Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996

Determined to avoid Dumbledore at all costs, Harry rarely strayed from the Tower. After a couple days, though, hours spent listening to the torrential rain storms outside, starting and stopping letters to both Ron and Hermione, and endlessly replaying his conversation with Dumbledore in his head, grew tiresome. He left to visit Snape.

Entering the ward, Harry had to choke back a laugh. Snape was being examined by Brady, whose wand was perched above Snape's head, giving - after a great deal of suspended disbelief - the appearance of the Prince at Sleeping Beauty's bedside. With Snape's shoulder length black hair fanned out prettily on the pillow, his pale pallor and Brady's boyish good looks, complemented by a thick head of reddish-blond hair, it was somewhat plausible. Brady saw Harry and smiled back at him.

"Good afternoon," he said as Harry strolled over.

"Hi. How is he today?"

"There's been little improvement, but he hasn't worsened, either," Galen said conversationally. "He's still recovering rather slower than I would like - slower than normal, I should say. The wounds on his back, excepting the gash, are almost healed, and his legs need only two or three more applications of Murtlap Essence to clear them up. His face has improved, as you can see, but, his lungs, hands and his left forearm continue to be the most problematic." 

"His hands look so much better, though." Brady and Pomfrey had removed Snape's bandages last week.

"Yes, but without regular use, the scarred skin shrinks and the tendons shorten."

"Meaning?"

"Ultimately, if he wakes, he may not be able to mix potions properly."

Snape would despise Harry beyond all reason if he knew Harry had spent even a nanosecond pitying him, but it scarcely computed: Snape without potions. Why not just cut off the man's arms? Harry imagined that was how Snape would feel, stripped of the gift that so defined him. The very thought made Harry nauseous.

Having spent so much time with Snape over the past few weeks, Harry's ire for the man had cooled, possibly because of the guilt surrounding Snape's spying, but also because Snape was asleep, silent, and powerless to ruin Harry's goodwill with any cutting commentary. Whatever the reason, Harry had never dreamed Snape would survive Voldemort's vengeance to end up handicapped, unable to carry on as before. It hardly seemed fair.

"So, what can we do until he wakes up?" asked Harry, squinting at Snape's scarred hands. When Galen didn't answer right away, Harry looked up to find the man beaming at him, blue-green eyes sparkling as he grinned wolfishly.

Uh oh.

"Well, I'm glad you asked Harry!"

Galen explained that while the ointment they had been using since removing the bandages had properly formed new skin and speeded the healing, they would now have to resort to therapy as Snape was unable to actively use his hands.

"What kind of therapy?" Harry asked, wary.

"Essentially, his hands need to be exercised to maintain his flexibility."

Harry saw where this was headed and mentally balked at the idea of exercising anything on Snape's body. It must have shown on his face because Galen then grimaced and rubbed at his back, as if it pained him.

Harry scowled, determining that while guilt was a useless emotion, it still proved incredibly effective. "What do we do?"

"We must massage and flex his hands once every two hours in order to prevent the skin from contracting," Galen said, miraculously recovered from his spasm. "If it contracts, I will have to perform a procedure relieving the skin of that tightness, and that would arrest his progress, but the therapy should be effective enough so that we won't have to resort to that."

Harry knew he'd been roped into a situation that would only provide more fuel for the proverbial fire of Snape's wrath once he woke up - leaving him to sort of hope the man remained asleep. Nevertheless, after Galen's initial demonstration, Harry took over, and four times daily he massaged and flexed Snape's hands, so that by the weekend, he was performing the task effortlessly.

*WO

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 (23)

Harry exhausted the library's collection of mystery novels then took to reading thick historical biographies - another genre Snape favored, according to Dumbledore. He tried reading The Untold Story of Claudius Ptolemaeus, but was soon tripping over scientific words that had more syllables than Hogwarts had towers, so he put it aside.

He was now reading Paracelsus: Rejecting Agrippa and Flamel. He thought Paracelsus' story might be more interesting than Ptolemaeus' as he was rather familiar with one of the wizard's Paracelsus was disputing - Nicolas Flamel.

But, more often than not, Harry's time was now spent simply sitting and talking to the unconscious man. Of late, there was much on his mind he wanted to be rid of, but, as had been his habit, he had to first organize his garbled thoughts so that he wasn't rambling nonsensically. Snape might not be awake, but Harry could easily imagine the impatient look on his face if forced to listen to Harry stuttering and stammering.

