He woke surrounded by complete darkness. Petrified, he tried to quell his rising panic. His mind was racing with questions as he fought to quickly regain his bearings.

The last thing he knew was that he had been weeding  the Dursleys’ flower beds during the still stifling hot evening hours. But his brain felt so fuzzy at the moment and he could hardly concentrate due to the dull throbbing that radiated from his spine up to his temples.

Even though a fight seemed likely to him, he could not imagine that the Death Eaters would put him to bed on a butter-soft mattress with fluffy pillows and a cosy blanket . That would have been more along the lines of a damp, rat-infested dungeon cell.

But when anything had happened during his stay at the Dursley’s home, they would have brought him to St. Mungo’s, Hogwarts or even to Grimauld place. St. Mungo’s was out of question because by now he would have been smothered by a swarm of medi-wizards and nurses. Hogwards also seemed not to be possible. Neither his dormitory in Gryffindor nor the hospital wing could ever get this dark. In Grimauld place, such complete darkness was could be achieved but there was always this distinct smell of dust, mould and – oddly – cheese in the air. So, when he was not somewhere where his friends would take him to, then...  

Before he could even act on impulse, Moody’s – paranoid but nonetheless invalueable - lessons kicked in. Before summer, he had taught him how to behave in unknown situations and even though he was hard pressed to exert patience under these circumstances, he decided to proceed just as he had been trained to do.

He could almost hear Moody’s voice reciting his endless stream of rules over and over again. So far, he had not moved yet. Should they really have cast monitoring charms on him, then the slightest movement would send them running to him in a matter of seconds. Lying perfectly still, he let his eyes wander. His search of the room proved to be as absolutely fruitless as before. In the pitch blackness of the room, his eyes could make out neither threats nor his wand or any weapons. Nothing at all.

He had to fight the bile rising in his throat as a fresh wave of panic hit him. His wand. Without it, he would be practically defenceless. Sure, as a muggle-raised he knew how to throw a punch if needed but what good would that do him against fully grown wizards WITH wands or – heaven forbid – against Voldemort. Unbidden, another Moody rule popped up in his head.

That was a real bummer, because one of his greatest strengths had always been that he was really good at defence – but therefore his wand was needed. So what about his weaknesses? He almost had to laugh at the irony of that thought. Under these circumstances, he could hardly become any more helpless: In unknown territory, without a clue where his wand was and not the slightest idea who had placed him on the bed or could be lurking outside of this room. To top it off, the pounding in his temples grew steadily to a fully fledged killer of a headache.

There was no way around it, he would have to move to get any information even if there was a chance that it would alert his captors.

He was almost certain that he would find the door locked. That would be the most logical thing to do. But he thought that would have a fair chance of escape when he crouched next to the door to catch the next person that came in by surprise, knock him out, snatch his wand and make a run for it. Not the best of plans, but with a little bit of luck he would be able to make it out of here. Mentally, he set his countdown. He had to be ready when somebody came in.

Muscles coiled to propel him into action he flung his covers aside and leaped out of bed. Or at least – he tried. The bed was surrounded by a cushioning charm that prevented him from even setting a foot on the ground. He sat in stunned silence.

Trapped on the bed – with only a blanket and pillows as weapons – he saw a sudden ray of light shining under the door on the far right side of the room. The next he could make out were faint footsteps growing louder until they came to a sudden stop. The light under the door was somewhat blocked by a pair of shoes.

He heard a murmured incantation.  The door swung open to reveal a dark silhouette against the overly bright illumination of the hallway. Squinting against the sudden flash of brightness, he could hardly belief his eyes.

Chapter 2

He would have preferred to have sounded more calm and collected but under these circumstances, all he could manage was an undignified high-pitched shriek.

“Snape?”

So, this was really the last person he would ever have ever imagined to come into the room. Just as Harry’s eyes had finally adjusted to the sudden flash of light from the hallway, he witnessed how Snape’s controlled and superior expression transform into his trademark sneer.

“It is ‘Professor Snape’ to you, Potter!”

For a moment, Harry wondered how Snape always managed to speak while still sneering. He knew nobody else who could talk while grimacing or distorting the lips like that.

But on the other hand, Harry thought, this is probably not a grimace but his natural expression.

Snickering softly to himself, Harry was badly startled when the dark, looming Potions master was suddenly standing right in front of him.

