“Come out, come out, little Harry! What did you come after me for, then? I thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin!” Bellatrix taunted him.

“I am!” Harry shouted, enraged.

“Aaaah… did you love him, little baby Potter?” she purred, and Harry could hear her getting closer. He shifted away, but the pain in his head was building, and he was feeling a rage that was not entirely his own. As the pain and the foreign emotions built to a crescendo, he suddenly flung himself out to face down his adversary, a spell ready on his lips.

But Bellatrix was too quick for him. He barely heard the spell that left her cackling lips before a jet of red light streamed over him and he knew no more.

ooooo

Harry woke with a startled gasp and shot into a sitting position, breathing rapidly. Jeering laughter started up all around him, and he looked up to see himself surrounded by tall figures in black cloaks, their faces covered and the muffled voices that issued from beneath their hoods menacing. He tried to scramble away, crabbing backwards on his hands, but only made it a couple of feet before he was brought up short. Looking down, he saw that both of his ankles bore heavy iron cuffs, with a foot-long chain linking them and a second three-foot-long chain leading to a rusted iron loop in the stone floor. He drew a breath in as he saw suspiciously dark stains on the stones around the loop.

The Death Eaters’ laughter only intensified at his fear, and, egged on by this knowledge, Harry drew himself together. The rage he had felt just before the stunning spell had hit him returned easily, and he climbed shakily to his feet, ready to stare down his captors and die with dignity. He knew without checking that he had no wand, that there was no escape from this room, that Voldemort was nearby from the pounding in his head. His only remote hope was that Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix would find him and rescue him, but even that, he knew, was a very remote chance. He calmed himself with the thought that at least he would see his parents -- and Sirius -- soon, then turned as he heard Voldemort’s -- his soon-to-be murderer’s -- voice.

“Ah, Harry Potter has joined us at last.” The voices of the Death Eaters hushed in anticipation as their master spoke. “The lovely Bellatrix has brought him to me, and at last, he is mine.” Voldemort glanced to his left and Harry saw one of the slighter robed figures move forward, throwing off her hood to reveal her wild black hair and bowing low to kiss her master’s robe.

“Very good, Bella,” Voldemort continued, his voice soft and sibilant but heard clearly throughout the large chamber. “You shall be rewarded. But first…” He swung his snake-like visage back towards Harry and Harry steeled himself for the blow. “First, we must deal with this pest.”

“Go ahead then!” Harry shouted, wishing his mouth was not too dry to spit. “Get it over with!”

“Ah, Harry,” Voldemort hissed as he stepped closer. “So impatient. You would do well to learn some self-control, to rein in your temper. After all, rushing off foolishly is what got you into this mess.” He grinned as the Death Eaters guffawed, a twisted facsimile of a smile on his pale face, and stepped forward until he was just beyond Harry’s reach.

“No, I will not finish this quickly. I will enjoy bringing about your downfall, Harry Potter. I will prolong it, so that when at last you are finished, there will be no question in anyone’s mind that I am the greatest wizard alive, and that it was by mere chance that you ever escaped me.”

As he finished speaking, Voldemort stepped into Harry’s reach. But before Harry could react, Voldemort had flicked his wand and Harry felt another set of iron chains dragging at his hands, allowing them to go no further forward than where they were, clenched down by his sides. The Dark Lord took another quiet step forward, and now Harry could feel his breath on his face. It was all he could do to stand his ground as the pain built in his head and stare defiantly into the red, cat-like eyes before him. Voldemort seemed to see the struggle in Harry’s eyes, for his lips twisted upward once again.

“Bella, your reward shall be to help me in sealing this pest’s fate.” Voldemort lifted a finger and slowly, deliberately, brought it to Harry’s cheek, stroking softly while Harry clenched his eyes and his teeth in pain and fought to keep his shaking knees from giving out. Finally, he heard the sibilant hiss above him say, “When you wake, you shall be mine.” Then he felt the flicking of a tongue over his scar and the pain consumed all of him. He collapsed and the dark of unconsciousness fell over him before he had even hit the stone floor.

ooooo

He woke groggy and confused. He blinked his eyes open to a foggy world, where only dim shadows and outlines could be seen. His mind struggled to remember, to understand, but then a vague shadow was in front of him and he felt cool hands lift him and hold a glass to his lips, and he heard a soft voice murmuring. He fought to comprehend the words, but he could not hold onto their meaning. Too weary to fight, he sipped from the glass, nearly gagging at the oddness of it. He felt some dribble from the corners of his mouth, but he was too tired and confused to care. After only a few sips the glass was removed and the hands gently lowered him back onto a soft pillow. He felt the liquid wiped from his face as he drifted back into oblivion.

ooooo

When next he woke, he was aware enough to realize how out of it he was. He struggled against the fog that clouded his mind, but could not seem to break through the haziness that clung to his thoughts. When he squinted his eyes open, the world was slightly clearer than before, but still hazy and blurry, as though he was seeing through bubbly, only semi-transparent glass. He saw the form of a person bend over him, and he tried to shrink back but found he was too weak to do so. He felt himself being lifted slightly, and a glass held to his lips as before. This time, he managed to catch snippets of the murmuring as he fought to attain full awareness, as though he was listening to a badly tuned radio.

“...drink, there… Lucky he… left you like that… drink now…”

Eventually he parted his lips and allowed the liquid to flow into his mouth. He coughed and spluttered on the first couple of sips, registering that something felt different but unable to process what it was. After a few sips went down without much difficulty, the glass was taken away and he was lowered back to his pillow.

ooooo

The third time that he woke, Harry finally felt somewhat lucid. He opened his eyes once again to a blurry world, but only slightly more out-of-focus than the world usually was without his glasses. He heard quiet footsteps and looked to his left to see a dark figure moving towards him. Startled, he tried to back away, and suddenly became acutely aware of throbbing pain pounding through his body. He shut his eyes and groaned, then stilled as he heard an all-too familiar voice.

“Quiet, Potter. If you have not figured it out already, attempting to speak will undoubtedly cause you great pain. I would not advise it.”

His eyes flew open and darted to the blurry figure now looming over him.

Snape.

ooooo

A million questions flooded to the forefront of Harry’s mind, but for once he listened to Snape and held silent, believing the warning considering the amount of pain he was in. The pain discouraged him from trying to move again, and so he settled for trying to convey his confusion with his eyes, hoping that Snape might decide to -- for once -- take pity on him and try for an explanation.

“Good,” Snape said coldly. “Now don’t move,” he ordered as one hand snaked quickly behind Harry’s shoulders and lifted him into a reclined position. Surprisingly, the swift ministrations did not exacerbate the pain. Then a glass was held to Harry’s lips and, knowing the drill, Harry tried to carefully sip.