The first time, Harry had been ill at ease - it was Snape he was pseudo-confiding in after all - but the need to unburden himself was pervasive. He missed talking to Ron and Hermione and knew they would both welcome regular letters from him, but knowing what those exchanges would be like, especially with Hermione, left him feeling raw. And though he spent copious amounts of time in the company of Hagrid, Galen and a fawning Dobby, it was not what he needed. He needed Snape's silence; he needed to be able to speak unfettered, free of someone telling how he should feel, why he should feel, even if he should feel; he needed to be heard without judgment. So, who better to use than his unconscious professor as a sounding board to jettison the anxiety that had increased significantly since his conversation with Dumbledore?

That night, unable to sleep, Harry left the Tower for the hospital ward.

Snape was alone. Madam Pomfrey's office was dark, indicating she was in bed, her chambers just the other side of her office. Brady was most likely at St. Mungo's. He now visited the hospital intermittently to follow up on his most pressing cases since Snape didn't require such round-the-clock care as before. But, Harry knew there was no danger of anything occurring without their knowledge as they had set up an alarm to alert them of any changes in Snape's condition.

Taking his place in the chair next to Snape's bed, Harry leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. By the light of the night-candle, he found a strongly pulsing vein on Snape's thin hand. Focusing on it, he struggled to bring order to his racing thoughts.

"Since my first year here, you've done your best to make my life miserable." Harry paused. "I'm sort of glad ‘cause I've never had to question where I stood with you. Plus, it's been sort of a great motivator - you hating me. Every year I've had to prove that I belong here, despite what you think, despite how you treat me...

"‘Precious Potter', ‘our new celebrity'," he said, in a rather spot on impression of Snape. "For the record, celebrity is overrated. I get what remaining family I have killed and you come close to... dying because of me, too. But, as hateful and spiteful as you've always been to me, I would never have wished for what they did to you.

"I want - I want you to know that I'm grateful - that you tried to help me. It's more than the Dursleys would have ever done," Harry whispered, "and you hate me! They did, too, but they wouldn't have lifted a finger to help me if there wasn't a thing in it for them; maybe not even then. All they ever felt for me was fear, disgust, anger, disrespect, annoyance..." Harry snorted. "We could be here all night. But, you don't have anywhere to go, do you?" he joked softly.

"No, Potter... I don't."

*WO

Harry sat frozen, eyes on his decrepit trainers. 

Snape didn't speak. No, no, no. He's asleep. But... if that wasn't Snape, I might as well pack my trunk and head to the mental ward at St. Mungo's, maybe bunk with Lockhart!

Slowly, Harry dragged his eyes upward. There was Snape's scarred hand, his chest, his chin, his lips, his hooked nose, and finally his eyes - black, open and staring right at him. Harry's mouth dropped open. He shot to his feet and stepped over to the bed.

"Professor!?"

"Potter." The voice hardly more than a whisper, but the Snape snarkiness was firmly intact.

Harry blinked several times, making sure that what he was seeing was not an illusion. He whipped around as Madam Pomfrey's door slammed open.

"Madam Pomfrey, Galen! Professor Snape is awake!" Harry shouted at them stupidly.

Galen was already pushing past Harry, while Madam Pomfrey raced to the opposite side of the bed. "Merlin!" She clasped her hands against her bosom as if in prayer.

"Professor Snape," Galen intoned loudly, causing the man to stare at him, irritated. "How are you feeling?"

Harry watched Snape thinking that if Snape were looking at him the way Snape was looking at Galen, he wouldn't be anywhere near the man without a wand in hand and a hex on his lips. But Snape's fierce expression seemed not to faze the young healer.

Galen grasped Snape's right wrist loosely with his thumb and forefinger. Still and silent for a moment, he gazed down at the pocket watch he held in his other hand. Finally, he released Snape, looking satisfied.

"Glad to have you back with us, sir," said Galen in that same loud voice. Snape continued to glare, but now with a touch of confusion.

"I am... not deaf. Cease... shouting at me!" Snape wheezed, clearly still having trouble with his lungs.

He eyed Galen suspiciously as the healer began running his wand the length of his body.  When there was nothing forthcoming from the young man, he shifted his head until he found Madam Pomfrey, his glare demanding answers.

"You've been in a deep sleep for several days, Professor," she said, patting his arm consolingly.

"Days!? How many?"

