Snape stepped out onto the Russer’s hearth cautiously, wand at the ready even before uttering the destination from his own fireplace. As quiet as a summer breeze he stole across the room, checking the few small rooms of Ernie’s home. Finding the dwelling vacant, he held his wand out in front of him.

“Point me, Harry Potter.”

Slowly, the wand flinched a little to the right, the tip glowing ever so slightly indicating again, as was Severus’ assumption that the boy was far beyond the confines of Sunderland.

“Point me, Craig Russer.” he spat, the name feeling revolting on his tongue, and again, the wand repeated its performance. The two were together, of course. With a heavy tone, one that sounded with hesitation, reluctant to see the repeated tensing of the wand as it pointed away from town.

“Point me…Ernie Russer.”

Slowly, the tip of the wand changed to an azure green, shuddering gently against his palm as it pulled to the left. Severus’ eyes narrowed as he allowed the wand to guide his steps. Across the living room it led him, through the doorway and into Ernie’s private bedchamber. The wand pulled softly, directing the confused Professor to the low bed against the far wall, and then was motionless, almost falling from Severus’ grasp as it ended its escort.

Confused, Snape knelt down and checked under the bed, finding nothing except a small pair of tartan slippers. The bedside table revealed nothing of importance, and Severus rose, brow skewed in puzzlement as he scanned the area. His eyes fell upon a small, brown teddy bear lying against Ernie’s pillow. Bending down, he picked up the little bear and studied it, not recalling Ernie ever owning such an item, or certainly he would have teased him mercilessly about it. A tuft of white fur crowned the little animal’s head, jutting out in all directions, and a single, yellow, button eye stared back at him.

“Hideous little thing.” Severus said quietly, placing the bear back against the pillow.

Suddenly, eyes widening in realization, Severus brandished his wand and glared down at the toy.

“Finite Incantatem”

The little bear shuddered, twisting to and fro before it began to slowly grow larger, the bushy fur falling quietly to the floor, the gleaming button eye twitching madly as the toy transformed.

“Bloody well took you long enough!” spluttered Ernie as returned to his own form, rolling off the bed and glaring up at his friend.

“Harry has been taken.” Severus said tersely, ignoring the pointed look from his friend and striding back into the living room. “It seems Craig has...” Snape paused not entirely sure how to break the news of Craig’s deception.

“Not just Craig.” Ernie said gravely, following close behind. He stopped and looked up as Snape turned to face him. “I could hear everything.” Ernie explained. “I heard…I heard Craig. He’s done something, hasn’t he?” It was more a statement than a question, and Severus nodded solemnly.

“I believe while we attended the conference, Craig transformed himself using a Polyjuice and abused Harry. I do not know the extent of it.” he said quickly, seeing Ernie’s face contort with sudden anger. “I know only that the boy was beaten, nothing more.”

“There was another.” Ernie said quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose, head bowed. “I barely got a good look at him, it happened so fast. He had me as soon as I opened the door. Didn’t even have a chance to…I’m sorry, Severus.” he finished lamely, lifting his head to take in Snape’s understanding gaze.

“I hardly blame you for what’s happened.” Snape assured Ernie as his friend looked around suddenly, patting his pockets.

“Buggers took my wand.” Ernie mumbled, holding a splayed hand out in front of him and whispering a locating spell. He skittered around the room for a moment before pulling his wand from inside a vase of flowers, muttering various uncouth phrases as he wiped the rod dry with his robes. With a determined look, Ernie pocketed his wand and headed to the door, Severus in tow.

“Right.” Ernie said in a tone that chilled even Severus. “Let’s track down that bastard.”

“I have no doubt this mystery fellow and Craig are together with Harry.” Severus said stonily.

“I wasn’t talking about the other guy.” Ernie said heatedly, whispering a tracking spell and starting off down the sidewalk. “I was talking about my brother.”

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“For Merlin’s sake, Severus, slow down!” Ernie panted as the two ran mad dash into the Ministry of Magic. Wizards finishing their evening business in the building stared in curiosity as the pair ran through the main floor to the elevator. Severus pressed his thumb against the elevator call button almost a dozen times before snarling angrily at the small, glowing button as Ernie came to a halt beside him.

“I’m two feet tall you headstrong fool.” Ernie breathed as he bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. “You need to let me keep up, man.”

“Perhaps I could carry you.” Severus drawled, his voice laced with wrath as the elevator opened. He grabbed Ernie by the shoulder and pulled him into the car before mashing another button furiously.

Ernie slapped his friend’s hand away and threw him a glare that carried as much if not more intensity than if he had two eyes filled with flashing ire.

“Where is he?” Ernie whispered, looking at his watch for the tenth time since arriving in London.

“He will be here.” replied Severus, his eyes transfixed on the changing numbers as they flickered on the display screen above the door.

“I hope he was right about this.” Ernie said anxiously as the elevator came to a halt. “Because if he wasn’t…”

“Oh I am.” came the familiar voice as the elevator doors lurched open.

“Albus!” Ernie exclaimed, the relief evident in his tone.

With a solemn nod towards each wizard, Dumbledore stepped into the elevator, his cream robes cascading gently around his feet.

“It is unfortunate that we must meet under such circumstances.” Dumbledore said, removing his wand from his robes and flicking it gently at the small, metal door that contained the keypad. It swung open, and at a whispered spell, several of the numbers began to depress. Moments later the elevator shuddered and began its descent, and shortly after, the slow crawl backwards, the doors opening to reveal the lavish hallway.

“There are few who know about Cornelius’ private office.” Albus explained as the trio started off down the hall. Severus slowed as he eyed the scuffed carpet, and his heart tightened at the thought of Harry being forced down this very corridor.

“Wands at the ready, gentlemen.” Albus whispered. “I believe the Minister will be less than pleased at our intrusion.”

Wands drawn, the three approached the great, oak door. Severus lay the tip of his wand against the slab, the voices inside suddenly audible in the hall.

“This will all be over soon.” came the Minister’s voice, labored from the extended application of the curse. “A little more, there you go.”

“On three gentlemen.” Dumbledore whispered, receiving nods from both wizards.