But when the liquid flooded his mouth, Harry gagged and coughed, the liquid spilling onto his front. Shocked, he tried to speak to ask why it felt so wrong, and then groaned at the throbbing emanating from his mouth.

“Careful,” Snape admonished him, keeping the glass at Harry’s lips. Eventually, once he had recovered, Harry tried sipping again, managing a few mouthfuls before the sensation grew all too odd and painful to continue. He turned his face away and Snape relented, setting the glass down and easing Harry back onto the pillow. He looked back up at Snape’s blurry visage, still hoping for an explanation.

Once he had cleaned up the spilled drink, Snape stood to his full height and clasped his hands before him. “The Dark Lord wishes me to give you an explanation. He desires you to be fully trained before he takes you, and is leaving that, along with your healing, in my hands.” Unsurprisingly, Snape did not look thrilled by this, and horror began to swoop into the pit of Harry’s stomach. He had not really believed that he had been rescued, he knew that Snape worked for both sides, but he had gotten the impression that he was being healed, so he had hoped… No matter. It was becoming evident which side Snape truly worked for, and his chances of surviving and escaping were dwindling even further.

“As you may remember,” Snape began, “the Dark Lord left the execution of your sentence up to Bellatrix. She is, you might say, a rather imaginative sadist, so the results are really quite exemplary.

“She has taken your tongue, so that you may not speak a spell. She has taken your fingers so that you may not hold a wand. And she has taken your feet so that you may not run away.”

Harry could hear a ringing in his ears. His middle felt empty, as though his insides had been scooped out. The throbbing pain that was still coursing through his body he now recognized was centered in his hands, knees, and mouth. He wondered vaguely if this was a nightmare, and through the roaring in his ears heard Snape continue his explanation calmly.

“She took your eyes as well, but the Dark Lord did not desire you to be blind, so they have been grown back. They should be fully healed by tomorrow, along with your stumps, and then the training will begin.

“The Dark Lord desires a pet.”

ooooo

“I can see the question in your eyes, Potter,” Snape sneered. “No, this is not a nightmare. This is very real. The Dark Lord wishes to have a menagerie, as many of the great kings throughout history had. And to show his complete dominion over you, you are to be the first addition to the collection. He wishes you to be his leopard.

“You may not yet have noticed, but your skin has already begun to spot, and has turned golden. I believe the fur will finish growing in over the next couple of days. To his Death Eaters, along with anyone the Dark Lord may wish, it will be perfectly obvious who you are, and just how humiliated and mutilated you have been. But to prevent your potential rescue, as impossible as the prospect is, you will appear as a true leopard to anyone else.

“Now, you are not quite finished healing. Sleep now, and in the morning you will be healed and your training will begin.” With that, he swept from the bed and out of Harry’s sight.

Stunned, Harry lay still and silent, the shock slowly wearing off as the reality seeped in. He wanted to deny what Snape had said, but the intense pain in his mouth and extremities made the story Snape had told all too possible. Was it permanent? If he ever -- as impossible as it truly did seem -- managed to escape, would magic be able to fix him? Snape said his eyes had been grown back, did that mean the rest could be too? He knew that not all injuries could be fixed, Mad-Eye Moody was evidence of that. He shuddered to think of spending the rest of his life deformed, unable to speak or walk or do magic. He did not believe he would ever fall asleep with these thoughts swirling in his head, not to mention the pain, but after agonizing minutes his mind finally tired itself out and he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

ooooo

When he woke again, he found that Snape was right, on several counts. His eyesight appeared to have been restored, although he hoped that his glasses were nearby somewhere since his vision was still fairly blurry. The pain was gone, and at first his heart leaped with hope, until he began to explore his body. Where his tshirt sleeves ended, he could see that his arms were covered in irregular brown spots, the skins between an odd golden yellow. And he was itchy. He moved one hand to scratch, then stopped. He raised his hands and saw only tiny nubs covered in pink scar tissue where once there had been a thumb and four fingers. He struggled to raise himself to a sitting position and looked down to see that the shapes of his legs beneath the blanket ended about where he expected his knees to be. Finally, he tried to stick one hand into his mouth to feel for his tongue, but found that the rest of his hand was not nearly as sensitive as his fingertips were, and it was difficult to discern what was what. Desperate to hold onto hope, he tried moving his tongue around his mouth, and felt nothing. He attempted to speak, but nothing came out but an odd gurgling sound, quickly choked off as an unwelcome sob rose in his throat.

But the sound was apparently enough to summon Snape, for he quickly came into sight from behind the headboard of the bed.

“You are awake,” he observed as he came to a stop by Harry’s bedside. “Good. The Dark Lord is coming shortly to check on your progress in person, he will be pleased to see you awake.”

Before Snape could continue, the sound of a door opening caused Harry to look to his right. Silhouetted in a doorway that he had not previously noticed was Voldemort.

“He is awake. Good.” His voice was as whispery as a hiss, and Harry suppressed a shudder as the Dark Lord moved toward him. He stopped next to Harry’s bedside, opposite Snape, and looked down at Harry with a creepy smile once again twisting his lips.

ooooo

“My new pet,” Voldemort said silkily. He reached out one long finger and ran it gently through Harry’s hair, and Harry swiped his arm away, opening his mouth to protest angrily and instead emitting what sounded remarkably similar to a yowl.

“Manners, my pet,” Voldemort admonished him, then his lips curled further upward. “Never fear, Severus will teach you right from wrong, and your proper place. I see that your fur is beginning to grow in. Itchy, is it?”

Harry realized that he had been rubbing absentmindedly at his stomach with his palm and stopped abruptly, scowling at his captor.

“None of that attitude now,” Voldemort said, giving Harry a brief pat on top of his head. “I only came to see how you are progressing, and to give Severus some of the supplies he will be needing. I wanted to see how you like them for myself.” A touch of amusement seemed to enter his red eyes, and Harry felt sure that he did not want to know what supplies Snape required.

“A collar, of course. What would a pet be without proper identification?” He held up a strip for Harry to see, but Harry could not make out the details. Despite himself, he squinted, wanting to know what he was getting into.

“Ah, but where are his glasses, Severus?” Voldemort said, “He must be able to see, for this at least.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Snape bowed, then picked something up from next to Harry’s bed and quickly slipped what turned out to be Harry’s glasses onto his face. Harry awkwardly adjusted them with his palms, then turned to look at what Voldemort held.

It was a strip of brown leather with a buckle on one end and several holes spaced out on the other. In the middle, a word was spelled out in large and shiny capital letters.

PEST.