"Sixteen," Galen answered promptly.

Snape closed his eyes and drew his lips tightly together.

"Are you in pain, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey asked, anxious.

"No! Where's... Dumbledore?"

"He's in London," she said. "He won't return until tomorrow."

Snape looked both puzzled and put out. Harry felt similarly.

"Harry, please leave us to examine the Professor," Galen said, directing his wand at the curtain to pull it around the bed.

Reluctantly, Harry stepped back, craning his neck until the thin fabric eventually blocked his view. Once Madam Pomfrey and Galen began to ask Snape questions, Harry turned to leave, knowing the man would not want him there for that.

On his way back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry inventoried his emotions. Snape was awake, absolving Harry of the guilt of yet another death on his conscience. So he should feel relieved, yes? The relief was there, but, there was a selfish disappointment as well. Who could he now turn to when feeling overwhelmed? It was shocking just how much Harry had come to rely on the man's silent comfort. That shock, coupled with the dread of things returning to normal colored what should have been a celebratory moment.

*WO

Following a restless night, Harry returned to the hospital wing the following afternoon. After brooding most of the night about the return to ‘normal', he realized that while his perception of Snape had changed, Snape's perception of him had not, nor was it likely to. Having not yet worked out his feelings on that score, Harry felt strangely reassured at the welcome he received from Snape.

"What... is... he doing... here?" Snape asked, his eyes flicking in Harry's direction as he neared the bed. Brady chuckled at Snape's sour expression.

"Oh, Harry's come by to sit with you. It's been rather a habit for him these past few weeks." He turned his beaming face to Harry. Raising his eyebrows, he pointedly nodded his head in the direction of the chair.

Snape's nasty sneer at the prospect of having him for company nearly made Harry turn to go; instead he squared his shoulders and stepped forward to take his seat. Brady watched approvingly then turned his attention back to Snape.

"It's time for your afternoon potions, and we need to change your bandage, Professor. I'll just go get everything and then fetch you a light meal when we're done." 

Harry had hoped Galen would ease up on the ‘we's' peppered throughout his statement as he hadn't failed to notice the deepening look of horror on Snape's face.

After a long, thick silence, Harry cleared his throat and said, "I'm glad you're doing better, Professor."

Snape slit his eyes suspiciously. When he continued to stare, Harry began to drum his fingers on his thighs.

"Potter, if you... insist on... sitting... there, do be... quiet!" Snape rasped, as forcefully as he could.

Insist? Really? To think, yesterday he had felt pity for the foul man!

"Sir," said Harry, trying to curb the irritation in his voice, "if you want me to leave, just say so."

"Nonsense!" came Brady's jovial voice, making both Snape and Harry jump.

"I'm leaving. He doesn't want me here." Harry stood up.

"Five points to Gryffindor," Snape sneered, eyeing Harry as if he was only just managing not to sick up at the sight.

"Professor, it only takes a moment when Harry helps me and it will be less painful for you if we work quickly. Now, Harry, if you would?"

Harry, serving up his own look of disgust, turned from Snape to look questioningly at the healer, but Brady was busily arranging things on the tray and didn't notice. Nor did he notice Snape's feral glare, wishing to blast him into the next plane, Harry knew, for he had been on the receiving end of that same murderous look numerous times.

"Fine," Harry muttered. The sooner this was over, the sooner he could leave.

Returning from the sink, he avoided looking into Snape's furious face, thinking that if he did look, he wouldn't be able to carry on, but he soon fell into the easy rhythm he and Galen had perfected over the past few weeks.

Finally, they gently rolled Snape onto his side, so that he was facing Harry. When Brady removed the last of the bandaging from his back, Harry heard Snape suck in a breath. He glanced down. Obscured by lank locks of black hair, Snape's eyes were squeezed shut in a grimace of pain, eerily reminding Harry of his expression in the forest.

"Sorry," Harry whispered.

"Stop a-apologizing... Potter and get on... with it!" Snape wheezed.

Once they had finished, Snape insisted on rolling onto his back unassisted. Galen then went to retrieve Snape's meal from the Floo. He returned bearing a tray laden with a fragrant bowl of leek and potato soup, crusty bread, and a steaming cup of Earl Grey. Harry was relieved that his services were not offered up to assist as Brady had cleverly charmed the utensils to feed Snape.

 To occupy himself while the man ate, Harry pulled out his mother's medallion.

