In the end, the spell did not work at all the way Draco had expected. Instead, it exceeded his expectations in every way, though, at first, it seemed it would not work at all.

He’d taken to stalking towards the library almost daily when thoughts of his approaching mission would plaque his mind. Perhaps somewhere among the multitudes of old tomes and other scholarly books, would be the answer to the hundreds of questions he was unable to ask others. To ask for answers would be taken as a weakness, and any weakness accidentally shown to Death Eaters and their acquaintances was the same as revealing a pulsing jugular to hungry wolves. To the others, it did not matter that Draco was the son of a well known Death Eater. A Death Eater that had once held a place of honor among the Dark Lord's inner circle. No, if anything, it only seemed to make them more eager to catch the first glimpse of failure.

 Already bets had been placed on how long he'd last in this newly exposed and dangerous world. Why give them more ammunition by asking for help?

His mother's heart had already been broken upon the news of his mission. There was no need to ask why he had been chosen. For his father's lacking obedience when it came to the Dark Lord's orders, Draco had been chosen to kill the second most powerful wizard of all time.

The only blessed reassurance Draco had left, and one he constantly brought up to himself in times of doubt...was this: Dumbledore was only the second most powerful.

 Unlike those foolish enough to follow Dumbledore's ways of thinking, Draco was on a path that would lead him to be at the right side of the Dark Lord. The most powerful Wizard of all time, one who had defeated death itself several times, if what Draco's father said was true...and he was not one to doubt his father's words. Though it would most certainly prove to be a challenge, Draco would have help, for surely the Dark Lord did not want him to fail.

 There were also whispers of his mother going to great lengths to also provide him assistance. However, Draco was not so ready to accept that help...he was no where near ready to believe that he would need it.

After several days of putting off the research he would have to seek out, the overwhelming urge for him to quickly find an easy solution came to him while watching clouds float by his bedroom window. It was easy to be lazy when no one was around to convince him to do otherwise, but now was not that time. He had been given a task, and as much as Draco hated it, it was in his best interests to complete that task in as quick a fashion as possible all the while protecting his own rump.

There had to be something that would help him to achieve his task, some spell, a long forgotten curse that would kill that old coot without Draco being too heavily involved. He could commit a murder the old fashioned way, a bit of poison slipped into a drink, some powdered hemlock stirred into his morning oatmeal. Even though, it was not exactly what Draco originally had in mind.

He had wanted to look into Dumbledore's eyes when he killed him. He would be the last person to look upon the live face of Albus Dumbledore, and he would see something that few, if any, had ever seen in the man's face. Fear.

Draco was not even sure if the Dark Lord in all his power had seen Dumbledore scared.

It would be the moment that his life has thus been based around. Until then, he'd been treated as a boy, as the son of a powerful man...but after he killed Dumbledore, he would be looked upon as a powerful man in his own might.

Then he would take his place beside the Dark Lord. His father had done the same a long time ago, but Draco had the chance to be far more powerful than his father ever had...especially considering how recent events had cast his father into the Dark Lord's bad graces.

Draco gritted his teeth at that. The exact events that had transpired at the Ministry of Magic that horrid night were not completely clear to him; but, he knew enough to realize that Potter alone could be held responsible for his father's current residence in Azkaban.

He would get revenge...but, that was another matter for another time.

For now, he would be content searching for spells to aid his mission.

The library itself was kept clean, but the books had not been dusted in at least a decade due to the dangerous spells placed on several. One wrong spell tossed carelessly in the direction of a shady tome could result in painful abrasion, or death as one house elf found out shortly after Draco had been born. There were still blood stains in one far corner of the room that could not be removed from that incident, his mother had tried both magical and Muggle means of doing so. It was a sore topic, not often brought up, and Draco did his best to avoid that area of the room.

The spell that now took up so much of his time had been found completely by accident, he’d been flipping through yet another volume of older spells used to maim, or fatally injure one’s foe. The yellowed page fell out from between a re-telling of the death of Racouris Dimpsey, whom had suffered a deadly blow to the head via the corpse of a dead cat. Draco had to give him points for creativity, but the mental images made him glad he had not eaten anything for this mornings breakfast.

On the next page, there were several spells created specifically for the use of cutting off digits. Perhaps they had been used as torturing techniques, but Draco could not think how cutting off Dumbledore’s little pinkie would aid him in anyway.

The yellowed page that had fallen out was littered with a neat handwriting, the language looked familiar to Draco, who had briefly been schooled in several languages, though only French and Latin had been consistently taught.
Stained and mistreated by previous owners, the spells on the page were indiscernible.

Along with the spells, there was a detailed drawing along the bottom right-hand corner. It described a man peering into a...window? A serious look was clearly painted on his face, and through the window, it seemed he was watching another person. 

Intrigued, Draco read out the spell in rough Latin. He really did need to practice, if only foreign language was taught at Hogwarts he wouldn't have this problem.

Eyes narrowed, Draco scowled down at the words and moved the tome over to one of the many reading tables. The stains seemed to have been placed in the worst possible location, though the spell itself was perfectly viewable, it was hard to read the description as what exactly would take place after someone read out the incantation.

From what he was able to determine...it seemed the spell would allow him to view someone secretly.

Draco smirked, no doubt this was a spell mostly used by peeping-Toms.

Or, extremely bored people. The last thought suited him just fine, and provided a good excuse as to why he would soon be trying to use a mysterious and possibly dangerous spell. If anyone was to ask, he'd raise an eyebrow, (a trademark Malfoy look) and say blandly, "I was simply bored."

At the back of his head, Draco knew he should be firmly searching for a spell that would save his arse by killing, or at least making it easier to kill, Albus Dumbledore. But, at that moment, curiosity overruled his sensibility.

"Sino oculos meos videre periclitatur hostis!"

The Latin words rolled easily off his tongue, it seemed that just like riding a broomstick, some things just were not easily forgotten.

It was a shame then, that nothing happened upon saying these wonderfully pronounced words.

Frowning, Draco reminded himself firmly that not all spells were easily cast. There was sometimes a difficult twist of the wand involved, or, in more difficult, and ancient circumstances, a dance.

There was no way he was going to waltz though, and so Draco leaned back over the book and drawing to search for what he had not included in the incantation.

What was the caster depicted in the drawing thinking so seriously on?

"Why does everything have to be so bloody difficult," Draco sighed, leaning back in his seat to think.

When the answer came to him, in a much longer time than he was proud to admit, Draco could almost curse at his own stupidity. Honestly, if it took him so long to think of something so simple, how was he ever going to defeat one of the greatest Wizards of all time?

Obviously, he had to think of the person he would want to view. This was true for most viewing spells, or at least, the two he knew of that were not banned by the Ministry of Magic. One of those viewing spells could only be used for children within a few meters distance, to make sure they had not wandered off too far. The other was not well-known, and was used by suspicious husbands and wives to see just how true their spouse was about their whereabouts.

Jumping up from the chair, Draco delightedly began to pace and ponder...just who would he spy on?

His somewhat girlfriend came to mind. He had not seen Pansy in quite a long time, though her letters came quite often and were always filled with sweet sayings and sugar coated niceties.

Yes, it would be nice to see her...and maybe catch her in a state of undress, he thought with a smirk.

Once again, Draco cast the spell, all the while thinking of Pansy clearly but fiercely.

It was clear in a few moments of intense thought, that it was not going to work. Maybe the spell had something against him, or perhaps it could feel his inner reasons for checking on this particular person.

Sighing, Draco gave in and thought about Crabbe while casting. By this point, he just wanted to know if would work.

It didn't.

Goyle, Nott, and in a daring moment, Draco even tried Professor Snape. It did not work. The bloody spell had got his hopes up, and then it did not even work.

Furious, Draco strode out of the library, tearing the old parchment in two and throwing it to the ground as he went.

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Three hours later, he was back. In his wake, he'd left several very troubled house elves, a broken coffee table, and...somewhere along the way, his immense frustration had run its course.

Much calmer, but just as disappointed, Draco smoothed out the parchment that was now in two pieces, and tried to put them back together with a mending spell. It worked, but a line was still visible where he had ripped it in anger.

Sipping from his tea, which had been provided by an eager house elf, Draco leaned back in the comfy recliner, and held the parchment in one hand and studied the drawing.

It was quite detailed. The disdain for the man in the glass was clear in the caster's face, as well as his concentration. The man in the window did not appear to be having a great day, he looked weather worn and tired, bent over wearily as he trudged along a rough, rocky path.

The artist really had outdone himself, even the two men's outfits were detailed. One man's family crest was clearly drawn on the back of his cape, it looked familiar, and Draco thought he remembered it from some gory history.

Upon further examination of the man in the window, Draco noticed another crest, visible over the man's breast. It was different from the one the caster wore, and Draco tried to remember why it was so familiar.

Something about a war between the two families...they were enemies, sworn to hate each other just because their family did. It had ended in blood and death, as all stories such as that did, if Draco remembered right.

Pushing the parchment away, Draco rubbed his eyes and tried to think of a reason to not go to bed early. He had found nothing but an unusable spell and a mountain of depression waiting to collapse on him in the library today.

Maybe tomorrow would be different. He stood up to leave, with a tired glance at the two enemies forever depicted in that drawing...and that is when a curious thought struck.

Perhaps...perhaps the spell was only for people who hated each other.

That would explain why it had not worked on Pansy, she adored him, and Crabbe and Goyle were eternally faithful, Nott had his moments, but he was okay...and Snape. Well, no one could ever determine what he thought of anyone, but Draco was sure the man did not hate him. In fact, he'd been spending a odd amount of time around Draco recently.

Now the question was, who did he hate?

Three answers immediately came to mind. All Weasley's, you might as well consider them a group, much like geese, cows and other dimly witted creatures. Then Granger, and of course, that four-eyed idiot....

Potter. His stupid friends had left him and the other Slytherins an a rather embarrassing situation, those...things, the stupid flying things the Weasley bitch had cursed him with still made him shiver with unease when his mind drifted to that particular memory.

His and Potter's last few meetings had not been satisfying at all. Draco wasn't used to having anyone laugh at his threats. He was a Malfoy; his name meant power. Anyone that laughed at his father one day meant that they'd lose their job the next.

But, Draco wasn't his father, and he had not yet gained the kind of respect his father had.

Thinking about his proud father in prison made Draco wonder though...would he still hold the same amount of power when he got out?

But...that kind of thinking made him uncomfortable, and Draco shook the thought away by aiming his mind at something else. In this case, giving Potter everything he deserved.

If the spell still didn't work for him...well, there is more than one way to skin a cat.

After so many failed attempts, Draco had partly memorized the spell, and he used the page as reference for the last few syllables.

Perhaps part of him had been losing faith in himself, or perhaps deep down he thought the spell would never work, and he was just grateful for an excuse to avoid certain other recent study topics...therefore, when the blank space in front of him seemed to shimmer, Draco was thoroughly stunned.

He stumbled back, remembering gory tales of spells gone wrong, but nothing upsetting happened.

The shimmer in the air glowed like crystals in the candlelight, and all at once the air hardened to a cool, glass like surface.

Swallowing his shaken nerves, Draco stepped forward cautiously. Through the glass, he could see a small, sparsely decorated room.

It was painted a bright, peach color, and the furniture (if it could even be called that) was extremely lacking in both looks and stability.
Draco was taken aback by the appearance, wondering what in heaven's name could this dreary little room have to do with Harry Potter?
He knew that Potter lived with his Muggle relatives, everyone did, but even as low as Muggles were, this place was surely not the common Muggle bedroom...right?

But, the surprise at the less than luxurious living conditions was nothing when compared to what Draco felt when he saw the puddle of blood on the wooden floorboards.

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Harry Potter had several things to ponder that summer, and he had both been dreading and looking forward to his life as a recluse in the Muggle house others would ignorantly refer to as his 'home'. He had found himself aching for moments alone while in Hogwarts, shying away when his friends would bring up Sirius and trying to keep the conversation dedicated to matters he was not emotionally attached to.

Judging from past years, Harry had thought what with the threat given to the Dursleys at the train station, that they would make themselves scarce. For the most part, that was true. Seemingly offended and scared at the same time, both Vernon and Petunia had avoided him, only leaving him a list of outside chores to do. A list so long and detailed it was sure to take him the majority of the summer to complete. It also assured that Harry would be mostly out of the Dursley's sight as long as they kept their blinds tightly shut while he was outside, and head firmly turned aside when he did come in.

It really was sad when his only blood-related family went to such great lengths so that they would not have to even glimpse him. It made Harry grit his teeth, a firm voice pointing out that his real family would never forget him, and were probably writing letters to him now and asking how he wa,...but his heart still ached for the affection he'd never feel. Not from them.

His food, he fetched for himself, and as the Dursleys had taken to eating out a fair amount lately, the kitchen was almost always empty...both of people and of food. He had a very small stash of non perishable items hidden under that one floor board in is room, and when he found nothing to eat in the kitchen, he would make his way upstairs and pick out some snack from his little stash.

Besides the fact that he no longer had Sirius in his life, there was also something different about that summer at the Dursleys than he could have accounted for. This difference was proving to be a bigger problem than he had previously thought it would, and Harry could only blame himself for that. He should have known by now to never underestimate people, even supposedly helpless Muggles.

It seemed, Dudley had found himself a new friend.

Unlike his other friends, that were willing most of the time to follow Dudley's steps, and let him lead...this one was about as easy to bend as a rod of iron.

His name was Brent, and he'd had it in for Harry since their first meeting.

"You must be Dudley's cousin, Harold or some'thin like tha. I'm Brent, in case you haven't already heard."

Harry had heard the footsteps behind him as he knelt in the back yard at Aunt Petunia's favorite rose bush, but, he hadn't thought anything of it. Last summer, he had someone checking up on him every five to ten minutes, why should this one be any different?

The voice was dismissive, uncaring, and reminded him of another person back in the Wizarding World that he personally considered a snooty brat.

Harry leaned back on his haunches, wiping beads of sweat away from his brow as he peered up at the unfamiliar person.

Unlike Piers, a long time friend of Dudley's, this one was sturdily built with a thick neck, thicker arms, and rather dominant stance as he stood over Harry, hands loosely placed in his pants pockets. When one took into consideration that Harry, in comparison, couldn't seem to even gain weight much less muscle...well, maybe Harry should have been a bit more wary of irritating him.

As it was, after that quick glance, Harry turned back to his weeding. He wondered irritably why in the world Aunt Petunia couldn't just get a gardener while he was in school instead of letting the flowerbeds go to Hell.

"Piers said you weren't fond of talking...unless provoked," after that irate mutter, Harry was sharply kicked in his ribs. With a sharp inhalation, Harry forced himself up from where the kick had almost toppled him over onto his back.

He stood up, a scowl on his face.

Even standing at his tallest, the other teen still had a good few inches on him, not to mention a few stone, though he was not overweight, Harry was just...well, underweight.

Had there been any doubt this one was a friend of Dudley, it had disappeared when he'd decided that bullying was how best to get Harry's full attention.

"Listen, I've got work to do, so why don't you go play with someone else. Someone that can actually be bothered to give you a second glance and match you in the short temper department. Perhaps a toddler or a pet?"
Harry hadn't practiced his verbal sparring skills since Malfoy had accosted him at Hogwarts, and he found an almost dead flame inside him flaring to life.

The other boy raised his eyebrows, a grin lighting his face. "Looks like Piers is right, for once," he said, in reference to his earlier statement. Harry's ribs tinged with pain, and he glanced down to see the other boy was wearing steel toed boots. An odd choice, but effective if you wanted to cause pain.

No wonder it hurt more than when Dudley wanted to kick him around.

"Seriously," Harry said, crossing his arms defensively. "Mrs. Figg has several cats, surely one will let you play with a bit of yarn--or, if you prefer, I bet Dudley will even fetch you one of their little jingle toys. You know, the little balls with bells inside?" Harry waved one cupped hand back in forth, as if shaking the imaginary toy.

 "Shut it, Potter."

Harry blinked as if surprised, and threw his hands up. "Sorry, sorry--you just seem like someone who would enjoy jingle toys. They don't take much intelligence to handle..." he trailed off, but not before he let his gaze settle on one of Brent's un-tied boots.

Harry's gaze narrowed, and he almost grinned. There was a small strip of toilet paper that trailed behind Brent's left boot, the one he hadn't kicked Harry with. He hadn't even noticed that, he'd meant to bring attention to the fact that Brent apparently couldn't even tie his shoes.

A blush rose up on Brent's cheeks as he followed his gaze, and Harry knew he should stop...but it was like Piers had apparently said, he was a quiet guy...until provoked.

"Ahh, sorry. From your apparent inability to tie your own shoes, you are clearly a shoestring man. You and Mr. Puss will get along great, that's his favorite toy too. Or perhaps you prefer the old fashioned roll of toilet pa--!"

A growl was the only warning he got, before a clenched fist flew at his mouth.

Harry ducked, and then flew for the backyard door. Fortunately, of the few things Harry thought he was good at, running away was at the top of the list. As a child, he'd run from Dudley and his merry band of bullies and from Aunt Petunia's sharp raps atop his head. As a teen, he'd run from man eating spiders, and authority...and Voldemort.

Yes, if there was one thing Harry knew how to do, it was run.

Even so, he had barely slammed the door shut when Brent's body slammed into the fake wood, shaking Harry bodily. As Harry hastily did the locks, his hand shaking with pent up nerves, he could hear Brent breathing heavily from the other side and could not subdue the laugh that bubbled out of him.

What a thrill...though, he counted himself lucky that the Dursley's were all gone out for lunch. 

Now Harry realized he was wrong to think that was the last time he'd have to deal with Brent McDowell. He had given Dudley a new surge of confidence, one that destroyed the progress he'd made with his diet and made Harry's life more unpleasant than he had foreseen.

Though Petunia and Vernon still kept their distance, with only cold glances and muttered comments thrown his way, Dudley had been searching for ways to stir the pot of contempt that had before then just slowly been bubbling.

Harry thought it odd that Dudley's fear of being enchanted in some way had worn off so quickly. It was also odd that after mostly ignoring Harry, Dudley and his friends had taken up the task of making his life horrible...but Harry hadn't thought about it much until it happened.

The second instance of Brent's influence came right after Harry had arrived back from the grocery store with Aunt Petunia. She'd forced him into going, saying that Dudley did not want him around with all his nice friends over, and that he could just be locked into his bedroom instead...but Harry knew that Dudley would just find a way in if he wanted, and then there'd be no adults around at all to stop any fighting. He'd placed all the groceries away, and was heading upstairs to his place of refuge...when he heard their snickers.

Glancing down, Harry could see Dudley, Piers, Brent and a couple other boys hanging out in the living room doorway. All of them with smirks, or innocent faces, as Harry peered at them cautiously. Then their was Jimmy, a new member of their little gang...and he looked so nervous that Harry frowned.

"You okay there, Jimmy?" he asked cautiously, his concern only increasing when the other boy only jumped, nodded hastily...and then seemed to turn a little green at the quick movement. 

Harry eyed him, and then decided he didn't care. He'd seen the group from his window as they sat on the lawn talking and laughing profusely, all the while sneaking drags on a cigarette that they shared amongst themselves...but he hadn't really thought they'd turn their attention to him. Mostly they stayed around Dudley's house to get free food from Petunia, who wouldn't dare refuse Dudley's friends when they might go back home and tell their mothers.

Harry suddenly felt like going upstairs was a big mistake...but to go back downstairs might prove to be even worse. It seemed one of Petunia's acquaintances had seen Harry's group of friends bidding him fair well at the train station, and had mentioned that she was 'surprised she kept such odd company' and that she'd 'never seen such an odd color of hair before on a woman,' and did Petunia 'plan on changing her own color?'

Every word made Harry feel like sinking into the ground. God, why wouldn't she just shut up? Of course she had no way of knowing that her prattling tongue was going to make Harry go without a few meals he really needed. The lady had not once glanced at Harry, but that didn't matter, the damage had been done.

As soon as they were in the car, Petunia had let a mouthful of air go. It hissed out between her teeth, as she clenched her hands on the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were white.

"I've spent years in this community--" she choked up, and Harry's eyes got wide. He hastily looked out the window, away from his aunt's teary eyes. She didn't say another word the entire drive home, and Harry had taken the groceries in silently as she quietly hid herself in the bedroom.

Harry quietly finished going upstairs, feeling several sets of eyes on him all the while. What could possibly be worse than walking down the stairs into their awaiting arms? Plus, Vernon would be home in a matter of minutes, and then he'd hear what that lady had said to Petunia.

With that in mind, Harry rubbed a hand over his suddenly tired eyes, and pushed the door open into his room and stepped inside. He shut the door with his foot, an instinct that came back to him every summer and stopped rubbing his face to look around his home for the next few months.

That was when he decided, yes, there were worse things than walking towards Dudley and his fellow bullies. Worse even then facing his Aunt's hateful gaze as she relayed today's market adventure to Vernon...

Because, neither of those involved a huge puddle of drying blood on his floor and a cat carcass at the edge of it.

Harry felt bile rise in his throat, and covered his mouth and nose to block out the smell of death. The doorknob pressed into his back, but he could not remember taking a step back.

What was worse, he recognized the cat as one of Mrs. Figg's favorites, and suddenly knew exactly how this had came to be. To make it worse though, is that Harry felt that doorknob turning, and then someone was trying to push it open.

"Harry--" it was his Aunt, and she already sounded impatient. "You need to finish the weeding, and Dudley says you broke his game system--open the door this instant!"

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Draco had backed into a chair during the throng of confusion that followed that horrid sight. He sat down heavily. So much blood...

His hands were shaking where they lay upon his lap, and he tried to stop it by grasping the arms of the chair. The mirror spell continued to work, a barely noticeable sheen on the surface the only thing reminding him that it was indeed a spell. Closing his eyes, Draco took a few calming breaths.

How was he supposed to handle murder if even the sight of blood caused him to go into shock?

The chair was studded with silver embellishments, and Draco ran his fingertips over them pensively to calm himself. Finally, when he found his reserve, he opened his eyes and stood to confront the scene that had shocked him so.

Yes, that was a lot of blood. A puddle that had begun to dry at the edges.

And what had this blood come from...Draco eyes trailed to the side and saw the dead cat. Almost instantly, Draco felt the need to hold his nose, but of course, the spell did not allow him to smell what he was viewing, and in a moment such as this he was extremely grateful.

The cat's fur was mottled and ratty looking. The bright orange coat seemed somehow diminished in death.

Potter's room was noticeably normal, if a bit pathetic. It had to be Potter's room too, there was a trunk with his initials shoved up against one wall, a white T-shirt thrown carelessly over it.

An owl cage sat atop the sad little desk beside the bed, though there was no owl to be seen. Pictures were taped over the bed, drawings and letters--probably fan mail. God, Potter was so vain.

Draco was leaning towards the spell, so enraptured he was in his examination of Potter's room--and that was when he heard the footsteps. There was a door to his right, and it opened a moment later. Potter walked in.

Immediately, Draco straightened up, sneer appearing on his face at the sight of him. But his automatic adjustment was for nothing, Potter could not see him--wouldn't have been able to even if he hadn't been currently rubbing his face with one hand as if trying to wipe away a months worth of grit.

He let loose a little sigh, and then shutting the door with his foot looked around the room with a resigned face.

That was, until his eyes drifted down. Draco took delight in how wide Potter's eyes got, how the breath got caught in his throat.

Potter stepped back in his disgust, much like Draco had. His hand flew up over his mouth, little choked sounds protruding from his throat.

Then, from outside the door, a new voice.

"Harry--" The door knob jiggled behind Potter's back, and the irate voice continued. "You need to finish the weeding, and Dudley says you broke his game system--open the door this instant!"

Potter went from looking ill, to looking pale as a ghost, and Draco had seen a fair amount of ghosts in his time.

"Ugh," Potter dragged out the word, sounding like a man awaiting the noose.

"What--what are you doing? You are already in a huge amount of trouble. I won't have any funny business in my house, Potter!"

The spell had not even been in place for five minutes, and already Draco had more to think of and to possibly use against Potter than he'd ever had before.

"I think he's done something terrible, Mrs Dursley," a sad, regretful voice said also from outside the door.

Potter had been combing his hands through his hair, but now he stopped and turned around to throw the door open.

"You did this!" He yelled at someone standing just out of sight, his voice more shocked and filled with disgust than Draco had ever heard it. "Don't you bloody dare try to blame it on me! How sick are you--how--why--"

There was a huge gasp, either someone had seen the cat, or was shocked at Potter's tone of voice...Draco was inclined to think it wasn't the latter.

The high pitched voice that had already seemed angry, was now horrified and outraged.

 "What have you done?" It ended in a shriek, and Potter stepped back into the room, and now Draco could see the horsy woman that stood in the doorway. Her hands were on her hips, cheeks pale of all color except for some badly placed blush.

 "I think your nephew has some problems Mrs Dursley," the same voice offered gently. "We heard him muttering strange words in here, like...abra cadabra. Kind of scared me, to be honest...especially after yesterday."

 Mrs Dursley, whom Draco took to be Potter's aunt, turned slowly in place, dread written on her face.

 "What happened yesterday?" She sounded like she did not want to know.

 A theatrical sigh was given, and Draco watched curiously as Potter, hearing the sigh bit his lip and clenched his fists.

 "I was just trying to get to know him...and so I tapped him on the shoulder, and said, "Hey, you must be Harry!" all friendly like, ya know? And...Mrs Dursley, it was so scary. I was suddenly on my back! Like a big wind had swooped out of no where and hit me!"

 Potter's shoulders slumped as the speaker said these words, his eyes closing and his head bowed. His teeth had left bright red marks on his lips, where he had bitten through the skin in his attempt to stay quiet.

"I even have bruises," another stuttering sigh, then, "and to think what he's been do'in with poor Mrs Figg's cats...I read once that people practicing bad things like, er, witchcraft,"

Mrs Dursley's whole body jerked.

"... actually use animal blood. Do you think that's what he's do'in?"

Draco knew many potions that used animal blood, but not from any kind of animal as common as a cat. Whoever this was, was obviously untaught and extremely ignorant about such matters.

But, if his wanted effect was to thoroughly stress out Mrs Dursley, it certainly had worked.

Her mouth was as tight as a newly wound toy, and her eyes were hard. She answered in a very quiet tone, but each word carried bad news for Potter. Her eyes never left his face, as if turning away would mean something bad happening to her...like Potter stabbing her.

"Dudley...darling, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask your friends to go home now. Vernon will be home soon...and I need to have a talk with your cousin."

A new voice replied, "Okay, Mum, come on guys. Harry's got to be punished." Snickers broke out in the hall, and Draco found himself slightly revolted that anyone could laugh now...even with the satisfying prospect of Potter getting what he deserved.

The words "Poor Mr Puss," were heard as the boys disappeared away down the hall, and then down what was presumably stairs.

Malfoy looked between the two remaining in the room.

Potter looked as ill as he had after the Tri Wizard tournament, when he'd appeared out of thin air with a dead Cedric Diggory desperately clutched in his arms. And his Muggle aunt? She looked ready to make Potter wish he was in Diggory's place.

Yes, Draco thought, this spell had certainly exceeded his expectations.

The truth of it was hidden behind several doors in his mind, but deep down, Harry knew with a certainty that Uncle Vernon wasn't going to kill him. And if Vernon, with his habit of raging before thinking wasn't going to kill him, then his aunt certainly wasn't.

However, even as he reassured himself, Harry could not deny that his aunt looked ready to kill him, or at least seriously maim him.

Her eyes, which had never held fondness when she was looking at him, suddenly held nothing. It was as if this new horror in their lives (this time in the form of a dead cat) had killed something inside her, it had taken her to the edge. He'd seen the same look in Sirius's eyes when he hadn't know he was being watched. It was the look of someone who had forgotten himself, a deep aching tiredness, a longing to walk away from it all.

Seeing this, Harry found that he was afraid. Not just for himself, but even more so, he was afraid for his aunt.

"Aunt Petunia?" His voice was soft and she left the room without meeting his eyes. He was sure she had not heard him. Still, Harry stood there, careful not to look down at the blood stained floor as he awaited to see if his aunt would return.

Within five minutes, she did, and with her she brought a cardboard box, a trash bag and several cloths made from retired T-shirts of Dudley's that had been passed to Harry and then much later, once they had started to rip, been turned into cleaning rags.

"Clean this up. There's a bucket for water in the bathroom." Her voice was emotionless, but Harry saw the twitches in her hands and knew that this was a facade of calmness. Under the surface was a torrent of emotion that was barely held in check.

She turned to leave, shoulders tight with tension. Harry found himself desperate for some sign from her that would show her belief in his innocence. Why hadn't she even asked where the cat came from? She hadn't asked him anything, just heard the words of Dudley's new friend and immediately accepted them as the truth. Shouldn't his words count for something? Her disdain of him had never been felt more heavily. It was almost suffocating and he couldn't help himself from stepping back a bit, as if distance would ease the weight that had settled on his chest.

She was almost out the door when Harry blurted the truth out, his voice almost desperate, "Aunt Petunia! I didn't do this--"

He'd hoped she would be surprised, and say, 'Well of course you didn't! If I had even the slightest thought of you doing something terrible you'd be out of here in a quick minute. No, of course you didn't do it, Harry.'

What she did next killed those thoughts. The speed in which she turned around surprised Harry, but when she raised her hand and struck him across the face, he was shocked. Any words Harry had thought of to defend himself were suddenly nonexistent, as if the sharp sound of her hand striking his cheek had scared them off. She'd never slapped him before.