“One……….two……”

“Three.” Severus said quickly, pushing open the officer door, wand turned on the first figure in sight.”

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Harry didn’t understand what was happening at first. He didn’t even feel the quill fall from his hand, or hear the shouts of dismay and anger echoing around the room. He started to topple, unable to bring his arms up to break hit fall, and fell like a marble statue against the corner of the desk, his face coming in contact with the sharp wood, the Imperius curse coming to an end as Fudge’s wand was brandished in a different direction, his concentration broken.

Realizing he could move once more, Harry scrambled away from the noise towards the Minister’s large desk, pulling himself up onto the dais and crawling quickly around the table and slipping underneath. He pushed himself into the corner, knees drawn to his chest, hands shaking uncontrollably, breaths coming in short, painful gasps as he huddled in terror.

The clamor in the room intensified. Shouted spells filled the air, and flashes of light from thrown curses crackled and snapped in showers of sparks.

Then there was silence.

“Harry?”

He ignored the request to show himself. Even after realizing it was Snape, even though he knew it was not the Professor who had harmed him, even though the voice was heavy with concern, the same voice that had promised him that one night that seemed a million nights ago.

I will not hit you

A lump formed in Harry’s throat as his name was repeated, and he swallowed hard, pain racing down his neck and across his chest, and there again, deep inside, the tiny shred of something lay wary and tired, but stirring none the less.

“Harry.”

The voice was much softer now, much closer, filled with hope and relief and panic all at once. Slowly, requiring much more effort than he felt capable of, Harry lifted his head and focused his eyes on the face of the Professor. Snape was crouched in front of him, Fudge’s chair pushed aside, his dark eyes alive with emotion, and the two stared at each other, the raised voices of wizards in the background.

Almost a minute passed, Severus allowing Harry to become accustomed to his presence, making no movement, offering no words of comfort. Though he had little knowledge of exactly what the boy had been through in his absence, all he had to do was look in Harry’s wild, green eyes to glimpse the apprehension and mistrust they held. Severus didn’t have to be told. Everything was right there, staring back at him from under the desk, searching his soul. Severus maintained the eye contact, grateful the boy could even stand to look at him. Could there be any hope for the child? Was he completely lost to the despair of his abuse?

“It wasn’t you.” The words were more breathed than spoken, and Severus shook his head gently.

“No.” he whispered, slowly extending his hand to the boy. “No, it was not.”

“It wasn’t you.” Harry repeated, eyes gleaming in the dim light, making no move to take the Professor’s hand, but not shying away from the attempted contact.

“It was not me.” affirmed Snape, glancing at Harry’s hands which were trembling against his chest. He lifted his outstretched hand slightly, repeating the offer of assistance. Forever seemed to pass in those moments, but finally the small hand slipped forward and hesitantly grazed against the Professor’s outstretched fingers. Snape quickly took Harry’s hand in his, feeling the cool, tremulous flesh against his warm palm, never taking his eyes from the boy’s, and just then there was a moment where he thought Harry might pull away, a tenseness in his grip, and he spoke with as much sincerity in his voice as he could summon as he repeated the promise he had made before the child allowed himself to trust for the first time.

“I will not let you go.”

With a gentle tug, he drew Harry out and to his feet, steadying the boy as he stumbled in his weakened state. He pulled the chair over and let Harry sink into the soft leather. It was all he could do not to embrace the boy, to comfort him, but the panic was still evident in those clenched, trembling hands, and Severus felt his skin crawl at the atrocities those hands had desperately tried to shield from.

“I will take you home.” Severus said quietly. “To my home.” he added quickly, lest Harry think he was being returned to his aunt and uncle. Harry merely nodded weakly, as Snape kept a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the man forcing the contact even at the jolt of fear that rippled through the boy at the touch. He would offer this small comfort at least, a promise that his touch was not to be feared, something he would likely have to prove to the child a thousand times over. Something he would gladly prove a million times over.

Harry flinched as Snape’s hand gently squeezed his shoulder. The touch was warm, tender, a little hesitant, and Harry’s cheeks reddened as he ducked his head. It hadn’t been the Professor who had harmed him, he knew that now, but the memory of those black robes, the scent of herbs and fire mingled with horror and flashes of pain, fear, and suffering. The emotions churned though him. The terrified bewilderment, desperation, the hopelessness, it was all there again, swirling around inside him, waiting to explode, waiting for release. Harry took in a deep breath, cringing at the pain of the sensation, like a thousand butterflies in his stomach, churning, ripping at his gut, clamoring in his throat, smothering him.

Harry clutched the sides of the chair in a vice grip. The Professor shifted beside him, and Harry knew the man was watching, knew he was studying him, and he gulped down the breath, forcing the swarm of emotion back down, deep down, down where no one would ever find them, where they couldn’t escape, not now, not ever. He closed his eyes, concentrating, pushing, forcing it all into the dark until all he could see was the black, but then the black started rippling, undulating, fluttering towards him like a dying bird, billowing black robes coming closer and closer.

With an almost inaudible gasp, he threw his eyes open, wincing at the light, feeling the Professor’s grip tighten ever so slightly as Snape stared down at him. Harry didn’t look up. Instead, he forced himself to look around the room, which was filling with Ministry officials. Both Craig and Fudge had been restrained, but even so, Dumbledore stood with his wand trained on both men.

“How could you?” Ernie shrieked, having climbed up onto a chair in order to confront his brother face to face. “How could you hurt a child? Why would you do such a thing? I’m so ashamed of you right now I could just -”

“Oh to hell with how you feel!” roared Craig, pulling against his restraints. “To hell with the great Ernie Russer! To hell with your goddamn potions and awards and all the other things you’ve rubbed in my face all my life!” Ernie froze, eye wide in shock.

“I’ve never done that!” he replied, his voice warbling with emotion. “I’ve always encouraged you, I tried to help you, I –”

“Bullshit!” Craig hissed, his voice rising to a shout as he continued. “You’ve never wanted me to be great at anything. Mum and Dad always went on about how fantastic you were at this, how amazing you were at that. All my life I’ve had to hear about how wonderful you are, how great of a wizard you were, and all I got was goddamn pity and bullshit and a pat on the goddamn head!”