"Where did... you... get that?" Snape demanded, regarding Harry with incredulity.

"Professor Dumbledore gave it to me. It was my mum's." Harry gripped it protectively in his fist.

Snape pursed his lips in silence, though he clearly wanted to say more. For a long moment he gazed at the chain peeking out from Harry's hand, then slowly tore his eyes from it to focus on the tray in front of him, but he didn't eat, suddenly sullen.

Harry said nothing regarding Snape's puzzling behavior, but when he caught sight of the steaming spoonful of soup hovering above Snape's bowl, his stomach growled loudly - a reminder that he'd not eaten a meal all day. Embarrassed, he hung his head, hoping Snape had not heard.

"Hungry?" Snape said, his tone snide.

Harry shrugged. "I slept through breakfast, and missed lunch."

Snape eyed him piercingly for a moment. "Take this." He gestured toward his tray.

"No. Thanks - I can go to the kitchens and get something."

"I'm not... going to eat all... of this, Potter, take... it."

Harry was famished, but he would feel awkward taking food from Snape; he needed the nourishment, even more than Harry did. Also, it was weird, Snape offering him something.

"No, I'll just go to the kitchens. Dobby won't mind fixing me something." He stood, pocketing the medallion.

Snape frowned and snapped, "Sit down!"

Harry almost obeyed, but then thought, I don't have to listen to him!

The only semi-parental figure in his life was dead, thus he had no one to answer to. Plus, school was out, so there was little Snape could do to him. He couldn't even give Harry a detention let alone order him to sit and eat that food - no matter how mouth-wateringly delicious it smelled!

"Potter... if you don't... sit down... this instant, I... will hex... you until you res-resemble a mud... puddle!"

Harry fell heavily into the chair, but only because Snape had turned a distressing shade of plum and his breathing had become frighteningly jagged.

"Should I go get Healer Brady?"

Snape laid his head back, gasping harshly. "No, be... fine... mo..." He inhaled deeply, but did not exhale. Then his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Oh damn!" Harry jumped up. "Galen, Professor Snape stopped breathing!"

Something crashed to the floor inside Madam Pomfrey's office. Alarmed, Harry ran over, but was nearly flattened as Galen dashed across the ward to Snape's bedside. Harry followed. Snape was lying as he had left him, except his head was now slumped over his chest and his skin was ashen.

Galen immediately banished the food tray and charmed the bed so that Snape lay flat. He quickly drew his wand up and down the length of Snape's body. Harry gasped as the healer's wand emitted a black mist when positioned above Snape's chest.

"What's that?"

"I was afraid of this," Galen muttered. "There's a clot. It's what's been interfering with his breathing... I need to clear it out." His eyes were utterly focused on Snape. "Harry, I'll need your help. I haven't time to summon Madam Pomfrey."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I'm going to roll him onto his side and I'll need you to hold him still while I work. I can't use a body binding spell because he'll need to work it out of his system orally. He'll vomit up a lot of blood, but don't be alarmed when you see it - it's necessary for him to expel it as it is likely toxic."

Harry nodded sharply.

"Now, grasp his shoulder - that's right, gently - pull him towards you. Hold him completely still..."

Grasping Snape's shoulder, Harry was amazed at how frail and wasted he was. Snape's ability to intimidate was renowned, and it went a long way in creating a larger than life image, but Harry now realized that he was just a man. At the moment he was an extremely ill man, so Harry focused intently on his task, trying not to think about the intimacy of the position he was in with someone who made no secret of his hatred for him.

Freeing the ties of Snape's hospital gown, Galen exposed his back and began moving his wand in a circular motion above the tightly wrapped bandages binding the man's ribs. He began to mutter softly. Harry had no clue what he was saying, but was soon entranced with Galen's soft tone as it went on for several minutes. Suddenly, his wand glowed a deep purple. At that moment, Snape inhaled a rattling breath and his body began to convulse, nearly dislodging Harry's grip.

"Harry, kneel on the bed! Keep a hold on him!"

Just as Harry made it up onto the bed, Snape vomited up a great spout of black blood. Harry grimaced at the sight of it and at the sound of Snape's harsh coughs, but he held tight to the man's shoulder, patting it nervously. Galen's chanting became faster as he moved his wand in the same circular movement until it emitted a yellow light. Snape then ejected a smaller gout of blood tinged with red this time. Eventually, following more intense chanting, Brady's wand produced a soft, white light.

