The argument was intense and distinctly hostile.   

Vernon Dursley was almost purple with rage, his fury compounding on itself every second that Harry remained within his line of sight… and well within his site Harry was!   

Harry was screaming in his face, in fact, yelling about the injustice of being treated so unfairly and cruelly ever since his Aunt and Uncle had taken him in as an infant.   

Harry had to admit it felt good to finally rebel against his long time tormentors.  He had recently turned sixteen and teenage hormones were running rampart within his system.  His body and mind were being soaked with testosterone, resulting in all his bitterness, hurt and rejection over the previous fifteen years to manifest themselves as aggression and recklessness.

HPSSHPSSHPSS

Ten minutes earlier, the Dursley family (and Harry) had been almost ready to sit down to a hearty Sunday roast lunch.  Vernon had been sharpening the carving knife on the long steel in preparation for slicing up the succulent lump of pork still sizzling in the roasting pan on the kitchen bench. 

Harry had been standing at the sink washing up the dishes used during the preparation of the meal.  There would be another round once they had all finished eating, so Aunt Petunia had demanded that Harry wash the current dishes to make the kitchen clean and pleasant for the duration of the meal, and to make room for the coming piles of crockery. 

Dudley, instead of standing at Harry’s side assisting him by drying the dishes, was sprawled unattractively on the couch watching the television, his mouth agape in relaxed lethargy and his multiple rolls of fat hanging over the edge.   

‘The lazy spoiled tub of lard… why isn’t he helping?’ Harry thought bitterly, turning to stare resentfully in his cousin’s direction. 

But, of course, he knew his Aunt and Uncle would never ask Dudley to help with the housework.  He’d never done so thus far, not as long as Harry could remember, at least.  And, in fact, the fat lump had never even gone so far as to clean his own room.  Harry, more often than not, had been blamed for any mess in the larger boy’s bedroom and so had been required to clean it for Dudley, despite the fact that Harry rarely, at most, had set foot in the room.  

Dudley, upon feeling Harry’s gaze upon him, turned and smirked smugly at him.  He was thoroughly doted upon, and worst of all, he knew it, lapping up the extra attention at Harry’s expense with glee. 

Internally Harry was slowly burning hotter and hotter with resentment.  He turned back to his task.  No point dwelling on it.  May as well get on with it and finish the dishes, he only had a few left to do, and the lunch would be served any moment now. 

Vernon had ceased sharpening the knife and was testing his handy work on the little hairs on his arm.  As the blade scrapped across the blubbery arm, Harry could see the hairs being sheared off.  The knife was perfectly sharpened.   

As Harry predicted, Vernon did not rinse off the knife before he lifted the hunk of meat from the roasting pan, placing it on a large wooden chopping board and proceeded to slice generous portions of pork.  He shuddered in disgust, but his rumbling stomach refused to allow him to dwell on the knowledge.   

He had hardly been allowed to eat these holidays.  Well, it felt like it anyway.  He was a growing sixteen year old boy, no different to any other normally bottomless pit teenage male, and compared to what Dudley was allowed to consume, Harry felt as though he were being starved.  His portions were no bigger than the meager eating Aunt Petunia’s.  In comparison, Uncle Vernon and Dudley’s plates were routinely piled so high Harry wondered how the food defied the laws of physics and remained on the plates.  Therefore despite the horrible notion of eating the hair contaminated pork, Harry admitted that he was so hungry that he would gladly have eaten his serving off the floor today. 

Harry hurried to scrub the last article in the sink and placed it on the drainer.  Then he quickly began wiping each dish with a dry tea towel and placed them away in their proper places within the kitchen cupboards. 

Aunt Petunia was busy setting the table.  Her horse face pinched in concentration until her eyes glanced up at her son slumped on the couch; changing instantly to a picture of sickening adoration. 

“Go wash up for lunch, my little Diddy,” she crooned to her obese son: though of course if anyone asked her, she merely claimed that Dudley was a healthy growing boy and he needed a little extra in reserve.  “Lunch will be on the table in five minutes.” 

Dudley hauled himself off the couch after groaning an acknowledgement.  Normally he would have ignored his mother until she had had to ask several times, and even had to walk over and pull up the large boy herself, but today Dudley was happy to oblige; the food smelt heavenly and Dudley had spent the last hour constantly nagging his mother to serve the food. 

Harry finally put the last bowl away in the cupboard and began to drain the sink of washing up water. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Vernon snapped harshly at him as he moved aside to let Petunia dish up the food onto the plates. 

 “I’m finished,” Harry answered, slightly startled at the tone.  What in the world had he done wrong now? 

“No you’re bloody well not!” Vernon insisted hotly, carving knife still in hand, turning and snatching up the pot mitt on the bench behind him.  “And don’t think you can leave this one until after lunch, either.  I won’t allow it!”  

He then carefully lifted the hot roasting pan with one hand and thrust it toward Harry.  Reflexively, Harry grabbed at the hot metal pan, hissing and gasping when he found the tray much too hot for his bare wet hands.  Juggling it slightly he hurriedly tried to get the hot dish to the sink before his hands became one big blister, but unfortunately the hot oil in the bottom of the pan splashed up and over the whole of his right hand scalding him further.  He yelled out in pain, and watched in horror as the roasting pan fell to the floor where dirty, brown, hot fat splashed over the linoleum and coated the cupboard doors. 

Shocked, Harry looked up to see various expressions cross both his Aunt and Uncle’s faces, ranging from initial shock that matched his own, then to distaste, morphing to disdain and finally settling in an accusing glare directed straight at him. 

“CLEAN THIS UP NOW!” bellowed Uncle Vernon, pointing insistently at the mess coating the floor with the knife.  “You will not eat until it is completely clean!” 

“Petunia dear, take this to the table so you, I and Dudley can begin our lunch,” Uncle Vernon muttered tightly, indicating to the food for Petunia.  The thin woman stepped delicately over the mess toward the table with the platters of sliced meat and roast vegetables. 

Shocked and in pain, Harry felt the burning resentfulness inside his gut and chest suddenly bubble over at the injustice of it all. 

“What...?  NO!” he yelled angrily, and he couldn’t help a slight stamping of his foot from accompanying the retort. 

Stunned momentarily at Harry’s nerve, Vernon did not react except for donning a large scowl on his face.  The boy had never truly stood up to him before!  Oh, there were minor incidences of resistance, but nothing to this extent. 

Harry continued to scream, leaning closer to Vernon’s face, “NO, I won’t!  I’m going to eat now!  Just like you and Dudley!  I’ll eat as much as I want… ‘til I’m full… and I’m NOT washing up the stupid pan! To make up for all the times I’ve done the washing up and he hasn’t… HE CAN DO IT!” Harry demanded, stabbing a pointed finger in his cousin’s direction. 

Dudley had returned to the room a few moments earlier and he and his mother sat dumbfounded at the table; mouths dropped open in surprise at Harry’s rage filled tantrum.  As the finger was jabbed in Dudley direction the large boy let out a quiet whimper of dismay at being brought into the argument. 

By now the fury inside Vernon had built enough to outweigh the shock keeping him silent.  “Oh NO you will NOT, boy-! 

“WATCH ME!” Harry screamed, so worked up that a small amount of spittle escaped with the explosive words.  He began to take slippery steps out of the kitchen toward the luncheon laden table to prove his point. 

Enraged at being spoken to in such a way, and livid at having his directive ignored, Vernon stuck out his free left arm and shoved Harry violently backwards into the bench behind him; advancing on him with a large step.  He began stabbing the knife toward him to emphasize his argument.   

“You WILL do what you are TOLD you ungrateful whelp… AND, you will DO it ALL on you own!  Dudley is three times the lad you will ever be…!” 

“That’s an understatement!” Harry sneered disrespectfully. 

Rage consumed Vernon and with it disappeared any inkling of good sense.  “YOU. WILL. NOT. TALK. ABOUT. MY. FAMILY. THAT. WAY!”  He thrust the knife toward Harry to punctuate every word.   

Harry, barely aware of the weapon, stood his ground glaring at his Uncle, consumed in his own anger and righteousness.   

The blade came closer and closer with each drive until the inevitable happened.  The large, very sharp carving knife plunged one last time where it pierced Harry’s shirt sleeve, slicing a long deep wound through the skin and muscle of his upper arm. 

Harry grunted a gasp at the stinging pressure of the knife puncturing his body, but the blade was retracted immediately. 

Both males looked down at the stain of red which was now blossoming outwards from the torn fabric of the overlarge, white t-shirt sleeve.  At first Vernon wore an expression of shock and regret, but soon his anger returned and coloured his face with scorn and triumph, though his features were still tinged with a hint of guilt. 

“That’ll teach you, you little wretch,” he snapped nastily, attempting to cover up his own culpability regarding the incident, as was the large man’s habit. 

Vernon hastily stepped bodily up to Harry, placing his vast mass in between the bleeding boy and the line of sight of his wife and son.  He tossed the offending knife into the sink and snatched the tea-towel off the side board and shoved it at Harry’s injured arm.   

Harry winced as the towel was pressed onto the cut, but then he clasped it to himself with his own hand nevertheless.  He was just beginning to register what had happened and was reacting with shocked silence; looking up in alarm at his beefy uncle. 

“GO to your room!” Vernon barked pointing his finger insistently toward the staircase.  “You WILL clean this up later… after Petunia, Dudley and I have eaten and have retired to the living room to watch television.  We do not wish to watch you scrabbling around here like a dog while we eat!  This will teach you to make a mess… NO dinner for a WEEK!” 

Harry did not immediately move, still bewildered by what had happened and stunned at how somehow it was all being blamed on him… and STILL he wasn’t getting anything to eat! 

Real physical shock was beginning to settle over him like a suffocating blanket… 

“MOVE!” yelled Vernon, startling Harry out of his overwhelmed inaction.   

He immediately hurried from his obese uncle to the stairs, taking them two at a time until he was pushing past his bedroom door, barely resisting the urge to slam it closed behind him. 

Standing and shaking slightly in the middle of his bedroom time began to catch up with Harry.  He took in several deep breaths trying to calm himself, but it seemed the task was beyond him.  The sensations that were fortunately muted during the altercation began to reappear with cruel intensity.   

Both the young wizard’s sets of fingers and both palms stung ferociously from large weeping blisters, his entire right hand doubly so; burned up past his wrist from the splashed boiling hot drippings, and Harry’s right upper arm began to pulse painfully.  Looking down at the covered wound, Harry noticed that blood had begun to soak the tea-towel and had even run in rivulets down his arm; apparently the cut was bleeding copiously. 

 He abandoned the use of the tea-towel to stop the flow of blood and looked frantically around his room for an alternative bandage.  Spying another t-shirt, Harry scooped it from the dresser drawer where it was messily draped over the corner.  He tried to wrap the shirt around the wound and tie the ends with a granny knot, but it proved too bulky, so he once again abandoned the soaked article and went in search of its replacement.  He eventually decided on his pillowcase folded in half, which he planned to wrap around the wound as many times as would fit, but before he did he noticed the abundance of blood that had literally splashed in large streams down his arm and were dripping heavily off the end of his blistered fingers to make varied stains on the carpet across the floor throughout the room.  There was now an alarming amount of blood, Harry noticed...  

‘If Aunt Petunia came in to my room now she would have a pink fit-’ 

Harry instantly cut into his own thoughts.  How bizarre that he would be worrying about this now.  Uncle Vernon had very nearly cut his arm off!  Harry hastily continued his job of wrapping the wound to try to stem the blood loss.  Apparently it must be already affecting his brain, he thought, half amused. 

He hissed and gasped as the makeshift bandage tightened around his arm.  Blowing out a shaky breath he noticed that his tremor had remained and now he was beginning to feel a little nauseous.  His pain was also getting worse… or maybe he was just not tolerating it anymore.  Either way, he knew his cut to his upper arm alone was serious enough that he could not ignore it for much longer; the burns he could suffer through until they began to heal, but the laceration to his arm was deep.  He would need to seek help from somebody; it was unlikely to heal very well on its own.  Looking back down at the bandaged arm he saw that the pillowcase was now also soaked in his blood.   

‘I better get someone soon, I guess, before I pass out from blood loss!  Fat lot of good I’d be as the Saviour of the wizarding world if I bled to death in my bedroom because of my doting uncle!’ he thought sardonically. 

Harry shook his head at his undying sense of humour at the most inappropriate times whilst snorting in amusement at his own thoughts.  Ron would be proud of him. 

The thought of asking Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia for help was utterly ridiculous at this moment.  He felt Uncle Vernon in particular would merely sneer at his request for assistance, and was more likely to offer to cut a matching wound in his other arm than take him to a doctor and relay what he had done.  Whereas Aunt Petunia would just pinch her face in disgust whilst mopping up the blood and Harry shuddered at having to tolerate such repulse right now.  No, Harry needed someone who could both calm him and attend to his wounds… someone who cared. 

He immediately made the moves to retrieve his wand from its hiding place beneath the loose floorboard in his room.  Sending Hedwig (if she were even here) with a message would take far too long… but a patronus… 

Harry was about to swing his wand and incant the required spell when he decided that he did not want a repeat of last year when the Dementors attacked he and Dudley in the alley and Harry was rewarded with a full wizarding trial for defending himself and his cousin with the use of underage magic.  No, it would be a much better idea to perform the spell as far away from Privet Drive as possible; perhaps the Ministry would be unable to tell that it was Harry performing the spell in this instance. 

Taking a long look around his bedroom, Harry settled for tucking his invisibility cloak in his small shoulder bag with a handful of wizard money (he didn’t actually have any Muggle cash) and a light jumper.  He then slipped his wand into his back pocket.  His right arm was now throbbing intensely and he knew he could not carry the bag with it, so he lifted the small load with his left arm and slung it over his good shoulder and left his bedroom, heading down the stairs and exiting the front door as quietly as he could.   

The Dursleys were enjoying their lunch at the table without him, as if their injured nephew/cousin didn’t even exist… well, to them he had never existed as part of their family, Harry realised.  And now, gazing in the direction of the dining room listening to the happy banter of the three Dursley family members, that realisation had never hurt him more.  He closed the door behind him with a soft click, more devastated than he would care to admit. 

Harry made his way down Privet Drive until he reached the main intersection.  He crossed over and headed in an easterly direction for several streets, passing a convenience store, the primary school he had attended in his younger years, the video store and several small shops including the local hairdressers and butcher.  He saw no-one on the streets, it was the middle of a summer Sunday and it was hot in the sun.  It seemed everyone had retreated indoors to escape the heat… so nobody noticed the bleeding teenager make his way along the street. 

Directly across from these shops was a narrow, dark alley way which serviced an empty shop front and a Doctor’s surgery.  Being a Sunday, the surgery was closed.  Harry crossed over the side street and entered the alley.  It was the perfect location from which to send his patronus… far enough away from his Aunt and Uncle’s house to protect his identity from the Ministry of Magic, and private enough so that Muggles would not witness his display of sorcery. 

Before retrieving his wand from the back pocket of his jeans, Harry dumped the satchel that had been slung over his shoulder.  His right arm was now virtually useless.  He had taken to cradling the injured limb with his other arm, and just removing the support to extract the wand left him breathless with throbbing pain.  He gasped loudly and his eyes pricked with tears. 

Blowing out a long calming breath, Harry resisted the urge to succumb to those tears.  He was sixteen, he told himself… and sixteen year old boys did not cry, no matter how much pain they were in! 

He transferred the wand from his left hand to his right and once again wrapped his left under the other for support.  Checking one last time that he was definitely alone, he began his chant of the Patronus Charm. 

“Expec-” at the same time he attempted to swing the wand to complete the incantation to produce his patronus, but alarmingly found that he could barely move the limb.  He could not have prevented the moan of pain that accompanied his attempt even if he tried. 

“Ah… Merlin!” Harry hissed out. 

He closed his eyes with a grimace.  How on earth was he going to produce his patronus if he couldn’t wave his wand? 

Feeling suddenly light-headed, Harry sunk to the ground against the brick wall.  The idea of excessive blood loss causing his demise suddenly did not seem so amusing anymore.

A puddle of Harry’s blood was in fact pooling on the concrete at his side; the exertion having increased the bleeding of the arm wound… or perhaps re-opened the wound if it had miraculously managed to clot.  Either way, the makeshift pillowcase bandage was virtually pointless for containing the spill of blood at this point.  However, the mere thought of removing the sodden length of material from his painful, bleeding arm sent chills down Harry’s spine. 

Harry rested his spinning head back against the rough bricks, closing his eyes.  He could barely feel the stinging in his hands anymore; the throbbing in his arm far overshadowed it, but now even that was dimming.  He felt so tired all of a sudden… he would just rest with his eyes closed… for just a minute… 

HPSSHPSSHPSS

 He was in a groggy haze of pain… washing over him in waves, concentrating in biting peaks of fiery sting.   

As Harry woke further, he became more aware of the sites of pain; isolating each one from the rest of his body which was pulsing with an uncomfortable strain, but not really hurting, as such.   

But Merlin, his arm!  He groaned at the sensation and tried to shift himself to ease the throbbing, though the effort seemed to be in vain; the ache persisted regardless. 

Opening his eyes he squinted at the sudden light, but as memories of the morning flooded back to him, he realised that it was actually darker than what he remembered it should have been. 

He could hardly believe he had dozed off to sleep, sitting uncomfortably against the wall, his injuries getting more and more painful as time passed. 

Glancing down at the concrete beside him, he noticed the puddle of blood was significantly larger, but it had dried around the edges somewhat.  Just how long had he been asleep for?   

‘A number of hours by the looks of it,’ he thought in alarm.  ‘I need to get out of here… I need help!’ 

Harry shifted himself against the wall again, but this time the movement dislodged his wand which had been resting in his lap.  It clattered softy against the pavement before he registered what the article was and retrieved it with his left hand. 

Extremely hesitant to try to move his right arm again, Harry lifted his left, wand in hand and readied himself mentally to cast his patronus charm.  Thoughts of his mother’s soft red hair and inviting, nurturing arms flooded his mind… 

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry incanted, whilst swishing his wand through the appropriate motions. 

But nothing happened. 

Disconcerted, but not discouraged, Harry tried again, placing more accent on his precise wand movements, but still to no avail. 

He tried again and again, becoming agitated and anxious.   

“Come on!” he whispered to himself, “I need someone… an Order member, anyone… Remus, Dumbledore, Mr Weasley… Professor McGonagall, anyone…”   

Several continuingly more desperate attempts later, Harry ceased trying… taking deep calming breaths.  There was no point getting worked up, the Patronus Charm was only successful with positive, happy thoughts.  Harry would need to compose himself enough to replace the frantic feelings building inside him with serene memories. 

He began to recall times when he had smiled and laughed, remembering the joyous faces of Ron and Hermione… Christmas at Hogwarts… Flying on his broomstick…  Yes, flying… that always made Harry feel calmer… uninhibited. 

He found himself almost with a smile on his face, and much calmer.  He again began to think of casting his patronus charm, and when he mentally went through the motions, he soon realised his mistake.  Harry had been using his left hand instead of his usual right and had failed to invert the movements. 

His first try after adapting the motion, Harry held the memory of both his parents in his mind.  He concentrated further and as his patronus blossomed from the tip of his wand he recalled the earlier desperation of needing help. 

He was soon facing his magnificent Buck patronus whispering his emergency instructions and his location.   

