The night brought a strange quiet to number four Privet Drive. It was a hollow, moonless night. Darkness seemed to swallow everything it could touch.

Despite his best efforts a young wizard tossed and turned on his limp, overly abused mattress. He was totally restless and even though he was utterly exhausted sleep refused to claim him.

Harry turned over onto his side. He was soaked with sweat and his scar felt like a red-hot coal as it burned fiercely on his skin. Gently, he reached up and fingered the lightning shaped mark on his forehead and pressed his sweaty palm to the tingling skin in an attempt to calm the unpleasant sensation. He knew that nothing he did would work, this was one of the things in his life that he just had to wait out.

Harry tried to ignore the searing heat from his scar. Whatever was the matter someone else would have to deal with it. There wasn’t much that he could do about anything in his present situation. He was both locked in his room and restricted from using magic when he wasn’t attending Hogwarts.

It was nearly two hours later when Harry had started to doze peacefully. A small noise snapped him to alertness and he sat upright in his bed. He reached instinctively for his glasses. He slipped the spectacles onto his face even though it was pitch black in the bedroom and he couldn’t see a thing anyway. Harry sat quiet and listened hard. Several seconds passed and there had been only silence.

Just as Harry was about to try and relax, he heard a small thumping sound. Somebody was coming up the stairs and they were heading straight for his little prison.

The Dursleys surely wouldn’t be up at this time of night, Harry thought to himself. No, someone strange was in the house.

Harry quietly flicked on his desk lamp and quickly he retrieved his wand from its hiding place beneath a loose floorboard in his room. The young wizard could hear the whispered unlocking charm forcing the bolts that kept him a prisoner in his uncle’s home to unlock.

The boy knew that he had no escape except to fight. He knew all too well the consequences for using magic outside of school, but he knew he’d be forgiven for using it in self-defense if he could prove it. He hoped that the Ministry of Magic would spare him the displeasure of expulsion from Hogwarts and a snapped wand.

Harry cast his disarming spell just as the door opened wide enough to expose the intruder’s black cloak. Harry gasped in disbelief, he had missed his target entirely.

“Now, now, Potter. That’s not very wise, all things considered.”

Harry instantly recognized the cool, condescending tone hidden beneath the security of the thick, dark cloak.

“You?” Harry stammered, although he wasn’t really all that surprised. The man in the cloak advanced a step. “No! You stay back!”

Harry raised his wand and threatened to use it if the man persisted.

“You’ll have to put your wand away, Potter. I’m afraid that you must accompany me. My Master wishes it.”

Although he couldn’t see to be sure, Harry knew that the man under the cloak was wearing a cruel sneer. Not waiting to be attacked Harry cast another spell and was horrified at how easily it was sidestepped.

“Stupefy!” the cruel voice called out, a dark surge of power quickly found its mark. Harry dropped lifelessly to the floor as his uncle cursed at him to stop making such a terrible amount of noise.

Four Weeks Later:

Harry painfully regained consciousness at his uncle’s home, he was back in his small room. How he’d gotten there he didn’t know. Where he’d been and what he’d experienced over the past four weeks he couldn’t say. The last thing he remembered was waking up because of the unpleasant fire of his scar. Everything else had been lost to him. Harry was grateful to be back in familiar settings, but why felt as though he’d been away he didn’t recall.

Harry started to drift off again, ignoring the dull thud that pulsed in his skull. There was no point to paying the pain any mind, since he would get no amount of sympathy in his uncle’s home. Harry released a fatigued sigh as he allowed his bone-weary body an attempt to rest.

“No! Please, I don’t know anything! No! Don’t!!” Harry screamed and thrashed violently in his troubled sleep.

A nightmare, and it was a fresh one. Voldemort was thankfully not present in this dream, but another familiar figure dressed in a dark cloak was there. The dark figure wanted answers, answers that Harry could not give even if he had wanted to.

Vernon Dursley woke with a start. Was that who he thought it was? Hadn’t he just gotten rid of that freak? Why had Potter returned? Probably too lazy and complacent to make it out in the real world, Vernon thought. Things had probably gotten too difficult and Potter decided that he’d made a mistake running away. The boy had returned just as he’d left. Without permission.

Vernon stormed furiously into Potter’s unusually unlocked bedroom. He grabbed the screaming boy by the shirt collar, yanked him upward and shook him roughly awake.

“You shut up this instant! I’ll not have you rousing the entire neighborhood with your thoughtless racket! You lazy Boy! Why did you have to come back?! We were just getting used to the idea of never seeing another freak like you again!”

Harry had stopped screaming the moment he’d been jostled awake. He gripped his uncle’s tight fist that twisted the boy’s battered t-shirt like a choke chain. Harry struggled to pull himself up enough to be able to breathe. The young boy gasped both in fright and in effort, he was completely covered in a sleek night sweat. Once Vernon realized that the boy had become quiet he suddenly released his vise grip and allowed the weak boy to drop roughly back to the mattress.

“Boy, you had better not make another sound, because even if Petunia says that you have to stay, I still control this house. You’ll find yourself out on the street so fast-,” Vernon paused mid-rant and took in his nephew’s features. The boy’s appearance was absolutely awful, even Vernon took notice, but by the faraway look in the boy’s eyes Vernon knew Harry wasn’t paying him any mind anymore.

Vernon turned away to leave, he felt slightly better having just vented on the Potter boy. Vernon locked Harry in his bedroom and then Vernon went back to his own room to a peaceful sleep.

Harry managed to keep quiet, but he didn’t allow himself to go back to sleep as he would have liked. He knew that sleep would bring nightmares with it and then he would risk losing his home. Even if it was an unhappy home, it was the only home he had ever known.

It was several hours later when Aunt Petunia pounded viciously on Harry’s door and screeched at him to finish cooking the breakfast.

Harry let a sigh of disappointment escape his lips as he moved to get dressed. The boy sat up and put his bare feet on the floor. He found his shoes and socks and automatically slipped into them. Harry stood up and swayed dizzily on his feet. His vision went dark for a moment and he quickly sat down on the edge of the bed before his knees had the chance to buckle.

Harry could feel his swimming head settling after a few seconds. With a breath of determination the young wizard stood and headed for his recently unlocked door. Harry stumbled wearily downstairs and made his way toward the kitchen.

The boy made his way to the stove where bacon and eggs had started cooking. Harry caught a good whiff of the warming food and felt his stomach lurch violently. He stumbled backward from the food feeling nauseated. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep from vomiting.

“What are you doing?” Aunt Petunia snapped, glaring angrily at her nephew.

Harry’s face had completely drained of all the healthy color he’d had left in his face. He had been pale before and was paper white now. Harry stared blankly at his aunt and felt his balance begin to falter. Harry reeled as his stomach boiled angrily. His eyes widened and he clamped his other hand over the first as he tried to stifle a heave. Harry turned away from his aunt and raced to the bathroom. He slammed the door shut and barely made it to the toilet before he could not restrain his stomach any longer.

Twenty minutes later his bout of nearly dry heaves had subsided. Harry flushed the toilet and washed his face with cool tap water. He dried his pale face with a freshly laundered towel that was certainly not intended for his use.

A loud banging on the bathroom door caused the boy to start. He set the now damp towel on the edge of the sink and looked himself over in the mirror. He looked as bad as he felt, but he really didn’t seem to feel any concern about whether or not he would get better.

“Potter! You’ve been in there long enough! Come out of there at once!” Vernon’s voice pierced clearly through the barrier of the bathroom door in a threatening tone.

Harry shook his head dejectedly and slumped out of the bathroom to face his relatives and their demands of him.

After several long hours filled with less then kind words and a seemingly endless list of chores, Harry felt weaker then ever. He was standing over a sink of hot water dismally scrubbing dirty dishes.

Harry reached into the hot water and pulled out a white glass plate. He scrubbed it clean without thinking about it and moved to set it carefully in the opposite sink to be rinsed off.

Vernon Dursley bristled as he heard the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen. He stormed toward the kitchen with heat building in his face and his voice box.

“What in blazes are you doing, boy?!” Vernon shouted furiously as he saw the shards of pearly white glass glittering happily at him from the kitchen floor. As he entered the kitchen fully, he could see his nephew was sprawled out on the floor in a small puddle of soapy dishwater and pieces of glass.

“Bloody Hell!” Vernon cursed as he approached the boy and shook him by the shoulder. “Wake up boy! I’ll have none of your shenanigans now!”

Harry’s eyes fluttered open on command for a moment and he slurred out an apology. Vernon picked the small boy up under the shoulders and dragged him upstairs to his room. The entire trip up the stairs Vernon cursed the young boy and ranted about him being contagious.

Harry woke a few minutes later to find himself in his bed and his unhappy uncle towering over him.

“I don’t want you here while you’re diseased,” Vernon stated matter of factly. “I’ll not have you spreading your sickness to the rest of us. You’re going to write those freaky friends of yours and ask to stay with them.”

Harry nodded only half coherent and glanced toward Hedwig’s cage. Thankfully during his absence the owl had been free to come and go through his bedroom window. The window had once been barred shut. Thanks to the Weasley brothers Vernon had decided against barring the window a second time. Harry often left the window open to allow the owl free rein.

Harry found a piece of parchment and scrawled a quick message explaining things to his friend Ron. He tied the brief note to Hedwig’s leg and she took off with an excited hoot.

“I’ll not have you dying in my home! You can die with your own kind,” Vernon growled menacingly, which Harry tried not to hear as he stumbled back toward his bed.

“What if I can’t find anyone to stay with?” Harry asked softly, almost hoping for a shred of mercy from his uncle.

“You’d better hope that they take you in, because you won’t be staying here much longer.”

‘Oh, I expected as much from you,’ Harry thought to himself, his uncle’s harsh words had little effect.

After muttering some more insults at Harry, Vernon finally left the boy alone in his room. Harry deflated with relief and flopped down onto his flat pillow. Within minutes he had fallen asleep, again.

“Harry, Harry, wake up,” a familiar male voice implored the sleeping boy to rise from his bed. Harry screwed up his features in displeasure and mumbled that he didn’t want any breakfast.

