement on his frame was the pulsing vein right above his left eye. It was taking every bit of his self control not to jump the Muggle and pound him into a quivering heap, and his Occlumency shields were completely non-existent in his rage.

The simple fact of the matter was that Lord Voldemort, Dark Lord and Heir of Slytherin, was, and always had been, the least of Harry Potter’s worries. He had always had, even before he started Hogwarts, his very own murderous nemesis, in the form of his huge uncle.

It seemed that the boy’s extraordinary ability to cheat death extended even into the Muggle world.

At that moment, the part of Severus Snape that was kept buried deep within showed itself. In a movement so quick it was a blur, his wand was drawn. “You sniveling piece of – “ He stood, wand hand shaking. Through the screen of red only one word was clear enough for him to speak. “Crucio.”

“No!” The high pitched shriek was followed by a thin, pointy woman, who threw herself on top of her screaming husband in an attempt to block the curse.

When Severus finally realized who the pinched-face woman was, his already thin reserves crumbled.

“YOU!” He grabbed the woman up by one stringy arm, pulling her to him and away from the blob she had married. “How could you! He was a child. A CHILD! How could you treat him so horribly in front of your own son?”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” She swung her bony hand around to connect sharply with Snape’s face. “We didn’t want the little vermin. We TOLD that damn old man to take him somewhere else. He ignored us for months.” Petunia was beside herself. How dare this man come into her home and hurt her Vernon? And he had the audacity to touch her. She swung at his face again. The damn man wouldn’t let go. “Get your freaky hands off me!”

Severus Snape did not hit women. No matter if a woman was a screeching, shrieking, screaming thing that was all elbows and was hitting him, he would not hit a woman. He did however march her over and sit her quite forcefully on the bottom stair. With his wand pointed firmly between her eyes he commanded “Stay.” After standing for a moment to make sure she would obey (and to get himself under control lest he curse them both into a mental institution) he turned his attention back to ……. Vernon.

His scariest sneer was painted across his face when he spun around, his cape fanning out behind him. The stupid Muggle wasn’t so cheery now, not since that touch of the Cruciatus. He tried not to kick the blob. He really did. But everytime he blinked he saw the massive man throwing a small, dark-haired little boy into the cupboard under the stairs, and when he refused to blink he had a complete eyeful of the second man he wanted to kill with his bare hands. Eventually, the urge became too much.

He ignored the shout of pain, and the accompanying whimper of outraged helplessness in favor of getting right into the red, sweaty full moon face of his best friend’s sister’s husband. “Who took the boy?”

He was immensely satisfied by the way the man seemed to shrink before him, still quivering. “I d-don’t know ‘is n-name.”

Snape scowled. There had to be something he had missed. “Legimens.”

‘A blonde man, leaning over the gate, greeting cheerfully, thin stick twirling carelessly between his fingers, easy smile, steel grey eyes, holding out a pouch….’

With a roar of fury, Severus Snape shot out of the small Muggle dwelling and out into the quiet front yard. Cursing the Dursely’s to hell and beyond, he spun on his heel, and was gone with a ‘pop’.

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.

“Well? Do turn around! Let’s see what we have to work with here, shall we?”

Severus forced himself to breathe. The small body in his arms was absolutely quaking. Lucius, Sev could see, was rapidly trying to think a way out of this situation. Severus knew it was a lost cause, though. Unless, by some miracle, Voldemort had suddenly turned into the poster child for the light, they were all going to be very, very painful, very, very soon.

“You won’t move?” The question came towards them softly. “You dare defy me?” Severus tried not to look into Lucius panicked eyes as he tightened his hold on Harry. In a chilling second, the boy pressed his face deeper into Snape’s robes, and then there was pain.

He didn’t even hear the incantation. All he knew was when his world faded from dark greys and greens into a blinding black overlaid by noise, a terrible, high, painful noise that was him screaming and then, it was over.

He lay trembling on the grass, his body reeling in the aftershock of the curse., not daring to open his eyes. He breathed, short, heavy breaths and strained his ears for any sound at all besides the rustling of grass in a breeze.

“Pathetic.” The word hit him from directly above. Bearing up his courage, Severus opened his eyes. Towering above him was Voldemort, gazing down at him the way one would look at a particularly bothersome mosquito. “Care to explain, Severus?”

His mouth would not work. He tried to speak, but it would not obey his commands. But what would he say? ‘We’ve just spent the last half hour pulling the boy you are intent on killing from the brink of death. Can we have a promotion?’ Somehow he didn’t think that would go over too well.

He was cut off from attempting to answer again by a series of ‘pop-pops’ behind the evil wizard. Snape closed his eyes, praying those pops didn’t mean what he thought they did.

Of course, he always had to be right.

“Welcome friends!” Voldemort spun away from him, walking towards the wall of black robed followers standing a few feet away. “Tonight, you shall have a treat.” The potions master found his eyes searching out his fellow spy’s. There, a little way off, knelt Lucius, Harry pressed into his chest. The man was positively grey, and Severus found he couldn’t blame him. “I give you, my most loyal men, two traitors, and the Boy-Who-Lived!”

~*~

Harry had always known there was something inexplicably screwed up with his life. He’d known it for as long as he’d known himself, really. It was a fact he’d grown used to, and, subsequently, taken for granted. Such was his life.

But tonight, the fact that The Life Of Harry Potter just had to include the stuff of nightmares hit him again full force. He wasn’t at all phased that his uncle had nearly beaten him to death. It had happened before. He wasn’t even worried that Voldemort was close and planning on killing him. It had happened far too many times, and its novelty had worn off. But the fact that he had been rescued from his vicious uncle by none other that Death Eater Number One, Lucius Malfoy, had been healed by the same along with the Greasy Git of Hogwarts, Severus Snape, had been comforted by said git and then wrenched away from the supposedly loyal Death Eater by the other supposedly loyal Death Eater before the terrible Cruciatus Curse hit him….. It was becoming too much for his beleaguered brain.

He focused on focusing on the rant Voldie was delivering to his troops, and not on the fact that he was pressed against Malfoy’s chest, holding him as tightly was he was being held. Of course, listening to Voldemort had never been able to do anything for his nerves, and so, his eyes began to wander.

Harry took in the small clearing they were in, the trees surrounding them from the back and the large, wrought iron gates looming above them, leading onto Malfoy property. They were trapped. The realization made his stomach drop, far down to a region near his toes. They weren’t going to be able to get out of here. His heart pounded in his chest. They were going to die. His head hurt, and he couldn’t breath. The air was running away from him. No! I need you! They were going to die. Lucius and Severus who had only tried to keep him alive were going to die and it was all his fault. If only he hadn’t been born! Someone was screaming his name. Harry chocked. He couldn’t breathe. Voldemort had hired an elephant and it was sitting on his chest. He was probably going to kill Snape first. His vision swam, tunneling swiftly, there was grass, hands, no air, darkness, deep, black darkness …. and then pain.