“Deliver the message to Remus Lupin… or Professor Dumbledore.  Get whichever Order member is available, as quickly as possible… Mr or Mrs Weasley, or Tonks… heck, I’d even be ecstatic to see Snape!  GO!”   

Harry watched the glowing patronus zoom off into the dimming sky with hope, but as the glow diminished into the darkening blue, Harry was suddenly horror struck as he realised that Professor Snape had been his ultimate request to the patronus.   

Snape!  The man whom Harry blamed the most aside from himself for Sirius’ death, the man who hated his father and whom James hated in return, the ex-Death Eater and dubious spy for the Order, the man who had called his mother ‘Mudblood’ in their youth, the spiteful, bitter Potions Professor who despised Harry for no apparent reason from the moment he had met him… 

With a perverse chuckle Harry thought, ‘Surely Prongs wouldn’t do that to me!’   

It was an oddly amusing idea that Prongs would retrieve Snape of all people to aid Harry, and soon the teenager forgot all about the horrifying notion, dismissing the thought entirely as a ludicrous impulse.  He’d asked for others by name too, after all! 

Adjusting himself once again against the hard brick wall at his back, Harry tried to make himself as comfortable as possible for his wait for help.  Prongs would hopefully deliver the message in a timely fashion and Harry wouldn’t have to wait in pain for much longer.  He allowed himself to rest his head against the wall again and close his eyes… he truly felt wretched now!   

Severus watched the two similar, yet opposite in likeness, witches walk from sight of his house on Spinner’s End though a small opening at the join of the drawn sitting room curtain.  The blonde seemed far too trusting of him, the dark not nearly trusting enough… but it was the dark that had him pegged right, and this was dangerous for the black clad man… very dangerous! 

He knew he’d barely proved himself loyal enough to the Dark Lord through Bellatrix Lestrange’s eyes, but he could hardly have done more.  As it was his gut was churning with anxiety at what he had promised the blonde witch… but more importantly, how he had promised.  The Unbreakable Vow he had magically undertaken now left him with very little options, all of which he would rather not assume. 

Ensuring his unwelcome houseguest was still tucked away upstairs and out of earshot, Severus quietly exited the dwelling, snapping the door shut softly behind him.  Dumbledore would need to hear of this ugly development as soon as possible. 

He had gained the corner of Spinner’s End and was well out of the line of sight of his childhood home when, after a swift scan with his sharp black eyes of his surrounds to establish that he had acquired no witnesses, he Disapparated in a twirling flurry of black robes. 

Reappearing at the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Severus stepped up to the locked wrought-iron gates and magically countered the locking charm.  The heavy chains that were wrapped securely around the thick, black bars of the gate proceeded to snake their way in reverse to create an opening that would permit the imposing, sinister looking wizard to enter.  After passing through he made a lazy flick of his wand and the chains wound themselves back into position and he continued his purposeful stride over the vast lawn toward the large wooden door that constituted the main entry to the castle. 

When he was about a third of the way across the turf, his eyes were instantly assaulted by the bright, earnest approach of a glowing orb from the sky just to the right of the castle.   

‘An Order message,’ he immediately thought, squinting toward the bright, lustrous patronus to try to make out the shape, and therefore the identity of the sender, from afar; though from this distance the feat was impossible.  Halting his approach to the castle, he waited until the gleaming mass was close enough for his eyes to make out a distinct shape. 

Deep lines of puzzlement highlighted on his face as he hastily tried to make sense of why the patronus that approached him resembled the shape of his own so closely.  He would recognize her form patently easily, so closely was it linked to the highly personal and emotional memories from which she was usually conjured; as was common for many wizard’s and witch’s patronus figures.  But who in the Order bore a patronus of a similar profile?  He’d not received a message via this particular patronus before, of that he was sure. 

As the shimmering form drew even closer, Severus identified not only the similarities to his beautiful, silver doe patronus, but also the marked differences: and the realisation of what and who the large antlered buck patronus represented caused the dark man to instantly flush with fury. 

He dared send this apparition to confront Severus Snape…?  Harry Bloody Potter had the audacity to taunt the most intimidating Professor at Hogwarts with this travesty of a spectre?!   

He knew it belonged to the boy… he had witnessed this particular vision before on the shores of the Great Lake a little more than two years ago, and as impressive a figure as Prongs cut, his presence managed only to reawaken in an ill-prepared Severus’ thudding heart a habitual incense along with a long neglected ache. 

Growling in anger, Severus promptly closed the remaining distance between himself and the approaching patronus. 

“Deliver your message and be gone!” he demanded sharply, eager to avoid stirring up the myriad of buried, hurtful memories of the past any more than was absolutely necessary by ridding himself of the sight of the most insistent reminder as quickly as possible. 

As the apparition nodded its head in understanding, the echo of the voice of the Potter teen floated out and around the dark man, unexpectedly pervading him with the very essence of the message. 

“I need you… I have been injured and need help urgently… I’ve lost quite a large amount of blood and can’t manage to stop the bleeding… please come as quickly as you can, I’m in Quandong Road, on the outskirts of Little Whinging, down the small alley near the back of the Doctor’s surgery…it hurts a lot… please hurry!  Harry.” 

Feelings of desperation and anxiety that were not Severus’ own accompanied the message, the boy must have been in quite a state when he conjured the patronus and instilled the message.  The experience left Severus taken aback for a long moment. 

He could scarcely believe that he had been the recipient of a message from Harry Potter at all, let alone one that was infused with such an intimate and vulnerable plea for help.   

‘I mean, weren’t I the last person the infernal child thought of for help at the end of the previous school year?’ Severus thought bemusedly.  In fact it seemed from Dumbledore’s explanation that the idiotic boy had not even considered him at all until the Umbridge woman had summoned his assistance in acquiring further stocks of Veritaserum and he had appeared at the doorway to her office where Potter had clumsily tried to send him the oblique message about what he had witnessed in the Dark Lord’s deceitful vision.   

And now, after the incident at the Ministry culminating in Black’s death, Severus had had a well-defined impression that Potter lay much of the blame for the loss of his newly discovered Godfather squarely at the Potions Master’s feet.  

Severus had been initially mystified by the unvoiced, yet nevertheless palpable, accusation from the boy by way of his recent icy demeanor despite the truth regarding Severus and Sirius’ mutual distaste of one another… well, because he had done all he could at the time to prevent the disaster, after all; insisting that Black remain at Grimmauld Place.  Though as the summer holidays had progressed, Severus had come to suspect that the teens’ own guilt in respect to the series of events was most probably the reason he had lashed out at his already established adversary; it was obviously a lot easier and safer for the brat to lay blame upon others instead of accepting responsibility for his own asinine actions.  And despite Dumbledore’s tolerance of the boy’s supposedly fine character and assertion of his promising aptitude, Severus observed that Potter had been allowed to make a nasty habit out of the tendency to be recklessly arrogant to the point of being unreasonable since beginning his career at Hogwarts.   

Consequently Severus had given the ridiculous allegation and the boy’s regard for the dark man no credence whatsoever; after all, Severus was agonizingly well aware of his own culpability in the whole affair which had begun many years before Harry Potter had even arrived at Hogwarts and felt a clear conscience regarding his part in the lead up to Black’s death.   

And besides, he did not care one whit what the spawn of James Potter thought of him… or so he told himself, anyway.  Perhaps if he ever thought of Harry as Lily Evans’ son he might need to reassess his stance on the matter; but these were not thoughts that he’d ever allow to enter his mind. 

The silver buck sprectre pranced impatiently in front of him drawing him out of his musings.  At the initial shock of Potter choosing to send an urgent appeal for help to him, he realised that he had failed to take in the details of the message. 

“Repeat the message,” he requested of the sashaying patronus tersely.  Just the mere sight of the apparition churned his stomach. 

After this time taking note of the boy’s location, Severus took a longing look toward the castle where he wished to discuss the latest demoralizing developments with Albus as soon as possible.  But it would have to wait, he concluded; Potter’s worrisome, yet oddly intriguing, situation in reality required the dark man’s attention far more urgently.  He swiftly dismissed the lustrous vision which had remained to ensure its job completed with a contemptuous backhand gesture, turned on his heel and retraced his steps across the grounds and back through the locked gate, securing it for a second time. 

With a last contemplative thought about the absurdity of Potter sending him a cry for assistance; and the urgency the child must have felt to even consider the idea, Severus Apparated away to Little Whinging. 

Severus reappeared in the alleyway between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk, the only other streets he knew the exact location of in the suburb that Potter had grown up in other than his actual street, Privet Drive.  He’d been here a number of times throughout the previous fifteen years, though most often since the return of the Dark Lord, in a capacity of ‘watcher’ when man power of the Order was lean, or one time when the squib, Mrs Figg, had something consequential, yet not urgent, to report; although even including every incident his visits could not be considered frequent. 

Gathering his bearings, he strode down the laneway and out onto Wisteria Walk.  He continued along the street to the small cottage decorated garishly several houses away and rapped firmly on the front door. 

Mrs Figg, the only squib member of the Order of the Phoenix, answered several moments later, a little startled to find the intimidating wizard on her doorstep.  Severus allowed a small smirk to curl his lips at the woman’s obvious disquiet. 

“Forgive my intrusion, Mrs Figg, but I require your assistance.” 

“Oh… ah, er, P-Professor Snape… what is it that you want?” Arabella Figg stammered in her surprise, her numerous cats (or were they kneazels?) joining her at the door, weaving themselves languidly between her ankles. 

“Would you by chance know the location of Quandong Road here in Little Whinging?  I believe there is a Doctor’s Surgery somewhere along that road, if this detail helps with your recollections,” Severus asked smoothly. 

“Yes, I know that street… oh, ah… you can come in if you like and I’ll just fetch the telephone book with the maps inside,” she offered a little hesitantly. 

“Thank you, but I would rather wait here… my business is quite urgent, you understand?” the dark man explained.  It seemed his refusal was mutually beneficial as she wasn’t able to conceal her relief from the brooding man scrutinizing her.  Though, as he was really rather unwilling to enter the woman’s notoriously cluttered house, he chose not to feel affronted.   

Realising (though a little too late) that her feelings about this man were possibly obvious in her features, she raised her hand to shield her reaction from him in embarrassment.  “Oh… right… very well, as you wish.  I’ll be right back.” 

Severus turned his back on the door and surveyed the street, growing increasingly impatient with every minute that passed.  After several had expired, he could not help himself, he turned back to the doorway and tried to locate the woman inside the room ahead of him, craning his neck and squinting in order to see better into the darkened space.  He could not locate her, so he leaned further into the room and then took one step into the abyss, his eyes straining to focus in the dim light. 

“Mrs Figg!  Mrs Figg… I really cannot spare another min-” 

At that moment the sometimes doddery older woman appeared abruptly right in front of his face, he took a hurried, startled step back from her with a gasp.  Oh, for heavens sake, now the squib was creeping him out!  He closed his eyes momentarily and sucked in a deep breath to try to re-gather his faltered composure. 

“Here it is,” she offered the open thin paged book to him.  He grasped the index in one hand and his sharp eyes began to dart over the map.  “Now, we’re here,” she indicated with a finger, “and Quandong is over here, this way.”  

His eyes followed her fingertip as it guided the man to the location he had requested, several streets over. 

She was now indicating the actual physical route the man should take, so Severus lifted his head to familiarize himself with the course, asking a few questions to confirm the correct orientation of the map that he held in reference to the direction that the streets lay.  She then pointed back to the map to show him approximately where the Doctor’s Surgery was located along the lengthy road. 

Once he was sure he understood, he promptly tore the page containing the pertinent map from the book and handed her back the greater. 

“Thankyou, Mrs Figg,” he said, indifferent to her shocked expression and dismayed whimper, bidding her a small nod of goodbye before he swiftly turned on his heel and strode from the residence. 

He had gained several meters before she called out to him, “It isn’t about Harry, is it?  Is he alright?” she asked worriedly.   

He barely turned around at her enquiry, but he did answer.  “I shall deal with it, Mrs Figg, do not concern yourself,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

Walking briskly along the streets, Severus’ keen eyesight picked up the occasional drops of blood on the pavement.  In his opinion they appeared quite fresh and he supposed they could belong to the boy; as a result he quickened his pace even more. 

As he hiked, Severus contemplated just what misfortune had befallen the teenager this time, internally preparing a number of scathing criticisms to fire at the boy when he invariably discovered the nature of Potter’s blunder.  Yes, he was going to enjoy this very much, he told himself! 

The drops of blood along the footpath had gradually become more prolific Severus observed with an amount of uneasiness, and with a quick consultation of the map he appreciated with relief that he was nearing his destination.  He only hoped that Potter had remained in the same location.  Scanning the area he caught sight of the standing of shops about half a block away.  He decided to cross the street now when he spied the large sign advertising the Doctor’s Surgery on the opposite side of the road.  There was a steady stream of cars, but they weren’t bumper to bumper so Severus had no problem negotiating a safe passage across the two lanes, even though his mind was quite preoccupied. 

He increased his pace once again, almost breaking into a trot as he neared the surgery and the opening of the small alleyway along side it.  Drawing his wand, he briskly rounded the corner and searched down the narrow, shadowed passageway finally spying the teenager he sought sitting with his back propped against the brick wall at the far end.  Potter’s head, he could see, was lolling to one side at what had to be an uncomfortable angle.  With a worried frown Severus now allowed himself to succumb to his long building desire to break into an anxious jog; covering the final several meters to the boy swiftly and coming to an abrupt halt to kneel on one knee at his side. 

“Potter?” he said immediately in a slightly greater than average volume and tone, though received no reaction. 

“Potter!” he said again, a little more sharply.  Still nothing, not even a twitch. 

Not touching him yet, Severus did a quick evaluation of the unresponsive teen who had his arms crossed loosely in front of him with his hands tucked between his thighs.  Severus could have easily assumed he was merely sleeping if he hadn’t seemed oddly difficult to rouse. 

‘The boy is breathing, a little shallow… though not particularly laboured, probably mostly to do with his current posture more than anything… but he seems exceptionally pale in complexion.  It appears the only outward sign of injury is this wrapped arm wound; it must be pretty deep though, there’s quite an amount of blood.’ 

His eyes followed the tracks of blood from the soaked bandage down the arm to where his hand disappeared from view. 

Severus’s investigative gaze also took note of the pool of half dried blood on the concrete next to the child.  

‘But it isn’t all that great a puddle,’ he thought.  ‘Even taking into account the drops of blood all the way here, he shouldn’t have lost so much as to be life-threatening,’ Severus’ mind reasoned, ‘so it should be safe to rouse him.’ 

“Potter!” Severus tried again, after stowing his wand temporarily up his sleeve for easy access he reached for the boy’s exposed throat to check his pulse. 

‘A little erratic,’ he noted, once he’d found the point on which he could feel the soft rhythm of Potter’s blood being pumped through his artery.  For a good while after the need to monitor his pulse, Severus’ hand remained cradled around the teen’s neck; in his preoccupation and concern, he hadn’t even considered feeling repulsed at the touch of the child he actively despised; as he might have done under different circumstances.   

Using his left hand he lifted Potter’s head by cupping his jaw and cheek; straightening out his neck out, then repeatedly tapped his right hand none too gently upon the boys’ opposite cheek. 

“Mr Potter!  Wake up.”  Several more taps and the dark man detected the slightest stirring from the teen.  He persisted with his reviving technique. 

“Mr Potter!" 

The boy finally began to come to; eliciting a small moan of pain. 

“That’s it,” Severus encouraged, “now, open your eyes.” 

 HPSSHPSSHPSS

“Come on, open your eyes.” 

Another groan later and Harry was attempting to force open his heavy lids to comply with the soothing, deep voice commanding him.  He knew that voice… he had been conditioned to obey it. 

“Ow,” he whispered aloud at the sharp sting that was assaulting him at various places and in varying intensities around his body, following it with a fierce hiss of pain.  He lifted his hands from his lap, they seemed to be burning as well as stinging, and he felt what must have been his wand slip from his loose grasp.  It clattered softly to the ground beside him. 

There was a soft, mildly horrified gasp from the owner of the voice and then Harry noticed for the first time the warm hands gently cradling his face and he leaned into them appreciatively.  Someone had answered his patronus and come to help him, (Professor Dumbledore?)… Harry sighed internally with relief. 

“Sir?” Harry asked attempting to confirm if it was Professor Dumbledore who had come to his aid, because he still hadn’t managed to open his eyes yet. 

“Yes, Potter,” the voice answered… but somehow something did not quite match up, though Harry could not put his finger on it. 

“Open your eyes,” requested the voice again, but at a whisper this time, lending Harry no help with working out his mystery. 

The hands were removed from his face leaving his skin lamenting the disappearance of the soothing warmth. 

The hands were then suddenly tugging at the bandage around his injured arm.  Harry panicked, trying to inch away from the fiddling hands. 

“No, it hurts too much… don’t, please,” he said and made a huge effort to lift the uncooperative eyelids. 

“Stay still, Potter!” snapped the voice.   

This gave Harry pause… since when did Dumbledore call him Potter? And then suddenly a ghastly memory involving Prongs came to mind. 

‘Oh, no… surely not…?’ he thought with horror, and finally winning over the resistant lids; flicking his eyes open and taking in the blurred image of the irritated, scowling face of Snape far too close to him in his opinion! 

Harry instantly scooted down the wall away from the unpleasant and terrifying man. 

“Oh, fuck!”

“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.

Harry looked back in the direction of Mrs Figg’s cottage with regret.  He’d recognised the vial of pain relieving potion amongst a small pile of medical supplies he assumed had been used to patch him up, but he hadn’t had a chance to ask for it before Snape had snatched up his wrist and had begun dragging him down the street.  And despite the Pepper-up and aspirin he was still in a significant amount of pain.  And to top it off, the two remedies he had consumed were now sloshing uncomfortably around his already sensitive stomach.  To Harry it seemed Snape, in his apparent fury, had gone and forgotten all about his poor physical condition. 

“Sir… please…” 

“What?!” Severus snapped, irritated enough that the boy was failing to keep up and was forcing Severus to drag him along behind him, but now he was beginning to whine annoyingly.  The Potions Master was more than preoccupied enough with his tumultuous thoughts about the teen’s allegedly heavy handed guardian, Potter’s odd behaviour of defending his uncle and the damage the man had apparently inflicted- 

With an abrupt jolt, Severus realised just what he had done.  He spun toward the teenager.  Potter was paling again, almost before his eyes. 

“I… I’m not feeling too good, Sir… please, can I sit down for a minute?” 

They were approximately half way between Wisteria Walk and Privet Drive by now and looking around Severus felt relieved to spy a low garden wall just a few metres away and he quickly guided the ailing boy to the makeshift seat. 

“Here, sit,” he directed, giving the boy the once over with an assessing eye.  He found the boy’s features creased with strain and swathed in a thin coat of perspiration.  Potter was also breathing shallowly; blowing out each breath in an attempt at calming control. He was also trembling slightly and Severus caught him biting at his lip a few times.  As Potter perched himself on the squat stone fence he immediately wrapped his good arm around himself in a protective and supportive manner.  Severus crouched in front of the teen ready to intervene in case the boy should suddenly collapse again… lamenting the fact that he had not thought to pocket the vial of Pain-reliever that Arabella had presented.   

“You are in pain?” he asked, and although the answer was obvious to him he wished to hear Potter’s viewpoint in case there was more to it than what Severus had discerned… which turned out to be the case.   

