The telephone had been ringing all day. Uncle Vernon was frantic. Aunt Marge was sick, that much Harry had worked out without getting under his uncle’s feet. The whole household was tense, though Harry’s tension was more out of worry that he would eventually be on the receiving end of his uncle’s mood.

Early that morning, Harry had been given his list of chores and told, more or less, to get on with it and stay out of the way. Everything was normal then. Harry knew to stay quiet, he knew to be quick, he knew to be efficient, and most of all, he knew to keep out of his uncle’s way. Yes, a run-in with Aunt Petunia would often leave him with a sore head, but that was always better than no food and a few swings of a heavy, flying fist.

The phone calls started coming at midday. Harry stayed in the kitchen, scrubbing at the cooker tops, but stopped his vigorous scrubbing when he heard his uncle’s strained voice.

“She’s where? Well what’s wrong with her? You can’t – I’m her bloody brother, for goodness sake!”

Must be Aunt Marge, Harry thought and he knew it was something bad because Vernon’s voice sounded anxious.

“A what? Well is she – yes, yes of course.” His uncle put the phone down and Harry quickly returned to his scrubbing. He heard the loud footsteps coming towards the kitchen and tensed his shoulders, but resolutely kept his head down and his hands moving.

Standing next to Harry at the sink, Vernon took a glass from the draining board and shoved it under the tap. As he drew the glass of water to his lips, Harry could see his uncle’s hand trembling from the corner of his eye. He was pale too. In that small moment, his uncle seemed more human than Harry had ever seen.  

Oh Merlin, Harry thought as his gaze was suddenly stolen by Vernon’s cold eyes. He stopped mid-scrub. The silence was deafening. Everything in Harry’s mind told him to look away and pretend he hadn’t been caught, but whether it was fear, or hope, or some other kind of twisted emotion holding him, he couldn’t move.

“What, boy?” Uncle Vernon said, voice clipped.

Harry gulped, his eyes wide, and just shook his head as if to say nothing.

“You did this, didn’t you?” his uncle said, but even he didn’t sound convinced of his own words. Harry stayed silent. What did I do? Harry’s mind raced. He was in unknown territory. Usually his uncle was so sure of himself, but after that phone call, he seemed almost scared. “You. It’s always you.” Uncle Vernon’s voice quaked, and he looked away for a moment, freeing Harry from his intimidating gaze. “You left some of your freakiness on her that day, boy!” The glass in Vernon’s hand was swiftly thrown down into the sink, smashing into pieces.

Harry flinched and quickly stood up straight. His heart pounded silently in his chest and every morsel of his attention was focused on his uncle’s limbs, in fear that one would suddenly strike out at him. No, he couldn’t prevent it, but at least he could shield himself.

“She’s sick and it’s all your fault!” Uncle Vernon’s voice grew louder and his face grew redder. “You and that bloody school of yours!” One of Vernon’s hands jutted out, looking as though to grab Harry’s t-shirt, but the shrill ringing of the phone broke through his anger. Without even a moment’s thought, he thudded out of the room to answer the call. Harry quickly wiped away as much dirt from the cooker as he could before packing everything away and shutting himself away in his room.

The phone calls kept coming. Harry pressed his ear up to his bedroom door as friends and neighbours of Aunt Marge, one after the other, seemed to call either to tell his uncle of his sister’s sickness, or to ask about it. In between phone calls, Vernon’s footsteps could be heard padding up and down in the hallway downstairs.

Dudley and Aunt Petunia had been out shopping all day, and though his uncle had tried to call them several times, Harry assumed he hadn’t got through and was simply waiting for them to get home. It was three o’clock by the time Dudley came bounding through the door with bags of shopping attached to both arms.

“Take them upstairs, Duddikins!” Harry heard Aunt Petunia shout.

“Petunia, where have you been?! I’ve been trying to get through to you for hours!”

“You knew we were going shopping, Vernon – Vernon? What’s wrong?”

“Marge is sick, Pet. They haven’t told me what’s wrong, only that she’s very unwell. I’ve thrown some clothes into a suitcase for us just in case –”

“Vernon, we can’t leave! You know what those people said about the boy! The protection!”

“Forget the boy! Marge needs us,” Vernon growled before barking a quick, “Dudley, bring your Gameboy downstairs and get your shoes on!”

Harry, realising that they were planning to leave without him, opened his bedroom door, but was quickly pushed back inside by Dudley, who then proceeded to whine, “But I’m tired! We’ve just got home!”

“Your Aunt Marge is sick, Duddikins,” Petunia said sweetly, “we’ll be going away for a bit.”

Harry picked up his glasses from the floor and held onto his bed to regain his balance again. As Dudley flew by his bedroom door again, Gameboy in hand, Harry followed him down the stairs. Aunt Petunia was busying herself by closing the downstairs curtains and locking all the windows and the back door. Uncle Vernon was pulling his coat over his huge shoulders as he caught sight of Harry.

“Uncle Vernon?” Harry said cautiously.

“You have some nerve coming down here!”

Harry took a step back, but strived to keep his voice confident. “You can’t leave without me. What about the wards?” Harry said and cringed at the nervousness his voice carried.

Vernon ignored him, handing the suitcase to Dudley.

“Aunt Petunia?” Harry pleaded, his voice wavering with worry.

For a second, Harry thought her expression looked almost apologetic, but she quickly schooled her features. Harry was sure she was about to say something, but Vernon interjected before she had the chance. “Petunia, take Dudley to the car. I’ll be out in a minute.”

She eyed him warily, but did as he said, offering Harry nothing more than a quick glance as she passed him.

At the sound of cars doors closing, Vernon took a menacing step closer to Harry. Leaning down, he pointed a shaky finger in Harry’s face. “You listen to me, boy. You did this. You know you did. Now, you put her back to normal!”

“U-Uncle Vernon, I didn’t! It wasn’t me, I swear –”

The sharp sound of a slap rang through the air before Harry felt the stinging pain spread through his cheek.

“Don’t you give me that, you little whelp! She’s not been right since that day, I just know it.”

“That was an accident. I never meant to...it’s been almost three years, it can’t be me, can’t you see?”

For a moment, Vernon’s face looked pained. Harry saw the lines appear in his forehead and realised just how worried his uncle must have been. In true Potter fashion, despite everything, Harry tried reaching out. “I know you’re worried about her. She’s your sister. She’s family. Just...please, Uncle Vernon, if you leave, they’ll –”

Without warning, the back of Vernon’s hand collided with Harry’s face, knocking him to the floor. Droplets of blood began dripping from Harry’s nose. Glasses askew, he looked up fearfully at his uncle, but the expression on Vernon’s face caught him off-guard. Swirling in his eyes was pain, upset, concern...but Harry was sure he saw a glimmer of remorse. In that instant, in spite of what had just transpired, he felt a small amount of sympathy for the man.

“Get upstairs, boy.” When Harry made no move to get up, a large hand shot out, grasping the shoulder of his shirt. Harry protested as Vernon gripped him under the arms and began hauling him up the stairs. Harry kicked out but Vernon seemed unaffected. “You bring this on yourself! Could have just done what I said, boy!” Near the top of the stairs, Harry tried to grab the banister, but Vernon wrenched his hand away. “Could have gone of your own accord!” Vernon heaved Harry’s body up the final step. “But you always have to be,” he all but threw Harry into his room, “difficult!” Harry tried to get up straight away, but Vernon held up a warning fist. Quickly, Vernon retreated to the door and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. Harry knew he was about to be locked in. As if in slow motion, the door was pulled closed, slowly taking with it the light from the landing. The last thing he saw before the door closed was the peculiar look on Vernon’s face. The man had hesitated.

All Harry could think was, my wand. Down in the cupboard under the stairs, his wand lay atop his trunk. The sound of the front door closing sent a haunting chill down Harry’s spine. It’s only a matter of time, he thought. The wards would fail soon. He just hoped to Merlin that the Order would reach him before the Death Eaters did.

Within seconds Harry realised how fruitless it was to keep trying the door. Without his wand, he wasn’t physically strong by any means. The door would barely budge when he tried to barge it down. He had no clock in his room; his Aunt would usually signal the time by calling for him to make breakfast. The sun was fast going down and all Harry could do was alternate between sitting tensely on his bed and looking agitatedly out of his bedroom window. Being locked in his room wasn’t nearly as terrible as being locked in his cupboard, so it could have been worse – he was thankful to his uncle for that much at least – but the eerie silence of an empty house made him feel more isolated than usual. Worst of all, however, was the anxiety. He knew something had to happen now the Dursleys were gone, but he couldn’t stand the waiting.

As he sat rigid on his bed, Harry’s stomach growled loudly, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the slice of toast he had at breakfast.

No food. No water. No wand. Nothing to protect me. Harry’s thoughts fired like rogue bludgers through his head. No need for protection if I’ve nothing to keep me alive though...He scoffed resignedly to himself, finding it almost difficult to believe the situation he’s suddenly ended up in. Once again, trouble had found him, rather than the other way around. I’d love to see Snape pin this one on me, he thought angrily. He scrunched up his nose, feeling the dried blood flake away.

The next hour was uneventful. Harry looked through his photo album, imagining himself in the pictures with his mum and dad. As the sun dropped below the horizon, Harry hoped that Hedwig would visit, but he doubted she would as he’d only sent her to the Burrow yesterday. With nothing else to do, Harry stretched himself out on his rickety old bed and lay there, keeping his ears open for anything unusual. His room was lit only now by the dim streetlamp outside his window. Within minutes, Harry’s eyes had fluttered closed and the silence was broken by his quiet snores.

He’d dreamt about Sirius, but not a nightmare. No, this was worse because it was a happy dream. It made Harry sad to be waking up. On the bad days it made Harry sad to be alive.

At first Harry didn’t know what woke him. He just knew he was awake and that it wasn’t Aunt Petunia like it normally was. Dread filled him as he abruptly sat up, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His breath hitched. There it was. The familiar crack of apparition.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

There were no voices at first so he didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared for his life. He was trapped, but only now did the full danger of the situation drop down on him like a tonne of bricks. He couldn’t get out, but other people – other wizards – could get in. So he did the only thing he could. He hid. Pulling up the loose floorboard, he grabbed for his invisibility cloak and draped it around himself. As he squirmed his way under the bed and squashed his body against the back wall, he hoped he might blend into the darkness just enough.

