“Oh, fuck!” Harry yelled out when searing, stinging agony spread through his upper arm as he had attempted to scoot down the wall away from Snape.  He clutched at the painful limb with his good arm and began to lurch sideways to the hard concrete ground. 

Severus swiftly lunged after him and stabilized the boy against the brick wall with a firm hand on his chest, preventing him from toppling over.   

“Language, Potter!” he drawled, noticing the teenager’s attempted recoil from him, though attributing it merely to Potter finally becoming aware of his surroundings and the unexpected close presence of another person.  Though Severus was not naïve enough to suppose his own particular presence had not likely heightened the response... he had just been wondering how and why Potter had suddenly overcome his palpable hate toward him enough to send for help from him, after all. 

“God, it hurts!” whined Harry, too overcome by agony to continue to react to the horrifying development of Snape’s arrival and close proximity; instead trying to suck in a deep breath in the hopes that it may soothe the pain. 

“Yes I see that, Potter,” Severus responded, a little tetchily.  “Now, hold still… if you will just let me take a look perhaps I can help with that,” he added as though he were talking to a particularly dim five-year old.   

‘Potter sent for help… and I’m here to damn well give it, aren’t I?!’ Severus thought, irritated. 

“What… you?” Harry said with horror, without thinking through the consequences of such a statement made to his rescuer with that particular tone. 

Severus narrowed his eyes and his eyebrows automatically drew together in a displeased scowl: the boy’s attitude concreting his earlier supposition of Potter’s view of his presence. 

‘Merlin himself would consider it a mystery how it came to be that Potter summoned me of all people!’ he thought, privately still a little bemused.   

“I assure you, Mr Potter I am quite capable of dealing with your injury… now, hold still!”  After ensuring that the boy was secure against the brick wall, Severus again reached his hands toward the blood soaked bandage. 

“Ow!” Harry whimpered again, leaning away from Severus’ hands. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Potter, I haven’t even touched you yet,” Severus pointed out with an insufferable sigh and a roll of his eyes.  “If you persist in acting like a contrary brat and not hold still on your own I shall ensure compliance with a rather nasty hex!” he coolly threatened with a sneer. 

Harry was immediately stilled by the notion of being sedated like an obstinate small child and he was definitely not about to allow Snape an excuse to hex him with anything! 

 “Okay, okay…” he submitted, leaning back toward Snape a marginal distance and removing his supporting hand, though still with an obvious amount of reluctance. 

“Manners, Potter!” Severus snarled warningly.  “You know, it may astonish you to discover that I have many more important and urgent duties to be getting on with today and I could just leave you to it!”  

“What?!  You can’t… not with my arm nearly cut off!”  Harry had definitely not been particularly thrilled with the vision of Snape leaning over him when he’d first come to, but now the threat that the surly man might now leave without helping him first distressed him greatly. 

“Please… I’m sorry, Sir… don’t go, please!” he heard himself practically beg.  His pain and recent jolt upon awakening, coupled with a heightening feeling of nausea, and now anxiety over possibly being abandoned, had pushed Harry into a state of panicked desperation; therefore, right now the simple fact that Snape hadn’t immediately whisked Harry off and delivered him straight to Voldemort, as the dubious spy had more than enough opportunity to do, was instantly the only important fact, and this knowledge encouraged Harry to accept and even in a strange way desire the aid and even the comfort that the Professor’s mere presence offered. 

A little startled by the reaction his empty threat had garnered from the boy, Severus felt a twinge of guilt and a sudden and surprising compulsion to soothe him. 

“Calm yourself, Potter… let me see,” he ordered, holding his hand out to receive the injured limb.  If Potter was as trusting of him now as his latest behaviour seemed to be implying, the proof would be in his willingness to comply. 

Severus must have been expecting just the opposite because when Potter, without even a hint of further hesitation, leaned his injured arm all the way into his Professor’s waiting hands, Severus was stunned.  His dark eyes sought the teenager’s in puzzlement but when the vivid green that matched Lily’s so perfectly bore into his own he was momentarily overwhelmed.  Hastily he blinked away the evidence of the falter in his composure and looked away. 

“Nearly cut off…?” he repeated, questioningly, determined to ignore the awkward moment, and his hands began to work at the blood soaked material binding Potter’s proffered arm. 

Trying hard not to flinch, Harry flushed with embarrassment at his desperate exaggeration.  “Well… perhaps not nearly cut off… but it’s pretty bad, I think.” 

“How?” Snape asked. 

Looking confused Harry repeated, “How?  How what?” 