The boy nodded with a huffed breath out, “And I feel sick again,” he added softly. 

After a contemplative moment Severus realised he had made a grave error in judgement bringing the injured teenager along with him.  Although if he were to be honest he would say it wasn’t necessarily a bad decision, but the fact that he hadn’t thought about the boy’s welfare at all to begin with.  He had purely been consumed with righteous anger imagining that another adult may have been guilty of abusing a child and that the child in question had attempted to protect the adult from the consequences… it had barely anything to do with Potter at all… but a lot to do with the collection of painful childhood memories that had been dredged from the depths of his own mind. 

Severus quickly pushed the unbidden thoughts back down into the murky pit of his psyche where they belonged… this was not the same… Potter’s upbringing bore no resemblance to his own.  And besides, he had yet to establish if the teen were even telling the truth about how he had been injured; the boy had been remarkably disinclined to discuss the incident and this possible deceit rang true if the brat’s penchant for dishonesty and arrogance were anything to go by.   

‘But still…’ he subconsciously thought; enough doubt swirling in his mind, ‘I will confirm the boy’s story.’ 

“Perhaps I shall deliver you to Madam Pomfrey before I pay your Uncle a visit,” he mused aloud, his eyes roving back over Potter and not liking what he was seeing regarding the health of the teenaged child… he was responsible for the wellbeing of this boy for the moment, after all. 

This comment made Harry spark up a bit and he was suddenly very aware that he just might have gotten his uncle into a world of trouble as Professor Snape had a legendary reputation for being a very dangerous, formidable wizard with ample experience and talent using the Dark Arts.  And Harry knew that the reputation bore more than just a little truth; as he was now very aware that Snape was the spy amongst the Death Eaters for the Order of the Phoenix… he’d had it confirmed by the man himself during Occlumency lessons last year. 

“What?  No… I’ll come with you!” he spluttered but then took in a deep calming breath; he didn’t want Snape to become suspicious.  “I’ll be alright in a minute.”  

Harry noticed that Snape’s eyebrows had drawn together again… he seemed displeased, but amazingly he did not insist that Harry be immediately whisked off to the doting school matron. 

Severus wondered silently what Potter was up to once again; he’d assumed the boy would take the first opportunity to get away from him.  But he was also considering how he would get to the truth of what had happened between the boy and his uncle if Potter were not there to give his perspective of events.  He supposed he could just perform Legillimency upon the man – but he did not wish to alert the Ministry of Magic by breaking the statute of secrecy because of the unauthorised use of magic upon a Muggle if it turned out to be unjustifiable.  No: Potter seemed to be adamant that he could tolerate the visit, and his curiosity piqued about the teen’s odd behaviour, Severus decided he would allow him come. 

“You have two minutes, Potter.  If you are not recovered enough by then, I will escort you straight to the matron.”  ‘And Legillimize you instead,’ he thought in addition.   

He stood upright and surveyed the dark street out of habit… but had he thought about the action consciously he still would have done the same.  Years of deceit had trained Severus to remain constantly vigilant and ever wary. 

The nearest house’s lower floor curtain flapped suddenly back into place as he moved his gaze to it, and further up the street a young woman walking her small dog had crossed over to the other side of the street upon sighting the strange dark-haired man in the weird, flowing robes; but neither presented a threat to Severus or his charge, so he turned his attention back to the boy. 

Harry sighed silently, “Okay… that’s fine, Sir,” he accepted, but he knew he would struggle to keep up… he only hoped he could just hold out until he got there to head off any real threat to his family. 

After a few moments, Harry suddenly worried how he was actually going to achieve that against Snape of all wizards… and then abruptly realised that he was not even in possession of his wand.  He patted himself down gently with his bandaged left hand to make sure it wasn’t tucked away in some unnoticed place, but came up empty. 

Severus watched Potter pat himself down worriedly, appearing almost stricken when he still came up empty handed.  He already had a suspicion as regards to which of two articles the teenager could be hunting for.   

‘It’s about time the foolish boy queried its location!’ he thought, and he further wondered just what thoughts had prompted the search. 

“A problem, Mr Potter?” he drawled unhelpfully. 

Harry looked up at the dark man a little discomfited, “Ah... er, Sir… did you happen to pick up my wand from the alley?  It’s just that… um, I don’t seem to have-” 

“Relax, Potter!” Severus interrupted the teen’s rambling, reaching into his deep inner robe pocket and retrieving the teenager’s backpack; restoring it immediately to its original size.  “It’s in there,” he said, slinging the resized backpack onto the wide stone wall next to the boy. 

‘What prompted the boy to desire his wand,’ Severus again wondered, and suddenly he almost smirked.  ‘Revenge?’ he thought with perverse amusement, and very briefly he considered whether the boy had more in common with him than he had first thought. 

Potter attempted to open the pack beside him, but found it impossible with his bandaged hands.  He looked up at Severus with hesitant hope. 

“Er… would you mind, Sir?” 

Severus rolled his eyes in exasperation, ‘Merlin, anyone would think I had become Potter’s personal slave,’ he thought with exaggeration, but nevertheless he reached for the bag again and unfastened the flap.  Another glance at the boy confirmed for him that he would need to retrieve the wand from the depths of the backpack too, so he rummaged inside it until he grasped the slim length of holly, pulling it from the bag and presenting it to the boy. 

Harry clumsily took his wand back and stowed it away in the side pocket of his jeans.  When he looked up he found the professor holding out a familiar pair of spectacles to him. 

“You shall also be requiring these, I imagine,” the man said, sounding bored. 

Until now Harry hadn’t even realised he was without them, so distracted was he by all that had happened… and was still happening, in fact. 

“Er, yeah…um… thanks,” he said softly, taking the glasses from the man and sliding them awkwardly back onto his face; his vision immediately sharpening, though they made no difference to the remnant swirling dizziness he was still experiencing. 

Severus froze instantly, flicking his eyes up to the boy’s now filtered green eyes; finding the likeness to James Potter instantly heightened.  Though, when he found no evidence of sarcasm or mockery in the features he had instinctively decided to hate so absolutely, he tilted his head to the side a little in a curious gaze. 

“Two in one day… you must be feeling off colour,” he said smarmily with a soft snort, not able to stop himself responding with sarcasm despite the fact that he really was quite appreciative of the voicing of Potter’s apparent gratitude.  But Severus was not in the habit of treating this particular boy with respect, after all. 

He did feel a little discomforted though when it became apparent that his spiteful comment had caused the teen in front of him to dip his head in sad disappointment.  Usually his remarks were designed to effect that very reaction in his students, the Griffindors especially, but today he’d not meant for it to be taken as criticism and regret sprang from some unknown depth in his chest. 

“Come, boy, the two minutes is up,” he said, changing the subject very deliberately. 

Harry cringed reflexively again at the use of the moniker, wondering silently just why he hated being addressed by the simple expression to this extent. 

Severus noticed the teen’s response; and not for the first time today.  He wondered to himself why the teenager recoiled a little when he had definitely not presented a physical threat of any kind; a vague, unsettling suspicion about the child’s home-life again weighing in his gut. 

Severus straightened to his full height quickly, watching cautiously as the teenager hitched his backpack into place over one shoulder and also rose to a standing position to be sure he was actually secure on his feet, before he set off at a pace that, whilst appearing brisk, was in actual fact subdued a little from his normal resolute gait. 

Harry set off after him; at first making a valiant effort to keep up, but soon he lagged behind by several meters; really pushing himself merely to keep going.   

‘Only another hundred yards or so,’ he encouraged himself; believing wholly that if he did not accompany Snape on his visit to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia that he might in fact end up entirely without blood relatives.   

Harry was blowing out each breath battling the growing nausea and dizziness with determination but also a great deal of furtiveness.  He decided he would not ask to stop and rest this time (nor indeed allow the Potions professor to see that he was struggling); and in fact he would not stop at all unless he physically dropped from exhaustion; because he did not want to give Snape any excuse to send him to Madam Pomfrey before the confrontation. 

A couple of minutes later Harry saw, aided by the light cast by the streetlamps, the dark lanky form of Snape approach the door to number 4 Privet Drive ahead of him.  The tall professor rapped sharply upon the neat wooden door with his knuckles, despite the obvious doorbell framed just to the side of the entrance; he waited seemingly patiently for someone to respond. 

In the time it took for somebody to answer the door, Harry had arrived on the brink of exhaustion to stand a little behind the man on the doorstep.  He let his bag slip off his shoulder and land with a soft thud to the ground. 

Harry badly wanted to squeeze himself in between the dark man and the door, effectively shielding the occupants from the threat the wizard posed, but he was having trouble just standing up straight; his knees threatening to buckle beneath him and the blurred black clad figure in front of him seeming to tilt oddly.  Automatically he thrust out his left hand and grabbed a fistful of black robes from in front of him to steady himself. 

Severus started as his robes were snatched firmly from behind, but he quickly realised it was just the boy trying to keep his balance.  He swung his arm behind himself to grasp Potter’s elbow, holding him firmly in place.  If the teenager collapsed here he would crack his head on the paved pathway: a complication both he and Potter could definitely do without. 

He was about to turn to attend to Potter more appropriately when the door in front of him abruptly opened; the light from the entrance hall flooded over Severus, but Harry was shrouded in the darkness of Severus’ shadow.   

A distracted, large, whale of a teenaged boy stood in the doorway, glancing back at the noisy television blaring in another room. 

“Yeah… what do you want?” the boy asked rudely, never quite taking in the vision of the tall, dark wizard on his doorstep. 

Severus narrowed his eyes, trying to reconcile the excessively large, blonde teenager slouching in front of him; with the slim, decidedly not tall, dark-haired teen clutching Severus’ robes desperately behind him: but found it rather impossible.   

‘This surely cannot be Potter’s cousin?’ he thought, baffled.  The dark man had known that Potter had a cousin, though had never had an opportunity to observe him.  What he saw now most definitely did not merge with his pre-conceived idea of what the boy should look like. 

“I’d like to speak with Mr Vernon Dursley… your father, I presume?” he asked in a clipped tone, seeking to confirm his thoughts. 

At Severus’ deep, authoritative request the boy finally focused his attention on the visitor.  His eyes bugged to huge orbs in alarm and let out a small squeak at the sight of the dark, menacing looking wizard before him. 

“Uh…uh… um… D-Dad’s not here,” the teenager stammered foolishly. “Mum… there’s a man at the door… Muuuum… MUM!” he yelled frenziedly, backing away from the door; unwisely leaving access to the house open to all.   

Severus sneered at the teenager and took a small menacing step forward for good measure, disgusted with the blubbery child and his obvious lack of courage.   

The fat boy swiftly turned and effectively bolted from sight.  The dark man didn’t know whether it was simply out of fear or merely to retrieve his mother, but he could hedge a bet that the boy would not be returning to the entrance hallway.  He snorted in disdainful amusement. 

More muffled yelling went on in the background of the house and Severus took the opportunity to spin and assess the teenager who was now yanking back on his robes with a suddenly vice like grip; almost in a restraining fashion he briefly noted, before dismissing the impression.  The boy was breathing erratically and huffing in distress.  Severus was quite alarmed at the state of him. 

‘Foolish boy!’ he thought, ‘Why didn’t he tell me he was struggling this badly?’  Severus shook his robes loose from the boy’s grip and stabilised him instead by gripping the upper part of the child’s uninjured arm.  He shook his wand from his dark sleeve; planning on casting a diagnostic spell on the boy.  He then started to jostle the teen to the low boundary wall a few feet away. 

“Sit down before you fall-” 

Believing the man was trying to shove him out of the way, Harry forestalled him; resisting the man’s thrusting arms... worried about what Snape was intending to do to the youngest Dursley with the abrupt appearance of the wizard’s wand.   

“Don’t hurt Dudley… please,” he begged, taking his own grip on the dark man’s arm. 

Severus was taken aback; the frown of confusion furrowing on his forehead.  “What are you blathering about?” he said, attempting to gain eye contact with the teen.  But the boy was unable to provide him with an answer as Potter’s aunt began to approach near to the open doorway at that moment.   

“What on earth do you mean… scaring my Dudders that way?!  Vernon has gone away on business, what is it you want?!” she snapped frostily, reaching the entrance and placing a fist at her slim waist haughtily. 

At Petunia’s proclamation Harry suddenly recalled his Uncle’s impending sales trip… he had heard Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia discussing the man’s departure time (of late that afternoon) when he had come down this morning for breakfast.  Harry couldn’t believe he had forgotten!  Vernon’s coming three day absence had been the reason for the special roast dinner at lunchtime, after all. 

Severus turned his attention back to the doorway and the thin horse-faced woman standing in its frame.  To say Severus was stunned again was an understatement, but the man was skilled at keeping his reactions private and gave none of it away.  He’d momentarily forgotten somehow that Potter’s aunt was in fact Petunia Evans… a woman he’d known and grown up with since they both were quite young children… and although he’d spent most of his time with her younger sister Lily, he still felt he had known the older girl well enough.  A thousand memories flooded his mind of a time gone by long ago. 

Harry felt Professor Snape stiffen at the arrival of his aunt, for he still had a grasp on the man’s arm. 

"Mrs Dursley, I presume?” he said, quite stiffly, knowing full well the identity of this woman. 

As soon as he turned around Petunia had begun to stare hard at him; eventually her expression turned to one of shocked recognition. 

“Severus Snape…?” she said quietly, shaking her head disbelievingly.  But instantly she spied Harry clinging to his arm; an arm that held aloft a menacing looking wand; and her expression darkened. 

“What do you mean by coming here?” she demanded.  “What do you want?  And where have you been!?” she demanded in turn of each of the males in front of her. 

“Um…” Harry answered, not really sure what to say.  It was true that he’d left without actually telling anyone, but he’d definitely been under the impression that nobody cared anyway. 

Aunt Petunia continued her lecture almost without missing a beat, “I came up to get you… you were supposed to clean up that mess in the kitchen that you made, but I found that you had just run off somewhere without asking!  And what did you mean by mucking up your bedroom the way you did… did you slop it about everywhere just to spite us?!  Vernon said you are to go straight up there when you finally turned up to scrub everything clean!” she ended, flicking her head in the direction of Harry’s bedroom. 

The woman reached out her hand to grab at Potter, her features set with fury and disgust.  Severus had seen that expression on her face many times in his younger years, most often directed at him and he instinctively moved himself forward a step; shielding the boy from his Aunt’s menacing action. 

Harry panicked, all but thrusting himself ahead of Snape in an attempt to protect his aunt; he’d barely heard a word his aunt had uttered: but the Potions Professor’s grasp on his elbow was far too firm; Snape had no trouble holding back the teenage boy. 

“What are you doing?!” screeched Aunt Petunia to the Professor, “He has to clean up that mess in his bedroom now… I absolutely refuse to do it for him this time; how dare he think he can get away with that?!” 

“The boy is injured!” Severus informed Petunia indicating to Potter’s bandaged arm and hands, managing to keep the incredulity out of his tone.  

“Injured?  Rubbish, Vernon told me it’s nothing but a scratch!”  Harry’s aunt scoffed. 

“A scratch?  He is cut nearly to the bone!” Severus threw back at her, the incredulity no longer able to be kept at bay.  “You cannot possibly expect him to clean his room up now… he can barely stand up, woman!” 

But Petunia didn’t even register that she had heard what he had said, so incensed by being addressed in such a way by Severus. 

“Don’t you dare ‘woman’ me, Severus Snape!  My sister might have felt sorry for you for a time, but-” 

Harry just now registered that Aunt Petunia had called the Professor by his name… ‘She knows him?’ he thought, mystified… and what was she saying about feeling sorry?  But what was more confusing and concerning to Harry right now was that his aunt was actually daring to glower at the feared Potions Master. 

However the balance of things quickly restored themselves when Severus came to the end of his tolerance for the mouthy woman.  He abruptly took a step up the single stair to the entrance hall and then another that brought him to tower menacingly over Lily’s older sister; dragging the Potter boy with him.   

“Enough!  Do not attempt to intimidate me, Petunia… you have no idea of the things I am capable of!” the dark man hissed threateningly, shooting his most daunting glare at the arrogant Muggle; adjusting his grip on his wand in a very visible and sinister manner. 

Harry’s anxiety for his Aunt’s safety escalated immediately. 

Petunia hastily retreated back a few paces; realising very quickly that Severus Snape was no longer the cocky boy she had been able to lord it over in their childhood, but now a fully grown man; intimidating in both size and demeanour and was also now a fully trained wizard… and she had just made the blunder of trying to oppress him… 

Harry swiftly stepped around his professor, a sense of urgency sweeping over him at the dark man’s threatening tone toward his aunt.  He managed this time to situate himself between the two adults, facing toward Snape though the man still had a firm grip on his left upper arm. 

“It’s okay, I’ll go up and fix it now,” he said in a placating fashion, trying desperately to diffuse the situation, no matter the unfairness of having to clean the blood from all over his room when he felt he shouldn’t have been entirely blamed for that mess to begin with.   

Severus shifted his focus away from Lily’s sister; and believing Potter to be guilty of something given his reactions to Petunia’s seemingly unreasonable demand and gave Potter a deep scowl.   

“What damage have you done to the room?!” he demanded, glaring unrelentingly at the boy.  “Don’t tell me you show as little respect here as you apparently show at Hogwarts!” 

Caught unprepared again to answer the question, Harry stammered, “Er… um… I just spilled something on the carpet… that’s all… I didn’t mean to… I’ll go and clear it up now.”  Harry knew that if he brought up the nature of the mess that he would likely put Aunt Petunia in even more danger. 

As a result of the intense scrutiny Severus was acutely aware that Potter was putting on a brave face; his pale features, the sweat beading ominously across his brow and the crease of strain all served to remind him that the boy was only moments ago on the brink of collapsing again.  Admitting to himself he was having difficulty making sense of Potter’s behaviour, he sent the boy a probing gaze. 

“What did you spill?” Severus quietly asked, instinct leading him to pose the very relevant question. 

“Ah… nothing… I’ll just clean it-” Harry had tried to pull away from the Professor’s firm grasp, but the strong fingers did not release their captive. 

“Show me!” Severus bit out, now sure there was something remiss about this whole situation, pushing the boy toward the stairs. 

Remembering that the amount of blood splattered around his room looked worse than it really had been, Harry forestalled Snape again; not wanting the man to see it for himself.   

“Wait,” he said, despairingly.   

Harry was feeling that odd sense of shame sweep over him again at being so powerless at the hands of his Muggle uncle and along with it this time he felt an intense sense of sadness and hurt that Aunt Petunia hadn’t even cared enough about him to help him stop the bleeding after his arm had been cut, but was now making such a fuss over the mess of the furnishings without any concern for him at all.  

And to top off his bleak emotional feelings, Harry’s head was spinning alarmingly now and the thought of climbing the staircase really was physically far too daunting. 

“I can’t, I don’t feel well,” Harry finally admitted quietly and reached up his hand to scrub at his eyes under his glasses and face; desperately trying to rub away the fuzzy, swirling cloud that had settled recently around his head.  His stomach was roiling horribly and it was a wonder that he’d managed to avoid vomiting again to this point. 

Severus instantly became aware of the boy’s increased distress, surveying him closer.  What he saw troubled him, “I shall deliver you to the nurse-” he began to say, before he was cut off by the screeching of Petunia. 