Lying as still as he could, he heard the front door creak open.

“There’s no lights on. Told you ‘e wouldn’t be ‘ome. They’d never let the wards fall if he were ‘ere.” You don’t know the Dursleys. Harry didn’t recognise the voice. It was gravelly, definitely not filled with kindness.

“What, scared of him or something, Gable? Just look, will you! Little toe-rag could be waiting to pounce on us.” Harry tensed. Definitely not the Order then, he thought, subconsciously edging further back under the bed.

“Quiet you two!” hissed someone else. His voice was more familiar. “Do not forget the Dark Lord’s orders. If Potter is not here, find out where he’s been taken. Then we...dispose...of this dingy little house and make sure they cannot come back.” Harry cringed. Lucius Malfoy. He’d recognise that stilted tone anywhere. “They cannot ward what doesn’t exist.”

The voices kept fading in and out as they searched each room downstairs. His heart pounded deeply in his chest as Lucius Malfoy’s voice carried up the stairs. “Dolohov, check the garden. Gable, check upstairs.”

As soft feet padded up each step, Harry prayed for divine intervention!

Come on Mrs Figg. Alert the Order. Do something. Please!  

Gable, Harry could hear, was muttering to himself as he ascended the stairs. “Bleedin’ Malfoy. Do it yourself you pompous –” He stopped. A small blue-ish light glowed through the gap at the bottom of Harry’s bedroom door. Wand light. “Look at this then.” Harry heard the Death Eater fiddling with one of the chain locks on his door. “Hidin’ something, I bet.” Harry wondered briefly why the man didn’t just unlock the door himself. Maybe Dolohov was right, Gable was scared of him. “Up ‘ere, Malfoy!” Suddenly, more feet were bounding up the stairs and Harry thought he might be sick with the worry of it all.    

But before they reached his room, Harry heard several more cracks of people apparating, some louder than others. He heard a commotion by the stairs and Gable quickly shout back in panic, “It’s Dumbledore! He’s brought a small army with ‘im it looks like!”

Harry’s heart leapt. They came. They came to save him!  

The Death Eaters ran down the stairs and saw a number of wizards approaching the front drive.

“Destroy the house,” Malfoy commanded aiming his wand into the kitchen.

“This’ll keep ‘em occupied!” Gable sniggered to himself. “Incendio!” Gable’s spell was echoed by Malfoy and Dolohov.

The blaze didn’t take long to spread. When the heat got too much, Dolohov and Gable disapparated, but in one last taunting action, Malfoy threw the living room curtains open, revealing himself to the aurors and Order members outside. He sneered in the face of Dumbledore. As the fire behind him caused ornaments to shatter violently, he quickly disapparated in a cloud of black smoke.

“It’s on fire!” someone shouted outside, but Harry was too distracted by the wisps of grey smoke snaking under his bedroom door. The fire was, so far, contained to downstairs, that much he knew because he couldn’t see yet see a fiery orange glow, but he was still trapped. Harry didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t get out, even if he wanted to. The Dursleys had redone the bars on his window and he couldn’t do wandless spells yet. He hoped that his accidental magic might kick in, but it hadn’t helped him in years, not since he blew up Aunt Marge.  

Aunt Marge. For a moment, Harry found himself worried about his relatives, worried the Death Eaters would find them next. He needed to get out. Needed to make sure they were safe. He needed to tell someone to watch out for them.

Climbing out of his cloak, Harry moved to shimmy himself out from under his bed, but began coughing because of the smoke. The grey wisps were now black plumes, rolling like waves through every crack in his door and rising to the ceiling.

All of a sudden, Harry heard the frantic voice of Remus Lupin. “Harry! Harry, Cub!” Lupin shouted from outside. The telltale crackling sound of burning was getting louder. A tremendous heat seemed to be filling the room. Harry was sure he could feel it through the floor, prickling the hairs on his torso. Somewhere in the midst of everything, he could hear shouts of aguamenti, some in voices he recognised, others not. The sound of sloshing water was somewhat reassuring.

Not a moment later, Lupin’s voice carried up the stairs and Harry knew he was in the house. “Harry! Cub, where are you?” Harry kept to the floor, trying not to breathe in the smoke, but it wasn’t working. The smoke made him nauseous and the floor was so damn hot! He was wheezing now every time he took a breath.

“Potter!” Was that...? No, it couldn’t be.

“Harry!” Lupin shouted, but his voice was hoarse this time.

“Remus!” Harry tried to call back, but all that came out was a harsh whisper.

“Aguamenti!” he heard Lupin shout from downstairs and for a moment Harry’s worry for himself was replaced with worry for the people risking their own lives to save him.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry tried to wave away the smoke and squirmed the rest of the way out from under the bed. Staggering towards the door, floorboards creaking ominously underfoot, he beat his fist on it, trying to be as loud as he possibly could. Within moments, he was heard.

“Lupin!” that deep, familiar voice bellowed. It is him! Snape! Harry would know that deep baritone anywhere. “He’s upstairs!” 

Harry stepped back, a fleeting feeling of hope catching him before it subsided into his body trying to cough out all the smoke it had inhaled. The footfalls got louder as two sets of feet scrambled up the stairs.

“Harry!” Lupin called and, for a moment, at the sound of his voice so very close, Harry forgot himself, taking an eager step forward. Snape and Lupin barely had time to register all the locks on the door before the house groaned loudly and a sudden crash resounded throughout the building.

Despite the worst of the fire being extinguished, the house seemed to rock unsteadily. The sound of walls coming down around them rang in their ears and the only thing Snape and Lupin could do was take cover in the peculiar little cupboard under the stairs. Snape hoped that the old theory would hold true, that the safest place to hide is always under the stairs.

Even when it seemed the house had calmed, something new seemed to come down and rattle its foundations again. All they could do was sit and wait it out in the hope that Harry was alright.

Snape whispered a quick Anapneo to clear his and Lupin’s breathing, and mentally kicking himself for not thinking right under pressure, he told Lupin to cast a bubble-head charm over himself until the smoke cleared, and promptly did the same to himself.

“Lumos,” they both incanted in unison.

When the house appeared to have settled, they could hear the booming voice of Dumbledore calling their names. Cautiously opening the cupboard door, Snape cast his patronus with a message to tell Dumbledore they were fine. The last thing he wanted to do was to shout when the house was in such a precarious state. Once out of the cupboard, Snape took in his surroundings. It was a mess. If it wasn’t burnt, it was covered in dust or crumbled to the floor. The stairs, he noted, however, were fully intact. He stalked carefully to the stairs, but quickly noticed Lupin wasn’t following. He was about to call out to him, but Lupin looked preoccupied, an expression of confusion on his face. Walking back to him, Snape spied what he was looking at. Lupin’s fingers felt over the words carved into the inside of the door. Harry’s Room. Snape was just as confused as Lupin, but that was not their priority.

“Come, Lupin, we must find Potter,” Snape said quietly.

One minute, Harry’s feet were firmly on the ground, the next he was falling gracelessly and the sound was deafening. He hit the ground with an almighty thump. He gasped for breath and tried to breathe through the remaining smoke and the dust raining down on him. Around him he could hear bursts of things collapsing, of glass breaking and the faint sound of voices outside, otherwise drowned out by the din.  

He tried to sit up, feeling disoriented and fuzzy, but a bout of coughing sent him back to the floor. When the coughs subsided, he tried to catch his breath again, listening to the comforting voices of people outside. Though his glasses were cracked and misshapen, he looked up to the hole above him. He could see his bedroom ceiling, and it finally dawned on him that the floor must have collapsed through to the kitchen, taking him along with it.   

The panic really set in, however, when, even through his smashed up glasses, he spied a dark crack way above him on the ceiling of what used to be his bedroom. Fairly sure it wasn’t his eyes playing tricks, he was certain the crack was getting bigger. Flakes of paint floated like snow down onto his face. He could hear the crack worsening, even through the cacophony of other sounds around him. Frozen in fear, Harry could only watch as the crack extended across the entire width of the ceiling. Smaller cracks began spidering out of it. All of a sudden, he heard a tremendous snap and immediately turned to pull himself out of the way, but he was too slow.

His own wheezing breath was the last thing he heard before the ceiling buckled under its own weight, crashing down on top of him.

“Harry,” Lupin said, his voice hushed. Lupin followed Snape to the stairs, but Snape stopped, holding his hand out to Lupin as if to quieten him. This time Lupin heard it too. A cough. Only faint, but it was there.

“This way,” Snape said, sweeping passed Lupin and heading for the kitchen. There was so much rubble. The dust was settling, but the room was still clouded. One wall of the kitchen had also collapsed, revealing the back garden, or at least what could be seen of it through the dust. The rest of the kitchen that wasn’t rubble was a charred black and brown mess. His heart dropped when he looked up and it hit him that the ceiling had fallen through. Glancing quickly to Lupin, who was now by his side, he realised he felt inside the amount of dread Lupin was displaying on his face. Both daren’t move for the rubble.

“Potter,” Snape clipped, keeping the volume down. “Potter, are you in here?” It was the tiniest groan, but Snape heard it. In that moment, all reason and rationale left the two men and both frantically headed towards the sound. From the corner of his eye, Snape saw them. Harry’s fingers were the only part of him visible. The only part of him not buried beneath the rubble.

Merlin. Snape’s eyes grew wide.

“Harry,” Lupin said breathily. Lunging forward, he made to start digging through the rocks, but Snape’s firm hand on his shoulder pulled him back. “Severus, please! Help me get him out!”

“Lupin, listen to me! Go to the headmaster and tell him we need healers and trained rescuers.” Lupin went to speak again, but Snape cut him off. “Trained rescuer’s Lupin, they will get him out unharmed. Now go! We need strengthening charms cast over the house before we can even think about moving anything.”

“Stay with him, Severus.” Lupin’s eyes pleaded more than his voice gave away.

“Lupin. Go.” Snape’s tone left no room for argument.