“Professor, what...” was as far as he could manage to gasp because he was crudely interrupted by Snape’s icy drawl. “Quiet, Potter.” This being said, the Professor pulled his wand from his sleeve and pointed it right at Harry’s face.

Being held at wand-point, all Harry could do was sit, stare and wait. While he was still at a disadvantage, he had no desire to anger Snape in any further. But this would surely be the case as soon as he opened his mouth again.

So, for the moment, with his lips firmly sealed, he observed Snape murmuring spells that seemed oddly familiar. Even though he did not fully understand the words, he could recognize a certain pattern in the Professor’s pronunciation.

Where do I know these spells from?

Agitatedly, he tried to remember but came up with nothing. But this was to be expected because the pounding in his temples felt like jackhammers were smashing his brain. Right now, Snape could practically curse him to hell and back again without Harry standing a chance against him. Ever since he had learned of Snape’s position as a spy for the Order, he had thought that the man could at least be trusted not to betray him to Voldemort. But who knew? Maybe he had doubelcrossed Dumbledore and now he would have to pay for the old man’s mistake?

What could have happened that I would be left alone here with Snape of all people?

All those unanswered questions were heavily grating on Harry’s nerves – but Snape seemed so wholly absorbed in his chanting and wand-waving, that he was sure that there would be no answers for him in the near future. The Potions master ignored him completely which was a rather welcome improvement from the typical accusations and insults he usually threw at Harry.

Abruptly, Harry realized that the Professor had stopped his incantation. Harry had to crane his neck slightly to look the man in the eyes. He was met with Snape’s completely focused black gaze - dead centre. Squirming uncomfortable, Harry managed to meet his stare for a few painfully long seconds.

Just as he was about to – against better judgement – open his mouth again to tentatively ask his Professor some of his most pressing questions, Snape’s eyes narrowed. Before he could even utter a single syllable, Snape whispered hotly:

“You will stay in bed for the remainder of the night. Should you have the audacity to try to set just one foot on the ground, I swear to you that you will get intimately acquainted with the words ‘severe’ and ‘ punishment’. “

At Harry’s open-mouthed stare, he just barked: “Am I understood?”

Hastily, Harry stammered an affirmative whereupon Snape shot him a final glare and turned around in a flurry of billowing black robes. Without looking back, he shut the door and Harry was once again engulfed in the room’s inky darkness.

To be continued...

Harry was sitting propped up against the headboard because by now lying down was too painful. Snape had neither allowed him out of bed nor cancelled the cushioning charm he had cast around it. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting in the darkness, for he had not found any sleep that night, his bladder was ready to burst and he had no possibility to get out of bed to search for the nearest bathroom.

Finally...

The crack under the door was again flooded with light so – hopefully –  Snape would not take much longer to make his appearance. That he would actually be looking forward to seeing Snape was a miracle in itself to Harry. But every means necessary to prevent himself from having an ‘accident’ were acceptable. Even if that meant having to endure some time in the presence of his Potions teacher. Snape would never let him live that down. 

If Harry had anticipated that Snape would come barging into the room he was sorely mistaken. The door was slowly and silently pushed open to reveal Snape, clad in his usual dark robes but sans his trademark sneer.

“You are awake.” It was not a question but a statement. It seemed as if Snape would have bet on Harry still being cosily snoring between the sheets. Without waiting for an answer, he moved over to Harry’s bedside and pulled out his wand.

Even though Harry knew firsthand of the man’s volatile temper, he threw all caution in the wind for fear of having a repeat of yesterday evening. Before Snape could get started with whatever incantation he wanted to subject Harry to, the boy spoke up.

“Professor, I really need to use the bathroom. Could you...” Halfway through the sentence, he ran out of steam. Snape was really giving him the creeps with that look on his face that was devoid of any emotion. Harry felt like a bug under a microscope. With a swish of the Potions master’s wand, the wards around the bed fell.

“The bathroom is in the hallway, the second door to your left. Be quick about it. Should you not be back in this room in exactly 4 minutes, I will come to get you and neither of us would like that.”

With this threat ringing in his ears, Harry practically sprinted from the room. He felt slightly dizzy but made it to the bathroom just fine. After he tended to his necessities in record time, he went to the sink in order to wash his hands and face. As he raised his wet face back up to the mirror, he noticed something was off. Checking  his reflection more closely, his jaw dropped open in surprise.