Someone was boiling his flesh, while he as still in it. Oh Merlin this was horrible. Harry screamed, writhing and scratching at his forehead, trying to tear the pain away. It covered every inch of him, and he couldn’t get away. White hot knives were stabbing at every cell in his body, tearing at him, slicing him open for Voldemort’s pleasure, trying to tear his mind away… and then it was gone.

There was roaring laughter some distance away from him. His chest was on fire, the bones Severus had worked to mend now shattered once again. Biting his lip so as not to cry out, Harry stood, by sheer willpower on shaky legs. A little ways off, Snape was doing the same, but having far more trouble with it. ‘Come on, get up. You’re too stubborn to let him win.’

Snape faltered, and while Voldemort and his cronies laughed, he looked up to meet the green gaze of his student. ‘Harry?’

Harry blinked, not sure if he had heard his professor speaking to him in his head, or if the Cruciatus had finally robbed him of his sanity. A drop of blood dripped into his eye, and he turned to rub painfully at it. It was then that he realized he didn’t have his glasses. He looked around, eyes, locking on Lucius kneeling beside him, astonished that he could see everything clearly. It didn’t stop his eyes from watering in pain though. They had to get out of here.

Voldemort stood, gazing at Harry contemplatively, wand trained on his chest. “Scared, Potter?” He gave an ugly smile. “You should be. I don’t know how you managed to snag two of my previously most loyal supporters, boy, but I assure you, you will pay. Before you die tonight, you will pay.”

“Fuck off, Tom.” Harry coughed, bringing up blood. He spat it in the dark wizard’s direction, ignoring his look of outrage. His voice sounded hoarse and raspy, and he could barely take a breath without his chest feeling like it was caving in. It didn’t help that the word ‘boy’ was reminding him of his massive uncle. “I don’t know if it’s occurred to you, but if you actually focused on killing me and not giving these grand speeches about how you’re going to kill me every time we manage to end up together, you might actually have a chance.” He wheezed. “Of killing me, that is.”

The clearing had gone deathly silent. He was certain Lucius was trembling next to him, but finally the man was standing, so he was willing to overlook that. Severus was standing beside him, obviously in extreme pain. Harry couldn’t be sure, but it seemed as if he’d been hit with something besides Crucio, if his limping was anything to go by.

“How touching,” Voldemort sneered. “Two Slytherins and a Gryffindor. Salazar would be rolling in his grave.” Harry stood still, giving their situation his full attention. Obviously, none of them had wands, and Dumbledore was the only wizard he knew could do wandless magic. They could attempt to take the house, and from there, the Floo, but they’d have to get past the snake-faced bastard and his cronies to do that. He grimaced. None of them were in any shape to try that.

“No response, Harry?” He flicked his wand, and Harry nearly passed out, the loud cracks letting him know that yes, Voldemort had just broken each of his limbs. Collapsing to the ground, he threw caution to the wind.

“Fuck, Tom. I’m trying to think!” He was rewarded with the Cruciatus, and for what seemed like hours he screamed and thrashed wildly against the spears of blinding fire seeking entrance into his body.

Cold, maniacal laughter greeted his ears when it was all over. “Think, boy?” This time Harry flinched. “You’re about to die. Thinking is not necessary. You have no wands, and even if you did you could not escape. I’ve risen the strongest Anti-Appirition wards around us, and none of you have portkeys on your person. There is no way for any others to rescue you either.” He cackled madly, and Harry fought the urge to throw up. “You’re on Malfoy property. No Ministry official will question any amount of magic done here, because my dear, dear Lucius is such a respected citizen of the Wizarding community,” the evil man gushed, in a sickening parody of a proud parent. “And who would expect Harry Potter to be here, at the home of his greatest schoolyard enemy? I certainly didn’t. But my beloved Nagini has always watched out for her master’s best interest.” He turned to scoop something out of the high grass. As he stood, the easily recognizable form of his enormous pet snake sliding over his shoulders, Harry hissed in outrage. He’d thought he’d anted to kill the reptile this past June, when she had circled around the grave he had been bound to, but now the urge was nearly as strong as the one he had to kill her master.

“And who could forget,” Voldemort sniggered, “The Great Albus Dumbledore. Of course he sent his loyal servant Snape to retrieve the boy from whatever trouble he’d managed to land himself in this time. And of course, he trusts his spy so much that he wouldn’t for an instant think they would be in trouble without contacting him.” He smiled, stroking a finger lovingly across Nagini’s head. “I’ve told the old man time and time again, trust will be the end of him. He will soon see that I am right.” He turned back to Harry. “Crucio.”

Harry expected his world to erupt in pain. He didn’t expect to see Lucius bound over the distance separating him from Severus and throw himself in front of the curse. He watched dazedly as Lucius screamed, thrashing and scratching at himself in sheer agony. A delayed reaction to his own bout of crucio set in, and he found himself retching in the grass beneath him. He scrambled away bearily, sharp pain lancing every cell as he struggled with broken limbs.

He was inches away from Lucius’ prone form when a blasting curse threw him across the clearing. Harry screamed, all thought rushing from his mind as the overwhelming pain took over everything. Bloody hell, he didn’t even know he had bones in some of these places. Voldemort was talking again, and it took a minute for the teen to realize he wasn’t being cursed any longer, but the blinding pain throbbing through him was a side effect to Voldemort’s ministrations.

“Why Lucius, I never knew you cared!” Disparaging laughter could be heard around him. “I’ve subjected Severus to more than this, and you’ve never given any sign that you cared.”

Harry followed the direction of the heartless sniggering and found a haggard looking looking Lucius Malfoy kneeling at Voldemort’s feet, glaring up at the wizard with more hatred Harry thought existed. Pressed against his back and being held up by the blonde man’s arms was Professor Snape.

He probably shouldn’t have found the sight fascinating, but he did. He’d never seen Snape let anyone touch him. Not even Headmaster Dumbledore. To see the man so exhausted and pain ridden that his only course of action was to completely collapse against someone, completely collapse against another man, to Harry it was an eye opener. The man actually was human. It probably helped, too, that the man was bleeding profusely, turning the tips of Malfoy’s hair an interesting auburn color.

Harry shuddered. He was going to kill them. Voldemort was going to kill them first, and then come back for him. His vision swam, but he managed to turn himself so that he could face the freak.