Lupin darted from the room and Snape could hear him calling out for Dumbledore before he’d even left the house. Eyes moving back to Harry’s dusty fingers protruding from the wreckage, Snape bent down onto his knees, leaned in and called Harry’s name. “Potter, it’s OK, we’ve found you, but I need you to listen to me. I need to you make a sound, anything you can.” Snape listened intently, but heard nothing. His mouth became dry and his heart involuntarily sped up. “Potter, if you can hear me, I need a sign.” Anything, Snape thought anxiously, anything at all. And then it happened. The boy’s fingers flexed, albeit feebly, but they moved. Snape stared down at them as they curled slightly and then extended as though Harry was reaching out to him. “That’s it, Potter. Help is coming,” Snape reassured, finding that it was difficult to hold any animosity for somebody in such a dire state. Seeing the boy trapped, buried alive...Snape couldn’t help the twinges of concern that tugged on his insides. Not to mention the mystery behind the reason the wards were down in the first place. He had noticed so many things out of place, peculiar, wrong, since stepping foot in the house. Whatever it was, Harry was in the middle of it...again. Sighing, Snape moved to take the boy’s fingers in his hand when Lupin tumbled back into the room, followed by a small team of wizards and Dumbledore himself.

Snape shrank back, but felt momentarily ashamed that he was too proud to offer the boy that small comfort. Rising to stand, he allowed Lupin to crouch where he was kneeling, watching with a frown as Lupin hesitantly took hold of Harry’s fingers and the boy gripped them weakly. The relief on Lupin’s face as he whispered words of reassurance was echoed deep inside Snape as he released a heavy breath.

“Severus, my boy.” Snape turned and found himself staring into Dumbledore’s sorrowful face. Dumbledore’s gaze, however, had shifted now to the scene between Lupin and who he could only assume was Harry. Snape cleared his throat, successfully recapturing Dumbledore’s attention. The headmaster’s voice was small, deep. “The aurors have cast disillusionment charms for now. A few of Harry’s muggle neighbours had to be obliviated, but otherwise, they should know nothing. The rescuers are casting strengthening charms as we speak, but the house appears to be stable.”

“What of the healers?” Snape asked, trying to keep the impatience from his voice.

“The rescue team are all trained healers, Severus.” Dumbledore signalled to the three men assessing the rubble and busying themselves by lighting the room. One was crouched by Lupin telling him to keep Harry awake if he could. “They have to dig Harry out the muggle way. Healer Thompson says there are too many cases of magic exacerbating injuries in cases like this to risk using their wands for anything but healing.” At Snape’s incredulous look, Dumbledore continued, “They don’t know the extent of Harry’s injuries, Severus. One wrong move, one stray spell, and they could damage him beyond repair. Healer Thompson is a distant member of the order; he knows everything we know. He will do his best for Harry. I trust him.”      

I should hope you do, Snape thought. He nodded before resolutely looking Dumbledore in the eyes. “Tell him I will help. Whatever he needs.”

The rescuers were sweating. Hands covered in ash and dust, they moved the broken plaster and brick bit by bit. Lupin had barely moved, still speaking into the wreck and holding Harry’s hand like it would fall apart if he let go.

Snape’s outer robes had long since been strewn to the side, his sleeves carelessly scrunched up to the elbows. Healer Thompson’s only advice was to tread carefully.

Staying close to Lupin, Snape worked strategically, digging outwards from Harry’s fingers. Harry’s bare forearm was soon uncovered, bruises and bloody scratches marring the skin. Snape and the other rescuers worked relentlessly, and as Snape removed one particularly large block of brickwork, Lupin’s eyes flashed.

“Harry!” Lupin’s fingers tightened around Harry’s hand. Snape quickly removed the smaller pieces of rubble, throwing them unceremoniously behind him, a lump forming in his throat as he uncovered the boy’s head and neck. The blood dripping from Harry’s nose was disconcerting, as was the blood matted in his hair. Harry’s left cheek was pressed to the ground, his face looking out of the rubble towards Snape. His glasses were twisted and smashed, laying a couple of inches from his face, covered in broken brick. One of the boy’s eyes was already sporting a black bruise.

“Harry, come on.” Lupin sat forward. “It’s me, it’s Remus. Can you look at me?” Harry’s eyes, however, remained closed, though the weak grip on Lupin’s hand still remained.

Crouching down to Lupin’s level, Snape put on his best stern voice and called out, “Potter! Potter open your eyes!” Seconds later, there was a twitch in Harry’s face. His eyes fluttered. “That’s it, Potter. Open them.” A weak groan escaped Harry’s lips. Slowly but surely his eyelids parted and Harry looked blearily through the slits. Capturing the wide gazes of Snape and Lupin, Harry sucked in a breath and tried to open his eyes wider too, but instantly regretted it, pain surging through him. Squeezing his eyes closed, a distressing noise escaped his throat.

“Harry, Cub, calm down,” Lupin said in hushed tones.

“Open your eyes, Potter. We need to keep you awake, OK?”

Harry’s eyes opened again brimmed with hot tears.

“Lupin, you need to keep him awake. Keep talking to him. Keep him responding,” Snape ordered. “Thompson,” he called out, quickly climbing to his feet. Healer Thompson looked harassed. The other rescuers were digging through the rubble around him. As Thompson, stared up from the other side of the room, Snape noticed he had some gauze in his hand and was pressing it to the side of one of Harry’s half-uncovered legs. Rounding the rubble, Snape strode over to him, eyes widening at the mess that was Harry’s lower leg. He tried his best to look unaffected, but he could almost feel the paleness of his own face. “It’s Potter,” he said, clearing his throat. “He is awake. He has movement in the fingers of his right arm and he seems to be responding when I talk to him. He has a head wound –”

“How bad?” Thompson said strongly whilst picking up his wand and whispering incantations under his breath. After every tergeo left his lips, the blood would disappear, but reappear within moments. Snape watched. Harry’s blood was soaking through the gauze again.

“Not nearly as bad as...” Snape said distractedly. He didn’t finish what he was saying. Shaking his head, he said, “I can heal it. I am trained.”

“He needs to see people familiar to him, Mr Snape. Keep him awake. If he becomes unconscious, tell me right away. Heal him as best you can and get him talking. Try not to touch anything that would be better healed at St Mungos. We can take the rest from here,” he said signalling to Harry’s lower body, “you just make sure he stays with us.”

Snape nodded curtly. When he got back to Lupin, Harry was talking. His words were pained and raspy and he only spoke to answer Lupin’s questions, but he was awake, conscious, and that’s all that mattered. As he knelt down, Lupin looked to him expectantly. “We keep him awake and alert Thompson if he stops responding,” he said succinctly. Resting his gaze on Harry, Snape stretched a hand over to the wound on the boy’s head. “Potter, does this hurt?” He pressed around the wound and Harry grunted, hissing a soft yes between his teeth.

Harry eyed Snape warily as he pulled out his wand and steadied himself. Catching the boy’s gaze, Snape could see the distrust even through Harry’s pain. “I am going to heal the wound on your head, Potter.” Snape thought it best to be direct and truthful. “It may hurt at first, but I will be done within a matter of moments. Lupin will be here all the way.” Lupin and Snape exchanged glances, and when Lupin saw that Harry was looking to him for confirmation, he tilted his head to the side, offering Harry a smile and a nod.

“Professor Snape will make it better, Cub. Just keep your eyes open and on me, OK?”

Thankfully the bleeding was slow. Snape conjured a cloth and cast a disinfectant charm on it. Harry hissed as the wound was cleaned and dressed.

“Anapneo,” Snape incanted to clear Harry’s airways of smoke from the fire. “Episkey,” he said finally and the droplets of blood from Harry’s nose stopped falling. “You will likely have a headache, though I suppose that is the least of your pain at the present moment,” he muttered.      

“S-sir,” Harry said through a tired and pained expression. “Th-thank you, Sir.”

Snape said nothing back, instead deciding to lean across and knock some more of the rubble away from Harry’s body.

Lupin kept Harry talking, asking him trivial things about his friends and quidditch. The rescuers were making good progress, though Snape was doing his best to stay calm and ignore the amount of blood surrounding Healer Thompson.

Eventually, most of Harry’s back was uncovered, as were his arms and one of his legs. A bone in Harry’s left arm was shattered, but Snape decided, under Healer Thompson’s order, that it would be better healed with a large dose of painkillers, Skelegrow and somebody more adept at the episkokaley spell. Harry tried to move once, but once was enough. The pain was intense and Lupin squeezed his hand. “No, no, Harry. Stay still. Stay still.” The only things left to dig out were Harry’s lower back and the rest of the leg that Healer Thompson was frantically working on. As one of the rescuers removed some rubble from the top of Harry’s mangled leg, however, Harry’s eyes screwed together and a loud sobbing whimper escaped his lips. Lupin held onto Harry for dear life.

“What’s wrong? Where’s the pain?” he asked with concern.

“Make...stop,” Harry forced out. “Make it stop.” Harry seemed to try and bury his head into the ground to hide his suffering.

“Guys, stop! Don’t touch anything!” Healer Thompson shouted and the rescuers stepped away from the rubble.

“Thompson?” Snape said questioningly.

“There’s too much blood. Don’t move anything else, not from his leg.”

“He’s in pain,” Snape found himself saying as if looking for an answer – looking for a cure.  

“A spinal block. Mr Snape, are you familiar with the spell?”

He’d had to administer spinal blocks to many a Death Eater under orders of the Dark Lord. When one of his more faithful servants came back from a task injured, he would take pity on them and allow Snape to administer the spinal block to numb them while they were healed. Snape wagered he could do it in those circumstances with his eyes closed, but an inaccurate spell at this stage for Harry could cost them the war. It could cost the boy his life. Snape’s usual air of confidence faltered with the weight of it all. This was Lily’s child. Just a boy. He was hurting. Lily’s child was hurting. Had he failed her?

“Mr Snape?” Healer Thompson said urgently breaking Snape from his reverie.

He nodded back numbly. Lily’s child was hurting, but he had the means to take the pain away. Sucking in a breath, Snape steeled himself before sinking back down to face Harry and Lupin. Lupin looked to Snape with eyes full of fear.

“Don’t look so worried, Lupin. I’ve done this before,” Snape said, trying to sound as sure of himself as he could. Harry’s face was twisted as he fought waves of nausea. “Potter.” Harry shook his head weakly and moaned into the ground. In a move that shocked himself, Harry, and Lupin, Snape rested a hand gently on Harry’s shoulder. “Look at me.” His voice was softer this time – still deep, but less frantic than the voices that seemed to be surrounding the boy. “Potter, trust me.”

Harry shifted until he could look Snape in the eye. All he saw was sincerity. This time he didn’t look to Lupin for assurance.