"Don't." The one word was harsh, and stung as much as the slap had. Because behind that one word was disbelief. Petunia followed it with a small shake of her head, her eyes rimming with tears and then as she glanced at the empty owl cage in the corner of the room, fear.

She fled the room.

Staring after her in surprised hurt, Harry's already miserable mood dampened beyond repair. Why was it everyone on Privet Drive seemed intent on harming him? Their words, actions, the things they didn't say, the things they shouldn't have said...even some of the looks they gave, all of it focused on causing him pain. Seeing the fear in her eyes stung something fierce. Memories of his accidental magic and their responses to it rose up from the far corners of his soul where he'd hidden them, locked them away because the truth behind it brought forth such a burst of emotion that he thought he would choke from it.

To not be wanted was a terrible thing.

Eyes shifting to the carcass at his feet, Harry wished he could feel numb. But no one had granted him that yet, not when Cedric died, not when Sirius died and left that guilt filled pit in his stomach...and it wasn't about to happen now.

Harry clenched his fists together, his teeth grinding with such a ferocity that his gums were sure to be sore later.

What the hell was wrong with Brent? What kind of sick, messed up mind did he have to think of doing something so dreadful? There was no way around it, Brent had to have a hand in killing that poor cat. Even if he hadn't done it himself, he must have had someone do it for him. Had he been able to believe that this was just some poor animal hit by an automobile and later found by Brent, Harry might not have felt so sick. But this was the same Mr Puss that Harry had mentioned while trying to antagonize Brent yesterday.

"You and Mr. Puss will get along great," he'd said. The result of those words now lay at his feet. Was he now to be held responsible for the death of his godfather and for a cat, if not out loud by someone than at least in his own head? Harry closed his eyes slowly, relishing in the darkness behind his lids that held the strange, cruel world from view.

It was only with pure willpower that Harry made himself focus back on the matter at hand. Would Brent really do this by himself?

Had those few words exchanged between them really brought about this hatred? For only a deeply settled hatred would provoke the other boy to go to such lengths, not even Malfoy or Snape had gone this far to try to make Harry's life unbearable.

But perhaps, they just hadn't known what actions would result in the most pain. That brought another question to mind; how had Brent known that the best way to get back at Harry was to make his relatives distrust him more? And worse, would he try to do it again, this time with even more drastic results?

Harry swallowed, and slowly knelt to the floor to put the cat's body in the black plastic bag. Covering his hands with the trash bag, he picked up the carcass the same way Petunia had taught him to put up raw meat without getting it on his hands. The comparison made him feel like gagging, and the smell didn't help. As he picked up the heavy carcass, blood dripped and landed in the already considerable puddle on his bedroom floor. Who knew a cat had that much blood in them, especially elderly Mr Puss.

Next, he left his room on weak legs to go fill the bucket up with hot water. He filled the bucket with the first cleaning product he found, something scented with lavender, and then added a hefty amount of bleach to the mix. He had no desire to get sick from some dead-cat-disease, though that would really just round up the whole event quite nicely.

Snorting in disgust at the whole thing, Harry carried the bucket back to his room and worked on getting the blood off the floor and not vomiting in the process. Man, Ron and Hermione were not going to believe this.
"How'd your summer go, mate?"
"Oh, it was fine--until a loony Muggle planted a dead cat in my bedroom and my barmy relatives decided I was doing Dark Magic...so, yeah."

The rags from Harry's old T-shirt had gone from gray to burgundy. The bleach in the water caused his hands to tingle and ache as he scrubbed at the persistent stain where the blood had started to congeal.

He knew with certainty that the punishment his aunt and uncle decided upon for this new freakiness in their home would only be worse if there was a irremovable stain to remind them of it for the next few years

Sitting back on his haunches, Harry sighed heavily and his low fringe floated up momentarily revealing his scar.

It wasn't a complete crime scene any longer. There was no way an unknowing person could walk in and shout, "Aha! A cat lay there, after dying in a most gory way!" but, there was a large patch of floor a darker shade than the rest.

Maybe it would be different once it dried. If not, then nothing else could be done for it, he'd just have to cover it up with a mat. Harry stood, and took the bucket to the bathroom to dump it down the drain. The red of the water seemed supremely bright as it flowed out of the bucket and into the platinum white tub. Taking precaution not to leave any residue and inspire the Dursley's ire, Harry finally turned to the sink to wash his hands.

It was like he had dipped his hands in red dye, the color had settled on his skin, making every line and crease more noticeable. It was surprising how much this bothered Harry; he'd thought of the figurative 'blood on his hands' before, even quite recently...but to see actual blood on his hands was something else entirely.

For a heart stopping moment, he had a flash of surety that it wasn't going to come off.

Harry increased his efforts, and after using a heavily concentrated liquid soap, the color of his skin returned to normal.

When he got back in his room, it was only to find that the box with the cat inside was gone. Harry blinked at that, and then slowly closed his door, and sat on his bed. He wanted to be ready when Vernon came home so he kept himself turned toward the only entrance.

To calm the emotions stirring inside, Harry reached for his wand that he had hid in a wand holster under the baggy T-shirt.
It had been a gift from Moody given to him at the train station, 'Don't want to take anymore risks of blowing your cheek off than you need to,' he'd remarked gruffly, and Harry had smiled slightly in return, murmuring his thanks. The Dursley's greedy eyes had burned into his back when they'd seen the generously wrapped gift. The gift wrap must not have been Moody's idea, Harry was quite certain the older man could not have been the one to pick it out due to the gold snitches that glided across the surface. It drew too much attention, unwanted attention, he would have said.

Homesickness creeped into the forefront of Harry's mind again. He missed being around people that actually liked him. People that cared whether he lived or died, even seemed concerned when he arrived back in the Wizarding world skinnier than when he had left it.
A large portion of the Order had come to see him off, to warn the Dursley's against treating him unfairly...though, Harry had never mentioned that they had a tendency to be unkind. He wondered momentarily how they knew he wasn't exactly thought of as prince-like in his relative's residence...Hermione and Ron wouldn't have talked about it, they didn't know too much anyway.

There was Mr Weasley to consider, he had come to pick Harry up the summer before his fourth year, and he'd seemed awfully surprised that the Dursley's hadn't the slightest inclination to say goodbye to their only nephew.

At that moment, the door to the front of the house opened and closed loudly.

Talking about things getting worse....

Uncle Vernon hummed loudly as he set his briefcase down beside the door, and then made his was past the stairs toward the kitchen where he would proceed to eat his dinner with gusto. After the meal, he would collapse happily in his favorite recliner situated perfectly in front of the television. Or, at least that is what would have happened on a normal day.

Today, unfortunately, was quite different. Having been closed in his room for the past hour, Harry had not thought about how he was supposed to cook. He'd reckoned Petunia would have handled it.

Vernon asked a question, and Harry strained to hear a reply. He almost sneaked to the door to peer out into the hall, but his legs seemed suddenly incapable of any such movement.

It must have been a long reply, for there was no forthcoming sounds of silverware clanging, or pots being bustled about. There was only the quiet sound of his aunt's voice as she talked...and talked...and yes, continued speaking.

The near silence was worse than yelling, at least a raised voice would be a fair warning as what he had to expect.

Harry had just closed his eyes, still resigned to staying in the exact same position until something happened, when the heavy trod of his uncle's footsteps made his eyes open. Vernon ascended quickly, much too quickly for him to be going to the bathroom to wash himself up for dinner.

The door slammed open, bouncing off the peach wall and seeming to vibrate with rage. Harry jerked up to stand warily before his heavily breathing uncle. Vernon stared at Harry, his beady eyes taking in the stain on the floor, and then the wand clenched in Harry's whitening fingers.

A decision flashed in Vernon's face, his mouth tightened with determination and he held out one hand.

"Give it," he snapped.

Harry's mouth dropped a bit, and then followed Vernon's eyes to where they kept glancing...and he had to blink rapidly.

"Er..."

"Give me your....wand," though he had difficulty saying the word, Vernon still managed it which only proved just how determined he was prepared to be. The fact that he was even willing to touch a magical thing in the first place spoke volumes. His large purple face was twitchy with nerves, his mustache bristling and moving about enough to make Harry think he was hiding an animal among the many hairs...like a cat.

Harry grimaced. Perhaps that was not the best animal to think of at the moment.

"I..." Harry rapped his brain quickly, his instincts screaming at him that he'd better ruddy not let his wand anywhere near Vernon's large, unkind hands.

"Boy!"

"I can't! If...if any non-magical person touches any wizard's wand, an alert will be sent out to the Ministry of Magic, remember them? The ones holding all the power? They'll send out...er, magical police men to find out what's wrong--and probably take your memory away. You aren't supposed to know too much."

There was a momentary stillness to Vernon, and Harry knew he was considering his words and probably imagining large wizards breaking down his door to steal his memories.

"Fine," he growled, and Harry mistook that word to mean that Uncle Vernon had given up. "You'll put it in the trunk. I'm locking it away, you won't see it again until you go back to that freaky place."

Harry swallowed, the idea of locking away his wand was like being without his glasses. It would be like wallowing in helplessness. He'd be even more at their mercy than before. Harry wasn't sure he'd survive with those chances.

"But--"

Uncle Vernon seemed to grow in front of Harry's very eyes, but all he did was step closer. He leaned in close and Harry flinched as he noticed the red veins in his eyes, and could smell his uncle's foul breath as he breathed in his face.

"Petunia told me all about today, boy. That woman in the grocery store, the--the neighbor's cat!"

Harry had been sure Vernon would not touch him, but as he spoke and his voice rose, his heavy arms reached out and grasped Harry's arms roughly.

"We've been through enough! Took you in out of a sense of responsibility. Clothed you and fed you, gave you all you could ever need! Taken food away from our own son's mouth in the process--ungrateful!" He gave a mighty shake, his face contorting with rage.

"Now you're killing our neighbors animals! And Dudley could lose his friends all because of your unnaturalness--I thought it was bad before, oh no, you had to do this! Well, no more! No, I won't let you tread all over our kindness any longer boy." Uncle Vernon released Harry with a last mighty shake that made him lose his balance.

Harry sprang up quickly from the bed, eyes wide. His wand had come loose and landed on the floor. Uncle Vernon saw, and with a wide grin, he picked it up between two fingers and flung it in Harry's open trunk. While Harry watched, he brought a padlock out of his trouser pocket. He bent down and it clicked into place, ensuring that Harry would not see his belongings again until Vernon allowed it.

Harry had a moment of relief though, at least his wand would still be in his room, even though he couldn't get to it at the moment.

"Don't think I'm leaving this in here," Vernon told Harry with a snort, seeing how he'd been eyeing the trunk. And with that he hefted the trunk up to carry it right outside the doorway where he dropped it. The jarring bang made Harry wince, and Uncle Vernon turned back to him.

"Petunia told me what Dudley's friend said, about you--you tossing him into the air! I won't have you harming my family, or our neighbors! If I was less of a man I'd be tempted to throttle you! After all you've put my family through--taking you in when no one wanted you. You're a freak, boy! Threatening us, trying to make us bend to your wishes. You're to write to those people regularly, I will be checking to make sure you don't say anything distasteful about us...and if you do," Uncle Vernon took a huge breath, and whispered the next words harshly, "I'll break that bird's neck!"

Harry flinched back, the words lashing out and striking him hard.

"You are not to write about this incident to anyone, you hear me boy? No one! You are to stay in this room, and be quiet and grateful."

With that, Vernon turned, his chest puffed out as he strode from the room and slammed the door shut behind him. The sound of several locks turning could be heard clearly. One, two, three--honestly, why they thought it would take that many to keep him inside, he didn't know.

It was safer in his room than it was out there anyway, why would he want to leave?

Shaken, Harry sat staring at the door long after the footsteps of his uncle had faded away, and the sounds of dinner being made downstairs replaced them.

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Potter didn't stand a chance in that house. He already looked broken...but maybe that had more to do with the death of his 'flea-bitten godfather' as he'd heard him called.

Draco sat utterly still once again and stared at Potter who was blankly gazing down at the floor. His entire person seemed to radiate resignation, from his shoulders which bent down in a slump of pure dismay to his arms which hung limply across his knees. Even his hands, which Draco had often caused to clench in anger, were lifeless.

After several seconds of staring, in which neither of them moved, Draco found that his glee had been dampened significantly. Instead, a lump of lead seemed to have settled into his stomach causing queasiness and then...confusion. A frown creased Draco's forehead as he realized what had caused this sudden change.

Potter's home situation had made him sad. Damn.

Before he could delve into why he felt this way, a sharp popping noise startled him and Draco stood up and spun around.

"Moppet! Didn't I tell you to knock on the door first? I don't want you invading my privacy without my explicit permission!"

Moppet the house else cowered over the tray he held, eyes not meeting Draco's as he stuttered out an apology.

"No, Master Draco! You isn't telling Muppet to knock first! Muppet is sorry for not thinking of it, so sorry Master Draco!"

Draco waved the apologies away, annoyed that the house elf had not just pretended that he was supposed to knock and taken the blame.

"Just leave the platter and get out of my sight--oh, and Muppet?"

"Yes, Master Draco?" The words were said with quiet defeat, and it reminded Draco of how Potter had sounded so strongly, that for a moment he forgot what he was going to say.

"Er...don't speak of anything you see in this room. Understand? If you even think of it, I'll have you hung up by those horrible ears of yours."

"Yes, sir! Yes, Muppet not be saying a word of Master Draco's magic mirror!"

Draco blinked in surprise, and then opened his mouth to chastise some more, something along the lines of, "I said don't mention it!" Muppet, however, had glimpsed freedom and took it without looking back. He disappeared with a terrified pop.

Aggravated now, Draco turned back toward the mirror and crossed his arms.

How many times had he wanted to see Potter put in his place? Just for once to have a figure with some authority knock him out of his high-and-mighty attitude. More times than Draco could count, and honestly, for a few moments there, watching Potter's utter defeat had given a deep satisfaction. Then, it had flitted away like a butterfly in a large garden.

It was surreal, and strange, and something else...uncomfortable.

Yes, Draco shifted in his chair. He felt uncomfortable having seen that, and he didn't know why.

After several long seconds, the answer came to Draco and it relived him so much that he said it out loud. "I'm hungry!"

Of course; hunger could make anyone do or feel strange things. Even make Draco feel sorry for Potter in the face of his disheartenment. Because, obviously, Potter deserved a lot more than a rough shaking for all the discomfort he had caused Draco alone. The Dark Lord would see to that though.

Draco nodded to himself, ignored the last few tendrils in his stomach that said he wasn't being truthful with himself, and turned to take the tray Muppet had left to the nearest table. Mother seemed to have told the house elves to make up for Draco's current lack of a father with enormous amounts of food. Ever since he'd been imprisoned in Azkaban, dinner had become something for Narcissa to involve herself in. She planned the meals weeks ahead, trying new things that Draco wasn't sure he wanted to try, and there was always too much left over.

Narcissa had stopped encouraging Draco to eat dinner with her soon after the start of summer. She's originally wanted them to dine together and hold the illusion of a whole family...but he grew tired of her remorseful looks directed toward the head of the table. Bland conversation and a never ending feeling of falseness lingered between them. The way it was never mentioned, but constantly there of course made it impossible for Draco to think of anything else.

He had to find a way to kill Dumbledore.

Taking the cover off his meal, Draco inhaled the scent of steamed vegetables and roasted chicken and fresh herbs. He sat down, napkin at hand and utensils at the ready--when he happened to glance up. What was a quick glance up, turned into another stare he was quickly finding himself doing a lot.

Potter had stood up from the wobbly bed, walked around to the other side and was now kneeling on the floorboards. At first, Draco thought he was praying, and that stunned him. But, no, Potter was now leaning forward and reaching one skinny arm under the bed.

Mouth thin with effort, Potter sighed and then lay down on the floor, head almost completely out of sight. He reappeared moments later, wrappers crinkling in his hands and he withdrew a couple of pastries from some hidden compartment underneath the bed.

The bed frame creaked ominously as Potter leaned against it, quickly unwrapping one pastry and inhaling deeply with a contentedness Draco had never seen before on his face. He ate it slowly, head leaned back, and eyes closed. It was like the bloody prat had never had a sweet before.

Why would anyone take thirteen small bites out of a pastry that could easily be finished in six? Draco had never taken so long to eat something so insignificant, he ate with grace expected of him, but not at a snails pace! And meanwhile, his own food was going to get cold. Draco started eating quickly, keeping an eye on Potter all the time.

When he was finished, Potter folded the pastry wrapper up into a small square, and then he looked at the other pastry. A battle was going on inside his head, with the moonlight streaming through the window, Draco could see it even though he did not understand it.

Finally, with a regretful look, Potter snatched up the other pastry and the empty, folded wrapper and stuck them both back under the bed in whatever hiding place he had.

Chewing his chicken thoughtfully, Draco's eyes turned to the small wastebasket in the room clearly within Potter's reach, even sitting on the floor. Why did he keep a wrapper? Didn't he know that could draw all sorts of vermin to his room looking for food? Potter was looking out the window now, his hand rubbing his eyes.

A growl emerged from his stomach, hidden under those horribly droopy clothes. The universal sign for hunger. A sound where when mother's heard it, they worried and ran to feed their children, a sound that when it came from Draco, his friends would suggest summoning a house elf for a snack.

An un-amused smile came upon Potter's face, and he muttered something that sounded terribly like, "Better get used to it," as he continued to stare out at the night sky.

Any appetite Draco had left, dried up just as soon as Potter said those words. His mother's carefully planned meal now seemed outlandish and unappealing. He laid his fork down carefully, and then cast the spell that would cancel the spell. His view of Potter melted away, and yet, he still could not bring himself to eat his favorite custard when Muppet brought it in for him.

It was carried toward him on a silver tray, and the custard itself incased in a fine stemmed glass and decorated with fresh berries and a sprig of mint so green it had to have been freshly picked. Yet, looking at it, all Draco could see was a sticky, unhealthy pastry pulled out from under a bed and eaten with the delight only one who never knew when their next meal would be could have.

"Is Master Draco upset with Muppet? Muppet announced himself first before entering, just as Master asked!"

Draco sighed, feeling ill and confused, "No, I'm not mad at you--but I will be if you don't get that out of here now!"

Muppet squeaked and did exactly that.

Unfortunately, what Draco did not think about, was the fact that with now no Muppet or his dessert to distract him, he had only his own situation to think of.

"Why should I bloody care?" Draco asked himself fiercely.

He shouldn't, was the answer he came up with. What did it matter if Potter was hungry and feeling depressed. Maybe he'd off himself and do the whole Wizarding World a favor. Tension still made his fingers tap a steady beat atop the table's surface, and Draco blew out a breath and closed his eyes.

He was just too soft; that was it, and it had to stop. Death Eaters couldn't be soft, they were respectable and severe, feared and rejected by those who didn't understand. If he was ever going to be one, he had to stop feeling so much, and that meant not caring about those people who were all going to end up dead or prisoners in the end anyway.

This was more than he had expected. He'd hoped to use information on Potter to achieve the highest forms of payback. Instead, he found that Potter was already getting payback, in more imaginative ways than Draco could have imagined. What in the world had happened to make his relatives despise him so?

Draco shook his head, whoever had started that was genius. Had they planted poison in their morning tea and blamed it on Potter, had the cousin been scalped and a razor found in Potter's hand while he was sleeping? Or, had Potter brought this animosity upon himself?

Now that was an incriminating idea. Potter, after years of taking his relatives for granted finally pushes them too far. Isn't that what the uncle had suggested? Yes, that did seem a far more likely concept. So why did Draco feel like he was trying to fool himself?

Gritting his teeth, a horribly un-Malfoy thing to do, Draco pushed himself away from the chair and marched out of the library. There was simply only one cure for a befuddled mind and a tense body; a long bath followed by at least eight hours of sleep. Then, in the morning, he had to start looking for a way to get rid of Dumbledore once and for all.
No more peering in on Potter. Draco got caught up in his life too easily, what with all the weird mannerisms of the Muggles and Potter's strange lack of stubbornness around them. He seemed completely different compared to everything Draco had seen in school...and the thought of missing out on some new Muggle inflicted drama was almost too much. Fine, maybe he could look in on Potter once or twice tomorrow...but no more than that.

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Harry started awake. Disoriented, he wasn't sure what had woken him at first, he just knew it was loud and he desperately hoped it didn't mean more bad news.

The shrill sound of a drill bit grinding into stone continued and Harry slid off the bed. His bare feet touched the floor just as someone spoke outside his window.

"You sure you only want it on one window Mr Dursley? Looks a bit odd, I have to say."

Harry's teeth clenched together, even his sleepy self able to put together the pieces of this puzzle.

"Never you mind that! Just do you job."

Peering out his bedroom window, Harry saw the eye roll of the security man and heard the whispered insults that his uncle on the ground below would never know about. But, he couldn't think too much about that. The bars on his window were back. Even with the early morning light still shining through, Harry's room seemed somehow darker and even sinister.

The grimly sarcastic side of himself thought it was rather appropriate turn of events. He'd already felt like a prisoner, but now his room was decorated like one too. Goody.

Done with his task, the security man had climbed down his ladder, and was now talking with Vernon on the lawn below Harry's window. The stubborn look of Vernon's face made Harry sure that the conversation involved the price; for a moment, Harry really did feel bad for the worker who was already looking a bit peeved.

Then, someone else caught Harry's eye. They stood on the corner of the yard, starting at the window--no, staring at Harry through the window.

Harry met Brent's eyes and instantly wished he'd turned away instead. He could have done without seeing Brent's slow, thin smile and the glint in his eyes that clearly read, I win.

Three days. That's how long Potter had been contained in that horrid room of his, staring at the shadows on the walls as they grew larger and night fell, and then staring at the sunlight as it peaked through the window the following morning.
It was quite clear that there was not an abundance of things to do besides staring; Potter's school books had been locked up and carried off, and the Muggle uncle didn't seem the reasonable type. In fact, from what Draco had seen, mentioning 'summer reading' might result in yet another verbose dispute.

Though he'd not been watching him without pause, Draco had a feeling that his relatives had not fed Potter since he was first locked in that room. However, that did not mean that Potter went without food. He would at least once a day and no more than twice, drop to the floor beside his bed and pull out some packaged sweet or other unhealthy food from his little hiding spot.

Never once did the determined Gryffindor spirit he was so known for show its face. Potter never bounded to the door and demanded to be let out, he never devised an escape with some secret magical object previously thought to be a myth, he didn't even perform any underage magic...though that was probably due to his current lack of a wand.

And that was something else, Draco thought with irritation. Since when did Potter willingly let a Muggle, relative or not, take his wand? Yes, there had been a brief struggle, and Potter had gotten his uncle to lock the wand away instead of letting the red-faced man cling onto it himself, but still....

A Wizard's wand was power and protection. To even let another Wizard use one's wand was a sign of great trust. For a Muggle to take Potter's wand away and leave him vulnerable, it was ridiculous.

Potter was proving to be a disappointment and a bigger mystery all at the same time.

The only change that ever occurred was the few times a day that the click of locks being undone could be heard, and Potter would be released from the room to go use the loo. Barely five minutes later, he almost always returned, and the door was closed by some unseen hand. Sometimes it shut so fast, Potter barely got past the threshold before it tried to slam into his face.

When this happened, Draco mocked in his head that a broken nose on Potter would be an improvement, but the mental words felt wrong and somewhat shameful.

When Potter came back in the room his face would always be wet where he'd washed it in the bathroom sink, and probably drank as much water as he could hold as well.

Draco's nose crinkled as a thought came to him; no bathing for at least three days. Gross, and yet, it really wasn't Potter's fault.

Potter's hair even seemed to be suffering, it was limp and his bangs fell in his face. Besides his appearance, Potter himself showed very little signs of his captivity affecting him. He sat in different places around the room. On his bed, in the corner, in front of the window, in front of the door, and he just stared at whatever lay before him.

One day, Draco had sat in front of the mirror, almost leaning against the surface while Potter sat cross legged atop the rickety bed. His eyes stared ahead, blinking rarely, but occasionally flickering towards the door or to the window when sounds of life would creep into his little room.

Time dragged on. The past few days just watching Potter watch the world pass by were some of the longest days of Draco's life. He found himself wishing he could use Legilimency on Potter through the glass, just to catch a glimmer of his thoughts...or sense the true nature of his emotions. Who could sit so long in solitude and be so damn quiet, was he even thinking? Had his brain turned to mush with no one to talk to?

The door to the room suddenly started to open. Potter jumped off the bed so quick that his sudden motion startled Draco into jerking away from the mirror, his back bumping into the chair behind him so hard that it almost tipped over.

"Merlin," Draco breathed, closing his eyes for a second as his heart settled down inside his chest.

"Here," it was the voice of Potter's aunt. "Well, come on--get in there!"

Potter's snowy owl flew in the room where it landed on Potter's shoulder, turned itself around and hooted reproachfully at the aunt. Draco would almost swear he heard her grinding those long horse like teeth of hers.

"Write back to those people, tell them you're fine and that your summer is going good." She started to shut the door but Potter stopped her with quick words.

"Wait, don't I get to read my letter?"

There was a quiet pause. "I think you lost that right quite some time ago." The door shut, and the locks clicked back into place.

Potter closed his eyes, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment and a light breeze suddenly lifted his limp hair off his forehead and ruffled the owls feathers. She nipped Potter warningly on the ear, and the breeze died away as quickly as it began.

"Sorry," he muttered shortly and turned to stare out the window, his fists clenched painfully hard at his sides.

The door didn't open again for the rest of the day.

................................................................................................................

The next day, Draco waited until noon to enter the library. He walked the grounds, enjoying the warmth of the summer sun on his face. He really needed to get out more. Just as long as he was not out in it long enough to freckle. To bear any resemblance to the Weasley's, well, that would just not do.

He wondered what the Weasley's would think of Potter's confinement. Did they know about his relatives being so upset at him? Would they care if they did? Or was this normal Muggle behavior, or at least normal for Potter's Muggle relations?

As the sun rose higher in the sky and the summer heat began to get a little too warm, Draco retired inside and walked to the library with more eagerness that was probably permitted. He cast the spell while the library door was still swinging shut, and tapped his wand against his hand in a slight show of impatience as the clear glass materialized in front of him.

Potter had his back partially turned to Draco, and was peering at an object in his hands. He turned and Draco saw it was a can and Potter was ineffectively trying to pry the lid off. He looked more tired than he had the previous day.

Draco didn't see how he managed that; if there was one thing Potter had time to do in the long, slow hours he spent in his room, it was sleep.

From behind him, Draco heard the door to the library open and knowing it was time for lunch, he waved a distracted hand at the table on his left. "Leave it there, Moppet."

There was something he should have realized sooner though. Perhaps if he hadn't been so distracted by the bizarre sight of Potter wrestling with an aluminum can, he wouldn't have been caught. As it was, Draco's mind caught up too slowly with all the clues that is was not Moppet that had entered his new hideout.

House elves didn't use doors, for one. Secondly, they didn't carry the scent of potions ingredients.

Draco drew his wand to cancel the mirror spell, his heart having already sped up as he realized someone knew and his secret was no longer his alone.

"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape said in a low, dangerous tone. "Trying to hide whatever you've done only makes you appear more guilty than you might be...though at the moment, I don't know if that is even possible."

Draco lowered his wand slowly, then bowed his head.

There was no use in even trying to hide what he'd discovered, though it certainly needed a well worded explanation...and he was fresh out of those. There was one thing he was thinking of clearly, Snape was not one he needed to get on the bad side of, not now anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Draco turned around and stared at his Professor with his head held high. Though he might not feel confident, it didn't mean he couldn't look it. Even if his professor could see straight through his mask.

Snape wasn't looking at him though, he was staring at the mirror with no faint amount of distrust. Draco glanced back and saw Potter had managed to pry the lid off the can and was fishing out bits of vegetables to drop them into his owl's cage.

The owl gazed at him reproachfully and Potter frowned back.

"It's not my fault, Hedwig. Catch yourself a juicy mouse next time you fly out, and bring me back a sandwich while you're at it."

Turning away from his irritable bird, Potter sunk onto his bed which creaked loudly and turned the can of cold soup up and slurped noisily. Snape raised an eyebrow at that, but made no other motion and Draco felt words escape his traitorous mouth before he could swallow them.

"Don't tell."

Snape gave Draco a swift, piercing look. His sharp gaze holding Draco in his place and making him wish he could melt into the carpet. After scanning his face, as if looking for the answers there, Snape looked back at the mirror.

"You have thought about the repercussions you may suffer for breaking several privacy laws, and on Harry Potter no less?"

Draco blinked and then tried not to flush in his embarrassment. "Actually, no."

It was Snape's turn to blink, and he managed to even make that look dangerous, his eyes flashing and hardening as he walked closer to Draco.

"Just when I thought you above this sort of idiocy you go and prove me wrong. Your orders from the Dark Lord have nothing to do with Potter, if you are planning to cause him harm I would suggest you re-think immediately. He is to be left to the Dark Lord--"

"What?"Draco snapped, glaring back at Snape and trying not to feel intimidated. "No, stop--I'm not trying to murder bloody Harry Potter!"

"Language," Snape hissed, eyes darting from Draco to the mirror where Potter was scraping out the last few remnants of his meal.

"I found the spell, wasn't sure what it would do--and it took me ages to get it right and even then Potter's the only one it would work on."

This wasn't entirely true; after getting it to work on Potter, Draco hadn't wanted to pry in on anyone else's life. He doubted anyone else had a secret double life as interesting as Potter's. Pansy certainly didn't, even listening to her talk about her summer on the train ride back to Hogwarts every year made him want to have an out of body experience.

Snape didn't look entirely appeased, and so Draco continued with an explanation that he hoped wouldn't make him look like a complete fool.