Ron chuckled a bit, but didn’t relent. “Harry, come on mate we want to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes as he realized the voice was not connected to his dreams. Ron, Fred and George were all staring at Harry with obvious worry in their expressions.

“Ron?” Harry blinked and straightened his glasses, which he had forgotten to remove before falling asleep.

“Yeah Harry, it’s me. We got your message. Figured it’d be best if we got you out of here as soon as possible. Come on let’s get your trunk.”

Harry nodded in agreement and sat up in his bed. He took a few deep breaths to calm his constantly dizzy head and queasy stomach. He stood as soon as he felt a bit better and moved to show the Weasleys where he kept his possessions.

“Ron, how are we leaving? We aren’t walking to the Burrow, are we?” Harry asked as he shoved his things into his trunk.

“No,” Ron said with a grin, “We’re definitely not walking. I don’t think you’d make it if we were. We’ve got a Portkey.”

“But,” Harry started, but Ron cut him off with a shake of his head.

“Please, don’t ask. The less you know about it the better off you’ll be,” Ron stated giving a guilty swallow.

Harry nodded even though he was definitely less then satisfied with Ron’s explanation. Before he had time to try and interrogate Ron further Fred and George approached.

“Here Harry, you wouldn’t want to leave this behind. You might need it soon,” Fred stated holding out Harry’s wand.

Strange, Harry didn’t remember taking his wand from its hiding place in the floor and yet Fred had picked it up off the floor like a piece of rubbish. Harry shook his head, quickly took the wand back and shoved it into his back pocket despite the danger it posed resting there.

“Have you got everything?” George asked as he glanced about the small bedroom.

Harry nodded reaching for his Firebolt that he had kept in his small closet. As far as he could tell they’d taken everything he had of value and placed it in his trunk. Harry held his broomstick, Ron had Hedwig’s cage and the twins had shouldered the burden of Harry’s trunk.

“All set to go then Harry?” Fred asked, Harry nodded a little more urgently then he had intended.

Fred reached into his back pocket and withdrew an old Farmer’s Almanac. He gently uncurled the old magazine and everyone took hold of a corner. Seconds later Harry felt the disgustingly familiar tug of the Portkey at his navel.

The moment Harry’s feet returned shakily to solid ground he dropped hard on his knees. His grip on his broom went slack and he crumpled in a heap on the floor, dead to the world.

Something cool was gently being pressed to his feverish forehead. It felt nice against his constantly aching head. Harry slowly opened his eyes to blurred vision. It took his several seconds to realize that someone had removed his glasses.

“Harry dear, you’re awake,” Harry recognized Mrs. Weasley’s voice. She sounded worried. “How are you feeling, dear?”

Mrs. Weasley handed Harry his glasses and he gratefully slipped them on to clear vision.

“I’m feeling much better, thanks,” Harry lied.

“Oh thank Merlin,” Mrs. Weasley visibly relaxed. “Harry, I was so worried when we got your letter.”

Harry tried to sit up and found it much more difficult then he had expected it to be. Mrs. Weasley gently pushed him back against the couch Fred and George had carried him to earlier. He was in fact glad that she’d kept him from sitting up; it was hardly worth the effort.

“You should rest a bit more, dear,” she gave him a motherly smile and swabbed his forehead once more. “You still don’t look too well.” He nodded silently, not willing to argue with her.

“Hey there Mate,” Ron said sauntering over with a cheerful smile to pat Harry on the shoulder.

“Thanks for letting me stay with you,” Harry said softly as Mrs. Weasley wiped his forehead again.

“We couldn’t just leave you there to suffer. Besides Harry, Mum would never have let us ignore you even if we’d wanted to,” Ron stated with a silly grin.

Mrs. Weasley had fawned over the pale Gryffindor, offering him every bit of food she had in her possession. Harry had to fight himself to subdue the urge to gag.

“Really Mrs. Weasley, I- I’m not very hungry,” Harry mumbled as Mrs. Weasley tried to coax him into drinking a cup of watered down tea.

Thankfully she seemed to give up on the attempt to feed the starved boy and set the full cup of tea on the saucer in her lap. After a few moments she took a sip of it herself. Truthfully Harry didn’t recall the last decent meal he’d had to eat. Normally the boy would have devoured everything she’d presented him with glee.

He didn’t have to go to bed hungry, unlike when he’d been in his uncle’s home. Nothing seemed to be able to whet his appetite. Thinking about eating anything made him feel dizzy, he’d never had a reason to feel this way before. But the sensation was there, haunting him, breathing hotly down his neck and he could not disobey.

No food. He didn’t really need it anyway. Food, he had learned was a luxury. Something used to control him. The Dursleys had often tried to starve Harry’s Wizard heritage out of him. They had of course, failed. No one else would break him either, he wasn’t giving in again.

Harry had fallen asleep to escape Mrs. Weasley’s imploring look, as she wanted him to take in food. He almost wished that he would have stayed awake once he realized which direction his dream was turning.

Harry was trapped in a dark, cold dungeon. He was frozen to one of the damp walls. He couldn’t breathe. Someone was smothering him.

“Potter, if you’d simply swallow the potion I will allow you to breathe once more,” the cold voice shivered from beneath the dark cloak.

Harry tried to shake his head in refusal, but couldn’t, the magical bindings would not allow him to move. He would rather die of suffocation then swallow the potion he held in his mouth. His vision went dark for a moment, his eyes rolled and his knees weakened. He was going to die if he couldn’t breathe soon.

“Very well, Potter. It does me no good to allow you to die at the moment,” the dark tone murmured an enchantment under his breath and Harry felt the bonds forcing him to the wall release.

He fell to his knees and choked out the refused potion onto the dungeon floor. He coughed and sputtered for a moment taking in air in desperate gasps. Just as he recovered his breath he let out a scream of open agony. Harry hadn’t even heard the man curse him, but he writhed on the floor as a result.

“Arrgh!” Harry screamed loudly in his sleep, causing Mrs. Weasley to wake with a bad start. “No, not again! Arrgh!” Harry’s back arched as he thrashed helplessly on the Weasley’s couch.

“Harry, Harry dear, wake up,” Mrs. Weasley gently shook the boy trying to pull him out of his nightmare. After a few moments he jerked awake, looking about with wild, lost eyes. He had no idea where he was.

“Easy now dear,” she said to him soothingly as she eased him back against the pillows. She stroked his sweat-dampened hair in an effort to calm him. “It’s all right, you were dreaming.”

Harry nodded wearily. Mrs. Weasley offered Harry a cool drink of water. He almost refused it, but he took the cold glass in his trembling hands and stared at it. His stomach rumbled at him in warning, but he ignored it and gulped the water down as if it would be his last drink.

‘Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,’ Harry thought to himself as his belly gurgled in protest of the water. He swallowed and tried to force the sick feeling away. Mrs. Weasley had taken the drained glass from him and started bathing his forehead with a fresh damp cloth.

Harry sighed in misery. The fire in his stomach was almost too much to bear. Mrs. Weasley was speaking to him in gentle tones and even though he really didn’t understand a word she told him, it helped him feel safe. He closed his eyes tentatively and listened to the sound of Mrs. Weasley’s soothing voice. Before he could think to resist himself, he was once again a prisoner to sleep.

When Harry awoke about an hour and a half later, he knew instantly that he’d been taken from the Burrow. He was . . . in Sirius’s home. Why had he been brought here? Of all the places in the world he could have been dragged to while he slept it had to be here.

Harry forced himself to sit up from the bed he’d been sleeping on and he instinctively hunted for his glasses. He plucked his glasses off of the night stand they’d been resting on and shakily placed them on his face.

Harry pricked his ears. He could hear voices. He strained to hear them clearly through the nasty, unceasing pounding in his head. Harry winced as he forced himself to stand on legs that seemed to be filled with water. He caught himself against the wall and had to allow his body time to disregard the fierce pulsing sensation in his temples.

Harry allowed the vague sound of the muddled voices to guide him as he stumbled through his late Godfather’s home. The young wizard tried very hard not to look at anything in the house. He tuned everything out but his goal, like he had always done while playing Quidditch. Nothing mattered to him but the Golden Snitch. It was the same with this. At least Harry tried to force himself to think that way.

The young Gryffindor wandered into the dining room where four familiar adults were seated around Sirius’s table. Harry stopped just in the doorway to lean against the door jam for a moment, the boy took a deep breath and looked up.

Remus Lupin was seated next to Mrs. Weasley. They were both halfheartedly nursing cups of lukewarm tea. Professor Dumbledore was seated at the head of the table, while Professor Snape was brooding at the opposite end.

“Ah, Harry dear boy. It is excellent to see that you’re awake,” Dumbledore said with a soft smile.

Harry didn’t respond, he didn’t move a muscle. It was as though he hadn’t heard a single word the Headmaster had said to him.

“Come and sit down, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley offered the empty chair across from her and offered him tea, which he refused.

Harry dragged miserably toward the chair, every step seemed to pain him.

“Mr. Potter, Mrs. Weasley tells me that you haven’t been feeling well? Are you ill, dear boy?” Dumbledore asked gently, his eyes filled with genuine concern. Harry found that he didn’t want meet the kindly man’s gaze.

“I- I’m just not feeling well, Sir. It’s nothing, really,” Harry answered as he concentrated on his reflection in the glossy wood of the dining room table.

“Does your illness have anything to do with the four weeks that you were missing from the Dursley’s home?” Dumbledore leaned forward in expectation of an answer, everyone waited on bated breath for his answer.

Harry stiffened, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Sir.”

“Tell me about you nightmares, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore’s gentle voice prodded him, Harry visibly flinched.

“I’ve told you about them already,” Harry mumbled quickly not wanting to talk anymore.

“I’m speaking of your more recent dreams, dear boy,” Dumbledore prodded again, not ready to allow Harry to retreat just yet.

“Sir, . . . Voldemort has not been present in my recent nightmares. I’d rather not talk about them with anyone,” Harry answered in an almost cold tone, there was a brief flash of rebellion in his eyes.