“Oh no, he’s not going anywhere… not until he’s cleaned up that room!  I’m not doing it for him, I told you!” The woman reached out again to grab a hold of Potter and this time Severus was not in a position to do anything about it.  Her hand landed on the bandaged upper arm where she grasped tightly and yanked the boy in the direction of the staircase. 

Harry abruptly hollered out in pain and with lightening reflexes Snape instantly lifted his wand and fired off a stinging hex at the fuming woman. 

She shrieked in pain and shock, releasing her grasp on Potter and yanking her hand back to cradle it protectively; rubbing her smarting arm where she had been zapped.  But then as she came to the realisation that Snape had just hexed her with magic she backed further away in horrified fear, whimpering unashamedly.  He was glaring darkly at her, his dark features set at their most intimidating since he had stepped foot inside the house. 

Harry somehow despite being in immense pain managed to call out in his Aunt’s defence, “No… don’t hurt her… please Sir!  Let’s just go, please!”  He dared place a restraining hand on the tall Professor’s chest. 

Severus was momentarily stunned at the sight of an ailing Potter begging him to leave his aunt alone; especially after she had aggravated his injury with such apparent disregard.  He’d informed the arrogant woman of the true nature of the cut to the boy’s arm (even if he hadn’t believed she was as clueless as she’d indicated), but it was becoming apparent that Petunia carried around no concern for her nephew… Potter’s home life appeared to be as bad as Severus’ instincts had suspected over the past couple of hours.  The reality of it all seemed callous, even from Severus’ hardened viewpoint.  Fury and venom began to bubble within him… this time he was not the helpless victim… this time he would not sit by and let it happen!   

The dark man pushed against the restraining hand of the boy to take a menacing step toward the cowering woman. 

“You stupid woman, did you think I would stand by and watch while you exacted further abuse on Lily’s child?!”  Severus was barely aware of what he’d said in his anger; he was so consumed by rage fuelled by his own childhood experiences. 

But then a meek voice floated down the hallway, “Mum?” 

Severus halted, looking up and spying Potter’s fat cousin looking upon the scene, ashen faced.  The intrusion snapped Severus back to reality and he also became emphatically aware that not just one, but two teenaged boys were in the room with him, one of them immediately in need of medical attention. 

“Please, Sir… can’t we just go…” Potter continued to beg him his face scrunched in pain. 

“I shall be back when your husband has returned… mark my words, Mrs Dursley!” he threatened the quivering woman recoiling in front of him before he surrendered to the restraining hand upon his chest, spun on his heal and ushered an unsteady Potter out onto the garden path with a sweep of his arm.  With an elegant flick of his wand he caused the door of the house to slam spectacularly behind them. 

As both he and the teenager rounded the garden fence, he took a firm grip on the boy’s good shoulder, spun determinedly and Disapparated.  As they reappeared on a dark and deserted narrow country lane, Potter again slipped to his knees and began to vomit.  Severus stood guard behind him, shooting concerned glances towards the bent teenager.  He took note that the bandage around the boy’s upper arm was now discoloured with bright red fluid blossoming slowly outwards. 

‘Damn!’ he thought, ‘Will this wound never clot properly?’ 

After finally ceasing retching, Harry found he had come to the end of his rope.  He bent his head in despair and began to sob whole heartedly out of sadness; of shame; in desolation and hopelessness; in pain, distress and fear … and in sorrow. 

Severus witnessed the boy’s breakdown with an aloof exterior; but inside the dark man was both burning with fury and tearing with a myriad of troubled and empathetic emotions.  The dark man’s heart was yearning for him to comfort the hurting child; let his arms surround him, protect him from the ache… but his head was telling him something different; his head was reminding him that this boy was Harry Bloody Potter! 

Severus crouched behind the distraught teenaged boy, reaching his hand around in front of him to curve his palm against the child’s forehead.  Potter was still burning hot… perhaps just a little improved from before the boy had been dosed with the Muggle aspirin… but the fever continued to be high enough to be of considerable concern.  And as the child had just vomited up the bulk of the medicine Severus had administered to the bare ground (both aspirin and Pepper-up the Potion’s Master imagined), the dark man determined the boy’s condition was not likely to improve any further now. 

“Pull yourself together, Potter,” he said, not allowing any of his inner turmoil to become outwardly obvious… but he couldn’t help adding a reassuring comment after a slight pause, “… it is not the end of the world.” 

The comment, although his conscious mind had fought the sentiment bitterly, had been made with entire sincerity and the advice he offered, which had been acquired as a result of a painful set of experiences from Severus’ own childhood and teenage years, he had meant to be supportive… but unfortunately the man’s aloof tone undermined his good intent. 

“Yeah…?” snapped Harry, in distressed bitterness, “and how would you know!?”  It had been embarrassing enough that Snape had witnessed first hand just how lowly he was regarded at home, but now the sneering man was ridiculing him; he apparently couldn’t wait to comment about Harry’s moment of weakness. 

Severus bristled at the boy’s hostile tone, “I just do!” he snarled in return, snatching back his hand from the boy’s forehead, “Get up, boy… Madam Pomfrey will need to see to that arm,” he prodded, this time feeling a smug satisfaction at Potter’s flinch from the deliberate use of the epithet. 

Rising to his feet, dragging Potter to a standing position alongside him, he shoved the boy forward, perhaps a little too roughly in his irritation, with the hand he had gripped around the teen’s upper left arm.  They set off together at a brisk pace along the lane, though Severus was forced to slow down several strides later to accommodate the unsteady gait of the ailing teenager.  Nevertheless, he kept the boy moving along in a relentless momentum.  

The two wizards approached the large iron gates of Hogwarts where Severus dealt with the locks and chains for the third time that evening.  The remainder of the hike along the path to the great wooden entrance doors was made in awkward yet enduring silence… but Severus didn’t care; it was better than talking to the brat! Harry didn’t speak quite simply because he was focused too firmly on merely trying to remain upright! 

By the time Professor Snape had invoked the huge oak doors to swing open; Harry was feeling particularly light-headed again… nearly as bad as he had felt before he had blacked out earlier outside Mrs Figg’s house.  He was then dragged through the doorway by Snape’s firm grip on his good upper arm and stood contemplating the seemingly endless staircase before him when Snape turned back to the doors briefly to secure them with his wand.  Harry knew immediately that he would not be able to make it up the several flights of stairs that led to the floor which housed the infirmary… even with the impatient, prodding encouragement of the Potions Master.  Therefore he resisted a little when the dark man pushed him forward again to begin the ascent. 

“I can’t,” he stated simply. 

Severus glanced in annoyance at the boy in his grasp… but his irritation instantly transformed to concern when he took in the boy’s strained features.  

Harry confirmed his assertion and Severus’ concern when his first step forward had his knees buckling dangerously. 

Severus threw himself forward and caught the swaying boy, lowering him to the flagstone floor of the Entrance Hall in a more controlled fashion. 

“Don’t move, I’ll conjure a stretcher,” Snape offered flicking his wand once more; in what Harry considered an unusually accommodating gesture considering the almost hostile demeanour of the man only moments ago when he had quite roughly shoved Harry all the way along the entrance path.  He couldn’t quite figure out the Professor today… his moods and attitude had seemed to blow first hot then cold all evening. 

Severus settled the teen onto the created stretcher and proceeded to direct the apparatus up the marble stairs ahead of him.   

Harry relaxed back against the gently swinging canvas support, relieved to finally be allowed to give in to the fatigue and wooziness that was gradually swallowing him whole.  His eyes closed almost involuntarily, but Snape spoke sharply at him a moment later; startling him back away from the welcoming blackness. 

“Try to remain alert, Potter… don’t allow yourself to fall asleep!”   

Harry snapped his eyes open immediately and grunted an agreement of sorts before his eyes began to slide shut once more; he fought hard to obey for a while, but it was only a matter of time before the heavy lids won out over his will. 

Severus was troubled at the boy’s diminished reflexes – as contrary to Harry’s perception it had taken several moments for him to re-open his eyes after the dark man had snapped the anxious command to him.  After a few moments observing Potter fighting to obey Severus’ command and eventually losing, the dark man internally reprimanded himself for not getting the boy to help sooner. 

‘The Headmaster is going to flay me if he ever discovers I had been wholly too interested in exacting a petty substitute revenge instead of ensuring the reputed ‘chosen one’ was delivered the attention and treatment he sorely needed,’ he thought gravely, vague spots of colour appearing high on his cheeks. 

When they came to the third floor and the large double doors of the Hospital Wing, Severus used his wand to release the lock with a loud click, and then guided the stretcher to rest atop the bed closest to the medical store room. 

“Poppy!” he called in an urgent tone, but the woman did not appear from her office.  It had been a long shot that she was currently in residence anyway, he realised; being the middle of the summer holidays, after all.  But one person who was guaranteed not to have temporarily moved out of the castle could certainly help. 

Severus stalked over to Madam Pomfrey’s office door and chanted, “Alohomora!”  The small door swung open a little with a tiny squeak and Severus wasted no time; pushing the entrance wide enough to permit his tall frame to enter.  He strode to the large fireplace located on the far wall, gathered an amount of floo powder in his fist from a specially made vessel on the mantle and called aloud the floo address of the man he needed to contact urgently. 

“Headmaster’s office!” he said, kneeling on one knee and leaning forward to bury his head in the green flames.  “Albus!” 

Predictably and reliably the Headmaster was sitting working at his large ornate desk to the left of the fireplace.  Severus could see the old wizard’s pensieve situated directly in front of the man… indicating that he was working on something involving memories; and although the site intrigued the Potions Master he did not let it distract him from the reason for his intrusion. 

“Yes, my boy… what on earth are you doing here?  Is there a problem?” 

“I would say there is, yes… please, would you come through to the infirmiry?” 

After a moment of silence where the Headmaster studied Severus’ anxious expression he answered, ‘Yes, of course… I’ll come through this instant.” 

Severus withdrew from the floo immediately, awaiting the Headmaster’s arrival with growing impatience despite the fact that the man stepped from the floo less than twenty-five seconds from when Severus initially requested his presence. 

“Severus, what is it… you are hurt?” he asked, giving his Potions Master the once over with measuring eyes, narrowing them in concern at what they discovered; Severus tracked Dumbledore’s gaze to his own hands where remnants of Potter’s blood still flecked his pale skin. 

“No!” he denied, shaking his head, “No, I’m fine… it is not mine,” he explained, lifting his hand and rolling it over so that he may demonstrate the lack of injury.  

Not knowing where to begin the tale Severus began to usher the old man into the outer room instead. 

“This way… I’ve brought Potter… I was hoping Poppy would be here,” he half explained, but only served to raise the Headmaster’s concern even further. 

“Harry!?  Harry’s here… and he needs Poppy?  Why, what’s wrong, what happened?!” he asked anxiously, his sudden increased pace heading for the ward defying his apparent age. 

Severus hurried after the much older man with long strides elucidating as he went.  “Potter has sustained a deep cut to his upper arm… he has an infection… I-I was unable to treat it myself… I am unfamiliar with the incantation,” he stammered, feeling quite inadequate next to the wizened wizard. 

The Headmaster placated him at once, “It’s alright, Severus, I take for granted that you have done your best.”  

Dumbledore reached Harry quickly and the same measuring eyes that had just assessed Severus swept over the boy; his forehead again creasing with concern.  Long, aged fingers reached out to test the teenager’s pulse at his neck and after satisfying himself that the child was stable, he assured an apparently anxious Potions Professor of his findings. 

“Harry is alright for the moment, Severus, though he does indeed need expert care as soon as possible,” he said, nodding his head approvingly at the dark man, “You’ve done well,” the praise both serving to soothe Severus’ anxiety for the boy’s health, but heightening the guilt he felt over the unnecessary detour to Privet Drive.  The Headmaster then moved his palm to cup over the boy’s forehead. 

“He’s very warm… you’ve administered nothing?” Dumbledore inquired of Severus. 

“Only Muggle aspirin and a dose of Pepper-up, those were the only remedies I was able to acquire immediately… though he has subsequently sicked up the bulk of the doses, so I don’t suppose either remedy would be in effect any longer.”  There was a short pause before Severus added, “I believe Potter would benefit from a dose of Blood Replenishing potion… I fear that he may have lost a considerable amount.” 

Dumbledore considered the suggestion for a moment, gazing at the unconscious boy.  “Yes, I think that would be acceptable.  Go ahead, Severus… find what you require in the hospital stores, I am going to try to get a hold of Poppy… I am of the belief she was holidaying with her sister and brother-in-law in Cornwall.”  With that the old wizard retreated from the room, leaving Severus to locate and administer the proposed Blood-Replenisher. 

Severus gazed at the unmoving teenager for a short while, feeling a shiver track down his spine.  It unnerved him that the boy was so still… this was his life’s devotion lying so sedately upon the hospital bed.  He suddenly blinked himself out of the sentimental musing and entered the store room to locate the correct potion. 

The dark man selected the correct concoction from the shelf and a measuring cup from near the back of the room, but on his way out he decided to take a blue, labelled bottle along with him and a washcloth from a large pile of clean, folded linen by the door. 

He approached the teen’s bed and set his pickings upon the bedside table; turning to the unconscious boy. 

“Potter?” he inquired with a gentle shake to the teen’s shoulder, seeing if he could elicit a response from the boy.  When he got none he proceeded to contemplate how he should dose the boy with the brew considering his unconscious state and the child’s need for rest.   

It had been obvious that Potter was exhausted from his ordeal and his poor condition was indeed taking its toll… and Severus ashamedly acknowledged his own part in prolonging it.  Yes, he really should let the boy rest, at least until Poppy arrived, at any rate.   

Not to mention the boy’s apparently sensitive stomach at present… it would be pointless to administer the medicine orally if the child were to only sick it up again; and as a first rate Potions Master, Severus knew he had options for administering this particular remedy… options he firmly decided to take advantage of in this instance.  The fact that he was happy to avoid talking to the brat, well, that was just an added bonus he told himself. 

He took up the bottle of Blood-Replenisher and measured out the minimum dose – Poppy may very well give him another when she arrived, but as a novice healer Severus did not dare risk further complications – and with his wand he dispersed the minute particles of the potion into the air and guided the mass to hover at Potter’s mouth and nose; the boy aspirated the treatment into his system with each breath he took without being disturbed from his sleep. 

Severus sighed with a small amount of relief, continuing to monitor Potter for any signs of adverse reactions.  He glanced uncertainly at the blue bottle he had brought from the store room.  The label read “Fever-Reducer” and as tempted as he had been when he’d spied the potion on the shelves of Poppy’s stores to dose Potter with this also, Severus now felt hesitant to risk his admittedly deficient knowledge of healing practices; a deficiency that definitely did not sit comfortably with the renowned Potions Master, and of which he planned to rectify as soon as time permitted. 

He turned his attention back to the prone boy; his face was flushed with fever, a sight that again tempted the dark man to use the concoction in the blue bottle to ease the boy’s distress, but no, Poppy hopefully would not be long and waiting for her expertise would be a far more sensible gamble.  Instead Severus took up the washcloth and dampened it with a cold stream of water from his wand.  Turning back to Potter he hesitated once again… he just looked so much like his damned arrogant father! 

Quickly Severus snatched the hated round glasses off the boy’s face, placing them on the nightstand… at least this way he could almost see features that belonged to… Lily… 

Hastily trying to dismiss his last train of thought Severus reached forward and began dabbing the cooling cloth over the burning brow and flushed cheeks in an effort to relieve the spiking temperature in the boy; telling himself firmly that he was only doing what was required of him in his promise to Dumbledore to help protect the boy! 

Potter moaned softly as the cold cloth against his face jarred him from deep sleep, he attempted to roll his head away from the insistent dabbing. 

“Easy, Potter,” Severus said, again struck by the unusual urge to be comforting, “you are too hot… this will help,” he then found himself explaining unnecessarily; continuing the methodical swabbing of the flushed features, occasionally refreshing the cold compress. 

At the sound of the deep, rumbling voice that seemed soothing and reassuring Harry soon settled again, taking a minimalistic pleasure in the coolness pressed gently against his burning skin.  He was soon able to sink back into a deep sleep because of the sense of safety and care wrapping its calming tendrils around him... lulling him to relax. 

That was the way Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey found them several minutes later; Severus mopping the brow of the sleeping teenaged boy, staring off into space in deep reflection.  The dark man appeared not to have heard the arrival via floo of two of the senior members of Hogwarts’ staff. 

Albus held a halting hand up to his colleague at the sight of his Potions Masters uncharacteristic, gentle attentiveness toward Harry Potter; his brow furrowing slightly as his mind worked through what he was seeing.  But a moment later the Headmaster motioned the Matron past him to attend to Mr Potter. 

“Severus?” he called softly and he observed the normally guarded man suddenly snatch his hand back to his side after becoming aware of the arrival of witnesses. 

Severus stepped away from Potter’s hospital bed immediately, allowing the Mediwitch plenty of room to work her healing magic.  He tried to retreat into the office, but Poppy called him back. 

“Albus said you administered Muggle aspirin and Pepper-up before you got here, Severus?” the woman asked. 

“Yes,” confirmed Severus with a nod. 

“What doses?” 

“Just the regular dose of Pepper-up for a child his age, and three aspirin… for the fever,” he answered; the dark man feeling the need to explain.  “Though he vomited up the bulk of what I gave him, as I told Albus,” he added. 

Pomfrey nodded in confirmation and understanding.  “And just now you managed to administer the Blood-Replenisher, Severus?” she asked enquiringly. The Matron turned back to the Potter teen, carrying out a speedy medical once over of the boy, her observant eyes travelling quickly over the nightstand next to the bed. 

He nodded, “Yes, about ten minutes ago, the minimum dose only.  I was not sure if he could tolerate more… his actual blood loss is largely deduction on my part,” Severus clarified; explaining his reasoning. 

There was a conspicuous, silent pause where Madam Pomfrey neither acknowledged Severus’ response nor proceeded her interrogation, but then she abruptly turned to face him with wide eyes. 

“Professor Snape… you didn’t give him the Fever-Reducer, did you?!” she asked in an alarmed tone, indicating the blue bottle on the nightstand. 

Albus also gave him a pointed look. 

He shook his head, “No… no,” he repeated, feeling slightly alarmed himself at the possible calamity implied. 

“Are you sure?!” the Matron demanded quite indecorously, “Why is it out then?  This mixed with the Pepper-up and Blood-Replenisher has the potential to kill him in the state he is now!” 

Severus swallowed; insulted greatly by the woman’s tone and implied accusation of his failure to be honest, yet embarrassed and suitably horrified by the fact that he had very almost made the most spectacular of errors. 

“W-What!?” he stammered, feeling suddenly out of breath. 

“You of all people should know this, Severus… with your expertise in potions!  The ingredients alone should spark an alarm of sorts with you!” Poppy admonished him sharply. 

Severus was momentarily speechless.   

‘The ingredients…?’ he wondered to himself, and then it came to him.  Merlin… he had almost caused the boy heart damage!  He ran his fingers roughly back through his shoulder length hair; fighting the urge to grip the dark strands in a fist and pull hard… how he had been so idiotic not to have thought of it!?  Nevertheless he quickly forced himself to respond. 

“I have not even opened that bottle!” he insisted, even managing a suitably affronted tone; his Slytherin instincts of self-preservation kicking in.  

But Albus had seen the signs of Severus’ insecurity and horror flicker across his face and came to his rescue. 

“Now, now, Poppy… I believe Severus has already answered your question honestly and as there has been no harm done I see little sense in dragging out an argument,” he said, attempting to pacify the ruffled Mediwitch.   