"I wanted to use the spell to get some blackmail at first," Draco shrugged, eyes roving back at Potter in the mirror.

He didn't notice Snape's eyes watching him closely. Eyes that always caught the fine details others missed, sometimes aided by his skill as a Legilimens, but sometimes not. Maybe if Draco had been thinking more clearly, he would have tried to compose his face more, but by the time he glanced back at Snape, it was too late. He had seen the hesitation in the way Draco worried his bottom lip, a habit that had gotten his knuckles rapped on by his father's cane many a time. Along with the hesitation, he'd seen the frustration. A frustrated Malfoy was a dangerous thing, and it could make one commit stupid, regrettable actions.

"Explain." The demanding tone made Draco stiffen up and spin around.

"Why should I? This is my house; and I certainly didn't invite you--"

"You clearly don't want anyone to know about this; but if you think I have any qualms about telling your mother and even the Dark Lord himself you are severely mistaken. I repeat, explain."

It was true. Draco didn't want to share this with anyone. They might put a stop to it, and he still didn't understand Potter, he had so many questions still. Like, why did the family that should have adored him seem to despise his very presence?

There was something else as well...Draco felt rather possessive about the spell. He'd made it work, and so he alone should be able to use it in any way he wanted to. Privacy laws be damned.

Though he doubted Snape would go to the Dark Lord, he would most certainly go to his mother, and in some cases, she could be a lot scarier.

"Fine," Draco said finally. "Just so we're clear, I'm not using this spell for any...icky reasons. I have no desire to see Potter in all his scrawny, naked glory--just in case you were wondering."

"I wasn't. But, I certainly am now."

Draco shot him a glare. "No joking right now, I'm serious."

Raising an eyebrow, as if to say, 'Me, jesting? Not likely.' the professor flicked his hand at Draco in a nonverbal demand for his continuation.

"It's just that...I really, just don't understand. Potter isn't supposed to be like this."

Snape seemed to roll his eyes at Draco's inadequate wording. Or perhaps, he had been expecting a more verbose answer.

"What exactly do you have trouble comprehending about Potter? He's not exactly a mystery; just an arrogant brat without any ability to obey authority. This is of course not at all recognizable in the eyes of his adoring friends."

Draco frowned at the words Snape said, each one seeming to drip with disdain.

"That's just it though. The people you'd expect to adore him the most, even worship him, seem to treat him like utter rubbish."

Snape's eyes half closed, as if he was watching Draco become a Potter-lover before his very eyes and he was disgusted by it.

"Don't you think, Draco, that you are embellishing just a tad?"

"No, sir. Why would I try to make Potter's home life into some tale of woe? I still hate the ugly git, but--well, watch! You saw him, eating out of a can, as if he was living on the street and used to it. They haven't let him out of that room to do anything other than piss in nearly five days; his Muggle uncle threw his wand in a trunk and carried it off--after yelling in his face and shaking him so hard Potter's head almost flew off..."

Snape was utterly still. His face showed no emotion as he listened but his eyes were constantly roving from Draco and his dramatic speech to Potter in his dark and gloomy room.

"I've only ever seen Potter stubborn and acting all empowered, like he rules whatever room he's in. But here he's like a beaten down puppy scared of making too much noise...you'd think he'd at least be...angry at them, or something! Not just accept it."

Draco crossed his arms, glaring at the mirror charm. "It's just sad, and I don't understand it."

A soft snort from Snape made Draco stiffen and turn his head. "Really, Draco, feeling bad for Potter? I can assure you whatever his relatives have done to him in the short amount of time you've been watching was well deserved. Did you even consider that perhaps every time you've seen him in public, his little show of superiority was just that, a show? He might even believe in all the bravado he puts on. In the face of danger, however, his mask will fall off and then it's clear that he is no more worthy of his title The Boy Who Lived than Gilderoy Lockhart was of his."

Draco opened his mouth to protest and Snape shut him up with a sharp flick of his hand. "No, listen to me. Would Dumbledore himself placed his little Golden Boy in a house where he would be anything other than adored?"

That...was a good retort. Draco immediately found himself doubting, but still he was not willing to back down. He opened his mouth to tell Snape about the dead cat, and how his uncle said he'd only taken Potter in out of a sense of responsibility, but Snape's eyes told him that if continued this argument of sorts, that Draco would regret it.

It would probably be a waste of words and oxygen anyway. Snape probably hated Potter more than Draco did, even if something was wrong in the Gryffindor's household, why would he care? He'd most likely be pleased.

Fine, he would back down now, but only in ways that Snape could see. In his mind, he was sure that Potter was, dare he say it, loathed by his relatives...now came the question of how to use this information for his own good without revealing how he'd come across it. After all, that's why he'd continued watching anyway.

Snape was studying the mirror now, eyes narrowed again as he watched Potter who was now sitting on the floor under his window and staring at the cat flap his relatives used to push food into the room.

"I will keep your secret for now, but, you need to be more careful Draco," Snape murmured. "Ward the door to this room. I will be back, in the meantime, don't forget your mission." With those warning words, Snape cast one last glance behind his shoulder at Potter who still hadn't moved, and swept out of the room.

................................................................................................................

The Headmaster's office was lit only by a softly burning fireplace when Snape flooed in later that same day. One might think that in the middle of summer, the room would be much too hot, but the fire was spelled to bring forth a cozy atmosphere more than it was meant for heat.

Dumbledore seemed intent on surrounding himself with objects and sights that should inspire peaceful and affable emotions. His oddly decorated robes, the immense sock collection he was fond of bringing up when Severus was most loath to listen, and of course, Fawkes.

The phoenix was eyeing him now, rather unnervingly as it always did and Snape inclined his head the slightest bit. Some magical creatures deserved respect.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, not looking at all surprised to see him. One long, wrinkled finger twirled over a teacup filled to the brim with a dark pink liquid that carefully flowed around the edges of the dainty china. In all his years of visits, the majority of which had involved at least one drink, whether it was tea or something stronger, Snape had never seen Dumbledore spill a single drop as he wandlessly stirred his cup.

He'd even tried to shock the older man into clumsily stirring a bit too hard, but he hadn't managed it yet.

"I wasn't expecting you so soon," Dumbledore smiled, and gestured toward his tea. "Would you care for some?"

Snape drew closer, and sniffed delicately. Hibiscus and cinnamon tea, that explained the horrid color, and it certainly wasn't to his tastes.

"No, Headmaster, thank you." He sat down in the chair in front of the large desk, just as he had a hundred times before.

"Earl Grey, then? You know I always prefer to drink with my friends, rather than in front of them."

Snape nodded, "That's fine."

Dumbledore smiled, finally appeased and summoned a house elf to ask for the tea.

"Albus," Snape began, once the elf had returned with the tea and then departed again with a pop. Dumbledore stopped his slow tea stirring, noticing that Snape had something of import to discuss.

"You learned something from your visit with young Mister Malfoy? I wouldn't think he had come across anything worrisome yet," Dumbledore ran a hand over his beard, his eyes looking at the opposite wall of the office with a far off look.

"It may very well prove worrisome," Snape said, almost looking amused, "but not for the reasons you may think. It has very little to do with his mission. Upon his hopeless search, it seems Mister Malfoy came across a spell that does something I don't think he had fully considered."

Dumbledore's full attention was centered on Snape, his hands lightly holding the arms of his chair as he listened. Fawkes was still, possibly sensing the slight tension in the air.

"It's a spell for spying, one I've never even heard mention of. Even after several hours searching my own texts I found only spells whose results were pitiful in comparison to what I saw this spell do. From what I observed, the spell caster receives a full view of the chosen subject, words spoken from the subject and to the subject can be heard as well. The person that Draco has chosen though is the possibly dangerous part."

"Yes?" Dumbledore urged quietly when Snape paused to take a long drink of his tea.

"Albus," Snape said, slowly placing his teacup back on the saucer and leaning back in his chair. "He's watching Potter."

"Harry?" Dumbledore's eyebrows furrowed into a deep frown. "The spell is powerful enough to break through the wards?"

Snape had known that point especially would be cause for concern for Albus. He based Potter's safety on the strength of those wards, but as Snape knew very little of the spell itself he therefore could say very little to ease that concern.

"From what Draco told me, Potter was the only one the spell would work on. I believe he was being honest."

Dumbledore nodded and stood to walk towards the fireplace where he stood silently, waiting to hear more.

"Though there can be no assurance that Draco won't bring this spell to the Dark Lord's attention later, there is no doubt, in my mind at least, that at this time he has not even thought of taking that action."

Dumbledore turned his head slightly and asked, "What other reason would he have for a spying spell than to seek information that would aid Voldemort, Severus?"

"Though Draco has grown in some ways, his childish rivalry with Potter lives on with no sign of it ever diminishing. He wants to find some way of blackmailing him, learning some information that would give him the upper hand in any future argument."

Dumbledore faced the fireplace again, but now before Snape saw how the corners of his mouth lifted up with amused smile.

"Ah, I had not considered the length school boys will go to just to learn something dark about the other."

Snape sneered and pushed his teacup away. "Yes, but it seems Draco may have learned more than he expected and he doesn't know how to handle this new information, or even distinguish what is real and what he has made up."

The shadows in the room drew back some as Dumbledore spelled the flames of the fire larger, though there was still no heat that came from it.

Snape stood up and came to stand beside him. "In his own words," he began sarcastically, "'Potter isn't supposed to be like this.'"

Dumbledore did not look amused any longer. His expression was solemn and his arms were crossed behind his back in deep contemplation.

"Yes, I think several people might be better off if they realized that," he said quietly.

"Hmm?"

Glancing at him seriously, Dumbledore continued. "There is a lot more to Harry than many would want to admit. Some realizations change one's opinion so much that they may find that going back to the way things were before is simply impossible. That can be rather frightening."

Snape glared at the fire. Would Dumbledore never cease his insistent meddling? He could continue believing in his delusions of Potter's unfaltering moral goodness, but, if he didn't stop trying to change everyone else's mind to echo his own, he might soon find himself without a spy.

Perhaps sensing Snape's unwillingness to listen tonight, Dumbledore sighed lightly.

"What else did Mister Malfoy have to say about Harry?"

"I'm not sure I wish to repeat it all, hearing it once was quite enough."

"Pensieve, then?"

Snape nodded and Dumbledore went to draw it out from the large cabinet in the corner of the room. He placed the heavy object on the desk and turned away towards the fireplace as Snape drew forth the memory of his meeting with Draco.

"There."

Dumbledore came forward and placed a hand briefly on Snape's shoulder, "Thank you, Severus." With that, he bent his head toward the pensieve and was immediately enveloped in memory.

While Dumbledore viewed the memories of what Snape himself had lived only hours before, Snape stared at the fire, crossed his arms, and tried to think of how best to handle Draco.

It was only years of masking his expression that kept Snape from gawking when he'd entered the library earlier that day. At first he'd wondered at the length of Draco's vanity, to have such a large mirror placed in a library...then he'd noticed that it was not Draco's reflection it showed, but Potter.

Bloody Harry Potter, of all people, and what was he doing?

He was in the middle of an intense battle with a metal can. Hero of the Wizarding World my arse.

Snape had maybe half a minute to sort all this out, and think of what to say when he saw the realization creep into Draco that he was not in the presence of his house elf after all.

He'd come down hard on the boy and made it clear that he held no interest in Potter except that he was to be left unharmed for the Dark Lord. There was certainly nothing in his words that could be later held over his head should the Dark Lord ever break into either his or Draco's mind.

Draco's unfaltering interest in Potter's life at his Muggle relative's home was odd, and Snape found himself wondering how much of what the boy had said was true. Had the uncle really locked up Potter's wand? That was probably for the best, in that house he was safe, and his use of underage magic had gotten him in trouble before, so Snape could understand that. But then there was the matter of the uncle shaking Potter 'so hard his head almost flew off.'

Snape smirked to himself. He was not able to deny that the mental image was quite amusing, and most certainly a bit exaggerated on Draco's part.

He meant what he said, Dumbledore wouldn't put his favorite Gryffindor in the care of anyone who would treat him wrongly. At that moment, the Headmaster emerged from the pensieve.

He looked oddly content.

"Severus," he began and smiled when he caught Snape's wary expression. "I think this may be a very good thing indeed."

He sat behind the desk, and Snape moved to return his memories to their rightful place.

"Care to impart how you came to that insane conclusion?"

Dumbledore laughed softly at him, and Snape scowled deeply into the basin as the wand withdrew the cloudy trail that was his memories.

"No need to look so utterly vexed, Severus. Now, consider if you would, a world where the Malfoy family was not sided with Voldemort."

Snape almost snorted, but instead remained quiet as he put the memories back in his mind and then raised an eyebrow at the headmaster in a show of delicate interest.

"You have my apt attention."

"Young Mr. Malfoy's interest in Harry's life and apparent confusion, could lead to doubts about his family's allegiance with Voldemort. That doubt, if fed correctly, could grow into fear and potentially leave Voldemort with a few less supporters."

Snape was not one to aid along foolish fantasies. He did not hesitate to sneer at Dumbledore and his fantastical imagination.

"I think you've been reading up on fairy tales, Albus. That would work all too well for us, so, it won't be happening anytime soon. We aren't that lucky."

"Ah, Severus. We make our own luck."

With a growl in the back of his throat, Severus threw one of his own favored quotes back, "Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect."

Dumbledore smiled, "Ah! So, you do agree that with the right preparation, we can possibly get young Mr. Malfoy to turn his life down a better path."

Snape scowled and looked away. "Since his mother has expressed her desire for me to monitor him and keep him from harm, it should be somewhat easy to see what effect watching his Lord's enemy will have on Draco. And, I will admit he seemed more troubled than usual."

"Hmm. That may have been borne from your sudden appearance," Dumbledore said with a light chuckle.

"No, no, I don't think so. I do disagree with your scheme, Draco's already frightened for the safety of his family, and has been raised with the mind set of loyally following the Dark Lord. You should stay out of it Albus. Meddling is not a pastime you should partake in."

"He is planning on murdering me Severus, but perhaps after his first attempts fail he'll seek other ways of ensuring his own safety and that of his family. You should go visit him again fairly soon, I'd like to learn the name of that spell."

Though he noted how his advise on meddling was overlooked, Snape only nodded reluctantly and turned towards the door. "Very well, Albus. I'll take my leave now. Thank you for the tea."

Dumbledore nodded, "Anytime, Severus."

......................................................................................................

Harry woke up to the sound of pounding footsteps. He blinked and with bated breath listened for difference of Uncle Vernon's steps to Dudley's. Once waking up, Uncle Vernon would get ready for work and go downstairs with the intent to not come back up until it was time to retire to bed. If those were his footsteps, then Harry was most likely about to have a very rude wake up call indeed.

He had just sat up when the door handle started to rattle, and he could hear little huffing breaths just beyond the door. Shit.

The door opened much slower then Harry expected and his danger radar seemed jump along with his stomach.

"What....is this?"

Resisting the urge to close his eyes, Harry licked his lips a bit. "A parcel?"

"Very good deduction!" Vernon spat out. "As if you weren't expecting this--this!"

He flung the parcel at Harry's head and all the little wrapped packages of food that Ron and his mum had sent him were scattered across the room and sent flying into various objects with sad smacking sounds. The box hit Harry's upraised arm and fell at his feet.

Though it certainly wasn't time for mundane observations, Harry noticed that the appropriate number of stamps were neatly placed on the package, and wondered who had helped the Weasley's with mailing it.

"What did you tell them boy? Do you write to them and say that we don't feed you? Are you so bloody ungrateful of what you do have that you have to go begging others for more!"

"They were just being thoughtful," Harry murmured.

"Thoughtful!" Vernon shouted. "is it bloody thoughtful of them to mail you this shit in broad daylight so that all the neighborhood knows that a freak lives here! Eh? Answer me that, boy!"

Harry remained silent, his fists clenched at his sides.

"Nothing to say for yourself that would make you seem any less freakish? Not even going to try?" Uncle Vernon shook his head at Harry, his eyes narrowed with dislike. Those beady eyes shot to the rubbish bin and he pointed at it, his hand shaking with pent up anger. "Bring that here."

Harry picked it up as Vernon continued talking. "Got to make sure you aren't hiding food in here too," he said and bent his head to look inside the bin for any wrappers.

Due to Harry's forward planning, it was empty.

Vernon grunted and pulled back. "Well, pick all that up and put it back in the parcel. It's going straight in the rubbish."

Trying not to let his frustration show, Harry focused on that room of solitude inside himself where Vernon's hate filled tones could not reach and picked up all the carefully wrapped bits of food that he would not get to eat. Fresh bread, sandwiches with a preservation charm, several chocolate frogs that he was sure had been Ron's donation.

Harry kneeled down on the side of the bed Vernon could not see and slid one sandwich underneath and was careful to come back up with a bag of Bertie's Bots Every Flavor Beans in his hand so Vernon would not suspect anything.

He placed it all back in the box and held it out to Vernon who snatched it, sniffed and walked out of the room. Once the locks slid back into place and he heard his uncle once again downstairs in the kitchen, Harry thought it was safe to reclaim the sandwich.

"Thanks, Ron," he said and tried to enjoy the peanut butter and strawberry jam with slow delight. The Weasley's thoughtfulness hadn't gone completely to waste.

The summer was shaping up to be worse than usual. Harry could always count on them finding fault with him for something that would gain him a punishment of meager food supply. But it was going on five days with only water and a can of soup from the Dursley's. He was starting to get that near constant achy feeling he'd grown so used to when he was younger and his Hogwart's letter hadn't arrived. The ache was one that never went away and echoed the pain in his chest he felt when he saw how Dudley was never left in want.

It was a pain that made him realize later on just how fortunate he was when at Hogwarts he never had to go hungry, and when he would visit the Weasley's they all seemed so happy just to see to his well being.

Brent must have really stirred the pot with that bloody cat trick, they'd never been this harsh with rashenings before. Three days without food was the longest he could remember. After his first year at Hogwarts, Harry had hoped that maybe, along with his new bedroom, some other changes might come about in the Dursley household. Like more food for him, and maybe, just maybe, they'd be more affectionate towards him.

Harry had paid for that false assumption, the hunger pains were hard to get used to after being fed three well portioned meals each day at Hogwarts. He'd smartened up after that and started shrinking his stomach when summer break would draw near by eating less and less each day. It helped tremendously...sneaking food also helped but there was only so much he could hide. It was lucky that they didn't have an insect problem with all the wrappers Harry's had stowed away under his bed.

With only the crust of his sandwich left, Harry went to his bedroom window and stared out at the world still moving onward just beyond the bars.

If he could make it past this summer with all his social skills intact it would be a miracle, considering he was surrounded by people that detested him once again and considered verbal interaction with him burdensome.

At least all the quiet time had produced some good results. He was feeling rather good about his Oclumency skills. He'd 'borrowed' several texts from the Hogwart's library right before leaving, and even though they were locked away now, what he'd had a chance to read certainly seemed to be helping.

To anyone watching, all his silent staring would have seemed rather creepy if they were not aware that he was actually practicing. Good thing no one was watching. He didn't need anymore help being classified as a freak.

.....................................................................

Draco hadn't slept at all. Knowing that someone else now shared his secret, even someone he had known all his life, had left him nervous and paranoid. He had ended the mirror spell after Snape left and even though he itched to start it again. He'd immediately cast wards around the room to keep even the members of his own family out and to warn him of anything approaching the room, elf, owl, or human.

Snape's words kept coming back to him, and when they did Draco almost ground his teeth.

No, he had not considered the laws he was breaking. At the time he was too caught up in the question, 'Why the hell is Potter being throttled by a bloody Muggle?'

It didn't matter now. Snape wouldn't report him, he'd vowed to Draco's mother that he would protect him. He'd seemed quite interested in the spell actually--ding.

Draco froze.

Ding. Then, much louder, the sound came again, then a voice that was neither male or female whispered in his head, 'Severus Snape'.

"Snape?" Draco muttered irritably and cast tempus. It was only eight in the morning, and though Draco normally got up earlier, he wondered at Snape thinking it was a good time for a visit.
Running his fingers through his oddly unkempt hair, Draco stood up to greet Snape just as he walked through the library doors.

There was a slightly pinched quality to his face that made Draco's heart stop beating for a second and all variations of bad thoughts race through his head.

"Did you tell someone about...." Draco swallowed when Snape's eyes seemed to grow, if possible, darker. He shut the library door and strode forward talking as he went and scanning the book laden table.

"Ah, yes. I can see the conversation now, 'Draco Malfoy? Yes, I know him very well. In his spare time he spies through a peephole watching Harry Potter eat noodles from a can' ." Snape turned scathing eyes on Draco, one eyebrow raised. "I have no wish to be placed in Mungos's Incurable Ward."

Crossing his arms, Draco tried not to huff.

"What can I help you with today, Professor?"

Snape raised one eyebrow at him, and crossed his arms to mirror Draco. "Why, Draco, you don't sound pleased to see me...and no, I haven't and don't plan on spewing information about your new hobby to anyone."

He turned and picked up a heavy book off the table and started flipping through it. "I just wish to know more about the spell you used."

"Why?"

"Down, Draco. You can keep Potter all to yourself, I want to know the spell for research purposes. Only."

Teeth clench, Draco bit out, "Would you stop insinuating--"

Seeing Snape's lip twitch as he remained bent over the book, Draco sighed and went closer to the table.

"I'll give you the spell, though I should make you just study for it until your eyes roll out of your head--"

"What a lovely mental picture that is," Snape said, dropping the book he held and reaching for another.

"Of course you would think so," Draco griped back and with a heavy sigh picked the stray piece of paper up that was separated slightly from all the other tombs. "This is old, please don't get spider blood, or some other disgusting ingredient on it."

Snape cast him a warning glance and carefully took the parchment.

"Certainly not what I would classify as easy reading," Snape drawled and narrowed his eyes at the tiny print on the stained page. "What did you translate the words to say?"

"I just thought it meant 'to view a enemy', or something along those lines."

"Hmm," Snape said, his eyes thoughtful as he gazed at the picture besides the words. "I'd like to see the spell working."

Draco blinked at him, "Now?"

In turn, Snape made a sound that was close to a snort. "Do you have a more preferable time to begin Potter watching?"

Not bothering to hide his irritation at that comment, Draco scowled and moved forward to cast the spell he'd memorized.

The view of Potter's bedroom materialized in front of them, just in time to see Potter's large uncle hurl a box straight at his nephew's head. Potter raised an arm to shield his face and flinched back as the box hit his upraised arm with a large thwack-ing sound. The contents of the box flew across the room too fast for either Snape or Draco to make out what they were.

"What did you tell them boy?" Potter's uncle yelled at him, spittle flying out of his mouth and his face turning red much too quickly. "Do you write to them and say that we don't feed you? Are you so bloody ungrateful of what you do have that you have to go begging others for more!"

Draco could feel Snape step closer, and knew those dark eyes would be taking in every detail of the scene before them both.

"They were just being thoughtful," Potter said quietly. His eyes trailed to the ground.

"Thoughtful!" His uncle shouted, hands flying up like he wanted to hit something, "is it bloody thoughtful of them to mail you this shit in broad daylight so that all the neighborhood knows that a freak lives here! Eh? Answer me that, boy!"

Potter didn't speak, but Draco saw how his fists clenched tightly at the offensive words.

"Nothing to say for yourself that would make you seem any less freakish? Not even going to try?"

He suddenly pointed at the rubbish bin in the corner of the room. "Bring that here."

Draco inhaled quickly, and not thinking, he breathed out, "That's why he did it."

He felt Snape look at him sharply. "What?" He snapped.

As Potter picked up the rubbish bin, Draco quickly explained.

"Potter has a hidden stash of food under his bed, but he never puts the wrappers in the rubbish, he always hides them--"

"Got to make sure you aren't hiding food in here too," the Muggle bent his head and looked down in the rubbish bin with an expectant look on his face, which quickly fell into disappointment and then he grunted. "Well, pick all that up and put it back in the parcel. It's going straight in the rubbish."

Draco glanced at Snape and said with a little more snideness than was probably necessary, "Still think I'm embellishing?"

His professor looked like he was barely holding back a snarl when he glanced at Draco.

"Please Draco, if you are so bored that you have to create sob stories from the normal lives of your fellow students, I suggest you take up a hobby."

As Potter's Muggle uncle left the room, Draco turned on Snape. "In what world is it normal to call your nephew a 'freak'?"

Snape raised his eyes to the ceiling, "People say all matter of things when they are angry Draco, you don't know what has caused this upset among the family, but I can assure you Potter is to blame for it. There have never been any reports of violence from their house before, and don't you think Potter would ask to be removed from the house if he truly felt endangered there?"

Snape suddenly froze and leaned toward the mirror, "What is he doing?"

Draco turned and they watched in silence as Potter got on the floor and dug underneath the bed frame. When he emerged, it was with a sandwich wrapped in wax paper that he'd managed to hide from his uncle.

"Oh, that's something else you might be interested to know...Potter has some Slytherin tendencies."

Snape did snarl then, and without a glance back, he turned on his heel and swept out of the library. Watching him go, Draco couldn't help but smirk a bit.

.....................................................................

"Danger," Snape mussed to himself not even an hour later and then leaned back in his high backed chair. He'd taken the scrap of parchment back to his rooms at Hogwarts instead of going back to his home. The majority of his older, more valuable books remained here all through the year, where he could keep an eye on them and have them close at hand. Plus, he trusted Hogwarts security more than his current abode he still grudgingly referred to as home. The longer his belongings went without being touch by the sullied hands of his 'fellow' Death Eaters, the better.

He'd translated the spell, and now wondered if he needed to alert Albus immediately, or if it could wait.

According to his translation, the spell was for 'watching enemies in danger'. With this spell, one man could see his foe drink the poisoned wine he'd sent him, or get mauled by the dog he'd set after him...it really was a grim little thing.

But that only brought forth the question...what was Potter in danger of?

.....................................................................

Behind the locked doors in his mind, Harry felt a bit more at peace. It was not a feeling he was not used to at the Dursley's. Things this summer were odd, and more than a little unsettling...but he could always rely on the fact that it would eventually come to an end.

Along with the dread he felt when summer approached, there as also something he'd never had before. A knowledge that he had somewhere better to go as soon as summer ended, and sometimes even sooner than that if the Weasley's decided to let him stay with them.

The sound of male voices downstairs did not alarm him, in his relaxed state brought on by Oclumency it was more so background noise...until one of those voices drew nearer.

"I'm go'in to the loo! Put the movie on already," shouted someone from just out in the hall.

Harry's eyes flashed open just as the locks on his door started to slide open from the outside.

He didn't stand, even when the door opened to show Brent leaning against the doorframe with has hands both shoved into his pockets. His eyes laid upon Harry who remained sitting under the window with his arms crossed over the top of his knees.

"I think you're lost, this is not the loo."

Strangely, Brent smiled. "No, even though it smells like it. When was the last time you showered?"

"Probably about the same time you had anything knowledgeable to say...so a very, very long time ago."

Brent stepped forward angrily and it was Harry's turn to smile. "Won't your little friends be looking for you? How long does it normally take you to piss?"

"Oh, they won't be looking for me for a while, and by then they'll be too late."

He moved further into the room and the door shut silently behind him.

Suddenly feeling very small and alone, Harry stood up and tried to keep his growing anxiety off his face.

"if you're here to beat me up you'd better get on with it, the Dursley's will be home soon."

Brent guffawed, "Like they'd really care after all I've done to make sure they'd hate you."

Harry glanced at the bars on the window that had been there long before Brent arrived. "You can't take credit for them hating me, not full credit."

Brent shrugged, "I just made it grow is all."

Feeling suddenly a fierce annoyance at him, Harry snapped, "Why?"

A strange look came over Brent's face. The look was full of frustration and for a moment Harry wondered if Brent was all right in the head. The answer came to him immediately.

He'd killed a cat just to make the Dursley's mad at Harry, of course he wasn't right in the head.

"Why?" Brent said in a low tone of voice, "It's what I was supposed to do. That...and this."

With that being said, he stepped forward with a menacing air. Harry reached for his wand--and his hand grasped at air just as his other hand moved to punch Brent across the face.

Dodging his blow, Brent pulled a small dagger from the hidden pocket of his jacket and with one swift and practiced move, he stabbed Harry in his leg. The blade slid in deep even as Harry tried to push Brent away.

"Agghh!" Harry screamed in pain and anger, he ducked his head down and saw that the knife was buried up to the hilt into his leg. Blood was already soaking his pant leg and leaking on his Aunt's floorboards.

"Brent--"

His attacker moved back, and suddenly unable to hold himself up, Harry slid down the wall. Still and silent, Brent watched.

Words left him, and so he didn't try to speak. Harry moved a shaking hand to pull the dagger out, but Brent's words stopped him.

"Goodbye, Potter. It was fun, this little one-sided game, but it's served the purpose it was meant to, as has my little pawn. So, it's time to end both."

Harry stared at Brent, his hand hovering in the air and mouth slightly open in shock. Because it hadn't been Brent's voice that spoke, even though it had been his mouth that moved. Even as he watched, Brent's eyes rolled back in his head and in what seemed like slow motion, his body collapsed loudly next to where Harry still sat.

Though he didn't check, Harry knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he was dead.

His leg spasmed then, and Harry lurched forward as pain shot through not only his leg, but through his entire body.

"Brent! Hey, Brent!"

Dudley was shouting from the bottom of the stairs. Harry's eyes shot toward the shut door of his bedroom, at the same time he felt a tugging from somewhere behind his navel.

"Oh...oh, God." Harry muttered, and reached again to pull the dagger from his leg.