“Oy, Tom. Quit harassing my doctors, will you? I’m going to need them in a few minutes.” His shouting resulted in another coughing fit, this one seeming to tear the blood right out of his lungs. When he had himself back under some type of control, he looked up to see Riddle glaring at him malevolently, but Malfoy and Snape were both gazing at him with dumbfounded expressions. “He glared at them silently. ‘We need a portkey. You two work on that. I’ll distract Snake-face.’ If possible, their eyes widened further. Harry ignored them in favor of giving Tom his full attention.

“This whole love thing really gets to you, doesn’t it?” He didn’t have the energy to sneer, and so the question came out as mildly curious. He hadn’t a clue how he managed to keep speaking. He was utterly terrified. His life rested in the hands of two hardened Death Eaters, one too injured to do anything but think, and the other who might be as evil as his son. Things were not looking good.

“If it makes you feel any better, Snake-face, I’ve never had a real loving, caring home either." He stared at Voldemort, noting that he no longer looked angry. He couldn’t exactly read his expression, but unreadable was better than spitting mad, in his opinion. So, he forged on. “You lived in an orphanage, didn’t you, Tom? Brought up by muggles till you got your Hogwarts letter? A lot like me, really.” He attempted to sigh carelessly, but his breath hitched. “But did your Muggles ever hit you, Tom? Starve you for days? Ever been locked in your room with bars on the windows and only allowed to use the toilet once a day? “

Tom’s face was decidedly angry. “Who do you think you are fooling boy?” He raised his wand. “Do you truly expect me to believe Dumbledore, pure-hearted leader of the side of light allowed his Golden Boy to be abused?”

“Don’t truly care if you believe me or not.” Harry decided not to shrug. The hairs on his body were hurting, even. “Malfoy knows I’m telling the truth. Had a lovely conversation with my uncle. And even your fanged lover knows when I showed up here I was in bad shape.” He tilted his head to the side. “Go on, ask her.” He almost grinned with satisfaction as Voldemort, eyes narrowed and suspicious, engaged a hissing conversation with his snake. He hazarded a glance at Malfoy, and felt relief flood through him when he received small nod. It was immediately replaced by panic though, when he caught sight of his potions professor.

“You are a very interesting boy, Mr. Potter. You obviously care for the filthy Muggles as much as I do – “

“That’s where you’re wrong Tom.” Harry spoke with his eyes closed. The pain that had began to fade into a numb throb was returning full force. “I don’t hate the whole lot of them. One particular couple, yes, of course. But to kill a whole race just because they don’t have magic, or some other rot, no. I don’t think so.”

“It helps if you think of them all as one unit, child.” He could tell by Voldemort’s voice he was no where near as angry as he had been. “I could teach you, willingly, if you join me.”

It made Harry’s while body sear with pain, but he laughed. Had Voldemort just called him 'child'? It was absurd. He giggled painfully, and when he spoke, his voice was wet. “Tom, I’ll join you when hell freezes over.”

And just like that he was convulsing in pain, his scar seemingly splitting open, as he scratched and scrambled to get it away from him. He was screaming, screaming himself hoarse, but then there were other screams, hoarser and deeper and so incredibly painful that for a minute Harry thought Snape would die under Crucio alone. He hadn’t realized he was screaming for the man, till Voldemort’s laughter filled his ears. “You want your filthy Professor?” He giggled evilly. “Then go to him!”

Fresh screams were torn from his lips as he was launched across the clearing, only to land heavily ontop of an already screaming Snape. His brain fuzzily wondered where Lucius had gotten himself to in all this, and then Voldemort made his blood run cold.

His high, cold voice cut through Harry’s mental scrambling with two words. “Crucio Maxima!”

He could register nothing. Nothing existed over the net of bone breaking pain he was in. Every bone in his body had shattered, and he screamed, over the blood gathering in his throat, he screamed as if it would lessen the pain, then there was a flash of magic….. he couldn’t move, and then another, a flash of bright blue…….. a painful tugging behind his navel….. then it was dark.

Someone was holding his hand.

It took a minute for the rest of the message to make its way through to his brain before he recognized who the hand holding his belonged to.

He knew this hand. These slender fingers had a knack for going where no sensible fingers would ever go, engaging in such abominable activities as tickling. And tickling him. Some people had no decency.

He knew this hand. There was a slight indentation on its heel right …… there. This was the finger she had broken last year doing some fool move on an Auror Quidditch team. Between her and bloody Potter, his mind absently commented, Quidditch would be the end of him.

Idly noticing that his own fingers were leisurely playing with the ones he knew so well, Severus pondered that thought. ‘Potter.’ There was something about the boy, something big, and recent…. ‘Potter’ ……

And then, memory swept in, bringing with it a blinding headache so intense it tore a scream from his lips.

‘Harry screaming in agony and tearing at his bloody scar…. A snake-like being laughing maniacally, aiming his wand on the boy….. A red jet of light hitting the boy directly in the chest, his broken limbs quivering in pain….. Thousands of red-hot knives were stabbing every inch of him, the white hot pain blocking out every other thought…. Harry screaming, right before Voldemort blasted him across the field, right on top of him. And then…

Crucio maxima!

Harry’s high, gurgling screams the only sounds distinguishable to him above the excruciating net of torture he was caught in….

Pain, pain, pain, unbearable pain, and then

Lucius running full tilt across the grass, a bright yellow light erupting from the tip of his fingers to wash over Severus and the boy draped across his chest, something flying out of his hand to land in a wash of bright blue light seen over Harry’s fringe, a sharp tug behind his navel, and then darkness.

~*~

When the world finally swam into focus again, he risked opening his eyes. The infirmary, his mind provided. ‘Of course.’ He grimaced. His head felt stuffed with cotton, and his body ached with minor discomforts.

He must have groaned at one point, for the pit-pat of feet soon heralded the arrival of brilliantly pink hair, and the head and body to which it belonged.

He was tempted to smile, but managed a grimace at the last minute.

“Dora.” His voice was rough and frail sounding, so unlike his own it was disconcerting.

“Shh.” She came closer, soft cool hands caressing his face. “Don’t talk, Sev. Poppy’ll be right in.”

She made her closeness ever closer, and those soft lips of hers pressed against his forehead, and as if through a fog, he recognized the way her breath hitched with silent sobs. “I’m so glad you’re ok,” she whispered. And all Severus wanted in the world was to wrap his arms around her and bid the remainder of the world to hell.