Snape gave an audible snort of revulsion before he spoke, “Well, obviously it was a complete waste of time to bring everyone here. It seems to me that Potter is not going to cooperate, he doesn’t appear to want to be helped,” Snape’s cool tone of voice made Harry shiver inside involuntarily.

“Well, whether or not Mr. Potter wishes to cooperate we are going to see to it that he receives all the help that he needs,” Dumbledore stated with an edge of authority in his soft tone.

The Potions Master silently rolled his eyes in disgust. If Potter didn’t want to be helped, then why should they all waste their efforts on a lost cause?

“Harry, I’ve decided that it would be best to send to you Hogwarts with Professor Snape. Perhaps with his and Madam Pomfrey’s help you can get back to your old self once more,” Dumbledore stated calmly, the smile was gone from his face, and his voice seemed a bit sterner then normal.

Harry drummed his fingers impatiently on the sleek surface of Sirius’s table in time with the pulsing that he heard in his eardrums. Within a few seconds the pristine surface of the table was blemished with the boy’s fingerprints.

It wasn’t enough that he wouldn’t be allowed to be with friends for the rest of the summer. He had to go to Hogwarts with the Professor that completely despised him for medical attention he didn’t want. Snape probably didn’t want to help Harry anyway, Dumbledore was probably making him do it. Certainly the head of the Slytherin house wouldn’t have volunteered to help Harry of his own free will.

“All things willing, Harry, and you’ll be able to attend school on time. If you have not recovered to my satisfaction by the time the next term begins, I shall be forced to look into other alternatives for your well being.”

Dumbledore was talking again, Harry knew it, but he wasn’t listening anymore. All these people seemed to want was to make him miserable. Sending him away to Hogwarts with Snape? Dumbledore should have just written Harry off the very moment the words came out of his mouth, because Snape wasn’t really going to try and help Harry anyway. Harry wasn’t going to allow it even if Snape tried at all, it wasn’t what he wanted.

“Harry, before you leave I’m afraid I must ask you to surrender your wand to Professor Snape. I assure you that it will be returned to you safely once you are well again,” Dumbledore’s words were spoken without even a slight hint of hesitation.

Was Dumbledore actually serious? Surrender his wand, his only real defense to . . . Snape. ‘No, I certainly won’t be doing that tonight,’ thought Harry.

Without so much as a look of warning the boy rose from his chair, startling Mrs. Weasley when his chair clattered to the floor behind him.

“Sir, I can’t give my wand to him! I need it!” Harry called out to the Headmaster in a pleading tone, asking him to reconsider.

“I assure you, child, that Severus will keep your wand safe for you. Just as he will make every effort to help you get well again. I’m quite sure that you will be perfectly safe at the school without your wand.”

“But Sir,” Harry began trying to sound calm, rational. It was difficult to be convincing. “I’m afraid you don’t understand. I can’t give my wand to him. I won’t give it to him, Sir,” There was a hint of defiance in the boy’s tone as he spoke, he showed no sign of being willing to compromise.

Dumbledore looked at Harry with eyes full of pity. Lupin and Mrs. Weasley shared looks of disconcertment. Professor Snape simply appeared put out.

“I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense,” Snape spat as he stood with confident smoothness. “Arguing with Potter in his state, serves little purpose. It is just wasting time that could be put to better use. Even if it has to be used to helping Potter.”

Harry shot Snape an icy look, no one had asked for his opinion on the matter. Without thinking Harry reached back and lightly gripped his wand. He tightened his grip and slid it from the security of his back pocket. He held it tightly at his side. There was no way that he was letting go of it willingly.

“Accio wand!” Professor Snape shouted and before Harry could react his wand obediently tore away from his tight grip and landed softly in the palm of Snape’s pale hand.

Harry felt his hands clench in fists of sudden rage, he’d never wanted to curse someone so very badly. He wanted to see Snape suffer dearly. He would have crossed the room to confront the greasy professor, but a sharp stab of pain in his middle subdued him with a loud hiss of pain. Harry steadied himself using Sirius’s table, to his surprise Snape had closed the distance between them. He was within spitting distance.

Snape glanced at Dumbledore, unfamiliar urgency momentarily creasing his stern features; Dumbledore gave the Professor a slight nod. The Potions Master grabbed Harry’s arm tightly, and before Harry could pull back, he recognized the horrid wrench of the Portkey forcing him away. He had the strangest feeling that he was never going to get his wand back, ever.

Harry had wanted to drop to the stone floor the very instant the soles of his shoes hit something solid. He found that as he wavered he was met with stern resistance. Snape still hadn’t released his firm hold on Harry’s arm. The Professor pulled the boy toward a chair. Once Harry was seated willingly, he took in slow dizzy breaths as he blearily glanced around. As far as he could tell he was in Snape’s office.

Snape pulled a small vial from his robes and offered it to Harry. The boy shook his head in stubborn refusal.

“Drink it,” came the cold command. There was something dangerous in Snape’s expression. Not wanting to tempt Snape’s temper the boy begrudgingly accepted the potion.

“What is it?” Harry asked, not even certain he cared to know the answer.

“Just drink it. It will help you,” Snape’s silky tone was edged with impatience, he did not like to be questioned by students.

Harry felt his stomach jerk sharply. ‘Don’t drink that, you’ll regret it,’ Harry heard his inner voice in a tone of warning. ‘I can decide for myself, thanks,’ he told himself. Without another moment’s hesitation Harry unstopped the vial and took the potion in one swallow.

The potion sent a warm shivering sensation throughout his body. He closed his eyes, enjoying the soothing feeling. Until the potion filled his belly, when it hit his stomach with the force of a swift kick.

Why had he listened to Snape instead of his inner voice? Harry should have known better than that. He should have known that Snape only wanted to see him suffer. With a sharp cry of pain Harry doubled over, clutching his mid-section earnestly. He was boiling from the inside. Snape was surely killing him.

Snape was surprised by the boy’s reaction to the potion. The potion he’d given to Harry was supposed to help ease his discomfort, not increase it ten-fold. The boy’s adverse reaction was very strange.

With surprisingly graceful speed Snape had returned to Harry’s side, offering him a second small vial that had been concealed in the folds of his robes. Some other poison, Harry thought as he shrieked in torment. The boy fell hard from the chair he’d been seated on and curled in a screaming ball of tortured flesh. Snape knelt down and tried to hold the vial to Harry’s lips to get the new potion into the boy’s system. The boy had his teeth clenched between gasping screams, it was impossible to feed him the potion without letting him aspirate it.

‘A sudden death is better than this torture,’ Harry’s inner voice told him, ‘take what he’s offering. End this suffering now.’ Harry would not disobey that small voice twice, obediently he relaxed his jaw and took in the potion that Snape offered.

A wave of fresh sickness came over Harry, and his stomach twisted in protest. Harry barely sensed something being held near his face. Was that a bucket?

As his stomach heaved violently he understood at once. Snape didn’t want him to dirty the floor of his office. Harry found himself gripping the sides of the bucket with unsteady hands. In a few miserable moments the fire in his belly had faded and now rested in a disgusting pool at the base of Snape’s bucket.

Snape frowned down at Harry, folding his arms neatly across his chest. The Professor made a small noise of disapproval. Perhaps the best thing to do for Potter was to try and find out what exactly had happened to him. It wouldn’t do to force him to drink another potion and unwittingly cause the boy to meet his end.

“Finished?” Snape asked giving Harry a look filled with disgust.

Harry closed his eyes and tried very hard to pretend that he was alone for a few moments. Snape wasn’t there staring at him with black drilling eyes. Harry wasn’t going to listen.

Snape whispered a spell over the contaminated bucket and pulled in out from under the boy with a slight scraping noise on the stone floor. He was staring again. Harry could feel it, even through his closed eyes, Snape wasn’t going to leave him alone.

“Why didn’t you let me die?” Harry stammered weakly.

Snape scoffed, “It is not my assignment to allow you to die. Did you miss what the Headmaster told you?”

“Well,” Harry began as he tried to force himself into a more dignified position, “you just tried to poison me. What was it that made you change your mind, Sir?”

“In spite of my feelings toward you it was not my intention to poison you. Nor was it my intent to send you into that unpleasant screaming fit. That potion should have helped to settle your stomach, your reaction to it was most unexpected.”

Harry stayed silent, he wasn’t sure if he could believe Snape or not.

“Potter, I need to know what happened to you during your absence from your relatives.”

“Sir, it’s like I told Professor Dumbledore. I don’t know anything,” Harry’s expression was blank, uncaring.

“You do realize that you were missing for four weeks? I should think you would have remembered something,” Snape narrowed his cold eyes, searching for the subtle hints of dishonesty that he’d come to know from being a Professor.

“So everyone tells me, Sir. But I don’t remember anything. I haven’t been anywhere,” Harry replied dismally.

“Hmmm,” Snape muttered thoughtfully. This was obviously getting him nowhere. “When was the last time you had a decent meal, or a shower for that matter, Potter?”

Harry shrugged, he didn’t know or care that he hadn’t eaten in quite a while. His stomach hurt too much to feel hunger pangs. And as for the shower he wasn’t too concerned about the way that he smelled.

Snape had all but dragged the famous Harry Potter to the showers a disgusted sneer creasing his pale face as he guided the weak Gryffindor’s path. Harry despite his serious lack of interest cleaned himself up and found a clean set of robes awaiting him. He dressed quickly. Well, as quickly as his fumbling hands could manage.

Harry emerged to find a glowering Potions Master. “Well that’s an improvement. Come along now, Potter,” Snape sighed as he began to lead Harry down to the dungeons.

Snape led Harry downward toward the familiar potions classroom. The Potions Master swished neatly passed the rows of empty desks toward a dark corner of the classroom. There was a large bookshelf that Harry recognized from all the time he’d spent in the classroom.

Snape raised his wand and whispered a charm in a gentle, silky tone. The laden bookshelf shifted booth easily and smoothly away from the wall. Harry was startled to see a heavy wooden door.