"You can release him now, Harry."

Gently, Harry eased Snape onto his back and got down off the bed. He stood out of the way as Galen came round, pulling a bottle from his robes, spelling the mess on the floor into it. Galen then cleaned up Snape and ran yet another body scan. Harry was relieved to see that the wand continued to glow white.

"I'll need to go get a blood replenishing potion." Galen looked over at Harry.

"I'm not going anywhere."

With a tight smile, Galen nodded and left. Harry noted that Snape was still pale, but nothing like before. As he watched, Snape's face contorted and he coughed; not a harsh cough as he had done before, but it still brought blood to his lips.

Harry reached into the drawer of the side table and pulled out a flannel. He ran to the sink to wet it and brought it back, gently dabbing the blood away. He folded it and pressed it to Snape's forehead, soaking up the perspiration. Snape twitched beneath the cloth as though he didn't want to be touched, but Harry continued until he had wiped Snape's entire face and neck.

Galen returned. "Thank you, Harry - for staying and helping. The Dark Magic used on him has been quite the challenge to treat."

Harry nodded mutely.

"What precipitated Professor Snape's difficulty breathing?"

"Oh... er," Harry faltered. "He was trying to get me to eat from the tray you brought. I told him that I'd rather go down to the kitchens and... he got upset and..."

"Why was he trying to make you eat?"

"He heard my stomach growl."

"I see... Why not just take what he offered?"

Harry shook his head, suddenly annoyed. Why was this important?

"Look, he's my professor, not my dad! I'll be sixteen soon... He can't order me around - I didn't have to eat it if I didn't want to!" Harry said, embarrassingly aware of how childish he sounded.

"No, you didn't. But if you saw that it was upsetting him..."

"I didn't know he was getting that upset!" Harry fumed.  "It's nothing new for him to be angry at me! Why would he care if I ate or not?"

Just as Galen was about to respond, Madam Pomfrey entered the ward.

"Healer Brady, how is Professor Snape?"

"Much better. With Harry's assistance, I just finished performing Sangre Libre. He had a Thrombus Escuro.*"

Madam Pomfrey gasped as Galen explained what had occurred and how Harry had helped him. She bustled over to take a closer look at Snape, then turned to pat Harry gently on the shoulder. "It's good you were here, Mr. Potter," said Madam Pomfrey, smiling proudly at him.

Harry ducked his head, embarrassed. It hadn't been as though he'd had any choice.

"Why don't you go on to the kitchens and get a bite to eat, eh?" said Galen, sensing Harry's unease.

Harry hadn't wanted to seem anxious to get away, but he'd had enough of playing Healer for one day.

*WO

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996 (26)

It was late when Dumbledore strode into the hospital wing newly arrived from London. Snape was sitting up, though his eyes were closed; he opened them upon hearing Dumbledore's entry. After casting a well fortified Silencio around Snape's bed, Dumbledore pulled his chair as close as possible to the bed.

"Severus, my dear boy, how are you feeling?"

"Rather better, thank you," Snape said, the earlier harshness plaguing his voice, gone. The gash on his back was still bandaged, but his overall health, appearance, and mobility had improved within an hour of the noxious clot being expelled. "But, you've not come to discuss my good health just now."

"Not entirely, though I am heartily pleased that you are recovering so well." Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled with sincerity.

Snape nodded, knowing Dumbledore fancied himself a sort of father figure to him. That Dumbledore knew Snape's own father had done next to nothing to encourage such a bond discouraged Snape from contradicting the elder wizard's sentimental leanings. Though he found Dumbledore's fawning treatment discomfiting at times, he tolerated it; had another not already filled that role quite effectively, Snape would have perhaps welcomed it.

"Why did Voldemort see fit to punish you so harshly?" asked Dumbledore, quick to the crux of the matter.

"Eavesdropping." Dumbledore frowned at Snape. "I was caught eavesdropping on Lucius and Bellatrix as they discussed their plan to capture Potter. Only it wasn't so much a discussion as it was a trap."

"How do you mean?"

"Following the debacle at the Ministry, the Dark Lord Summoned us to Malfoy Manor..." Snape narrowed his eyes. "Lucius was there. I had imagined he would be in the custody of Ministry Aurors."

"Yes," Dumbledore said, with a telling note of irritation. "There was a traitor within their ranks; a cadet named Billy Lloyd. Kingsley informed me that he fled that same night."