“Your new name. Fitting, isn’t it? Pest.” Voldemort drew the ‘s’ out into a hiss, then swooped the leather around Harry’s neck and began buckling the collar. Too startled at first, it took Harry a moment before he started to resist, and by that point Snape was already pinning his wrists down. He bucked, but all too easily he felt the collar close around his neck and both Voldemort and Snape had withdrawn their hands. He reached one hand up and felt the cold buckle that sat at his throat, close enough that he could feel it when he swallowed, and realized with dread that he would never be able to release the catch without his fingers.

Then Voldemort handed over a matching leather leash to Snape, patted Harry on the head, and sent a parting “Good boy” over his shoulder as he swept back out of the room.

“Come,” Snape said briskly, “Your master wishes me to keep you in my rooms, when you are not in your pen, until you are fully trained. As your pen is not yet completed, we will head to my rooms now.” And before Harry had even processed what was happening, Snape had clipped the leash to the loop in his collar and was tugging on it.

Feeling he had few options, Harry sent Snape a venomous glare, then awkwardly tossed his blankets off two-handed and began considering how he would get down from the bed.

“Your knees have been appropriately calloused during the process of healing, and the bones hardened as well.” Snape informed him. “Your master wishes you to walk on all fours, as any other leopard would do. And really,” Snape smirked, “it is the only way you will get anywhere, at least quickly. Now come, off the bed.”

Shooting his -- likely former -- professor another glare, Harry flipped himself over and attempted to lower himself over the side of the bed. He was only about halfway through the process when he lost his grip and fell the rest of the way to the floor, landing heavily on his knees and then falling to his butt with a grunt. Before Snape could tug at the leash again, he flipped himself back over onto his knees and attempted to stand up, then quickly lost his balance and fell back onto his hands.

“I told you,” Snape sneered, and Harry glared up at him again. Then Snape turned on his heel and made for the door. Harry reluctantly followed behind, careful to keep close enough that the leash would not tug.

When they reached the wider hallway, Snape pulled hard on the leash until Harry was dragged to his side. Harry yelped involuntarily as the collar tugged on his neck.

“Heel,” Snape ordered, then explained, “Stay at my side.” He kept the leash short so that Harry had no choice but to stay close to his side, struggling to keep up with the Death Eater’s long legs.

When they reached what were evidently Snape’s rooms, after winding through many stone corridors, Harry paused to let Snape pass through the doorway first, then followed quickly behind to give the man no opportunity to tug at the leash again. Already the skin around his neck was feeling sore and raw, and Harry hoped to avoid making it worse for as long as possible.

Once the door had been shut behind them, Snape cast a spell at the door -- it sounded something like ‘muffliato’ to Harry -- and then dropped the leash. Harry did not know what the spell did, but he only hoped that he was not in for further torture just now. He was tired, his muscles ached from using them in unusual ways, and he was hungry. He wanted nothing more than to have a nice meal and climb back into bed. The day had barely begun and already it felt like it had stretched on forever.

Despite his wishes, Harry was surprised when Snape dragged a small pallet out from a corner of the room. Snape turned back to face Harry with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I realize that you are likely very tired, despite how early it is, and I do intend to let you nap, but first some more thorough explanations are in order. You may sit in one of the chairs if you wish, but I thought you may prefer your bed.”

Harry’s first thought was that he would rather be on an even level with Snape for whatever was about to happen, but then he eyed the rather tall leather chairs, with smooth arms and no grip he would be able to use in sight. He weighed the struggle -- and the possibility of Snape trying to pick him up to help him -- against sitting lower than Snape, then crawled over to the pallet and sat on it to indicate his choice.

Snape nodded once and seated himself in one of the leather chairs. While he waited for Snape to begin, Harry took stock of his surroundings. They were sitting in what looked like a small living room. The two leather armchairs were against one wall, with a coffee table between them. Beyond the coffee table, the carpeted floor gave way to the tile of a small kitchen, and between the two was a doorway to what looked like a bedroom.

“The Dark Lord has afforded me rooms in his headquarters for when I must stay to attend to his potions,” Snape stated in explanation. “It is fortunate for us that he trusts me enough to allow me a good deal of privacy within these quarters. Unlike the room you recovered in, or any other part of this castle, where the Dark Lord could watch or listen at any point, the only way to hear what occurs in these rooms is to listen at the door, and the only way to see is to enter. I have cast a spell that will cause anyone listening to hear only what the Dark Lord has ordered. However, it is still best to be swift in telling you what you need to know. I will do my best to try to answer any questions you may have.”

Harry nodded, hardly daring to allow hope to once again blossom in his belly. Perhaps Snape truly was spying on Voldemort, after all.

“The Order of the Phoenix knows of your situation,” Snape began, jumping right into a full account. “They are working on a solution, but unfortunately, I am unable to give them this location. And, of course, it is no small matter to enter the Dark Lord’s headquarters and leave again, never mind take a captive out with you.

“In the meantime, the Dark Lord hopes to break you. He will treat you like an animal, he will steal any hope you have of being rescued, until you can hardly remember who you are. He is building a menagerie, your pen within it will likely be finished tomorrow and you will see it. He plans to collect exotic animals, both magical and non-magical, and keep them in his menagerie.

“The Order knows that you are the leopard, but they will of course not be able to see that it is you. That spell, as well as the one causing you to grow spots and fur, will not be inordinately difficult to reverse. However, only a select few have been told of what else the Dark Lord allowed Bellatrix to do to you.”

Harry desperately hoped that Snape would anticipate his next question, but Snape either was oblivious or was purposefully avoiding answering it.

“The Dark Lord has relegated your initial ‘training’ to me. That will only last for a few days, a couple of weeks at most, and it is our best chance at getting you out of here. If there is time, I will fill you in on the plan when it has been devised.

“Now, for your lessons--” Snape began, but Harry cut him off with a grunt. He pointed to his mouth with his hand, trying to ask the question that had been burning in his mind ever since Snape had given him the first explanation.

“I realize you are likely hungry, Potter,” Snape responded, “but I need to finish explaining things before you can eat.”

Harry groaned and opened his mouth wide, trying to point to his tongue.

“You will be stuck on a liquid diet--”

Feeling frustrated and ridiculous, Harry growled and gestured towards his legs, then raised his hand up and wiggled it slightly.

Snape sighed lightly and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Fine, Potter. I don’t know.”

Harry stared at Snape for a moment, not understanding.

Snape rolled his eyes. “The answer to your question is ‘I don’t know.’ I am not sure precisely what method Bellatrix used to remove your fingers, legs, and tongue. I was told what she used to remove your eyes, and was able to counteract that, so there is some hope. But I only know basic mediwizardry. Madam Pomfrey or a Healer from St. Mungo’s would be able to determine more.

“For now, you will be sticking with liquids or mashed up foods. And you will begin to get used to the idea that this may be permanent. The Dark Lord wanted you as much like an animal as possible, while still allowing his followers to see clearly that it was you. It is quite possible that he used a curse that we would not be able to counteract.”