“Alohamora,” Snape chanted in a soft voice. The large door obediently opened with the familiar click of a turning lock.

Harry peered inside the hidden room. It was a prison cell. At that moment Snape’s intentions became very clear to Harry.

The boy slowly began to back away, if he was quiet Snape would not notice him leaving. Harry flinched as he felt a firm hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Oh, I’m afraid you cannot leave just yet, Mister Potter. We have many things to discuss yet,” Snape purred darkly in his silky tone as he pulled Harry inside of the small bare cell behind him. “This will be much easier on you if you do not resist.”

The large door slammed shut, clicking locked due to Snape’s quiet charms. Harry was trapped. He was alone and completely at the mercy of Severus Snape.

“I trust, Mr. Potter, that you have not completely forgotten your Occlumency lessons?”

Harry swirled around to face Snape. The boy had been pounding furiously on the locked door for the past few minutes. This place seemed vaguely familiar, but Harry knew that he had never been in this room before. Harry gave Snape a blank, sickened look. He wanted out of this room. Now.

“Potter, if you would kindly stop behaving like a caged animal, I should like to explain things to you before we proceed.”

Snape waited quietly. And he waited. Potter didn’t seem to be interested in anything Snape had to say. The boy’s sole concern was to find a way out of the dimly lit cell, before something bad happened to him.

“Potter, there is no other way out of this cell. Stop wasting time,” Snape snapped impatiently. “Now, do you remember Occlumency or not?”

Harry nodded, he remembered those lessons with Snape all too well.

“Alright, that’s a start at least,” Snape stated coldly. “What I am going to do is very much like Occlumency, but with this I do not want you to resist me.”

Harry felt the tips of his fingers turn to ice. Snape wanted him to do what? Submit? The very thought of Harry allowing Snape into his thoughts willingly was insane. The man was a nutter.

“Potter?” Snape’s voice snapped Harry to attention.

Harry didn’t want to cooperate. His head hurt him enough without Snape muddling through his memories.

“Potter, do you understand what I’ve said to you?”

Snape recognized the look of horror on the boy’s face. It was perfectly clear that the boy understood, and that he didn’t want to cooperate at all. There was no other alternative. Snape had to know what was causing Harry to act so strangely in order to be able to help him properly.

Snape hated unhappy memories as much as anyone. He was quite certain that if he were in the boy’s place he would not let his thoughts be read willingly. The Potions Master expected no less from The Boy Who Lived.

Snape closed the space between the boy and himself. Harry almost instinctively shrank back, but Snape warned him against it with a more than stern look. The Potions Master cleared his throat and slowly drew his wand from the folds of his dark robes.

“Now then, Potter,” Snape spoke very softly, locking eyes with Harry for a moment. The young wizard quickly broke away from the stare, knowing what it could do. “Take a deep breath and try not to resist me.”

Harry steeled himself for Snape’s impending assault on his mind. Without his wand he could not fight back properly. He would have hexed the Potions Master if he had still had his wand, but the boy would settle for simple defiance instead. The hexing would have to wait.

Snape could feel Potter’s mental resistance as soon as he uttered the spell to enter the boy’s mind. It was plainly obvious that Snape was not welcome in the boy’s thoughts, but then he had not expected a warm reception. Snape concentrated a bit harder, as the boy could not resist forever.

‘No, I won’t let you see my memories. They’re mine.’ Harry’s defense was waning. It would be a matter of seconds before he could not resist any longer. The boy trembled from the effort of his resistance. It was pointless to fight the more experienced wizard, yet Harry found it very difficult to give up.

He was in his bedroom the night that he’d been taken. His scar was burning with fury. ‘No,’ Harry thought, ‘stop it!’

Another memory, one he’d pushed away, even from himself. He was in the dark dungeon that he’d seen in his dream. Harry stood motionless against the slimy brick wall, unable to move away as the dampness seeped through his muggle clothing.

“Ah, Potter. Do you remember what I asked you about last night?”

Harry stared straight ahead unable to answer the dark man’s question.

“Have you decided to change your mind about telling me what I wish to know?” The man in the cloak allowed Harry the freedom to speak with a gentle flick of his wand. Harry was unable to move anything but his lips.

The boy said nothing.

“I know that fool, Dumbledore is gathering an Army. I want to know who was foolish enough to join him.”

Harry wouldn’t speak. He wasn’t going to reveal anything.

“Is there nothing you wish to say?” the figure smiled beneath the hood of his cloak. “Very well, we shall continue this little talk later.”

He was leaving, Harry almost breathed in relief. The man stopped very suddenly as he reached the door to leave.

“So that you do not forget your place, boy.”

Harry had little time to prepare for the man’s curse. He’d been set free from the wall and dropped roughly to the prison floor landing in a dirty puddle of water. He’d scarcely hit the floor when he was hit with the Cruciatus curse. No amount of preparation could have helped Harry with this.

The man watched Harry suffer. Each scream of torment brought him a strange pleasure. Having the boy who lived screaming and thrashing on the floor was an honor.

When Harry could scream no more, the curse was lifted. The man had finally left him alone. Harry curled up tightly on the floor; he could not even cry.

The memory had ended, but Snape did not release his tight hold on the boy’s mind. Another memory, a fresher one, was being forced into focus.

“Do you know what this is, Potter?” the cruel man beneath the black wizard’s cloak asked. Once again Harry could not answer from his place on the wall.

The Dark Lord’s servant held a small vial in front of Harry’s nose. The potion was an angry red color. Harry didn’t recognize it from potions class; he’d never seen it before. The man glanced at Harry and then focused back on the fierce looking potion trapped between his forefinger and thumb.

“Doesn’t look like much does it, Potter?”

Harry could sense the dark pleasure emanating from the man’s tone, which was not good.

“Food, you’ll learn, is a weakness. Once you drink this you’ll not be able to eat or drink anything without feeling extreme discomfort. Eventually you’ll starve to death. Unless, that is, you go mad from trying to eat. Either way, Lord Voldemort will be very pleased. You will not foil his plans again.”

Harry pushed Snape away with all the strength he had left. The Professor had seen and forced Harry to remember enough. He didn’t want to see any more.

Professor Snape was quite startled when the boy forced him out of his mind. It was of no matter. He’d seen what he’d needed to see. He glanced down, trying to catch his breath. Potter lay in a heap, breathing raggedly.

Without another word to the boy, Snape stormed out of the cell, securing the bolt behind him as he left.

When Snape returned to the cell nearly an hour later Harry was still curled up on the cold dungeon floor. The boy was a pale, pitiful sight.

He remembered. The memories came without summons now. Harry could only watch as the thoughts played over and over in his mind. Harry quivered slightly on the floor, very aware of Snape’s presence.

The Potions Master had brought a vial with him. He knelt near Harry and spoke, “Potter, we must begin the process of curing you if you are to attend another term at Hogwarts.”

Harry didn’t budge; he didn’t even blink in response.

“Sit up, you need to drink this.”

Harry didn’t move. Snape rolled his eyes and pushed the boy up into a sitting position. He allowed Harry to rest his back against his knee. This was no time for a show of passive resistance.

“This potion will coat the lining of your stomach. It will absorb the potion that is sitting in there, causing you to be able to eat.”

Harry stared straight ahead; he seemed to be in a daze. He was very tired. Harry wanted to lie on the cold floor for a few more hours. Yes, that would be nice. He didn’t care about drinking some potion.

The potion that Snape offered him smelled dangerous. Even in his uncaring state Harry wrinkled his nose in response to the nasty aroma.

The potion was a thick, dark green soup that could hardly be described as a liquid. It reminded Harry strongly of the slugs that Ron had brought up after a botched attempt to curse Draco Malfoy in their second year.

Strangely, Harry did not resist as Snape poured the sickening mixture of syrupy goop into his mouth.

The smell of the potion was heavenly compared to its taste. Harry had never tasted anything so completely vile in his life. He gagged as it slid swiftly down his throat before he could willingly swallow it. It traveled downward toward the source of Harry’s troubles.

Snape stood, pocketing the empty vial and looking strangely satisfied.

“I will return in one hour when that potion has had a chance to do its work. Then we shall finish your cure.”

Snape left in a smooth swish of dark robes. Potter was alone in the cell.

The disgusting potion slithered into his belly and he clenched his teeth in sudden discomfort. The sickeningly thick brew spread itself smoothly about his insides. Harry screamed in anguish as his stomach twisted and churned in a fit of bitter response. There was a new pulsing in his belly, but he barely sensed it between gasps of agony. He screamed and screamed, but he knew that like the last time he’d been in a cell like this one, there would be absolutely no mercy.

The hour had finally passed. The dungeon had gone quiet; the screaming had at last stopped.

The Professor had gathered a few potions and stuffed them into his cloak, and as an afterthought he brought the bucket from his office. He had returned to the dungeons, and fully expected to hear Potter’s blood curdling cries for mercy. Instead Snape was greeted by the familiar and welcome stillness of the dungeon. Snape sighed with relief, thankful that Potter had finally shut up.

Snape approached the cell door and hesitated for a moment before he entered. He took a deep breath as he enjoyed the bit of silence, and with a low groan from the door he entered the chamber.

Harry lay in the middle of the floor. The boy was a trembling knot of young wizard flesh. His eyes were closed; Harry appeared to be asleep. Snape set the bucket near the locked chamber door and approached the young man with measured steps.

Snape knelt down near the boy and shook him gently by the shoulder. Harry started awake, looking wide-eyed and frightened. Recognition crossed Harry’s face and moment later he relaxed. Harry released a distinct groan of displeasure; the boy was not pleased to see the Professor again.

Snape almost snorted a retort about the feelings being mutual, but he held his tongue. There were more important things at hand than insulting the boy. Snape reached down and helped the young Gryffindor to sit up.

“Professor,” Harry began, his voice sounded hoarse and shaky, “please, no more.”

“Potter, if you wish to be permanently damaged by the potions you were fed then by all means I’ll leave you alone. However, should you have the desire to regain the ability to consume solid foods once more then you must allow me to help you.”

“But I feel so much better already,” Harry protested weakly.