He was too late. At the same time that the room started spinning, Dudley started pounding up the stairs and Harry knew the first thing he'd see when he entered this room, was Brent's dead body lying alone on the floor....and then, the Portkey activated.

At the same time that the room started spinning, Dudley started pounding up the stairs and Harry knew the first thing he'd see when he entered this room, was Brent's dead body lying alone on the floor....and then, the Portkey activated.

He was tumbling through the air without having any control over where he'd land. Harry's hands stretched out, fingers grasping urgently at air as if he could somehow slow his descent. His thoughts were racing around his head at the same rate in which he fell from the sky.

One thought above all stood out among the others. He could very well be tumbling towards his death. He had no want, Vernon had taken it.
Harry had been assured the wards about his aunt's house would keep him safe from the outside forces that wished him harm, and now it was apparent that they were not so unbreakable after all.

Why had he been fool enough to believe he was safe. When had he ever been safe?

Though he was falling at quite a fast rate, Harry still glimpsed the soft green lines of the countryside with darker green blobs of thick forest scattered about, then, he landed painfully hard on his back among tall grass. He started coughing violently as the impact stole the air from his lungs.

Turning on his side and batting grass away from his face, Harry caught his breath just in time to hear a calm and cultured voice speak from behind him.

"Good, he didn't stab you in the chest. I was a bit worried, my instructions weren't very clear."

His breath caught in his throat as he sat up suddenly with the blade still deeply embedded in his leg so that is twisted quite painfully, tearing his muscles. The sunlight reflected off the smears of blood on the grass under his injured leg.

Harry lay a hand above the wound, gritted his teeth and stared intensely toward where the voice had come from.
In the shadows of several large trees, a tall man of perhaps twenty watched him with interest. One hand tapped a wand against his thigh and violet sparks flew from the tip, the other hand was tucked inside the pocket of his Muggle trousers.

He continued to speak, dark blue eyes never leaving Harry's, as if he wanted to enjoy his reaction.

"The spell I created is a bit tricky, it really would have been a shame had you died before I even presented you to the Dark Lord."

Dirt pushed painfully up underneath his fingernails as Harry crushed grass hard into his fists. He breathed out harshly, and tried not to let his emotions take over his face. But, he was in pain and shock...and even when he wasn't in this condition his mouth still got the better of him.

"Who are you? Were you controlling him the whole time?" Harry struggled to stand, and angrily pulled the blade out of his skin when it hindered him, the adrenaline and anger masking some of the pain.

With the offensive object in hand, Harry pushed himself to stand up even as dark shadows tinted the corners of his vision and the ground seemed to roll under his unsteady feet.

Eyes creased with faint amusement and yet also admiration, the man stepped out in the sun and away from the line of trees. His stride was sure, he was easy in his surroundings.

"You just keep surprising me, Potter. Perhaps if Voldemort doesn't kill you, I can keep you around. You could pour my tea," he smirked a bit.

Even in pain and shaking a little from standing when all he wanted to do was lay his head on the green grass and let the darkness wash over him, Harry knew that this was no ordinary Death Eater.

"You said his name?"

A wide smile answered his question. "Yes, I really hope you don't die in the next few hours, Mr Potter."

Harry found himself suddenly more drowsy than he could ever remember as a soft but effective sleeping spell hit him right in the chest. He fell back to the ground, where he had started off, and the last thing he saw was a pair of polished shoes walking straight to where he lay.

......

Betrayal.

Draco sat up straighter in his chair, his eyes becoming clearer as he finally recognized one of the many emotions he was feeling at the moment. This spell was his, he'd found it, he was the only one who knew about it--besides Snape.

It was supposed to make his life a bit easier, give him some blackmail on Potter, a sense of superiority he hadn't felt in a bloody long time. Instead, it had done nothing but shock him repeatedly with unfathomable sights, the latest of which he was still reeling from.

At first he'd thought his mind had been thoroughly and irrevocably damaged. That's why he'd just imagined Potter being brutally attacked by a Muggle.

A Muggle who spoke riddles in a different voice and then seemed to collapse in on himself. Eyes wide from his spot on the floor, Potter had tried to grasp the handle of the weapon embedded in his leg--and then, he'd disappeared.

Gone.

Draco wouldn't admit it to anyone, but when Potter was stabbed, he'd found himself gasping and lifting his wand, as if he could actually do anything, and not for a second wondering why he'd want to help. Then, when Potter disappeared, he'd found his legs suddenly unable to hold himself up straight.

How would he tell his mother, that even after all she was already going through, her son had now lost his mind, for that was the only conclusion he could come to that would make his current thoughts anything other than corrupt.

The spell had ended on its own. Yet, Draco couldn't seem to stop staring at the spot the mirror had stood, his mind in a fog.

Originally, the spell had left him feeling empowered, but now...damn.

Draco rested his head in his hands. He'd become too entangled in Potter's life. A week ago he'd have been quite thrilled to hear his prattish school nemesis had been forcibly taken from his close-knit family even as they heaped praise and encouragement onto his undeserving, un-brushed head.

Upon casting the spell, his mental image had burst like an over ripe fruit, and instead Potter had been a pacifying, seemingly unwanted, surprisingly sneaky teen...and more familiar than Draco was content with.

How dare the spell make him see resemblances of himself in Potter, he wished he'd never used it.

The voice he'd first heard yesterday when Snape had visited said, 'Narcissa Malfoy'. It had barely finished when he heard his mother stride through the double doors and into the library. She didn't pause but headed straight to where he sat, still staring at the same spot, feeling more disturbed than when the Dark Lord had told him to murder Albus Dumbledore.

Then he'd at least been numb. That was surely better than the hundreds of emotions all warring inside him now.

Had the Dark Lord glimpsed inside his mind now, his father wouldn't be the only one in his bad graces.

"Draco?" His mother delicately placed her hand on his shoulder, and then came around to face him. Her face grew concerned, light blue eyes took in his pale face and unkempt appearance. Finally, she knelt on one knee in front of him and took his cold hand in both her warm ones.

"Draco, what is it dear? You're shaking."

Looking down at his hand she held, Draco saw that he was, indeed, shaking. This only succeeded in frustrating him further.

"You should have told me you were starting to get sick," she scolded him lightly, and raised one hand to place it gently above his brow. Draco closed his eyes--and opened them again just as quickly.

"I've been feeling off."

A sudden and possibly quite mad idea came to him.

"I think I'm just worried about keeping my grades up this year, Professor Snape told me the curriculum would be quite intense--perhaps you could get him to tutor me a bit? Maybe today? This afternoon even...because I'm sure I'd feel immensely better knowing what I was up against."

Narcissa gave him an odd look, "No need for all of that, he would have told me if you were falling behind in any department. You have just been stressed, I'll have Moppet bring you a Pepper-Up potion."

Draco tried not to show his disappointment as his mother gave him a fleeting peck on the check.

"Malfoy's really shouldn't smell the way you currently do, Draco," she said, a touch of confusion in her tone. "You're normally so pristine."

Her eyes swept over him again, and she said reluctantly, "If you clean yourself up, and join me for dinner tonight, I might mention to Severus that you're concerned about your progress in school. It will be up to him though to offer any tutoring."

It was more than he had expected, no he nodded and gave his mother a small, thankful smile.

When she had left the library, Draco counted to thirty, and then cast the mirror charm.

Nothing happened. Standing up from his chair, Draco cast the spell again, his voice firm and commanding.

The air remained unchanged. Something really had happened to Potter, something bad.

But the spell should be working...unless there was no glass or mirrors where Potter was. Draco nodded to himself, pleased that he had figured that out. Besides the classic good looks, a Malfoy's second best feature was, of course, the sharp wit.

He'd thought the tutoring might be a unsuspicious way of getting the Professor around, and in so doing, perhaps find out more about Potter's whereabouts. Had the Dark Lord taken him? Draco sighed and decided to write a little note to his Professor, a casual, how-are-you letter with nothing at all said that would imply he'd seen Potter stabbed and kidnapped...then he went to shower.

.........................

Potter was in danger. Stalking through the long and dark halls of the dungeon, Snape took a moment to exhale with a very annoyed expression on his face.

When was the boy not in danger? His impending doom had hung precariously over his shaggy head since before he was born. The latest revelation could be yet another Trelawney-esque prediction, just reaffirming something that was quite obvious. Of course the boy was in danger, he'd somehow danced his way out of yet another near-death experience, though it was not without casualties. Black was sure to die anyway, he didn't have much regard for his own life, especially when he thought his precious Godson was in danger.

Had he stayed in his safe little isolated house, where Dumbledore had stuck him, he'd still be alive.

Dumbledore was writing when Snape entered his office, he didn't look up, but smiled down at his desk and nodded toward the only chair is his office.

"Severus, do sit. I'm awaiting a firecall from Miss Figg--"

"Potter's keeper?"

Dumbledore shook his head, eyes still on his parchment, "No, just his kind elderly neighbor that keeps a very close eye on him."

Snape sneered, "Is that not what I said?"

"She's been away in Northamptonshire for a couple of days at a Kneazle breeding show, as you know is her trade."

"Figg must have very long eyes indeed to watch Potter all the way from Northamptonshire."

"Mundungus has been on watch this week, Severus," there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

He didn't bother to hold back his sarcasm, "We can all rest easy with Mundungus Fletcher on the scene."

"Careful Severus, one might think you actually cared." Dumbledore continued talking just as Snape sat up straighter, his breathing a bit heavier than it was a moment before and hatred on his face. "I know Mundungus is not what one would consider a proper guard, and he wouldn't be there if I didn't have immense faith in the wards. It's mainly just to keep him busy, and his hands out of other people's personal belongings."

Just as Snape was going to question why Dumbledore was awaiting a firecall from Miss Figg, if he truly held such faith in the wards, the fireplace lit up.

"Dumbledore?"

Closing the journal in front of him, something he had not done for Snape, Dumbledore turned and stood to face the fireplace. "Ah, Arabella--"

"Dumbledore, I think you made need to send someone to check on young Harry."

Snape stood up, but did not make a move toward the fireplace, his eyes trailed from the older woman's worried expression, to Dumbledore's slightly interested one.

"I was in the backyard checking on Maurice, his tummy becomes upset when I leave the house," neither of them noticed Snape looking toward the ceiling as if he'd like to strangle something, "and Mrs Burns leaned over her fence to ask if I'd seen the ambulance outside the Dursley's last night."

Had Snape not pulled his eyes away from the ceiling beams, he might not have noticed how the Headmaster's shoulders seemed to relax as Mrs Figg talked, and his face was almost indifferent by the time she'd finished her sentence.

"Arabella, your concern is admirable. This won't be the first time Harry's been to the hospital for some mishap or school boy antics, if he was seriously injured I would have been informed."

Snape frowned slightly, the boys second home was the Hospital Wing, but he could not remember Dumbledore ever mentioning one of these 'mishaps' happening while at his Aunt's home. Most of his injuries here were caused by Quidditch, or yet another run in with the Dark Lord.

Just what did Potter do at home to result in more than one Hospital visit? Draco's words came back to him, his stubbornness when it came to talking about Potter's home life.

His train of though was abruptly cut off with Mrs Figg's next words.

"There were police as well, Dumbledore." Mrs Figg looked uncharacteristically firm, her former flustered appearance turning to one of protectiveness. When a loud and demanding 'meow' came through the Floo, she turned her head and shooed the Kneazle away.

Dumbledore opened his mouth, but Mrs Figg cut him off before he could speak.

"I went over after I finished talking to Mrs Burns, and Petunia answered the door. She looks horrible, and for her to answer the door with one hair out of place--and then, when I asked to talk to Harry about weeding my begonias, she practically hyperventilated right there on her doorway and told me that 'the boy would no longer be living with them' and that she had to finish mopping."

"Perhaps Petunia is just being slightly dramatic as she is prone to do, as I said, if Harry was in any real danger, the wards would have--"

At that moment, a hasty scratching came from one of the large window's. Snape didn't recognize the owl, but he knew the frown on Dumbledore's face quite well and also knew that the news would most likely not be good.

He was right.

Dumbledore had gone still, and his shoulders drooped lower, but this time it was not out of relief.

"Arabella," he said, tone very tired. "Will you please make your way back to the Dursley's and ask to see Harry. Mention my name, if you must." With a flick of his hand, a low crackling fire replaced Miss Figg's worried face. Dumbledore was standing very still.

Snape waited, his fists clenched and standing very still. It seemed one movement might cause something fragile to break.

"What's happened?" he finally asked, voice low, when Dumbledore ran a hand over his face, eyes closed and obviously thinking seriously.

His answer, when it finally came, was very grim and unexpected.

"Mundungus Fletcher...has been found dead."

................................

The fuzziness in his mind was leaving him faster than he was comfortable with. It left behind confusion and an overwhelming sense of danger that made his body stiffen painfully.

"Mum! Mum, is that--"

"Shh, Parker."

"But Mummy, he's got the silly glasses and even the scar, just like in the paper--"

"Lizzie, not you too! Come here, both of you. Stop goggling at Mr Potter."

There was a short scuffling noise and a sigh of frustration that obviously came from a small child, but was patented after an adult. Their voices had been hushed, but Harry knew he'd awoken only because the sleeping spell had worn off, and when it did, the pain began anew.

The hard surface he was lying on seemed to be made of ice, the cold leaked into his body and chased away any warmth that had been there. It was so odd to be this cold during the summer, that Harry confusedly wondered just how far away from Surrey the Portkey had taken him. Then he noticed that though his backbone ached from where it pressed against unyielding stone, his head was pleasantly situated on something much softer.

He must have made a sound, perhaps a soft groan, because someone whispered something rather excitedly, though Harry couldn't make out the words.

Out of the three voices he'd heard, not one was the man from before. They were quite close as well, which meant that perhaps they were in the same situation he was.

Carefully, Harry opened his eyes. Above him, the ceiling was made of polished wooden boards, the shade of light honey and laid side by side. Their homey appearance surprised him so much, that he couldn't help but blink several times, and his mouth dropped open a bit without is permission, which set off a flurry of whispers somewhere to his left.

"I think he's gone a bit barmy!"

Harry shut his mouth, and frowned. The young voice sounded much too excited about his doubtful mental state.

"Lizzie," her mother, no doubt, sounded like she was frowning. "We don't speak that way--"

"Fine....cracked. How's he going to help us if he's cracked?"

An even younger voice, sounding on the edge of tears, announced, "He's not cracked...he can't be! Mummy, what's cracked mean?"

"Good grief," their mother moaned, and then sighed. "Mr Potter, would you please inform my children that not only are you not cracked, you aren't barmy, mental, a nutter...or anything other than perhaps slightly disgruntled at their incessant yammering."

Wondering if this situation could get any odder, Harry took a deep breath, and fought to sit up.

At his movement, the children grew remarkably still and quiet. Harry found them sitting on the floor not too far away from him, and as he took in their appearance, they leaned into their mother, one on each side.

"Hi," Harry said, voice a bit hoarse. The little boy, who Harry identified as the one about to cry, and who was quite obviously the youngest, stared at him with wide, vividly blue eyes.

The girl went from openly curious, to crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes, though she stayed quiet. Her hair was limp and pushed behind her ears, freckles dotted her nose and hazel eyes never left Harry.

When Harry looked at the mum, he was surprised to find her face so warm. She had much darker hair than either children, but it was clear to see where the young girl's eyes had come from. She was staring at him too, but it wasn't in distrust, she looked sad, but not resigned. Hopeful.

"I was hoping he wouldn't be able to get you," she said, eyes flickering behind Harry.

Processing her words, Harry was slow to turn. When he did, his eyes set on a fireplace, burning brightly and casting light their way, along with a large table and heavy, wooden chairs. There was a door on the opposite wall, and then a door across from the fireplace. However, the side of the house he found himself on was devoid of furniture, and though the rest of the house had carpets across the cold, stone floor, there were none on this side.

Harry blinked. Something was off, something he had not yet noticed, but should have.

"It's a sort of shield charm."

Harry turned back, "What?"

She smiled gently at his apparent confusion. "A shield charm, between this side of the house and the rest. You'll feel an awful pain if you try to breach it without permission."

Harry shifted, the mention of pain reminding him of his aching leg. Turning his body, so that some of the light from the fireplace fell on the injury, Harry carefully pulled at the torn area in his bloody jeans.

The tear wasn't big enough to get a clear idea of how deep the wound was and so Harry bit his lip and carefully placed two fingers on the inside of the gap, and pulled until the material ripped.

It didn't look as bad as it could have, but it wasn't pretty either.

"He healed some of the muscle damage further down, and it won't bleed anymore..."

Harry scowled. "He could have healed it all, he's the reason I got stabbed in the first place."

He looked up and she gave him a sympathetic look. "People are easier to control when they've been injured. Healing the wound completely would defeat the purpose."

"You're not hurt," Harry said, eyes running over the small family.

She turned her face away from Harry but he'd already seen the immense look of agony on her features. He thought he knew what it meant too. It was the look of a person who had lost someone so close to them, that when they were taken, it was as if a part of yourself was taken as well.

The words, "I'm sorry," hung unsaid in his throat, but when he opened his mouth to speak, his eyes went to the two small children watching him with immensely curious eyes. He swallowed the words, but it did nothing to help with the sudden solid lump in his throat. Did they even know they were one parent away from being orphans?

Sighing, Harry rubbed his fingers on the non-bloody part of his jeans, and frowned when he noticed the stain had already set into his skin.

"So...who is he?" He asked this as softly as he could, hoping the man he was talking about wasn't within earshot.

When she looked back at him, the pain had been mostly wiped from her face and she looked thoughtful and sardonic both at once. Harry didn't feel that either emotion was directed towards him, and he was quite glad.

"Who is he," she huffed, and the young girl looked up at her and blinked, noticing the annoyance. She kissed her on the head, and the little girl smiled quickly and reassured went back to staring at Harry. The little boy had almost fallen asleep, his head resting contentedly on his mother's arm.

Harry thought the sudden change from interest to sleepy was odd, but he didn't know how long the boy had been awake either.

"His name," she began softy, "is Thomas."

Harry had never heard anyone insinuate with just a look and a slight tilt to the words, that though his name may be 'Thomas' her personal title for him was much ruder, and not to be said aloud in front of the children.

"I don't really know as much as I'd like, he's keeping me ignorant of most things, for some reason or other." She looked down at her two children, and moved her arm carefully so she could wrap it lovingly around her son. The little girl was fighting to keep her eyes open.

"The fact that he's so careful not to tell me anything," she began in a quieter voice than before, "gives me some hope."

"Oh?"

"Yes, because...I think if there weren't a chance I'd survive, he'd tell me everything. Do you see what I mean?"

Harry nodded, eyes going to the floor and leaned back so his hands were supporting him. His fingers brushed against something soft, and he jerked a bit in surprise and turned to see it was only the bundle of fabric he'd been using as a pillow when he'd awoken.

As he gently picked it up, it unfolded and he could see it was a well made, and rather soft cloak.

"Yours?" he asked and moved to hand it back when she nodded.

"No," she shook her head and gestured for him to sit back down before he'd even stood. "You look cold...and my name's Elizabeth."

Harry hesitated, but he was cold and in pain, so he wrapped the cloak around his shoulders and smiled a small but grateful smile back.

"I'm Harry," he said, though she already knew. He was quiet for a moment, the fire was crackling behind him, but they were all far enough away, that it did little to keep them warm, and Harry wondered if the shield charm kept the heat off of them too. It was a bit cruel actually, they were close enough to see it, but didn't receive any advantages by having it nearby.

"How did he get his nasty hands on you anyway?" Elizabeth asked, suddenly looking peeved. "I was quite angry when he levitated you in here. I thought you'd be better protected."

He blinked at how protective she sounded, it reminded him of Mrs Weasley. Maybe the protectiveness just came with being a mother, it was still odd for him though. He was so used to being independent and taking care of himself that someone watching out for him just felt...odd. Nice, but odd.

"Um, I'm not exactly sure what he did. This utter prat, completely mental Muggle came into my bedroom and stabbed me, that's what happened to my leg, and turns out, the knife was a Portkey. Right before it activated, the Muggle, Brent, fell over like he was dead...in fact, I really think he was dead."

Elizabeth was staring at him.

"Ta-da," Harry finished lamely, throwing his hands in the air and then wishing he hadn't.

"But...but how did he get close enough to hurt you in the first place?"

Harry bit his lip and shrugged. "He was a friend of my cousin's, and he just went upstairs like he was going to the loo, and he stopped by my room to stab me."

Elizabeth shook her head slowly. "There's more to it, there must be."

Harry shrugged again, wishing he knew something more to tell her.

"How'd you come to be here? Have you been here long? They don't seem as scared as you'd think they would be," Harry gestured to the children, now quietly asleep.

Hugging them closer, Elizabeth said, "They don't understand what is happening, not really. Before we got married, my husband was on a bad path, he'd been misled into thinking that following the Dark Lord would lead him to a better future. It wasn't until the Dark Lord's defeat, that Stormie realized his life was not at all what he'd originally planned for it to be. The friends he'd made had only aided his bad decisions, but he was determined to turn his life around, and he did. We got married a few years later, and started a family few years after that. When the Dark Lord returned, Stormie decided we needed to go into hiding...he'd be considered a traitor since he hadn't returned to the Dark Lord's side."

Taking a long slow breath, Elizabeth continued difficultly.

"We decided it was time to leave the country, go somewhere where the Dark Lord's influence wasn't so heavily felt, somewhere where we could let our kids play outside without worrying for their safety...we had almost boarded the train when they came for us."

Harry felt a shiver go up his arms and he drew the cloak closer around his shoulders.

"It was just the two of them, but they had Parker and he was screaming and reaching for us--if we'd fought I know they would have killed him. Thomas and his little helper brought us here, then they took Stormie--"

Her voice cracked and Harry bowed his head.

"They took him to the Dark Lord. Rewards are given for bringing people forth that he considers traitors, and the traitors are made into examples...examples of what will happen to you if you resist him."

She was sniffing, and a hand wiped under both eyes. Harry had never felt more useless.

"I don't regret trying to leave though," her voice grew in strength. "If we lose the will to fight for what's right and just, then we might as well just shackle ourselves now."

Harry looked at her and saw a very strong person, and he drew from her courage.

"I'm wouldn't be afraid to die...if I knew my children would live," she swallowed, her body shaking very slightly.

It was those words that made Harry stand up, even though it hurt to do so. He sat in front of her, and carefully placed a blood-stained hand on hers where it lay atop her young son's shoulder.

"We will get out of here."

She looked up, and Harry fought the urge to look away from the desperate hope shining in her eyes.

"I don't know how--but, then again, I never do," he smiled ruefully, and she nodded.

It was in that moment of understanding that the door to the cabin was thrown open. Thomas tilted his head from where he stood in the doorway and surveyed them.

Elizabeth turned her hand so that she could give Harry's a reassuring squeeze. It was meant to let Harry know that he was not alone, but Thomas' dark eyes followed the movement, and he smiled in a way that filled Harry with certain dread.

Yes, his stubborn will told him he would be escaping, and that it would not be alone, but that smile told him something else. His escape was uncertain and only a shadow of hope in his mind, but the probability of him going through quite a lot of pain before that escape could be attempted...that was inevitable.

Severus turned the letter over in his hand, and once again read the words Draco Malfoy had uncharacteristically written to him.

Preferably soon? There was no doubt he was Lucius' son, even in a time of apparent need he could be annoyingly demanding.

Snape leaned against his office fireplace and rubbed one hand across his jaw in contemplation of the real reason behind the sudden letter.

The Malfoy's as a whole had an Achillean way of dealing with every type of issue. They refused to be seen as vulnerable and acquired what they wanted without doing anything so plebeian as asking for it. By writing the letter, Draco went against everything he'd been brought up to be...and that meant he was quite desperate indeed.

It was wonderfully timed though, Dumbledore still was unsure of Potter's whereabouts. Miss Figg had returned again to say that Petunia had refused to open the door even when she'd uttered Dumbledore's name. His firm stance on the state of the wards seemed to be weakening and Snape had excused himself to his rooms after assuring Dumbledore that he would notify him if he was summoned.

His Dark Mark remained cold and silent on his arm, the way he preferred it, but, it brought up questions. These questions were growing more worrisome by the minute. Snape did not like to worry. It was too tiresome.

Did the Dark Lord have Potter? If so, why had he not been aware of the plan? Surely the Death Eaters would have been called to the Dark Lord's side by now to revel in the capture of the ever allusive Boy Who Lived.

The Dark Lord was never so reserved in his victories, if he had Potter, Snape should have been among the first to know. Which brought to question his current standing in the Dark Lord's circle.

It all was putting Snape in an acrimonious temper.

His black eyes fell on the parchment he'd been studying earlier and remembered what he'd translated it to read. A spell for viewing enemies in danger. Damn.

Would Potter's whereabouts still be in question had he taken the translation of the spell more seriously?

Severus snarled and partially crumbled Draco's letter in his hand. No, he could not go there. Guilt would help no one now. He had to act, and it seemed that a visit to Draco was the best course of action. He abruptly pulled away from the fireplace and angrily marched to the middle of his living room.

Grabbing the parchment that now seemed like a cursed object, Snape threw on his traveling cloak and strode out of his rooms and towards Hogwart's entrance gate so he could apparate to the Malfoy's front door.
........................................................................

 Draco hadn't gone back to the library. He found that even thinking about it made him feel ill, and so he was sitting at his writing desk staring at blank parchment when someone knocked at his bedroom door.

The suddenness of the sound in his overwhelmingly quiet room made Draco jump and his shin hit the underside of the desk. He was cursing loudly and rubbing the painful area when the person let themselves in.

"I didn't say enter--" Draco spat before he'd fully looked up.

Snape crossed his arms and glowered. "My apologies, I was under the impression that those dreadful words that just emerged from your mouth implied permission to come in. Now that I know they aren't perhaps I should inform your mother."

Swallowing at the implications, Draco shook his head and stood up hastily.

"Sorry Professor, you surprised me," Draco gestured to the only other chair in the room, a plump, and very green lounge chair situated near one window. "Please sit."

Snape ignored him and pulled out an old and worn piece of parchment that Draco recognized almost immediately. Seeing it made him freeze, and Snape raised an eyebrow at his wide-eyed appearance.

"Did you think I had no intentions of returning it?"

Draco mutely shook his head and stayed where he was. He thought if he spoke, Snape wouldn't be so willing to give away any information he'd learnt. It was already a miracle that the man had shown up so soon after he'd sent the letter in the first place.

Snape looked over the parchment and up again at Draco, who was trying very hard not to look too eager.

"When I translated the spell myself, I returned with a slightly different explanation for what the spell did than the one you had, Draco. It only takes a slight difference to change a spell and the way it works."

His words almost came off as a rebuke, and why shouldn't they? Draco had been taught Latin, he should have had the abilities to correctly translate the spell the first time.

"We can speak more on your lacking language skills later, I'm curious as to what you make of my translation. The spell read, 'to view an enemy in danger'."

His eyes pierced Draco's, and he lifted his head in a way that made the younger boy feel rather small.

"Besides the rather verbal dispute with his uncle, I didn't sense that Potter was in any sort of danger...did you Draco?"

It was wrong to write to him. Draco felt like he was being examined in the worst possible way. Snape was one of the Dark Lord's most trusted Death Eaters and now he could see all the thoughts running through his head--he'd know that Draco was actually worried and scared to have seen what he did, he'd know that he was second guessing so many things he'd been brought up to believe--

Oh...Merlin.

"Draco?" Snape's eyebrows were drawing in harshly, and hearing his name in that almost concerned tone did it.

"Potter was taken!"

At his sudden outburst, Snape blinked and Draco's hand clenched around his wand. It felt exhilarating to finally say it, but it was also terrifying. What if Snape already knew--or what if he was the one that had orchestrated the kidnapping in the first place.

"What do you mean?"

Draco inhaled sharply and blinked at Snape in return. "What do I mean?"

"Yes, what do you mean he was 'taken'? What did you see, Draco?"

Snape took several steps forward, his jaw held tightly in a severe frown.

"I--the Muggle, that Muggle that kept getting him in trouble with his relatives, he came in and stabbed Potter in the leg."

"What?"

Draco swallowed, he had never heard his professor sound that terrifying before. At the same time, his fierce reaction calmed him. Snape hadn't known either. Which meant he wasn't involved...which could be good, or very, very bad.

"He stabbed him, then Potter disappeared. Like he'd been Portkeyed away, and the spell just dissolved. It's not working anymore."

"A Portkey disguised as a knife," Snape sounded rather impressed, and just a bit troubled.

He caught Draco's eye, and his expression went blank. "If this is not the work of the Dark Lord...he'll be very displeased."

"Wouldn't you know if he had Potter?"

Snape did not answer him, and Draco thought his silence on the matter said more than words in any case. Was he not in good standing with the Dark Lord?

From a hidden inner pocket of his cloak, Snape drew forth a familiar crinkled letter and met Draco's eyes before lighting it on fire with the tip of his wand.

"You need to learn the art of subtlety, Draco."

Draco crossed his arms, and looked at the dark mahogany floor under his feet.

"It got you over here didn't it?"

Surprisingly, Snape only snorted at his rather dangerous statement.

"Yes, it worked...though I do think your curiosity borders on stupidity. If the Dark Lord does have Potter, he'll most likely be dead within the next twenty-four hours, and if anyone your father associates with were to think you'd rather not see Potter dead...that could be extremely bad for you, Draco."

He was warning him, not pulling him to the Dark Lord's throne so he could beg and plead for his life, and he had more than enough information to do so. Draco had come daringly close to showing concern when he'd mentioned Potter's relatives treatment of him, and not immediately bringing the spell to the Dark Lord's notice when it would have pleased him. It bordered on treachery.