Ernie looked on, stunned, as Craig continued his tirade.

“Then you get me some shit-for-brains job with a bunch of idiots that can’t tell a fucking telephone from a pony, and all I hear all day is how goddamn wonderful you are, what life saving potion you’re working on, and how lucky I must feel to have been adopted into your family. All I was was the poor little Muggle brother of the famous Ernie Russer. You think you’re so goddamn smart.” Craig spat, his eyes narrowed, pure hatred dripping from each word. “Let me tell you something, brother. I lived in your shadow for long enough. You tried to keep me down your whole life, and finally, when it’s my turn to shine, you hold me back…again.”

Ernie shook his head in disbelief, face pale; hands limp at his sides, tears spilling down his cheek.

“Jealousy?” he asked softly, his voice a mere whisper as he desperately tried to comprehend his brother’s words. “You did this because you were jealous of me? I love you, Craig.” he said piteously, one hand rising to be placed over his heart. “I love you more than you could ever realize. I can’t…I….if you had only…I…” The room was silent as Ernie’s voice broke, his soft weeping echoing off the walls.

“It probably won’t mean much.” Craig suddenly announced, lifting his head and focusing past Ernie, his eyes connecting with Harry’s. “But I’m sorry about what I had to do to you, kid.”

Harry felt the surge of anger from the man next to him. It was almost tangible, and Harry leaned away from the Professor, as if the fury would spill out and slice him to pieces.

“Had to do?” Snape questioned, outrage clearly etched on each word. “How dare you.” he continued releasing his hold on Harry and stepping forward. “How dare you apologize after what you’ve done.”

At Snape’s movement, several ministry officials startled, more than a few wands now making the furious Professor their target as others led Craig and Fudge from the room.

Dumbledore made his way towards Snape, pausing a moment to silently lay a hand on Ernie’s shoulder, waiting for the grateful nod before moving on, giving his own nod to Snape and taking his place at Harry’s side as the Professor stepped down from the dais.

Slowly, Ernie slipped down from the chair. He stood motionless, one hand on the wooden rail for support, brow furrowed in confusion as he turned and looked up at Severus.

“I….”

Severus knelt down, his face somber, obsidian eyes awhirl with pity and rage.

“I….” Ernie squeaked, overcome with emotion as he wrapped his arms around Severus.

“I know.” Snape said gently, pulling back and giving Ernie a sympathetic look before holding him close again. “I’m so sorry, Ernie.”

The little man nodded into the Professor’s shoulder. A long moment passed before Ernie cleared his throat and stepped back, allowed Severus to stand.

“Professor Snape?”

Severus turned to one of the officials and raised his eyebrows in reply.

“I will take care of this, if I may.” Albus said loudly, making his way down to the group. The petite, blonde witch gave the headmaster a guarded look.

“Professor Dumbledore, Sir, with all due respect, I think its best if I –”

“Allow Professor Snape to take his young charge home.” Albus interrupted. “I couldn’t agree with you more, young lady. Consultation would be best left until all involved are feeling up to task. An ideal proposal, I must say.” He reached into his robes and withdrew a small, carved bird, the greenstone shimmering under the bright office lights as he handed the little avian to Severus, who nodded wordlessly before making his way back up to where Harry was still seated.

“I really must –”

“Now my dear.” Albus cut in, earning an exasperated look from the witch, her face matching her crimson robes as he glared angrily at the headmaster. “I would be in your debt if you would be so kind as to escort my friend and me along with the prisoners. I believe there is much information to be gathered from the gentlemen involved.”

Harry watched as Snape approached him, the jade bird visible between his slender fingers as his other hand reached out to help him to his feet. Ignoring the gesture, Harry pushed himself out of the chair, feeling unsteady almost instantly, his head swam painfully, and his face ached where it had come in contact with the table when he’d fallen earlier. He closed his eyes, and there was the hand, Snape’s hand, fingers wrapping around his upper arm. Harry stiffened, flinching at the feel of those cold digits digging into his flesh, grabbing at his arms, pinning him, forcing him, and then they were at his face and his throat, snatching his breath and his life as he tried to breathe and breathe and breathe….

He wasn’t expecting the port key.

He felt the smoothness of the stone pressed against his hand, and suddenly everything was twisting as if caught in a tornado. Wind whipped at his hair and stung his face. He felt like he was floating, caught in some monstrous uptake of air. His eyes were still clenched shut, throat tight, chest heavy, and the hand was still here, harder now, almost panicked in its strength of grip, and suddenly there was ground beneath him, and his knees buckled, his hands slamming against the floor as the tumultuous journey came to a halt.

He felt the sudden warmth of a crackling fireplace on his cheek, and he cautiously opened his eyes. His fingers were entwined in the tassels of a thick, brown rug, and on the walls, gently shimmering candles sat in crystal sheaths, sending flickering tendrils of light out into the room.

Snape’s room.

Snape’s sitting room.

Harry he scrambled to his feet, his eyes on the door as his mind formulated a route of escape. Then it came to him. He wasn’t supposed to be afraid here. No one was supposed to hurt him here. Snape hadn’t hurt him, yes; he remembered that, he knew that. He didn’t feel relieved really, more just a strange kind of acceptance. All the other feelings were gone, locked away where they couldn’t escape, just like he had spent all his life wanting to escape, but couldn’t. They were all shut away like he had been.

Letting out a heavy breath, Harry looked around the room, his eyes coming to a stop on the Professor, who was standing several feet away, an odd, helpless look in his eyes.

“Harry?”

He blinked as if in answer, staring back at the man expectantly, then he shook his head quickly, like he did when the cobwebs floated down on his face at night in the cupboard.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I apologize for our sudden departure. There was not adequate time to prepare you for travel by port key.”

Harry nodded.

“That’s alright, Sir.” he replied softly.

Severus narrowed his eyes in confusion. He had been expecting a wild, panicked young man upon landing, certainly not the subdued Harry he was seeing. It was as if someone had flipped a switch on the boy’s feelings, not that it would surprise him. With all the child had been through recently he wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to feel anything. It would likely be a horrendous assault.