Snape sighed in annoyance. “A temporary lull in the effects of the poison. Soon the potion I gave you will wear off and the poison will return to your system. We’d have to start everything all over again, and in your weakened state I doubt that you would survive. Your suffering from an hour ago would be for nothing,” Snape spoke in a surprisingly mild voice. He was not about to waste more time and potions on Potter than absolutely necessary.

Harry nodded. Snape was right; he had no wish to repeat the ordeal from an hour ago.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed. Harry had accepted a familiar potion from Snape, and submitted to the nausea that overcame him because of it. Snape waited until he was certain the boy had finished before clearing the seething mess in his bucket. Harry felt better after the heaves finally stopped; his stomach was at last truly empty.

“Now Potter, for the next few weeks it will be necessary to monitor your eating habits. Your insides are going to be very sensitive, and even though the poison has been purged from your system you’re going to have difficulty eating. It will be necessary to take things slow for a while.”

Harry only half heard what Professor Snape had said. All he was able to think about was the fact that he was incredibly thirsty. Harry couldn’t remember a time when he had longed for a glass of cold water more. Harry swallowed dryly and tried to remember what water tasted like. Even after several seconds he couldn’t recall the flavor.

Harry jerked alert; he had been surprised by a popping noise. He realized a few seconds later that Snape had snapped his fingers in an attempt to regain Harry’s attention. Harry briefly wondered why Snape hadn’t just yelled at him as he always did during potions classes.

“Have you heard a word that I’ve said to you, Potter?” Snape asked, his malicious tone subdued enough that the boy took notice.

“Yes, sir. Watch what I eat.”

“Potter, you should rest,” Snape stated conjuring a blanket and draping it over the boy’s shoulders.

Harry shook his head in refusal as he stifled a yawn.

“What is it now, Potter?” Snape asked as he tried to rein in his irritation.

“Thirsty, sir,” the boy answered.

Snape begrudgingly conjured a goblet full of water. Snape held the goblet to Harry’s lips and allowed the boy to take a few sips of the water.

“That’s enough water for now, Potter,” Snape said as he pulled the goblet away and caused it to vanish. Harry thought about protesting; he hadn’t been anywhere near satisfied with that small drink. “Get some rest. I’ll return later to check on you.”

Snape set the boy carefully back on the stone floor, and stalked out of the room before Harry could stop him. He hadn’t even had the chance to thank the man for all that he’d done.

Harry snuggled tightly into the blanket that Snape had given him, and within a few moments he was once again asleep on the prison floor.

Snape returned to the chamber a few hours later with a bowl of broth for Harry. Snape quietly roused the young man from his sleep.

“I’ve brought you something to eat,” Snape said as he gently stirred the steaming contents of the bowl.

With help Harry was able to sit up. Harry peered into the bowl that Snape was offering him as food. It reminded Harry of warm, brown water, but not anything edible. This was something Aunt Petunia would give to him at home. The scent of the broth attacked his nostrils, and his stomach growled in response. He was actually hungry.

Snape helped him take the broth. The teacher didn’t make any biting comments, much to Harry’s surprise. He had fully been expecting Snape to heckle him about being too feeble to feed himself.

It only took a few moments for Harry’s belly to fill to capacity. The bowl in Snape’s pale hand was still three quarters of the way full.

“Now, if you can keep that down for the next few hours, then we’ll have made some progress, Potter,” Snape stated, drawing himself up from the floor. He found his bucket on the floor and brought it to Harry. “I hope that you will not need to use this soon. Rest. I’ll be back later.”

Harry watched in silence as Snape swept out of the room. He sighed with strange contentment; a full stomach felt surprisingly pleasant.

Snape snapped alert. The boy was screaming again. He could ignore it; it would stop soon. It didn’t. Harry’s cries became louder more panicked, and more annoying.

“Bloody Hell!” Severus growled as he stood from his desk. He slammed the book he’d been studying shut with a snap. “Blasted Potter!” Professor Snape grumbled as he stormed to the chamber and stepped inside. This child was going to drive him to the end of his nerve long before Voldemort would have the chance.

For a brief time a feeling of uncertainty coursed through Professor Snape. Had he given the potion sufficient time to absorb the poison in Potter’s system? Severus shook his head as he passed through the door to Potter’s chamber. Of course he’d done everything correctly. He knew his potions; he certainly knew what he was doing. Whatever was not right with the Potter boy it was of no fault of Snape’s. This was Potter’s fault if there was anyone to be blamed for anything.

As Snape drew closer to Harry he could plainly see pain and fear etched in the young wizard’s face. There was nothing to physically harm him within the chamber; the pain was from within. The boy must have been dreaming. From the way that he thrashed about in his blanket it was a very vivid nightmare. Harry had trapped himself in the snarled jumble of what had once been his blanket. He thrashed like a fish caught in a net.

Snape groaned in displeasure as he crossed the room to attempt to free Harry from the bonds of his blanket. Harry gave a sharp cry of pain as Snape reached to tug at the mess of blanket and boy. Snape nearly flinched with surprise at the suddenness of Harry’s outburst. He gave the boy a glare of contempt and proceeded to unravel the young man from his prison of bedding.

Harry suddenly went very quiet, very still. Snape had just managed to free the young man from the blanket, and he looked at Harry with confusion. What was the matter with him now? The boy’s breathing became sharp, almost labored. There was a sheen of new sweat on his pale forehead, and it was a moment of distinct silence that jarred Snape’s reasoning to understanding. Harry’s body went rigid for a moment; there was no time to move away.

The boy seemed to come alert for an instant; he looked about with wide eyes not seeing a thing. Seconds later he sat up halfway in the sudden jerk of a heave, and retched all down the front of Professor Snape’s clean, black robes. Once he’d finished the deed the boy’s body went slack and he dropped lifelessly back to the cold dungeon floor with a soft moan.

Snape swore between clenched teeth at the boy, and muttered a cleaning spell over the both of them. Potter seemed to have calmed down; he did not stir when Snape palmed his forehead. Snape made a dissatisfied face and moved his hand quickly to the boy’s flushed cheek. For human flesh it was very hot to the touch.

Potter had a very high fever.

Some of the resentment in Snape’s eyes cooled; he could be angry with the boy later. Snape spread the blanket Potter had been using out neatly on the dungeon floor. In a smooth movement he placed the boy on top of the blanket. Snape summoned a basin of cool water and a washcloth with his wand. With unexpected gentleness Snape began to wash Harry’s forehead in an attempt to calm his fever.

It was hours later when Harry finally stirred to life. The young Gryffindor was quite startled to find Professor Snape perched on a stool near him. Snape was leaning his back against the prison wall, and dozing quite contently.

Snape seemed to sense Harry’s new alertness, and the Professor calmly opened his eyes to meet the student’s gaze. Snape met Harry’s dizzy eyes with surprising steadiness. Snape looked as though he’d never drifted off for a moment. Harry wondered briefly how Snape managed such alertness; a pulse in his head made him wince and he quickly lost his train of thought.

“You’re awake at last, Potter,” Snape commented coolly as he rose from his stool and prowled over to Harry’s side. “How are you feeling?” Snape asked softly as he rewetted the cloth for Harry’s forehead.

Harry nearly shied away when Snape reached over to replace the fresh cloth on his forehead. He managed to keep himself steady, and with a dry swallow he attempted to make his answer.

“I’m very tired, sir.”

“Well, I can’t say that I’m surprised. I’ve managed to bring your fever down to a more acceptable level, but it is yet to break. Are you thirsty, Potter?”

Before Harry could make a reply either way Snape had conjured a goblet filled with cool water. Snape helped Harry to take a few small sips of the liquid, and much like the last time the water goblet disappeared before Harry had finished with it.

“Are you shivering, Potter?”

The boy was not only visibly shivering; his teeth were chattering. He acted as though it was cold enough to drop snow in the chamber. It was quite cool in the chamber, but not nearly cool enough to provoke such a response from the young man. Harry nodded in unspoken reply to Snape’s question, and silently wished for another blanket to wrap around himself. Being cold had never been so unpleasant.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer with the chills for a while longer, Potter. I can give you a potion to help with the fever, but it will not help matters if you cover yourself in blankets.”

Harry gave Snape a dirty look but he nodded; he understood. Snape reached into his robes and withdrew a small vial. Snape helped Harry to take the potion, and afterwards Harry lay back on his blanket. Harry closed his eyes and shivered unhappily. The boy choked back a whimper of misery as Snape started to delicately swab Harry’s face and arms with a newly conjured washcloth. Even though the water Snape had filled the basin with was room temperature it felt like ice water against Harry’s feverish skin.

There was no way to ignore the unpleasant sensations that attacked him from within his body and from without. Every muscle ached, and every joint hurt. Snape washing his arms and face with cool water only seemed to intensify the nasty feelings. He hoped that Snape’s potion would kick in soon and ease some of his discomfort. Harry closed his eyes tighter, and tried to force himself to go to sleep thinking of warm, soothing things.

At last Harry had drifted into a comfortable state of sleep. He didn’t notice the various aches his body felt; he was numb to the feeling of his fever. This was a dreamless state of bliss. One that he hoped would not end soon.

“Potter,” Snape whispered as he shook Harry by the shoulder.

Harry groaned. Go Away! As luck would have it Snape’s timing was impeccable. He would want Harry to wake just when he’d been sleeping comfortably.

“Potter, wake up. You need to drink this,” Snape spoke as he lifted the boy’s head and held the goblet to his lips.

Harry was vaguely aware of the cup being pressed to his mouth. He allowed some of the contents of the cup to dribble into his mouth. The liquid touched his tongue, and he knew the taste instantly. Harry’s eyes went wide; he pulled back roughly from the cup spilling some of the liquid down the front of his robes.

Snape glared at the boy. “Now look at what you’ve done. You’ve gone and spilled it. You’ll pay for that you little…”

“Potter, is there something the matter?” Snape’s voice made Harry start.

Harry didn’t know what was going on; he shook his head in answer.

“Come on then. You need to finish this.”

Harry swallow nervously. “What is it?”