Unfamiliar with the name, Snape continued.

"Well, Bellatrix, hoping to be spared punishment for failing to secure the prophecy, professed a way to get to Potter and related the details to the Dark Lord in secret. After that meeting, no one was allowed to leave. Everyone was being monitored closely, myself more than I others, I think. That's why I was unable to make contact.

"They spent the week scuttling between secret meetings, assuredly discussing Potter, but I believe she was also taking that time to fill the Dark Lord's ear with innuendo regarding my absence in the Department of Mysteries, and the Order's miraculous appearance, much as she had done since the end of the battle. The eavesdropping was simply the icing on the proof needed to expose my double-dealing."

Dumbledore grunted softly. "What of the Dursleys?"

Snape shook his head. "I can't think of any substantive reason for killing them other than their link to Potter. Had he been captured, I believe the Dark Lord would have used the news of their deaths in a rather egregious attempt to taunt Potter, to subvert his will before killing him."

"You feel confident no one knew anything of the blood magic?"

"If they had, I don't think they would have toyed around with them like they did. It would have been quick - anything to hurry along Potter's demise."

"And your discovery?"

Snape sighed harshly. "Well, that was rather anticlimactic. I imagined I was well hidden after trailing Antonin Dolohov to their meeting room, yet, as I was listening, Dolohov had doubled back..." Snape paused, agitated. "He grabbed me, Bellatrix," Snape sneered evilly, "stabbed me in the back just before Lucius stunned me and brought me to the Dark Lord. The gathering was to serve as a means of dealing with my treachery, as well as the success of getting Potter."

There was a peculiar moment of silence before Dumbledore asked, "Severus, how were you able to get away?"

Snape was instantly uneasy. He had devoted nearly every moment since he had awoken to that very question. The answer was that he didn't know. Despite his vivid recollection of every injurious act, every insufferable word uttered by that madman, and especially every tortured step along the road to Hogwarts, he drew an utter blank regarding that small window of time between being curled impossibly at the Dark Lord's feet and lying prostrate on Hogsmeade's High Street.

It didn't escape Snape that Dumbledore rarely asked a question to which he did not already know the answer, or did not already have a good idea what the answer was. And this question, as extraordinary as it was, would have to have an equally extraordinary answer. So, what did Dumbledore already know that Snape did not? He decided to play along.

"I don't know. One moment I was in that forest being cursed by those... and my hands..." Dumbledore made a soft noise of sympathy as Snape swallowed and glanced at his hands. "The next moment - I was breathing dirt, flat on my face on the road to Hogwarts." He shook his head, confused. "It felt like Apparition - but I was in no state to Apparate, and even if I had been - it would've been impossible. You know the Dark Lord always has safe guards in place so that wherever we are Summoned it is as heavily protected against someone getting out as against someone getting in."

Dumbledore regarded him silently for several moments before saying, "Harry witnessed you being tortured in a vision."

Snape blinked, wondering if he'd heard correctly. "What?"

"It is this connection he maintains with Voldemort. Either, Voldemort sent the image to Harry - or Harry has since developed untold powers of Legilimency." Dumbledore paused to let the words sink in. "Harry claims the vision was just like the ones he has experienced since last summer. But, you and I both know Voldemort would not be so foolish as to plant a vision now, especially if he were targeting Harry."

In the wake of Snape's silence, Dumbledore forged ahead.

"Severus, you believe your escape to be impossible - I disagree." Dumbledore tented his fingers beneath his chin. "I asked Harry to relate every detail of his vision. Prior to waking up, he remembered hearing a loud crack, like Apparition."

"So, what has that to do with -" Snape stopped, his eyes narrowed, tense disbelief and confusion embedded in every line on his face. "You think Potter Apparated me out of there?"

Dumbledore smiled benignly. "Yes, Severus, I do - unless you have a more plausible explanation?" Dumbledore paused a moment, as though to allow Snape time to come up with a response. When there was none forthcoming, Dumbledore said, "As soon as he had the vision, he sent his owl to me. That is how I came to know you were in danger."

Snape stared at the headmaster, who gazed back, an infuriatingly calm expression upon his face. Snape's stomach began to roil sickeningly as he considered the implications of Dumbledore's words. Finally, he looked away as a bad taste flooded his mouth. The blood drained so quickly from his face, Dumbledore was on his feet in an instant, his hand on Snape's shoulder.