Just then, Della appeared in the doorway, emitting a high pitched squeal of delight at seeing Harry, her ears erect momentarily, only to fall against her head with a soft slapping sound.

“Little Master!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands and giving Harry a wistful look. “Della is being hoping you is to be back soon. Is Little Master being hungry? Della will be making anything you wish!”

Harry shook his head and gave the excited little elf a weak smile.

“No thank you, Della.” he replied. “I’m tired. I think I’d just like to go to bed.” he continued, glancing at the Professor, who gave him an approving nod.

“A fine idea.” Severus acknowledged, giving Della a dismissive look. Harry gave another half hearted smile as he followed Snape across the room to the foyer.

“I believe Della has tidied your room.” Severus explained as the two walked down the narrow hallway. “However there are several other guest rooms available should you prefer.”

Severus slowed to a stop turned to face Harry. The boy’s features were partly obscured by shadow, but in the flickering light Severus could see the impassiveness, the eyes devoid even of apprehension. “I would not blame you if you felt unease at returning to your previous quarters.” he said carefully, seeing no discernable expression with which to gauge Harry’s feelings. “Harry,” he continued, his voice taking on a compassion he never thought he could ever feel for another. “Harry whatever happened in that room, what Craig did…I…I should like to help you come to terms with. If you could just tell-”

“It’s alright, Professor.” Harry replied, his voice steady, methodical. “I know it wasn’t you.”

“But he looked like me, Harry. You thought it was me. I can scarcely imagine what must have gone through your mind thinking it was I who was hurting you.”

“But it wasn’t you!” Harry exclaimed, his voice hard with sudden anger. “It wasn’t you and it’s over now and it doesn’t matter!” He pushed passed Snape and headed towards his bedroom door with purposeful strides. He barely paused as he pushed the door open, the heavy wood hitting the wall as it was flung open, and Severus saw the tensing of the boy’s shoulders, the violent flinch at the crack before the door slammed shut behind him.

Severus stood alone in the hall, his eyes on the closed door. He couldn’t leave Harry like this, not in this state. He would have almost preferred a terrified, sobbing child as opposed to the detached young man he had just witnessed. It simply wasn’t possible for Harry to be this accepting of what had happened, not after the abuse he had suffered in his life. Suddenly it became all too important to learn of Craig’s treatment of the boy, and Severus’ blood ran cold at the thought of the inexpressive behaviour being the result of such severe cruelty.

A gentle tapping sound took his attention, and he turned to see Della standing at the end of the hall, head cocked to one side, one ear swaying softly as she looked at her master in anticipation. She shuffled a few steps further towards him, her bare feet slapping against the warm, wood floor as she made her way up the hall. As she reached him, Severus noted the stark, white object in her hand along with a tiny, pink vial, a small pot of healing balm he realized, and a Dreamless Sleep, taken from his own stores; however he had made no request for either item. Della paused, tentatively holding out the delicate glass jar and vial, eyes hopeful and gleaming, allowing her master to take the containers from her cupped hands.

“Ever insightful.” Severus murmured, allowing a fleeting smile to graze his features as Della’s face brightened into an ecstatic grin.

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Harry stood surveying the room. It seemed so much smaller in this light, with only the bedside lamp illuminating the space. Snape was right, Della had been busy. The room looked as pristine as the first day he’d arrived. The bed was made, with different sheets, Harry noticed, and his trunk sat in the corner. Harry eyed it anxiously. He didn’t want to look inside it, not yet. He stood near the door, hands quivering a little, his heart feeling as if it would explode in his chest, and he clenched his fists a few times, his fingers tingling. He walked slowly over to the bed, brushing his fingers across the duvet, and he noticed his pajamas, the beautiful black pair the Professor had gotten for him sitting folded on his pillow. Breathing deeply, he picked up the shirt and shook it gently, the soft cotton opening in a surge of rich, black folds. There was no tear in the fabric, no sign of the unraveling threads. Della must have repaired it.

He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. He didn’t think he could ever wear the pajamas again, not in this room especially. He carefully folded the shirt, picked up the pants, and took them over to the chest of drawers. He slipped them into one of the empty drawers and turned back to the bed. He’d just sleep in one of his old shirts, he decided.

He eyed the bed warily, his throat tightening at the sight of it. He swore he could feel fingers clutching at him, and he reached up, hand shaking, not even able to touch his own neck, his hand only ceasing its terrible trembling when it again hung at his side. Eyes closed in concentration; he forced back the panic until he didn’t feel afraid, and soon there was no racing of his heart, no tears prickling at his eyes, nothing but emptiness.

“Harry?”

He hadn’t even heard the knock at the door. His head shot up, eyes taking in the dark form of the Professor staring at him from across the room, eyes narrowed in concern.

“I came to see if there is anything you need.” Severus lied. He actually needed to see for himself that the boy was still alright. After being so close to losing him, his protective instincts had gone into overdrive, though he would never have admitted it. His hand dove into his pocket to retrieve the small jar of salve. The nasty contusion on the child’s cheek should be tended to anyway, something Della had noticed over him, even in her brief interaction with the boy.

“Oh.” Harry murmured.

“For your face.” Severus said, holding up the jar, the lilac cream glowing luminously within. Harry looked confused, obviously unaware he’d even been injured, and Severus’ heart clenched, both in anger and empathy. The boy had been wounded so significantly in his lifetime that a mere bruise was not even registered.

He stepped forward, making his way towards Harry, lifting a hand and pointing at the blue swelling on his cheek. “There.” he said, slowing to a stop before he got too close. He studied Harry’s features as he held out the jar, remaining as still as possible as the boy dipped two fingers into the pale purple cream.

“I don’t…” Harry said softly, pausing. He really couldn’t feel any pain, and he certainly didn’t recall hitting his face on anything, but with all that had gone on today, he wasn’t really sure of anything anymore.