“Now, I shall leave Harry in your capable hands for the moment; I need to have a word with Professor Snape as to how Mr Potter ended up in this state to begin with.  Do be sure to inform me of any changes in the boy’s condition, Severus and I shall be in my office.” 

Poppy’s glare left Severus as she responded to the Headmaster’s request.  “Of course, Albus,” she assured, a little disgruntled at not being allowed let loose on the usually aloof man she had often wished to berate on behalf of the students (Gryffindors mostly).  But she did allow a barely watered down glare to rake back over the Potions Professor before settling her attentions once more upon the ill and injured teenager. 

“Come, my boy.”  Albus took a few steps to gently grasp an apparently still somewhat shaken Potions Master by the elbow and led him through Poppy’s office door and over to her floo, taking the liberty of tossing in the floo powder on the man’s behalf.   

“After you, Severus,” ushered Dumbledore with a gracious sweep of his hand, surreptitiously studying the rather paler than usual man as he stepped into the green flames and disappeared from sight.  Albus followed him through only moments later after casting one last glance back at the Matron leaning attentively over a curiously injured Harry Potter. 

Severus was just settling into the chair adjacent to Dumbledore’s desk when the old wizard stepped through the floo.  Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed that the Headmaster’s Pensieve had been moved from the desk to somewhere out of sight, though he was too shaken to consider the detail with any intent.   

He watched the old man who headed instantly for the chair behind his desk, made himself comfortable in the seat, clasped his hands together in his lap, leaned back and gazed, contemplating, directly into Severus’ eyes. 

“Something is troubling you, Severus… it is unlike you to miss such an important detail.” 

There was no question posed so Severus remained silent. 

“Tell me what happened to Harry… and how it was that you became involved.  I have to admit to being at a loss as to how you have managed to come anywhere near Harry these holidays when I have painstakingly kept you away from all Order duties given Lord Voldemort’s return and your subsequent vulnerability to him.” 

After an initial flinch at the verbalising of the tyrant’s name, Severus snorted with indignation, “I am not vulnerable-” 

“You know very well what I mean, Severus!” 

The dark man promptly snapped his mouth shut; his eyes glittering strangely.  Of course he knew what Dumbledore meant… it was the Headmaster’s way of trying to make Snape’s very heavy burden as manageable as possible; the closest thing Severus had to someone caring about him!  And for that he would not appear ungrateful! 

He nodded his head once in confirmation and quickly organised his thoughts to relate the story of Potter’s misfortune to the old wizard; a hand coming up unbidden during his reflection to gently tug at his lower lip with long pale fingers. 

“Late this afternoon Potter sent his patronus to me with a message of needing my help urgently.  In the message he stated he was bleeding and couldn’t stop the flow… his desperation was wholly palpable through the message… I’ve never felt such a thing before…” 

Dumbledore nodded, implying he knew exactly what Severus had meant; as if he’d experienced the phenomenon before himself. 

“The boy included his whereabouts and asked for me to hurry,” the dark man concluded. 

The Headmaster was silent for a further few moments; contemplating Severus’ tale so far. 

“You did not intercept the message on another’s behalf?” he asked curiously. 

“No, the message was intended for me,” Severus answered with a small shake of his head; still equally astonished as the old wizard at the revelation. 

“How curious,” Albus said quietly, the old man’s eyes sparkling in vague delight.  “No offence, Severus, but it is a commonly held belief that Harry does not hold you in high regard.” 

“Indeed… no offence taken,” Severus assured, slightly amused himself by that very correct ideal: for he’d worked hard to elicit that opinion from the teen, after all. 

“Then that does beg the question of why he chose you, doesn’t it?”   

Severus nodded in agreement, though he offered no explanation… for he still had none himself. 

“I take it you went straight to him?” 

Relaxing back in the chintz armchair, Severus responded, “I first enlisted the help of Arabella Figg to find the location; but after that, yes, I went straight to him.” 

“He was not at home?” Albus questioned, a small frown creasing his forehead. 

“No, he was not… I found him unconscious in an alley, as a matter of fact... quite a way from Privet Drive.” 

Albus’ frown deepened.  “It is time to inform me of exactly what happened to him, Severus; you really have me quite curious.” 

Severus shifted a little in his seat, not quite sure how he should begin his recount of his discovery of the Dursleys’ abuse of Mr Potter.  He clasped his hands together, steepling his thumbs; tapping them together in a slow rhythm. 

“After I was able to rouse him, Mr Potter informed me he had been involved in an argument and had been burned on both his hands by a hot roasting pan and cut with a knife.”  Severus paused slightly to measure Dumbledore’s reaction; the man was listening intently, but otherwise showing no outrage… yet. 

“I discovered after further inquiry that the damage was, in fact, inflicted by Potter’s Uncle!” 

“Vernon?” confirmed Dumbledore questioningly, now unnaturally still and thin lipped. 

Severus nodded, “And his Aunt stood by and allowed it to occur!”  He waited with anticipation for the Headmaster’s explosive reaction to the discovery… but Severus was kept waiting, much to his vexation. 

“Is this an isolated incident… or is this years of abuse just now coming to light?  What did Harry tell you?” 

“Is once not more than enough!?” Severus snapped, instantly sitting forward rigidly in his seat, outraged now himself at the lack of response from the Headmaster… supposedly the boy’s primary protector.  But the sharp glare he received quelled further argument.  He sighed, briefly closing his eyes in frustration. 

“Potter claimed it had been an accident,” he begrudgingly stated, knowing that disclosure of the teenager’s assertion would dilute the stark callousness of the incident. 

Severus saw the obvious signs of relief in the old man’s features and posture at the testimony and it infuriated him; enough for him to risk the powerful wizard’s wrath and continue to argue his point.  “I have spoken to Mrs Dursley… it is obvious the family do not care one whit for the boy!” 

Naturally, the Headmaster grasped the wrong point; he narrowed his eyes in irritation at his Potions Master, “You have visited the family… when?” 

‘Bugger, Fucking, Shit!’ the dark man thought instantly, avoiding the powerful wizard’s irritated gaze.  How was he going to get himself out of this?!  He threw himself abruptly to his feet and began to pace furiously; the following rant spilling out in a similarly frantic manner. 

“You don’t just accidently get stabbed in the arm by someone: and even if there is some merit to Potter’s story of how he says he was burned I found the suggestion highly unlikely!” he insisted hotly.  “Plus the boy may not have been supplied enough food whilst he is in the Aunt and Uncle’s care… he is of slight build for his age, you cannot deny that… and I know for a fact he has eaten very little if not nothing at all today.  And the way Petunia spoke of him… and glared at him… it is more than obvious what little regard he is offered in the place he is supposed to call home-” 

“Now, Sever-” 

“No!  I have seen it before; for I myself have been on the receiving end of the woman’s disgust in the past… I assure you I am not mistaken!” Severus admitted to the old wizard: something he would never divulge to any living being other than Albus Dumbledore.    

“And he flinches every time he is addressed as ‘boy’, for Merlin’s sake,” he added as though that detail spoke volumes.  “It is abuse, Albus… and they should pay for it!” he finally stated unequivocally, determined to get his point across. 

Dumbledore was staring at him with a mixture of confusion and concern, but a moment later his expression changed to quiet understanding. 

“Ah… now I see.   That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” the Headmaster responded, nodding his head lightly; his eyes shining with a sad comprehension.   

Severus sighed to himself at the old man’s implied new understanding; knowing full well the theory dancing inside the old man’s mind. Swishing his voluminous ebony robes aside Severus swiftly spun to face his employer with another exasperated sigh.  “This is not about me!” he insisted ardently. 

“Isn’t it…?  This has not what has been bothering you enough to have you so distracted that you would almost dose a child with a potentially lethal combination of potions.  I know you possess the knowledge of what would happen if Harry had ingested those three brews, Severus.  And I know very few things have the capacity to upset you to the point of being preoccupied enough to let the detail slip by unheeded… and this… this is one of them,” he insisted, tapping a finger pointedly on the desk top. 

Severus remained silent after the lecture… he knew Albus was right, as usual, he had allowed himself to become very distracted by the discovery of the abuse on the teenager which had dragged so many hurtful memories from the pit of his own mind.  And Severus was not surprised that he’d failed to recognize the threat when he’d dosed Potter; he’d not even considered the potential reaction of the combination of ingredients mixing in the boy’s stomach- 

‘Hold on a moment…’ he thought abruptly, blinking at the revelation forming in his head. 

The Headmaster was almost smug at Severus’ lack of response.  He finally stood from his spot behind his desk and made his way around to the dark man standing rigid in front of it. 

“You had a hard time in your childhood, Severus, it stands to reason you might imagine some correlation and be affected by it.” 

But suddenly Severus had stiffened, his brow furrowing in a deep line; barely even taking in the Headmaster’s words.  He’d just realised that he had in fact not almost poisoned Potter! 

“Oh, that bloody haughty, harassing harridan!” Severus abruptly spluttered, outwardly agitated and irritated. 

“Professor Snape!” admonished the Headmaster, “Mind your language!  Now… what has warranted the need for such a foul address… or more to the point, who?” 

“Bloody Pomfrey… that’s who!” Severus snapped, pointing an accusing finger down to the floor in the vague direction of the Hospital wing. 

“Poppy…?  Whatever for?” asked Albus, clearly confused at the man’s outburst toward the, in his opinion, quite genial Matron. 

“Whatever for…?” Severus repeated incredulously, “For insinuating I would be daft enough to poison one of my students with a toxic mix of potions, that’s whatever for!” 

“Severus, Poppy was correct; the mixing of all three of those remedies would have resulted in serious complications!  I was also concerned that you had almost dosed the boy,” Albus insisted, bewildered. 

Severus became increasingly frustrated; balling his hands into fists at the lack of faith shown by the man he had long needed it from the most. 

“No, a potential lethal combination could not possibly have occurred,” Severus snapped heatedly, “I administered the Blood-Replenisher via aspiration… I did not almost mix the potions!” he bit out irately. 

Severus was fuming and practically red-faced in his indignation; how dare the old hag suggest he could fail so spectacularly… him of all people! 

The dark man made to move toward the Headmaster’s floo; intent on giving the meddling, old shrew a piece of his mind! But he did not get more than two paces before the Headmaster’s booming voice stopped him dead in his tracks,

“SEVERUS!” He sucked in a breath as the old, wise wizard’s powerful magic swirled around the room; intimidating in its intensity.  Severus slowly turned to face the sagacious man; self-righteous resentment continuing to pulse through his veins, but suitably cowed enough by his influential superior not to push his luck. 

However, instead of tearing strips off his Potions Master for his abysmal, aggressive attitude as Severus expected, the old man just stared at him for several moments before he responded. 

“Severus… Severus, Severus.  How easily we all can make mistakes and lay accusations at one another’s feet,” began the Headmaster, shaking his head forlornly.  “We were very wrong to allege that you would fail to consider all implications before you acted… in anything you do.  You have long since proved your worth amongst the best of us.  Please, Severus, accept an apology… on behalf of Poppy and myself; we are incredibly sorry!” 

Confronted by the face of Dumbledore’s sincere remorse and regret, Severus swallowed and nodded his acceptance; his fingers curled upwards, fiddling compulsively with the ends of his dark sleeves… feeling perhaps just a tad guilty and hypocritical; as for a moment there even he had believed he’d almost made the grievous error. 

The Headmaster was continuing to speak, “Poppy only wishes the best for everyone, Severus… please do not misinterpret her abrupt vehemence for personal enmity; I assure you it is not her intention.  She has merely found it difficult to remain silent in the face of your seemingly harsh manner with some of the students… she’s very protective, you can see.”   

Severus scowled lightly; he knew Dumbledore was referring to complaints Poppy had made of his treatment of Potter and his Gryffindor housemates, and the bitterness surrounding his heart that justified his behaviour instantly roared to life.  

‘The arrogant little toe rags deserve to be taken down a peg or two!  If the meddlesome Matron could just see what I see…’ he thought indignantly; but he knew that would never happen.  In fact he was well aware that Poppy Pomfrey did not like him at all and his opinion would promptly fall upon deaf ears if he ever were to express it to her. 

“Madam Pomfrey has made it clear over the years just who among the Hogwarts residents deserves her care,” Severus said frankly, “I would not ask for more than that she carries out her duty to the best of her ability where the students are concerned… Slytherin students included… but I am perfectly aware that the consideration extends no further,” he added stiffly. 

Dumbledore paused for a moment when a worried frown blossomed upon the old, wise features of his face.  “You know it concerns me that the pair of you cannot seem to have faith in one another.  I fear that at some point in the future you might need her expertise yourself, and you will fail to seek out her ministrations because of this lack of confidence.  Please believe me, Severus, when I tell you that Poppy would always demonstrate the utmost care toward her patients… and without a doubt will devote the full passion for her duty to you too, if you should need her.” 

“That remains to be seen,” Severus griped back immediately. 

“I know it to be so, my boy… please bare it in mind.” 

Severus remained silent, nodding once only to assure the Headmaster that he had heard the advice… though he still did not necessarily agree.  The silence reigned for several more moments as both men put the current topic behind them. 

“Now, back to Harry,” the old wizard said with a clap of his hands; clasping them together.  Severus turned away from the man and resumed his pacing.  “You say you visited the Dursley family after the incident this evening?” 

Severus cringed internally, “Yes,” he answered succinctly, ending his marching by the window. Albus’ face took on a hard look.  “What happened?  What… payment did you feel the need to dish out?” 

“Noth-” 

“Severus!” 

The dark man turned toward the Headmaster at the biting demand.  “Potter’s uncle had already left on a business trip; he was not there… I had a few words with Mrs Dursley before I brought Potter back here... the boy appeared to be deteriorating quite rapidly.” 

After a few moments thought the Headmaster asked, “What in Merlin’s name possessed you to take the boy to confront his Uncle in the shape he was in the first place?” 

Severus took in a deep breath, “Potter insisted he come along… he convinced me he would tolerate the conference… and at the time I had yet to confirm my suspicions myself anyway,” the dark man explained, hesitant to admit his failure to see through Potter’s assurances, or in fact his failure to consider the boy at all in his initial fury at the first inkling of abuse.   

“Though he was behaving in an odd manner-” the dark man started, stopping abruptly and instead finishing the deliberation in his own mind.  ‘… Potter seemed to be intent on protecting the miserable excuses he has for a family…’ Moments later the dark man could have kicked himself for his last half-uttered remark. 

“‘Behaving in an odd manner…’?  What do you mean?” queried the Headmaster suspiciously. 

Severus almost growled out loud in frustration, “It appeared the boy was under the impression I would hurt his relatives… of course I would not have done so right in front of the child.” 

After considering his Potions Master’s response, Albus replied, “So, you are telling me that Harry tried to protect them… from you.  If that is the case then his opinion of the alleged abuse must differ from yours, Severus.” 

A defiant expression blossomed on the Slytherin Head of House’s face, “I know what I saw; the boy is just confused… or scared.  I’ve been there; I know what it is like to feel powerless against your abusers… and if Potter is not yet able to stop them or mete out his tormentors punishment then those who have experience in dealing with such situations must intervene.  I have never professed to like the boy, but the abuse of this child cannot be allowed to continue… I will not sit back and let it happen to someone else!” the dark man said pointedly. 

The Headmaster had a pensive look upon his face, “Tormentors?  Abusers?  Frankly Severus, I am beginning to think you are seeing something that just may not be there at all…” 

Severus frowned and went to argue, but the Headmaster interrupted him with a placating hand before he had the chance, “… however, for arguments sake, let’s say you are right… then it is up to me, not you, to investigate Harry’s complaints and mete out his family’s penalty, if indeed any is warranted.  It is certainly not appropriate for you, my boy, given your own childhood history of abuse, to be seeking justice on Harry’s behalf.” 

By now, Severus was fuming internally at the Headmaster’s insinuation that he could not be trusted to remain objective; he clenched his jaw and lifted his chin with a building sense of resentment. 

“Besides, Severus, there are other factors you must consider.  For one, I do not wish for you to fall into old habits of punishing Muggles… it certainly would not afford you any honour to open old wounds that set you on the wrong path in your early years.   But that aside, I do not think it a good idea for you to become in any way involved with Lily’s sister…” 

Dumbledore gave the dark man a pointed look over the top of his half moon spectacles and Severus stiffened even further. 

“… but also, you need to consider the complications this could cause in your dealings with Lord Voldemort; especially if any of your part in this matter becomes evident.”  

Severus flinched slightly again at the Headmaster’s vocalising of the Dark Lord’s name, but was otherwise continuing to listen with a rigid, yet aloof countenance. 

The Headmaster continued sternly, “In light of these issues I have decided to outright forbid that you visit the Dursley home again for the purpose of retribution… and I will not tolerate any argument on the matter, Severus!  I will take your evidence into consideration when I investigate the incident… and I will have a talk with Harry; that alone will have to satisfy you, I am afraid.  Do I have your agreement?” 

Internally sneering at the request for agreement on a matter he clearly had absolutely no choice in, Severus nodded compliantly, “Of course.” he answered curtly with a sniff, making it more than clear that he was both insulted and disgruntled at the decision. 

“Good.”  Dumbledore eyed him for several moments longer before eventually asking, “Was there anything else you feel I should know?” 

Severus returned the firm gaze momentarily, but soon averted his dark eyes.  The powerful old wizard still had the power to intimidate him more than he would like much to his consternation.  “In fact, yes; I was actually on my way to speak with you when Potter’s message intercepted me.” 

“Oh?” Dumbledore said, the austere expression softening into one of gentle interest instantly, “So, what was it that had brought you to see me?  Not a problem, I hope.” 

All the worries that had been pushed to the back of Severus’ mind concerning Bellatrix and Narcissa’s impromptu visit that afternoon rushed back to him with acute intensity. 

“I am afraid-” 

At that moment the Headmaster’s fireplace roared higher, interrupting, and both men turned their attentions toward the Matron’s head that was now floating amongst the green flames. 

“Albus?” she inquired; her disembodied head searching the room. 

“Yes, Poppy… I’m here,” he returned, moving in front of the floo so the Mediwitch may have a better view of him. 

“Harry has regained consciousness; I have dealt with all his injuries, treated the infection and blood loss and made him comfortable; he is dozing at the moment… he’ll be fine… he will recover fully with a little time and rest.”  

The Headmaster sighed with relief, “Thank you, Poppy… your expertise is invaluable to me.  I hope you know how much I appreciate you giving up your holiday time to assist.  I shall be down momentarily to speak with Harry.” 

“Yes, of course, Albus, you’re most welcome,” Madam Pomfrey said, a gentle smile on her lips before her head disappeared from the fireplace and the flames died down to the original lesser blaze. 

Dumbledore turned to face the Slytherin Head of House, “I’m sorry, Severus, but our conversation will have to wait… I should see to Harry first so he might be able to rest without interruption.  Give me about forty minutes?” 

Although irritated that he was again being interrupted from delivering his extremely important information to Dumbledore, Severus nodded acceptingly, “Of course, I shall be down in my quarters… there is something I need to do.  I shall meet you in the infirmary in forty minutes?” 

“Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore responded, nodding, before invoking the floo to life once more with a handful of floo powder, stepping in and disappearing. 

Severus followed him into the floo moments later, but instead of arriving at the hospital wing, he stepped out of the fireplace in his own office located in the dark dungeons.  From here he made his way to his private store cupboard and filled his robe pocket with a few single doses of a variety of useful potions such as Pain-Reliever, Blood-Replenisher and Fever-Reducer.   