Rolling his eyes once again, Severus sneered sardonically, “Really, Potter, where is that exceptional intelligence everyone keeps alluding to?  Now… how is it that you came to be saturated in your own blood, boy?” 

Harry cringed at the use of the word ‘boy’, hurtfully reminiscent of the way Uncle Vernon usually referred to Harry. 

“Er… ah, a… a knife, Sir.  It… it was just an accident,” Harry tried to assure. 

Severus shot another brief, puzzled glance in Potter’s direction.  Something was odd about the way the boy just seemed to try to divert his attention.  He returned his consideration back to the injured arm. 

The makeshift bandage had become glued to the boy’s skin by copious amounts of dried blood and was refusing to come away without force.  His long fingers began prying at the edges, trying to tease them loose; managing to lift and grasp a small corner of fabric between his index finger and thumb. 

“Ow!” Harry cried out at the pressure.  “Haven’t you got something to stop it hurting so much?” he hissed. 

Irritated by Potter’s tendency to forget his manners, Severus snapped, “Unfortunately for you… no!” before in one smooth movement he ripped the entire edge away from the skin. 

“Arrgh!” Harry yelled out at the brutality of Snape’s treatment; but the reality was it was not nearly as painful as he’d imagined it would have been. 

The bandage had fallen from the wound without further hindrance; the exertion Harry had undertaken earlier trying to retreat from Snape upon waking had caused the bleeding to recommence, soaking the bandage with fresh red fluid and therefore fortunately softening and separating the material from the skin of the actual wound itself. 

Severus leaned in closer to examine the clearly deep cut for healing purposes, but he was also curious about what the boy may have been trying to hide earlier. 

“A knife, you say?” 

“Er… yeah.” 

“And who was it that wielded the knife, Mr Potter?” he enquired calmly. 

“Ah… um… it was just an accident.” 

Severus again shot a look at Harry, his eyebrow cocked in and accusing manner. 

“You have been fighting!  One day, Potter, you will realise that emulating your Father’s arrogance will deliver nothing but a disservice to yourself.  And as this time you have apparently come off second best I would hope that realisation will come sooner rather than later.” 

“No, I wasn’t fighting… well, I mean…er, not exactly,” Harry tried to defend himself against the false and somewhat insulting accusation; though without giving too much away about what really happened. 

Severus turned back to the wound ignoring the teen’s rambling. 

“When?” he demanded. 

“What?” 

“No, Potter, the ‘what’ has already been established – the question this time was ‘when?’” Severus hissed tersely. 

“Oh,” Harry said, accepting with bitter resignation that Snape was evidently going to believe what he wanted to without listening to Harry’s explanation at all.  Harry really was in no condition to press his argument further anyway, “Um… about lunchtime, I suppose.” 

Snape’s eyes snapped up to Harry’s once more with incredulity. 

“Lunch was at least several hours ago, Mr Potter, no wonder it appears reddened… there is a high prospect of burgeoning infection.  Come!  I do not have the necessary equipment to deal with this here.” 

“What do you mean… what are you going to do with me?” Harry asked suddenly quite agitated and alarmed. 

Severus let out a long suffering sigh once again rolling his eyes at the obvious stupidity of this boy, replying, “You need at the very least a potion, Mr Potter, and as I clearly have not brought along a cauldron in my pocket I suggest we adjourn to a more suitably stocked and equipped location to brew,”  

“Come on, up!”  Severus rose to his feet in one graceful movement and watched in morbid amusement as Potter struggled and failed to gain his feet. 

He then eventually held out his left arm to the teenager, which Potter grasped gratefully with his own left hand, though hissed slightly with evident pain.  But Severus did not immediately pull the boy to a standing position; instead he gazed in wonder at the red, blistered hand that had grasped his crisp black sleeve.  He had momentarily forgotten about the additional injuries he had noticed earlier. 

“And what about these?” he asked, indicating to both of Potter’s scalded hands.  “Tell me, how did you receive these burns?” 

‘Oh, shit… how could I have not thought this through!?” Harry’s mind suddenly screamed.  Of course whoever came to his assistance would want to know every sordid detail of how he came to be in this sorry state.  And standing in front of him now was probably the person Harry least wanted to ever find out!  

‘Well, perhaps with the exception of Draco Malfoy,’ Harry conceded.  But still, it was highly embarrassing to have anyone find out that he was not held in high regard at home, nor that it turned out his relations were those of despicable character with more than questionable ethics.  But most of all it was down right humiliating to have anyone find out that the great ‘boy who lived’ and potential ‘saviour of the wizarding world’, or alternatively ‘the chosen one’ who could boast the delightful destiny of being the only person who possessed the power to vanquish the Dark Lord, could not even protect himself adequately from his own Muggle relatives. 