“Try not to move,” Snape said, holding the boy’s gaze. “There will be a pinch and then it should fade. I cannot stress the importance of holding still.” When it looked as though Harry had got the message, Snape stood up and gave Healer Thompson one final nod before tearing the back of Harry’s t-shirt open, doing his utmost to ignore the bruising and bloodied cuts, and kneeling over the boy’s body, moving his fingers gingerly down Harry’s vertebrae. Reaching the right spot, he held his wand above it, keeping his hand steady. Enunciating every letter, he cast the spell.

“Siste Morsus.”

“Siste Morsus.” The words, though muffled in his ears, cut through the haze of his pain. Laying there as still as he could, he couldn’t help the sound wrenched from his mouth as he felt the ‘pinch’ that Snape was talking about. He bit down on his lip and Lupin must have noticed because he squeezed Harry’s hand harder, cupping it with his other hand. When he noticed the effect of the spell, it was bizarre. One minute the pinching pain was there, the next it was replaced with a strange warmth that spread down his body. Then there was nothing. He could feel himself breathing, and he noticed more than he’d noticed before that his head was throbbing – just like Snape told me it would, he thought – but everything else had gone. It was numbness like he’d never felt before. The pain elsewhere was still prominent, so much so that he daren’t move a muscle, but it was less intense. He allowed himself a strained sigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

“No, no, Cub! Keep them open.”

His eyes fluttered open again at Lupin’s voice. They hurt, Harry thought, I just want to close them. A minute or two...that’s all...

“Potter, open your eyes.” Startled, Harry’s eyes shot open to see Snape crouching close to him. “You need to stay with us.” Snape got to his feet and leant over Harry’s body. “Do you feel that?”

Harry frowned in confusion. Feel what? he thought, though it quickly became apparent he’d said it out loud.

“What about this, Potter?”

Harry went to shake his head, but hissed in pain.

“Words, Potter. It’ll help keep you awake.”

“I don’t feel anything.” His words came out rough, sounding muffled in his ears.

“That’s what we were hoping for,” Snape mumbled, as if to himself. “I must speak with Thompson and the headmaster. Keep him awake, Lupin.” The or else went unsaid.  

Snape’s boots crunched in the grit on the floor as he stalked from the room. Harry couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of safety was going with him. He felt his hand being squeezed and swiftly turned his attention to Lupin who was looking at him with relief etched into his features. Harry smiled back weakly, but he knew it must’ve looked more like a grimace. The fog in Harry’s mind was slowly clearing. For a while, all he could think of was pain, voices and how much he wanted to close his eyes, but just as the dust settled in the wake of the house collapse, so too was the dust settling in his head. Yes, he was still groggy, but at least he was aware.

“How do you feel?” Lupin’s voice was soft and soothing, his eyes warm yet searching.

“OK,” Harry croaked. “Sore.”

“We’ll have you up and about in no time. Molly will be fussing over you like it’s nobody’s business.” Lupin smiled and laughed.

“Ron will be jealous,” Harry added weakly, exhaling with a nervous half-laugh.

Staring deeply in Lupin’s eyes, Harry couldn’t help himself. Lupin frowned when Harry’s lip quivered. Damn it, Harry thought. Why now? He didn’t want to let his emotions win. Not in front of Remus.   

“Harry, what’s wrong? What hurts?” Lupin sat up and looked about ready to call for help when a breathy no stopped him. “What is it?”

“I never got to...to apologise.” Harry averted his gaze to the floor.

“What for?”

“For...for Sirius.”

Lupin’s grip on Harry’s hand slackened and Harry immediately regretted saying anything. But he found it so damn hard to look Lupin in the eyes, knowing what he’d done to his best friend. His breath hitched. It was painful, but he didn’t say so. A wave of nausea seemed to roll through his stomach and up to his throat, but then the hands were back holding his, this time with more force. Harry could feel Lupin’s fingers rubbing soothing circles in his palm.

“You have nothing to apologise for, Harry.” Lupin sounded choked, but Harry still couldn’t bear to look up. “You had no idea what was going to happen. If anyone’s to blame –”

“I should have known!” Harry bit out as loudly as his voice would let him.

“You are only human.”

Harry’s torso shook with pent up emotion and this time he couldn’t hide the obvious grimace as each shudder caused his pain to flare.

“No more talk of that now, Harry,” Lupin said forcefully, “we need to get you calm again.” Harry nodded as well as he could. “Tell me about Ron and Hermione. You said in your letters that they were spending some of the summer together?” Lupin raised his eyebrows and Harry’s lips couldn’t help but curl upwards.

“They’re not...not...y’know,” Harry said between breaths. “Ron would like it if they were. He hasn’t asked her yet.”

“And what do you think to all of this?” Lupin said, cocking his head.

I’m worried. I’m scared. I don’t want to be left alone...

“They’re made for each other.”

Lupin noticed but said nothing of Harry’s non-answer, deciding instead to change the subject.

“Mrs Figg alerted the Order. She saw the Death Eaters apparate. If it wasn’t for her –” 

“Oh God.” Harry’s face suddenly looked stricken.

“What, Harry?”

“The Dursleys.”

“It’s OK, Cub, they weren’t here when the attack –”

“No! Y-you don’t understand! Death Eaters came.”

“I know, but what does that –”

“They were going...after them!” Harry wheezed.

“Harry, what are you talking about?” Lupin looked serious.

“They couldn’t find me, so they’re looking for the Dursleys.” Harry’s panic was tangible. “Find them.”

“No, Harry, you are my priority right now –”

“Please!” Harry implored. “They’ll kill them. Please, find them. Please, please...”

Lupin looked down at Harry’s panicked and worn face, at the battered and bruised body. It broke his heart to see him this way.

“Please, Remus. Please.”

Those eyes pleading with him...Lupin couldn’t take the sorrow in them. His thoughts turned to Sirius. He would have done anything for Harry. Anything.

“Please.”

Reluctantly, Lupin nodded, a barely whispered OK escaping his mouth before his mind had even made the decision.

Harry felt relief wash over him. “Thank you,” he whispered back.

With one last look into Harry’s green eyes, Lupin sat up, still firmly gripping Harry’s hand, and shouted for Snape.

Outside was cold and quiet, the complete opposite of the chaotic atmosphere inside. Dumbledore was telling him of the protections around the house, reassuring him that if the Death Eaters were to return, they would be ready. Having undoubtedly been seen by Lucius Malfoy, it dawned on Snape that his cover was almost certainly blown. His position as a spy could not be recovered if he was seen arriving at Harry Potter’s house with Dumbledore at his side.

“You realise I can’t go back there, Headmaster,” Snape stated. 

“I know, dear boy. You have served us well. You are still a valuable member of the Order, Severus. Don’t forget that. The cause needs as many supporters as it can get, and so too does Harry.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled and Snape looked away, knowing how well Dumbledore could read him. Suddenly, a sharp call captured his attention. 

“Severus!” It took but seconds for Snape to stride into the house, eyes wide with alarm.

“What’s happened?” Snape said, coming to settle by Lupin’s side.

“Nothing, Severus. Nothing’s happened, but I have to leave.”

“Leave? What do you mean leave?”

Dumbledore floated into the room seconds later as Lupin tried to explain.

“The Dursleys are being targeted. I need to find them.” Snape made to speak, but he was cut off. “Harry needs me to find them.” The determination burning behind his eyes was the only thing keeping Snape silent. Lupin leant close to Harry and asked him where his family had gone.

“Hindhead. The country. Aunt Marge is sick.” Harry dropped his voice as low as it would go and winced as he tried to shift forward. “Please, Remus, keep them safe. Don’t let him...” Harry couldn’t say it, the scenario reminding him too much of Sirius, but he didn’t need to finish. Lupin knew.

“I will join you, Remus,” an old, wise voice said. Dumbledore stepped forward, purple robes billowing behind him. “It would not do to go alone.”

“Thank you.”

For a moment Snape looked stricken. Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Severus, I leave Harry in your capable hands.” Leaning closer to Snape’s ear, he added, “Do right by him.” Striding to the door, Dumbledore looked back at Lupin. “Come, Remus. Time and tide wait for no man. Neither, regrettably, does Voldemort.”    

Snape inwardly flinched at the name.

Remus gave his cub one lasting look before reluctantly wrenching his hand free. Harry’s fingers curled as though already missing the touch. Snape, still dumbfounded at the prospect of suddenly being left alone and in charge, was looking down at Harry who, without his glasses, reminded him so much of Lily. Lupin startled him out of his trance by ushering him off to the side. The werewolf seemed panicked, nervous. He obviously didn’t want to leave Harry’s side.

“Severus Snape, you listen to me now,” he said, his voice low and strong. “He’s a fifteen year old boy. He isn’t James. He never has been. It’s funny, even Sirius never saw that.” For a moment, he looked wistful. “If you say anything out of line...” Lupin’s voice shook. Snape stood stoically. “Severus, I saw how you looked at her.” Snape knew who he was speaking of and his heart skipped a beat, though of course his face showed nothing but indifference. “If you really love her, Severus –”

Leaning forward menacingly, Snape interrupted. “Never question my love for her, wolf! Never.”

“Then prove it!” Lupin urged. Chancing a small glance at Harry, who was looking at them both, tired and weary, he smiled slightly. Turning back to Snape, his features softened. “He has his mother’s eyes.”

I know, Lupin. Merlin, I know.

“Mr Potter will be in safe hands,” Snape said and that was the truth, a truth he was finally sure about.

“Stay with him. Please, Severus.”

With a slight nod, Snape said quietly, “Good luck, Lupin.” And then Lupin was gone and the small sound of two people disapparating echoed from outside.  

Harry lay still, flat on his stomach, watching the empty doorway. Shifting his head in the grit, he awkwardly grimaced at the stiff ache in his neck. Snape stood rigid, lips drawn into a thin line. He was there; that’s what Lupin wanted, for somebody to be there with the boy. What more could he do? He was caustic. He was severe. He was Severus Snape, he didn’t do comfort. He didn’t do outward displays of emotion – the effect of having to close his mind for the best part of his life. 