After securing the cupboard once more Severus walked through the damp, dim hallways until he reached the entrance to his private quarters.  He unlocked the door with his wand and stepped through; heading immediately for his laden bookshelf and after a brief examination of the titles, selected a tome from the top row. 

Pausing briefly by the mantle he lit a small fire in his hearth with his wand then carried the book to the single leather armchair, made himself comfortable in it and flipped open the cover of “The Holistic Healer: A guide of Healing Spells for the Betterment of Patient Care, and searched the index for the page number of a chapter explaining the spells to counter infection.” 

Satisfied with the new array of spells he had learnt from the medical text, Severus checked his timepiece hidden in a deep pocket within his robes. 

Of course, he could not perfect the magic without at least some form of practical application, and as he personally had no infected wounds to practice upon, that presented a problem.   

‘Perhaps Poppy would be willing to instruct me… Merlin knows she finds me somewhat lacking presently,’ he thought with a smidge of bitterness.  'But will she allow me anywhere near her patients after this evening’s near fiasco… or her perception of said fiasco, at any rate?’ 

“Well… patient singular, to be more specific,” he breathed aloud.  It was still the summer holidays, after all, and by rights Poppy Pomfrey should not be on duty at all.  In fact, Severus wondered how long Madam Pomfrey would remain at Hogwarts. 

‘Until the boy is showing signs of significant recovery, at least,’ he supposed.  The woman was not known to shirk her responsibility, and he would not hold her industriousness in contempt, but Severus pondered whether he could take advantage of this circumstance to his benefit. 

The man pushed himself to his feet, placing the thick journal upon the side table to the left of his armchair, and glanced again at the timepiece he had not yet returned to his pocket.  It showed that a little less than half an hour had passed since he had left Dumbledore’s office, but he would make good use of the extra ten minutes. 

Severus stepped lightly from the floo in the Matron’s office a minute later and sought out the older woman.  She was sitting at her desk, appearing not particularly surprised to see him. 

“He isn’t finished speaking with the lad, Professor; you are a little early.” 

“Yes, I know, I wanted a quick word with you first.” 

The witch sat up higher in her seat, a defiant expression forming on her features.  “The Headmaster has already come to your defence, so if you have come here to lambaste me about accusing you-” 

“No,” he said, quickly cutting into the woman’s tirade, “though I was insulted, you were not entirely incorrect in your assumption,” he added, with strategy in mind.  “I acted with little more than automatic reactions; my mind was elsewhere at the time… but rest assured, Madam Pomfrey, that I would have registered the danger if the risk was valid, despite my preoccupation.  I know Potions!” 

She studied him a short while before replying, “Yes, well, I suppose that you do.  I’m sorry,” she offered, with more than a hint of tight reluctance. 

He nodded his acceptance of her apology… he suspected that was as ‘gracious’ as he was likely to get. 

That done, he went in for the kill.  “I have a favour to ask.” 

Pomfrey’s curiosity piqued, she tilted her head a little, ‘Oh?” 

“I will, of course, be willing to repay your efforts,” he assured; his tone more than civil but not overly friendly.  The woman was far from unintelligent… she would oust any hint of insincerity in moments. 

“And what would you have me do, Severus?” she asked, a hint of suspicion laced in her tone. 

“Teach me.” 

Whatever the medi-witch had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that.  Her expression told too openly of her surprise. 

“Teach you?  Teach you what precisely?  You aren’t thinking of becoming a Healer after all these years, are you?” 

Poppy had often suggested in his youth that he would be suited to a vocation in Healing… he had, after all, excelled in all the subjects required to make a notable career in the field.  But he’d had another ‘calling’ at the time, he remembered sorrowfully. 

“No,” he denied with a shake of his head; he truly had way too much on his plate right now to even consider the notion, thank you very much!  “Earlier this evening I was dismayed to discover a gaping hole in my healing repertoire,” he admitted a little self-consciously.  “Suffice it to say that did not sit well with me.” 

“Ah,” the Matron acknowledged, “let me guess - the ‘eradication of infection’ had you at a loss?” 

He nodded, embarrassed that the omission in his skills had been so obvious to the medi-witch, yet had never occurred to himself until now. 

“Don’t feel embarrassed, Professor Snape… you would not be the first novice to quickly realise there is a purpose to the four year apprenticeship required to become a qualified Healer.” 

Severus felt slightly discomfited by her barbed comment; but she was right, of course, most adult wizards saw themselves as rarely requiring the attentions of Healers; feeling a comfortable satisfaction in their own abilities to self-heal and self-medicate.  Potions Masters being perhaps the most smug regarding their knowledge and assumptions… and now he himself had all but suggested he only had one gaping omission to his knowledge.  More fool him for opening his mouth! 

“Touché,” he acquiesced, humouring the woman graciously.  “So, will you assist me to add another speck to my spell inventory?” 

“You spoke of payment, Severus… what could you tempt me with?” she asked with a smirk, already making to rise from her desk; clearly having already decided to help him irrelevant of what he offered.  “A phial of Liquid Luck?” she jibed sarcastically. 

He chuckled in spite of himself, “No, something more valuable to a hard working witch unexpectedly dragged away from her family in the holidays, I dare say.” 

She stilled in surprise, “Oh?” 

“As soon as you feel he is sufficiently stable I will replace you in the care of Potter so you may return to your relations as early as possible.”  He noticed the witch staring incredulously at him, but what sentiment was behind the look was not clear to him.  He waited for her to respond. 

“You?  You want to look after Harry?” she sputtered in bewilderment. 

Severus fought not to cringe at the odious suggestion.  “I want to learn the magic to combat infection…” he replied, leaving what was not said hanging in the air. 

She gazed at him for several more moments, “He’s just a boy, you know… I cannot understand your animosity toward the lad.” 

If Poppy Pomfrey remembered Severus’ longstanding hostilities with James Potter or his one time tight friendship with Lily Evans, she did not mention them, much to the dark man’s relief; he did not wish a jaunt down the eternally painful memory lane with the Matron in tow. 

“My personal feelings for the child bare no relation to this exchange.  I would never harm the boy, of that you have my word!” he pledged, pouring every ounce of sincerity into his words.   

Whilst it was true that he had in the past aimed to wound the boy with harsh words and insults, he never gave those kinds of hurts much credence.  After all, he’d been taunted in a far worse manner during his own childhood - in particular by the boy’s father and his friends - and it were almost considered normal from the dark man’s point of view.  In any case it was not what he was referring to now; and he knew without a doubt that he would protect the boy from physical harm, even if it meant laying down his own life. 

Madam Pomfrey eyed him a bit longer, seeming to internally wrestle with her conscience.  

“I suppose that would be nice… I hadn’t visited with my sister for quite a while and was a tad disappointed to have been called away.”  Pomfrey gave him a hard look, “You had better not let me down, Severus Snape; I have very high expectations for patient care.” 

“Of course, Madam Pomfrey… I have no intention of disappointing you,” he assured, hardly bothered about the fussy woman’s vague threats but anxious to get on with learning from the skilled witch. 

“Okay… let me see what you know already.” 

The strict Matron spent the next ten minutes demonstrating, supervising and correcting Severus on the number of new spells he’d studied, including the wand work and the theory in which to apply each the most efficiently and effectively.  Severus was, as always, a quick learner and had most incantations perfected by the time the Headmaster strode into the medi-witch’s office. 

“This of course is merely a basic set of spells, Severus.  I prefer a more advanced combination mixed with the use of potions… but these should get you by in a matter of urgency though,” Poppy explained in her clipped tone.  The Headmaster watched on silently, a twinkle settling heartily within each of his blue eyes. 

“Would I have an opportunity to practice upon Potter?” he asked, greeting the Headmaster, who’s appearance had just gained his notice, with a curt nod. 

With a hesitant purse of her lips the medi-witch nodded, “Yes, yes, very well… I believe you are proficient enough to have a go.  And fortunately for you young Harry does still require a further quick shot with “Desino Inflammo” on his upper arm wound.  As you have seen these spells you have learned require the same wand technique, so if you master one, you should be able to work the others without fuss.” 

The Matron turned toward the old wizard watching with fascination and a hint of amusement.  “Albus, is Harry awake?” 

“Alas no, Poppy… he was exhausted and I encouraged him to take the dose of Dreamless Sleep you left at his bedside.  He was ‘off with the fairies’, as they say, within moments.” 

Severus snorted softly, ‘Trust Dumbledore to confuse the Muggle sayings,’ he thought with equal amounts of amusement and scorn. 

“I’d rather not disturb him then, Professor Snape… we’ll treat him when he awakens.” Severus nodded in agreement. 

“Well if you are free then, Severus, we can pick up our conversation where we left off.  In my office?” the Headmaster asked, indicating toward the Matron’s floo. 

“Of course,” Severus replied, bidding the Matron with a nod, “I shall await your summons, Madam Pomfrey?” 

“Yes, yes, Severus… I won’t forget you,” she answered briskly, waving away his concern.  

A few minutes later both men were comfortably ensconced in the usual seating either side of the Headmaster’s large desk.  

“I am heartened to see you and Poppy getting along; perhaps you heeded my assurances earlier?” Dumbledore offered, studying the dark man sitting in front of him. 

Severus raised an eyebrow at the comment, “We have a mutual agreement; do not get too excited.” 

“Oh?” 

“A trade, of sorts.” 

“And are you are refusing to divulge the details?” Albus queried, amusement brightening his features. 

Giving in Severus explained briefly, “I agreed to watch over Potter, so as Poppy might return earlier to her sister, in exchange for tuition.  It bothered me that I was ill equipped to heal the boy further.” 

“Ah… a fair exchange indeed.  I did feel badly for calling Poppy away from her family.” 

“Yes well, it seems I have unburdened both our consciences,” Severus quipped. 

“To which I am quite grateful… thank you, Severus,” Albus said with a wink and a small nod. 

Silence continued for several moments before Severus could stand the suspense no longer.  “What did the boy tell you?” 

Dumbledore sobered almost instantly.  “Harry insisted the incident today was a one off and largely accidental…” 

Severus began to swell with exasperation and resentment and opened his mouth to express his anger, but the old wizard forestalled him once again. 

“Before you fly off the handle, Severus, please allow me finish!” 

Severus snapped his mouth shut, still furious, but quelled enough to be at least a little curious about the Headmaster’s conclusion.    

“It appears that you may be correct.  I sense Harry is not divulging the whole truth regarding his home life and I admit it concerns me somewhat.  Although I have doubts that it is quite as grim as you would have me believe, I feel it necessary to bestow upon the family a personal visit.”   

Dumbledore studied Severus for a second, taking in the man’s staunch and ardent disposition.  

“Rest assured, Severus, you have my promise that I will not leave the child anywhere he will be mistreated… although I must advise you that I cannot discount the blood-protection without at first trying to repair that which may be failing.  It has been, and will continue to be, Harry’s greatest safeguard against Lord Voldemort until the boy comes of age and is ready to face him.  Lily’s gift is far more efficient than any protection I could ever conjure for her son.  And if Petunia Dursley and her family can be persuaded – encouraged-- to care more for their nephew and cousin, then the protection can only be fortified.  I suspect that if the family were aware they were being watched more closely it might help.” 

Severus silently gazed at the old wizard, emotions warring within.  On one hand he agreed with what the Headmaster was saying.  The Dark Lord would do far worse than half starve the boy, or discipline the boy with a heavy hand; and the blood-protection endowed by Lily at the time of her death had undoubtedly been effective against the fiend… but on the other hand Severus recalled all the hurt and anger that had been allowed to fester in his own heart from his abusive childhood experiences.  And he also remembered where all that heartache had led him; it had sent him recklessly careering down the wrong path, it had ruined his life! 

But Potter wasn’t him… wasn’t like him, was he?  Maybe the boy would come through it without the scarring Severus carried around with him.  In any case, it was not his problem, nor his decision to make; that responsibility lay with the much older, supposedly much wiser, Head of the Order.  Severus had satisfied his duty in informing the old man of his concerns, hadn’t he… that was enough, surely? 

“It might,” he agreed softly with an almost imperceptible nod.  He really hadn’t put much thought into what he expected to come of his accusation of child abuse against the Muggles.  All he knew was the abuse must stop, but in what manner that would be executed he cared not.  Had he even considered that the child might need to be re-housed?  Or even who might succeed the Dursley family as his carer if it came to that?  No… and it still did not concern him so long as whoever accepted the job did their best to protect Potter from harm.  So if Dumbledore saw hope in pressuring the boy’s Muggle relations into providing a safer and more nurturing environment Severus would not argue, so long as the concerns were addressed. 

“Very well… now, you had something else to discuss with me?” Dumbledore promted. 

The abrupt changing of topic had Severus’ stomach twist in anxiety.  “Yes.  I had a visitor earlier this afternoon at my home; Narcissa Malfoy, accompanied by her sister Bellatrix, came with concerns for Draco.” 

If it were possible for Dumbledore’s expression to become any more serious it would have. 

“Draco?” he queried, eyeing the Potions Master closely. 

He nodded lightly, “She came to me in the hopes that I may be able to dissuade the Dark Lord from taking his anger at Lucius out on the boy.  Of course I am not so foolish as to try and I told her as much.” 

Dumbledore nodded his support of the dark man’s decision. 

“He, Draco, has been charged with a seemingly impossible task,” Severus continued, a small, unconscious shake of his head betraying the man’s concern for the blonde teen.  

“And the task would be…?” Dumbledore prompted. 

Severus sighed tiredly, but immediately sucked in a deep breath and raised his chin.  “To murder you!” he said flatly, but the Headmaster did not flinch at the pronouncement as Severus thought he might.  The younger man then snorted out a quiet huff of mordant amusement. “The Dark Lord grows tedious with your interference.” 

A hint of comparable amusement passed across the old man’s face.  “I am as irksome as a fly… I expect Voldemort is growing impatient to rid himself of another adversary.  But the lad is of little threat to me, you must realise that.” 

Severus swallowed anxiously, “You may well believe so, but there has been a complication.” 

“Oh?” 

“As I could not grant her what she came for, Narcissa instead begged my assurance that I would assist Draco in any way I could; help him, protect him.  I agreed naturally, but of course Bellatrix, as untrusting of me as ever, insisted instead upon an Unbreakable Vow.  In maintaining that my allegiance did not come under further dispute I could do little to avoid it… and now I am committed or my life forfeit.” 

Although the young Professor continued to appear aloof on the exterior, he was actually swirling with emotion inside.  Fear… worry… shame… regret; every last one warring with one another for priority in his heart and mind, forcing Severus to fight hard to avoid choking on each breath he drew.   

Severus barely wanted to deliberate the consequences for the oath he had forged with the ladies of the dark side earlier that day.  He knew he wouldn’t know what to do about it; knew he had virtually painted himself into a corner.  But he’d passed the dilemma on now; he could do no more than wait for the wiser man to comment… to save him… if he even could. 

Dumbledore gazed thoughtfully at Severus for many moments.  “What are the terms?” he asked seriously, his eyes expressing the gravity of what he understood about all he had been told. 

“To help Draco in his task, to protect Draco… and to complete the task if would seem Draco will fail.” 

There were several moments of silence whilst the older man pondered the dilemma. 

“I see,” the Headmaster finally said somberly.  “Well… this could do with some earnest thought, my boy… I will have to get back to you.  Keep your ears open for any additional information in the mean time, won’t you?” 

Feeling a certain amount of weight lift from his shoulders, but at the same time a suffocating squeeze on his heart, Severus nodded, “Of course.”   

He sat immobile for several moments willing his mind to push the topic to the far reaching corners of itself… but he found the task difficult, jarred by the fact that the Headmaster had failed to come up with an immediate resolution … leaving Severus’ very existence hanging precariously in the balance. 

Severus hadn’t noticed that the old wizard had risen from his seat and had made his way around the desk to stand at Severus’ side until the supportive hand came firmly down on his shoulder with a light squeeze.  He immediately looked up at his longtime mentor, a flitting look of panic escaping his usual tight reign and skipping across his features. 

“Give me time, Severus… a solution will present itself.” 

Severus quickly re-gathered his control and nodded. 

“Now, I have some important business awaiting me, Severus, so unless you have anything further you wish to discuss I must call our meeting to an end.” 

“No,” Severus confirmed, rising himself to his feet gracefully, the reassuring hand dropping from his shoulder leaving the dark man lamenting the disappearance of the comforting warmth, “I’ll leave you to it.”  He nodded curtly to the Headmaster and made for the door. 

“You’ll obviously be staying the night here, Severus?” the old wizard queried before Severus made it to the exit.  He turned to face the wizened old man. 

“Yes, I don’t imagine Poppy will need to stay much later… Potter surely won’t require her incessant coddling for any longer and I can see to his medical care more than adequately at this stage,” he replied, his scorn for the Potter child and the usual over indulgence of the Matron obvious. “

Good… I’ll see you in the Great Hall for breakfast then, shall I?” 

“No.  I shall dine in Poppy’s office… I doubt that she’ll permit me to leave Potter’s side all night… and perhaps for half the morning as well; ensuring I agree to smother the boy with TLC!” he said, his tone derisive and sarcastic. 

Dumbledore eyed Severus in bewilderment, “TLC?” he asked, bemused. 

“Never mind!  Muggle saying,” Severus growled, feeling foolish for almost handing the Headmaster ammunition for the man’s longstanding quest to have Severus grow fond of the aggravating teenage spawn of James Potter. 

“Right,” Dumbledore nodded reflectively, “well, I shall relieve you of the care of Harry in the morning then.  Later in the day when I am sure he is recovered I will take the boy home and visit with his relations.” 

Severus nodded in agreement.  He turned again to leave and with his hand still grasping the doorknob, pulling the door to close, Dumbledore added, “Oh, and Severus… I may just nip out for an hour or so tonight.  In the event of an emergency it will be reasonable to just send your patronus, all right?” 

“Yes, Headmaster,” Severus agreed with a light nod and just as he pulled the door closed he noticed the old man settling his stone Pensieve back upon his desk.

The Potions Master strutted through the castle… just walking… well, perhaps pacing was a more accurate term.  A world of issues were plaguing his mind; preventing him from settling in his quarters even though it was now quite late in the evening.  Given the lack of students to regulate the activity was remarkably inane, except, of course, to soothe the man’s building tension.  

Between Potter, the Unbreakable Vow, the Dark Lord, Dumbledore and Draco Severus was almost overwhelmed with concerns, his mind turning over each problem in a relentless barrage of torment.  

But that in itself was a fairly futile exercise… he’d already spent an hour sitting in his armchair trying to wrangle any kind of resolution to any individual problem, but found them all to be emphatically linked to one another… and one’s solution inexorably caused the ruination for another… with himself at the very core!  

Severus very quickly came to the conclusion that all he was going to achieve by allowing these thoughts and feelings to consume his every waking moment was a severe stomach ulcer.  He was already feeling the unwelcome stir of nausea in his gut, determining that having not eaten all evening would most definitely have contributed to the problem.    

He had just decided he should seek out a meal from the kitchens, but first he would drop by the hospital wing in case Poppy had been trying to contact him during his therapeutic marching.  With any luck the Potter brat had awoken and the chance to practice his new collection of spells upon the boy could provide a welcome distraction for a short time, at least.  