Harry swallowed thickly and gave a short nod.

“Now, for your lessons. The Dark Lord essentially wants you tamed, and I would suggest that you act as such outside of these quarters unless you want worse done to you. Certain things, we will have to go along with even in here, since it will be too obvious otherwise. He wants you doing your business in a litter box,” Snape pointed, and Harry noticed for the first time a box filled with what looked like sand in the corner. “You will also be drinking out of a bowl. Since you have no tongue, you will be allowed to use your hands. You are also to learn the usual commands. Sit, lie down, speak, heel, roll over, come, fetch, etc. We may have to perform some of them at some point, so you better get used to the idea now. If you want to make it out of this alive, I suggest you start pretending to be cowed. At this point, you’re lucky he hasn’t gone through with some of his ideas.”

ooooo

The rest of the day in Snape’s quarters was surprisingly not too unpleasant. Harry was mostly left to himself. He took a nap on the pallet for a good bit of the morning, and managed to choke down enough liquefied food that he felt somewhat satisfied, trying to ignore the fact that he was drinking it from a dog bowl with the word ‘Pest’ painted on it. He similarly tried to ignore the itching that was intensifying all over his body. All-told, the worst part of the day was when he finally gave in to his near-exploding bladder and used the litter box. It was humiliating enough that he had to use the thing, but then he realized that he wasn’t able to undo his jeans on his own and had to ask for Snape’s help.

Naturally, his good luck could not hold out. The following morning he woke to find that although the itching had finally stopped, he was now covered in a layer of fine, downy hair. It was not nearly as thick as he had feared -- and he dared to hope that it would not get thicker -- but was still quite clearly more than a human should have. And, of course, it was yellow with brown leopard spots.

Voldemort sent for them in the late morning, and Harry was forced to heel at Snape’s side through the many long corridors, passing Death Eaters who jeered at him, until they reached the audience chamber. There, Harry begrudgingly obeyed Snape’s commands, performing animal tricks to show what he had learned so far.

When they had finished, Voldemort rose from his chair and approached Harry, who was still on all fours beside Snape.

“He is remarkably well-trained, Severus, for one day. Perhaps he will not need as much time as I had feared. He might be ready sooner than expected. Excellent.”

“My Lord,” Snape began and bowed. “He has indeed learned quickly. However, he has not truly been broken yet. I cannot guarantee--”

“Severus,” Voldemort warned in a hiss. “Do you disagree with my assessment?”

Snape swallowed quietly. “No, my Lord, I would never disagree with you.”

“Good,” Voldemort purred. “He is little danger as he is. I grow weary of waiting for my pet. You will bring him to his pen tonight and leave him there. In the meantime, I will have someone bring to your quarters something more appropriate for Pest to wear.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Snape bowed, then backed away, Harry at his heels.

Snape and Harry spent the rest of the day in Snape’s quarters, Harry mostly sitting silently on his pallet and Snape pacing. Harry surmised that Snape was not able to leave to alert the Order without rousing suspicion, and was considering the best course of action now that their timeframe had been severely shortened.

But evidently the spy could not come up with an actionable plan in a few hours, and the evening drew ever closer. In the late afternoon, a low-rank Death Eater dropped off Harry’s new outfit. It was, as it turned out, a set of overall shorts with a velcro buttflap that Harry would be able to undo himself. It was humiliating to change into, but Harry reminded himself that the longer he kept his head down, the longer he could stay alive while a rescue plan was worked on. His rage chafed at being restrained so, but he tamped it down, for now.

When it could be postponed no longer, the leash was clipped back onto Harry’s collar, and Snape once again led him through the twisting maze of passages. This time, Harry worked hard to memorize the way, no longer content to sit by while others determined his fate. If the Order could not rescue him, he would figure it out for himself. But it did not take long for him to feel lost in the dizzying series of twists and turns. All Harry could surmise was that they were, surprisingly, heading up.

Eventually, Snape opened a door flanked by two guards that led into a wide room lit with an eerie, muted glow. Looking out onto distant rolling hills, Harry thought at first that they might have stepped out into a balcony, albeit an odd one. Then he realized that the walls were formed of prison bars, and that the landscape peeked out from between them. The ceiling, although likely only slightly lower than a normal room’s, felt oppressive in the wide room, particularly with the sight of hills visible beyond. He stared at the bars in the dim light, trying to discern if they might be wide enough to slip through, but Snape answered the question for him.

“No thoughts of running away now, Pest,” he sneered. “The walls are solid stone behind the bars. It is only enchanted to look like scenery.”

Snape began to lead him further into the room, and for the first time Harry realized that dozens of large cages were spaced out evenly across the floor. Most of their walls ended just shy of the stone ceiling above, with a couple of inches to spare, and most were empty. Snape and Harry passed one of the exceptions, a cage with a top about a foot below the ceiling that contained a listless-looking monkey. Further along, Harry could see another similar cage that was filled with colorful-looking birds.

“New acquisitions,” Snape mentioned when he saw where Harry was looking. “Received just yesterday. And here is your pen.”

Snape swung open a gate about a foot wide and two and a half feet tall and tugged slightly on the leash to indicate Harry should enter. Harry balked suddenly, planting his hands and leaning his weight back. His situation suddenly became all too real to him. It had been a nightmare at first, scary but not real. Then he had thought only of the possibility of escape, of a rescue before he had to leave Snape’s quarters. Now, he was being given over to Voldemort, and he was helpless. It had all happened too quickly, and he needed to get out.

Snape only pulled harder on the leash, digging the collar into Harry’s neck, and Harry whimpered involuntarily.

“Pest!” Snape hissed. “Get in there. Do not be foolish. The Dark Lord gets what he wishes.”

Harry shook his head from side to side over the leash, rage filling him again and burning away the fear. He never should have trusted Snape. Whether he was a spy for Voldemort or against him, he had always known he hated Harry. Why would he help him?

The next thing he knew, Snape had whipped his wand out and pointed it at him, and the ground beneath him suddenly felt slick as though coated in oil and water. He shot forward and was scraping partway through the door in the cage before he knew it. As he tried to wriggle backward, he felt a hand quickly unclip the leash from his collar, then a boot thunked solidly into his rear and he fell forward, the gate slamming shut behind him.

Harry whirled around and threw himself at the gate just as Snape managed to lock it. The man backed up a step and stood tall, his arms crossed in front of him as he stared coldly at Harry.

Forgetting himself for a moment, Harry started to call him a ‘greasy-haired bastard,’ but all that came out was an odd gurgling growl. Frustrated and furious, he threw himself at the gate again, but the thick iron did not yield in the slightest, leaving Harry smarting.

Snape merely smirked, then turned and walked away.