As it was, he could only hold on, and bury his protruding nose in the softness of her bosom, and lose himself to the blissful darkness of sleep.

~~~~

He awoke, seemingly hours later, to find a very tired looking Dumbledore sitting next to his bed.

The tiredness of his old mentor was more pronounced in the flickering candlelight illuminating this part of the hospital wing, and for a fleeting minute, Severus saw Albus Dumbledore as he truly was, not the powerful mage and leader everyone looked up to, but the tired, frail looking old man who had far too many things on his plate to deal with. Sleepily, he gazed at the man, a strange, heavy feeling creeping over his chest that he slowly realized was pity for the old man. As infuriating as he was, Severus realized that it was hard not to be, and that the old man didn’t do it on purpose.

He scowled. He hated being insightful. He yanked his arm away from where the Headmaster was absentmindedly stroking it, and gave the man his best death glare.

Much to his annoyance, the old mage chuckled.

“Severus, my boy, I’m so glad to see you awake. Poppy, was, of course, assured that you would wake eventually, and continued to check up on you most regularly.” At this, Severus’ glare intensified tenfold, but Albus continued. “However, a certain young Auror has been near inconsolable.”

The ever present twinkle in the old man’s eye became near unbearable as he watched his Potions Master huff in obvious fake annoyance, and his features softened into a mild scowl.

“Now Severus, there’s no need to be cross. From Lucius’ account both women had ample reason to be worried. It seems Voldemort took a rather excessive interest in causing you pain, my child.”

Severus’ head spun around at a speed that made him nauseous. “Lucius?” His tongue felt thick and heavy, as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks. “Lucius……here?”

Albus nodded genially. “Oh yes, has been for quite some time. Mr. Potter was quite upset that the portkey only transported you and he, and took it upon himself to rescue him.”

The infernal man was still nodding. Potter rescued Lucius. That couldn’t be right, by any account. The last thing he remembered was a very broken boy slamming into his chest from the force of the spell that had hit him. Whatever healing he and his blonde counterpart had administered before the Dark Lord’s arrival had been thoroughly undone, and then some. The boy he had supposedly landed at Hogwarts with couldn’t have been capable of lifting a finger without collapsing in sheer agony, let alone rescue a full grown wizard from the clutches of evil incarnate.

His confusion had to have shown on his face, for Albus launched into an explanation. “We’ve always known that Harry is a very special boy. That being said, it was still a shock to see him remove himself from his bed, completely unassisted, and then disappear. Without the sheer power flooding the room, I doubt Poppy would have fallen into deeper hysterics. But the fact that he disappeared with a sound like a crack of thunder allowed her to keep some of her wits. She settled for attacking , er, tending to you with a vengeance. Shortly after, Harry reappeared, with another crack of thunder, and an unconscious Lucius hovering in mid air. Of course, Poppy quickly took care of that, and spelled the three of you into a deep sleep. Lucius woke up early the next morning. It seems, his Veela ancestry makes healing a ridiculously speedy affair.”

And now Dumbledore was rambling, on and on about how wonderful it was that Lucius had been monitoring the Dursley residence and had managed to get there before Severus and some other nonsense that Severus was not listening to because his obsidian gaze was searching the hospital wing for another head of spiky black locks.

He found it, peeking out of a bundle of hospital sheets two beds away, and for a split second he wondered if that was all that was left of the Golden Boy. But then, as if sensing his gaze, the sleeping child shifted under the covers, rolling about until his pale face peeked out as well.

He was thwarted from considering the boy further, however, by Dumbledore’s cheery proclamation. “Poppy, I do believe our last patient is awake.” His voice, sometimes sounding as old and frail as he looked, carried across the wing clearly. Before Severus could bound off the bed, the mediwitch was bearing down on him, waving her wand round and round, poking and prodding and huffing and tsking at him as if he were some meddlesome little boy that was always covered in scrapes and bruises. Like Potter. He scowled.

Of course, Poppy’s ministrations were only a precursor to another female frequenting the hospital ward quite often as of late. As soon as Poppy was done and had turned to fuss over the deeply sleeping teenager in the room, she had descended on him in a flurry of hugs and kisses Severus thought would have done Molly Weasley proud. And, try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to scowl at her.

Finally, after calling him a long list of names that would make a Slytherin blush, and conducting a check to see for herself that he was all in one piece that had the Headmaster scurrying for the moral safety of Poppy’s office, she gazed at him with adoring eyes. Though they were red and puffy, and she looked rather like a splotchy young mandrake, Severus could not have found her more beautiful.

“I take it you are finished?” he asked softly.

Her lips trembled, but she did manage to nod. He felt bad, for being so brusque, but it was not in his nature to be soft and cuddly, the way she insisted she saw him. And, he considered, taking in her hair that had migrated back to its natural brown, as it did only when she was under extreme stress, she did deserve a bit of cuddling.

Without giving himself time to think himself out of it, he opened his arms to her, wishing anyone who even dared to look at them would die a painful death. All threats to his reputation were worth it, however, as she folded herself into his embrace, and he tucked her head under his chin. Poppy could prescribe all the potions and therapies she wanted. This was the kind of treatment he needed.

~*~

He did not know when he had fallen asleep. But he had, and when he woke up, it was to the strangest sensation. He was, for lack of a better word, curled around someone, a soft, smaller someone who smelled suspiciously like grapes and his favorite cologne….

But this was not the strange sensation that had disturbed him, though, of course, for him to wake up so close to another being was strange in of itself. No, it was the feeling of the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, his skin erupting into goose flesh; it was the feeling of being watched.

After that, it didn’t take much effort to discover who was watching him sleep. The hospital ward was empty save for three breathing persons, one who was asleep against him, himself and another who was supposed to be unconscious. He glanced towards the supposedly sleeping teen, and, sure enough, found green eyes watching him intently.

“Potter.” He nearly gagged. His voice was still soft and rough sounding, nothing like the silky baritone he was so fond of utilizing.

Nevertheless the child jumped slightly in his bed, curling in on himself as if trying to make himself seem smaller than he already was. “Sorry sir,” he whispered.

Severus tried, he really did. But the anger he usually felt so eager to unleash upon the small child was nowhere to be found. All he could summon, much to his disgust, was the infuriating need to make the child feel better, though he would rather die than admit it out loud.

The boy sounded exhausted, and Severus could silently agree, what with the night he had endured. But, he thought to himself, that had been days ago, according to Albus. Speaking softly, so as not to disturb his bedmate, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