“Honestly, Potter,” Snape rolled his eyes and moved the cup towards Harry’s lips. The boy pulled back. “It’s for your fever. Just water. That’s all.”

Harry looked into the goblet Snape offered. It was filled with water. Nothing else. Harry felt silly. He knew Snape was trying to help. Why would Snape want to harm him? But then the little voice in his head reminded him; He does hate you. You remember that, right?

“I- I’m not very thirsty, Professor,” Harry stammered as he tried to pretend that he was falling back to sleep. If Snape left him alone long enough, he would go back to sleep for real.

“Potter, I never said that you had a choice in this matter. Drink the water, now,” Snape pressed the cup to Harry’s lips, and gave the boy an expectant glare.

Harry glanced at Snape, and back at the goblet. It did look like simple water in the cup. It was probably safe. Harry swallowed his feeling of apprehension, and took a small sip.

The cool water in his mouth reminded him how thirsty he really was, and he drank as much as Snape would allow. Snape let him drain the goblet completely. For the first time in a long while Harry felt satisfied; he wasn’t thirsty.

It was good not to be thirsty. It was nice. Harry drifted back to sleep unaware of the new droplets of sweat collecting on his forehead, and the warmth pooling in the palms of his hands.

Snape palmed Harry’s forehead. It was hot, again. The potion was wearing off. The fever was returning. Snape wished the boy would hurry up and get well so he could get rid of him. With an irritated growl Severus reached into his cloak for another potion that would temporarily quell the boy’s fever.

Harry didn’t want to wake this time. Bloody GO AWAY! Harry listened to Snape’s callous tone with indifference. He was half asleep, and he wanted to be fully asleep. He allowed Snape to feed him the potion as a way to get the man to leave him alone. Within a few moments, Harry drifted into nothingness again.

“Welcome back Mr. Potter. Feeling any better?” Snape asked quietly as he helped the boy to sit up and offered Harry a cup of a strange looking tea.

Harry paused. He did feel better, a lot better. Harry took the cup of tea and looked into it. It was a creamy green color; it smelled strongly of mint leaves. Harry gave the drink a sniff and looked over at Snape. Snape had stalked over to his stool and taken a seat. He didn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon.

“It’s mint. I’m quite sure even you could have guessed that. It won’t upset your stomach. You need to have something else besides potions and water.”

Harry nodded and stared absently into the cup. He took a sip. It was not too hot, and pleasantly sweet.

“This is very good, Professor,” Harry stated taking another, braver drink from the cup.

A hint of a smile crossed Snape’s face. “I know it is.”

Harry ignored Snape and concentrated on the tea in his hands. It left a pleasing, cool taste in his mouth, and a warm, comforting feeling in his belly.

“Can I ask you a question, Professor?” Harry asked briefly looking at Snape and then back to the tea in his cup.

“I suppose. If you must,” Snape spat. He wanted to curse Potter with a silencing charm just for good measure, but he held the desire in check.

“Why am I in this prison?”

Snape smiled in amusement, and Harry caught the glint of the Professor’s imperfect teeth. The man still looked frightening even with a friendly expression on his face. The weak smile quickly died as the man gave his answer.

“I assure you that it was a simple matter of convenience, Potter. Do you honestly expect me to have to venture to Gryffindor tower every time you need a potion, or a drink of water? No, it is much easier to tend to you here; where the potions are close at hand. Then there is the fact that you could wander off somewhere if left unattended. Unlike Dumbledore I do not trust you to take care of yourself. This is especially true while you are not feeling well. I for one do not want to have to wander into the Forbidden Forest to look for you if you were to go wandering about. I am here to cure you; not to make you comfortable and make more work for myself,” Snape sneered at the boy. Potter really did look a lot better. Perhaps they would not have to stay as long as he had originally thought.

Of course, wouldn’t want to inconvenience you, Professor Snape. Harry licked his lips, and set his now empty cup on the dungeon floor.

“Now I want to ask you a question, Potter,” Snape said as he leaned back against the wall and folded his arms tucking his hands into the folds of his robes.

Harry nodded.

“What were you dreaming about last night?” Snape asked, his tone lacking the usual bite. The man actually sounded interested in hearing Harry’s reply.

Harry froze when he heard the words. He felt sick again. The blood drained quickly from his face, and his fingertips buzzed annoyingly. Harry shrugged and gave Snape a withering smile. He tried to dismiss the man with a question of his own. “What makes you think I was dreaming, Professor?”

Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry. “One does not scream his vocal cords raw because he is having a dreamless night. The nightmare, what was it about?”

“I thought you already knew that, sir.”

Snape narrowed his eyes at the boy. He was not in the mood for a dance of conversation, and in particular not with Potter. “Please enlighten me, Potter.”

“I really don’t want to talk about it, sir.”

“Potter, this will not go away if you ignore it. Nor will I. I’m sure that you would rather speak of your own free will. If not, then I shall be forced to resort to less pleasant methods of learning what I wish to know,” Snape stared at Harry, and watched the boy as he struggled to come to a decision.

The young wizard met Snape’s stare and Harry shook his head. “I’m not talking about it with you.”

Snape gave Harry a cold look, and quickly stood. Before Harry could say anything more Snape had stormed from the chamber. The angry sound of the door as it slammed shut made Harry flinch. For a moment he was almost ready to have second thoughts… almost.

Snape fumed in his dungeon classroom in spite of the distinct chill in the damp air. Potter was so completely aggravating. The boy just had to be obstinate every moment; everything had to be difficult if it involved Potter. Snape had half a mind to storm to his store of potions and retrieve the bottle of Veritaserum that had been calling Potter by name for some time now. The professor stopped himself midway through the short journey to fetch the potion. He had had time enough to think the consequences of his actions through, and despite his desire to drag the truth out of the boy by any means, he knew he could wait a bit longer.

As it was Potter was still too delicate to even digest solid foods, and a dose of Veritaserum would not have been so healthy for him at the present time. No matter how badly Severus wanted to force the potion down the boy’s throat, it was better for the both of them to wait.

“Patience, Severus,” Snape whispered to himself between clenched teeth.

In an angry swish of dark robes Snape strode back to his desk. He inhaled deeply and sank heavily into his chair. Snape allowed his heated frustration some time to simmer.

Perhaps a slightly gentler approach would get better results from the boy. Snape realized that his usual cold-hearted methods of interrogation were not making much progress. Maybe if he eased up a bit the boy would cooperate better. Then if that tactic failed the Veritaserum would always welcome him back. There was no real hurry, since Potter wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon without Snape’s approval.

Harry remained in the spot where Snape had left him moments ago. Now that he felt a bit better, the desire to get out of the prison cell returned to him. The urge was not as frantic as the first time he had felt it; this time there was no panic in him. Only the desire to be allowed to roam at will was left in him. Harry wanted at least to be allowed out of his prison for a short time. Perhaps if Snape didn’t seem too angry when he returned Harry would ask to be let out for a while. After all, it wasn’t as though he was asking Snape for his wand back or anything.

For now Harry sat on the dungeon floor not even thinking; absently, he threaded the hem of his blanket through his first two fingers. It got dull long before he even realized it. Harry slowly released a groan of tedium, and silently he wished that he had someone to talk to help to pass the time.

Snape is still here, and despite his best efforts to conceal it, he is still a person. You could always try and talk to him, Harry’s inner voice gently reminded him.

Harry frowned and furrowed his brow. He did want someone to talk to. Harry had been hoping for a more friendly person. Someone other than Professor Snape. The man was unapproachable and certainly completely devoid of any compassion. Harry was almost reminded of the Dementors when he thought of Snape; the man seemed to show almost as much kindheartedness as they had. The only consideration he had ever shown toward anyone had been toward his own Slytherins and Albus Dumbledore. If Snape was the boy’s only alternative to complete silence then Harry would prefer to remain quiet. Harry was quite sure that Snape, were he given the choice, would have preferred it that way as well.

Professor Snape busied himself cleaning up his dungeon classroom. The room itself needed little care, but Snape was simply looking for a way to kill time. He would let Potter stay in that room a little while longer by himself; perhaps Potter would see the mistake he had made by refusing to talk.

When Snape unlocked the dungeon door hours later, Harry was surprised that he was almost glad to see the brooding professor. Snape didn’t appear to be angry now. He had returned to his normal, dark self; his pale features were completely unreadable. Snape had brought Harry more broth and mint tea. Snape shoved the bowl of broth into Harry’s hands and set the cup of mint tea gently on the floor, so that he would not have to hold it forever.

“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Harry whispered softly as he stared into his thin, steaming broth.

Snape grunted in response and glared at the wall as if it had wronged him somehow. A few seconds later he seemed to lose interest in the wall, and stalked over to his stool and was seated. Harry had started to sip his broth hungrily. Snape watched the boy as he ate with a look of complete disgust; one would have thought that there was a horrid smell in the room by the sour expression on Snape’s colorless face.

Harry looked up at Snape after he had taken a long drink from his bowl of broth. The boy opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t seem to be able to form the words. Harry struggled with himself to find the proper words for a few seconds and then gave up, deciding instead to return to the comfortable silence of his warm broth.

He simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. It just wasn’t natural. Harry couldn’t talk to Snape. Even if Snape was the only alternative to speaking to the dungeon wall. The dark wall certainly seemed friendlier then Snape did at that moment. Perhaps once Snape left the room Harry would give the wall a chance.

The boy had been about to say something, Snape was certain of it. The Potions Master recognized the look that his students always had when they wanted to speak to him. Before now he would have been glad that Potter had held his tongue, but now it was just aggravating him. Snape had even remained quiet to allow the young man the opportunity to say what he wanted. Harry had opened his mouth and choked on the unspoken words. He had said absolutely nothing. Snape gave Harry a sharp look, and considered his next words with care.

“Potter.” Snape waited until Harry looked up before he continued, “Were you going to say something?”

Harry looked quickly back to his broth with a grimace. “No, sir. I wasn’t.”

“Hmmm,” Snape raised an eyebrow. “You are a terrible liar, Potter. Do you take me for a complete fool?”