“If I may.” Severus asked, waiting for a hesitant nod before taking Harry’s wrist, noticing the bruises there as well as he lifted the barely trembling hand to the boy’s cheek. Harry winced as his fingers pressed against the raised skin. Ouch, ok so he had hurt himself. He gently rubbed the ointment into the area, head down a little to avoid the Professor’s stare. He knew the man would have questions. It was impossible to expect to be left alone after all of this, but he didn’t want to talk about it right now, he just wanted to forget.

“Harry.” Snape started, depositing the glass jar back into his robes. “I realize you have been through a harrowing experience over the last week, but I…” his words trailed off, not knowing how on earth to start the conversation, knowing that the boy would fight him, knowing that whatever had transpired under Craig’s care was something Harry would repress in a desperate attempt to discount the abuse. Harry had lived with such violent mistreatment his entire life, and Severus recalled the horrific scenes he witness during his journey into the boy’s mind.

Suddenly it dawned on him. Perhaps if he offered the boy a safe haven in which to show the events; a calm, protected unconsciousness where Severus could view the memories. It was obvious verbalizing the abuse was on the verge of impossible for Potter, even before his arrival at the beginning of the Summer, but after allowing himself to finally trust, and then have that trust destroyed, it was doubtful he could put words to his emotions. “Harry.” Snape repeated, his voice more confident now as he began this new train of thought. “You have been through extremely traumatic events recently. For that, I…I am deeply sorry.” He watched as Harry’s frame stiffened almost instantly at the mention of the abuse, and it was all he could do not to pull the boy to him as he had soon after his arrival at the manor, feeling the wracking sobs against his chest as the hurt and suffering was released. “It is no doubt painful for you to discuss.” he continued. “Therefore I would like to offer you another option in order for you to communicate what took place here, and at the Ministry.”

Harry’s head slowly lifted, lower lip in its customary position, eyes narrowed, questioning him, the unease blatant in his stare.

“When I performed Legilimency on you previously, you were in an unconscious state. If you are amenable, I could recreate those circumstances and view your memories of the events without your having to repeat the experience yourself. You would –”

“No,” Harry said sharply, voice wavering even while uttering the single word.

“You would be quite safe.” Snape continued, his voice taking on an urgent tone as he fought to sway the boy.

“No.”

“I would not allow any harm to come to you. I would be right beside you the entire –”

“I said no!” Hary exclaimed, shaking his head emphatically. “Please, Professor.” he said imploringly. “I don’t want to see them, I don –”

“You would not relive the memories, Harry, I promise you. You would be oblivious to entire procedure.” Severus assured him as Harry backed away, his hands out in a halting, protective gesture. “I want to help you, child.” he pleaded as Harry shook his head repeatedly at his words, back up against the wall now, the emerald of his eyes shimmering more intensely with each second.

“Please don’t make me.” Harry managed hoarsely. It was so hard to keep the emotions back. Even now the Professor’s presence still drew the feelings from him, even after those two terrifying days when Harry had thought it was the Professor beating him, even though the sight of the man made his heart rend painfully, he still couldn’t forget the long awaited affection in the Professor’s touch. That’s what had made it so overwhelming to trust him, the amazing feeling of comfort and caring. The last four days had been unbearable because of it, those days when he thought he would die due to the pain, those days when he thought his heart would rip from his chest, those days when he believed he would never feel love again, that’s what hurt the most. It wasn’t the bruises or beatings or the belt slashing down, it was the immense fear of thinking the one person who had ever truly cared for him had stopped. Harry blew out a shuddering lungful of air. No, he had to keep it hidden, had to keep it buried.

He couldn’t feel.

He wouldn’t feel.

Snape watched painfully as Harry tried desperately to compose himself, his arms wrapped around his own torso protectively, white-knuckled in his intensity. He clearly couldn’t force the issue. The boy needed reassurance that his wishes would be heard and respected, a simple offering to most, but surely monumentus to a boy who under Craig’s administration likely had the most simple of wishes ignored.

“Alright.” Severus said, sighing softly. “I will not press the issue until your health has improved. I daresay a day or two of quiet rest would do you a world of good. We can revisit the idea when you are feeling up to it, alright?”

Harry nodded gratefully, letting out his own sigh of relief.

Severus reached into his robes and retrieved the vial. “Dreamless Sleep.” he explained. “Though you are clearly exhausted, I felt it best not to take chances. I know nightmares have haunted you in the past. I will leave this with you should you need it.”

Harry nodded again, one hand falling to his side, the other across his body tangling the opposite sleeve between unsteady fingers. He watched as the Professor sat the tiny vial down on the bedside table. He gave Harry one last supportive nod before exiting the room. Harry was suddenly freezing, shivering in the coolness of the room. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but all of a sudden he was absolutely icy. Forgoing pajamas in his frigid state, he slowly approached the bed, pulling back the sheet and duvet guardedly as if expecting something to leap out at him. Slipping off his shoes he quickly crept under the warm covers, ignoring the hollowness of his stomach, forcing the feeling down more quickly this time. He lay with his head on the pillow, eyeing the phial, the shimmering pink liquid sending a gentle surge of colour across the bedside table. He didn’t want the potion; he couldn’t become dependant on it like he had before, so desperate for it that he was willing to do anything for a single sip. He let himself get lost in the glimmering tint, staring until the hue was all he could see, his eyes sinking into the colour, slowly closing again and again until there was just blackness.

He didn’t remember the silencing spell. He didn’t even remember his wand was gone, and when the screams caught in his throat a few hours later, he was grateful that he awoke in time, able to stifle the screams into the pillow before they could be heard by the Professor.

It was nice to be grateful for something at least.

00000000000000000000000000

Severus looked up at the sound of the gentle whooshing emanating from the hearth. He wasn’t expecting company what with Ernie still in London sorting out the mess with his brother, and for a moment his fingers twitched habitually, wanting to reach for his wand.

“Albus.” he said, nodding as the headmaster stepped through the haze of swirling ash.

“Good afternoon, Severus.” The ancient wizard replied, a tired smile at his lips. “My apologies for not notifying you of my visit, but I just escorted Mr. Russer home and I could not think of returning to Hogwarts without checking on Harry. I should dearly like to know how he is doing.”

