“NOOO!” Severus screamed as Potter slid from his slippery grip.

He grabbed his broken wand and attempted every spell he could think of, but his wand only sparked angrily at him and refused to function. Instead, he watched in horror as the boy fell, his heart completely still.

The fall seemed to last hours—plenty of time for Severus to reflect on how he’d utterly failed. Time enough to be overcome with guilt that he had (however inadvertently) caused the boy’s death. Time enough to be filled with a hopeless helplessness, watching and knowing that there was nothing he could do.

Harry Potter kept falling, tumbling over and over in the air …

… and then he bounced.

Severus couldn’t believe his eyes. As if he had hit some invisible trampoline, Potter ricocheted back towards him and landed ungainly on the roof with an “Ouch!”

“P-Potter?” Severus stammered. “Y-you’re alive?”

“Ow,” Potter moaned. “Looks like it.” He sat up, nursing his head. “What was that?”

Overcome with relief that he hadn’t caused the boy’s death, Severus grabbed his shoulders, and almost pulled him close—but stopped himself at the last moment. Potter looked pretty startled.

“Are you all right?”

“Er, yeah I think so. Just a few bumps and bruises.”

Severus forced his stern expression back. “Perhaps this will teach you to be more careful, Potter.”

“Well I certainly won’t be coming up here again, if that’s what you mean,” the boy muttered. His eyes fell on the two wand pieces between them, and they grew solemn. “I’m sorry I broke your wand.”

Severus swallowed hard. “The important thing is you didn’t fall to your death. Now I think we’d better get down from here the safe way, and see what the Headmaster wants.”

He tried to get to his feet, but fell back with an undignified whimper. He wished he had known the last owner had cast a Safety Net Charm over the top of the rocks. Trying to hang onto Potter had sent crippling pain through his entire body. Under normal circumstances, he would never have been able to hold up something as heavy as a skinny sixteen-year-old at all—he had never pushed himself this far before.

“Professor?” Potter sounded strangely concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I—I’m fine,” Severus stammered, and gritting his teeth, tried to get up again. But every movement made the pain so much worse. Anyone with lesser self-control would have been screaming in agony.

“You don’t look fine,” Potter said, biting his lip. “Do you need help?”

Severus had never even asked Albus for help; the last thing he wanted was to ask Potter. But he knew from experience that the pain wouldn’t settle back to normal for days. He couldn’t stay up here all that time.

“I-I do, actually,” he half-whispered, completely humiliated. “I n-need your help to get up, Potter.”

Without asking any questions, Potter put one of Severus’ arms around his neck and pulled him to his feet. To his further shame, Severus’ legs refused to take his weight, and he leaned on Potter completely.

“I dunno how we’re going to get you down the ladder,” Potter said, looking anxiously down at them. “Any ideas?”

Severus thought for a moment. “Give me your wand.”

Potter pulled it from his pocket with his free hand and passed it to him. Severus conjured a parachute.

-

Snape’s knees buckled again once they hit the ground. Harry hung onto and steadied him, worried about his teacher. He didn’t understand what was wrong with Snape, and Snape didn’t seem keen on sharing, but he hoped his little accident hadn’t somehow hurt him.

He helped Snape into the house, and through to the living-room, where Snape collapsed looking relieved into an armchair. “Albus,” he croaked, and Harry turned around to see Dumbledore still in the fire, now frowning anxiously. “What is it?”

“Are you all right, Severus?”

“I’m fine. Just twisted my ankle a little on the roof; nothing I can’t fix. What were you calling for?”

“I believe I sent you the list of suggestions our colleagues came up with for the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for your input.”

“Oh, yes,” Snape muttered. “Well, I know for a fact that the Kettering family have Death Eater ties, and I’ve heard rumours about the sort of things Deerchase got up to in his last post which you certainly don’t want of a teacher. The others I don’t know anything about.”

“Thank you. Let me know if you think of anything else.” Dumbledore turned his eyes on Harry. “Having a good holiday, Harry?” he asked with a trace of humour in his eyes.

“I’ve had worse,” Harry said.

“That’s the spirit. Enjoy your renovations, Severus.”

“Bye, Albus.”

Once Dumbledore had gone, Harry gave Snape a stern look. “You did not twist your ankle. Why did you lie to Dumbledore?”

“That’s my business, Potter.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go home and leave you there, then. See you in the morning.”

“Wait!” Snape said quickly. Harry gave him a pointed look. “All right, fine. I’m … probably not going to be able to get up for hours, maybe even days.”

“How come?”

For a long moment Snape didn’t speak, just stared at the floor. “Post-Cruciatus effects,” he muttered finally, his cheeks reddening.

“Oh,” Harry said softly.

“It’s difficult—well, impossible really—for me to do things like moving heavy objects … heavy duty cleaning … that’s why I wanted an assistant to do the strenuous work. If I try, the pain flares up badly.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said awkwardly. “Is there anything I can do?”

Snape paused to think. “I don’t know how I can manage without my wand.”

“You could borrow mine—”

Snape shook his head vigorously. “And if the Dark Lord were to attack you whilst you had lent it to me? Don’t be stupid, Potter.”

“Okay … well, what if I were to get someone else to lend you their wand, or even come and look after you?”