Sometimes, Harry’s inner voice replied, it really depends upon the situation. “No, sir.”

“Then speak up, and stop gawping like a fish,” Snape snapped, his tone less severe then most times.

Harry swallowed, he felt slightly cornered. “Well, Professor Snape it’s just that . . . well.”

The boy was beginning to hesitate, and if Snape allowed him to stall long enough the boy just might decide to say nothing at all. Snape urged Harry to go on with a gesture of his hand.

“Do you intend to keep me in this dismal room our entire time here?”

Snape almost smiled, but he forced it back. His face remained cold and blank. “And what if I did? Don’t like the room, Potter?”

Harry ignored Snape’s first question. “No, it’s not really to my liking, sir.”

“I’ve already explained why I decided to keep you here in the dungeons. Did you forget that so soon, Potter?” Snape sneered at Harry. Snape’s dark eyes burned with something that faintly reminded Harry of happiness. It was almost the exact look that his cousin Dudley would have in his eyes as he stuffed his face and watched Harry go without. It was a disturbing image, and it was one that Harry would rather have forgotten.

Harry shuddered inside, and tried to ignore the new, dangerous gleam in Snape’s dark eyes. “I suppose I do understand your reasoning for it, sir. It’s just that . . . ”

“Just what? Out with it, Potter. My patience with you is wearing thin,” Snape barked, and he folded his arms, impatiently waiting for Potter’s reply.

Patience, you? Oh, I beg to differ, sir. Harry pushed his defiant inner voice away and tried to conjure a tone that resembled something like respect. “I’d like to have some time outside. Even a short period. Just outside the dungeons. Maybe in my common room if you don’t trust me to be outdoors,” Harry stopped speaking. He gave Snape an imploring look and held his breath as he awaited an answer.

“Once you’re stronger, I may decide to consider it. Finish your broth and tea, Potter. You need the strength,” Snape replied shortly.

Harry nodded grimly, and watched as Snape quietly left the room. Harry wondered why he had even bothered to ask; Snape would never say yes to any of it.

Of course he’ll consider it. Just like he does everything else.

Harry moved to finish his cooling broth, but found that he no longer wanted it. In a sudden burst of frustration Harry hurled the creamy, white bowl into the dungeon wall. The unfinished broth trailed down the uneven surface of the wall, and the pieces of the shattered bowl crashed to the floor of the chamber. Harry didn’t mind the loss of the food; he already had lost his appetite anyway.

Snape heard the muffled sound of the soup bowl crash as it shattered against the prison wall, but he ignored it with a triumphant smile that no one would ever see. Potter throwing a temper tantrum would not sway Snape in his decision. The boy needed some more time alone before Snape would speak to him again about anything. This was exactly like all of the potions he’d worked with over the years, everything depended on the timing, and it would only be a matter of time before Harry broke. Thanks to Harry, Snape now had the leverage he needed and the boy had nothing.

He had finally finished thinking of all the ways he could exploit his newly found leverage on Potter, and he had a rough plan in mind to move things forward. All that remained now was to go through with things. Potter still needed time alone, so to pass the time Snape sat studying a new potion manuscript at his desk. Normally the text would have captured his complete attention, but he found that he was only mildly interested in the contents of his book. He was really interested in other knowledge.

Snape rested his chin in the cool palm of his right hand and read his book through half-closed eyelids. Really Snape looked like a bored student trying desperately to focus on a dull assignment. The book he was reading really was dull when he compared it to the idea of trying to get Potter to confess what had occurred during his four-week absence from his relatives’ home. Snape tried his best to concentrate on his book, as well as to ignore his body’s nagging urge to take a catnap.

Snape would never admit to it out loud, but he really was very tired. Severus hadn’t rested much since arriving at Hogwarts with Potter. Everything had really been focused on Potter and his need to be cured of the poison he’d ingested. Within five minutes Snape had lost his battle to stay alert in the quiet of the dungeon classroom. It was unfortunate that there weren’t any students around to witness the stoic professor asleep at his desk.

********

He knew within moments that he was no longer in his dungeon classroom. This was another dungeon, and he knew this place from somewhere. There was a very strong presence of dark magic here. The sense of dark power seemed to emanate from the dungeon itself. In the distance, down a dark, damp corridor, Snape could hear the sound of cruel laughter, and familiar screams of agony. He knew that voice. Those were Potter’s screams. Snape slowly began the journey toward the source of the voices.

Severus felt a chill pass through him as he heard Potter release a particularly anguished cry. The boy’s subsequent screams were not nearly as intense; his voice was giving out. Snape approached Potter’s cell, and was startled when the magically locked door suddenly clicked open for him. He hadn’t even had the chance to cast an unlocking charm.

Snape withdrew his wand from the folds of his dark robes to defend himself against the dark wizard in the cell with Potter. Gently Snape pushed the heavy wooden door open a bit more and peered inside of the gloomy cell. There was only Potter. The boy had been left alone with his remaining misery.

Whoever had been torturing the boy just moments ago had gone without a trace. Perhaps whoever it was had apparated away when Snape had come too close for comfort. It didn’t matter where they had gone as long as they stayed away. He didn’t want to have to fight anyone here.

Snape kept his wand drawn and slowly approached Potter with catlike caution. The boy quivered on the floor in a puddle of murky water.

“Potter.” Snape reached down and gently shook the boy by the shoulder. “Potter, are you all right?”

At the sound of Snape’s voice, the young wizard suddenly became alert. His eyes opened wide, and he frantically attempted to shrink away from the Potions Master. The boy tried to speak; Snape had to lean down to try and hear him clearly.

“Please,” Potter whispered in a hoarse voice because of all of the screaming he’d done. “Please, Professor. No more.”

Snape pulled back from the boy, and he shook with new, unharnessed rage.

What the devil was going on?

There was anger building inside of him; this was an anger he couldn’t hold back for very much longer. His pale hand trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on his wand. Snape felt a new heaviness about his shoulders, and he realized that he was now wearing a thick, dark cloak over his already heavy wizard’s robes. He coldly watched Potter as he trembled on the floor from beneath the shelter of his cloak hood.

Potter whimpered in pain, and looked up at Snape with pleading eyes. With a sneer Snape aimed his wand at the unarmed boy. Without a second thought he cast the unforgivable curse of torment upon Harry Potter. Potter’s screams of raw, uncontrolled agony began anew. Severus felt no pity for the boy; he was glad to see him suffer this torment. Snape’s dark eyes glowed with sinister pleasure at the gruesome sight. The boy deserved every second of agony. Every moment of searing pain was justified. The Potions Master threw his head back and laughed as Harry Potter screamed out for mercy.

Snape started awake. Thankfully he was back in his own dungeon. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, as if he had been running. He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, and he failed miserably. There was only one thing he could think of doing now. He needed to talk to Potter in spite of the fact the boy had no desire to reveal anything.

Snape entered Potter’s cell, and felt a familiar chill pass through him. This room was almost identical to the one he’d seen in his dream, and to what he’d seen in Potter’s memories. Severus swallowed a small amount of guilt. Now he understood why Potter wanted out of this room so badly. These were all too familiar surroundings for the boy.

***

Snape looked angry, upset even. Something was very wrong. Harry knew he hadn’t done anything. Harry had been quiet for hours, and he hadn’t broken anything else. The young wizard wondered what was the matter now.

“Potter, do you remember who the Death Eater was that tortured you while you were being held captive?” Snape did his best to keep his voice even and smooth.

I’ve tried to forget, but you won’t let me. Harry nodded, he remembered it all too clearly.

“Who was it?” There was a twinge of desperation in Snape’s voice. He needed to know this now. Malfoy, it has to be Malfoy. He despises the boy more than any of us. Please let it be him.

“Are you saying that you don’t know, sir?” Harry narrowed his eyes at Snape as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Was it Malfoy?”

At this Harry gave a small laugh, and Snape felt his dark heart fall a little. “No, sir. I’d know Malfoy’s drawling tone anywhere. And I don’t believe Malfoy has a great deal of knowledge concerning potions, sir,” Harry’s tone seemed to darken slightly with accusation.

Potter seemed to be toying with him, and apparently the boy was enjoying himself very much. Severus however, was not amused. This was no time for childish games.

“Potter! Who . . . was . . . it?”

“I told you that you already know who it is, sir. You just don’t want to admit that you know.”

Snape stepped back from the boy, anger was building in him. He needed to leave the room now before he did something that both he and the boy would regret dearly. He quickly stormed out of the boy’s prison, locking the bolt behind him with a familiar metal click.

This isn’t possible. I didn’t do it. Surely a man would remember doing a thing like that. Wouldn’t he?

Severus intended to owl Albus to see if he knew anything further on the matter. As the Potions Master attempted to put a quill to parchment, he found that he could not properly express what he had to say in writing. He needed to talk to Dumbledore. Snape glanced around stupidly looking for a fireplace in his dungeon classroom. He knew that he had no floo powder here either. Why was he even looking? With a growl of irritation at the inconvenience of the placement of fireplaces he trudged up the stairway toward his office.

Silently the Potions Master prayed that Albus Dumbledore would offer him some reassuring words about the subject. Severus knew in his heart that Harry Potter wouldn’t insinuate something if he didn’t believe it to be true. Snape could only hope that there was a first time for everything.

Once he had made it to his office, he quickly grabbed a fistful of floo powder from a small bowl on his mantle, and tossed the stuff into the fireplace. “Albus Dumbledore!” Snape shouted in an almost frantic tone.

Surely Dumbledore could set this right. If the Headmaster couldn’t help him, he didn’t know what to do next.

When Snape saw Dumbledore’s face he became more agitated than before. The Headmaster’s constant look of blissful calm was almost sickening. Dumbledore patiently instructed Severus to take a breath and compose himself before continuing. Snape obeyed the quiet order in spite of his furious desire to know exactly what was going on.

“Ah, now that’s much better,” Dumbledore said with a small, amused smile. “Now then, what is it that you wanted to tell me, Severus?”

Snape cleared his throat and searched for a proper way to begin things. “It is in regards to Harry Potter, Headmaster.”