Snape was watching him, but Draco didn't respond.

"Tread carefully," Snape said, and turned to the door to take his leave. With his hand on the doorknob, he paused and seemed to hesitate before saying very quietly, "Don't do anything too hasty, Draco...I did, and have been paying the price ever since."

Before Draco could even began to comprehend his meaning, Snape was gone and had left no sign that he'd ever been there.
........................................................................

Apparently Thomas had been serious in the meadow when he'd said Harry could pour his tea. Staring at the two cups in front of him, Harry glanced up at Thomas who sat across the small table from him with his arms crossed but waiting patiently.

Though Thomas looked only slightly older, when he raised his eyebrow at Harry's hesitation, it left him feeling quite young.

"It's almost midday, might as well pour yourself a cup too...who knows the last time they gave you water."

Harry jerked slightly at the almost offhand comment about the Dursleys, but poured the tea and then sat down at the stool Thomas gestured to. He had decided to go along with what was asked of him. There were other lives at stake, he had to be careful even though the act was immensely uncomfortable. Elizabeth was watching them from the side of the room designated for captives, though Harry was certain she couldn't hear what was being said.

"You're oddly quiet," Thomas said as he lowered his cup and the scent of Earl Gray wafted under Harry's nose and made his traitorous mouth water.

He still hadn't drank his and Thomas frowned at him.

"What happened to all your questions, Potter?"

"Would you even tell me anything if I did ask?"

Thomas took a long drink of his tea and the cup almost covered his smile.

"There we go, I knew you could put words together into a sentence, and yes, to answer your question, now that you're here and out of the open I'm willing to tell you anything you want to know."

"What do you want with me?"

"Oh, except that. I can't tell you that."

Harry opened his mouth, leaning forward and getting ready to yell--when Thomas started laughing.

"I'm just messing with you, Potter. You do have a beastly temper." He smiled at Harry's furious face, eyes alight with amusement.

Harry clenched his fists under the table, frustrated beyond words, and still in pain because the bloody man hadn't even healed his leg completely.

"As for your question, you are going to get me into Voldemort's good graces--"

"I think the first way to get on his good side, would be to not say his name," Harry said sarcastically.

Thomas ignored him and continued on. "Even the way I went about capturing you is fascinating and I'm sure he'll be quite entertained to hear the story. I'm quite thrilled with how easy it all was, at first I thought I'd just find a way to pull you away from Privet Drive, but I really wanted to do something more impressive that just taking a chance you'd leave your loving relatives home--oh, but that was the thing," he said in a mockingly surprised voice. "They weren't so loving after all, which made me wonder if the wards were based around love, which they should have been because those are the strongest type of wards known to exist...why didn't I see any love in your family when they looked at you? Even at the train station, yes, Potter, I've been watching you since then, that Moody character had to basically warn them off hurting you."

Thomas gestured for Harry to re-fill his cup, and glaring at him, Harry carefully did so.

"It's really quite sad that all your so called friends seem to know you reside in a house full of people that hate you, and yet they obviously don't care enough to do anything about it."

The teacup overflowed because Harry's eyes were too busy glaring unseeingly at the table.

A thin rivulet rolled down the table where it started to drip onto the floor below. Harry blinked and sat the teapot back down.

Thomas watched, but made no move to magic the mess away. His eyes seemed to drink in the unveiled pain on Harry's face and he continued slowly.

"When I saw your interaction with the Muggle boy, I had an idea." He leaned forward, his eyes alighting with excitement at his own brilliance. "What if I used this Muggle as a catalyst to drive the dislike your relatives have toward you into flat out hatred."

Harry stood up, and the quick motion had his stool toppling over backwards. He was shaking with anger.

"You're a sick bastard! All that stuff--the cat, it was all you, and then you killed him--"

Thomas shrugged, eyes watching Harry's shaking form, and not seeming at all alarmed.

"Technically, he killed himself when he agreed to help me humiliate you for a price...it's not my fault he didn't ask what that price would be."

Harry snarled then and would have thrown himself across the table in a rash attempt to cause the man some pain...but his eyes caught sight of some movement and he turned his head. Lizzie, Elizabeth's young girl, was awake now and watching him with wide, scared eyes.

Those eyes staring at him were more affective than a bucket of water dropped over his head and his anger, though not gone, was pushed aside for the moment. Now was not the time to be rash and violent. He'd made a promise.

Thomas laughed when Harry's taught shoulders sagged in resignation.

"Don't let them watching keep you from trying to do me bodily harm. It would be funny seeing you try, considering the constant shield I wear. You can't lay one grubby finger on me."

Harry swallowed, and after a moment bent to pick up the stool that lay fallen on the stone floor.

"Go on," he said when he'd sat back down, "You used his petty attitude as fuel to turn my relatives against me...no need to wonder what Hogwart's house you belong to."

"Ravenclaw." He smiled thinly at Harry's obvious surprise. "Ah, you were thinking Slytherin? How typical. You'd be very smart to stop thinking that everyone that wants to cause you harm is from a certain group of people."

Harry had nothing to say to that and feeling a little light headed, he took a long drink from his teacup and then refilled it immediately. Though he'd never admit it, he was extremely thirsty...and some of that did have to do with his relatives lacking care.

"When Brent began to show reluctance at all I was asking him to do and say, I simply bent his will with a smaller version of Imperious. The Muggle mind is so weak when there's hatred involved. When it came down to the Portkey, part of him was happy to stab you, I just fed his anger until he believed you deserved it--and then, once it was done, he just stopped breathing."

Harry's stomach rolled.

Thomas spoke in such an uncaring manner. Brent had been a tool, unknowingly bringing about his own demise. Perhaps if he hadn't been so blinded by the thought of petty revenge...perhaps if Harry hadn't spoken to him so rudely, maybe then he'd still be alive, and Harry wouldn't be here listening to this arrogant prat rattle on about his own brilliance.

"I wonder how your relatives responded to the dead body in their house and their nephew no where in sight."

Turning his head away, Harry took a slow deep breath. He was feeling ill from Thomas's vile words and the recent memories it brought back. Killing Mrs Figg's cat, every conversation aimed to make Harry look bad, everything Brent had done since that day in the garden, it had all been because of this awful, scum sitting across from him, all because he wanted to get on the good side of the Dark Lord.

"You said you're using me to get in Voldemort's good graces, why?"

"Oh, finally caught on to that, did you?" Thomas stood up from his stool and went across the room to a jar sitting atop the stove Harry had earlier boiled water on. He brought the jar back and pushed it towards Harry who leaned away from it immediately.

Rolling his eyes, Thomas took the top off and revealed chocolate biscuits.

Harry felt his cheeks redden and heard Thomas snort as he sat back down on the other side of the table.

"What better way to say 'I'd like to be your humble and all admiring servant' than presenting him with the Boy-Who-Always-Get's-Away. I've already given him Stormius Murdock, whose treachery had him quite peeved."

Shaking his head, and wondering if there was any use even bothering to argue, Harry had to ask, "Did Brent stab my eardrums too? Did I just hear you say you wanted to be a servant? To Voldemort?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I said."

"Besides being a complete maniac, he tortures those that do serve him, for the smallest things--I thought you said you were a Ravenclaw? It doesn't sound to smart to me."

"Oh," Thomas chuckled, but the sound was utterly humorless, his lips were turning up in a snarl.

"Silly Potter, he does worse than torture. He will kill even the most loyal of servants if he believes he has enough reason to do so, even when that evidence is completely false."

Harry stared at his twisted face.

"My father," Thomas spat, "was completely loyal to him. He thought Voldemort would lead us into a better future. Father was so committed to the cause, and so excited to be serving the one that would change the Wizarding world that he named me in honor of him, and then he left my mother when she didn't see things the same way he did."

He turned bright eyes on Harry, "Tell me, Potter. How do you think his dedication was repayed?"

Not about to answer verbally, Harry shook his head mutely and watched as Thomas pushed away from the table.

Breathing heavily and stalking back and forth across the stone floor, Thomas glanced at Harry, who still didn't dare speak. "No? No idea what he could have done? Then, let me tell you."

"Among the growing ranks of the Death Eaters, there were some that were more desperate than others to be among those considered 'most valued' by Voldemort. My father was at the top, not because of any special skills he possessed, but because his honesty and true belief in all that Voldemort preached. But...The Dark Lord," Thomas seethed, "grew paranoid, there were rumors of his approaching downfall, and when one too many Death Eaters whispered to him that one of his own was going to turn against him...he snapped. Decided to make an example as to what exactly would happen to anyone that turned against him. His mind had been polluted with falsities whispered to him by those he thought better of than my father. Though he'd only ever been loyal, my father was tortured to the brink as a warning to the others."

A log cracked in the fireplace and shot burning embers over the stone floor that glowed momentarily before turning black.

Thomas sighed deep and long and sat back down at the table, steepled his fingers and stared at Harry.

"He was never the same, couldn't even feed himself. Mum came back and took care of him, until he died a few years later."

The disgust was clear in his voice, and Harry was unsure if it was directed at his father's mental state or how he'd become that way.

"Er," Harry began, "I'm a bit lost--you kidnapped me to give to Voldemort, even though he tortured your father--"

"Potter, I wasn't finished, though I can see why you're looking at me odd when you explain it like that. Make some more tea."

Standing up, Harry waited until he'd turned his back to Thomas before rolling his eyes. He could feel Elizabeth watching them both, studying Thomas and trying to work out what he was so passionately talking about.

Placing the kettle back on the stove, Harry turned the heat on high and turned around to look expectantly at Thomas, his arms crossing in his irritation.

"After my father died, I was looking through his things and I found a small journal. I flipped through it, not expecting much because my father was always one for jotting things down--and I discovered that during his time as Voldemort's favorite lapdog, he'd learnt some things about how the man had come to power."

Thomas smirked when he caught the intrigued look on Harry's face.

"He wasn't born immensely powerful, he found ways to increase his power--magical ways, and he revealed some of this to my father who was sworn to silence, but that didn't stop him from writing it down. Voldemort even believed he had found the way to escape death itself."

He was now waiting on Harry to respond.

"Your father wrote all Voldemort's secrets in an unprotected diary, and you think that wasn't reason enough for him to get killed?"

The smile fell off Thomas's face, and Harry backed into the stove as he stood up, furious.

"You know nothing, he was loyal to him--and he was driven to insanity for that loyalty."

Thomas stalked around the table, eyes alight with intense anger. Harry could feel the heat from the stove behind him, but stayed perfectly still. He knew that anger went hand in hand with violence, and he had already been injured once because of this man.

"Voldemort doesn't repay loyalty with loyalty--he treats his followers as lesser beings, when he's really the half blood, and now he's going to fall. I may have been named after Tom Riddle, but I am nothing like him, I will be better than him in every way...it all starts by getting close enough to learn his secrets...then, I'll do what my father should have done. I'm going to destroy him."

Harry watched and listened, trying to keep his doubts hidden.

It was all well and good to speak of all you planned on doing, but Voldemort was feared by the large majority of the Wizarding World, and he hadn't come to be so feared by being someone who was easily brought down. Thomas's father had probably been killed just because Voldemort decided he didn't like anyone knowing any of his secrets.

He couldn't say these things out loud, but in his mind, Harry only wondered how Voldemort would kill Thomas when his plan failed.

Heaving a big sigh, Thomas looked regretfully at Harry who was taking the kettle off to pour more tea and trying to keep his eyes on his capturer as well.

"I do hate the fact that I told you all this knowing that you can't be trusted to keep it to yourself."

Harry hit the teapot against his cup in his surprise and looked up with wide eyes.

"I'm not going to tell Voldemort anything--that would be like helping him."

"Oh, you wouldn't tell him on purpose, but you'd do it accidentally because you have no control over your mind," and with that last word he drew out his want and Harry stepped backwards, the kettle still in hand.

"Then--teach me how to block my mind--"

Thomas snorted, "There's not enough time for that, Potter. Nice try though. Don't worry, if he doesn't kill you, and I take his position, I'll retell you all that I've said tonight. Though your shocked face probably won't be as humorous the second time."

There was no place to run. Harry looked around quickly anyway, like a scared rabbit backed into a corner by a much larger wolf.

Looking at him pityingly, Thomas heaved a sigh. "You might want to sit down for this Potter, it can be a bit of a shock--"

Harry caught sight of the fire poker at the same instant that Thomas realized he truly intended to fight back. He began to raise his wand as Harry chucked the teapot at Thomas's head and dove for the length of iron that could save him and give him back his freedom and those with him.

Knees hit the stone floor painfully as Harry's fingers wrapped around the iron rod--but even as he turned, he felt that it was too late. As the shouted, "Obliviate!" rushed toward him, Harry tried to summon forth those mental shields he'd been practicing so hard over the summer.

The spell hit him with such force that his body was flung back into the brick fireplace. In his already kneeling position he had no chance to protect himself by curving his body, and his head was forcibly slammed back.

An immense amount of pain rushed through his skull and Harry gasped once before his eyes rolled back in his head and he was surrounded by darkness.
........................................................................

Arms folded tightly across his chest, Severus Snape's face was hidden in shadow as he stood facing away from the door to his chambers.

He could not let the doubts he had circling his mind get to him. They'd been increasing ever since he'd left Draco a few hours ago.

"Wouldn't you know if he had Potter?"

No, he wouldn't know anything until the Dark Lord called him to his side, if he chose to do so. The doubt of his standing in the Dark Lord's inner circle was like a disease, it was always there, just lurking under his skin, always ready to make him question if he would live another day.

When the Dark Mark suddenly burned where it lay ingrained into his skin, Severus was both relieved and filled with dread.

His eyes closed for a long second. He had to be careful, he had to be smart, if Potter was with the Dark Lord than Severus may be the boy's only chance of escape. This could be the day Severus was forced to reveal himself as a traitor of the Dark Lord.

Eyes flashing open, he sent a warning to Dumbledore that he'd been called, and after summoning his Death Eater robes and casting them invisible, Snape set off to once again play the ever faithful servant.

He awoke to pain. It bloomed behind his eyes and radiated across the entirety of his head so that his only thought was to curl up in a tight protective huddle-but, he couldn't. He was being dragged across a cold, hard floor. Harry struggled to open his eyes against the immense pain and discovered that his sight was useless. There was a rough material sack covering his head and his hands were bound in tight rope above his head and seemed to be held aloft by magic alone. All the blood seemed to have drained out of his hands, they were numb but he could tell the ropes were not inclined to shift.

Harry's face was warm from the heat of his own breath and the lack of fresh air.

The spell was dragging him in someone's wake, Harry could hear the man's boots on the floor as he walked just in front of his captive. His mouth was dry, his lips were shut tight by magic. Learning that not only could he move his arms, he couldn't speak either, alarmed Harry. The feeling of being constrained and knowing that he was powerless scared him more than confronting a dragon. Taking slow breaths, he tried to gather his wits even as his shoulder blades burned with pain.

The sound of their progression bounced off the close walls so that it was all Harry could hear.

Harry couldn't even summon the strength to try and get his feet under him properly. Had his shoes come off, his feet would have likely been a bloody mess due to the way they were being drug across the ragged stone of the corridor.

There was a slight burning in his scar that Harry hadn't felt in quite a while. The dread pooling in his gut seemed to reach its limit, he felt close to losing the meager contents of his stomach as the pain in his head, and in a hundred other places, drove him to queasiness.

Harry closed his eyes tightly and tried to organized his thoughts, they were a jumbled mess of questions. The overwhelming sense that he was missing something rose above all the other questions. He was so confused, it was as if his mind was reaching for answers that they couldn't quite grasp.

How had this happened?

Thomas. The man solely responsible for his kidnapping-but, why did he want Harry? It had to be him leading the way, but where were they going?

He couldn't remember, or had he even been told?

There was something else, someone else that was in danger and Harry had to help her. Her name was...Elizabeth, and she had two children...and her husband was dead, or at least she thought he was in bad condition if Voldemort had kept him alive. If Harry didn't help them soon, the rest of the small family would be dead or horribly injured as well. Someone else had died-someone connected to Thomas-now the thought was gone. Or had it been there in the first place...what was wrong with him?

Trying to piece all the thoughts together made his head throb even harder and Harry gave up for the moment. This was what he knew; something had happened to him, something that made him feel uneasy and worried. He didn't remember going unconscious, just pouring Thomas's tea and waiting for the man to speak.

Now he was here with no idea where he was going or how to prepare himself. Was this the moment he'd finally die? No more rants about why he had to die, no more ceremonious gatherings...no more friends dying just because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. They were finally just going to drag him down a dark hall and cut his throat.

Their progression down the hall paused and Harry heard the person leading the way clear his throat, and then, someone was knocking. Three short raps on a door that must have been quite large for the sound was dull to Harry's ears.

There was a moment of silence, and Harry found that his breathing had almost stopped in an attempt to not miss any information he could use to his advantage.

A mighty and sudden creaking made Harry stiffen. It was not one door but two that opened before them, and even though Harry could hear that and knew that this was no small place they found themselves in, he was unable to see what lay beyond the doors and his inability to prepare himself had trepidation creeping into every pore of his being.

There was a murmuring from beyond the door that was almost a hum to Harry's covered ears. It was not a pleasant sound.

He had an audience and that could only mean one thing. The painful prickling in his scar began again, but Harry already knew where he was and just what lay ahead for him.

"Thomas," Voldemort's voice was silky and amused. "Back again so soon...if you continue this I fear I won't have any enemies left, and then who would I practice on?"

The group of Death Eaters were still, only the least intelligent ones making sounds of amusements. Most of them knew exactly who their Lord would use for 'practice'. You didn't become a devoted follower of the Dark Lord for the affection he would show you, he wasn't known for his kindness.

Thomas stepped forward, his polished shoes making sharp sounds in the quiet that surrounded them.

He spoke as he walked, his tone sure and steady, though his feet did seem to falter the closer he got to where Voldemort must have stood.

"My most magnificent Lord," he came to a stop and Harry knew he must have bowed low as his voice seemed to suddenly deepen. "Thank you for taking time to give me an audience with you, I'm glad you've called everyone."

"Not everyone, just the ones that wanted a hand in torturing you if this proves to be a waste of time."

Thomas was quiet as cackles and snorts of laughter came from a few of the Death Eaters. Harry couldn't sort out who was present, and he didn't dare think too much on the manner lest Voldemort catch a glimpse of his thoughts.

Voldemort smiled, and continued, talking to those that were gathered. "Eleven of my faithful servants remain at Azkaban, but not for long. They will soon be released and return to my side, for I am a generous Lord...and now, why are we here Thomas?"

"I wouldn't dream of wasting your time, my Lord, I only seek to serve you and aid you in the greatest way possible."

Harry could almost feel the Legilimency Voldemort was sure to be using on Thomas. He wanted to know the answers before he even asked, and did Thomas really have the power to deny him that?

"How exactly do you imagine that I require any aid from you?"

This was dangerous ground and Thomas muttered something nervously, Harry was dragged forward. If he hadn't felt so sick, he might have been embarrassed by the sight he probably made. Unable to put his feet underneath him, being partially dragged across the stone floor. The spell stopped and Harry was suddenly pushed down to his knees, and his arms were allowed to fall forward after what felt like hours. Harry inhaled sharply, biting back a cry of pain as his arms and shoulders protested at the abuse they had suffered. His breathing was immediately easier though, even through the pain and Harry closed his eyes in relief. Thomas placed a hand atop his bowed head.

"Forgive me, Lord, if I said something presumptuous. I only seek to please you, and what better way to do that than by presenting you with another annoyance to cut down as you wish?"

With that Thomas whipped the cloth off of Harry's head in one swift movement.

The Death Eaters were deathly quiet as Harry's dark hair flew up with the movement of the cloth, and then fell about his head again in an unmanageable mop. But even those that hadn't glimpsed the lightening bolt shaped scar knew who this was and many moved closer eager to see and hear what would transpire between their Master and the boy people claimed as a hero.

Harry blinked at the sudden change of lighting and the feeling of several unyielding eyes on his kneeling form. The room was large, just as he had suspected, the walls were lined by several gold gilded mirrors. Harry saw himself in one, kneeling on the floor looking filthy and exhausted and Thomas standing above him, proud and haughty.

He turned his head and glared up at Thomas who smirked down at him and laid a rough hand on top of his head as if he was something owned.

Harry fought against the magic that was holding him down and shook his head harshly to free himself of the blasted man's touch. Thomas let go of him, probably just realizing how dirty his captive's hair was and also so he could take a step back as Voldemort strode forward to stand directly in front of Harry and stare at him with emotionless red eyes.

"Mr. Potter, what an unexpected surprise." Voldemort's red eyes pierced him, and Harry looked back steadily. He felt the slimy touch of Legilimency on his mind, and felt images of how he'd come to be there pulled harshly from him. He didn't even bother to try and hide the images, there was nothing among his most recent memories the sadistic man could use against him.

"Nothing to say?" Voldemort looked from Harry to Thomas. "Do remove the silencing spell, since Harry doesn't seem to have the ability to do so himself."

With a quick gesture, the spell was broken and Harry found he could move his mouth again. His arms were still tied in front of him, and now he could see that the thick rope had rubbed at his skin around his wrists until it was raw and bleeding. Strange, they didn't even hurt.

Turning his eyes up at Voldemort, Harry prepared for pain. It was inevitable, just a matter of time.

"If you wanted me to visit you so badly, you could have just sent an invitation," Harry said, his voice was hoarse but his eyes met Voldemort's evenly even as he knelt at his feet, unable to stand.

The Dark Lord smiled thinly, he would have look amused if Harry hadn't been able to feel the anger coming from him. He was keeping his ire hidden, but it was there.

"As amusing as he is, I don't recall asking for you to bring me Potter," Voldemort said to Thomas, turning away from Harry as if he'd suddenly lost interest in him.

Tension now seemed to radiate off of Thomas, along with growing confusion.

"But...Master, surely you--I thought you'd appreciate that I did what others could not--"

Voldemort cut him off sharply, "I reward my helpers, Thomas. It was foolish of you, however, to think that I required it."

Harry tensed up even more, knowing what was going to happen next. He'd seen what happened when Voldemort was displeased.

Thomas barely let loose another syllable before Voldemort had his gasping on the ground from a lazily uttered, "Crucio!"

Harry looked away from where Thomas was screaming on the floor, even hating the man for all that he'd done, he knew the immense pain the Cruciastus brought on. The Death Eater's moved restlessly, some glad that the painful curse was not aimed at them, others gleefully watching the obvious pain the young man was in. Their reflections in the mirrors was like a black shifting mass and it was undeniable how outnumbered he was.

Voldemort ended the curse and walked back towards Harry, gazing down at him with an almost bored look on his snake-like face.

"Little Harry is no more a threat now then he was two years ago, I had reasons for keeping him alive, Thomas."

Harry felt Voldemort was bluffing, of course he wanted Harry dead. As long as Harry remained alive, he served as a reminder for everyone that the Dark Lord had been defeated once, he'd been reduced to a spirit. A pitiful shell that waited in the darkness for years.

Thomas was still shaking as he climbed to his feet and stood with his head bowed. "I...I apologize."

Harry glanced at his capturers bowed face, and saw the way his eyes were dark with barely hidden rage. Voldemort ignored Thomas and turned toward the gathered Death Eaters.

"I told young Harry, just a couple of months ago that he was foolish and that he would soon loose everything. Since we have Harry with us, even though I'll admit it was not something I had planned on, we may as well have a little fun." Voldemort turned to him, and his wand was in his hand. "What do you think of that, Harry?"

"I'm just wondering if I'll die of old age before you quit talking."

A Death Eater hissed at Harry's retort and moved forward, "Master, please, please let me be the first to make his scream-"

Voldemort held up his hand to silence the Death Eater, and Harry continued talking and fought the spell that tried to hold him down.

"No, honestly, I wonder if you even know the meaning of the word 'soon'. How long ago was it that you crawled your way out of a cauldron, like a potion ingredient someone forgot to squish thoroughly and told me, 'After tonight if they speak of you, they will only speak of how you begged for death,' You told me I'd die that night, Tom."

The spell released it's power over him suddenly, and Harry didn't question why as he stood shakily to his feet, the whole room watching him.

"Maybe you're growing forgetful in your old age, but it seems to me that I'm still alive, and when people speak of me, they only mention how many times I've walked away from you."

There was no mirth in Voldemort's gaze now, he could pretend that Harry was but an amusing nuisance, but Harry was learning that his words had power. The Death Eaters were listening, many had been there the past two times Harry and Voldemort had met. Maybe they were beginning to wonder why their powerful Master had let this young man live.

Thomas crept closer in the silence that followed Harry's words.

"Master, there is one person that Potter seemed to grow quite attached to in the short time I had him in my...care."

Knowing immediately what he was suggesting, Harry couldn't hide how his eyes widened. Voldemort was watching him, saw how his face seemed to drain of color and the facade of carelessness wilted.

"Ah, yes. His weakness of caring for people, love..." he said in a bemused and disgusted way. "Why, when Bellatrix sent Black to his death I heard reports on how many thought you'd go flying in after him. That would have made my life too easy, I suppose," Voldemort laughed and the Death Eaters joined in. "Let's see how much you care about Miss Murdock dying, and if that doesn't break you Thomas says she has two children. Their lives could have all been spared, if not for the stupidity of her husband."

Voldemort gazed in a mockingly regretful way toward the door in which Harry had been dragged through.

He should have prepared himself mentally, or not looked at all. Knowing that Voldemort was the lowest sort of being he'd ever come across should have told him what he'd see. He ruled with fear, and left reminders used to keep that fear present in his followers minds.

Even knowing this, Harry turned and immediately stopped breathing.

Stormy Murdock was suspended from the ceiling by magic. His eyes had been gouged out, his mouth left open and oozing a black substance. His chest, once strong had been torn open so his intestines poured out to trail to the ground.

"For all his talk, when the time came for him to die, no one was here to save him," Voldemort said as Harry turned away and tried to keep from throwing up. Green eyes met red and Lord Voldemort smiled again and then looked to Thomas.

"Bring her."
.................. 

Snape had told Draco to tread carefully. He hadn't told him to stop using the spell, he hadn't told him to get back to work on finding a way to murder Dumbledore...and even though these were things Draco knew he should be doing, he just couldn't make himself focus.

Somewhere, Potter could be dying, and if he was, then Dumbledore would probably lay down and die too.

Draco blinked and stopped his pacing as that thought rolled around in his head. So, why should he waste time looking through those dusty old books if someone had already taken care of the problem.

For some reason, he wasn't as happy with this 'solution' as he should have been.

Draco had cast the viewing spell five times since Potter had been stabbed by that Muggle, and if anyone asked him he would deny it and call them a liar. To his chagrin, he knew the spell by heart now. He had woken up last night dripping in sweat and images of blood, a large yelling Muggle, and a horrible peach colored bedroom still plagued his mind.

This was worse than when his favorite mystery author had ended his last book with a cliffhanger so large some readers suggested mutiny.

He had to know what was happening. Snape wouldn't bother telling him anything unless he asked, and Draco didn't think he could handle the man's cutting comments at the moment.

"Draco, if I didn't know you better, I'd almost think you were worried," he'd say, and Draco would have to grit his teeth and play nice. The respect and fear he felt for his Professor wouldn't be enough to stop him from saying something that would probably get him in trouble.

Scowling, Draco locked all the doors to his room and cast the spell, loathing himself for being so curious.

Lucius Malfoy would have been ashamed at the way his son gawked at the clear surface that appeared in front of him. Draco blinked and ignored the nasty comments that lingered at the back of his head, his father was in prison and couldn't see him now. Not for the first time, he was quite glad of this.

Just like the spell was designed to do, Potter came into focus and Draco was aghast at where he was. A momentary look around the scene showed just how much danger he was in.

The Dark Lord, tall and terrifying stood in front of Potter who was clearly weak and looked close to being sick. Behind them stood a multitude of Death Eaters, dressed in the same robes Draco had once found hidden in his father's study.

The room was lit badly from above, the candles provided light, but from where Draco watched, it was hard to see if Potter was injured or just sick at the lack of decor.

With a large bang, the doors behind Potter slammed open and in walked a man that couldn't have been much older than Draco himself. He was well dressed, his cloak of seemingly good quality and behind him followed a lady. She held her head high, not in a haughty manner, but in the same way Draco's mother did when other's whispered about what had happened to her husband behind their hands.

Her hands were not bound, she'd not been forcefully brought here but her eyes went straight to Potter, and Draco saw something flicker across her face, though he didn't know what emotion to associate it with. Hope?

Potter didn't look like he'd be helping anyone anytime soon.

"Elizabeth," the Dark Lord said. Draco held himself stiffly, and watched, a part of him terrified that somehow, his father's Master would sense the spell he had cast and turn red eyes on him, staring at him through the glass.

"I did not offer your husband a chance to change his allegiance before I allowed my Death Eaters to rip him apart...it seems a waste though to let you, so young and talented, go to the same fate without at least me offering."

Her face had a streak of dirt that went from her left temple to her cheekbone. Even dirt did noting to diminish the fact that she was lovely, her eyes were bright with intelligence. She stared at Potter, who looked back at her sadly.

No words were said between them, but Elizabeth turned her head towards the corner of the room, in the direction of the door she'd just walked through. The corner of the room was dark, that could be the only reason Draco had not noticed the mangled body that hung their facing the group gathered below.

She slowly turned back to Voldemort, her face was resigned but peaceful. She looked at him like he was a puzzle and shook her head slowly.