“That makes two of us.” muttered Severus, placing the book he had been reading down on an end table. “He has barely spoken in two days.” he explained, noticing Dumbledore’s questioning look. “He has done his best to isolate himself from me and has recounted nothing of his treatment by Craig. I felt if I gave him time he might come to me of his own volition, but I fear I may have done him more of an injustice by allowing him time to brood.”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

“Where is Harry now?” he asked. As if in answer, the door leading to the foyer swung open, revealing the young wizard, hair damp and windblown, his face sickly pale in comparison to his rosy cheeks which were reddened by the frigid air. His eyes were heavy lidded with fatigue and under the weary green eyes were tell-tale dark smudges of sleeplessness. His blank expression showed little change at seeing the headmaster.

“Harry!” Dumbledore exclaimed, clapping his hands together in excitement.

“Hello, Sir.” Harry replied politely, his voice so soft the older wizards had to strain to hear it.

“I see you have been enjoying this bout of cool weather.” Albus continued with a gentle smile. “I would be neglectful in my meddling however, if I declined to warn you about the dangers of exposing yourself to such harsh elements without a cloak.”

“Oh.” mumbled Harry, glancing down at his attire. He had forgotten his cloak, not that it mattered. He was grateful for the unseasonal cold snap, actually. The cold winds chilled him right to the core, it gave him something to focus on other than….no; he wasn’t going to think about that. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ll be more careful.” he replied woodenly. Without waiting for further conversation, Harry turned and walked out of the room leaving his Professor’s staring after him, concern shading both their features.

“He has forgone sleep since his return?” Albus asked.

“He denies it when questioned.” Snape replied. “But the evidence is unmistakable.”

“He does not look well, Severus.”

“I am not blind, Albus.” Severus retorted, followed by a long pause before he mumbled his next words. “My apologies.”

“You are concerned.” Albus said, smiling as he turned and walked back to the fireplace, Severus in tow. “I would not have thought it possible, Severus, but in entrusting Harry to your care I have seen a side of you I thought I would perish before witnessing.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at the glare he received, however the merriment faded as he continued. “But, it is with earnest that I warn you of what is to come. Harry is weakened, both in heart and in mind. It does him little benefit to avoid his feelings as he has.”

“This is beyond me, Albus.” Snape replied gravely. “It was beyond me weeks ago and it eludes me as to why you consistently believe I can do this boy a service, especially now.”

“Love works wonders, Severus.” Dumbledore said softly, placing a tender hand on his young colleague’s shoulder. “Even on the most impenetrable of hearts. I expect you need young Mr. Potter as much as he needs you.”

“The boy needs stability and permanence of care, not inane philosophy.” Severus replied angrily. “One does not cure the world’s ills with sentiment.”

“Not the world, Severus.” Dumbledore countered. “Just one child.”

Snape gave a customary snort and reached up to the mantle, taking down the heavy pot of floo powder. He poured a generous amount into the headmaster’s palm and gave him a farewell glower as the man swept into nothingness.

“Not the world.” he sneered as he shifted his cloak on his shoulders. He strode across the living room and into the foyer, ascending the stairs with purpose as he headed to Harry’s room.

Severus didn’t have to guess where the young man had gone. It had been the same for the last two days. If Harry wasn’t outside wandering aimlessly around the island, he was in his room, staring out the window, eyes barely registering the view, likely seeing little as he mulled over whatever threadbare emotions he was allowing himself to feel.

Guilt nagged at Snape as he knocked on Harry’s door, not bothering to wait for a spoken invitation, it never came anyway. This is exactly what he had warned that doddering old fool about countless times, his inexperience at dealing with such an emotionally distraught child. Of course he had dealt with Slytherins who had felt the wrath of an angry parent, but nothing like this, and now he had committed another indiscretion, giving the boy time and distance when the exact opposite would have likely settled things days ago. All he had done was made the inevitable more difficult for Harry to tolerate.

Harry barely looked up as Severus entered the room. He had managed to endure the last few days on the most inadequate amount of sleep ever, and he felt some warped sense of pride at having not wakened the Professor with his cries of distress in the night. He didn’t even need the silencing spell now. He had urgently trained his body to awaken after an hour or two of slumber, narrowly missing the REM sleep that fed him the almost intolerable nightmares. He felt constantly dazed, sure, but at least Snape hadn’t tried to get anything out of him, though at the man’s solemn stare, he got the uneasy feeling that was about to change.

“Come.” Snape sad, motioning to the bed. Obediently, albeit slowly, Harry walked over to the bed and settled onto it, cross-legged, hands tangled in his lap as he waited for the older wizard to begin. He steadied himself, trying to prepare for what would surely be an interrogation. His body felt numb from fatigue, his mouth dry and rancid tasting. Even breathing didn’t feel right, as if his lungs were only working at half capacity, and he took in a deep breath as if to test the theory, his chest aching as his lungs expanded. The sudden lightheadedness was startling, and he closed his eyes against the wave of dizziness, steadying himself with trembling hands against the mattress. Unnerved, he stole a glance at the Professor, who was looking at him as if a near faint was exactly what he expected. Returning his hands to his lap, Harry squared his shoulders. He could do this; whatever Snape was planning, he wouldn’t give the man an inch.

“Harry.” Snape said carefully. “First of all I would like to apologize to you.” Harry’s head shot up, completely caught off guard at the Professor’s words. “I apologize for not keeping you safe during your time here.” he continued gravely, his voice taking on an almost sad tone, and worry began to eat at Harry’s thoughts. Snape, sad? “I regret that you found pain in this home instead of stability and contentment, and I apologize for not being more aware of what you require in terms of healing. I…I feel I have failed you in that regard, and for that I am sorry.”

Harry wasn’t sure how to react. Snape was looking at him most sincerely, his face the picture of remorse, and Harry nodded slowly before replying.

“It’s alright, Sir.”

“No.” the Professor said matter-of-factly. “No, Harry, it is not alright, which is why I have come to settle this now. I understand how hard this will be for you, but in time you will come to see that I do this for your benefit only.”