And here was Snape still standing right there with a shrewd expression expecting an answer and probably, by the looks of him, already suspecting that Harry’s earlier explanations were incomplete, at best. 

‘I had better head him off while I still have the chance,’ Harry decided quickly. 

“Er… ah-” 

“I should warn you, Mr Potter… you are, I think, already well aware I have never taken kindly to being lied to… so I suggest you think very carefully before you deliver your answer,” Snape said smoothly, the shrewd expression instantly darkening. 

‘Bugger, too late!’ Harry thought, cringing internally. 

“Er, it was just an accident-” 

“So you have said a number of times already, Mr Potter… my patience is wearing exceptionally thin-” 

Harry interjected hurriedly, “Uncle Vernon handed me the roasting pan and I wasn’t ready for it,” he blurted rapidly, with a small hope in the back of his mind that Snape would be too livid about being interrupted to be bothered with the content of Harry’s confession. 

But alas, the teenager’s hopes were to be dashed.  Severus was silenced for only a moment.  

“Your uncle?” he asked in a low tone, tilting his head to the side marginally and fixing the boy with a steely gaze.  Severus was beginning to suspect that this was but the tip of the iceberg of Potter’s story, but the actual direction that tale would wind was a puzzle that needed to be put together accurately. 

Harry was nodding in response, “Er… yeah… it was hot… the pan, I mean.” 

“That is more than obvious, Mr Potter… but what I wish to know is, what treatment did your uncle then offer?” Severus asked, indicating again to the boy’s injured hands, curious to know why no apparent treatment had been applied to the blisters, or why the boy hadn’t appeared to have been cleaned up at all: as, on closer inspection, Potter’s hands and wrists also appeared to be coated in a thin film of some kind of grubby, oily residue.  

‘Cooking oil or drippings,’ Severus supposed. 

“Um… well, none…” 

“None?” Severus continued to probe. 

“Well, we got into a… er… um, we kind of had a bit of a row,” the teenager answered hesitantly before shuddering visibly; taking in a shaky breath.  He scrunched his face momentarily for he was now feeling particularly unwell and was in significant discomfort. 

After seeing the boy shiver violently, Severus was now emphatically aware that Potter’s condition now appeared to be deteriorating rapidly and decided that this particular puzzle would have to wait until later.  He crouched back down at the teenager’s side after releasing the grip on his outstretched forearm. 

“How much blood do you think you have lost, Potter?” 

“Um… I don’t know really… I mean it seemed like a lot, but I don’t really know what a lot is, I guess.” 

“Hmm,” Severus intoned in understanding, his eyes roving over the unwell boy in front of him. 

“Come… it is apparent you need several remedies, none of which I have on my person.  Up you get.” 

This time, Snape was much more accommodating in helping Harry to stand, but no sooner had Harry gained his feet than he felt decidedly woozy and suddenly his stomach lurched horribly. 

“I’m going to be sick,” he swiftly informed the professor. Severus stepped back hurriedly just in time as Potter expelled the contents of his stomach to the pavement, noting though that this consisted almost entirely of bile alone.  

‘He has not eaten,’ he thought with intrigue, filing the information away in his mind for further scrutiny at a later time.  While the boy continued to vomit, Severus gathered the teenager’s belongings from the ground behind him, shrinking the backpack and stowing it within a deep inner pocket of his robe. 

Harry soon found himself back on his knees, retching repeatedly despite his virtually empty stomach.  Still feeling remarkably faint, he abruptly lost his balance and pitched forward, but as he tried to steady himself with both his hands he found out the hard way what a terrible idea it had been. 

“Arrghh,” Harry groaned, and he would have ended up face first on the rough, concrete pavement if it were not for Severus deftly catching the teenager around the middle from behind with one arm.  With his other he gently tilted the boy’s head upwards with a hand on his forehead aiding him to suck in some fresh air.   

In this position Severus could easily detect the tremble rippling through the boy’s body and the disturbingly high fever that had apparently come on quite swiftly as he had not noticed it earlier; the professor instantly became quite concerned for the teen’s deteriorating health. 

Harry leaned back into the dark man’s arms with a shuddering breath; seeking comfort and security, though still remaining quite stoical; swallowing hard and resisting the tears that had begun to build behind his eyes again. 