"Severus?" Snape closed his eyes and waved Dumbledore away.

It isn't possible, Snape thought. It can't be possible! That boy could not conceivably Occlude against a toddler, and Dumbledore wants me to believe he performed Legilimency on the Dark Lord - from a distance? Impossible! And even if it were, why would he do it?

‘As hateful and spiteful as you've always been to me, I would never wish for what they did to you.'

"How could he be in Surrey and Apparate me to Hogsmeade?" Snape spat, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the whispered words he had heard in a waking-dream state.

Dumbledore resumed his seat, his eyes brilliantly triumphant. "He shall be sixteen this year, a year from his majority. His powers seem to be maturing with him."

Snape, his dark eyes furious and accusing, said, "You knew he had... done that... Apparated me out of there?"

"Not until a recent incident with Healer Brady."

As Dumbledore related the story, Snape's frown deepened ominously as he repeatedly muttered, "Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!" refusing to believe he owed a life-debt to someone he could only reluctantly credit with having the attention span of a woodlouse.

"Potter's relatives," Snape said, in an oddly fractured segue. "He blames himself."

"Yes, he does. Why do you mention it?"

"He said as much, last night... when he was here."

"Healer Brady and Poppy were right, I see." Dumbledore smiled.

Snape rolled his eyes and shifted uneasily. "I heard you reading. I also heard Hagrid waxing poetic about his creatures, Minerva, prattling on about the coming school year, and the boy..." His lip curled at the last.

"Yes, Harry felt responsible and was determined to be quite the companion."

"Why would he feel responsible for my being tortured? Is foiling the Dark Lord's plan for the prophecy not sufficient for his ego, he has to now imagine what happened to me had something to do with him?"

"Why Severus, it had everything to do with him! He bore witness to your torture, seeing it as if he himself had performed it." Snape winced. "My boy, too often you ignore the facts, though they are plain before you, especially when it comes to Harry," Dumbledore said. "That he sustains the ability to love in spite of the horrors he has witnessed in his short life, is admirable and unique. He is ruled by his heart, which would explain his headstrong ways -"

"Foolish more like," Snape snarled, desperate to preserve his impression of Harry as a mediocre wizard, undeserving of the wizarding world's adulation.

"It does get him into trouble occasionally, as he rarely considers the consequences of his actions. But, you were rescued - yes, Severus, rescued - by a boy who, over the years, you have given no reason to care about you or trust you. It is not surprising he feels responsible for what happened to you since he now knows that you were trying to save his family. Thus, I'm rather embarrassed to confess that it is because of him Galen arrived from St. Mungo's."

Dumbledore attentively eyed his clasped hands in his lap, pressing them together repeatedly. Snape found the nervous fidgeting troublesome, but Dumbledore rarely avoided eye contact with anyone. Eventually the old blue eyes sought out the intense black ones. The pleading expression there unnerved Snape.

"Severus, you were near death when Hagrid brought you in. Poppy was beside herself as she knew there was very little she could do for you here. But, ignorant of why you had been punished so severely and of what information Voldemort might have gained from you, I was reluctant to send you to St. Mungo's."

Snape listened warily. As Dumbledore continued his narrative, a vein in Snape's neck began to pulse ominously.

"No sooner had we settled you in, the blood protections fell in Surrey. I dispatched Fawkes to alert the Order and it was then that I surmised your condition had to do with Harry. But, even with him found to be safe, you would not have been had I allowed you to leave the castle. When Harry arrived and saw the desperate state you were in, he was deeply concerned for you and all but demanded I do something about it. You had ceased breathing in his presence and it frightened him. I thought -"

Snape threw up a hand to stop Dumbledore from talking. It was too much to accept all at once. The Boy Who Lived had fought to save a man he hated while the self-appointed father figure had just as quickly decided to let him die, unaided? Snape closed his eyes and laid his head back against his pillow.

"Severus, I -"

"Don't. Just... leave me alone."

"Seve -"

Snape's eyes flew open, burning with rage. "GO!" he roared. He wanted desperately to grasp his back, to quell the sharp pain that had flared there, but he didn't dare appear weak just then. He gritted his teeth, hoping he looked angry.

Dumbledore stood, reaching out. Snape snatched his hand away, placing it over his heart. Then he angrily focused his eyes on the wall ahead and counted, waiting for Dumbledore to leave.

Cold disregard was to be expected from the Dark Lord, but the old man had surprised him.