Harry felt as if his heart literally stopped beating. His face drained of what little colour it still had as he stared at Snape in dread.

Severus took in a deep breath, not sure how the boy would react to his next words. “I know only that Craig struck you, and I can only assume the extent of the beatings based on the physical damage I witnessed upon my return from the conference.” He watched as Harry ducked his head, his fingers entwining anxiously as Snape continued. “I realize it is difficult for you to articulate your treatment at Craig’s hands. I assure you that you will feel nothing of what I am about to do.”

Harry’s head shot up, his face taut, eyes flashing accusingly.

“No!” he exclaimed, shuffling backwards at the sight of Snape reaching into his robes. “No, you can’t do that…that thing to me! You said we didn’t have to talk about it. You said I didn’t have to!”

Severus’ expression softened, his hand resting on his wand.

“What I said was that I would allow you some time.” Severus replied. “For the last few days you’ve been robotic. You’ve been through a terrible trauma and you’ve locked it all away. I see the turmoil within you, child, I see the fear and pain churning beneath the surface. I know you’re doing your best to hide it but it’s so clear you are suffering. I cannot allow you to continue like this.”

Harry shook his head, back pressed against the headboard, the top edge of the wood digging into the back of his head as the Professor pulled his sleek wand from his robes and rested it in his lap.

“Don’t. Don’t, please.” Harry begged, eyes on Snape’s wand. “I don’t….I can’t. I’m not ready. You said I didn’t have to until I was ready.”

“I will be with you.” Severus said calmly. “You will feel nothing, Harry, I swear it.”

“You said.” Harry said a little more forcefully this time. How could the man force him into this? It wasn’t at all fair. Why couldn’t he just leave him alone?

“Have you seen yourself lately?” Snape questioned, allowing a hint of reprimand to tinge his words. “If you think I can’t tell you’ve not been sleeping, I assure you, you are severely misguided in that perception. It takes little effort to decipher your emotional state if you recall.”

“Yeah, a one word book, I remember.” Harry replied, slightly annoyed as he slipped off the bed and walked over to the window. He stared out into the haze. The rain was much starting again, and the chill of the day was seeping through the glass causing goose bumps to gather on his bare arms. He felt the tiny bumps under his palm as he rubbed slowly at his forearm, trying to smooth away the cold as one would smooth the wrinkles from a shirt.

“Perhaps….we could start slowly.” Snape said, coming up beside the boy, seeing Harry start slightly at noticing him. “Perhaps you could start by answering a few undemanding yes or no questions. Would that be agreeable?”

Harry gulped noticeably, his eyes still on the murky gloom of the horizon. There was no way he was going to get Snape off his back now. Maybe if he just answered a few questions the man would just go. There couldn’t be anything bad about a few yes and no’s, right? He managed a jerky nod of agreement.

“I would ask, Harry,” Snape said solemnly. “that you answer truthfully. You have nothing to fear from me and nothing to gain from defiance, understood?”

Harry nodded again.

“Are you currently injured in any way that I am not aware of?” Snape asked, and Harry cringed at the obvious infuriation in the man’s voice. If anyone was easy to read, it was the Professor. Maybe he should learn to hide his feelings better instead of projecting them into every single syllable. One word book, huh? Harry mused irritably. He’s a bloody one word book. No, make that two. Pissed, and off.

“No.” Harry answered, and it was true. His face didn’t hurt anymore, and though his chest was still aching slightly, he didn’t really consider that an injury.

“Have you been sleeping at all?”

The next question. A little harder, Harry thought, but answerable. Snape already knew anyway. It’s not like he was revealing anything new.

“Not really.” he replied. Great, now the man was going to insist on sitting with him at night again. He really should think a little more before answering these he thought, but it was so hard to focus when he was so damn tired.

There was a pause then, a long one, long enough to start an uncomfortable feeling swirling in Harry’s stomach, and he knew something was coming, a question he didn’t want to answer, a feeling he didn’t want to feel, and he ceased the slow strokes on his arm, his fingers tightening into the flesh as the Professor stood quietly beside him.

Finally the man spoke; his voice on the verge of a whisper, and Harry could tell that Snape already knew the answer to this question too.

“The nightmares have returned I assume?”

Harry gulped. It didn’t matter that he’d been careful. It didn’t matter that his screams were cut short. Snape knew. He knew because he knew Harry, knew the pain he had suffered at the hands of his uncle, the pain of the nightmares, the pain of the beatings and starvation and hatred and shame, and Harry felt the emotions rising within him, churning, threatening to spill out just as they did that day when he had admitted his family’s loathing of him. He shivered as he recalled the spectacular warmth of being held in real, honest affection, Snape’s arms encompassing him, the whispers of thanks at finally sharing the grief, of allowing Snape to bear it alongside him to ease Harry’s burden. He unclenched his fingers from his arm and pressed his hand hard against his stomach. He couldn’t let them out now; he just couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted the relief of comfort, no matter how desperately he needed the Professor’s strong arms around him, anchoring him, allowing him to finally feel safe, feel wanted, feel loved.

Oh God how he wanted it.

“No.” Harry whispered, closing his eyes hard, breathing hard as he forced the feelings back down. No, he couldn’t trust again. He couldn’t take the chance. It hurt too much. It ripped him apart, tore his world apart. It ravaged him, ate him alive. No way was he going through that again. It would kill him.

“No?” Severus repeated incredulously. His eyes clouded with worry as Harry’s breaths quickened, the boy’s hand slipping from his arm to clutch at his abdomen, eyes clenched shut. The response wasn’t directed at him, he was sure, but rather something internal, something the child was fighting. Something strong. “Harry?” He reached out, his fingers brushing against Harry’s shoulder, his palm barely making contact when Harry recoiled, eyes wide. He took several stumbling steps backwards; eyes locked with Snape’s, those obsidian orbs boring into him.