Severus was astonished at the teenager’s behaviour and as a result his concern for the boy increased greatly – it was just far too out of character for this child to display this much trust in him… especially when in the past Severus had put so much effort into ensuring the teenager hated him!   

‘He must be hallucinating,’ he speculated to himself with an amount of sarcastic amusement.  

“There is much to do to get you well, Mr Potter… come… to your feet again, let’s go… up!” Severus commanded, practically lifting the teenager to his feet again; making sure to keep a firm grasp around Potter’s waist as he considered it extremely likely the boy might pass out at any moment. 

Harry groaned lightly, “I can’t.” he practically whispered. 

“Come on, Potter… I will not be carrying you,” Severus prodded, although he knew that he would do that very thing if it became necessary.   

Severus had been intending to walk Potter back to Arabella Figg’s to use her floo connection, but now it had become obvious that the teenager would not be able to make it that far and it was clear Severus had no choice but to travel via side-along-apparition with the injured boy instead. 

“We’re going to Apparate, Potter… grab a firm hold of my arm,” he informed the child. 

He was satisfied when Potter grasped his supporting arm as instructed, but at the same time was disturbed by the lack of force in his grip; the child’s strength was definitely waning. 

Hogwarts’ Potions Professor then swiftly turned on the spot, his black flowing robes billowing out and engulfing both males before they disappeared from the small servicing alley with a loud pop! 

Potter cried out in pain as they Apparated outside Arabella Figg’s garish cottage door.  Severus had decided that there was no time for being cautious, the teenager in his grasp was going downhill rapidly and needed urgent medical attention.  He automatically tried to reassure the boy with a gentle squeeze to his torso where his hand lay as his arm wrapped around the boy’s middle. 

“Easy, Potter,’ he heard himself soothe the child; out of some bizarre sympathy for the son Lily bore with James Potter, or just some want to silence the teenager’s whining, he did not know… but nor did he wish to analyse his response, for that would likely yield an acknowledgement he did not wish to admit to.  

Diverting his thoughts, Severus began to question whether he actually had sufficient healer skills to be able to cure Potter himself and started to contemplate whether he should seek professional assistance for the child immediately instead.  Whilst Potter’s injuries weren’t that severe or difficult to heal, the burgeoning infection coupled with an un-measured blood loss was causing complications… ones Severus was not sure he had the knowledge or experience to solve in the right manner. 

Taking a quick glimpse at the now exposed arm wound, Severus noted with worry that the bleeding had recommenced with vigour and had spilled down Potter’s arm again and had even made tracks over his own hand clutched firmly at the boy’s waist.  He made a decision there on the spot to do what he could without delay before seeking further aid: guided by a building sense of urgency upon seeing the child’s blood stark against his own pale skin.   

Severus could not bare to have the notion of more Potter blood on his conscience… he’d sworn to Dumbledore he would ensure Lily’s death would not have been in vain… and if anything happened to this boy… 

Potter abruptly fell limp within his grasp almost bringing Severus to his knees with the unexpected extra weight.  After regaining his balance and bracing the teenager against his own body, Severus shook his wand from his sleeve into his free hand. 

“Alohomora,” he chanted softly, aiming the instrument toward Mrs Figg’s brightly painted front door.  He then turned the wand on the teenager and, after conjuring a stretcher, levitated the boy onto it and directed the platform steadily through the now open door, following behind it immediately. 

“Arabella!” he called in a sharp tone urgently. 

A small shriek answered his call as the squib discerned the uninvited entry of the pair of wizards. 

As his eyes adjusted to the darkened front room, Severus spied the overly cluttered wooden table in the middle of the room.  He aimed his wand at it and it was immediately swept of all manner of article; the piles crashing to the floor against the far wall.  He gently set the teenager’s unconscious form on the table and banished the stretcher from beneath him. 

Mrs Figg appeared from the adjoining room to Severus’ left, “Harry!   What happened… what’s wrong with him, Severus?” 

Focusing on examining Harry, Severus replied distractedly, “Potter has suffered a deep cut to his arm, Mrs Figg… blood loss and infection have caused complications, and he has quite severe burns to his hands.  Tell me, what potions and salves do you have on the premises… do you have a cauldron, ingredients…?” 

Somewhat stunned, Mrs Frigg stammered, “Um… Severus… no, I don’t… you know I’m just a squib!” 

“Do you mean to tell me that no-one from the Order, at the very least, have provided you with any remedies over the years?” Severus spluttered irately back. 