Descending two flights of stairs to the infirmary, Severus barely restrained himself from bursting through the door, catching himself at the last moment.  He turned the knob gently and eased the panel open.  It would not do to anger the Matron when he still wanted her cooperation.  

“Oh, there you are, Professor Snape… I’ve been trying to get you through the Floo for the last quarter of an hour.  As you can see Harry is awake now.”  

And indeed Severus could see the Potter teen sitting upright in the bed the Medi-witch had indicated, staring warily at the approaching dark man.  

“My apologies, Poppy… I needed to stretch my legs.”  

The woman’s eyes studied him for an uncomfortably long moment before sweeping her gaze to Potter.  

“Of course…  Now, Harry dear, Professor Snape has a request to make of you?”  Severus stopped mid pace in the middle of the room. 

‘The bloody woman expects me to ask his permission?’ his mind burst out in incredulous wonder.  ‘Sneaky bloody harlot… she’s as bad as Dumbledore!’  

“A request?” both males queried simultaneously, glancing at one another momentarily in surprise.  

“Well, yes of course, Severus… you don’t expect me to just let an unqualified person practice on a patient without their consent, do you?”  

Severus glared at her unimpressed, but the woman wore an unyielding expression and the dark man knew he had no choice but comply if he wanted a chance to test and perfect his new skills.  

“Fine,” he relented, then he directed his steely gaze at the boy, “Well, Potter… may I?”  

“Er… may you what?” Potter stammered out, confusion clear in his features.  

“Sir!  You will address me as Sir or Professor.  How many times must you be told!?” Severus burst out, his patience already pushed to its limit.  The Mediwitch sent him a withering glare, but he resolutely ignored her.  It was his right as a teacher to demand respect!  

Suitably chastised the teen repeated his query. “Er… may you what, Sir?” he asked, his tone bordering on cheek to Severus’ impatient ears.  

Severus huffed a very put upon sigh.  “Practice, you idiotic dolt!  Weren’t you listening!?”  

“Severus!” growled the Matron warningly, and he was smart enough after the castigation to appear aptly sheepish.  

“Um… practice what exactly… er Sir?” Potter countered, obviously still too confused to react to the blatant insult.  Or perhaps he too was unwilling to aggravate the uncompromising Healer further.  

The Potions Master rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger; taking a deep breath to help calm himself down.  He then looked up and pinned the teenager with another glare.  

“Earlier this evening, Potter, I found I was ill prepared to adequately treat the infection that had taken a hold in your arm wound.  Whilst you lay sleeping,” he continued with a slightly derisive tone, “I have since remedied the deficiency in my knowledge… and all that is left in order for me to be considered proficient in the spells is to practice upon a live patient.”  

Comprehending quickly and with a panicked expression on his face, Potter glanced toward the Medi-witch, then back to Severus.  “You want to practice on me?”  

Suppressing another sigh, Severus replied, “As there is no other patient currently present that is the idea, Potter, yes.”  

“Oh… um…”  Potter glanced for confirmation and aid from the Matron again, and fortunately she came to both their rescues.    

“It’s alright, Harry… I’ll be here; Professor Snape will not be able to make a mistake,” she reassured, moving close to the boy’s bed and draping a comforting arm across his shoulders.  

Severus glared at her once more, once again feeling put out that she had taken another vague shot at his competency.  But Potter still had not given a response.  

“Well, Potter… may I?” he prompted a bit impatiently.  

“Er… sure… I guess,” the boy replied hesitantly, still looking a little concerned.  

“Good lad,” Poppy reassured him, with a comforting rub to his good arm.  “Well, come on then, Severus… Harry needs to eat something, but we should get this done first.”  

Madam Pomfrey supervised while Severus deftly removed the dressing from Potter’s upper right arm, inspected the half healed wound and set his wand over the top, his wand-less hand supporting the injured limb on its underside, holding it in an easily accessible position out from his body.  The teenager was in obvious discomfort with the dark man in such close proximity again, and kept his eyes trained staunchly on a spot on the far wall as the two Hogwarts staff members conducted the procedure.  

After a slight adjustment in his wand positioning, and a word of instruction, the Matron gave the wizard permission to proceed.  

“Desino Inflammo” the man muttered, and the Potions Master gave his wand a flick and a blue light left the tip of his instrument and infused into the boy’s arm.  After two anti-clockwise circular movements the man gave his wand a flick back towards himself and drew an orange glow to the surface of the teenager’s skin and from within the wound itself.  

“The brighter the orange, the more pure the cleansing has resulted… you can see the oval patch of slightly darker colour from the length of the wound there,” she stated, indicating the area with her finger for the benefit of her pupil.  “That will need a further treatment… you can go ahead and do it now.  A ‘red’ retracting glow will require a little time in between applications… it indicates the area had a heavier concentration of bacteria, and therefore the tissue will have been damaged on a greater scale and will likely need time to heal naturally before further intervention with this spell.  But this is only a fairly light orange colour still… and I imagine this will be the last one needed.  Go ahead.”  

Severus repeated the steps of the spell, and Poppy expressed her delight at the results.  

“Now, of course the healing precursor ‘Desino Morbus’ would be the first spell you would use, to prepare the site for healing… to kill the disease, though of course I have already used what I consider a more effective combination of efficient spells and potions.  It is just a personal preference… though I still believe this combination of spells will be the best for you to use if the need ever arises again.” Poppy explained.  

“Now, this treatment is for reducing the affected area and drawing the infection to the surface… and if you would just chant the final spell in the series now, Severus…”  He nodded and muttered, “Desino Purgo” under his breath, though with no less intensity.  The orange glow suddenly gathered together and sprung from the skin and as it hit the tip of Severus’ wand, it burst into fine sparks and vanished.  

“Good, now it’s been purged… the wound is clean.”  

“How long in between if the retractor is red?” Severus inquired studiously.  

“Anywhere from an hour to five hours… it all depends on the shade of colour.  I shall be able to provide you with a general guide to study, Severus… but for now, you’ve done well!”  

Severus’ chest swelled with a genuine feeling of self-satisfaction, brought on by the rare word of praise.  It had been a long time since anyone but the Headmaster had offered such sentiment… and even then it was often only following a drastic and life-threatening incident after which Severus had needed reassurance; not that he would have admitted it, of course.  

The man released the boy’s arm from his grasp, “Do you want me to dress the wound?” he asked, directing the question to the Medi-witch.  

She gazed at him, evaluating, for a few moments, “You tell me,” she said challengingly.  

He nodded and turned his attention to the wound once more, understanding immediately that she was testing him; wanting to be sure about his judgement before she left her patient in his care.  

Potter spun his head to stare at first the Matron, then him; a wary expression spreading across his face.  

Severus did not dwell on the boy’s reaction, but concentrated on assessing the injured limb.  In the dark man’s opinion it would be beneficial to cover the cut… it was still not completely healed and the possibility of re-infection was definitely a measurable risk.  

“I’ll bandage the arm,” he stated with a small nod.  

“Good… I would agree,” Poppy replied, “while you do that, I’ll order some food from the kitchens.”  

Severus turned his back on the retreating Medi-witch and focused on the job at hand.  He retrieved a fresh pad and bandage from the store room with a summoning spell; catching them deftly in his left hand as they came whizzing through the air toward the two wizards.  

Quickly and efficiently he wrapped the wound with the strip of material and fastened it with a sticking charm.  His eyes then glimpsed the bandages still wrapped around the boy’s hands, reminding him of his suspicions that the injuries sustained by the teenager were not the result of a mere accident as Potter had continued to declare.  

He reached out for one white wrapped hand.  “Are you in pain?” he asked plainly, not really wanting to have this conversation with the boy, but knowing that if he didn’t, he would not feel comfortable with allowing Dumbledore to return the child to his relatives the next day.  He just felt a nagging sensation to pursue the matter, despite the Headmaster’s assurances.  

“Um… a little,” Potter admitted quietly, “Madam Pomfrey said I could have a pain potion when I eat dinner.”  

Severus nodded; beginning to unwrap the material from the boy’s left extremity.  “And what exactly have you eaten today?”  

Potter looked up at him a little too quickly to be a benign reaction.  He took a breath to answer but was interrupted before he could utter a word.  

“Don’t lie to me…” Severus warned him.  

The boy sighed, lowering his gaze once more, “Nothing,” he admitted softly.  

“Why?”  By now he had exposed the skin on the palm of Potter’s hand.  The skin appeared reddened, but looked quite intact to the Potions Master… the teenager was healing well.  So well, in fact, that Severus decided to leave the covering off the hand for the moment… the boy would need the hand to eat with, after all… Severus had no intentions of hand feeding him!  

“I just didn’t get the chance-”  

“Come on, Potter… don’t take me for a fool!  I’m sure you would have had a moment to eat breakfast… graze on a piece of fruit?  As I understand it you did not have this altercation with your Uncle until lunch time.”  

“I was busy, that’s all… I didn’t know this was going to happen…”  

The boy’s voice was rising in defence and Severus decided to change tack for the moment.  “Where is the burn salve Madam Pomfrey has been applying to your hands?”  

“In the drawer there,” the boy replied, after only a small hesitation, indicating the set of draws under his bedside table.  

Severus retrieved the jar and read the label.  It was one of his own brews; identified by his own tiny scrawl.  “When was the last time Madam Pomfrey applied this to your burns?”  

“Um… before Professor Dumbledore came, I think.”  

Severus looked at the teen sharply, “Why did you not tell the Headmaster the truth, Potter?”  

“I did!” Potter retorted, once again a little too quickly for him to claim he had no clue as to what Severus was alluding to.  

They glared at one another for a few moments.  Potter was the first to turn his face away.  

“No… you didn’t,” Severus insisted quietly, his beating heart suddenly prominent in his chest.  

Potter did not deny it again… which spoke volumes to Severus.  It was the validation he had been seeking since his very first suspicion.  

“Do they often deny you food?” he asked boldly, sensing it was now or never to lay the whole mess on the table.  

At first Severus didn’t think Potter was actually going to respond, but then he saw the teen’s eyes dart in his direction.  

“Why would you care anyway?”  

Severus was quick to answer.  “This is not about me,” he practically snapped. 

Potter sent him a fleeting, strangely curious look.  It was a fairly odd thing to say, he supposed… and Severus mentally kicked himself.  He tried again.  

“I mean you don’t have to put up with their abuse… they have no right-”  

“I’m not abused!” the boy interrupted indignantly.  

“Neglect then!  You can label it whatever you like, Potter, but it comes down to the same thing; neither your Aunt nor Uncle are taking the responsibility of guardians of the “Boy-Who-Lived” seriously enough,” he shot back.  “Do you see Petunia’s blubber of a son going hungry, or flinching at an epithet… or nursing a serious injury inflicted, oddly enough, by his care-taker?!” he sneered, flicking his hand in the direction of Potter’s arm wound with exasperated disdain; his previously suppressed anger at the child’s Muggle relatives now getting the better of him.  

Potter’s eyes were wide with alarm at the voicing of Severus’ alarmingly accurate observations, and was speechless for several moments before shaking his head lightly in response, averting his gaze by dipping his chin; his expression a picture of shameful misery.  

“Indeed… no!” Severus answered curtly for him.  “Do not kid yourself, Potter, I probably see far more than even you what has likely been going on in that place you supposedly call home.”  

“You don’t know anything about me,” the child hissed with a soft, yet rather venomous, tone; quite deliberately not meeting his Professor’s gaze.  

“You think so!?” Severus rejoined swiftly, the dark man’s fury and frustration running away with him.  “I beg to differ; I think I know quite a bit about you… we are not so diff-”  

Severus was thankfully spared from making the rest of his foolhardy admission when the Matron suddenly bustled in with two dinner trays floating ahead of her.  

“Here we are, dears… you both must be famished,” she chirped, sending Severus a significant look as he worked to calm himself down.  She set both the trays gently down upon Potter’s side table.  

He returned her gaze with one of irritated incredulousness.  ‘She must be daft if she thinks I’m about to sit here and dine with Potter!’ he thought sourly.  

“Well, I’m off now.  I’ll leave Harry in your hands now, Severus… his chart is on my desk.  Any last minute questions?” she asked, raising her fine eyebrows.  

“You’re leaving me?!  With him?!” Harry shot at her, shock, panic and dread all obvious in his tone; to equal measures of Severus’ amusement and exasperation.  

“Don’t wet yourself, Potter; it is merely for the rest of the night only.  The Headmaster will be along to rescue us both in the morning, I assure you!” he sniped out sarcastically.  “And no… no further questions, Madam Pomfrey… we shall be fine,” he finished genially, wishing the woman would hurry up and leave so he could take that delicious looking feast she had brought and slink away into the Matron’s office to devour it - leaving Potter to stew over his own meal alone.  His stomach rumbled a little at the thought.  

Potter swallowed, still looking a little miserable, but he thankfully refrained from further argument; figuring, as Severus did, that the rest of the night wouldn’t take that long, and most of it would be spent asleep, after all.  

“Right… good,” Poppy said, though she didn’t make to actually leave.  She was obviously having a hard time handing over her responsibility.  

He took her gently by her elbow and led her (slightly reluctantly on her part) to the floo in her office.  “Everything is well in hand, Madam Pomfrey… you have my word,” he assured and stood watch as she nodded again, took a pinch of floo-powder, threw it in the flames and stepped in after making a melodic call of her intended destination.  

‘Thank Merlin she’s gone!’ he thought with a relieved sigh after she had swirled away; if somewhat uncharitably.  

His stomach rumbled again as the scent of warm gravy and roast beef wafted in from the ward.  He strode back to Potter’s bed and reached for his meal; noticing though that the teen had not yet touched his.  

“Eat, Potter,” he commanded, lifting the boy’s tray instead and depositing it carefully onto one of the purpose made, magically hovering tray tables that enabled Pomfrey’s patients to eat sitting comfortably in their beds.  He pushed the tray to within the boy’s easy reach, waiting to see his reaction.  

Potter stared at the heaped plates, keeping his eyes averted from the Potions Master determinedly, a deep scowl in place telling clearly of his attitude.  

“At least here you are not denied,” Severus muttered bitterly in a low tone when he realised the boy was not going to touch the meal, at least not while he was standing watching over him anyway.    

He produced his wand in the blink of an eye and summoned a small vial from Poppy’s storeroom and placed it carefully next to the boy’s glass of pumpkin juice.    

“Pain-relieving potion - to be taken during your meal,” he indicated curtly, but still the boy did not appear to respond or react.  

Now irritated beyond tolerance by Potter’s obstinate conduct, he proceeded to snatch up his own tray, turned on the spot and marched swiftly back into the office.    

Blast it if he were going to continue to go hungry because of the boy’s stubborn tantrum!

   *********   

With a now satisfyingly filled stomach, and consequently feeling somewhat less irritable, Severus entered the ward quietly to extinguish the lights.    

‘The boy really should get some sleep’, he decided… and for that matter, so should Severus.  He was tired, exhausted actually; today he had been heaped with a hefty load of fresh worries that had played on his mind, taking their toll physically as well as mentally.  He knew they would still be there in the morning, of course, but it was gratifying to know that for few hours every day he could push all his concerns aside and just rest.  He had to really, his sanity depended on it… and it was nice that he had that time to look forward to each day.  

He glanced over at the boy and was pleasantly surprised to find him sleeping serenely; his relaxed body snuggled comfortably into the bedding.  Severus quietly moved closer to the bed; confident that the teen would not sense his presence.    

Another glance informed him that the child had consumed the entirety of his meal; the empty plates lay scattered on the tray (including an overturned, empty potions phial) which remained hovering over the teen’s legs.  The boy must have been starving, for there had been a lot of food on the tray; Severus himself had not been able to polish it all off despite being quite ravenous.  The dark man gave a snort of contented amusement, and somehow an unbidden smirk ended up shaping his lips.   

He moved the tray table away from the sleeping boy further in case he accidently kicked it in his sleep; upsetting the load and waking them both up, for he had at some stage decided to sleep in the infirmary tonight… compelled by his sense of responsibility.    

The child’s burned hand was still exposed, but Severus made a swift decision not to do anything about it now.  The burns were mostly healed and he determined the boy’s need for rest, not to mention his own, were a higher priority at the moment.  He would see to them first thing in the morning.  

A quick flick of his wand had the candles that lit the room dim to a level that would allow safe movement about the room, but not enough light as to prevent anyone from sleeping.    

The dark man then made his way back to the office, transfigured the small armchair in the corner into a camp bed and made himself more comfortable for bed by removing his outer robes and shoes, and loosening his collar and cuffs.    

After a habitual series of deep breaths to help him clear his mind Severus gratefully clambered onto the cot and practically fell into the soft bedding with a relieved sigh.  He knew he would be asleep in moments and closed his eyes; feeling himself sink rapidly into the abyss of slumber.

   *********   

He was jarred awake no more than two and a half hours later by an urgent voice calling his name.  

“Severus!  Please… Severus… help me… please,” the frightened, pained voice echoed again, and the dark man leapt upright instantly, reaching swiftly for his wand which was stored loosely up his sleeve; immediately ready to come to the defence of the one who had woken him with such desperate pleas…

Still half dazed, his heart pounding with the abrupt flood of adrenaline, Severus tried to identify where the desperate plea had come from.  Glancing once around the room he at first believed himself to be quite alone…   

‘Did I dream it?’ he questioned disconcertedly. 

But then the orange glow from Madam Pomfrey’s office fireplace registered in his mind.  He had not left the fire burning… someone must have activated the floo.  He took a few steps toward the dancing flames. 

“Severus…?” the voice echoed in a whisper. 

The dark man could not see the person’s face in the flames, but he knew who owned that voice, whispered or not. 

“Headmaster…” he spoke, if only to acknowledge the man. 

“Severus… help…” 

“I’m coming through,” he stated.  “Your office?” he queried at the last minute. 

“Yes… hurry, please!” he heard in response, which made him move that tiniest bit faster.  He’d never heard the Headmaster plead with such desperation before… and it frightened him.  The old man had always been the rock, the pillar supporting all of Severus’ own charades… the place the spy could seek security, stability and to some extent comfort.  To hear the weakness was unnerving and brought out his own insecurities, for he knew that if Dumbledore fell… he himself would not be far behind. 

He stepped into the flames and immediately whirled away to his destination, his wand held at the ready.  

H.P.S.S.  

Harry stirred from his deep sleep, his eyes fluttering open briefly; some vague noise had woken him from his restful and peaceful slumber…  

Not detecting any further disturbance he closed his eyes again hoping to slip back into the comforting darkness of his mind… but it was not to be; with every second his mind became more aware and lucid as it emerged from sleep. 

He sighed in disappointment, he’d felt so snug, warm and comfortable… and whilst he was submerged in the shadow of sleep he did not have to think.  He did not have to worry about the prophecy or Voldemort; he had no cares for the stress of his studies or the ache of grief for his Godfather; he could ignore the stab of anxiety for the continued safety of his friends and members of the Order; he could push away the biting sting of the unfair and callous treatment by his relatives, and the burn of humiliation that Snape, of all people, had now witnessed the extent of his Aunt’s disdain…   

‘Oh, God… Snape knows how I’ve been treated at home!’ his mind snatched hold of the vague sentiment; twisting it into a solid thought.  His eyes flew open in alarm and his gut did a sudden back flip.  God that was humiliating! 

Great… he would never get back to sleep now!  

H.P.S.S  

Severus practically burst through the floo in his urgency to get to Dumbledore; his wand held firmly and ready in his hand ahead of him. 