"You've become so immersed in your greed and desire to live for eternity that you've lost everything worth living for. You won't win, Voldemort. No one wants to serve someone who rules with fear."

"You are as foolish as Potter."

Elizabeth's eyes met Potter's and she didn't seem defeated, even knowing that she may soon die. Draco wanted to know how she managed to not look afraid when facing death.

"I don't think hope is the same as foolishness, you will fall, your reign of terror can only last so long."

"I grow tired of this," the Dark Lord snapped.

Potter moved as if to step towards her and the man next to him grabbed his shirt collar roughly.

"Let go!" Potter growled and moved to strike him even with his hands bound. A gesture was made and in seconds Potter had been grabbed by the arms, a Death Eater on each side.

"I should keep you around just for laughs," the Dark Lord said lazily as Potter struggled against the hands of his much larger capturers. "Worse than a Muggle, you're so helpless. I don't know how anyone could imagine you'd ever be anything more than a little boy with an astonishing amount of luck."

"Go to Hell, Tom," Potter spat.

Voldemort smiled at him, "I imagine you're luck has run out now, Potter. Crucio!"

The pain curse wasn't aimed at him but at the woman who fell to the ground and screamed, her body twisting as pain contorted her face.

"Draco!"

Draco jumped, his heart beating faster than it ever had. The voice had come from outside his room, not from someone in the glass, they were oblivious to his spying.

"Draco," his mother said from outside his bedroom, "Your door is locked...."

Could her timing be any worse? Draco ended the spell as slowly as he dared, Potter was still fighting against his capturers though it was obvious he wasn't strong enough to do any damage.

Teeth gritted, Draco ended the spell, his hand shaking slightly as he pocketed his wand. The last thing he saw was the Dark Lord's cruelly smiling face.
.................. 
It seemed to go on forever. Harry had lost track of how many times they used the cruciatus on her. The Death Eaters on either side of him had forced him on his knees, and his whole body trembled in frustrated anger.

Though the probably couldn't understand the reasons behind it, they knew that letting him watch others suffer, hurt him more than even being under the pain curse himself.

"Nothing to say now, Potter?"

Harry glared up at Voldemort from where he knelt.

"You're the one known for ranting monologues."

Red eyes narrowed. "I'll keep it short for you, crucio!"

It is surprising how quickly one forgets pain, you remember that it was awful, but not exactly how it felt. Pain was his life, all he knew was the all-consuming agony of hundreds of knifes plunging into him repeatedly. His head was going to burst from it, his back was surely going to snap from arching so far back...and yet, he did not scream. Not this time.

When the curse ended, Harry realized that he was lying on the floor. The Death Eaters had dropped him as the first spasm went through his body, but during the curse he'd not even noticed. His hands clenched and spasmed without his permission as he tried to re-gain his breath and get the world to come back into focus.

One thought rose above the pure relief that the pain had stopped...he had not screamed, not once. He weakly pulled himself up into a sitting position and spit a mix of blood and saliva on the floor closet to where one of the Death Eaters stood. He'd bit the inside of his cheek, but it didn't matter.

Voldemort dearly wanted him to beg for death, to scream until his lungs burst. Harry was determined not to give him that.

Roughly, he was pulled up until he was standing in front of Voldemort.

"As my Death Eater's know, I'm a good Master...I'll allow you the chance to tell your little friend goodbye. Go apologize, Potter, if it had not been for you, she might have lived several years more."

The Death Eater threw him down with such force that when his shoulder hit the ground, a great pain went through the entire length of his arm and Harry gasped.

Laughter met his cry of pain.

"Go, Potter, before I change my mind."

Pushing himself up with his uninjured arm, Harry climbed to his feet and took barely two steps toward Elizabeth's fallen body. The cruciatus slammed into his back and once again he was biting back screams as his whole world revolved around pain.

When it ended and laughter bounced off the cavernous walls, Harry crawled straight towards Elizabeth. Blood was smeared across one side of his face, his thrashing had busted his nose open and it ran down his face.

They let him reach her, laughing and sneering at him, calling out cruel words while their Master watched from the side.

"The Boy Who Lived doesn't look very good, I can't imagine how he'll look when the time comes for him to die...I think we will make it a slow death." Voldemort called and a great noise went up as the Death Eaters called out for Harry's blood.

A shaking hand reached out towards Harry as he drew close.

Elizabeth's eyes were open and they met his slowly and with great effort.

"I know you," she said, and then a contented look came over her face, "Harry...."

"I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely, the warm blood running down his face trying to fill his mouth even as he carelessly wiped it away.

"Sorry? By apologizing, you are admitting guilt, and you've done nothing wrong." Her hand caught his and squeezed it. A tremor ran through her body, a result of over-exposure to the cruciatus and Harry swallowed as her eyes shifted around the room confusedly.

"Elizabeth?"

Her eyes went back to him, and once again she looked content. "Oh, Harry....do me a favor, and take care of my cloak. It's always been my favorite, but I don't think I'll be needing it much more...it's old, and worn, the pockets have holes...."

Eyebrows creased with worry, Harry leaned closer as her voice grew softer.

"I'm not afraid, you know, tell them I wasn't afraid."

He was still trying to think of something to say in return when her eyes closed again, and this time, she didn't open them.

When he awoke, Harry had a glorious moment of confusion as to where he was. He kept his eyes closed and tried to sort out the fogginess in his brain.

Bitterness in his mouth was the first thing to clue him in. That feeling one had when waking up from a nap, that nasty taste in your mouth that makes you desperately want to brush your teeth-this was worse. Remnants of dried blood were itchy and flaky across his chin, his nose was full of it.

His eyebrows furrowed and then his face went slack with realization.

Once it came back to him, he wondered how he'd ever been able to forget. He'd seen a friend die, a life flicker out of existence...and the one responsible might very well be in this room with him, watching patiently for some sign of movement just so he could begin his daily process of killing any hope Harry had left. The glowing light from the fireplace painted the inside of his eyelids a flickering brownish orange, and still he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even. There was too much to think about, he had too much to plan. It would be no more than a day before Voldemort brought him back, they'd enjoyed his obvious distress far too much to hold it off longer than that.

One day. He had less than twenty-four hours to escape before he would find himself drug back to that pit of Hell, and this time, it might be one of the children that he was forced to watch die.

That couldn't happen.

He'd been knocked unconscious by Thomas after witnessing Elizabeth's last breath, he hadn't even had time to fully realize she was gone before blackness was closing in on him. Fully awake now, Harry forced his hands to remain still and just listened to the quiet of the cabin, soft snores from one of the children almost gave the place a peaceful feeling, an air of contentedness...but his stomach was full of ice.

The words, 'Tell them I wasn't afraid,' echoed in his mind until it was all he could think of. Elizabeth hadn't been afraid, or perhaps her mind was too far gone to even remember what fear felt like. The floor was cold and hard, his body ached with the desire to stretch and try to relieve some of the aches from the many times he'd suffered under that awful curse. But if he moved and woke one of the two sleeping children...then the questions would begin, and how could he even attempt to answer them.

How do you tell a child that their mother is dead?

He didn't even have any personal experience with that to draw from. Harry had grown up just knowing that his mum and dad were dead, he couldn't remember anyone saying it, unless it was an insult laden with lies, "If you keep up with that attitude you'll come to same shameful end that your parents did! Dead on the side of the road!"

Even before he could fully comprehend what that word 'dead' meant, he knew it implied that they would never come back.

It had not stopped him from hoping though.

Harry bit savagely into his already sore cheek. There was no time to dwell on that, there was no room for self pity in this situation. His life had been handed to him and now he had to make the best of it.

Slowly he opened his eyes. From where he lay on the floor, he could see that Thomas, or at least his feet, were no where in sight. Perhaps he was licking his wounds, Voldemort had reacted about the way Harry thought he would.

With careful movements, Harry pushed himself off the floor, his whole body seemed to throb from multiple wounds and the ghostly memory of cruciatus. His eyes stung with tiredness, being knocked out did not provide the same rest that sleep did. With the tips of his fingers, he rubbed grit out of the corners of his eyes and turned toward the sound of light snoring.

The two children were bundled close together under Elizabeth's cloak, just the top portion of Parker's head could be seen. Their faces were peaceful. Something inside Harry twisted painfully at the thought of them waking up to their mother not being here.

When they asked about her, Harry had to be prepared. He couldn't tell them the truth, not yet, not until they were far away from this place. He'd need them both to be of sound mind for when they either made their escape or were rescued. One way or another, they would be getting out of here, it was just a matter of time.

Someone must have been warned by now that the wards at the Dursley's house had fallen. Maybe Snape had been present tonight-that was a dangerous thought and Harry quickly focused on something else. Thomas did not seem to be nearby, but you could never be too careful when people's life's were at risk. Harry knew this now. He would not be responsible for revealing the man as a traitor of Voldemort if anyone was around to steal his thoughts.

Harry massaged his sore ribcage and furtively looked around for anything he might be able to get his hands on, anything that could give him a chance of escape.

There was no way of telling what time it was, for the only window in sight had been covered by a thick black material so no light could shine through. Harry was exhausted though, he wanted to sleep and not wake up until the door to the cabin was broken down and someone came to their rescue...

But sometimes, you have to be your own hero.

Lizzie shifted then, and Harry glanced at her guiltily. Perhaps she could sense his tension, it was heavy in the air.

She blinked tired eyes open and they seemed about to close again when her gaze focused on Harry and she frowned. Sitting up and waking her brother in the process, the young girl looked around the room quickly before asking Harry, "Where's mum?"

Parker stopped rubbing his eyes almost immediately and looked at Harry for the answer.

Harry swallowed but his mouth was too dry and his words came out hoarse.

"She's...left for a little while."

"Where'd she go?"

He hadn't thought that far. "Er, the bad man wanted to talk to her, I'm sure she'll be back soon. Maybe you should go back to sleep and when you wake up, she might be here."

The words felt cruel in his mouth, he was speaking lies meant to protect them, but they were still lies.

Parker looked at his sister for guidance but the little girl was still staring at Harry.

"You've got dirt all over your face," she said and before Harry could get up, she'd scrambled to her feet and was soon standing right next to where Harry sat.

Her eyes narrowed in on his cheek and his swollen lip.

"That's blood, not dirt! What happened? Who hurt you?"

She had placed her hands on her hips. Lizzie's obvious concern and frustration at his apparent bad health was touching, and yet it made Harry's eyes unexpectedly water and his throat suddenly seemed to be full of stones.

Lizzie turned and grabbed her mother's cloak off of Parker without even an apologetic look, though the younger boy didn't look offended as she came back to Harry's side. Before he could even protest, she had used her short, thin arms to wrap it around him.

She pulled it close at Harry's neck and nodded to herself in satisfaction.

"There, you looked soooo cold, and if you get sick then we'll all get sick!"

Her logic was flawless, and Harry could only nod at her, his eyes betraying him, but not to the point that the tears rolled down his face.

Elizabeth would be proud of her.

"Thank you," he said, his tone gruffer than he'd intended but the girl didn't seem to mind.

"When's mummy coming back?" Parker asked, moving closer to Harry until he was leaning against his side.

Harry turned his face away, hiding the truth that his face kept trying to give away.

"Hopefully she'll be back soon."

His hands moved to keep the cloak closed tightly around him, his thumbs rubbed the silk lining absentmindedly. It seemed like Elizabeth had been quite confused earlier, one minute she was talking nonsense, the next she'd been asking him to relay her last words to the two children that sat around him now.

The cruciatus must have started to tear at her mind, that was the only reason Harry could think of for her to ask him to 'do me a favor, and take care of my cloak.'

Lizzy was quietly talking to Parker, who still seemed worried that his mother wasn't around.

Harry looked down at the cloak and sighed.

Then, he blinked, and looked at the silk lining. It was tastefully striped satin, but the color was what interested him the most. It was silver and green.

Slytherin colors on a cloak belonging to a lady who had been brave and kind to him, characteristics not linked to any Slytherin he was aquatinted with. It was a bit of a shock to Harry, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he had never met a Slytherin that liked him. Had someone asked him, he would have placed Elizabeth in Ravenclaw.

But, maybe in his mind, the houses were more important than what they should be. There was a bit of guilt that sat on Harry's shoulder's the more he thought about it, he'd become someone that associated the Slytherin house with only vile people.

Truthfully though, people like Snape and Draco Malfoy didn't really help to give Slytherin house a good name.

Cunning and ambitious weren't bad traits, Harry could have used more of the first trait right now. Maybe if he'd let the Sorting hat put him in Slytherin he'd already be miles away from Thomas...maybe Elizabeth would still be alive.

Mind heavy with guilt and his head drooped low, Harry scooted until his back was against the wall then squeezed Parker close to him. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to stop his thoughts from flying about his head, there seemed to be a constant headache behind his eyes, and his nerves were damaged from the on slot of Cruciatus.

Seeing how angry Voldemort had become was worth it, Harry would rather die than let the monster think he'd broken him.

The children were quiet once again and on the verge of sleep. It was all there was to do here in this wannabe cell room. Sleep, eat...and wait for death.

He might as well close his eyes too, Harry decided, perhaps with a few minutes of sleep he'd finally get an original thought that could help them escape.

The quietness of their little side of the house was slightly unnerving. Only the steady breathing of the two children could be heard, and without meaning to, Harry found that his breathing pattern suddenly matched theirs, three heartbeats all echoing the same sound.

Several minutes later, his eyes grew heavy with sleep, and his hands lay limp in his lap.

It's always been my favorite, but I don't think I'll be needing it much more...it's old, and worn, the pockets have holes...

Were her words going to haunt him forever? Harry groaned very lightly...but there was something about that sentence that made him repeat it in his mind, and then out loud.

"The pockets have holes," he murmured softly once, and then again. "The pockets...have holes."

Harry felt like a loon for speaking out loud, but at the same time, he felt brilliant.

There was something about that statement, Elizabeth had said it so clearly. There was no hint of hysteria in her voice, not even a touch of dreaminess to imply she was half-sane. The Death Eaters had laughed like she'd cracked, and it had caused Harry to believe she had. Maybe that's exactly what Elizabeth wanted.

Slowly, not sure why he was even doing it, Harry reached into the cloak and felt around for the pockets. Finding them, his fingers slowly searched all the way around the lining, first the left pocket which was perfectly fine, and then the right.

The right pocket had a very small hole, just big enough for his pinky to fit in, and feeling around, Harry noticed to his great shock, that there was a lump behind the fabric.

Something was hidden there.

"Positively Slytherin," Harry murmured, and the words had never been more complimentary.

His green eyes were wide and a smile spread on his face, it made the inside of his cheek ache, but he was too thrilled to care.

Elizabeth, even with all the pain she had been in, was trying to convey something to him. After almost an hour of that dreadful curse, and the first thing on her mind had still been protecting her children.

Harry was not careful when he ripped the pocket open, though he did turn his back slightly away from the light of the fireplace as a precaution just in case Thomas wandered in. He felt around once the hole was large enough to fit his hand inside, and his fingertips touched a very soft pouch. There was a pocket inside the original pocket, it was a little paranoid, and yet Harry could only think of how awesome it was too, for whatever it held could be there means of escape.

Pulse racing, Harry carefully pulled the small item out to examine.

It was a small satchel made out of a fine black satin, it had a drawstring closing and whatever was inside, it was very light.

Biting down on is lip, Harry held his breath and pulled the satchel open. He squinted in and then frowned...what?

Turning back towards the light, Harry tilted the satchel for a better look at the contents. Nope, the light didn't make it look any better. It was clearly the dried leaves of some plant.

How depressing.

Shoulders drawn together, Harry stared at the dark brown leaves and resisted the urge to do something silly and destructive. Like crush them into a very fine powder and blow them in Thomas's face.

How in the world was this supposed to help him? Though momentarily blinding Thomas sounded fun, it wasn't without it's many flaws, and Harry was sure that was not their purpose, if they had a purpose at all.

"You shouldn't touch that."

Harry jerked back against the wall, hands quickly going to hide the satchel. Parker watched him anxiously.

"I was just looking," Harry said, and felt stupid for how defensive the words came out.

"Mummy says you shouldn't touch that, it can make you really sleepy, or make you really sick."

"Er...if I touch it?"

"If you eat it," Parker replied.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, because the boy almost sounded like he spoke from experience, Harry asked, "Did you know this was in your mum's cloak?"

Parker nodded, "She always has stuff in her pockets."

"What did your mum do?" Harry asked curiously, though he was beginning to think he already knew.

"She made potions for a store."

It was then that Harry realized what exactly he could use these ugly little leaves for, and his heart sped up in his chest.
......................... 

Though the floo would have been quicker, Severus decided to take the long walk back to the dungeons when he finally left Dumbledore's office late that night. He'd recounted the events that had transpired, what his thoughts were on the situation, whether the Headmaster wanted to hear them or not, and then taken the recent memory from his mind so Dumbledore could view it himself in the Pensieve.

He knew very little about the young man that had captured Potter, and even less about how exactly he'd managed to do it. However, this much was for certain, he was just as lost as Severus himself had been at that age.

To seek out The Dark Lord, repeatedly, bringing him 'gifts'...if he wanted to just be made a Death Eater, he would have just asked, unless he already had and the Dark Lord refused him to see what else he would bring as an offering.

The Dark Lord was not one to pick and choose his followers, take a look at the ones he had so far, for heaven's sake. It wasn't reassuring to know that the young man had Potter in his care.

Potter had better not get himself killed before they could come up with a way of aiding his escape. When Severus had seen the boy kneeling there before the Dark Lord, his breathing had hitched in his chest without his permission. He'd only become a spy to keep Potter safe until he could fulfill his destiny. To see him there looking filthy and frail, so different from the bold, irritating child he'd taught for so many years, it was enough to make him dizzy.

What if this was Potter's last stand before The Dark Lord-he wasn't prepared. Severus didn't think he ever would be. In that moment, staring at him from under his Death Eater mask, Severus saw a bruised, malnourished child.

It terrified Severus. But then...then Potter had fought back.

He'd straightened up, putting on a brave face even from his place on the cold floor and taunting the Dark Lord that he, "could have sent an invitation".

The oddest sense of pride had filled Severus. The fight hadn't been knocked out of him, it reminded Severus to play his part as long as possible, he may be the only hope the boy had, if he didn't get himself killed first. The brat just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, where was his sense of self-preservation?

Baiting the Dark Lord, knowing that his anger would have to be unleashed on someone, and it had indeed been released.

Severus closed his eyes tightly and clenched his fists. The corridor was empty, and he stood there in the near darkness, the flickering of the slowly burning torches on either side the only sound to be heard besides his controlled breathing.

Elizabeth Murdock had been one of the most brilliant minds in the Potion's industry to date. Her remarkable abilities in brewing advanced and rare potions was only outmatched by her skill in dealing with people. She was well liked, her small shop frequently visited by not only usual customers, but by other master's of the art who sought out her opinions.

Severus had never asked for her help in anything he was working on, but he had found himself discussing his own ideas with her. She had been a very good listener.

Though he no longer allowed himself to place anyone he became acquainted with in the 'friend' category, she had probably come the closest.

He would dearly miss those conversations.

The Dark Lord had taken yet another bright light out of the world. Severus hated him for it, he wanted him dead for it.

Yet, the only way to see him dead, was to save Potter's ever-in-danger arse.

Gritting his teeth, Severus strode off down the hall and to his dungeon. There would be no sleep tonight.
............................

"What's wrong with you, Potter? You're moping like a teenage adolescent in the depths of despair."

Harry lifted his eyes to gape at Thomas who was leaning moodily against the door of the cabin. His expression scared Harry and caused the words he wanted to yell at the man to dry up in his throat.

Thomas's mouth was tight with anger, his hair greasy and his pallor sickly.

"It's too bad that neither of us had things go the way we planned," Harry said quietly and slowly, his eyes glancing over at the two children he now considered to be in his care. They both had their eyes closed, but he thought their breathing was a bit too fast for them to truly be asleep, he bit his lip so Thomas wouldn't see the small smile that pulled at his mouth.

His words caused Thomas to throw himself into a chair.

"No, but it's not over yet. He was impressed by what I've done, impressed enough to believe I could be trusted with you in my care until he decided to slit your throat." Thomas looked over at him from under his dirty fringe, a ill-meaning smile on his face.

Harry knew his face didn't look as brave as he wanted it too. It was more a mixture of bravery and being scared. Scavery. It would have to be enough.

"I'll miss our little talks, Potter."

"You mean me being forced to listen to your rants about revenge?"

"Still so funny, even with your head inches away from the guillotine."

"That's a bit messy, even for Voldemort."

Thomas laughed, and sat up straighter in his chair. "Come on over here and make me some tea, Potter. One last cuppa before I lead you to the slaughter."

"Make it two," Harry said as he stood up from the cold floor and crossed into the kitchen. Though his body still ached all over from the cruciatus and his hand still twitched without his permission, the thrill from finally having an escape plan in place seemed to override the remnants of his pain.

Thomas laughed again and it sounded strange...well, stranger than normal. Harry looked at him with furrowed eyebrows as he prepared the teapot.

"Are you drunk?"

Thomas snorted and put the shield back up between Harry and Elizabeth's children. His demeanor was worrying, it was like being near a dog that had been tied up for a long time. Harry could almost feel the desperation and skittishness rolling off of him.

"I can't allow myself the privilege of being drunk. Maybe once you're dead."

Harry gritted his teeth and stared at the tea pot, urging it to boil faster. "You really like to talk about my impending demise, don't you?"

He could almost feel Thomas's smile, "Maybe I'm in denial. Hiding my pain behind cruel words. You know, the plan to capture you took months of hard work. I had to plot, and plan and spy on you and your family. It didn't take too much for that Muggle to hate you, but getting him to kill that cat did take some convincing." Thomas sighed, "It took a lot of hard work to get you here, Potter. Now, you are pretty much dead meat. I just think it's a waste."

Glancing at him over his shoulder, Harry didn't bother to hide his worry. In his life he'd dealt with many people all with varying levels of insanity, he didn't know yet where Thomas fit in on that scale.

The tea has steeped long enough and Harry poured a large cup for Thomas and then one for himself as well. After placing the tea in front of Thomas, Harry sat across from him and bathed his face in the warm steam from his cup.

The fire was hot on his back and Harry closed his eyes for a moment, not caring that he could feel Thomas watching him. It was the comfiest he'd been in a long time, it would be so easy to lay his head on the table and let his mind drift far away.

He heard Thomas sip his tea quietly and Harry opened his eyes to glance over at Lizzie and Parker. Their position hadn't changed, they were under their mother's cloak, still oblivious to what had happened to her.

"Did you tell them?"

Sharply, Harry looked at Thomas, and gritted his teeth. "No, and you shouldn't either. Just leave them alone."

"It would be easier coming from you, than say, tomorrow when they see her body hanging from-"

Harry knocked his mug off the table, tea flew across the room and hit the wall. The ceramic cup broke as soon as it hit the floor, and yet all Harry could think is that he hadn't even realized he'd stood up.

"Shut up, you don't get to talk about that. Ever."

Thomas looked darkly amused. He drank more tea before spelling Harry's mess away.

"I'm surprised 'The Dark Lord'," he said sarcastically, "didn't do much worse to you after the way you spoke to him."

Harry considered not responding, then he saw the truly curious look in Thomas's eyes and shrugged quickly.

"He expects it from me now, this has been the third time I've seen in him the past couple of years. We always have a verbal sparring match and then he goes off about how amazing he is...and then I get away." It sounded like bragging, but Harry knew it was just the honest truth. "If my insults make him riled enough that he loses his temper, that's fine, it just shows his Death Eaters how he truly is. He's not human, but he's also not an indestructible God. He gets pissed off, and he makes bad choices."

"I didn't see you get away this time," Thomas taunted and drank some more tea.

"The night's not over," Harry replied smoothly.

Thomas just lifted his eyebrows and took another long sip of tea before standing up and stretching his arms straight above his head.

"As much as I'd love to hear you complain about your current situation, I'm tired." Harry glared at Thomas and received only a smirk in return. "Go back to your side of the house now, if you stay quiet I might even allow you to choose your last meal tomorrow," he laughed and gestured for Harry to get up and walk away, their little tea party was over.

Standing up, Harry sent one last glare at Thomas, who smiled-then, his eyes grew confused.

He grasped the table with both hands and as Harry watched his knees began to shake.

Wide eyes shot towards the tea he'd been drinking for the past fifteen or more minutes, never noticing the slightly different taste from the normal Earl Grey he'd had Harry make for him the past couple of days. Face growing pale as his breathing quickened in fear, Thomas tried to form angry words as he realized that his captives had tricked him.

"What's wrong with you, Thomas?" Harry asked softly. "You're acting a little dramatic, even for you."

Thomas's eyes were full of hate and terror, perhaps he was just beginning to think of what would happen when Voldemort's lackeys found him unconscious. Eyes fluttered shut and he fell over into the floor with a loud and painful sounding 'thump'.

Suddenly, Harry could hear crickets from outside the cabin, he hadn't noticed them before-probably Thomas had warded the house against all outside noise.

"What happened to him?" Lizzie asked quietly as Harry went around the table to poke Thomas in the chest with his foot.

He was out cold and probably would remain that way for at least the next five hours.

Lizzie and Parker had stood up and were watching him with no sign of sleep in their eyes. Harry smiled grimly and looked back at Thomas, there was blood leaking from his nose from where he'd hit the floor.

"I guess his tea was just too strong for him."

With that, Harry bent over Thomas's still form and pulled out his wand where it stuck out of his pocket. It felt wrong because it wasn't his wand, and yet, he could also feel the magic coursing underneath his hand, just waiting to be unleashed.

"Come on, kids, let's get out of this hell hole."

It took a little convincing before Lizzie and Parker would leave the cabin.

"But mum's not back--"

"She's not going to come back here, Parker," Harry tried gently. "The...the bad guys won't bring her back here once they know that Thomas let us escape."

"He didn't let us, you poisoned him," Lizzie muttered in a surprisingly adult tone. She was quite fascinated with Thomas' unconscious body and had taken to picking up his arm and dropping it repeatedly. Harry tried to tell himself this was normal for a child her age, but he wasn't too sure.

"Lizzie, leave him alone--"

"Then where will mum go?" Parker demanded and crossed his arms defiantly.

"Eventually she'll find us, wherever we go," Harry lied, and knelt so he could look Parker in his narrowed eyes. "Your mum is really smart, she left us that dried plant so we could knock out Thomas and escape. But, Parker, if we wait too much longer, Thomas will wake up and then we will never get out of here! Think about how upset she would be if that happened. She gave us a way to leave this place, we can't just waste the opportunity!"

It was another lie, Thomas would be out for a long time still. He'd have one hell of a headache when he woke up though, and probably some bruises from where Lizzie had gotten a hold on him. She was now kicking him in the side, and it wasn't for the sake of science but Harry just didn't have it in him to tell her to stop. He was responsible for the death of their mother, even though neither one of them realized it.

Parker bit his lip and looked at the ground and then back up to Harry, he seemed uncertain, but finally said, "Fine."

Harry wasted no time after that, he had to think about what they may need. Thomas didn't have any Floo powder on top of his fireplace, there weren't any magical items anywhere to be seen, besides the wand. He didn't know what they would find once they left here. He had to be prepared, Hermione would have been and he needed to be smart like her now. Grabbing Thomas's messenger bag from where it hung from the wall, Harry dumped out it's contents all over the floor.

Notebooks and quills fell out, an ink bottle cracked as it hit the floor and a thin line of ink started running across the rough stone. Harry went over to the pantry on the other side of the fireplace and threw open the door. It was a sparse supply that met his eyes, the shelves held some apples that looked a bit worse for wear, crackers and biscuits. Harry gritted his teeth and shoved anything that still looked edible in the bag. He didn't know how long it would be before they had real food to eat, he didn't want to regret not picking up anything.

"I filled up this thermos with water," Lizzie said from beside him, proudly holding up the container. It even had a strap attached for easy carrying. Harry raised an eyebrow, finding it odd that Thomas would have a thermos in his possession...but maybe this cabin hadn't always been his.

Intrigued, Harry left the messenger bag on the table and walked over to the doorway he'd always assumed led to Thomas's bedroom.

He looked back at the kids and made sure Thomas was still out cold. He opened the door slowly, it creaked and Harry felt like he was breaking a school rule. The first thing he saw was the giant head of a dead elk hanging over a bed, it's glass eyes looked back at Harry, who winced and looked away.

Definitely not Thomas's cabin, killing animals for sport wasn't against his morals...at all. But Harry didn't see him as the type to let their dead bodies hang over the bed he slept in. Having hungry captives in the next room over was a different story....

His assumptions were proven true when he saw the camping gear piled in the corner of the room.

Harry hated to think what had happened to the poor soul that lived here before.

It was a mere fifteen minutes later that Harry hiked that backpack up onto his shoulders that ached at the weight of it, but he had no idea how long it would take before they found someone they could trust. Had it just been him, he'd have ran out of the cabin as soon as Thomas had hit the floor, but it wasn't just him. Parker and Lizzie had stuffed the biscuits that were on the counter into their pockets and mouths. There were a couple of woolen blankets in the bedroom that Harry had rolled up tight and tied to the backpack, and he'd thrown the food inside while making sure Thomas's wand was still in his pocket.

Just to buy them even more time, he'd let Lizzie tie Thomas's feet and hands tight. His breathing was deep and even, his skin was still warm, and the blood around his nose had started to dry. Harry just wished he could be a fly on the wall when he woke up.

Taking a deep breath, Harry looked around the cabin one last time, the kids were staring at him, they were trying to be brave but he could tell they were nervous. Smiling at them, he opened the door to the cabin and headed out into the world.
..........................................................