Feeling angry, defeated, and alone, Harry began pacing his cage. It was about ten feet long, but only three feet wide, with a litter box in one of the corners near the gate and a dog bed with a thin blanket in one of the far corners. In the other corner near the gate was another dog bowl with ‘Pest’ emblazoned across it, empty right now, though Harry noticed a small gate above it that was likely to pour food and water through.

Overall, the dimensions of his cage, the lowness of the ceiling, the oddly muted light, and the sight of far off hills, unreachable behind the bars, even the quiet clucking of the birds -- who apparently never shut up -- combined to make the situation feel even more oppressive and depressing. He curled up on his bed, arranging the blanket over himself as best he could, and eventually drifted off into sleep.

The next morning, just as the sun seemed to peek over the hills, although none of its light or warmth seemed to reach into the menagerie, Harry was woken by someone dropping what looked like slop into his bowl. Stomach growling, he scrambled out of his bed and crawled over to the bowl, but waited with a glare until the guffawing Death Eater had left before attempting to drink it. He awkwardly angled the bowl to his face, careful not to drop it, and tried not to grimace as the thin soup slid directly down his throat.

Finished, he awkwardly relieved himself, then sat back on his bed and waited for something to happen.

Several hours later, when his stomach was grumbling again and his throat was feeling dry, he heard the door to the menagerie open. Voldemort entered, with Snape on his left and Lucius Malfoy on his right, and two more Death Eater guards behind them. Harry was so bored that the distraction was almost welcome. Almost.

The party approached his cage, but Harry stayed in the back on his bed. Snape’s face remained impassive, but Malfoy’s bore a smug smirk, and Voldemort’s was once again creepily arranged into a twisted, leering smile.

“Come, Pest,” Voldemort ordered. “It is time for a walk.”

When Harry did not budge, Voldemort flicked a hand at the two guards behind him and they approached, carrying thin rods that Harry had not noticed before. They positioned themselves on either side of his cage and began poking at him cruelly. Now Harry learned the reason for the narrowness of his cage. Even if he went as far to the middle as he could, he was not able to escape the pointed rods. Slowly, taking turns poking at him and barring his retreat, they forced him to move down the cage towards the gate. At last he was close enough that one swiftly unlocked and opened the gate, and when Harry might have bolted, the other easily snagged his collar and hooked the leash on before he could do more than lunge through the gate. The handle of the leash was quickly handed over to Voldemort, and before Harry could even process what had just happened, the collar was tugging at his neck and he was trotting unhappily at Voldemort’s side.

He was brought back to the audience chamber, where Voldemort now commanded him in his tricks. His initial refusal brought a warning glare from Snape and a cursory ‘crucio’ from the Dark Lord, until he grudgingly began performing, all the while scowling at his captors.

Finally, Voldemort told him to stop. Panting slightly from the extra effort of doing odd tricks in his ungainly body, a body he was still not really accustomed to, he sat back on his haunches, his thighs stretched out straight in front of him and his hands planted just outside of his knees for balance. He hardly noticed how like an animal he probably looked in this position.

Voldemort’s smile remained fixed on his face as he rose. “Now,” he began, “let us see whether you are truly learning, or merely performing. You are my leopard, and you shall act appropriately, of course.” He withdrew from his robes a small stuffed mouse with a long tail and threw it at Harry.

Stunned for a moment, Harry let the mouse bounce off his shoulder and fall to the floor.

“Now, now, Pest,” Voldemort admonished him in a warning tone. “You are to play with it. All cats like to play with mice, don’t they?”

Face burning with rage and humiliation, Harry slowly got back up onto his hands and knees and gave a halfhearted swat at the mouse.

“Good,” Voldemort purred, then began to make the mouse bounce around the room with his wand, watching with his evil smirk as Harry was made to chase after it.

When Voldemort finally grew bored of this, Harry was made to sit next to his chair, on the opposite side from where Nagini lay coiled. The snake-like man patted his head and then called for his guards to bring in the guests. From next to the Dark Lord, his leash held loosely in one of the slender hands, Harry was forced to watch first several muggles be tortured, then several Death Eaters report with varying degrees of punishment. All the while he tried to ignore the pressure that was now building in his bladder. Finally, a dark and imposing looking man was led into the chamber.

From the man’s accent and the brief, dancing conversation that occurred between him and Voldemort, Harry gathered that the man was a potential powerful recruit from France. Harry was showed off to him, and it was clear that the man saw only a leopard, making Harry feel even more humiliated. He was forced to perform tricks once again, until the man was dismissed, and Harry was finally led back to his pen. This time, he was too weary to protest being shut inside. He went immediately to his litter box and relieved himself, then fell asleep easily on the hard bed.

ooooo

The days soon began to blend into one another. Harry spent countless long, bored hours in his depressing pen. Several new animals were brought in at various points and left in their own cages. The birds, he learned, almost never shut up until the sun went down. He was hungry nearly all the time, being fed usually only once a day. Sometimes Voldemort would not come for him for days at a time, and it was then that he struggled not to wish that he would come if only to relieve the boredom. When Voldemort did call him, it was sometimes for the entire day and sometimes only for a short walk around the sizeable castle. When he was with Voldemort, he was never given food, water, or bathroom breaks. He learned quickly not to attempt to ask for them.

However, he did begin to learn his way around the castle, and began attempting to formulate an escape plan. He had no real idea of how long he had been held captive, but as the days passed he grew less and less confident that the Order would ever find him, and more sure that he was on his own in escaping. However, all he ever seemed to come up with was to force his way out of the cage when his litter box was emptied (an unfortunately rare occurrence, both for his plan and for his nose) and try to make a dash for it. Some part of him hoped that Snape might actually be able to help him if he made it that far, but he refused to count on that.

This hope was dashed abruptly one afternoon. Harry had been stuck in his pen for going on three days, and was trying to keep his mind busy with attempting to remember the brewing instructions for various potions (he was really bored, and the birds were really annoying), when the door to the menagerie was flung open. Harry looked up and saw a tall dark figure being led by several Death Eater guards, struggling weakly, with Voldemort bringing up the rear. When they drew closer and stopped by the empty pen next to Harry’s, he realized with dread that the tall figure was Snape.

He looked even paler than usual, his hair hung limply about his face, and his hands appeared to be bound behind his back, although Harry could not see any ropes. The gate was swiftly unlatched and Snape was shoved inside and locked in. Voldemort approached the gate, towering over the crumpled figure on the floor.

“You will remain here while I determine a fitting punishment,” he whispered, then whirled and left the room on silent, gliding feet, the coterie of guards following.

The room was quiet, aside from the birds, for several minutes. Finally Harry could not take the suspense any longer, and he grunted in an attempt to get Snape’s attention. Snape startled slightly and looked over, struggling to pull himself into a sitting position with his hands still behind his back.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “It’s you.” Harry merely looked at him and Snape elaborated, “I did not realize he would leave us so close together. I would have expected to be separated.”