My scar is gone.....

At a loss, Harry just continued to stare. He neither heard the rap of knuckles on the door nor Snape’s inquiry about what was taking him so long. Face still dripping water, he stood shell-shocked. Of course, he saw that the scar was gone. But he could not comprehend that the visible reminder of his parents’ sacrifice as well as the mark that had always set him apart from everyone else was just gone. Just like that.

Dazed, Harry twisted his head around as a hand was placed on his shoulder. Snape’s expression was neutral. Without saying a word, he steered the shocked boy – with a firm but gentle grip on his shoulder - out of the bathroom, through the narrow hallway and down a flight of stairs. They came to a stop in a large, old-fashioned living room. He made Harry sit down on one of the couches and seated himself across from the boy on a worn-looking armchair.

“Niffy.” At the Professor’s summons, a house elf appeared right next to the coffee table. “What can Niffy do for Master Snape?” Her tiny, nasal voice had Harry glazing up. He took in his surroundings as if he had not even realized that he had moved from the bathroom.

“Two cups of tea for me and a light breakfast for Pot....” Uncharacteristically, the Potions master halted in mid-sentence. Still feeling slightly detached from the whole scene, Harry watched his Potions teacher clear his throat.

“And a light breakfast for Harry.” At that, the house elf disappeared with a soft cracking noise and left Harry and Snape alone in the room. Neither of them spoke a word. Harry, who had not even recovered from the first shock, was just plainly astonished. He would never have thought to hear his given name to come across this man’s lips. Snape seemed to be a little shaken as well. For all the fame of his sharp tongue and sarcastic remarks, he was unsure how to start the conversation that he would have to have with the boy.

Out of thin air, two cups of tea as well as a bowl of porridge and a plate of slightly buttered toast appeared on the table. Giving the breakfast a listless once-over, Harry gaze wandered back to Snape. The man reached out with his hand to grab one of the delicate teacups. After taking a sip, he met Harry’s eyes.

“Eat, you quite need it. After breakfast, I will answer the questions I am sure you might have.”

Even though eating in Snape’s presence was nothing new to him– in Hogwarts, Harry did that all the time in the Great Hall – it was still slightly unsettling because now he was alone with him. The man sat in utter silence, soundlessly sipping his tea and simply watching him eat. Being the sole focus of others had always kind of bothered Harry and would normally have dampened any hunger he might have felt. But after he had taken the first few bites, he realized that he was actually ravenously starving and the slightly sweetened porridge with crispy, buttered toast seemed to him like a meal fit for kings.

Merlin, when did I last eat? And Snape feeding me – Ron won’t ever believe me that the greasy git of the dungeons can actually act civil ‘round others.....

Still immersed in his thoughts, Harry looked up at a sudden flickering of light to his right. Now, a fire was merrily roaring in the fireplace and he could see that Snape was re-stashing his wand in his sleeve. The warmth that radiated from the hearth quickly warmed Harry’s body. Still clad in his pyjamas, he had not even realized how cold he was getting until Snape had started the fire.

Why doesn’t he say anyth.... – right, first breakfast, then answers!!!

Harry made quick work of the last piece of toast before he sat up properly to regard his professor expectantly. In one fluid motion, Snape’s wand was back in his hand and he tapped the table twice. At once, Harry’s breakfast dishes disappeared and a fresh pot of tea reappeared. Wand still in hand, he stood up from his armchair and walked over to Harry.

Rule number 1: Don’t ever be unarmed in the presence of another witch or wizard. In your case, Harry - Best never be unarmed at all. Constant vigilance!!!

Moody’s favourite rule popped up in Harry’s mind as he saw Snape nearing him. Not that a decent meal, uncharacteristically civil behaviour and the promise of answers alleviated all of his fears, but he had to admit that the past few, quiet minutes had helped him to settle his nerves.

Snape would not feed me just to kill me afterwards. By now, he has had plenty of opportunities to kill me and I am still breathing.

Snape stopped in front of the pyjama-clad boy and reached out his free hand to grasp Harry’s chin between potion-stained fingers. Even though he was almost sure that Snape meant him no bodily harm at the moment, Harry could not suppress a slight flinch as the spy’s wand was directly pointed at his forehead.