Tapping his foot on the floor, Severus closed his eyes tightly. The Dark Lord was furious. Severus could feel it, his arm was aching from where his Dark Mark reflected the fury and burned as if he had held it too close to the fire. It had been burning for the past hour, and even though he hadn't been summoned yet, Severus felt he knew what it was in reference to.

Potter was one of the few beings left alive still that could infuriate the Dark Lord so. Severus just wished he knew if the boy was suffering now for what he'd done. Damn it. He could not just appear without being called, it would be too odd, and he had no 'information' about Dumbledore to feed the Dark Lord. So he had to wait.

His foot continued tapping, it was keeping him from grinding his teeth together. Once that boy was safe behind wards again, he would glue his arse to the floor so that even a Portkey couldn't pull him away without trying to take the whole damn house as well.

Though, Severus admitted to himself grudgingly, Potter truthfully couldn't have done much to stop the Portkey. It was literally inside his leg at the time. Which reminded him that Potter hadn't seemed to have too much trouble standing on it when he'd stood so boldly in front of the Dark Lord. He was either putting on a brave face, or perhaps someone had taken pity on him.

Too bad no one had taken pity on that confused Muggle that had been tricked into aiding Thomas with his plan. Cleaning up the mess with the Muggle police had been a giant headache for the Ministry and the Aurors. The whole Wizarding world had been aware of Potter's disappearance within hours of it happening, almost at the same time Dumbledore became aware. The Ministry didn't stand a chance of covering up the return of the Dark Lord after what had taken place right before summer began, but if the masses discovered that he was bold enough to kidnap the Boy Who Lived...it may work to their favor. That was, if they got Potter rescued before his runaway tongue got him killed.

Which brought to question, just what had went wrong with the supposedly impenetrable blood wards. It was quite worrisome. Dumbledore didn't like to talk about at length, Severus felt that the man knew exactly what was wrong, but didn't wish to tell him, which was extremely aggravating.

From what Severus had seen through the spell of Draco's, Potter's relatives had not shown an excess of love for him. No love was needed to keep the blood wards functional, just acceptance--even grudgingly accepting Potter would be enough to keep them active.

Closing his eyes, Severus recollected the image of Vernon Dursley's hands flying quite close to Potter's down turned face as he screamed at him for receiving a parcel full of perishable food items. He wasn't blind, Potter was not treated as he should be...but it also could have been worse. Perhaps, the Muggle was having a bad day, he hadn't known that the things going on in his own household, such as the cat, were not Potter's doings.

Though he could tell his uncaring replies on the subject had infuriated Draco, Severus still felt it was the best thing he could have done.

To Draco, he served the Dark Lord while teaching at Hogwarts as a guise. It only showed how bothered Draco was by the whole ordeal that he even tried to talk to Severus about it.

Truthfully, Severus was a little bothered as well, but not enough that he would question the Headmaster about the boy's lodgings.

But, where would Potter go if the one place he was supposed to be safe was now out of the equation?

His Dark Mark flared as he was called to his master's side. Severus closed his eyes for one short moment and desperately hoped that upon arrival, he'd not see Potter's dead body hanging from the ceiling.
..........................................................

The tall grass in the valley was surprisingly painful when you brushed you hand against the wrong way. Harry shook his hand out and continued walking as fast as he dared. They had run for a long while, the moon lit their path as Harry was scared of the attention a lumos might bring to them. He only knew they were in the middle of a valley surrounded by forest, and the only living things around were wild animals...and possibly Death Eaters. He wanted to keep both at bay.

Lizzie and Parker were both panting, and a thin line of sweat trailed down Harry's face. Unlike other summers, he'd been locked in his room the majority of the time, he was not fit for running long distances.
He held the children's hands tightly, trying to give them comfort as well as making sure they stayed as close to him as possible. He was their protector now. Glancing behind him, Harry was surprised at how small the cabin already looked, and how dark and foreboding it seemed.

Harry gritted his teeth. He would be better prepared from now on, he swore to himself right then that he would never be so helpless again.

There was no summoning the night bus, Harry had tried it once, his hope diminishing when nothing happened. There was no road here anyway and it had been a foolish hope, but he had to try anyway. He didn't know how to get a message to anyone, Hedwig was far away, and so they ran and hoped to find their own means of salvation.

The sun had to come up soon, the birds were already starting to sing above them as they entered the forest.

Their pace came to a halt when Harry's foot collapsed underneath him and he fell to the forest floor with a gasp. He'd fallen into a partially hidden hole, and his ankle burned with pain as he got up on his knees while apologizing to Parker who he'd dragged down with him.

"Sorry," he muttered and painfully stood up. It took a lot more effort than he expected, every single muscle he had seemed to protest at the way he'd mistreated them lately, and the backpack was heavy. It would have been far too easy to lay back down on the ground.

"Where are we going to go? There's just trees!"

Harry shook his head at Lizzie's question, he didn't know what they were going to do, "We just keep moving, it will be okay."

Now he just had to prove it.

The sky lightened up, but it was overcast with heavy clouds and the birds grew silent as the wind picked up in speed. Harry stopped walking in a small clearing and gingerly took off the backpack, his shoulder hurt something fierce. It was the same shoulder that had hit the ground when the Death Eaters threw him down. It wasn't broken, but he knew without looking that the bruise would be a beauty.

"Let's eat something and just rest a moment," he said and handed Parker the water bottle, "Don't drink too fast, or too much."

It was hard to tell how far they had gone, it had been at least a couple of hours since they fled the cabin. Thomas would be waking up soon, Harry wondered if he would get angry or burst into tears when he saw the predicament he'd landed in. Had he given him a heavier dose of the plant, Thomas probably would not have woken up...but Harry wasn't a killer, not yet, anyway.

They sat on the ground close to each other, and Harry kept his wand in one hand and ate one of the sad apples with the other. Lizzie and Parker were eating very fast, and Harry felt guilty as he watched their hungry faces look around at the tall trees and unfamiliar landscape.

"When we get out of here, I'm going to take a shower while eating a chicken leg," Harry said, Parker and Lizzie though that was incredibly funny and giggled and took the granola bars handed to them.

"I'm going to ask mum to make me a sandwich, and I want Lizzie to take a bath, she smells," Parker said, trying to rile his sister up.

"You smell too!"

"I'm sure we all smell equally as terrible," Harry said with an eye roll and took a timid sniff of his shirt as thunder roared in the distance.

It had at least been a week since he'd showered, the Dursley's had kept him locked in his room for three days before Brent had forced that Portkey on him, and he had to have been with Thomas for three days after that, if not four.

It was the longest amount of time he'd been in the hands of someone who actually wanted him dead. He'd met Voldemort several different forms over the extent of his life in the Wizarding World, and it seemed every time he did, the situations got worse and more likely to end in death.

"Harry?"

Harry blinked at the ground under his shoes and then up at Lizzie, "Yes?"

"Parker's scared of storms."

It was only then that Harry realized how close the storm actually was, the clouds had gathered above their heads and the wind blew his dirty hair across his face. Pulling the backpack onto his shoulders, Harry nodded.

"Guess we'd better find someplace to hide then," he offered and smiled as Parker came over to take his hand, and looked up through the trees with fear. They tried to make it look as it they had never been there, being careful not to leave trash and trying to disguise their footprints by running a branch over the bare dirt.

"The problem with hiding from a thunderstorm in a forest," Harry said to Lizzie and Parker, as they strode along, "Is that...well, there isn't really any place to hide."

"Under a tree!"

"Yeah," Harry said with sarcasm, that neither of them seemed to understand, "Let's find the tallest tree, the one that reaches the lightening and cower under it. Seems like a legitimate plan."

He had to pull Parker back to his side as the boy spotted the tallest tree in sight and headed over to it confidently.

Lightening lit up the sky overhead, and they had just enough time to flinch before the thunder followed.

"Come on, we'll find somewhere safe, we just need to keep moving away from the cabin."

It was a race that they were bound to lose and Harry gritted his teeth as the first raindrops started to fall. For summer, the rain was surprisingly cold and he shivered as one drop rolled down the back of his neck.

"Oh, no," Parker said, his voice trembling and Harry gripped his hand tighter as they quickly made there way between trees and through the foliage.

"Our clothes can dry," Harry said, and Lizzie nodded in agreement. "It will be okay."

Harry had found himself saying that so many times since Elizabeth's death, even though he didn't have any facts to base his hope on, he found that he just had to reassure the children, and in so doing, he reassured himself.

The sky broke above them. It didn't even begin as a sprinkle and lead up to rain, no, the sky just dropped open and within minutes, Harry found himself trying to clear his eyes of rain.

Lizzie had grabbed his other hand and all three of them trudged through the woods sopping wet but determined.

"Uh oh," Lizzie said some time later, and Harry looked up, his stomach falling. They had reached the edge of a incline that rose straight up like the side of a mountain. The steep side continued in either direction, and though they could see the top, there was no way over it. They'd have to walk along the side and hope it would end soon, maybe the bushes that seemed to grow out of the side of the steep incline would provide some protection for them from the harsh rain.

Harry ground his teeth together and hoped he hadn't led the children into a trap, it was as if he could feel the Death Eaters on their heels--Death Eaters that would have been smart enough to cast some sort of water repelling charm, something Harry hadn't even thought of.

"Stupid," Harry said to himself, and Parker looked up at him curiously.

Even though he had a wand, Harry was slightly nervous about using it, what if Thomas had a tracking spell on it? What if the Death Eaters could sense him using magic? It would be terribly sad to spell them all dry, just to look up and see themselves surrounded. They wouldn't be able to escape so easily the second time.

The rain had slowed down to a slight drizzle by the time Harry stopped walking, he was sure it was past lunch time, but the children hadn't complained once. His heart swelled with pride at how brave they'd been in the face of discomfort and fear, even now they ate their granola bars without complaining, and drank the water carefully knowing that they didn't have much left.

Parker's face was twisted in an uncomfortable grimace as Harry tucked their trash into the backpack.

"What's wrong?"

"I..." Parker came closer to Harry and said low so his sister wouldn't hear, "I have to pee!"

Harry blinked, and then tried not to laugh at how serious Parker looked. "Okay...er, just, don't go too far--you don't need me to go with you, right?"

Parker shook his head while quickly walking away from them and through the woods.

Harry had never spent a lot of time with children younger than him, even in school with Dudley he'd been an outcast. The friends he had made were scared off by Dudley's mocking laughter that they would 'spend time with freaky Harry'. Those were not fond memories, but Harry felt quite protective over both Lizzie and Parker. Their minds hadn't been poisoned with prejudice or politics, they didn't have anyone telling them what to believe...and they trusted Harry, it made him all the more determined to lead them back to safety.

"Harry!"

The shout came quite suddenly, and Lizzie was up and looking around in a frightened manner before Harry had even realized that it was Parker screaming for him.

"Harry, hurry!" Parker yelled again. A sort of numbing fear came over Harry as he took off running toward where he thought the young boy might be. Horrible images of Death Eaters dragging Parker's small body deeper into the woods filled his mind, Harry clutched the stolen wand and pushed branches out of his face.

There was Parker, seemingly unharmed and smiling brightly as Harry gasped for air and tried to still the shaking in his hands and legs.

"What--"

"I found a hiding spot!" Parker exclaimed as Lizzie burst out of the woods behind Harry, her face terrified. The excitement dimmed from his face as he took in the expression on Harry's and Lizzie's face, his shoulders fell and he stepped forward.

"What's wrong?"

Harry just shook his head and pulled him closer to enfold him in a tight hug. He was still shaking, and it scared him just how frightened he felt. Was this what it was like to be a parent, fear paralyzing you at the very thought of your child coming to harm? His mother's sacrifice had never seemed so understandable as it was now.

Lizzie sniffled and blindly Harry reached out and pulled her into the hug too.

"What's wrong?" Parker said, his voice muffled from where he spoke against Harry's shirt.

"You scared the..." Harry took a deep breath and straightened up, letting Parker and Lizzie go slowly. "I thought you were hurt--or that someone had you."

"Oh," Parker frowned at him and then stepped closer again and placed his hand in Harry's. "I'm not hurt, Harry...don't worry."

That just about broke any reserve Harry had left, he swallowed painfully at the lump in his throat and squeezed the smaller hand briefly. On his other side, Lizzie was holding the edge of his shirt in her hand, her small face looked so tired that Harry felt his chest ache.

"I know--now, what did you want to show me?"

Parker pulled him to the wall of stone, this portion was covered in a thick covering of green ivy.

"I was coming back and throwing stones at the wall, and one rock didn't bounce back, look!"

Without fear, Parker thrust his hand into the ivy and even though Harry flinched and waited for a cry of pain, his arm passed through with only slight resistance.

"It's a cave!" Lizzie said excitedly and moved forward to investigate.

Harry opened his mouth to warn them about spiders, but they were already tearing apart the ivy and he realized just how large the cave was. He wouldn't even have to bend his head down to get through.

With only the slightest hesitation, Harry stepped forward and cast a quiet, "Lumos!" with the stolen wand. The cave opened up in front of his startled eyes, it was almost perfectly round, as tall as he was (which wasn't very tall, he was probably the shortest boy in his year at Hogwarts). But, still...it didn't look to be a natural cave, it had been formed by some intelligent creature, there were no large rocks in their path, and the tunnel seemed to continue as far back as his eyes could see.

"Wow," Lizzie breathed.

Behind them lightening lit up the sky and barely a moment later thunder followed. Wincing at the thought of walking in the rain again, Harry made a decision.

Not even ten minutes later, he had fetched the backpack that had been abandoned when Parker screamed. As rain started to fall from the sky, Harry carefully tried to fix the blanket of ivy so that no one following them would notice. He admitted to himself that it was probably a helpless endeavor, the kids had torn so many leaves off in their haste that there was no chance of him clearing it all away. He couldn't very well glue the leaves back to the vines.

Biting his lip, and hoping he wasn't making an awful mistake, Harry smiled lightly at Lizzie and Parker, dried their clothes, lifted the lit wand in front of him, and led the way into the tunnel.
..........................................................

Severus never saw this day coming. He had seen a lot while managing his double spy position, he'd been forced into uncomfortable positions, had went through a lot of pain...but he never expected to be doing this.

Smiling. Perhaps a little grimly, but still, he was smiling. His face hurt slightly because he just couldn't seem to wipe the damn grin off his face as he fetched potion's ingredients quickly from his largest supply cupboard.

It wasn't the fact that he was smiling that caused him such surprise, it was the subject that had caused it--Potter.

The boy had someone managed to escape the Dark Lord--again. His luck was just unbelievable. Hours earlier he was writhing in pain, Severus he seen his back arch off the ground at the sheer agony of the curses he suffered--and now, he was gone. He'd not only fled without his absence being noticed for several hours, but he'd taken the two Murdock children with him and left behind a rather bruised and tied up captor and some very telling tea.

Severus had to admit his surprise that the boy had the sense to do it, he could see in an instant what had happened, but where had Potter found the means of drugging the man?

The Dark Lord had been severely displeased, his eyes flashing with anger as he demanded to know if there was any new information from Dumbledore. Informing him that the Headmaster of Hogwarts was frantically searching for the boy didn't appease him, and Severus could tell from the way that he tapped his wand on his leg that he was just waiting for the excuse to harm someone.

For that reason, Severus dismissed himself immediately after he was able, but he had seen the still unconscious form of Thomas lying at the Dark Lord's feet, the ropes Potter had tied him in still present. The man would suffer terribly for what he'd allowed to happen but not for one moment did Severus pity him.

Then, he'd left to tell Dumbledore what had transpired. There was little they could do, Severus couldn't reveal the Dark Lord's location without immediate death, and even if he could, a search party appearing so near him would be far too dangerous a coincidence for the Slytherin spy.

There was a potion that could help, if he could finish it in time.

"I wonder how many of Voldemort's followers will remember the words young Harry spoke not too long ago," Dumbledore had murmured, staring out the window of his office as Severus told him all that happened. "When people speak of me, they only mention how many times I've walked away from you."

Dumbledore smiled at Severus then, his eyes looking more merry than they had in a week.

"We haven't found the boy yet," Severus warned and Dumbledore nodded, but didn't seem too worried.

Severus suddenly didn't feel like smiling anymore. Yes, Potter had escaped, but he was still in danger, and he wasn't the only one. He searched his books for the tracking potion and hoped it would work, he would have to have a personal item of Potter's. The Dark Lord didn't realize how easily he could get a personal item of the boy's, or else he would be the one expecting the potion to be delivered to him. When it was almost time, Dumbledore would get one of the Order members to fetch an item from Potter's house...there were still several hours to go before it was time for that.

As he gathered all that he would need, Severus quickly took stock of the healing potions he had on hand. Potter had looked injured in more ways than one when he'd seen him last, and as Madame Pomfrey was gone, it would fall on Severus to heal him.

Now, he just had to find the damn boy before the Dark Lord did.
..........................................................

Harry was far more nervous inside the close confines of the tunnel than he had been out in the woods. However, the children were a lot more at ease and talked quietly to one another as Harry held his lit wand in one hand and dug out food with the other.

They were young, and didn't realize that the odds weren't in their favor here. Should the Death Eaters find them, there would be nowhere to run but further into the tunnel. Wincing at that idea, Harry softly called the children closer and handed out the rations he thought would suffice.

With his own stomach so tied up in knots, Harry knew he wouldn't be eating. Not long after entering the cave, Harry could hear the sound of rain and was momentarily glad for their shelter. The further they went however the less they could hear, and now it was if he and the two children were the only people left in the earth.

It was not a comforting feeling.

From their spot on the floor of the tunnel, Lizzie and Parker were slowly falling asleep. There was a half eaten apple still in Lizzie's hand, and even though Harry wanted desperately to move on, he forced himself to leave them both alone. They had been through so much...and they didn't even realize how much worse it would get.

Once they were safe, dry, and their scratches had been healed, they would ask about their mother, and Harry would have to be the one to tell them.

As much as he hated it, it was his responsibility to relay what had occurred while they were held captive.

Parker's mouth fell open as he slept, his innocent expression and dirty little face making Harry's heart twist.

They would probably hate him in the end. A child wouldn't be able to see the whole picture, they would just realize that he'd lied, that their mother was never coming back when he'd promised she would. The thought of their eyes looking so betrayed shook Harry and he stood up to walk. Rubbing his gritty eyes with a dirty hand, Harry quietly went to the backpack and extracted the woolen blankets he'd tied there so many hours ago. They were wet and covered in dirt, Harry cleaned them and brushed a small spider off with a frown.

The air was cold and musty inside their tunnel, and Harry knelt to carefully wrap Lizzie and Parker with both the blankets. It wouldn't do for them to get sick now.

Harry let the children sleep for a few hours. Eventually, his legs had grown shaky from his constant pacing. It would not do any good to get himself so worked up, but the walls of the tunnel seemed to be growing smaller the longer he waited here, and the air suddenly reminded him of the cupboard under the stairs.

His throat was parched, there was only a small amount of water left in the thermos. As the adult in the situation, Harry knew he couldn't put his needs first, so he tried to ignore the pain from his dry split lip and the feeling that his tongue was swollen.

"Time to get up."

His soft words and gentle shaking was met with quiet groaning. They squinted at the bright light of the lumos and Harry turned the wand away, he'd let the spell fade while they were sleeping and the darkness that surrounded him in those hours was vast. He'd never been afraid of the dark, but the high possibility of someone seeking them in the darkness had caused goose bumps to rise on his arms.

"I'm sorry, but we need to start moving again."

Parker looked like he wanted to cry. Harry could see how weary he still was and he hugged the boy quickly, trying to still the trembling of his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, "as soon as we're safe you can sleep as long as you like, okay?"

"When?" Lizzie groaned, "I want to go home."

It was hard to give them answers when he had none. Harry packed up the blankets as Lizzie and Parker got up and wiped at their faces.

"Can we have some water?"

Harry winced, "Sure...but you two have to split it, okay?"

Knowing that all the water was gone only spurred Harry to move faster. He had no way of knowing just how far they traveled, but there were several steep spot in their journey, and Harry wondered if they would find themselves in a cavern far underneath the earth.

It got colder, when Harry noticed Lizzie and Parker quietly shivering, he scolded himself for not noticing sooner and brought out the blankets once more so they could use them while they walked. Parker's almost dragged on the ground and smiling Harry bent down to fix it. The chill numbed the burning in Harry's shoulders, but seemed to make his other muscles stiffen up and his hands and fingers seemed to have no heat left in him.

Briefly, Harry let negative thoughts invade his mind. He hoped they had not escaped Voldemort against many odds, just to die from dehydration and the cold.

"Harry," Lizzie grabbed his shirt and a cold breeze brushed against Harry skin. "What's that?"

Squinting into the distance, Harry didn't see what the girl was talking about. It was just the same brown walls of the tunnel he'd been staring at for what seemed like an eternity.

"Put your wand down," Lizzie said, tugging at his arm. Frowning, Harry did so...and as his eyes adjusted, he saw exactly what she meant. It was faint, but there was light in the distance.

They treaded carefully forward, unsure if the light was natural or caused by something else. Underneath their feet, the ground had not seemed to rise, which led Harry to believe that maybe they would find themselves stuck in the bottom of a cavern with the light of day far above their heads.

Taking a deep breath, and with his wand raised steadily ahead of him, Harry turned the slight corner to face the unknown.

Without his permission, his hand dropped down, the lumos faded away as it was no longer needed. Parker's small hand fell off Harry's shirt in his awe, and all three of them stared in confusion at what met their eyes.

He had been ready to recoil in fear, but Harry hadn't expected this at all. He stepped forward carefully, his arm out to keep the children away from the edge.

Immediately in front of them was a large opening, along the walls were rows of lowly burning torches and as Harry looked up, he could see stalactites growing from the ceiling far over his head. Below them, little railway tracks were held aloft by supports that descended into the darkness until they couldn't be seen anymore.

"Oh," Harry breathed, his mouth falling open as his eyes took in the familiar railway, the only difference was that there were no vaults in this part.

"We're...this is," Harry couldn't find the words, but fortunately for him, Lizzie had no problem.

"We're in Gringotts!" Her voice echoed in the cavernous space.

There was no proof that her exclamation was wrong, it could not have been a regular mining tunnel. The torches were kept lit by magic alone and the railway tracks twisted and turned ahead in a maddening way, just as Harry remembered from his visits here.

It was the last thing Harry expected. He knew the tunnels under Gringotts went for miles, but the bank was supposed to be impossible to break into...and though it had happened before, Harry still found it incredible that he had accidentally made his way here. Maybe he really was lucky, Harry quirked a smile at that thought.

"I don't like goblins," Parker murmured, drawing as close to Harry as he could. Reaching back, Harry laid a hand on the boy's back. Looking around still in partial disbelief, Harry had to bite his lip. He was beginning to think that the goblins, as nasty as they could be, would likely be the least of their problems.

"This area doesn't even have vaults, what's the likelihood of them sauntering down here," Harry thought out loud.

He remembered from his first visit what Griphook had said, they only checked vaults once every ten years to see if thief's had become prisoners inside. Swallowing against the vile feeling in his throat, Harry closed his eyes.

"If anyone would like to save us now, that would be really helpful!" he called out suddenly and Lizzie and Parker looked at him oddly. "I just thought it was worth a shot," Harry said with a sigh.

"How are we going to get the goblin's attention?" Lizzie asked.

Harry had taken to pacing back and forth along the tunnel again, but a loud 'ding'ing sound caught his attention.

"Parker," Lizzie scolded, "Mum said it's not polite to throw rocks unless you are outside and not aiming at people, or birds, or frogs--"

"There's no one here!"

"You are going to break the railway tracks, and the goblins will be mad!"

Harry watched the tracks thoughtfully, there was a hum in the air from the vibrations of the metal where Parker had hit it. "Actually, I think Parker has the right idea."

They were looking at him oddly again, but Harry just smiled back and drew his wand.

"Let's see if we can't get the goblin's attention."

Arms shaking where they hung limply by his sides, Harry stared hard at the trolley tracks where he'd just thrown yet another stone. The stone blew apart as soon as it hit the hard metal and Harry couldn't even find the energy to sigh. All his breath had been taken away from the past hour or two of manual labor. All the heavier, more damaging stones were gone now and the ones that remained were nothing more than clods of dirt, hardened perhaps, but unable to produce the effect he wanted.

Perhaps his eagerness had blinded him to the futile nature of their attempt to attract the proper attention.

He'd thought that the force of the stones hitting the tracks might cause vibrations that would travel along until someone noticed and came to investigate. Turning slowly, Harry stared down at his dirty trainers and willed his hands to stop shaking. He could not remember the last time he'd felt so exhausted.

"It's not going to work, is it?" Lizzie asked from where she sat next to her brother, both of them turned in such a way that they could watch Harry thrown stones out of the mouth of the tunnel and into the wide cavern below. They'd been energetic at first, trying to help Harry with the larger stones and throwing their own smaller ones, yelling in delight when one 'dinged' off the tracks below.

Harry closed his eyes quickly to hide his own disappointment and willed his voice to be positive.

"This may not work, Lizzie, but I'll figure something out-it may just take patience."

Frowning, Parker spoke up, "Mum says something about patience all the time, something about patience and bate..."

"No, Parker," Lizzie said with an eye roll that Harry thought was a bit too mature for her, "she says, 'Patience young reprobates' not bate, we aren't fish."

Parker frowned and opened his mouth but Harry jumped in. "It means rascal, or miscreant, Parker, but your mom means it in a nice way, I'm sure."

Parker blinked once, and then said timidly, "So, I can call you a 'little piss ant' as long as I mean it in a nice way?"

Harry busted out laughing, "Um, no. Some things can't be nice, no matter how you say them-where did you even hear-" he realized he was rubbing his face, trying to stop the smile that was spreading against his will, because he was the good example now...that was a sobering thought.

He'd never consciously tried to be someone's hero before, never thought about how words would be perceived or been entrusted with the safety of small children before. Was caring for others something taught to you from a young age? Because if so, he was royally screwed over. The first and last person to take an interest in raising him had died...actually, it would be better to say that the first people in his life to care for him had died and then the last person to show some sign of parental concern had died as well. No one had been around long enough to teach him how to care for others, sometimes it felt like he was barely getting by caring for himself. The Dursley's certainly hadn't helped in that area.

The deep well of pity that had tried to swallow him soon after Sirius' death, began to rise up...and then a small hand grasped his own.

"I won't say it again if it makes you sad," Parker whispered in concern, his vivid blue eyes gazing up at him.

It took Harry a moment to remember the conversation he had just finished a few moments ago, and when he did, he couldn't help the smallest of smiles from appearing on his face. Without thinking about it, Harry knelt down to envelop the little boy in a tight hug...and maybe some things didn't have to be taught, it just came natural.

"You could never make me sad," he whispered, and Parker's little hands tightened their hold on his shirt.

"Why can't we just blast the tracks to smithereens! That would get the Goblin's attention."

Harry eyed Lizzie over Parker's shoulder, her arms were crossed as she stood looking down into the Gringotts' opening. "Has she always been this violent?"

"Mummy said that she takes after dad," Parker mumbled. "They are both too curious for their own good, and too Gryffindor."

Harry stood back up and moved to stand next to Lizzie, looking out at the constantly burning candles, and the tracks below that would be too dangerous to try and jump onto. Even if he could levitate them all down, he wouldn't know what way to start walking.

"A blasting spell is too hard to aim properly," Harry muttered, and Lizzie looked up at him and sighed sadly before walking away. It was true though, it could provide the results they wanted, but it could also destroy the tracks and then they really would be in trouble. Destruction of property, breaking and entering-even though he hadn't know where he was until he saw the trolley tracks. Goblins were sneaky, they would find something to accuse him of. Even the known titles the Wizarding World were trying to force upon him would not necessarily be enough to save him from the Wizengamot. Certain people with power there would have loved to see him knocked down a peg, or perhaps even put into Azkaban. They would find a way to overlook the whole 'kidnapped out of his very bedroom' bit.

Harry looked down at the stolen wand in his hand. Perhaps he should have fought harder to keep his own wand, stood up to his uncle the way he wanted to...pulled a few punches himself. Dumbledore would not approve, he would want him to keep the peace, to bow his head and 'stay safe' and Harry had done just that. He felt like a wimp for it too.

As grateful as he was to have Thomas' wand, it just didn't feel right, almost as if the magic wasn't pleased to do his bidding. Who knew how it would react to anything stronger than the small charms he had cast so far.

A slight breeze across the nape of his neck caused Harry to close his eyes with a shiver...and then his breath caught in his throat.

There was a shifting in the air behind him and Harry threw himself to the side as a cutting curse would have sliced him arm clean off his shoulder. It bounced off the charmed wall of the Gringotts' tunnel and sliced into the tracks below with a horrendous screeching sound that echoed around them in a terrifying way.

Gaping, Harry hugged the wall and scanned the area for signs of his attacker. Lizzie and Parker were huddled in a groove farther down the opposite wall, their faces frightened. Harry held out a hand, palm flat out to tell them to stay there-and jerked it back as a stinging hex hit the side of it.

"Agh!" Harry cried and shook out his hand, throwing an expelliarmus in the area he thought the attacker might be hiding.

"Do you want to slice my limbs off or play schoolyard pranks, which is it?" Harry shouted and dove just before another slicing curse would have hit him. After a moment, Thomas' voice responded, echoing in the low chamber.

"Before you decided to poison me and take my wand, I would have said the latter-now though," he shot another curse at Harry, this one a bright blue like lightening, "I think I just want you dead."

Coughing as he inhaled dust their spell casting had caused to fill the air, Harry moved slowly forward.