Harry nodded and then gestured at him with one paw-like hand.

Snape merely glared for a moment, then sighed and relented. “He believes me to be a spy. The Order has evidently been planning a rescue attempt, and he is convinced I am involved in it.”

Harry nodded his understanding, then watched with curiosity as Snape shuffled over on shaking legs to a water bowl in the corner and lowered his head to lap from it. When he finally straightened, he settled himself against the bars of the cage with a grimace, then glared at the watching Harry.

“Amused?” he asked irritably, but his tone lacked the usual bite.

Harry only shrugged.

“I suppose there is not much to do in here,” Snape answered himself. “Do they ever shut up?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the birds.

Harry shook his head.

They were silent for a moment, then Snape murmured, “He has not decided my punishment yet.” He looked at Harry with an expression it took a moment to decipher, then Harry realized it was a mixture of fear and pity. Harry looked away, not wanting to see either, especially not on the face of his bullying potions professor.

“I suppose you are missing your relatives by now.”

Harry looked over at Snape, startled by the comment.

Snape gave him a shadow of a smirk. “I get the impression you do not particularly enjoy it there. Still, they must treat you better than this, than an animal.”

Harry considered this, and was surprised to realize it was true by a slimmer margin than he would have expected.

Snape was still talking. “My father did not treat me like an animal, but he was an animal. I did not enjoy going home for the holidays either.” He trailed off, then whispered, “Muggle bastard.”

Harry began to wonder just how many ‘crucios’ Snape had been given before he had been brought to the menagerie. The ordinarily precise and succinct professor was beginning to ramble.

Snape seemed to be thinking along similar lines. He scowled, then turned his face away from Harry and became silent.

ooooo

For two days, Snape and Harry were left alone, aside from being left meager rations in the morning. Snape did not talk much after the first afternoon, and Harry saw how his limbs trembled when he moved and he seemed too frequently to shiver.

It was in the wee, cold hours of the third morning that Harry was roused from an uneasy sleep. He squinted through the pre-dawn darkness to see a sliver of light appear where the door to the menagerie was, then widen as the door opened. Several lit wand-tips entered the room, and as they drew closer, Harry could make out seven cloaked figures approaching his and Snape’s cages. He glanced over and saw that Snape was also awake and watching.

The men split off when they drew close, three moving towards Harry’s cage and four towards Snape’s. Harry tried to resist at first, frightened by the break from routine, but it did not take long before he was out of the cage and clipped into his leash. With his leash held firmly and two wand points directed at him, one of the three men quickly slipped a metal harness around his torso and clipped a second, metal leash to its back. Once finished, they stepped back, two holding the leashes and the third keeping his wand trained on him. Harry looked fearfully over at Snape, who by this point had been wrestled from the cage and was being held by two men by his bound arms, the other two keeping their wands trained on him.

They were led in this manner to the audience chamber, where Voldemort sat on his usual throne with what looked like nearly all of his Death Eaters arranged around him in a semi-circle. Harry was astounded to realize how much the ranks had swelled since the night in the graveyard just over a year ago. Harry was led to Voldemort’s side, his leather leash handed over the Dark Lord as usual while the metal one remained in the hand of the guard. Snape was tied to the hook several feet in front of the dais as Harry had been when he had first arrived at the castle.

“Ah,” Voldemort purred, “My pet. This entertainment would not be the same without you by my side.” He rubbed behind Harry’s ears and Harry barely resisted the urge to growl.

“I trust you will recognize our prisoners.” Voldemort gestured to the far side of the room, and Harry’s gaze snapped over to follow his hand.

Somehow his first inspection of the room had passed over the seven captives who stood in a row in front of the circle of Death Eaters, facing Voldemort. Eyes widening in horror, Harry recognized Ron, Hermione, Neville, Luna, Ginny, and Fred and George. They looked disheveled and sweaty, and each of them had their feet bound by short chains to hooks in the floor that Harry was certain had not been there previously. Harry could see tears beginning to course down Hermione’s cheeks, and he saw Ron mouth ‘Harry’ in horror. The faces of Neville, Ginny, Fred, and George ranged through mixtures of fear and horror at their predicament and at seeing the leopard they knew was their friend. Luna looked almost bored, glancing around at the architecture of the room.

“They tried to rescue you, when the Order’s plans failed,” Voldemort explained in an amused voice. “Foolish, to think it was possible. Silly, to think my pet would be in need of rescuing. You are well cared for, aren’t you, Pest?”

A growl built low in Harry’s throat, but Voldemort laughed and gave him a light but stinging swat on the cheek.

“None of that now, Pest. Mind your manners,” he admonished. He waved a hand at the guard who still held Harry’s metal leash. “You need not stay any longer. He is well-trained. I feared the shock may cause him to forget what he has learned, but he is a good boy.”

The Death Eater bowed, unclipped the leash, and stepped back to join the ranks of the Dark Lord’s followers.

“Now, who to begin with?” he hissed. “The traitor, or the young fools?”

Harry waited tensely in the leaden silence until Voldemort spoke again.

“The children, I think. They are such good entertainment.”

Harry watched in horror as the circle was widened around his schoolmates, and the Death Eaters began to one by one, under Voldemort’s directions, cast curses of varying severity at his friends. They ranged from tickling charms to Cruciatus Curses, and screams and moans mixed with jeers and guffaws to fill the room.

Eventually, when his eyes were filled with tears and the rage was building until Harry did not think he could take it anymore, Voldemort called his followers to halt.

“Now, it is time to finish the job,” he said as he rose to his feet, tugging the leash so that Harry heeled next to him. Harry could feel the rage and anger and sorrow building inside him, the frustrating mounting at his powerlessness as he stumbled at the Dark Lord’s side.

Voldemort stopped five paces from the huddled forms and raised his wand, and Harry felt the dam break inside him as the love he felt for his friends mingled with his anger and overpowered it.

“Avad--”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRGGGGGLL” Harry screamed, the sound erupting from him as his power spilled out into the room. Voldemort’s words were cut off in a blinding flash of light that filled the room for several seconds, then suddenly was gone.

Dazed and suddenly incredibly fatigued, Harry lay down heavily, feeling too weak to move. He had to blink several times before his vision cleared enough to look around.

His friends were all alive, and now free of their chains. They were dazedly helping each other to their feet, seeming just as confused and disoriented as Harry was feeling. Harry swung his head around weakly to see Snape’s chains had also come loose, although he had recovered from the shock much more quickly and was already stalking on shaking legs to the circle of Death Eaters, who seemed to be taking much longer to recover. Shifting his eyes towards to his left side, Harry saw that Voldemort lay facedown on the ground. He was almost certainly dead, based on the charred state of his body, and Harry tiredly shut his eyes, not wanting to see the apparent consequences of his actions. He fought to open them after a moment, knowing the fight was not over, but unconsciousness tugged at him. He was vaguely aware of shouting around him and flashes of light before he slipped down into the depths of sleep.