“Hold still, Harry. I may have a mastery in potions but my expertise in the arts of healing are regrettably limited. Any movement during the diagnostic spell may falsify the results so I need you the cease any motion for the duration of the reading.”

Without waiting for an answer, Snape started the incantation. Harry did his best not to move and listened to the low-chanted spell. He realized that this was the same one as it had been the night before and, now, after the Potions master’s explanation, he recognized it from his numerous stays at the hospital wing.

After a minute of two, Snape released his chin and pointed his wand to the centre of the room. Swirling mist emerged from the wand’s tip and formed the silvery shape of the man’s patronus. For a few seconds, the ghostly doe held the Potions master’s gaze, then turned around abruptly and bounded off right through the wall.

“Professor, what is going on?” Harry asked, still amazed by the fact that Snape was able to conjure a patronus wordlessly.

At that, the Professor looked down at him. He reclaimed his seat in the overstuffed armchair before saying, “We may as well start from the beginning. What is the last thing you remember before waking up in this house?”

As hard as he tried, the last thing Harry could remember clearly was crouching in the Dursley’s backyard, tending to Petunia’s prized rose-bushes. Everything else was fuzzy and he could not focus his mind any further beyond this memory.

“I was at the Dursley’s in Little Whinging and working in their garden. I think it was not yet that late – the sun was only just beginning to set, but other than that, I don’t know anything, sir.”

At that, Snape nodded briskly. “Very well. In any case, I had not thought that you would be able to have anymore recollection of that night’s events. As you have undoubtly guessed by now, your home was attacked by Death eaters.”

Severus Snape would have expected the boy to have any kind of emotional outburst after hearing that one of the worst things that could have happened to him had actually come true. But as it was, Harry just sat there, absorbing any morsel of information and waiting for more.

So – the boy can actually pay attention if he really wants to.

 Slightly surprised but pleased to continue without any interruption, the Potions master took a deep breath to continue with the hardest part of story.

“As you surely know, the blood wards have kept you safe as long as they were bound to your aunt’s life as she was the last living link to your mother’s lineage. Unfortunately, the Dursley’s did not heed the Headmaster’s warning to remain within the perimeters in which their safety could be ensured by Order members. They were killed in a Death eater ambush on their way home from a shopping trip to London.”

At that, Harry upper body sagged forward so that his forehead came to rest on top of his knees. He brought up his arms, hugging them tightly around his head as if to protect himself from reality. Slightly shaking, his mind was reeling.

More deaths – because of me... I should not have gone back there – I’m a danger to anybody near me... Did they have to suffer – were they tortured??? They’d be alive if they had never known me...

“...ry.”

Gradually, Harry registered that somebody was touching his arm and repeating his name every few seconds. He slowly forced his head around in the direction of Snape’s voice. By now, the man sat beside him on the couch. As Snape noticed that the boy’s attention had returned from his inner musings to the present events, he took gentle hold of one of Harry’s shoulders and helped the teen to sit back up.

Just sitting there, Harry felt empty and drained of any emotions. It was not like he had felt when Sirius had fallen through the veil. Back then, he had experienced bone-wrenching grief as well as anger. Furious anger and rage.

He had never harboured any kind feelings towards the Dursley’s. Since he had started to attend Hogwarts, they had had to endure each other’s presence only during the summer holidays. They had always been disgusted by him. They had always wished for him to be gone from their home. And Harry had always wanted nothing more than to be gone from them. From their constant accusations, their screaming, their bullying and from Vernon’s occasional beatings. But that he had hated to be anywhere near his so-called family had not meant that he had wished for them to die. Especially not at the hands of Death eaters.

Harry sat there, staring into nothingness. He vaguely noticed a hand applying gentle pressure to his neck, tilting it slightly backwards. A vial was being pressed to his lips. A smooth and slick concoction flowed into his mouth and he swallowed reflexively.

At once, Harry became aware of the awfully foul taste in his mouth - like rotten eggs with sweat-soaked gym socks doused in sickly sweet raspberry syrup.

Urgh!!!!

Resisting the urge to be sick all over the place, he lunged for his cup of tepid tea and swallowed all there was left of it in one desperate gulp. Calming draughts, for all their positive properties, always had a lingering aftertaste that was almost as bad as when they first touched your tongue. Still swallowing convulsively, he turned to fix Snape - the source of the foul taste - with his most menacing glare. Wholly unaffected, the Potions master merrily raised one eyebrow.