Surprised eyes looked up at him, tinged with just a little bit of confusion. Severus suppressed a sigh. The boy was an open book, his emotions practically jumping out at a person. No wonder Old Snake Face had been so able to feed off the child’s fear.

“Questions are generally asked with ample anticipation of an answer, child.”

Those eyes dropped. “Sorry sir.” Pale fingers plucked at the blanket covering his shoulder. “I guess I feel fine, sir. I don’t hurt anymore, but I feel a bit sore though, like I’ve been asleep for too long.” Green eyes once again flickered to meet his, and the boy nervously bit his lip.

“Go on,” Severus encouraged, sensing the boy had more to say. Truthfully he was surprised the boy had answered at all. He was expecting to have to wrest it from his lips. But this way was fine by him, really.

“I am a bit hungry though, if, if that’s ok sir.”

Rage bubbled up from somewhere. “It is entirely ok, you idiotic child, for you to be hungry. You do not have to ask to – Oh I can’t believe this. DOBBY!”

The house elf’s crack of apparition was disturbed by a soft chuckling coming from the region of his chest. “It’s so nice to see you back to yourself already, dear,” his love’s voice mumbled at him. Shooting her a glare as she climbed over him to retrieve her shoes, Severus then turned and addressed the already bouncing house elf.

“How can Dobby be helping Master and Mistress Professor? Anythings you is needing, Master Professor, tells Dobby and Dobby is bringing it right to Professor, sir!”

Severus could only glare at the ecstatic creature. WHY had he summoned the overenthusiastic little being in the first place? He felt a headache coming on, and only just barely managed not to succumb to the urge to massage his temples. “Master Professor is wanting – “ He caught himself, appalled. It didn’t help that his bed seemed suddenly so large and the softness that had previously taken up all that space was on standing behind him, laughing.

Severus sneered. “I want breakfast, you damnable elf. I want three trays of whatever it is you bloody creatures have cooked up down there immediately. Well!” he snapped. “Why are you still here?”

Dobby beamed up at him, completely unfazed by the angry man’s words. “Dobby is getting it. And Professor no worry. Dobby understands that Professor be feeling angrys after a night with Madame Pomfrey, sir! Dobby is making it all better.” The diminutive figure reached forward to pat Severus’ hand comfortingly. “Dobby is even bringing Professor’s favorite tea!”

Dobby’s crack was lost amidst the sound of Tonks’ laughter.

~*~

Severus sat, amused to no end, at the sight playing out before him. Sometime during the meal Tonks had noticed the brat had had two servings of everything, but had neglected his green beans. (Why anyone had green beans served with breakfast was beyond him, really.) Of course, she’d quickly found a solution for that, and had promptly plopped herself down on the bed next to him. Of course, anyone could guess she was feeding him the remainder of his breakfast. The scene was pleasant enough, other than the fact that his intended was feeding a fifteen-year-old wizard instead of him, but the fact that the child pouted every time a green bean came his way had him chuckling softly into his promised cup of tea.

Soon the boy became resigned to his fate, and accepted the vegetables with only the smallest grimace. Unfortunately for him, that meant the boy was free to ask questions.

“Sir, shouldn’t we be telling Professor Dumbledore about what happened?” Severus glared irritably at the small teenager, and felt a vindictive pleasure when Nymphadora slipped a whole spoonful of beans into his open mouth.

“I have been informed that Mr. Malfoy has provided all necessary information.” He said evenly. “Everyone is primarily concerned that you and I recover, child, so please, eat your breakfast.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “It’s just green beans, sir. And how did Mr. Malfoy get here?” He was rewarded with another spoonful of icky vegetable, and a quick kiss on the cheek.

“That was the last one, love.” As she hopped off his bed at collect their trays, Harry turned wide eyes to his Professor, and was shocked to see the man burst into laughter. “Don’t get used to it, brat. She’s mine.” Harry blushed spectacularly, and focused on chewing his beans.

Neither of them had answered his question though. How had the man gotten here. Last he knew he had been left behind in the clearing in front of Malfoy Manor. It wasn’t too far fetched to admit that he’d thought the man might have died that night. He shuddered. He didn’t want to be the cause of anyone’s death. A quick picture of Cedric, lying dead in the graveyard came to him. Well, anyone else’s death, anyway.

The events of that night washed over him, and Harry shuddered violently, caught up in a tide of phantom pain and screams. He didn’t even want to think about it, but the images kept coming. He wasn’t aware of when he started keening, or when he’d curled up on the bed. He was aware, though, of arms wrapping around him, and being held while Voldemort played out in his mind. He shuddered again. He wasn’t there. He was at Hogwarts. He was safe. He was. He, Harry the idiot child, was safe at Hogwarts, safe with Professor Snape and Tonks and Madame Pomfrey was going to douse him with a calming draught if he didn’t calm down soon child…..

“…. You are safe. I have you. Voldemort cannot reach you here child. Just breath. Ou are not there, ridiculous brat. You are at Hogwarts. You are safe at Hogwarts. Feel the bed beneath you, idiot child. Feel the bed ad the sheets. You are safe. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You are safe. Safe at Hogwarts, child. Hogwarts. Can you say that child? Hog – “

“Hogwarts.” The word was a small, painful whisper, but he said it anyway. He was safe. Safe at Hogwarts. “Safe.” Harry took a shaky breath. “Snape.” Another shaky breath, and he burrowed his face into the man’s robes and sobbed.

“Oh, yes child,” Severus said dryly. “Just soil my pajama top, why don’t you?” He attempted to sound annoyed, but the effect was lost as he combed a hand through the child’s thick locks. He looked up and glared at the small group assembled there. “Can you or can you not give the boy some privacy?” Dumbledore and Lucius seemed supremely unmoved, while Tonks and Poppy marched away, unsuccessful in hiding the smiles that split their faces.

Severus glared at their retreating backs, and then transferred his glare to his mentor and best friend, and then kicked it up a notch. “Lucius.” He turned his glare to the blotchy face that had peeked out of his robes, curious besides his hitching breaths. The child took one look at his ‘I’m an-evil-Death-Eater glare and re-immersed himself with memorizing the finer points of Snape’s dark blue cotton shirt.

Inwardly chuckling, he returned his gaze to Malfoy, and resisted the urge to growl. The man’s eyes were twinkling almost as much as the older wizard beside him. “I do believe we need to talk.”

Grinning unrepentantly, Lucius nodded. “Of course, as soon as you are not otherwise occupied.” He smirked at Severus growl. I’ll be with Headmaster Dumbledore whenever you need me.” With a swish of his cloak he was gone, striding out of the hospital wing.

Severus met the old man’s twinkle head on. “Would you care to explain how Lucius Malfoy came to know about Harry’s condition that night, Albus?” he asked dangerously.

The twinkle abated, somewhat, but would not be defeated. Severus was calling the boy ‘Harry’ after all, never mind the fact that he was cuddling the child.