Harry woke briefly when he felt himself being lifted by shaking hands. He opened his eyes enough to see the pale face of Snape above him and moaned.

“Shh, Potter,” Snape said in his ear, trying to be heard above the sounds of battle around them. “The Order is here. We need to get you out; you can’t lie there in the crossfire.”

Too fatigued to protest, Harry’s eyes slipped shut and he fell asleep once more as he felt Snape rush him across the floor.

Harry became aware once again in a vaguely familiar room on a bed with crisp sheets. Blinking blearily, he realized after a moment that it was the hospital wing at Hogwarts, although the curtains around his bed had been closed. He began moving around to try to sit up, but was stopped by a cool hand on his shoulder. He looked to his right and saw the blurry visage of Albus Dumbledore.

“Do not try to get up just yet, Harry,” Dumbledore cautioned him, sliding Harry’s glasses onto his nose for him. “You have been through quite the ordeal.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask one of his many questions, falling into his usual pattern when Dumbledore met him in the hospital wing, but closed it quickly when he remembered. The movement made him realize that his mouth felt strange, almost thick or full, and he frowned.

“I am sure you have many questions, Harry. I will do my best to answer them,” Dumbledore reassured him.

“First, your friends are perfectly fine. They have been healed and sent home with no lasting damage from their escapades.

“Secondly, Voldemort is indeed dead, thanks to you once again, and the majority of his followers have been rounded up and arrested. Professor Snape and your friends had the presence of mind to take advantage of their longer-lasting confusion, and that plus the quick response of the Order helped us to overcome them, and prevented most of them from escaping.

“Po… Ape…?” Harry could not resist attempting to ask, although the words came out severely garbled, as he had known they would.

“Professor Snape, Harry?” Dumbledore asked kindly, and Harry nodded. “He is doing as well as can be expected. However, further details are at his discretion to reveal. You may ask him yourself when you feel up to it, he is on the opposite side of the wing from you.”

Harry looked at Dumbledore in surprise, and Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled.

“Yes, Harry, some of the damage done to you is in the process of being reversed,” he explained.

Harry gulped back sudden overwhelming emotion, then paused. Some? He looked back at Dumbledore with a question in his eyes.

Dumbledore, fortunately, forewent his tendency to beat around the bush and answered the question directly. “You may have noticed already, but your fur and spots are completely gone. They actually appear to have shed as soon as Voldemort was dead. Your tongue is already growing back nicely, Harry, or so Madam Pomfrey and the specialist from St. Mungo’s say. They just finished determining what was used to remove your fingers and begun treating that, though they are confident that you will regain full digits and dexterity within the next few days.”

He paused, and Harry silently urged him to go on.

“Your legs, however, they are quite certain they cannot restore.”

Harry felt the bottom drop out of his stomach once again and looked away. He shook himself slightly. What was the big deal? He had already almost gotten used to the idea of being stuck that way forever, now he was going to be mostly healed, what was the big deal? And really, of all things, he would probably get by the best without his legs. He would still be able to speak, to communicate, to write, to use his wand and say spells.

Dumbledore gave him a brief moment before continuing. “A physical therapist from St. Mungo’s will come in the next few days and begin helping you learn how to move around without them. There is quite a bit more that can be done for you than was done for you while under Voldemorts purview, although Severus did an excellent job of healing your legs properly. You will be fitted for prosthetics and learn to walk again. You will find that with time, no one would be able to tell what you are missing unless they can see the prosthetics, or so the Healers have said. Even quidditch will be possible eventually.”

Harry looked back up at Dumbledore at that. Quidditch? Flying would not be beyond him? Then he remembered another question he had had. How long had he been a captive? What was the date?

Though it was embarrassing, he made another attempt at communicating, his newfound freedom and being tantalizingly close to answers too much for him to wait. “Ooow.. oo..” he tried, but knew that it had not succeeded when the twinkle in the periwinkle eyes dimmed.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Dumbledore said sadly, “I don’t understand. I know this must be frustrating for you, but Madam Pomfrey has assured me that your tongue should be restored enough in the next couple of days to be able to speak. Please try to be patient.”

Harry nodded shortly, a wave of fatigue settling over him. He yawned, and Dumbledore rested his hand on his shoulder once again.

“Rest, my boy. You are still healing, and Madam Pomfrey would have my head if I kept you up too long. Sleep.”

ooooo

When next he woke, startled out of a nightmare, the ward was dark, but in the light of the moon he could just make out a figure sitting in a chair by his bed. Startled, he tried scoot backwards, but stopped when he heard a familiar voice.

“Relax, Potter. You’ll wake the matron if you fall out of bed.”

Snape! This time, Harry was surprisingly glad to see him.

They were silent for a moment, and Harry’s eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He saw Snape shift and realized the man was bundled in a robe with a blanket across his lap, but that his hands were still shaking slightly.

“You look well, better than the last time I saw you,” Snape said at last.

Harry nodded and gestured to Snape, trying to convey his question with the frown on his face, though he knew his features were likely not visible in the dim light.

Snape paused, then sighed lightly. He raised one hand and watched it shake for a moment before letting it drop back to his lap. “Nerve damage. Prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus,” he said matter-of-factly. “The Healers have managed to diminish it somewhat.”

Harry nodded, and the two allowed the comfortable silence to grow. Eventually, Harry slept once again.

He was awoken in the morning when Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore came in to check on him. The matron immediately went tutting over to where Snape still sat by Harry’s bedside, admonishing him for being out of bed too soon. Dumbledore merely smiled at the scene, a knowing twinkle in his eye, then turned to Harry.

“My boy, it is good to see you awake. You look healthier even than yesterday.” He clasped his hands before him. “Now, your friends have requested to visit, and as you are awake and seem to be doing well, and Madam Pomfrey has already been wheedled down to allowing two at a time for no more than five minutes, I am inclined to oblige them.”

Harry looked horror struck at that, and Dumbledore’s twinkle dimmed.

“Harry? Is something the matter, my boy?” he asked.

Snape, who was occupied with trying to shoo the bustling matron away from him as he slowly stood, answered for the frozen Harry. “I do not believe he feels ready to see his friends just yet, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore looked over at Snape, then frowned at Harry. “Why ever not?”

Harry looked back at Snape, and Snape rolled his eyes. “Well I don’t know,” Snape began sarcastically. “Probably because he has already been paraded in front of many people in a humiliating state, and he wishes to avoid further embarrassment. At least wait until the boy can speak for himself, it will only be another day. Then he can decide for himself.”