One of the rescuers startled Harry as he perched down by his broken arm. Harry couldn’t move his head to face him but relaxed at his voice. The rescuer told him everything he was going to do and then proceeded to cut away the sleeves and shoulder of Harry’s t-shirt. Below the shirt Harry had several grazes and open gashes. Most were clean – protected by his clothes – but all needed washing out and dressing to ward off infection. As the rescuer pressed a warm cloth to one of the wounds, Harry’s shoulders tensed painfully. Squeezing his eyes closed, Harry bit back a whimper and tried to hide his face in the grit. His fingernails clawed the ground weakly, scraping through the dust and ash.

Snape looked on, a helpless feeling rising like bile in his throat. Harry was a boy – a child trying to handle the pain alone, trying to be a man – just a boy. There was no call for help; no saying the pain was too much; no reaching out. He just took it. Harry knew Snape was there, but he asked for nothing, not even the tiniest comfort. Snape realised to his dismay that not only did the boy not expect it, but he also didn’t even seem to consider it an option. That realisation only made it clearer to Snape that he had to step up...to step up and be the person he never was – the person he never got the chance to be. Once upon a time, the cards were against him, but if he could just redeem himself in this small way...

He remembered back to his youth, to the years he struggled against his father. He thought to his mother, to her coldness as the years wore on. Despite the melancholy that seemed to grip her as she aged, he remembered vividly how it felt when she offered him words of reassurance; when she told him not to worry; when she extended a hand to pick him up all the times he was dealt the full brunt of his father’s rage. It was like, even with the smallest act of kindness, she could draw him out of isolation.

With the image of his mother in his mind, his legs seemed to move before he could unravel his own thoughts. He knelt to the floor a small distance from Harry’s head and took a long breath.

“Potter.”

Harry hissed under the rescuer’s touch and shook his head lightly as though unable to convey the pain in words.

“Potter, look at me. Open your eyes.”

Harry turned his nose away from the dusty floor towards Snape’s voice. Grimacing, he opened his eyes a fraction and Snape noticed they were glazed with unshed tears.

“I know it hurts,” he said stiffly, “but it’ll be over soon.”

Merlin help me, Lily.

Words of comfort just didn’t come naturally to him.

As the rescuer attached a piece of gauze to the main wound on Harry’s shoulder, he looked up to Snape and nodded, saying a quick, “All done,” before moving around Harry’s body and disappearing out of the room.

Harry’s upper body physically relaxed. He exhaled deeply and his watery eyes closed.

“No, Potter. Keep them open. You have to stay awake.”

Snape felt a twinge of sympathy at the worn expression Harry bore when he forced his eyes back open.

“I can’t,” Harry said tiredly.

“You have no choice, Potter. You have to.” Snape tried to think of something inane to ask to keep Harry’s mind alert. “Have you finished your homework for the start of term?” That’ll catch him off-guard, Snape thought sardonically, and he was correct judging by the look of bewilderment staring back at him.

“Not exactly...Sir,” Harry said warily.    

“And which have you completed?” Snape said, raising an eyebrow.

“Erm...none, Sir.”

Frowning, Snape muttered, “I can’t say I’m surprised,” though in truth it was the least of his worries at the moment that the child hadn’t done his DADA essay. “Do you always leave them until the last minute?”

It would certainly explain his marks, Snape’s inner voice sneered.

“Yes, it’s just easier that way,” Harry said curtly. Snape knew a lie when he heard one.

“And just how exactly is it easier to scribble all your essays in the space of two weeks?” Snape asked incredulously.

Harry attempted a derisive snort and twisted his nose back into the dirty ground. The silence between them didn’t last long...nor did Snape’s patience.

“I see you still have your impeccable manners intact.”

“I see you’re still a g– ngggh!” Harry’s fingers tensed again and he sucked in a breath to stop himself making any more noise.

Snape immediately shifted forward. “Where’s the pain?”    

“’m fine.”

“You are obviously not fine, now don’t be a fool!” Snape’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you feeling pain in your leg?”

Harry turned to look him straight in the eyes.

“Why are you even here anyway?! Come to see me suffer?”

“Don’t be stupid, Potter –”

“That’s what you do, isn’t it, Professor? You like to see people suffer. Me. My friends. Sirius. It’s all just fun for you! I lost the only person who...” He couldn’t say what he was thinking, not in front of Snape. “I bet you loved every minute of it.”

“That’s enough!”

Harry turned away from Snape’s glare. He could handle the anger, but there was something else lurking behind Snape’s deep obsidian eyes. It was like looking into the eyes of a wounded feral animal.

“Black and I may not have seen eye to eye, as you well know, but I would never wish death upon anybody.” That’s a lie, Severus, you wished death on all of them bar Lily. Snape’s mind was at war with itself. That was years ago and not once did I ever wish it in seriousness. “My reputation may have you believe otherwise, Potter, but it’s quite the contrary.” Harry gulped and a look of shame seemed to wash over him. Snape averted his gaze, pretending to busy himself with dusting off his cloak, though his efforts were, of course, futile. “For all it is worth,” Snape said finally, “I am...sorry...for your loss.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sincere and true. Harry couldn’t argue any longer and Snape was glad that he didn’t have to explain himself anymore – though he was perplexed as to why Harry’s opinion of him had sparked such an eagerness to set the story straight. What did he care what the Golden Boy thought of him? But when Harry looked at him with those eyes it was like Lily was watching him; Lily was judging him; Lily was waiting for the truth. Small words pulled Snape back from inside his own mind.

“He was all I had.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper. “He was all I had.” His breath hitched. Despite the pain running through his body in waves, Harry hunched his shoulders and seemed to all but bury himself into the ground. He drew his good arm in towards his body with a groan and tried to shield his face from view.

Isolation. Snape looked on as though it was his former self closing off from the rest of the world. In that moment, there was no animosity, no petty grudges, just a boy and a tremendous amount of grief. Snape felt it too.   

“He died because of me,” Harry spoke into the ground.

“Potter. Don’t. Black went of his own accord. He went after you just as you went after him that night. It was to protect a loved one. What if it hadn’t been a trap? What if you had died that night? What if you had fallen into the veil? Would you blame Black?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why are you so quick to blame yourself? If you start taking the blame for things you cannot prevent, you will end up an angry, bitter man. You are many things, Potter, but that is not you.”

Harry shook his head into the ground doubtfully.

“Potter, look at me.” Harry took his hand away from his face and looked up with glazed eyes. “I pride myself on my brutal honesty. I would not say this if it were not true. It wasn’t your fault.”

Harry’s chest heaved under him. Tears of sadness and frustration welled in his eyes and he tried so desperately to blink them away.

Snape sat back on his haunches watching Harry’s inner turmoil, feeling powerless. Everything was wrong. This was a boy of fifteen plagued by guilt. A boy of fifteen who had seen more death than a boy his age should. Harry felt alone, and what was worse, he obviously felt like it was his own fault. Snape shook his head at his own failure. He’d vowed to protect Lily’s child, but he’d failed to protect Harry from himself. What Snape saw before him was the mess he’d made – the mess they’d all made.

He didn’t know what made him do it – whether it was a fit of sympathy, a pang of empathy, or a genuine compulsion to make amends – but he reached out tentatively and lay his muscular hand atop Harry’s, engulfing it in warmth. There was a moment of pause between them where nothing else happened and all either could feel was the touch of the other. Snape was holding his breath.

Then he felt the small fingers curl under and Harry’s hand clung weakly onto his, shaking softly in his strong grip.

Snape exhaled. He had done the right thing.

Something had shifted. This was a side to Snape Harry had never witnessed. Part of him was wary of it, scared it was false, but Merlin did he hope it was genuine. For the moment, he was too caught up in the turn of tide to give his doubts a second thought.

The man didn’t have Lupin’s gentleness and Harry could feel the calluses rubbing on the back of his hand, but there was such strength in his grasp. Harry had felt as though he was drowning, but Snape had pulled him to safety. Safety. That’s what it was. Snape held on as though he would never let go and, in truth, Harry didn’t want him to. He needed to feel grounded. Within a matter of seconds, his world had spun on its axis, but for once Harry just wanted it to stay put and let him truly relish the comfort he was being given before having it ripped away – taken, like it always was in the end.

Please don’t let go.

Snape’s voice permeated the thick air. “Have you spoken to anybody about how you are...feeling?”

They all say the same things...

“It never helps.”

“What about Granger? Weasley? The pair attach themselves to you like an extra limb.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “They’ve been busy. Hermione’s away in Egypt with her parents and Ron’s got his own family to deal with.” They were fair excuses, Harry realised, but it didn’t stop him from feeling disappointed. Snape gave Harry’s hand the smallest squeeze and Harry decided he must’ve noticed his disappointment because he quickly changed the subject.

“You say your Aunt Marge is sick?”

“The phone call came this afternoon. Uncle Vernon didn’t say what was wrong, but I overheard the conversation. I think she’s in hospital.”

“So they left a fifteen year old in charge of the house. Muggle logic at its finest, I’m sure.”

Harry cringed inwardly. Uncle Vernon will be furious when he sees they don’t have a house to come back to. He felt a small wave of guilt and had to force himself to remember that they’d left him there alone, locked in a room to fend for himself. But it was hard not to feel responsible.

“Are you concerned?” Snape said noticing Harry’s worried expression.

“About Aunt Marge?” Harry didn’t know what to say to that. If he said no, he’d appear heartless and it would, without a doubt, lead to more probing questions. “She’s...” he chose his words carefully, “iron-willed. I’m sure she’ll be back to her normal self soon enough.” More’s the pity. Harry caught a glimpse of the peculiar look Snape was sending him and decided to stop at that.

“Did you not wish to visit with your relatives?”

“The Order told me to stay here.” It wouldn’t have mattered if he’d wanted to go or not. Harry licked his lips as a weird feeling crept up his throat.

“So they were happy to leave you here alone,” Snape stated.

Harry could feel the fog coming back, smothering his brain, distorting his words and clouding his hearing. 

“Yeah...well...they never did like me much,” he replied absently. He was immediately regretful of his loose tongue – but that was all that came into his head as he tried to quell the nausea.

Snape looked about to speak when, out of the blue, Harry’s face dropped and the words came tumbling out, “Sir, I-I feel sick.”

Harry’s face sported a green hue that Snape spotted straight away.

“Sir, I-I feel sick,” the boy had said, and immediately Snape went into action. His free hand was quickly on the boy’s forehead looking for a fever. It was slight though the boy was paler than he’d ever seen him look.