Having had a little more time to think, Mrs Figg answered, “Oh, well I do have a pain- relieving potion in the bathroom cabinet… and Pepper-up… but…” 

“Fetch them… and anything else you may discover within their depths!” Severus ordered in addition. 

Arabella immediately jumped to his command, scurrying into the cottage’s bathroom to retrieve more than a half-dozen bottles and containers plus at the last minute a handful of bandages and swabs that she thought may just come in useful.  She deposited them all in an untidy pile on the table next to the unconscious boy. 

Severus surveyed the collection critically, mentally noting the odd mix of wizarding potions and surprisingly useful Muggle items the older woman had presented to him.  He took up a large swab, doused it in a generous portion of rubbing alcohol and began to clean the open wound on the child’s arm, quietly thankful that the teenager was currently out cold and therefore oblivious to the potentially traumatic, painful treatment. 

The alcohol would only go so far to eliminate the contamination causing complications throughout the lesion and Severus privately wished he was familiar with the incantation to draw out the already established and escalating infection.  Healing could not be effected until the wound had been properly and completely purged of disease.   

He placed a hand on the boy’s forehead; his thumb subconsciously sliding over the famous scar that marred his features.  Severus did not like what he felt; the teenager’s skin was burning hot beneath his palm: he was definitely not a well boy.   

Until now the boy’s glasses had remained upon his face; Severus made the judgement to gently remove them and carefully stowed them in a pocket within his dark robes.  He’d rarely seen the boy without the glasses which so distinctly caused him to resemble his father: now without much contemplation Severus’ eyes skimmed over the suddenly unbiased features, but Severus did not allow himself the moment for long; his eyes returning to the deep laceration on the child’s upper arm.  

Resigned to being unable to do more to repair the injured arm at this stage Severus turned his attention instead to Potter’s burned, blistered hands.  The boy needed a burn salve: with a well brewed concoction the teenager could be cured within minutes.  Severus turned his scrutiny back to the pile of medicines and articles Arabella had brought to him with optimism, but disappointingly the collection had not improved. 

Examining each article, he identified: Pepper-up potion… a bottle of Muggle aspirin… a measuring cup… a cork-stoppered vial of pain-relieving potion… a small glass bottle of boil balm Severus recognised as one of his own brews of many years ago he had intended for use in the school’s infirmary; he briefly wondered how it had turned up in Arabella Figg’s possession… a tube of aloe-vera gel of Muggle origin… a tiny bottle of lavender essential oil and a little plastic jar of wool fat. 

He immediately dismissed the usefulness of the boil balm and lavender oil, but took up the Muggle aspirin and dispensed three dissolvable tablets into his palm; Potter’s temperature was now soaring far too high and without a fever-reducing potion on hand the aspirin was the only alternative to bring it back down to safe levels. 

“A glass, Mrs Figg!” he requested sharply of the older squib. 

The woman promptly retrieved a plain drinking glass from the kitchen and handed it to him.  He took it and aimed his wand toward it, wordlessly invoking a stream of water to sprout from the tip into the vessel.  He added the white tablets to the liquid and set it aside whilst the small discs dissolved into an effervescent infusion. 

Severus then took the aloe gel and squeezed a generous portion from the tube, smoothing a thick coating gently over the teen’s burned skin on his palms, fingers, right wrist and lower forearm, taking particular care not to tear the membranes of the large blisters that peppered the injured area.  He then wrapped both extremities in two of the bandages Mrs Figg had provided, but left the digit with the least burns on his right hand deliberately exposed. 

The third bandage he wrapped neatly around the injured upper arm, firmly but not too tightly, subsequently checking the uncovered finger tip and nail bed for signs of lack of circulation. 

Severus did a once over of the boy’s vital signs, assessing his breathing and pulse.  Satisfied he once again produced his wand and directed it toward the teenaged child. 

“Enervate,” he said quietly, eyeing the teen’s response closely. 

Potter’s eyes soon flickered and opened with a small groan.   

Severus slipped an arm beneath the boy’s shoulders and raised him up slightly, taking up the glass of liquid aspirin with his other hand. 

“Drink this,” he ordered.  At Potter’s instant frown of incomprehension he added, “Aspirin… for your fever.” 

Feelings of relief and surprise battled one another within Severus when Potter did not argue or resist the Potions Master’s instruction or aid; gulping down the Muggle brew without fuss. 

“I feel like sh-… er, rotten,” Harry stammered, at once realising just who he was talking to and amended his language. 