“It is simple really. Lucius Malfoy has been a spy for the Order since the last war. When he found out I had placed Harry with his Muggle relatives he became quite upset. I do believe I challenged him to look after young mister Potter, but from a safe distance away.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I admit, whatever method he was using is faulty at best, as all evidence points to the fact that Harry’s relative’s behavior these past few weeks is quite normal. However, I’m sure that when Mr. Malfoy returns to speak with you, you will be able to extract the right information from him. At the moment, incidentally, there is one important matter that must be addressed.”

His gaze settled on the unruly locks currently wrapped around his Potions Professor’s fingers. The child was apparently quite content, and seemed to be dozing lightly. “It appears to me that Mr. Potter is without a place to stay for the foreseeable future. It would seem – “

“Oh Albus, stop!” Severus kneaded his temples. “We all know you’re going to ask me to watch over the boy. It would be infinitely easier on my state of mind if you would just up and state things directly for a change.”

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Yes, well, as it is – “

“Yes Albus. I’ll take the boy. Dora and I won’t be wed till the end of the summer, and I’m sure she’ll just jump on the opportunity spoil the child senseless.”

“Sevvyy, have you been peeking into my mind again?” The young auror sidled up to him, pouting. “I thought you said you weren’t going to do that anymore?”

Snape scoffed. “I don’t need Legimency to see that within a week in his company I will be the farthest thing from your thoughts.” He looked at her darkly. “I am not looking forward to being replaced by a pint-sized wizard, woman.”

He valiantly fought the urge to pout as she threw her head back and laughed. “And you say you don’t have a sense of humor, lovie,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair.

Albus cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yes, well, thank you both. I will be in touch, if there are any difficulties.”

And then Albus was scurrying out of the ward. Severus stared after the man curiously, till he tore his gaze away and turned a questioning glance up at his fiancé. Then, Albus’ hasty retreat made perfect sense.

“Dora. I am holding a sleeping child in my arms. It would be highly inappropriate to engage in … any … of those activities you are thinking about.”

His insides melted when her smile turned feral. “Well, lovie, if you would just put him down, we could engage in as many of those activities as we like, hmm? I’ve even got a section cordoned off. Would you like to see, Sevy?”

‘All things considered’, Severus thought as he gently settled Harry down into the sheets and tucked them around his thin torso, ’there really were some nice benefits to falling for those Gryffindors.’ He caught her slim hand in his. And if Poppy couldn’t find him for the remainder of the day, then so be it.

Eighteen hours later, Harry sat on his own bed, contemplating all the information he had been given. Or, at least, that’s what the adults around him thought he was doing. Harry was really tracing his magic back through his arm to his core with his eyes open, which was kind of hard.

Or at least he thought that was what he was doing. Professor Snape hadn’t been able to explain much before Madame Pompfrey decided that they needed rest. Harry had gracefully accepted the matron’s word as law and had scrambled back to his bed, while Severus, predictably, had put up a fuss. And, consequently, was dosed with a Dreamless Sleep potion.

Harry had dozed for a bit, but truthfully, if he slept for one more hour he was pretty sure he’d never sleep again. And, rather than point this out to the hospital matron (who got quite tetchy about her patients’ sleep patterns) Harry decided to try it out, even if he felt like sleep would never, ever embrace him again.

What the headmaster, Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape had told him really was a no brainer. Well, at least for him it was. Harry hated complications, and so he striped everything possible down to its barest points and dealt with tem. On the whole, it was much easier.

Mr. Malfoy had been a spy since before Voldemort’s first fall, though no one but he and Dumbledore knew it. He’d been monitoring the Dursely residence for injuries of life-threatening nature, he’d said, and he regretted that Dumbledore’s enchantments prevented him from doing anything else. Because Harry’s accidental magic kept healing him, Lucius never found out about the abuse till it nearly killed him. He had rushed to Surrey with the intention of taking the boy back to the manor to heal him, before going to give the Headmaster a piece of his mind. However, he was interrupted by Harry’s deteriorating state, Snape, and then the Dark Lord. They’d been found out as spies, tortured, and then Harry and Snape had been whisked away by a portkey Lucius had fashioned on the spot. Maybe it was because he was so close to death’s door, but Harry didn’t remember any of this. Especially not circumventing the wards around Hogwarts to Apparate back to Malfoy Manor and rescue Lucius from the trigger-happy Dark Lord.  But apparently he had. Frankly, Harry didn’t believe he had that much power, but the grave look on Professor Dumbledore’s face told him otherwise.

Now, he didn’t particularly like Mr. Malfoy, but that was the man’s own fault. And he wasn’t too keen on Draco, and that was his fault too. But Harry was willing to give them both a chance, even if he could only trust them as far as he could throw them. Professor Dumbledore did, and for the moment, that was good enough for him.

Snape, on the other hand, was a different matter.

Something had changed between the two of them, something Harry didn’t quite understand and something he didn’t think he wanted to look into too closely. Nevertheless, the change was there, and Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that dealing with it took less effort than he tough possible. In all honesty, Professor Snape was being downright amazing. Harry didn’t know how long this would last, but he was willing to go along with it for as long as it lasted.

As if roused by thoughts of his person, the dark-haired man stirred. Moments later, obsidian eyes snapped up to his, looking accusatory.

Harry smiled. “It wasn’t me, Professor.”

The older man ‘hmph’ed, and sat up. “Do not call Madame Pompfrey, brat,” he ordered, slipping out of bed and toeing on his slippers.

“I won’t, sir,” Harry responded, earning himself a grumpy glare as the man made his way towards the restrooms.

Harry had agreed not to call Madame Pompfrey, but he’d never said he wouldn’t call Snape’s girlfriend. Harry grinned while leaning across his bed to see if the woman was nearby. How Snape of all people had found and tolerated a woman with pink hair Harry was sure he’d never know. He yawned, and blinked in amazement. He was not tired! The teen rearranged himself on his bed just as Snape walked past him.

“Did you sleep at all?” the man asked.

Harry could only shake his head, as another yawn had taken over his mouth. When he recovered, Snape was eyeing him with an amused expression. “Rest then, before Madame Pompfrey comes and finds out, yes?”

Much to Harry’s annoyance, Snape didn’t even wait for him to object, calling Dobby and demanding that he “Bring tea this instant.”  What was worse, Harry couldn’t even express how much this annoyed him, as another yawn had ambushed him again. His eyes closed, and then forced them open. Dobby brought back tea and graced Harry with a smile, and the boy fought to give one in return. Dobby patted his hand, and green eyes slid closed once more.

He was just drifting off to the sleep he swore he wouldn’t succumb to ever again when his scar erupted in pain. No warning, no tingling, just blinding, scorching pain that had him arching off the bed and screaming, clawing desperately at his scar before the whole world and everything in it went black.

*&*

He supposed he should have expected this.