Severus hadn’t broken his promise; he hadn’t used Legilimency on the boy. Something happened when their eyes met, as if the memories were thrust at him, pushed into his consciousness. They came fast and furious, assaulting Severus’ mind with explosions of emotion, the intensity of which was almost overwhelming. An image flashed of him standing over Harry, a cruel smirk on his face, and he felt the concentrated terror as the image faded as quickly as it came into view. Pictures skittered across his consciousness so quickly he barely had time to register each one before it was replaced by another, each of Snape, arm always raised, eyes glinting with a cruel exhilaration, and each accompanied by the most powerful feeling of fear he had ever witnessed.

It all happened in an instant, less than a second, and as the last image faded he was hit by a final emotion, a yearning, a primitive hunger, a longing, and Severus blinked rapidly, eyes still locked with Harry’s.

There was still hope.

Amid the devastation and fear, there was the smallest glimmer of faith, a shred of anticipation that Snape thought had been eradicated from the boy, torn from him as a storm would tear a fragile leaf from a tree. But he had felt it, it was there, buried beneath a thousand lifetimes of pain, but it was there. Harry wanted to be loved, so desperately he wanted it, but he was so afraid of being hurt, so deathly afraid that he would rather never feel the emotion again than have his trust shattered.

“Harry.” Snape whispered, his voice raw, almost frantic after the onslaught of sensations.

Harry froze, mind awhirl. He had felt the brief penetration of his mind, the unsettling brushing against his memories by another presence, and now the Professor was glaring at him, barely able to say his name. Harry hadn’t meant to do it. He hadn’t meant to show Snape the tempest of chaotic emotions he was trying so hard to keep hidden, but they were frothing so close to the top now, boiling over like a saucepan of milk on a hot stove, and Harry had seen them too, the horrific glances of the beatings by the hand of a transfigured Craig.

He hadn’t meant to show them.

Harry bolted. Urged on by fear he turned and ran across the room, legs barely able to carry him fast enough as he fled down the hall. He slammed against the stair rail, taking the steps three at a time before throwing himself against the door to the foyer, not even knowing why he was running, not even conscious of his mind screaming at him to stop, to go back, so stop running and hiding and…

He burst out of the front door, the heavy rain pelting against his skin, the wind grabbing at his shirt with bitter fingers, his body instantly ice cold as he slowed to a brisk walk down the great stairs, bare feet slapping against the wet stone before squelching into the sopping grass, mud between his toes, drenched now, crying now, exhausted, overcome, lost.

“Harry!” Snape called from behind him. Harry didn’t turn around as he continued his pace towards the trees. Severus followed, closing in on him as he trudged purposefully across the lawn.

“Harry!” he called, certain the boy could hear him now, but his call was ignored.

“What?” Harry screamed suddenly, turning towards the Professor. “What?” he screeched again, arms spread wide, rivulets of rain streaming down his face.

Without waiting for a response, Harry bent down and picked up a good sized tree branch and threw it as hard as he could at the Professor. Severus ducked, the thick wood thudding into the wet grass behind him. He rose, understanding, knowing how much pain was inside this child.

His child.

He stood in silence as Harry took another tree limb, larger this time, and with much effort hurled it towards him. It fell several feet to his left, sending mud spattering across Snape’s robes, but still he didn’t move.

Half sobbing and panting in exertion, Harry stumbled to another branch, the rain and tears clouding his vision as the rough wood scraped his hands. He gathered the log in his arms and turned towards the Professor, tossing the wood with all his might. This time is landed at Snape’s feet, the man not even moving as the heavy log flew towards him.

“What?” Harry screamed, glaring at the Professor who was staring back at him, his face a mix of sadness and understanding.

“What? What?” Harry shouted, turning and wiping his hand across his face. The rain was beating down mercilessly now as he headed for another fallen branch. He lifted it in his hands, his fingers numb from cold, blood from the cuts from sharp splinters running across his palms, the reddened rainwater sliding down the length of wood. He turned to the Professor and lifted the branch above his head, and for a moment Severus thought he might have to defend himself against the distraught boy, but Harry turned again, bringing the branch down against the trunk of one of the smaller trees, smashing at the thin limbs, the cracking of broken wood barely audible over the downpour.

“Why?” Harry cried, slamming the branch against the tree. Again and again he made his attack against the slender trunk, shattered branches hanging awkwardly, chunks of wood falling noiselessly into the grass.

“Why?” Harry shouted into the blanket of rain. He was crying freely now, muscles afire with pain as he tried to lift the heavy branch again, but it fell from his hands landing heavily on the muddy lawn.

Severus took a step forward as Harry whirled around to face him. His eyes were bleary and red as he stared at the Professor.

“Why?” Harry asked weakly as Snape took another slow step towards him. Only a few feet separated them now, and Severus looked down at the boy, Harry staring up at him, his face a heartbreaking expression of hopelessness, his whole body shaking as the adrenalin that had fueled his rampage slowly dissipated.

“I don’t know.” Severus said sadly, shaking his head as he took another step, closing the gap between them, his wet robes flapping in the twisting winds.

“But I didn’t...” Harry sobbed. “I didn’t…and I tried so hard, but…why would he…I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“No, child.” Severus replied gently. “You didn’t do a thing wrong, I promise you that.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Harry repeated. “I didn’t do…anything!” he sobbed, throwing his fists at Severus’ chest. “I didn’t…I…I did…didn’t do….” The words didn’t make even sense anymore. He sobbed them over and over as he brought his fists down against the Professor, and Serverus stood unwavering, allowing the assault, the attack causing no pain in Harry’s weakened state, and soon after Harry found himself against those beaten robes, falling into them, clutching them for dear life, sobbing against the saturated cloth, screaming against them, and there was the Professor, there was his anchor, the hope he needed, the love he needed, and the arms were there too, heavy on his back, pulling him close, holding him.

He stood there in the storm, tears mixed with rain and anguished cries, Snape’s arms tight around him, never faltering, never for a moment releasing him from their hold, and as the rain slowed so did the tears, the sky as drained as he was as he held on to the only true feeling of love he had ever experienced. Finally, as the glimmering fingers of sun appeared through the parting clouds, so too did the tiny spark of trust within him. He felt it, alive, almost too small to be noticed, but alive, and it gave him the smallest measure of hope as he heard Snape repeat the promise he had whispered a hundred times through the rain.

I will not let you go.