“How bad is the nausea?”

“Mmm s’not so bad. M’feeling woozy is all.”

Snape frowned. “I’m afraid I cannot give you anything for it while you still have traces of the spinal block in your system. It works with twenty times the force of your common painkilling potion, so any other painkillers or anti-emetics are considered to be unsafe.”

“S’alright. I can deal with it,” Harry said, swallowing thickly.

“Hopefully you won’t have to deal with it for much longer. You’ve been through a lot today, Potter, and you’ve been lying on your stomach for some time. Try taking some deep breaths.”        

Harry had managed a couple of long deep breaths when he was suddenly hit by a sharp pain and couldn’t help but squeeze Snape’s hand like a vice. Before Snape could even ask where the pain was, Healer Thompson’s alarmed voice rang through the air.

“Mr Snape!”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked thickly, panic tingeing his voice.

Snape looked up, but Healer Thompson’s attention was still on Harry’s leg. The other two rescuers were now also by his side.

“Potter,” Snape said, “I have to go just for a moment, but I’ll be back.” As Snape went to stand, Harry didn’t relinquish his grip on his hand. Snape looked down to Harry, confused, but Harry’s eyes told him all he needed to know. Harry didn’t want him to leave and that realisation both pleased him and scared him.

He looked to the boy, who had fear written all over him, and said strongly, “I’ll be right behind you.” Harry didn’t let go completely, but slackened his grip so Snape could slide his hand away.

Don’t be bad news. No more bad news, Snape thought, but there was a dark foreboding feeling in the air, like a shadow hanging over the room.

“Thompson?” he said, and his face dropped at the sight before him. Blood. Everywhere. More than before. It saturated the front of Healer Thompson’s shirt. It dripped from the hem to the floor.

A tube protruded from Harry’s leg and floated in the air like a balloon, a small ball of light glowing at the end. Snape watched as one of the healers waved his wand into the ball of light sending a red liquid down the tube.

“Mr Snape, I will be blunt,” Healer Thompson whispered not looking up. His hands were busy with Harry’s mangled limb. “The boy is losing blood quicker than the intravenous blood replenisher can replace it.”

“He says he feels sick –” Snape said quickly, keeping his voice low so Harry wouldn’t hear.

“Blood loss. Mr Snape, I’m sorry but we have no choice but to amputate.”

Amputate.

Amputate.

Now Snape felt sick.

“Is there no other w –”

“No. I wish there was. We have to do it here. He can’t apparate or travel by portkey in this state, not until we’ve removed his leg. I doubt it would make the journey otherwise and the shock of that could be too much for him. We’ve called St Mungos. They’ll be waiting for us when we can move him.” Healer Thompson pressed a wad of gauze into the bloodied crook of Harry’s knee and suddenly the boy’s voice called out.

“Professor! Professor! Aghh. It’s my leg. I...I think I can feel it!”

Snape looked to Healer Thompson whose hands had stopped moving. His eyes were now locked with Snape’s. Both shook their heads in disbelief. Healer Thompson spoke first.

“The spinal block is fading.”

“Thompson, I can’t give him painkillers and another spinal block could cause permanent paralysis. He’ll have no anaesthetic,” Snape said urgently.     

“There is no other way. If we don’t do it now, he might lose more than his leg, Mr Snape. His life is my priority right now. We must be quick, however, before the spinal block wears off completely.” Healer Thompson watched as Snape tried to steel his expression. “He needs to be told what’s going to happen,” he said softly. “This won’t be a very pleasant experience for him, Mr Snape. He’ll need someone with him when it gets tough.”

Snape didn’t need to be told that – he would have stayed with Harry, anaesthetic or no anaesthetic.

Healer Thompson looked over to Harry, staring holes into the back of his head. He sighed and turned back to Snape. “Once you have told him, give me a nod and we will start the procedure.” Snape inclined his head and took a deep breath to calm himself. “Oh and Mr Snape? Keep him engaged. It might help take the focus away from any pain he may feel.”

Snape stepped back around Harry’s body and knelt by his side. The panicked grimace on Harry’s face only got worse when Snape came into view.

“What’s happening?” Harry said.

Too much, Snape thought, too much is happening to you. Too much has already happened to you. Lily, if you were here right now...Snape shook his head trying to banish the thoughts from his mind, but it was so difficult. Those eyes were staring up at him, looking for answers, but the only answer he had was going to devastate the boy. What’s wrong Severus? You’ve never had any problem making him miserable before, what’s one more time? ... Don’t be ridiculous. This is different; I’m not doing anything to him...So why do you feel like you are?

The war in Snape’s brain was showing on his features too, his crinkled brow conveying all the apprehension he was feeling.

“Sir?” Harry’s voice trembled.

Snape looked down and closed his eyes, thinking carefully over his words. How do I tell a teenage boy he’s about to lose a leg? In his head the concept was so alien, so profoundly unthinkable, but he’d long since succumbed to the notion that, in life, everything that could go wrong probably would eventually. His own misfortunes, however, were frequently eclipsed by Harry’s constant collisions with trouble. If it was true and Harry was the one person who was more unlucky than himself, he was not at all happy about it. The boy still has his family though, Snape thought. Yes, but where are they now?

“Potter, the damage inflicted on your leg during the collapse...Healer Thompson cannot repair it.” Snape kept his voice strong and forceful. “You are losing blood which is why you are feeling so ill. The only way forward is for Healer Thompson to amputate.” To his own dismay, he felt the colour drain from his own face when he uttered the word. 

Harry said nothing, just kept staring, mouth agape. He didn’t even blink. Snape’s arm extended out and he firmly grabbed Harry’s hand in his own again. Harry didn’t grip back.

“Potter?”

Harry’s open mouth snapped shut. “Right.” He nodded his head on the ground. OK.”

For a moment, Snape was confused. “You have fully understood what I have told you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Harry said numbly.

“Do you remember what I told you about the spinal block?” Harry looked to him with a furrowed brow. “Potter, we cannot give you any more anaesthetic. The amount of numbness you feel now is the very most you will feel throughout the procedure. The spinal block is fading, so Thompson must start as soon as possible to make it easier on you. Do you understand?”

There was a brief moment of silence where Harry said nothing and Snape allowed him a moment to collect himself. Finally Harry looked Snape dead in the eyes and nodded resolutely.

“I can handle it.”

“I will remain with you during the procedure.” Harry looked grateful for that, but also ashamed for needing it. “For once I applaud your Gryffindor bravery,” Snape said without the barest hint of a smile on his face. Gripping Harry’s hand tighter, he looked up and over Harry’s body and gave Healer Thompson the quickest of nods before returning his attention to The Boy Whose Life Was about to Change Drastically.

He couldn’t see what was going on, but there was the occasional sharp twinge in his leg followed by a tugging feeling that made him more nauseas than before. Most people wouldn't like to watch their own leg be hacked off, but without the visual, his mind imagined a gory scene where the healers yanked his leg from its socket. The pain seemed to come and go, like the spinal block only worked in waves, and Harry couldn’t keep it from showing on his face. Snape spoke to him about school, about his owl...about everything trivial until he’d just about exhausted the list. Harry was caught by surprise when the pain escalated and he felt what could only be described as a rip in his flesh. He bit his lip hard and squeezed the life out of Snape’s hand – it was all he could do to stop himself from crying out. The man, it seemed, didn’t mind one bit.

As the pain died down again, ebbing like the tide, he loosened his grip with embarrassment and found himself unable to look at Snape. He felt weak and worry bubbled inside him that, despite the strange change in atmosphere where he and Snape were concerned, the man might not always be that understanding. One day Snape might turn on him and then he’d have all the ammunition to show just how weak Harry was. How he needed someone to hold his hand. This in mind, Harry tried to wrench his hand away, but Snape held on. When Harry looked up, Snape seemed to gaze intensely at him for a moment and then his face closed off.

“You are wary of the hostility between us.”

Harry didn’t want to say anything to that, but Snape seemed to find the answer in his expression.

“Potter, my attachment to the Dark Lord has...dissolved...as of tonight, so perhaps I can tone down the hostility since I am no longer required to act the part any longer.” Snape sighed and Harry was shocked at his sudden openness. “I am not by any means a happy man, Potter, and you are also by no means my favourite person. You have been a thorn in my side since before you were born...but I realise now that my attitude towards you has, at times, been unsavoury.”

Understatement of the century.

“I may be the evil Potions Master, greasy git of the dungeons –” At Harry’s look of shock, he added with a smirk, “yes, I am not deaf, Mr Potter, I am well aware of the numerous names I have accumulated over the years – but note this, nothing here today will be used against you. I give you my word. Besides, you may be holding my hand, but I am also holding yours. What would that do to my reputation?”

Did Snape just make a joke? If the situation was different, Harry would’ve laughed.

“I realise you would feel better if it were Lupin sitting here instead of me.” 

And then something strange happened. Harry found himself reassuring Snape.

“N-no, Sir! I don’t think I’d want him to...to see me like...y’know.”

I couldn’t show weakness like this in front of him...not after what’s happened. His pain didn’t seem anything in comparison to losing a best friend...

“Surely you know he, of all people, would not think any less of you –”

“I do know!” Harry said impatiently after his leg gave a twinge of pain. “I just think it’s different with you. Don’t ask me how.” Snape cocked his head. Harry continued. “If Remus was here, I’d feel like he felt obliged because...because of Sirius. It’s not the same with you. Professor, you didn’t have to be here. You could have left. I-I appreciate that you didn’t.”

A silence hung between them, punctuated only by the whispering of the healers and the scraping of their equipment. Snape took a loud breath.

“Potter, your relatives, do they leave you alone in the house often?”

Harry was caught off guard by the sudden change of subject.

“Uh...well, they have to. They can’t stay in with me the whole time. Uncle Vernon has a job to go to.”

Snape puffed through his nose. “You know what I mean. Do they often just up and leave?”

Harry hesitated and did his best to shrug without hurting himself. “Not really.”

“Are you being intentionally vague, Potter? Because I distinctly remember you telling me earlier that you and your family don’t get on.”

“I never said that.”

“Your exact words were, they never did like me much. So how much did they like you?” Snape asked.

“Enough, Sir,” Harry replied, “they liked me enough.” He shifted slightly, wincing at another round of pain cutting through the numbness.

“You are a terrible liar.”