The teacup he had just picked up slipped from his trembling grip and smashed into the stone floor of the hospital wing. He just barely managed to stifle a scream of sheer agony as the sound of many feet stampeding in his direction met his ears.

Maybe he wasn’t as quiet as he had thought.

Predictably, Dumbledore reached him first. He imagined the rest were crowded around his bed, but he could not see or hear them over the debilitating pain searing through his arm. He doubled over, not caring what he looked like. He could not fight it, the agonized scream made it past his lips as he clamped a hand weakly against the smoldering mark.

Bloody hell, Voldemort was angry. He’d never, shit, never felt anything like this. The Cruciatus was nothing in comparison. He continued to writhe and scream with the pain, but it was no longer just in his arm. It had spread, up into his shoulder, down into his legs, up his neck, across his scalp, into his bones, his whole body was on fire, burning and smoldering and dying amidst the demon flames that must surely be attacking his body.

And then, there were hands, touching, pushing him, every inch of contact bursting into excruciating flames. He was going to die. They were touching him, pushing him, keeping him on the tableau of fire, and he would die, he could feel it. He screamed and screamed and begged and pleaded in every language he knew and still it tore at him from the inside out, shredding his bones while still in him, boiling his blood, killing him, killing him, killing him…..Voldemort wanted to kill him…..

And then there were cool hands, passing over his skin, latching onto his wretched arm, a small, painless body curling around his arm, small, blessedly cool hands wrapping around the fire and then there was nothing.

~*~

He came to shortly after, fighting to make sense of what he remembered through the thick cotton in his brain. There were people whispering, but none of them was his Dora and so unimportant for the moment. Unable to repress a shudder at the memory of the pain, Severus took stock of his body. Everything felt a bit shaky, but nothing was missing, and there was no pain. There was a curious weight on his left side though. And what was more, it was breathing. Alarmed, he peeled his eyes open. After a minute of furious blinking, he was able to look away from the bright magical light shining into his face. He had a brief moment of questioning as to why it was there, but quickly pushed that thought away for later.

Ignoring the slight discomfort, he looked towards his left arm and stared. He was correct in his assumption that someone had curled around his arm. It was Potter. The ridiculous child was asleep, pale hands pressed against his forearm, his hand resting in the child’s lap. He could do nothing but stare for a minute, or two, while the room at large realized he was awake.

Blearily he blinked, and turned his head away. There were more people in the ward now than he had remembered. For one, there were two heads of blonde. Had Lucius managed to clone himself? Severus blinked again. No, it was just Draco. However, where had his godson come from?

In addition, why was there a giant dog sitting so close to his bed? Was not there some rule against animals in the hospital wing or something? Who was that talking to the headmaster? He looks familiar. He blinked his blurring eyes. Ah, the werewolf. That meant the giant dog was Black. Of course, it made sense for them to be there. Their ‘cub’ or ‘pup’ had been injured, as they tended to call Harry. Severus could only assume it was a canine thing, trying to associate Harry with their animal alter egos.

There was also Poppy, who was staring at the region of his arm, but not really seeing, and a little ways off, sitting on an empty bed was Professor McGonagall. That was fine, he knew she sometimes stayed over at Hogwarts since Albus couldn’t be persuaded to return to their home, but he had a problem.

Where was his Dora?

As if by magic she appeared, scurrying past the dog that was Black and climbing onto the bed. And once again, she descended upon him, a flurry of hugs and kisses more enthusiastic than before, murmuring utter nonsense about giving her heart problems and writing a will. Severus endured it all stoically, which had nothing to do with the fact that he had not the energy to fight her off, even if he wanted to.

When she was done, she pulled away, and gazed at him with such tenderness that it made his stomach melt. “Scare me like that again, Severus, and I’ll kill you.”

Much to the shock of everyone in the room, except Harry who was asleep, Severus favored her with a winning smile, albeit a weak one. “How about you just kill me now then, and save yourself the trouble?”

Nymphadora was not impressed. She gave him a feral growl-snarl combo, and hopped off the bed. Severus watched her, eyes lit with amusement, as she wove her way to the bed occupied by the Deputy Headmistress, and sat stiffly upon it.

He glanced around at all the taut faces with barely veiled amusement. Maybe he was still a bit out of it, really. Finding his voice he asked, “Is someone going to explain why everyone is standing over my bed, or should I go back to sleep?” His voice was raspy, and his throat sore, but he ignored it. He was far too comfortable to care.

“Your dark Mark is gone.”

Well that certainly had him up and alert . “What?” he asked, his voice nearly breaking. His head snapped around to stare at the limb in question. He nudged the boy away enough to stare in disbelief at his skin. His pale, bare, unmarked skin. Severus gaped. It was gone. After assuring himself that it truly was gone and this was not some elaborate plan set to drive him insane, he turned wide, uncomprehending eyes to the Headmaster.

For once, the ever present twinkle was not present “I have no answers, my boy,” the old wizard said calmly. “It was Harry.”

“Harry?” The name sounded foreign and strange on his tongue, the world was beginning to take on an unreal tinge, things were beginning to spin….

“Yes.” Dumbledore’s voice came from far away as Severus stared at his best friend’s son. “You are screaming in pain, Severus, both you and Lucius, and Harry was so far gone that is scar was bleeding …..he just got up and touched Lucius’ mark ….. climbed over you and latched onto your arm …..never seen anything like it ……truly a special child….

Severus could only stare at the child curled quite serenely around his arm, breathing deeply and taking up space that should be rightfully occupied by his Dora and no one else. But this child, this child was lying here, clutching the arm he had so recently divested of the wretched Dark Mark close to his stomach. For a moment, Severus was lost for words. Then, he found them

“Harry, you infernal nuisance! Wake up this instant!”

Bright green eyes opened briefly before slamming shut. Suddenly the large lamp that had been bathing the two dark haired men in light was put out and all heads turned to watch it bob out of sight. When all eyes had looked their fill and turned to the scene on the bed, Harry was yawning and stretching, face screwed up in proclamation of youthful exhaustion.

“Any wider and you’d swallow us all whole” Severus remarked dryly.

Settling down onto the bed once more, Harry could only smile. “’M tired.”

“Tut! As well you should be!” snapped Madame Pompfrey. Harry, vaguely confused, watched interestedly as she waved her wand over and over, prodded his feet and few times and hit him with a spell that made his hands turn blue. He hadn’t a clue what she was going, really, but it was quite interesting to watch.