“Is that what you wish, Harry? Would you rather wait?” Dumbledore asked kindly, although he still seemed slightly befuddled that Snape, of all people, understood the situation.

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore sighed. “All right, I will let them know,” he acquiesced.

ooooo

By the following day, Harry was able to speak and begin trying solid foods once again, something his stomach greatly appreciated. His tongue felt thick and awkward still, but he was assured that exercising it would help and that in the next few days it would feel as limber as usual. He was amazed by how strong the flavors felt on his new tongue, and enjoyed experiencing foods in a way that he had not been able to for a while, even if his fingers were still not re-grown enough for him to feed himself.

He was also finally able to ask all of his own questions. He learned that it was now early August, and that Voldemort had been defeated on July 30, the day before his sixteenth birthday. Also, the only Death Eaters that had escaped had been of the lower ranks, and were not thought to be a considerable threat.

His fingers were nearly grown in by the next day, although he still had difficulty managing utensils, and he allowed his friends to visit at last. It was slightly awkward at first talking to them. He felt simultaneously embarrassed by what they had seen that he had been reduced to, and somehow older than and cut off from them, by all that he had experienced over the past two months. They told him that Ron, Neville, and Fred had all been injured in the Final Battle, but had recovered completely. The only remnant was a scar on Ron’s forearm, but he did not seem saddened in the slightest at this.

They all seemed to awkwardly step around the issue of his missing legs, and he wished that they would not. Perhaps because the prospect had been all too real for two months, he was already beginning to feel some amount of closure about this loss. He was still sad, certainly, that his legs could not be fixed, but he was realizing that once he was fitted with prosthetics and he had learned and practiced enough, and enough time had passed, it would affect him rather little. He knew, for Madam Pomfrey had warned him, that he was in for a fair amount of work to get there, but he was confident that he would get there. And because of the mechanisms by which a wizard flew a broom, the specialist from St. Mungo’s (to Pomfrey’s chagrin) had mentioned that he may be back to flying as usual before he was walking completely normally, and that he likely would not require prosthetics to fly at all, although he had cautioned that the physical therapist would know better. Harry was feeling glad, for lack of a better word, that if one of his losses had to be permanent, that it had been his legs, rather than his tongue, or fingers, or even eyes.

Two days later, once his fingers had completely grown back, the physical therapist visited. She set him some exercises for his tongue and hands, and praised the progress he had made so far, then began working with him on skills he would need to learn to live without the lower half of his legs. Before she left, she gave him the magical version of a wheelchair, which was essentially the same as the muggle version, albeit a bit more sleek looking, and with an option of switching between magically-powered and manually-powered. However, she cautioned him to use the magically-powered version only when completely necessary, since he would need to work to build his arm muscles.

Once she was gone, Harry lay in bed, feeling sweaty and tired. As he began to think he might drift off to sleep, he heard what sounded like a muffled curse. As he listened more closely, he heard a thump and then several more curses in what was definitely Snape’s hiss.

He debated for a moment, then swung the blankets back off of himself and scooted to the edge of the bed. Pulling the new wheelchair into place, he carefully locked the wheels, braced himself, and then swung himself over into the seat. Pleased at his success, he situated himself comfortable, unlocked the wheels, and then began wheeling himself out from between his curtains and towards the sound he had heard.

He approached the curtains around what must be Snape’s bed with some trepidation. He had not seen Snape since several days before when he had told Dumbledore off for forcing Harry into seeing his friends. Actually, Harry had not even left the area immediately around his bed yet, staying within the enclosure of the curtains, although he had known that Snape was also still in the hospital wing.

When he pulled back the curtains, he saw Snape sitting on the edge of his bed and appearing to fumble with one of the cuffs of his shirt. He looked up when Harry came between the curtains.

“What, Potter?” Snape snapped, clearly in a foul mood.

Harry shrugged. “I heard you from my bed. Do you need help?”

“I am fine, Potter,” Snape insisted, then turned his attention back to his cuff. As he watched, Harry realized that he was struggling with buttoning it with his shaking fingers.

“Shouldn’t Madam Pomfrey be helping you, if you’re getting dressed? Is she discharging you?” Harry asked.

Snape scowled. “They cannot help me here any longer, so there is no reason for me to be here. I am returning to my own quarters. And the button is just stiff,” he added.

Harry was silent for a moment, then asked, “Are you sure I can’t help you?”

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but then met Harry’s eyes and paused. He sighed. “I suppose it is only fair.”

Harry inched forward carefully, working to maneuver around two chairs that partially blocked the path. When he reached Snape, he took the cuff of the starched white shirt carefully in his hands. A bit clumsily, his fingers still slightly stiff, he slowly fitted the button into the loop.

Snape pulled his hand back and nodded his thanks. Harry was just about to back out when the professor spoke.

“Has Dumbledore spoke to you at all about plans for the rest of the summer?”

Harry looked up, surprised. “No. He mentioned that I don’t need to go back to the Dursleys anymore, at least not for safety reasons. He seemed to think it wouldn’t be too hard to get them to give up my guardianship.” He swallowed. “I’m not sure… He hasn’t said if I’m just staying here for the rest of the summer, or…”

Snape nodded and finished his sentence for him. “Or whether another family will take you in? Perhaps even permanently?”

Harry nodded.

“Would you like that?”

Harry shrugged and looked away. “It’s complicated now. With all this.” He gestured to his legs and the wheelchair. “I don’t think many wizards have wheelchair accessible homes. And I know I’d be a lot to deal with.”

“Nightmares?”

Harry’s eyes snapped back to Snape’s.

“I’ve heard you, some nights,” Snape explained.

They sat in silence for another minute, then Snape added, “Too much mothering at the Weasleys?”

Harry quirked one corner of his mouth up.

“Well, if the Headmaster does not object, you are welcome at my place.”

Harry froze.

“I was planning on returning to my quarters at Hogwarts, at least while I get back on my feet. You should be perfectly able to maneuver within those rooms. I am not sure if…” He gestured to his hands. “I may not be staying long, with brewing... “ He shook himself slightly. “I have plenty saved up as it is, and my house could be easily converted, if you would like to stay with me more long term.”

Harry blinked, paused, and then blinked again. Slowly, he nodded.

Snape looked uncomfortable, but somehow Harry got the impression he was pleased. “Well. That’s that, then.” He stood. “I will see you shortly.” He held out a hand that tremored slightly to Harry, and Harry shook it. Then, without further ado, Snape stood carefully and walked past Harry and through the curtains.

Harry made his way back to his bed with a vague smile on his face. He swung himself back into the bed and fell asleep with the thought that things seemed to be looking up, after all.