Without waiting for the Harry to formulate a question, Snape held up a silencing hand. “You were going into shock. I thought it unwise to let you sink any further into your aimless thoughts of self-reproach for not protecting or saving your relatives. They knew the rules they had to abide to for the duration of your stay. It is not as if they had not been very generously compensated for the discomfort to stay within the secured perimeters for such a short time-span as you summer holidays.

In these times, no one is safe. Neither the people within the wizarding community nor the muggles. However, they thought themselves to be above the rules that would have kept them safe – safer from the Dark Lord and his followers than most other people are in the world. But they had to go shopping – of all the dim-witted reasons to leave safety,” the Professor said, unable to suppress a disgusted sneer.

“They died because of their eagerness to place themselves in danger for some meaningless tinkers to bolster their self-esteem. They did not – and I repeat that for you, Harry – they did not die because of you.”

By the end of Snape’s speech, Harry had tears streaming down his face. The man who he presumed to loath him - short of Voldemort - most in the world, had just told him exactly what he wanted to hear. What he needed to hear. At this point, Harry did no longer question why his Professor was suddenly nice to him, he was just grateful that he was.

“Should we postpone this to a later hour or do you wish to continue?”

Wiping with his sleeves at his tear-stained face, Harry looked into the roaring flames of the fireplace. “I just want to know what happened – to get it over with...” Absently nodding to himself, Snape used his wand to transfigure a sugar cube on the table into a box of tissues. Wordlessly, he pushed the box into Harry’s line of sight. Watching the boy closely for any signs of overexertion, Snape continued.

“After the ... attack on your relatives, the blood wards fell at once. One of the Headmaster’s precautions to ensure your safety had been to set up charms to alert all of the Order members should the wards be compromised or failing. Within seconds, all available witches and wizards of the Order apparated to Privet Drive to defend you from harm. Regrettably, those few seconds delay had been enough for the Death eaters that had already lain in waiting.”

Snape pause, as if to compose himself for what he had to reveal next. By now, Harry had turned back to look at his Professor and was listening to his every word with rapt attention. Nothing could have prepared him for the next eight words that came over Snape’s lips.

“You were hit by the killing curse – again.”

 Snape had spoken the words loud and clear. There was no way he could have misunderstood their meaning. Harry’s already pale face turned sickly ashen. He swayed slightly in his seat and put his hand up to his forehead where the lightning-bolt shaped scar had formerly marred his skin. Before he could even demand an explanation, Snape stood up and moved infront of Harry in one fluid motion.

He swept Harry’s legs up onto the couch and – with gently force – made the stunned Harry stretch out flat on the cushioned surface. “I should have known that all of this would be too much to handle for you at once,” the potions master muttered, more to himself than to the boy. When Harry tried to move, the Professors hand on his chest would not let him sit up again.

He needed to know how he could still be alive after he had been Ava-Kedavra-ed.  “Professor, I ...” Harry tried to reason with Snape but was interrupted as the man crouched down next to the couch to examine him more closely. He was sure that the former-Death-eater-now-turned-spy must have seen something he disapproved of because a determined expression settled over his features and the pressure of the man’s hand on his chest slightly increased. Not painfully so – but enough to prevent any attempt Harry could make to move from the couch.

The Professor’s other hand had been searching all the while in his robe for something. After a few, short moments, he produced a tiny vial with midnight-blue potion from one of the outer pockets. Harry’s eyes widened at that. He could still taste his first round of Calming Draught on his tongue. He really did not want to repeat that experience again so soon. Or ever.

“Sir, please, I really don’t need another Calming Draught,” he said hastily before his Professor had a chance to interrupt him. Snape, however, was totally unfazed by the boy’s plea. “Indeed, you are the epitome of calmness,” he replied sarcastically. “This, though, is not a Calming Draught but Dreamless Sleep. The excitement and stress of all those revelations are momentarily too straining in your condition. I know you want more answers but your body needs rest and time to recuperate from your recent ordeals.”

Without giving Harry a chance to reply, the vial was placed on his lips and tilted upward. Resigned, Harry swallowed the tasteless draught. Almost instantly, his consciousness started to fade. The last he could comprehend before drifting into sweet oblivion was that Snape was standing over him – looking concerned.

To be continued...