Not to mention the things she was mumbling to herself under her breath. Most of it was about ridiculously powerful children performing advanced magic that no one knew was possible, but occasionally she would muter about batty  old men sending innocent children to live with sadistic Muggles, and silly children who hadn’t the sense to tell a decent adult what was happening at home. All in all, the scene was very relaxing, even if he was sharing a bed with his not-so-evil potions professor, and if there was a whole herd of people watching him. Harry got the feeling that this should be bothering him, but found that right then, he hadn’t the strength to do much more than watch with a bit of bemused detachment.

When she was done, Harry turned to his professor and asked, “What did I miss?”, and was rewarded with an amused expression and a raised eyebrow.

And then, suddenly, there was a wand pointed right at his face. Severus instantly tensed, but his blurry eyes sought out the owner of said wand. It was Poppy. He relaxed.

“Madame Pompfrey, are there more tests that need to be ran?” came Lucius’ cultured drawl. “I can volunteer, seeing as Severus is still a mite disoriented.” There was an edge to his voice though, one that it seemed only Severus recognized.

Poppy’s wand never wavered. “You will get yours’ Mr. Malfoy, I can promise you.”

Something about her voice put Severus on edge. He studied her, the matron that had patched him up countless times before. Right now she seemed livid. Unhinged.

It was mind boggling.

Tucked against Severus’ side, Harry froze. Something was wrong. He felt  when Severus tensed and felt a spike of panic. But why was Madame Pompfrey pointing her wand at him. And why did she sound like that?

“You should be dead, Severus,” she said, voice laced with anger. “The Dark Lord should have killed you instantly when he found out you were a spy.” The hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stood on end. “My, my, you do seem to be quite lucky, don’t you?”

Opening his eyes just a fraction, Harry tried to get a glimpse of what was going on. What exactly had he missed? The last thing he remembered was his skull cleaving open in pain when his scar had seared. Really, he considered, it felt like his head had imploded. All he could see, though, was a wide swatch of his professor’s chest the way the man held him against him. Harry was even afraid to move.

The air was heavy with tension, and the professor was barely breathing. Why was Madame Pompfrey saying these things?

“Nothing to say, Severus?” the older woman taunted.

Severus remained stubbornly silent. Everyone in the room seemed to have frozen, and no one was daring to take a breath.

Madame Pompfrey shrugged, and steadied her wand. “No? No matter. You’ll have enough to say when you’re screaming in agony before the Lord you betrayed.” Harry felt the Professor stiffen, just a bit. “Have you noticed that no one has gone for their wand? It’s not because they don’t want to save you, Severus, make no mistake. There isn’t a person in this room who wouldn’t gladly jump in front of the Killing Curse for you if I so chose to cast it; but that is not my intention.” Harry heard he lick her lips, a loud smack resounding off the cold stone walls. “No, they are all, every one of them, bound by the magic invested in this wing through me.” Here she gave a hollow laugh, and Harry resisted the urge to shudder. Even still, he felt an arm curl around him possessively. “Albus, when you entrusted the Hospital wing in to my care and mine alone, you never dreamed it would be used against you like this, did you?”

There was a pause in which Dumbledore may have tried to answer, because the next thing Harry heard was Professor Snape’s voice asking, “They cannot speak?”

Poppy smiled, and Severus held the boy tighter. “They cannot. Neither can they move, even to blink. Magic truly is a wonderful thing, Severus, don’t you think?”

But he was not entertaining this madwoman. “So you do not plan on killing me? What about the boy?”

Poppy’s humorless laugh filled the room, and Harry squeezed the man holding him tight. Amidst his fear, his mind idly commented that for  the first time since the death of his parents, he had someone to cling to when he was terrified.

“Fishing for information, Severus? Tsk, tsk. I expected better of you. That wasn’t very Slytherin at all.” She sighed, put upon. “But I supposed you have had a rough time of it. And, really,” she said with a truly disturbing look on her face,” it won’t matter in the least if I tell you, anyway. You are, after all, going to die.”

Her wand traveled the length of his body, hovering over his and Harry’s abdomens and shivering dangerously. “I have orders to bring you to my Master. I only just received them today, you know, because this wretched boy,” Harry cried out as she gave him a sharp jab in the side, “had my lord incapacitated all this time!”

In a sweeping motion, Poppy brought her wand up and around, and by the manic gleam in her eye Severus felt the first stirrings of panic. In a move that required all his strength, he bodily picked Harry up and swept him over to the other bed, only to catch the Cruciatus curse himself.

Harry hit the bed and bounced, once, twice, and fell of the edge on the other side. Disorientation didn’t even register with him as he heard Snape, his Snape, scream. Rage flooded through him, there was a rushing in his ear and then fire rose up within him and Harry snapped.

Pure power radiated from his small frame as he hovered above the floor of the room, and a small part of him felt evilly satisfied at the look of terror that crossed the old matron’s face. With one wave of his hand, Snape and everyone else in the room was free, and Poppy was thrown across the room.

He edged closer to her, hovering near and nearer to the floor and paying no heed to anyone. He was absolutely, positively livid. How dare she be evil? Who did she think she was? Did she think she could harm his Snape and get away with it? A spell came whizzing from the direction of the fallen matron, but Harry diffused it before it so much as made it across the room. But NOW, SHE had made him more angry.

A wicked thought crossed his mind as he regarded the witch. What Snape was saying earlier about cores…..Moving on air, Harry swooped down on the witch, who squawked and tried to cover her head. Harry paid her no mind. He knew what he wanted.

Poppy’s magic was green. He didn’t know why, but that irritated him to no end. Nostrils flaring, Harry latched onto the green mass of power circulating in the elderly witch, and began siphoning it away from her person.

“Reducto!” she screamed, sending the red light toward him. Harry grinned evilly as the spell got caught in the raging funnel and disappeared. Was this the right course of action? Harry didn’t know. All he knew was, if this woman served Voldemort, she didn’t deserve magic. If he let her go to Azkaban as she was, there was a good chance she’d escape, and end up hurting some innocent person. This way, she was of no use to the evil bastard, and Harry quite liked putting the snaky-faced twerp out.

He felt the energy building, a ball of power becoming denser and more complete the longer he carried on. Finally, the ball could hold no more and there was no more magic left to drain. Almost gleefully, Harry spun away to the windows, through them open with a single though and released the unclaimed magic into the air.

The atmosphere shimmered. Birds, trees, magical creatures, everything that lived gave a simultaneous cry of joy as the magic flowed through them on its quest to ingratiate itself in nature. Harry, child that he was, smiled and did a little jig. Whatever the question of his motive, this had to be good.  

Slowly, he reached the ground. Someone was hurrying towards him, calling his name, but Harry was very tired. So very tired and though the floor wasn’t the least bit comfortable, it would have to do for the moment. His last thought before the world faded into deep, dark black was that maybe, just maybe, the Headmaster was right. Maybe he did have a little bit of power tucked into him, somewhere.