The Headmaster was sprawled rather haphazardly over the small armchair that a visitor would ordinarily occupy, and the dark man spotted him at once; racing to the elderly wizard and kneeling beside the chair. 

“Albus?” Severus called anxiously, glancing over the older wizard’s frame. 

“What is it, what happened?” he asked, before his eyes eventually identified the man’s blackened, shaking hand dangling off the side of the chair. “What is this?” he asked again, shocked, and if he admitted it, a little afraid.  His immediate thoughts settled on believing the damage was caused by a very dark, magical origin. 

Immediately he lifted his wand and evoked the candles lighting the room to brighten so he could see much better what he was dealing with.  All of Dumbledore’s digits, and half his hand were blackened, and Severus could see that the darkness was slowly creeping further up the limb even as he observed. 

“This is a curse,” he whispered softly, talking to himself; trying to overcome his shock and jolt himself into action. 

He looked to Dumbledore and realized the man had lost consciousness.  His breathing was steady for the moment, but Severus knew the situation was very grave and the man might not even survive the night if he didn’t act now! 

Raising his wand again he directed it toward the diseased limb and began to chant a very melodic, yet intense mantra.  He had to at least contain this curse; otherwise it would eventually consume the old wizard and kill him.  Severus could not lose him.  Not now… not yet!  

After many long minutes of concentrated wand work Severus collapsed backwards, breathing heavily; unable to sustain the intensity for the moment.  However, instead of resting there, he immediately gained his feet, shaky though he was, and made for the floo.  He threw in a handful of powder, called out his destination exhaustedly and stepped into the flames.   

Once he’d practically tumbled out at the other end he scrambled to the adjoining room and snatched up a variety of phials and bottles as quickly as he could and thundered back to the floo.  As he again staggered from the fireplace in Dumbledore’s office he had to take a moment to catch his breath before pushing himself on once more. 

Severus knelt back at Dumbledore’s side, dumped the potion containers down in an untidy pile, quickly assessing the man’s discernable vital signs.  His pulse was fortunately still strong under Severus’ fingers at his throat and he was still breathing, but the man was sweating profusely and his whole body had begun to shiver… and upon closer inspection of the cursed hand Severus noted the blackening had crept up the flesh and was now nearing the old Headmaster’s wrist. 

The curse was advancing at an astonishingly rapid rate and Severus began to doubt his ability to save the old man. 

Not feeling he had a choice Severus resumed the chanting to contain the curse in Albus’ hand.  He would sustain it as long as he could, and then he would dose the old man with some of the potions he’d retrieved from his personal storeroom.   

He lasted around half an hour that time before collapsing back to the ground with fatigue; almost fifteen minutes less than before.  And he couldn’t find the strength to move for several more moments; sucking in deep, desperate breaths.  But again he pushed himself to continue, crawling to his knees to reach the phials he had piled less than three feet away. 

Holding them to Albus’ mouth, Severus first cast an Enervate charm and wakened the Headmaster and then tipped a total of three potions down his throat.  A Pain-Reliever, a Strengthening Solution, and a measure of special brew of his own concoction that supported the function of one’s vital organs.  It was largely untested, but Severus was confident in the results he had achieved and was sure that at worst it would not poison the old man. 

“Albus,” Severus said breathily, “I need some clue as to how to cure you,” he requested pleadingly.  “How did this happen?” 

Albus was weary, and barely lucid, but he did manage an answer.  “A curse… Tom’s …Flesh Decay…’ he whispered, so softly Severus had to strain to hear over his own pounding heart and heavy breaths. 

Severus was shocked.  ‘The Flesh Decay curse?  That is one of the Dark Lord’s inventions,” Severus realized.  He’d seen it before… seen the carnage it could create.  ‘But it is incurable… vicious, repugnant,’ he thought further in dismay.  There was nothing he could do. 

He took up his wand again and resumed the chanting to contain the decay to the hand.  At best he could hold it at bay for the moment, and give himself time to think… sort of.  It was difficult to have lucid thoughts when you had to be so focused on another task, but he would try.  The Order couldn’t afford to lose Albus Dumbledore at this point in the war effort… they just weren’t a formidable enough force yet. 

The effort cost Severus more than physically; he was exhausted mentally and had a splitting headache when he’d finally wrangled a temporary solution nearly thirty more minutes later.  And not only had it cost him, but the decay had managed to advance a further inch up the Headmaster’s wrist whilst Severus’ focus was not entirely intent on his containment charm. 

However, with a few intricate flicks of the wrist of the hand that was guiding his wand and a stream of Latin, that although was not as musical as his previous charm lent a soothing rhythm to both the strained men in the room, he had the curse provisionally trapped in the already contaminated extremity. 

He fell back against the leg of the desk behind him utterly spent, staring down at his sock covered feet.  He could not get up this time, and scrunched his face against the strain and fatigue.  He rubbed a hand over his face and found it also soaked with sweat. 

As he slowly, automatically cooled with the cessation of the strenuous activity, his body shivered slightly at the damp chill that seeped into his skin.  He was exhausted; thoroughly drained and weary.  He rested his head back and allowed his eyes to close. 

As much as he believed he’d be able to sleep anywhere right now, he knew he ought not to allow himself to fall asleep propped against the Headmaster’s desk on the cold, stone floor.  He’d required respite before all of this had happened, but now he was in urgent need of that rest.  But first he ought to ensure the Headmaster was indeed out of immediate danger. 

“Albus?” he said quietly. 

“I am here and awake, my boy,” the old man answered, the fatigue equally discernable in his voice as Severus’.  “Are you alright?” he went on to ask, concern edging his tone. 

Severus huffed out a chuckled breath.  “I am not the one festering inch by inch,” he responded, amused, yet anxiety still sitting like a heavy lump in his gut. 

The dark man heard a huffed chuckle returned to him.  “No, my boy… not you…” he said, and with those words he seemed to imply a whole lot more than he’d spoken. 

Severus stared up at the Headmaster’s profile, creasing his features as he tried to discern the hidden meaning. 

“Help me to my desk,” the old man requested softly. 

Severus himself did not yet wish to move, so it mystified him why and how the Headmaster had found the will.  Nevertheless, he dragged himself to his feet and steadied and guided the old man around the desk and into his own throne-like chair. 

Once settled, the old wizard retrieved his wand from his sleeve and aimed it toward the clear part of the stone floor near the door.  Severus followed his aim in time to see the sword of Gryffindor and a small, curious, yet ominous looking artifact levitate and float toward the desktop.  They both clanked down onto the surface as the Headmaster lost control of his charm from fatigue. 

Severus turned to him and witnessed the show of agony sweep across the man’s features and ripple through his body.  The black skin covering the damaged hand writhed and bubbled momentarily; the curse apparently fighting its confinement. 

The younger man grimaced slightly and cringed away minutely, horrified by the entity trapped in the older wizard’s limb. 

His eyes were drawn back to the artifact; a ring, its black jewel cracked, sitting upon the desk and suddenly clarity hit him. 

“It was the ring?  You put on the ring?” he asked, aghast and confused.  But another look at the Headmaster and he realised the man was once again struggling against the curse that was doggedly attempting to overcome its victim.  With his eyes closed, he sagged sideways in the throne-like chair, apparently semi-conscious; his right hand dangled over the side. 

Severus returned quickly to his pile of potions and selected another potion; an Invigoration Draught.  He transfigured one of Dumbledore’s quills into a goblet and decanted a dose from the larger bottle into it.  

Again he quickly made his way back around to the older wizard’s side and drawing his wand once more began muttering his incantation, pointing his wand at the wrist of the hand, while with his left hand he tipped the goblet full of thick, golden potion down Dumbledore’s throat.  After a moment or two, Dumbledore’s eyelids fluttered and opened. 

“Why?” said Severus, without preamble, “why did you put on that ring?  It was what carried the curse, surely you realised that.  Why even touch it?” 

Dumbledore grimaced. 

“I… was a fool.  Sorely tempted…” 

“Tempted by what?” Severus queried, confused. 

Dumbledore did not answer and Severus began to feel angry. 

“It is a miracle you managed to return here!” he said, now furious.  “That ring carried a curse of extraordinary power,” he added, looking again at the hand that looked malevolent in its blackened state, “to contain it is all we can hope for; I have trapped the curse in one hand for the time being-” 

The Headmaster raised the hand and examined it with mere interest and curiosity that seemed out of place to Severus. 

“You have done very well, Severus.  How long do you think I have?” almost conversationally, which confused the dark man even more, making him forget his anger and frustration.  He hesitated before answering, deliberating what he knew. 

“I cannot tell.  Maybe a year.  There is no halting such a spell forever.  It will spread, eventually; it is the sort of curse that strengthens over time.” 

Dumbledore smiled.  The news that he had less than a year to live seemed a matter of little or no concern to him. 

“I am fortunate, extremely fortunate, that I have you, Severus.” 

“If you had only summoned me a little earlier, I might have been able to do more, buy you some time!” said Severus, furious once more at the man’s lack of regard for the seriousness of the situation. 

He looked down at the broken ring and the sword, finally comprehending what had most probably caused the Headmaster to delay calling for help. 

“Did you think that breaking the ring would break the curse?” he suggested questioningly. 

“Something like that… I was delirious, no doubt…” the old wizard replied.  But Severus recognised the dismissal well enough. 

With an effort the Headmaster straightened himself in his chair, the Invigoration Draught having its desired effect, Severus surmised. 

“Well, really, this makes matters much more straightforward.” 

Severus was utterly perplexed and allowed his confusion to show to the old man. 

Dumbledore smiled at him. 

“I refer to the plan Lord Voldemort is revolving around me.  His plan to have the poor Malfoy boy murder me.” 

Severus took a seat in the chair across the desk from Dumbledore’s trying to ignore the headache, though slightly improved, still throbbing inside his skull.  He wanted to return to the subject of the Headmaster’s blackened hand - he still wanted to understand how it had happened - but Dumbledore held up his good hand to halt him. 

Frustrated again, Severus scowled.  “The Dark Lord does not expect Draco to succeed.  I believe Narcissa’s fears are correct; this is merely punishment for Lucius’ recent failures.  Slow punishment for Draco’s parents, while they watch him fail and pay the price.” 

“In short, the boy has had a death sentence pronounced upon him as surely as I have,” said Dumbledore. “Now, I should have thought the natural successor to the job, once Draco fails, is yourself?” 

After a short moment of thought, Severus replied.  “That, I think, is the Dark Lord’s plan.” 

“Lord Voldemort foresees a moment in the near future when he will not need a spy at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore queried. 

“He believes the school will soon be in his grasp, yes,” Severus confirmed. 

Dumbledore was nodding, still in contemplative thought, and Severus waited for him to continue.   

“Ultimately then, of course, there is only one thing to be done if we are to save Draco from Lord Voldemort’s wrath.” 

Severus was sardonic in his reply, uncertain where his superior was headed with his submission.  “Are you intending to let him kill you?” 

The Headmaster looked a mite amused at the suggestion.  “Certainly not.  You must kill me.” 

Shocked at the Headmaster’s proposal, Severus was silent for a long moment, grappling with the expectation.  Then, his words heavy with irony, he responded. 

“Would you like me to do it now?  Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?” 

Dumbledore smiled at his sarcasm.  “Oh, not quite yet,” he said.  “I daresay the moment will present itself in due course.  Given what has happened tonight,” he indicated to his withered hand, “we can be sure that it will happen within a year.  And this also solves our little dilemma regarding your Unbreakable Vow,” he added with an amount of satisfaction. 

Severus was crushed, feeling almost betrayed; it made him irate again.  He’d expected a solution that would improve their situation if Dumbledore managed to find one, not simply one that would try and justify it. 

“If you don’t mind dying,” said Severus roughly, “why not let Draco do it?”  He was certainly not keen on becoming the perpetrator of this crime. 

“That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,” said Dumbledore.  “I would not have it ripped apart on my account.” 

Severus was cut to the heart with that comment and found it difficult to reply. 

“And my soul, Dumbledore?  Mine?” he managed to grate out, his chest hollow with the realisation of how little he must mean to the man in front of him. 

“You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” Dumbledore suggested.  “I ask this one, great favour of you, Severus, because death is coming for me as surely as the Chudley Cannons will finish bottom of this year’s league.  I confess I should prefer a quick, painless exit to the protracted and messy affair it will be if, for instance, Greyback is involved – I hear Voldemort has recruited him?  Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it.” 

Dumbledore’s gaze pierced him as though he was gazing upon Severus’ very soul as they discussed it.  Still not necessarily convinced that his soul would remain undamaged, but reeling too much from the shock of the request, Severus could only offer a curt nod. 

The Headmaster nodded his own satisfaction and set aside the topic after a slight shudder and weary sigh. 

“I’m afraid your Invigoration Draught is wearing off already, Severus… and I cannot afford to rely on its affects at any rate.  I need to rest.  As do you, I suspect,” he said, taking in the exhaustion dragging harshly on the features of the younger, dark man in front of him. 

Severus nodded in agreement, almost absentmindedly. 

“Harry will need to be returned to his relative’s home… I trust you will be able to manage that tomorrow in my stead.  I will need a few days to recover before I might be able to investigate the issue.  Return him with the message to Petunia and Vernon that they will receive a visit from me soon.  That should hold any chance of overzealous reprimand at bay should it be likely to occur.  We shall discuss things further in the coming days.” 

Severus nodded again, but he was still so consumed with incredible thoughts that he was barely aware of what he was agreeing to. 

The old man pushed to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on his desk.  And then with his wand he transfigured an empty phial into a cane and after tucking his wand away safely, took it in his good hand and proceeded slowly in the direction of his personal rooms. 

Severus, upon noticing the unstable man begin to totter away, stood up to assist. 

“No, my boy,” Albus insisted, pushing the dark man’s hands away.  “You go and slip into your own bed… I can make it to mine on my own, and you need to recover from tonight’s exertions as well.  Goodnight, Severus.” 

After a moment of uncertainty, Severus acquiesced.  “Goodnight, Headmaster.” 

When he was almost to the floo the old Headmaster called to him.  “Oh, Severus?” 

The dark man turned back to face the old, wise wizard, still feeling quite dazed by the night’s occurrences and revelations. 

“I want you to know I am exceedingly grateful for your assistance tonight.  You did an admirable job.  Thank you,” Albus offered appreciatively. 

Severus merely nodded an acknowledgement and again proceeded to leave through the floo. 

Once the dark man had spun out of sight, Dumbledore paused a few moments longer before continuing to his bedroom, glancing with melancholy into the dying flames.   

“And Severus, despite what I must force you to do, I do care… I promise you,” he said quietly, and then added in a soft whisper, “and may you find salvation at the end of all of this.”  

S.S.H.P  

When Severus stepped out into Madam Pomfrey’s office he noted the time on the wall clock hanging above her desk.  It read 3:38am and Severus sighed.  He rubbed at his face, feeling weariness creep malignly through his entire body. 

He was quite used to late nights and minimal sleep, but this was excessive even for him, especially considering the enormous effort and energy he had expended tonight.  He glanced toward the ward and wondered whether the Potter boy was a normal teenager who would take the chance to sleep in given the opportunity.  He sincerely hoped so… for even in the time it had taken for him to acknowledge his body’s rebellion over the strain it had endured this evening, it had developed into a disturbing shiver that made him feel a touch nauseous.  

He turned toward his camp bed and practically fell into it; too tired to even pull up the covers and despite a mind full of qualms and reservations he swiftly sank into slumber.   

H.P.S.S.  

Harry had lain awake for well over two hours.  Oh, he’d tried to return to sleep, but the comforting oblivion evaded him.  Perhaps he’d had altogether too much sleep during the past day?  So he was aware when the floo in Madam Pomfrey’s office surged with a roar of flames and flashed with bright light through the gap at the bottom of the door.   

Nobody emerged from the office, and nor did he hear any conversation, so he assumed it was Snape leaving through the floo rather than arriving.  

‘Odd?’ he thought, considering the probable time of the morning.  But then he cleverly decided that that was to be entirely expected.  Snape was odd, after all. 

‘Oddball!’ he thought, amused, remembering something that Sirius had once said about the Potions Master from his time at school with him.  He said Harry’s dad and Snape had hated one another right from their first meeting.  Harry didn’t know if the abhorrence Sirius and James had apparently felt for their classmate was justified back then or not, but judging by Harry’s experience with the man this afternoon he was a hard person to work out… quite unpredictable.  He could easily see how Snape must have earned their mistrust and wariness quite quickly as children. 

It was a curious thing to look on all these people he’d come to know and realise that they’d all been children together; Hogwarts students together… they must have known one another reasonably well.   

His Godfather, Remus, Snape, Peter Pettigrew, Harry’s father, his… mother. 

Snape knew his mother from school, that much was already known, for Harry had seen at least one interaction inside Professor Snape’s memories when he’d snuck into the penseive for a look, but recalling the happenings from the previous afternoon it appeared that Snape had known his Aunt Petunia too.  And surprisingly the woman had indeed remembered him. 

‘But just how well did they know each other and from where?’ Harry wondered, giving it some earnest thought, trying to dredge up what was actually said that afternoon to lend him a clue; for Aunt Petunia was only a Muggle after all.  

“Don’t you dare ‘woman’ me, Severus Snape!  My sister might have felt sorry for you for a time, but-” 

Harry now recalled that Aunt Petunia had hinted at a much more familiar relationship between Snape and his mother than he’d initially guessed.  She’d suggested his mother had felt sympathy or pity for Snape, so much so that Lily had apparently discussed the Slytherin at home.   

No… not just discussed him, Aunt Petunia had recognised Snape on sight.  She knew him too.  And by the way she’d glared at him Harry deduced that at one time she’d felt quite comfortable with him or even superior toward him.  Petunia had looked at him like she’d sometimes looked at Harry; like he was mud on the bottom of her shoes. 

‘Just how long ago had this been?’ the young wizard thought.  Because to Harry, even a seventeen/eighteen year old, fully trained, black clad, menacing looking wizard - such a Snape was - would have to have been considered intimidating to a Muggle.  Especially as Aunt Petunia seemed well enough aware of what he was.  So they all must have been much younger… right? 

And what else could Harry glean from the words?   

“My sister might have felt sorry for you for a time…” 

‘For a time…?’ Harry thought, bemused.  So, Lily had felt sorry for Snape at one point, but then not?   

Why not? – was the next obvious question.  Had something happened?  Had things improved for Snape… or had they fought?   

It sounded decidedly like Aunt Petunia had never felt sorry for Snape, however.  But then again, Harry hadn’t thought her capable of sympathy anyway, unless of course you were Dudley, so no surprise there. 

And Snape had shown little tolerance of Aunt Petunia as well, he remembered, and in fact had swiftly cut off her tirade with a quick word and menacing close proximity.  Seemingly reminding the woman, or demonstrating to her how intimidating he had become – fully grown. 

But was that the only reason he’d cut her off?  Had he perhaps silenced her for another reason – there being a witness?  Harry in particular!?  Had Snape not wanted Harry to know he’d once been friends (?) with Harry’s mother? 

“Hmm…” Harry hummed quietly; it was certainly food for thought.   

He couldn’t be certain that any of his deductions held merit, having made them from a single, overheard, incomplete and hasty comment; but did he have the courage to confirm them?  Did Harry have the balls to ask Professor Snape outright how and when he had first met Harry’s mother and her Muggle sister? 

That was the question!