Severus uncharacteristically snorted in amusement, “I’m sure you do,” he acknowledged, and handed the teenager a measure of Pepper-up which Potter again accepted without hesitation.  After a long measuring look, Severus continued, “I’ve done all I can for your injuries here, Potter, we shall need to move you to a better stocked facility.  I shall give you a further few minutes to rest, but I cannot spare long… I was in the middle of something when you… called.” 

“Oh… yeah, erm… thanks,” Harry stammered again. 

Instantly bemused once again, Severus could only nod once in acknowledgement to the boy.  He never believed he’d live to see the day when a Potter would actually thank him. 

“Where are we anyway?” the teenager asked. 

“Mrs Figg’s…  I assumed you would recognise this house,” Severus said. 

“Oh,” he responded, squinting to get a better view of the room around him, “yeah, I do now.”  The boy finally caught sight of the squib standing quietly in the corner of the room.  “Hi, Mrs Figg.” 

“Hello Harry, are you feeling any better?” 

“Um… yeah a bit, I guess,” he responded, with a fleeting look in Snape’s direction and noticed for the first time his bandaged limbs.  With the firm support wrapped around his injuries dulling the ache Harry felt it would be safe to move and attempted to sit up. 

“Sitting up may not be wise, Mr Potter, I have not yet been able to procure a blood-replenishing potion,” Severus informed him with a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m alright… I’m feeling a bit better now… I don’t think I need it.” 

Severus allowed the annoyingly insistent boy to rise despite his warning.  Besides, he did appear to have gained a little of his colour back.  ‘The Pepper-up’s doing,’ Severus supposed. 

“As you appear to be feeling up to it, perhaps I should deliver you to Madam Pomfrey directly,” he suggested.  Potter’s apprehensive eyes flicked up to his own momentarily.  Severus’ own narrowed and his brows drew together in suspicion, ‘What is this boy up to?’ 

“No I’m fine… really… this is great,” Potter tried to assure, shrugging his injured shoulder; indicating the neat dressings: but he failed to completely disguise the flash of pain that rippled across his features.  “I don’t need anything else… um, I’ll just get Aunt Petunia to take me down to the Doctor’s tomorrow morning… it’ll be fine.” 

Severus’ bemusement had now given way completely to incredulity and a building fury.  “Potter!  You are most certainly not fine.  No longer than fifteen minutes ago you fainted dead in my arms!” 

At this announcement Harry blushed profusely. 

Severus continued, “You have a well set in infection in the deep laceration through your arm, a likely significant blood-loss and severe burns covering both your hands… and to top it off you expect to be able to return to the care of the man who is responsible for at least one of those injuries without question!” 

“Um… it... it was just an accident,” Harry lied, desperate to deflect the impending inquiry. 

“So you have been trying hard to convince me for the past half hour… I don’t buy it, Mr Potter!” Severus shot back, slapping his hand down hard upon the table with a bang, clearly unconvinced; when a sudden horrid suspicion came over him.  “Tell me, truthfully, was the wielder of the knife also your uncle?” he asked sharply, a steely gaze boring its way into the boy. 

A soft gasp came from the corner of the room.  “Vernon?  You think Vernon Dursley did this?” Mrs Figg asked, in astonishment. 

Both males in the room instantly flicked their heads toward the momentarily forgotten squib, but Severus immediately returned his consideration to Potter and fixed him with an unyielding glare. 

“Mrs Figg… perhaps you would allow me to have a private word with Mr Potter?” Severus asked rigidly, making it completely clear that the remark, although politely disguised as a request, was nothing short of a demand. 

“Of… of course, Professor,” the older lady acquiesced, practically stumbling from the room in her haste to obey.  

As soon as Severus was sure the woman was out of earshot, he demanded the boy’s obviously reluctant response, “Potter?!” 

After a further ten seconds of silence where Harry desperately tried to conjure an acceptable reply that might end the interrogation, he finally admitted quietly, “Yes.  But… it… it’s not what you think.  It was an accident; I swear… he didn’t mean to cut me.”  Harry swallowed convulsively, hardly comprehending why he had just defended his uncle so vehemently. 

Shocked and perplexed that not only had his vicious accusation of Potter’s uncle been apparently confirmed, but that the teenager seemed to be defending the swine, Severus swiftly snatched up the boy’s good arm by his wrist and yanked him to his feet; Potter yelping in protest. 

“Come, Mr Potter… we shall get to the bottom of this puzzle once and for all!” he stated, heading immediately through the cottage’s front door and in the direction of Privet Drive, dragging a reluctant and anxious teenager in his wake.