“The Headmaster has enough on his plate, and …” Snape grimaced. “No-one else is going to volunteer.”

“I bet you I could Floo away now and be back with someone in five minutes,” Harry said.

“How much do you bet?”

“A Sickle.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

“Okay then.” Harry turned to the Floo.

He tumbled out of the fireplace at the Burrow, and was met with a number of excited squeaks. “Harry!” He was engulfed in hugs. “What are you doing here?”

“Where’s your mum?” Harry said to the twins.

“In the garden.”

He hurried outside without explaining, and found Molly and Ron outside in the middle of de-gnoming the garden.

“Harry!” Both were so startled, they dropped the gnomes they had been holding, who took the opportunity to escape. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “I don’t know if you heard, Mrs Weasley, that I got a job working for Snape—”

“Snape?” Ron gasped. “Are you off your rocker?”

“I heard, dear,” Molly said quickly. “Is he making things difficult again? Because I swear, if I hear of one more—”

“No, nothing like that. He’s, um, sort of not very well, and his wand’s broken, and he needs to either borrow a wand or have someone look after him for a few days—”

“Oh, the poor dear,” Molly said, Snape instantly going from the villain to one of her dears. “I’d be happy to help.”

Triumphant, Harry Flooed back to Snape’s house.

“I notice you return alone, Potter.”

“Not exactly,” Harry said. “Molly Weasley is packing an overnight bag and telling her family where she’s going. I believe you owe me a Sickle, sir.”

-

Harry left Snape in Molly’s capable hands. She was running him a hot bath when he left, a Sickle better off but feeling bad that Snape was in so much pain because of him.

He’d never known the Cruciatus had effects other than what had happened to Neville’s parents. He wondered if they had the pain as well as the insanity. How had Snape been tortured so much? Would Voldemort really do that to his own followers? Harry knew Voldemort did use the Cruciatus on his followers, but surely he wouldn’t use it enough to leave permanent damage? Why would anyone want to follow someone who did that to them?

Maybe that was why Snape had left Voldemort’s circle … Oh, no, whatever that reason was, Dumbledore knew it—and he obviously didn’t know about Snape’s Cruciatus effects, or Snape wouldn’t have lied to him, would he?

Harry sighed. His brain hurt.

He let himself into the Dursleys’ house, and looked for his aunt to ask her how soon she would be doing dinner, but couldn’t find her anywhere.

“Aunt Petunia? Aunt Petunia? … Uncle Vernon? Dudley?”

Finally he found a note on the kitchen bench.

Having dinner with your uncle’s boss. Help yourself to cereal or something. Aunt Petunia

-

Babysitting, which Harry had anticipated as a very demanding task, had actually been easier than he had expected. The twin five-year-olds were already in their pyjamas on their way to bed when he had arrived. What was more, their parents didn’t seem to recognise him as the Dursleys’ nephew, and he made no effort to enlighten them.

“Now this is the number you can reach us at, and I think that’s everything … Oh, and just to warn you, Petey sometimes wakes up after an hour or two and comes down for a snack. He can have anything from the tin on the bench, but nothing else.”

“Got it.”

Once the parents had gone, the kids had happily done their teeth, and let him read them a story and tuck them into bed.

“Mr Harry?”

“Yes, Polly?” Harry said with a grin. He had never been called Mr Harry before.

“You’re nicer than our last babysitter.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Now go to sleep, kiddos.”

They giggled a little when he turned off the main light, but soon settled down. He hovered on the landing till he was sure they were asleep, then returned downstairs and took out a textbook, which he’d hidden inside a Muggle book’s dust cover.

After an hour and a half, he heard little footsteps on the stairs, and put his book down. “Petey? Is that you?”

The little boy appeared in the lounge doorway. “Mr Harry, can I have something to eat?”

“’Course you can. Come on.” Harry led him into the kitchen and opened the tin on the bench. “What would you like?”

“Ice cream.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you ice cream, kiddo; your parents said you’re only allowed what’s in here.” He held out the tin and rattled it invitingly.

Petey pouted. “I want ice cream.”

“No ice cream,” Harry said firmly.

“Chocolate?”

“Or chocolate. Pick something from in here.”

Petey folded his arms and sulked.

Harry rifled through the tin. “We’ve got crackers, breadsticks, raisins …”

“They’re too crunchy. And I don’t like fruit.”

Harry had a brainwave. “How about I make them all soggy?”

Petey looked on in fascination as Harry crushed several crackers and mixed them with cold water, creating a mush, then mixed some raisins into it. “There. Now you can pretend you have chocolate chip ice cream.”

“Um …”

“Open wide!” Harry loaded a spoon and made choo-chooing noises. “Here comes the train towards the tunnel!”

It worked like a dream. Petey not only ate the mush, he actually seemed to like it. Once he was done, Harry made him clean his teeth again, tucked him back up in bed, and washed up.

Piece of cake, he thought. He regretted his choice of words a moment later as his stomach groaned. Harry firmly closed the lid on the tin of snacks and pushed it far away from him before he lost the battle not to help himself. He was not going to steal even one cracker from his employers—especially since he didn’t trust himself to stop at one if he started.