“What do you want me to say? You must’ve seen enough in our Occlumency lessons to get the general idea, Sir,” Harry said tetchily.

“If you remember, rarely did I linger on a memory long enough to realise its importance,” Snape clarified. “That was not the point of my teaching you.”

Harry stayed silent. A grotesque crunching noise sounded from behind as the healers continued to work. At that point, Harry was unsure whether he really felt the pain of it, or whether he was just reacting to the sound. Either way, he gritted his teeth and swallowed down the sickness creeping up his throat. To his surprise, Snape reached for his wand and cast a quick Muffliato between himself and the healers. The sound of the healers at work was quickly drowned out, much to Harry’s relief. Snape, however, was apparently not finished with their conversation.

“Do they treat you as family?”

Yeah, the unwanted family pet.

“Define family,” Harry muttered.

“Potter, don’t be dense. I assume they feed you, clothe you?”

“You should probably stick with your assumptions then, Professor.”

Snape’s eyes flashed and his lips set into a tight, thin line. The grave expression would normally instil fear into Harry, but the waves of pain filtering through what remained of the spinal block seemed to take away his ability to care.

“They do feed you, don’t they Potter? And do not even think about lying to me,” Snape ground out, voice low and penetrating.

“I take what I can get away with during the day. Mrs Weasley sends food once a week. She says I look too thin.”

“Then the correct answer is no, they don’t. And she isn’t wrong.” Snape shifted his position on the floor and looked away. Harry caught sight of his free fist clenching. “And what, may I ask, is the punishment if you don’t get away with it?”

“Depends what mood they’re in,” Harry says noncommittally.

“Do they ever hit you?” Snape asked seriously, and Harry was taken aback by the genuine look of pent up fury staring back at him.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but instead a low growl crawled from his lips when he felt a sudden tug on his leg and a deep throbbing ache work its way up his back.

Snape shifted his grip on Harry’s hand, trying to surreptitiously take his pulse, but Harry could feel the fingers pressing on his pulse point. “How is the pain?” Snape asked.

“Bearable,” Harry said, breathing through it. His nails dug into Snape’s palm, but the man didn’t even flinch. As the pain lessened slightly, Harry relaxed as much as he could, but overall the ache was slowly getting worse.

“Now answer my question, Potter. Do they ever hit you?”

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Sometimes,” he said quietly, quickly adding, “but only when something really bad happens.”

“Did they hit you today?” Snape was unrelenting.

Harry averted his gaze. “He couldn’t help it. He was just upset. He needed someone to blame.” He remembered back to the fleeting flash of regret he saw before his uncle threw him unceremoniously into his room. 

“Your uncle I presume?” At Harry’s nod, Snape took in the state of the boy’s face, at the bruise he noticed earlier. “Your eye – that was where he hit you.” Snape wasn’t asking. Harry looked up, stunned. He had forgotten it might have left a mark. “It is already yellowing. That means it’s healing. I did wonder how it was it seemed to be healing so quickly had you received it during the collapse.” Snape shook his head and smacked his lips shut, looking fiercely into the distance. “He locked you in your room.”

“Yes,” Harry said quietly.

“Without food.”

“Yes.”

“He hit you.”

“He was upset. Professor, he was frustrated and worried and –”

“Are you always on the receiving end of his frustrations?”

Harry remained silent as a fiery throbbing travelled up through his pelvis.

“Answer me.”

“Mostly,” Harry gritted out through clenched teeth.

“Why?”

“Because they don’t like magic, that’s why,” Harry said and then he gave in to the cry that seemed to build from inside him. “Nghhhh!”

Harry was digging his nails in so hard that Snape was sure he would draw blood.

“Breathe it out. It will all be over soon. Just a bit longer,” Snape said, but his mind was in two places at once. As he looked down, he realised he couldn’t even comprehend the situation from Harry’s point of view. Being under the Cruciatus was enough. Momentarily, he took his eyes off Harry and glanced over to Healer Thompson. The full force of what was happening hit straight away. The leg was still partially attached. Harry wasn’t out of the worst of it yet. At that moment, Snape couldn’t deny how he was feeling. He was scared, he was sympathetic and he was worried for the boy and the boy alone. The war be damned! he thought. Right now, he’s a child, not a tool or a pawn.

All Snape felt in that moment was failure. He’d tried to keep it hidden, but he was furious, both with himself and the Dursleys for being such terrible excuses for human beings. He had known Petunia as a child and she was a nasty little girl, but never did he think she’d carry it on into adulthood. Who in their right mind would allow such poor treatment of a child in their care? Bloody Dursleys! If the Death Eaters haven’t got to them by now, I will. Snape realised that he’d got the boy all wrong. In one night he’d devastated his own perception. His own personal grudges had clouded him from the truth. He’d been taunting an already hurting boy. Forget about the Dursleys, what kind of person was he?

As the minutes dragged on, Harry breathed heavily as the pain receded and Snape gave the boy’s uninjured shoulder a squeeze as if to tell him he was doing well.

Something abruptly clicked in the Potions Master's head.

“The cupboard under the stairs,” Snape said suddenly as if to nobody.

Harry lay there breathless and seemed to tense up at his words.

“It says Harry’s Room. Why?” Snape said slowly, but in truth he already knew the answer.

“I’m sure you can work it out, Sir.”

Snape sighed. “I saw something during Occlumency. A fleeting image just like the rest of them. I thought nothing of it at the time. I just assumed you’d managed to get yourself trapped somewhere like brainless children do...How often did you get put in there?”

“I slept there until I went to Hogwarts,” Harry said quietly. Something seemed to be pulling his bottom lip downward, making it quiver.

Snape realised Harry hadn’t really answered his question, but he didn’t care at this point. Locked in a room. Starved. Made to sleep in a cupboard. Left alone in the house. Abused. Snape’s mind lingered on that last word. He used to think Harry Potter was many things: lazy, arrogant, irritating, troublesome, pampered, James Potter reincarnate. As the night went on, each notion was being dashed one by one.

“Why, pray tell, didn’t you tell anyone of this? Surely you know it’s not normal for a small boy to sleep in a cupboard?” Snape’s voice had a sudden air of impatience that was apparently contagious.

“Because I wasn’t normal! OK? I was a freak who did freaky things and upset his relatives every time he did them!”

“They told you that?”

“Every day.”

“You are aware everything they told you is not true?”

“Of course I am! I’m not five anymore. I know I don’t deserve it and I know it’s them, not me, in the wrong. But sometimes you just have to grin a bear it. I’ll be of age in a couple of years – then I can say good riddance.”  

“Good riddance,” Snape repeated softly aloud. “You are fifteen, Potter. You shouldn’t have to grin and bear anything.”

“Yes, well I shouldn’t have to vanquish a Dark Lord either, but as you’ve told me time and time again, Professor, life isn’t fair,” Harry snapped, turning his head away.

Snape said nothing in return. What could he say to that? He did, however, notice that the boy was crushing his hand. He could almost feel his own bones popping and clicking under the force. With a quiet finite incantatem, he cancelled the muffliatio spell around them and looked over to Healer Thompson who had shifted to the other side of Harry’s leg, his sweaty back now facing Snape.

“Thompson,” he said, “how long?”

“It’s almost done. How’s he doing?” Healer Thompson said without looking round.

“As expected.”

“Very well. We have a portkey ready. It won’t be long now.”

A small noise drew Snape’s attention back. Harry still had his face turned away, buried in the ground, but Snape could tell by the tension in his neck and the way Harry’s shoulders seemed to fidget that something was wrong. Harry made the noise again, like a keening from the back of his throat. Puffing out a hot breath through his nose, Snape rested his free hand on the back of Harry’s neck, realising exactly what was going on.

Stupid, proud, idiotic Gryffindor!

“How many times do I need to tell you, Potter? Don’t hide it! This is more than many could cope with. Allow yourself a modicum of release, boy!” Snape lowered his voice. “Harry, it’s not a sign of weakness. You are in pain. Don’t be ashamed to show it.”

Snape heard a sniffle. “I...I jus’wan’it to stop,” Harry managed, his voice wet and weary, before he turned his head to Snape and allowed the tears in his eyes to fall. Snape wanted it to stop too. The pain, the abuse, his own guilt...everything.

There was nothing left to say. Snape whispered reassurances just to let Harry know he wasn’t alone. “It’s alright. It’s going to be alright.” In that moment, it was all he could do.

Everything hurt. It hurt so much that he could no longer pinpoint where it was coming from. He could no longer remember what was supposed to be hurting, he just knew that it did and that he couldn’t think straight, or speak, or keep still because of it.

Snape’s words filled the air around him, but he could barely understand them. The only thing keeping him sane was the hand squeezing his.

Somebody shouted. It wasn’t Snape. No, Snape was still leaning close to him, muttering soft, unintelligible words. This voice was muffled, but loud. The sound of rubble under foot permeated the cloudy haze of pain around Harry’s mind. Suddenly, there was another man in front of him, looking at him and speaking, but Harry didn’t know what he was saying. The man put his hand on Harry’s shoulder and gave a strange look to Snape.

He felt something inside him drop when Snape’s hand was ripped from his.

The last thing he saw was Snape’s hooked nose twisting out of view as he felt the familiar pull of a portkey. 

Harry sat up in the bed fiddling with the crisp white sheets. All he could see was a gap under them where his lower leg used to be. He’d been awake for little over an hour. The nurse had given him a mix of muggle morphine and a potent painkilling potion, so his body felt sufficiently numb. He hadn’t yet lifted the sheet. It wasn’t real yet, and that’s how he wanted it to stay for as long as possible – just a horrible dream that he would wake up from very soon. He’d pinched himself several times; once he’d even dug his nails in so hard it’d drawn blood, but nothing happened, he was still in a bed in St Mungos.

The healers told him he would be able to have visitors as soon as the consultant had spoken to him, but Harry apparently needed an adult with him for that. He was told that the consultant would speak to Professor Dumbledore and arrange something, considering he’d apparently been waiting outside since Harry had been brought in. So Harry was waiting in the vague hope that they’d take their time and he could prolong his denial. That was all he could do.

It was daylight outside. He didn’t know the time but considering it was dark at Privet Drive, he assumed he’d been out of it for hours. For minutes at a time he’d stare out of the window at nothing in particular, just to take his attention off the sterile room and, by extension, the reason he was in the room in the first place.