“I trust that his health has improved since he has been under your care.”

“His physical health has started to improve; he grows stronger with each day that passes. It is his mental state that troubles me, sir,” Snape lowered his voice as though he feared a backlash of some kind.

“The boy has been put under considerable strain before, Severus. Harry is stronger than you believe him to be.”

“I do not doubt your word, Headmaster,” Severus halted as he tried to consider his next words with care, “but I have reason to believe that he was tortured by Death Eaters during his absence from his muggle relatives. The boy may have broken under the pressure.”

“Yes, Severus, I have been aware that Harry had been mistreated for sometime now. However, I have reason to believe that his mind is still intact.”

Snape almost asked how Dumbledore possibly could have known anything about Harry’s disappearance, but he immediately thought better of it. Still, it was strange that Dumbledore could have known about it when Severus hadn’t told anyone about his findings yet.

“The boy believes that he knows the identity of the Death Eater that kidnapped and tortured him,” Snape stated softly.

“Has Harry told you who this person is?”

Severus swallowed. “Well, no, but the boy has implied certain things,” Snape stopped. Suddenly many of the curious things that Potter had said and done made more sense.

The boy’s words and actions came back in a fresh flood of memories.

“Why didn’t you let me die?”

. . . “What is it that made you change your mind, sir?”

Snape bitterly recalled the way that the boy had frantically searched for a way out of the cell in the Hogwarts dungeons, and the way the boy had fought to keep Snape from viewing more of his memories. There was the way that the boy had flinched away at times, and the way he had refused to speak of anything that had occurred during his absence from his muggle home.

Perhaps the reason that he would not admit to anything was deeper than simply being stubborn; perhaps the boy was afraid to tell what he knew.

He’s afraid of me. For the first time in a long while there was no pleasure in the thought of Potter’s fear.

As he talked with Professor Dumbledore Snape guiltily recalled every single instance where he had thought about torturing, cursing, or poisoning Harry Potter. Sure, he had thought about it many times in his hatred of the young man during the school year, but he had never intended to make good on any of the plans. They were more of a way to relieve stress than anything.

Severus was certain that one did not just torture someone with the ultimate intent to kill and simply forget the event entirely. Snape could remember every wizard he had ever cursed under the Dark Lord’s service, and Potter’s name was not among the names in his head. As far as he was concerned Snape had never intended on changing that fact.

Of course. Severus could have kicked himself for being so daft. The answer was so simple that it surprised Snape that Dumbledore hadn’t mentioned it first. At the flicker of hope that vouched for his innocence Snape felt his dark heart lighten slightly.

“Sir, perhaps the reason why I don’t remember the torturing of Potter is because I was not present, because it simply wasn’t I who tortured him.”

Dumbledore could hear the subtle, desperate hope in Snape’s voice, and he gave the younger man a saddened smile and allowed him to speak.

“The reason that Potter believes me to be the one is because the Death Eater only looked like me. A simple Polyjuice Potion could have easily done the job, and even Potter should know that.”

With a Polyjuice Potion even Lucius Malfoy could have taken Snape’s place and Potter would have known no different. Dumbledore gave Snape another gentle smile, and Snape felt his flicker of hope abruptly dim and die. Still, Severus couldn’t say that Dumbledore’s reaction had caught him completely off-guard.

********

Harry Potter sat in his dingy, small prison, and puzzled over Professor Snape. The man who had cured and cared for him over the past few days, in spite of his bedside manner, was very different from the Death Eater who had tortured and poisoned him. Harry had to wonder, were they indeed the same man?

Harry knew that Professor Snape hated him; he had accepted that fact years ago, and he made a special effort to stay out of Snape’s path. Things hadn’t always worked out the way that Harry would have liked, but Professor Snape had always made an effort to protect even his most despised students. Harry knew that Snape was not the friendliest wizard, but the man had never done him harm before he’d been kidnapped.

The man was a puzzle of darkness and potion ingredients. Impatient and brooding, Harry wondered what had driven Snape to become a teacher in the first place. Snape certainly didn’t seem to like children, so Harry couldn’t see how he would get anything out of a career attempting to teach them to make things that had the potential to burn through the soles of his shoes.

It had to have been Snape that had done it; Harry couldn’t see any other way around it. Harry had even rejected the theory of another Death Eater using a Polyjuice Potion and posing as Snape. Harry believed that he had spent enough time with the professor to recognize the real man.

He acted like he didn’t even know what I was talking about when I implied that he had tortured me. Not to mention the fact that he had to look into my memories to know how to cure me. I know that it was him. Even if he denies it, I still know what happened.

******

“Headmaster, one simply does not forget four weeks spent torturing a young wizard for the Dark Lord,” Severus stated in a defensive tone.

“My dear boy, you must allow me to apologize to you for your lack of knowledge on these unfortunate events. There are some things that I must explain to you,” Dumbledore spoke with a new edge in his soft tone.

“The reason that you cannot remember the events that occurred during Harry’s disappearance is because I cast a memory charm on you, Severus.”

In spite of himself Snape laughed softly in a show of disbelief. No one, not even Dumbledore would ever dare alter his memory, unless they didn’t place very much value on their lives.

“Severus, you must understand that under normal circumstances I would have never done such a terrible thing to you. However, when you came to me after leaving Harry with his relatives, and told me of his condition I wanted to entrust his care to no one but you.”

Yes, Headmaster, that makes perfect sense. Entrust the boy to the bloody Death Eater who was assigned to take his life.

“You told me yourself that only a potions expert could properly ensure the boy’s survival. When I requested that you take Harry into your charge to cure him you refused. Understandably you wanted nothing to do with him, but I could not entrust his life to anyone else. For Harry’s sake, I took matters into my own hands and altered your memories.”

There was a sour expression on Snape’s face. Dumbledore had never lied to him before, so it was unlikely that he was lying now. Snape nodded, and in spite of his wish to dismiss everything that Dumbledore had said; he could not ignore this.

“It is difficult for me to believe all of this when I don’t recall it,” Snape stated bitterly.

Dumbledore muttered something under his breath; Snape recognized the old language of an incantation, but he could not hear the spell. “Do not worry Severus, Harry will understand once you explain things to him.”

The conversation was over. Snape stepped back from his fireplace mantle and leaned against the wall. It’s true. It was me.

****

Snape entered Potter’s cell quietly. He had brought both mint tea, broth and some dry toast for Potter to eat. Harry thanked the professor for the meal and sat down to eat solid food for the first time in weeks.

Dry toast was not Harry’s favorite thing, but it was a pleasant change from a diet of complete fluids so he made no complaint. Snape took his place on the stool and sat quietly watching the young man eat.

In a few moments Snape had allowed himself to drift into his own thoughts.

He was back in the cell from his dream. Potter lay on the floor; the boy appeared to be unconscious. The feeling that he had had that night returned to him; he couldn’t do this. This wasn’t right. Potter was just a boy, and he didn’t deserve this torture.

Harry groaned on the floor as he began to regain his senses. There was no choice for either of them in this matter. It was either this or death. He would have to follow his orders and hope that Potter was strong enough to endure. Snape forced a grimace of pity into a sneer as Harry looked about in confusion. This would not be easy for either one of them.

“Professor Snape? Sir, are you all right? You don’t look well,” Harry almost jumped back when Snape snapped back to reality.

“Of course I’m all right,” Snape stated in a clipped tone. “How are you, Potter?”

“Much better, sir.”

Snape nodded, the boy looked much better than he had a few days ago. “Potter, would you like to get some air?” Snape asked softly. This room was bringing back unpleasant memories for him, and he shuddered to think of what it had done to Potter.

Harry felt his heart leap. Of course he wanted out of this room. Almost anywhere was better than a dungeon.

“Come along, Potter. Unlike you, I don’t have all day,” Snape lied; truthfully he had nothing better to do.

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. Eagerly he followed the Potions Master out of the confines of the small prison and up the stairs away from the dungeons.

Harry had never been so glad to be outdoors. It was nice to feel like he had some freedom.

“Stay close,” Snape warned, and Harry nodded. Snape wandered over to a bench and sat down; he had no intention of letting Potter wander off on his own. He sighed at the thought of watching Potter like some toddler at a park.

Snape had no desire to explain his actions to Potter; Dumbledore could explain things to the boy if he really had to know. Snape didn’t want to rehash unpleasant memories, both for his own sake and for Potter’s. He had never explained himself before and things had always seemed to work out. Really he didn’t want Potter to understand; they would both be safer that way even if it wasn’t the fairest course of action.

Now that he remembered more fully with each moment that passed what he had put Potter through, he wished that he could take it back for both of them. Somehow an apology, even if he could force himself to make one, didn’t seem like it would be enough to make up for what he had done to Potter. Some things can never be set right, Snape told himself.

****

It was weeks later when, much to the Dursleys’ dismay, Harry Potter returned to their home with a letter of stern warning from Dumbledore that he was not to be mistreated by them. The young wizard was nearly fully recovered, and despite some confusion he had gained a new respect for the Potions Master. Dumbledore had been kind enough to explain things to Harry before allowing him to return home for the remaining time until the next term would begin. Harry now understood that Snape had not had a choice in his treatment, and he hoped that something like that would not happen again.

Harry had explained things to Ron and Hermione in a letter and he could hear surprise in both of their replies. Harry smiled; it was good to be back home where he could contact his friends if he wanted to.

Harry looked up as an unfamiliar owl carrying a small parcel flew through his window. He took the package from the bird. Once it was relieved of its duty it flew to Hedwig’s cage for a drink and then swooped briskly out the window to return to where it had come from.

Attached to the oddly shaped package was a note.

Mr. Potter,

I trust that you are still on your way to a full recovery. Enclosed is your wand. My regrets for not returning it to you sooner. Take care.

Professor Severus Snape

Harry grinned as he unwrapped his wand. It was good to have it back. He carefully tucked Snape’s brief note into the floorboard with the others from his friends. With a breath of contentment, Harry leaned back and eagerly anticipated the next semester at Hogwarts.