His arm felt better, if a little stiff. Everything else was bearable now the morphine had kicked in. In his daydreams, the pain was so mild he could pretend it didn’t even exist. When he allowed himself to feel, it was nothing but grief, a tremendous sense of loss. He was lopsided, unbalanced, abnormal just as his family had always said. He thought back to something Lupin had said to Sirius in the Shrieking Shack all that time ago. “Finally, the flesh reflects the madness within.” Fitting, he thought.         

The bed sheets were scrunched up in his fingers as he looked blankly through the pane of glass. The sky was grey. Everything felt grey. It was strange feeling so disconnected.

He heard footsteps as people entered the room, but he didn’t turn to look, he just hoped they’d leave before it all became too real.

“Mr Potter?” came an unfamiliar voice. Harry sighed and dropped his eyes from the window before slowly turning his head to face the man. “I am your consultant. My name is...” That is all he heard, for his attention was grabbed immediately by the black-clad man standing at the consultant’s side. Their eyes met briefly and Harry was obviously stunned. Snape was the last person he expected to see...or was he? Harry didn’t even know anymore. It felt like a lot had changed, but he wasn’t stupid enough to expect that change to stick. Snape inclined his head, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to do the same.

The consultant stood at the foot of the bed, signalling for Snape to sit down in the seat next to Harry. “I thought you might like somebody to talk you through what’s happened and what the next steps are, Mr Potter,” the consultant said. He drew his wand, muttering an incantation, and Harry’s medical notes appeared in the air by the side of him. “As you should know, the bleeding was too much to save your lower leg. We had to amputate just above the knee.” Harry felt himself pale a little bit as the words were said out loud. “The rehabilitation procedure is not an easy one, but it will ensure you are mobile and can go on to live a normal life.” Harry would have snorted if he didn’t feel so sick. “We will fit a prosthetic leg, with a joint because you’re young and have plenty of time to get used to it. Then you will need to work on strengthening your muscles, but we can arrange that with a healer. Now, your leg may be tender for a while and you may feel some pain and discomfort, but we can help you cope with that and it should die down. I will show you how the prosthetic will work.” The consultant moved around Harry’s bed and reached forward to grab the sheet and pull it back. Harry’s eyes went wide.

“No!” he shouted, snatching the sheet back. Harry could feel Snape’s eyes on him. A deep frown drew across the consultant’s face.

“You haven’t looked yet, have you, Mr Potter?” the consultant asked. Harry looked down, as if ashamed by it. “It is not unusual for amputees to try and deny the procedure has even happened, but you will have to face it sometime. The sooner you do, the sooner you can learn to live with it.”

“I don’t want to live with it,” Harry murmured sullenly. He was surprised when it wasn’t the consultant who replied, but Snape.

“Sometimes life deals us a bad hand. The headmaster once told me, it is the sign of a strong man to find the good when others only see the bad. A lot of things are about to change for you, Potter,” he said deeply. His eyes were so sincere. “My advice is to let them.”

Harry just looked at him solemnly like his world was at an end.

“Mr Potter, I have briefed Mr Snape on the rehabilitation procedures. Perhaps I should leave you both alone to discuss it. We can discuss prosthetics when you are ready.” Harry nodded numbly and Snape said a quiet thank you before the consultant left them alone. Snape said nothing more, just sat there quietly scrutinising Harry.

“Why are you here, Sir?” Harry eventually said, breaking the silence.

“It would normally be the duty of a parent or guardian, but your relatives were moved to a safe-house, Lupin is taking care of them, and the order didn’t think it prudent for them to leave. Besides, it seems they often abandoned their duties...” Snape bristled and trailed off. Harry felt a tiny spark of happiness that his relatives were still alive and he didn’t have any more deaths on his conscience, but that spark was soon engulfed by sadness. They never wanted him, but who would want him now there were pieces of him missing? Who wants something that’s broken?

Snape sat forward in his chair watching Harry as he stared morosely at the gap under the sheet where his leg should have been.

“No amount of magic will bring it back, Potter,” Snape said softly.

“I know,” Harry whispered. His hand trembled as it went to his thigh, but he couldn’t bring himself to move it any lower. “What do I do now?” His voice shook and he had to swallow the lump in his throat. He couldn’t do anything to help the tears building behind his eyes.

“You will need physical therapy as soon as possible to help you walk again with the prosthetic limb and –”

“No, I mean about Voldemort,” Harry interrupted, his voice cracking. “Who’s going to put their faith in someone who can’t even walk?”

“Potter, look at me right now,” Snape’s voice was quiet but firm. “Potter!” he implored. Harry looked at him through glassy eyes. “None of that matters right now. We will cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Harry looked taken aback. “We?”

“Potter...I have not made many errors of judgement in my lifetime, but the very worst has been with regards to you. I owe you an apology,” Snape said regretfully. “You will need guidance and support. As your relatives have proved themselves incapable of offering this, they have been relinquished of their guardianship of you.” Harry didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t unhappy about it, not at all, but Snape wasn’t lying when he said things would be changing. His life was spinning before him. Snape wasn’t finished. “Potter, your guardianship has been handed over to me.”

Silence descended over them. Mouth agape, Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Snape. The professor actually looked worried.  

“You?” was all Harry could say.

Snape sat back in his chair and turned his attention to a spot on the wall. “It may not sound ideal, but I am a partially trained healer so you will be in safe hands. You divulged to me a great deal more about your life than I expect anybody else knows. I am willing to give my time to help you recover from this. And I mean all of this. Not just the leg.”

Harry’s voice was small. “Why?”

“Call it making amends.”

The room was quiet as Harry tried to digest everything he’d just been told. The Dursleys were no longer his guardians. Snape was his guardian now. Any other day he’d be dreading it – things certainly were changing. Snape had even apologised. He’d apologised and all but promised to help him.

“Potter, this will not be an easy process. You will have to move one step at a time. It will be slow. There will be pain, but we will learn to control it. There will be frustration, but we will learn to vent it. There will be anger, but we will learn to redirect it.” Snape looked Harry straight in the eye. “Don’t be a fool by thinking it won’t get better. You have my word.”

Harry felt his eyes grow heavy as unshed tears glistened on their brims. He was touched by Snape’s words, by his honesty and his offer of support. The man didn’t even seem put-out at having to become his guardian. Harry tried to send Snape a grateful smile, but a tear slipped from his eye onto his cheek and he quickly turned to wipe it away. Sniffing to himself, Harry tried to regain his composure.       

“What happens now?” he asked wearily.

Snape looked from Harry to the hospital bed. “Take the first step.”

“What is it?”

“Remove the sheet and accept the situation for what is it.”

“I...I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” Snape said more forcefully. “You were not placed in Gryffindor without due reason.”

Harry shook his head, but Snape’s expression seemed to urge him on. He took the top hem of the sheet in his hand and began dragging it towards himself. As he pulled the sheet, he imagined it uncovering his foot. But there was no foot. He pulled it further and imagined it uncovering his shin, but there was no shin. He could feel himself getting upset and stopped to try and calm down. Snape said nothing, allowing him this moment to himself. It was then that he remembered something he’d overheard Aunt Petunia say to Dudley once. Dudley was trying to take off a plaster and crying because it was pulling out the hairs of his arm. “No, Duddikins,” she’d said, “rip it off quickly. It’ll hurt less and it’ll be over and done with quicker.”

Maybe he was making it worse for himself. Nodding, he gripped the sheet tighter, knuckles turning white, and took a deep breath. Rip it off, he thought. Before his mind could talk him out of it, he yanked his arm backwards, startling Snape in the process, and revealing the pink stump that sat just above where his knee would normally have been. He felt sick and shook his head, feeling himself losing it. “No,” he said. “No, no, no!” Harry went to throw the sheet back on, but Snape’s hand stopped him.

“Accept it. Don’t shut it out,” Snape said, holding Harry’s wrist tightly. The tears in Harry’s eyes weighed too heavy and suddenly began cascading down his face. Harry felt his chest tighten and he finally gave in to the quiet sobs that were rising to the surface. Snape gently let go as, once again, Harry began sliding a hand down his damaged leg, but he had to stop.

“I c-can’t even touch it,” he cried and angrily whacked his head backwards into the wall behind him. Slumping forwards, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, wishing the world away. Even with his eyes covered he could feel Snape’s gaze on him and, in that moment, he hated it! What does he get from watching me like this? Why does he always have to see me so...so...so bloody weak?! “Get out,” Harry said through the hands still covering his face. Snape didn’t move. “I said get out, alright! I don’t want you here anymore!”

“Potter, don’t.”

“Just leave me alone alright!” Harry shouted, thrusting his hands into his hair and pulling. “I don’t want you here! I don’t need this!”

Suddenly, Snape was standing. His large hands prized Harry’s fingers away from his hair and kept hold of them. Harry struggled, but Snape sat on the side of his bed and stooped his head so they were eye to eye. Snape still kept a firm, yet reassuring hold of Harry hands.

“Do not push people away, Potter. Not now, not ever. Do you hear me?” Harry averted his gaze, silently crying and feeling wholly unable to stop. “I am not going anywhere.”

Harry slowly looked up at his professor and then down at the hands that held his. Snape squeezed and Harry didn’t hesitate to squeeze back. As a loud sob escaped his mouth, Harry couldn’t help but squeeze harder as though all the emotion was rushing out through his fingertips.

“It’s alright,” Snape said deeply as Harry cried. The tears came hard and fast like a river that had burst its banks. Feeling like he was on display, Harry leant forward and his forehead came to rest on Snape’s chest before he even realised what he was doing. He cried painfully into Snape’s robes for what felt like an eternity. Not once did Snape let go of his hands. The man hadn’t said a word since Harry had buried himself in his torso, and although Harry felt pathetic, Snape said nothing of the sort, content to let him cry his heart out. Snape slid one of his hands out of Harry’s grip, and in that moment Harry felt a mixture of embarrassment and misery. What was I thinking? Thinking Snape had had enough of him, the shame suddenly set in. Harry sniffled and mumbled a wet “Merlin, m’sorry” into Snape’s chest and tried to pull away...but Snape stopped him. A gentle hand came to rest at the back of his head, pulling him close.        

That was a gesture worth more than any word, and Harry knew in that moment that he wouldn’t have to go it alone anymore. I am not going anywhere, Snape had said, and Harry truly believed him.