"Thomas-sad, I thought for sure Voldemort would have found out about your little escapee problem and killed you by now. He's growing a bit soft, don't you think? Or, maybe he's just playing with you-like he did to your besotted father."

In response, Harry could hear a snarl before Thomas answered and he aimed his wand there, the dust providing him with a small amount of cover to hide his intentions.

"I told him I could find you and bring you back myself, my wand and I have a special connection-"

"Incendio!" Harry spat, the charmed fire flying out of the stolen wand and onto its master. The flames caught on the corner of Thomas's robes and the young man screamed in anger from under his invisibility charm.

"Your wand seems to like me just fine," Harry lied easily as he watched a rather flustered looking Thomas come back into view, his aguamenti dowsing the flames. "Maybe it's jealous-whose wand are you using now, Tom?"

"Don't call me that!" Thomas spat and then stepped closer, a thin smile on his face. "I took this wand from a certain young lady, corpses don't have much use for magic."

Paling, Harry refused to look at the children and continued to hold his wand as steady as possible. His heart beat loudly in his ears, and it sounded like a name, Eliza-beth, Eliza-beth, Eliza-beth.

"Oh, how remiss of me-you knew her didn't-"

"Accio Thomas!" Harry snapped, his mind focused on the figure standing ahead of him. Thomas hadn't sensed that coming, he tried to throw up a shield charm but Harry's will was stronger.

"Ahh!" Thomas screamed as the summoning charm pulled him roughly across the cavern, and Harry jumped aside to watch him slam sideways into the stone.

Thomas grunted painfully and threw himself away from the wall to aim his wand at Harry. "Ossis Effergo!" he shouted just as Harry had fired off a quick, "Expelliarmus!"

The bone breaking curse hit Harry's right shoulder and screaming he bent over clutching at his useless arm, a second later his spell struck Thomas squarely in the chest. Elizabeth's wand flew out of his hand and landed at Harry's feet, his eyes watering with pain as he stared down at it.

"Harry!" Lizzie yelled, voice terrified from where she was watching wide eyed. He looked up to see Thomas hurtling at him across the short width of the cave, his hands landed on Harry's arms and he shoved him harshly against the opposite wall. Their wrestling feet kicked gravel which fell out of the mouth of the cave and over the side, they were dangerously close.

"I never promised Voldemort I'd bring you back unharmed," Thomas hissed, spittle hitting Harry in the face as he leaned his entire weight against him. "It's too bad the children got caught in the crossfire," he murmured close to Harry's ear. "The whole Murdock line...gone, extinguished in just a matter of days."

Roaring with fury, Harry fought against Thomas' hold, but the lack of rest, food and water had done its damage. He was so weak, his body aching with numerous wounds new and old.

Thomas laughed at his pained expression, his head pulling away slightly so he could grapple for his wand Harry still held tightly even as his shoulder and arm throbbed.

It was then that the rock, easily the size of Harry's hand, hit Thomas in the left temple. It was so surprising that Harry's own head jerked back in fear.

Thomas's mouth was open, his eyes blinking fast as a thin trail of blood started to flow down his face. Harry stared a second longer before shoving Thomas off him with as much force as he could muster, the man stumbled back, his hands falling off of Harry easily.

"You-" Thomas said even as his hand rose toward his head and he took a halting step forward.

It was almost as if the world had slowed down to listen and watch. Clearly off balance, Thomas' step forward turned into a slow fall...right out of the mouth of the cave and into the open air. He disappeared from sight.

Lizzie was gasping behind Harry, her hand still raised. She hadn't moved from the spot she had thrown the rock from, and her quick breathing sounded almost distant to Harry as he carefully stepped forward to look over the edge.

Below him, hanging onto the edge of the trolley tracks, was Thomas. He looked up, his eyes still dazed, his once handsome face terrified and no trace of cockyness left.

"Help," he choked out, obviously struggling to breath as his arms held up his weight. His hands were bleeding, the metal he happened to have latched onto was the same section damaged by the cutting curse he had aimed at Harry just minutes earlier.

Harry hesitated.

Blood ran down the palms of Thomas' hands and wrists and fell into his eyes. He gasped and swung his head wildly to try and clear them out.
"Help!" he said again, more desperately and this time Harry threw himself onto the floor of the cave, his broken shoulder screaming in pain and his hand reached out as far as it would go.

"Grab-grab on!" Harry called breathlessly and stretched his arm out farther still.

Thomas gulped and quickly shot one hand up, bloody fingers trying and failing to grasp Harry's hand.

The edge of the trolley tracks Thomas was grasping at groaned and bent suddenly. His blood slicked hands failed to hold on at the sudden sharp movement and he fell unceremoniously into the darkness below.

Harry continued to stare down into the vast darkness long after Thomas' screams had ended.

It wasn't how Severus had expected to spend his day. But, then again, the entire summer had been one annoying surprise after the other. He would rather be grading mediocre papers written by self absorbed students than spend one more day of bowing to the mad requests of a certain Headmaster.

The contents of the satchel in his left hand clinked together in a telling way, and his Goblin guide Mernok, leading Severus' down the long hall shot a look back over his shoulder, greed in his dark, beady eyes.

Raising his eyebrows in challenge, Severus slowly placed the cloth bag in one of the inner pockets of his robes. Toying with the emotions of the Goblin's wasn't in his best interest for the job he was here for, but some internal instinct told him that if the Gringotts' staff saw any weakness in him, they would take advantage of it. It was just their nature.

Albus knew Severus wasn't one to be taken lightly. He reckoned that was why the man had sent him here today, with rather specific instructions.

"I have been informed by someone who would rather remain nameless, that there is something of great value that needs to be removed from Gringotts' as quickly as possible, and in such a way that no attention would be drawn to its removal...I trust you can handle this for me, Severus?"

Gritting his teeth, Severus had responded as lightly as he could, "Is that condescension I hear in your tone, Albus?"

The Headmaster had feigned surprise, and then showered him with light praise in an attempt to help lower his Potion's Professor's raised hackles. Sometimes the man was almost too much to bear, Severus wanted to turn and stride out of the office, go back to the potion that waited for him under the stasis charm. Could the old man not see that he was trying to save his little Golden Boy? Surely his time was better spent perfecting the potion, then being sent off to complete the odd chore.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts had pushed the sachet full of gold across the wide expanse of his desk with one aged hand.

"Just in case they decide to be difficult about the whole ordeal," he had murmured, an odd smile on his face.

"Perhaps you could get one of your other lackey's to fetch me a personal item of Potter's while I'm away?" Severus had sniped, "For the potion I've been brewing to help find him before the Dark Lord does, or is that job to fall on my shoulders as well?"

The old man had been smiling in a most infuriating way when Severus turned to march out of the office. Even a few of the portraits had looked frightened at the look on his face. His acrimonious temper was legendary, something to be feared and ran away from, just as he liked it.

Now, Mernok led him into a round room with short, dark furniture and turned to look at him suspiciously. He hadn't liked it when Severus told him of his reason for being there, had even tried to refute him, pretending that he knew nothing of a package for Albus Dumbledore.

Severus had gazed down his nose at the Goblin until he had blinked and went to 'double check'.

"Wait here. Someone will be with you shortly," he said in a peevish voice and turned to make his way out, his domed head wobbling with each small step.

Severus noticed that he hadn't been offered a chair and smirked knowingly. It would take a lot more than that to offend him, he had worked around both a Dark Lord and belligerent children...both of which could be amazingly rude.

The room around him was rather grandiose; the walls were lined with detailed fabric wall hangings, the largest depicting a family tree with names obviously of Goblin origin. It was an odd thing to see considering that Goblins mainly worked with metal and did not seem to think very highly about tapestries and the art of weaving. They were more likely to carve their names into a gold plaque than sit quietly with thread and a needle.

It made him wonder just who he was supposed to be meeting and Severus gritted his teeth. The years he had spent spying made him wary of unknown situations in general, to be purposefully sent into said situation-that was maddening.

Dark eyes roamed dismissively across the rest of the decorative pieces lining the room-and his eyes caught on the shadows he could see from the small space under the door he was waiting to be invited through.

It was an awfully fast moving shadow, for a Goblin...surprisingly quiet footed too. Severus narrowed his eyes and damning the consequences he cast the strongest counter curse he knew at the silencing ward.

"-no right to keep us here against our will!" Harry Potter's angry voice said from just beyond the door.

"Albus," Severus muttered darkly, his fists clenching as a number of dark thoughts ran across his mind. The man purposefully let him think that Potter was still in danger, oh, there would be words said later about this. None of them nice or suitable for young ears.

"You were found lurking in an unauthorized section of the mines owed by Gringotts Bank-" a voice hissed at Potter and Severus stepped closer to the door so that his side was almost pressed against it, wand raised should he need to intervene.

"Lurking? I'm sorry, is that what I was doing? I could have sworn I was waving for help, but, maybe you're right and I was just lurking under the shade of my hand!"

"There's no reason to raise your voice-"

"Yes, there is, I've been here for an hour at least, Lizzie and Parker," Severus blinked in surprise, he'd forgotten about the children, "are hungry and tired, I'm bloody bleeding-"

"Bleeding on my rug, my ancestral rug, which you would not be standing on had you not broken into the mines."

Severus could almost hear Potter take a deep breath before continuing. "If you would just contact Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, then I would happily remove my bleeding body from your office. Hell, I'll even spell it clean for you before I go."

Severus closed his darkly amused eyes momentarily, trying to remember just why he found Potter so annoying. There was a deep sigh, followed by an explanation as to why common cleaning spells wouldn't work on a rug 'so delicate with age'. Was the Goblin honestly trying to make Potter pay for a cleaning service to be done to his carpet?

"You know, it's funny," Potter said, voice suddenly bright in a way that made Severus stand up straight. This voice meant trouble. He had heard it before when Potter toyed with his Slytherin's...and by Slytherin's he meant Draco Malfoy.

"It's a funny situation we find ourselves in," Potter continued, voice still jolly, "because this is the only Wizarding bank in Europe, it's renowned for the massive amount of protection it offers patrons and their belongings, it has very complex and very strong security measures-which is why I can't help but find it hilarious that two small children and a skinny teenager managed to find their way inside..."

Severus fought against a smile.

Potter's voice abruptly changed, "I imagine there are quite a few papers that would also find the news quite laughable."

"You will be placed in a very dark place, Mr Potter before I allow you to blaspheme against-"

Opening the door to the office, Severus stepped smoothly inside and gazed quietly at the inhabitants, all of which were turning to stare at him. The office was large, with high windows and burgundy wall paper, but besides tension, it held far less than the waiting room outside did.

"My apologies," he said, taking care not to sound the slightest bit apologetic. "I thought you must have forgotten about me waiting to have an audience with you," he directed toward the red faced creature standing indignantly on his chair behind his magnificent desk. Severus could see that while he certainly had Goblin roots, blood had been crossed somewhere down the line with a tomato. No full blooded Goblin turned that color when angry.

"I can see now that you were just extending pleasantries with our resident hero."

He turned his eyes toward Potter. The teen was standing quite still, probably to try and keep from passing out if Severus guessed correctly. He looked like hell, but the two children behind him didn't seem to think that was any sign that he couldn't protect them should the conversation escalate. They were clinging to Potter's filthy shirt most diligently, faces streaked with dirt and hair matted together.

Severus noticed that one looked very much like their mother and it took him a moment to tear his gaze away.

"You've caused quite a kerfuffle, Potter," Severus said severely, watching with hidden amusement as Potter mouthed the word 'kerfuffle' to himself. "I daresay that half the Ministry's supply of Aurors will be knocking down the door soon."

Potter's eyes seemed to glow for a moment before he managed to hide his glee.

"I was just excusing myself to Mister Tinork, Professor," Potter said, "Wouldn't want to involve the Aurors...they'd want to launch a full investigation and I'm sure their time would be better spent chasing after certain masked individuals."

"Get...out," Tinork growled, leaning forward even as his face reflected disappointment.

"Perhaps we might use your Floo?" Severus asked, stepping closer to a relieved looking Potter and the children, and gesturing with his wand toward the large fireplace. It was considered rude to make such gestures, but Severus thought that perhaps reminding him that he was an armed Wizard would be beneficial to their current circumstances. "Wouldn't want their bedraggled appearance to alarm any of your patrons."

"Yes, fine. Just get out, and try not to bleed anywhere else."

Raising an eyebrow at Potter, and noticing how the boy held his right arm protectively against his chest, Severus held out the container of Floo powder and told them their destination.

"I think it would be wise for you to go through first Potter, with the children, of course," Severus said quietly with a slight tilt to his head and a quick glance at Tinork, who was positively shaking with badly misplaced self indignation.

"Yes, sir," Potter said. He arranged the children carefully around him in the fireplace and hesitated, the Floo powder trickled through his fingers and Severus frowned at the grateful look Potter gave him.

"Thank you," he said earnestly, making sure his eyes met his teacher's. They disappeared in a cloud of green smoke and Severus was left staring curiously at an empty fireplace.

Upon exiting the Floo, which he had barely managed to not stumble out of, Harry was immediately beset by a rather hysterical sounding Mrs Weasley.

"Oh, Harry!" she cried from her seat in front of the Headmaster and Harry jumped in surprise.

Fawkes even awoke at the alarm in her voice, his ageless eyes looking over them carefully before deciding that his nap had been more interesting and he went back to it.

Mrs Weasley moved quickly toward Harry, reaching out as if she would gather him into a tight hug and never let go. Stopping about an arms length away, her wide eyes roamed over his figure. Harry knew what he must look like, he could feel the dried blood still in his nostrils from where the Death Eaters had handled him roughly, his leg wasn't healed all the way from where Brent had driven that dagger in. There was still blood on his blue jeans as evidence to the violence, though it had turned a horrid, crusty brown now.

Harry followed Mrs Weasley's eyes down to his hands. They were trembling slightly. Embarrassed, he moved them behind his back, hoping she wouldn't comment or declare that he needed immediate medical attention. Cruciatus lingered on his body like a bad smell, and the tremors had a tendency to come on without warning.

Apologetically, Harry grinned at her, "Professor Sprout could probably plant a mandrake or two with all the dirt under my nails."

He should have known that Mrs Weasley would read right into that, she had raised six boys of her own, of course she could see that he was trying to direct her attention elsewhere. Fortunately for him, she was also tactful.

"You've managed to frighten me more in a few days than Fred and George did all of last year," she murmured to him, eyes bright with unshed emotion.

"Careful, they might take that as a challenge."

Smiling tearfully, she laid a careful hand on his arm, a look in her eyes that promised a lot of coddling-then her eyes widened in curiosity at the two children peeking up at her.

"Who is this?"

Guiltily, Harry realized he had almost been ignoring the children for the past couple of hours as he desperately tried to convince the Goblins that he wasn't a thief. There hadn't even been time to comfort Lizzie before a trolley was throttling down the tracks and they were being surrounded by furious Goblins.

Kneeling carefully, for his shoulder and arm felt like they could burst with pain, Harry pulled Lizzie and Parker towards his side where they couldn't hide anymore.

"Mrs Weasley, this is Lizzie and Parker-they've been very brave, and Parker is the one who found the cave to Gringotts. I'd still be sitting in the woods if it wasn't for them."

It was a comfort, to have Parker smile at him because of his words, though Lizzie still looked shaken. Shock wasn't something that Harry could remember affecting him very badly. There had been so many traumatic events in his lifetime, that his nervous system seemed to just realize the best course of action would be to get over it as quickly as possible and move on...the same could not be said for his young friend.

Hoping his eyes conveyed things that he could not say out loud, Harry glanced at Mrs Weasley and said comfortingly to the children, "This is Mrs Weasley, she has seven children, all who were in Gryffindor like your dad."

"Except, I'm sure your daddy never got into as much foolishness as my boys did," Mrs Weasley said in fake severity and winked at them.

Parker stepped forward and whispered, "Those Goblin's were mean and scared me a lot-like, this much!" He spread out his arms as far as they would go and hit his sister in the side.

Mrs Weasley covered her mouth with one hand, covering a smile by feigning surprise.

"I didn't cry," Parker added, looking up to make sure she was suitably impressed.

"You cried a little," his sister muttered and Parker shot her a look of betrayal. Harry couldn't help but smirk and saw that Dumbledore was watching the scene peacefully.

"The Murdock children are actually the reason I asked you here today, Molly," he began in a subdued tone. "They have been through quite a trial and are in need of a mother's tender care while I talk with Harry."

"Where is mum?" Lizzie asked suddenly, looking around at the adults. She crinkled up her nose in a way that led Harry to believe she was trying to hold back tears. "You said she would find us later, when is later?" she asked Harry. There was something close to accusation in her tone and it left him without words.

He cleared his throat helplessly.

"I believe it's time for the children to leave," Snape cut it firmly from behind them.

Harry he hadn't even heard the man Floo in. The children turned to stare at him. Now that there was not a Goblin to look at, they seemed to realize how intimidating the man could be. Parker even reached for Harry's hand without once looking away from Snape's imposing figure, his mouth dropping open of its own accord.

"Molly, I've had the house elf's prepare a room for the children, you'd be doing us a great service if you could take them there and see to any needs they may have." Dumbledore glanced reproachfully at Snape, but the man just crossed his arms and watched as Mrs Weasley tried to convince the children to come with her.

"Harry will come along with us in just a little while, he has many things to discuss with the Headmaster," she told them. Their clothes were covered in grime and a few clinging spider webs, the original colors of the garments now but a vague guessing game. Not seeming to notice or care, Mrs Weasley lay a hand on each of their backs and led them toward the door. "I'm sure he won't be long, Harry needs to eat and rest too."

Mrs Weasley glanced back at the two Professors, a stern look on her face that promised much suffering should they keep Harry long.

"Who's that man?" Parker asked loudly as she ushered them out the door. "He's not going to hurt Harry, is he? He looks like a vampire!"

Mrs Weasley reached behind her, almost slamming the door in her haste to cut off Parker's words. When the door closed behind them, and their voices faded away, Harry's shoulders sagged and he let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"They're going to hate me."

"Potter," Snape said after a moment, his voice serious but not unkind, "they're mother was dead long before you arrived."

Harry gaped at him, "She was not, I talked to her-"

"You misunderstand me. Listen, you stubborn child," Snape scowled and stepped closer. "There was no chance for survival after she walked in that room. Elizabeth Murdock was too loyal to the memory of her husband to lie and say she would serve the Dark Lord. Even if it meant she would leave her children orphans. She was dead when she walked in that room. There was nothing you could have done."

At those words, his throat tightened painfully.

Harry wished he could have done more, knew that there would be moments where he would dwell on how thing might have gone if only something had been different. But, to hear from Severus Snape, someone who did not mince words, that there was nothing else he could have done...it gave him an exhausted sense of relief.

Harry blinked furiously, fighting against a wave of emotions.

"We need to have a funeral. What did they do with her body?" he asked thickly.

Snape went still, his face an emotionless mask.

"Harry, come and sit," Dumbledore said, his voice sad and tired.

He didn't miss the way the Headmaster's eyes looked at Snape, warning him against something.

Obediently, Harry walked over to the chair Mrs Weasley had abandoned and sat, eyes still aimed at the faded carpet under his feet. After a moment, he remembered the two wands in his back pocket and took them out carefully.

"Neither of these are mine," he said and laid them on the Headmaster's desk. "Mine's at the Dursley's."

He could feel Snape's eyes on him. Let him look, or better than that, let him ask the inevitable question. How had he managed to not have his one form of protection on his person when the attack came? Harry felt like he might even tell his Professor the truth. At this point, what was the point in keeping secrets anymore...he was too tired to see any use in it.

Would Snape even care that his relatives hated him? He couldn't help but imagine one single eyebrow rising up, 'You thought to tell me this...why?'

That would hurt worse than the man using the knowledge to embarrass him. Indifference always hurt more.

A small voice reminded him that the man had been surprisingly decent at Gringotts, but luckily, Dumbledore spoke up and interrupted his dangerous thought process.

"I hate to ask it of you, Harry, especially after you have been through a great trial. But, I need to know exactly how you came to be taken from your relatives house. Did you leave the wards?"

Harry rubbed his brow roughly and met Dumbledore's eyes, "Can I...show you instead? There's just so much that's happened."

"Pensieve's don't work like that, Potter," Snape said in a long suffering way. "To try and remove a series of memories, especially correlating memories of such length would be highly dangerous-and perhaps even impossible."

Harry closed his eyes. His shoulder felt inflamed, and his head had begun to throb with such intensity that he wondered if the signs were visible on his temples.

"Take this."

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the potion vial Snape had placed in front of him. The sun shining through the office windows gleamed off the surface of the clear glass and Harry looked at it in distrust.

"It will help with your pain, the clearer you mind the easier it will be to get through with this. Then we can see to that arm, and whatever else you might be suffering from."

Blinking up at Snape, and wondering when the man would start sneering at him like usual, Harry uncapped the potion vial and drank the minty potion without resistance.

"Wow," he couldn't help but mutter a moment later. It was like cool, fresh water was running through his bloodstream, washing away the pain in his head, even though it did nothing for the terrible ache in his shoulder and arm. "That's some potion, Professor."

Snape made a snorting sound and leaned back into Dumbledore's desk.

"If you are ready, Harry..." Dumbledore prompted, moving to stand away from the table and instead staring out at the Hogwart's ground at a nearby window.

"Okay," Harry sighed and closed his eyes, thinking back to what felt like weeks ago. "I guess it all started with the Muggle, Brent. He was a new friend of Dudley's, that's my cousin," he added and glanced at Snape who crossed his arms and nodded. "Anyway, Brent...taunted me and I responded in the same way, which just made him more aggressive. I thought it was just him being a bully, but then the cat showed up in my bedroom-dead."

Recounting the incidents that led up to him being stabbed and kidnapped was remarkably draining. Fortunately, the Headmaster and Professor Snape did not ask him many questions, just listened, and when Harry had described the dagger going into his leg, Snape had looked down and frowned at the dried blood, looking like he wanted to step forward and examine it.

Shifting his leg so that Snape's eyes went back to his face, Harry continued.

"The knife was a portkey." Harry described waking up to find Elizabeth and the children in the small space with him, and repeated what had happened to her husband, Stormy. When it came to giving more detail about why Thomas had kidnapped Harry, what his intent had been...he drew a blank and paused.

Dumbledore turned to stare at Harry's confused face. "Try Harry, this information could be important...perhaps another potion, Severus?"

"No, it's not the pain," Harry said in irritation and closed his eyes tightly. "I can remember almost everything, except-it's like there's a blurry spot in my mind, something keeping the picture from being clear. I can't explain it."

A warm hand cupped his down-turned chin and lifted it up firmly. Opening surprised eyes but not jerking away, Harry found Snape staring at him in curiosity, from much closer than he had been momentarily.

"Obliviate, Severus?" The Headmaster asked.

"Normal circumstances dictate that Potter wouldn't even realize that his memories were hazy, under the control of the Obliviate he wouldn't think anything was amiss," Snape replied quietly.

Harry wanted to say something, but was slightly afraid to try and speak with his jaw still being held still.

"Have you been practicing, Potter?"

The hand released him, and Harry tried to think of what Snape was asking him.

"Practicing-oh, Occlumency? You think my mental shield could have protected me from Obliviate?"

Snape frowned and Harry could tell the idea seemed ridiculous to him too, especially when one considered whom they were talking about.

"Not fully, obviously, but perhaps it helped-if you were indeed trying to occlude."

"I had been practicing, sir. Before all this happened I practiced...a lot. Er, do you think maybe the Obliviate, if there was one, could have been weakened because Thomas...died?"

Snape eyes flashed with some quickly concealed emotion when Harry said Thomas was dead, but withheld his questions. "I would assume that would depend on the strength of the spell caster, but if that were true, then it could make the retrieval of the memories easier."

Harry swallowed, "I'm sorry, the retrieval of my memories?"

Dumbledore moved to sit across from Harry, and Snape moved farther to the side of the desk, still not bothering to sit.

"It's most crucial that we try to salvage these memories, Harry. I believe that you learned something that this Thomas would have preferred was kept a secret, it would be foolish to not at least attempt the retrieval of the memories through Legilimency."

"Unless the process causes Potter to forget other memories...such as all words beginning with the letter 'Q'. Wouldn't that be unfortunate?"

Dumbledore smiled without much humor, "Now Severus, I think we all know that is not likely."

"Yeah, and I don't really like all those 'Q' words anyway," Harry said to Snape sarcastically, shooting a small displeased look at the Headmaster. "Though, 'God save the Eeun', doesn't quite have the same ring to it."

Snape looked too peeved to laugh, he even narrowed his eyes when Dumbledore turned to stare at him pointedly.

Harry couldn't blame him. The job of retrieving Harry's memories would fall on his shoulders. After the last time, when he had quite literally thrown Harry out the office, he couldn't be looking forward to more forced contact with him.

Harry dreaded the thought of it himself. They seemed to be on a delicate wire at the moment, nothing harsh or mean had been said toward the other in the past hour or so, it was almost like a shared respect. But, those memory retrieving sessions were sure to throw them both off that thin wire and send them plummeting down into the familiar pit of hatred.

Stomach churning at the thought, Harry scowled at his feet and his bruised face twinged in pain.

"Perhaps you should continue, Harry. We will discuss the process of retrieving those memories at another time."
......................................................................

Severus listened intently as the story was dutifully told. Conscientiously Potter gave credit to Elizabeth Murdock for his escape, giving a detailed description on how she had hidden that small pouch on the inside of her cloak. He even went so far as to mention that he would have overlooked the potential of the contents if the children had not told him of the sleep-inducing properties.

Severus took in his exhausted frame, the dark shadows under his eyes and thought about how careful the boy had been to thank him for coming to Gringotts and retrieving them.

The gratefulness was so different from what Severus remembered of Potter's attitude during the course of his time at Hogwarts. He hadn't been able to find any trickery in the boy's words. There was no sign of an attempt to conceal anything from him. The gratitude had been sincere, and Severus honestly couldn't remember the last time someone had thanked him for anything in such an honest manner.

"I hesitated to help him," Potter was saying now, and his face was once again staring down at his intertwined hands. "He fell off after Lizzie threw that rock, it was like the force of it just-confused him or something, I mean, she's not that big. I didn't think she would be powerful enough to do any real damage to him."

"You might be surprised what one can do, even a child, when they feel threatened. Thomas was determined to hurt you, Harry, she could sense that and was desperate to help. Her magic could have easily played a roll. Remember your own wild magic from a few years ago? It is quite a powerful thing to behold."

Nodding, Potter sighed, "Someone is going to have to talk to her about it, she'll probably have nightmares about it for years."

There was a pause as Potter brooded over what he'd said.

"So, Thomas fell off and when I finally did look, he was holding onto the rails of the trolley track, begging for me to help him-and I froze."

For just a moment, self-loathing passed over Potter's face and Severus frowned. That would have to be dealt with.

"Er, I tried to help him, I figured I could pull him back up and tie his hands together or something, but I was too late and he fell...I was still standing there when the Goblins came around the track and cornered us. They took us back to that office and tried to threaten us with Azkaban and such. Then, Professor Snape came and got us."

The last section of his explanation had been rather rushed. Severus could tell that the boy wanted to glaze over the one issue that probably needed to be discussed more, but it was not his place to discuss morals and offer solace. Hopefully Albus would take note of it.

"Thank you, Harry," Albus said and stood to walk around the desk and place a hand on Potter's shoulder. "You have shone great courage and resourcefulness. Those children owe you their lives."

Potter shifted, looking uncomfortable though Severus couldn't tell if it was Albus's hand lying on his shoulder or the words that bothered him.

"What will happen to them?"

Albus sighed, "Someone will search for any remaining family members, and the children will go to stay with them once they are found."

Potter hesitated, opening his mouth twice before he spoke. "And...what if the family doesn't want them?"

The faint curiosity at Potter's home life reared its head, and Severus spoke before he could stop himself. "What sort of family would they be if they turned away from their newly orphaned relatives?"

It was a challenge. The words almost cruel considering how tired Potter must have been at that moment. His guard was down-but Severus had seen the opportunity and seized it. Not that it did him any good, Potter's face did not even blanch, though his body seemed to stiffen.

"Sir?" Potter asked Albus, completely ignoring Severus who looked away so neither one of them would see his scowl.

"If the search for a suitable relative turns up negative, then we will turn to Wizarding Children Services. They will take Parker and Lizzie and find them a guardian capable of providing for them."

Not looking appeased in the least, Potter frowned, his green eyes troubled and dim with fatigue.

Moving to sit in his high backed chair, the Headmaster clapped his hands together once with the contented smile of someone who had finalized a rather difficult deal.

"Now! Harry, Madame Pomfrey is away for the remainder of the summer holiday as I'm sure you've realized, but if you will go with Professor Snape, he can suitably heal any injuries you are still suffering from."

Potter seemed quite alarmed to realize Madame Pomfrey was gone. His mouth was open slightly and he glanced at Severus with trepidation.

"Calm down, Potter." Severus said, sarcasm dripping from every word, "I won't fold back the sheets on your favorite hospital bed or fluff your pillow, but I'm sure you'll survive."

Potter swallowed. "I wouldn't dare ask you to fluff my pillow, Professor."

"Ah," Severus shook his head in dismay, "I see the famed Gryffindor bravery only extends so far."

Potter smiled weakly, "That seems more reckless than anything else, and I've just had my fill of near death situations for the week, sir."

Albus was watching them, his face stoic but eyes sharp. It made certain promises come to Severus' mind. The man knew he would keep Potter safe-so it was odd that their banter seem to unsettle him, after all, had he not been fawning over the boy in front of Severus for years? Surely the lack of hostility between them at the moment should have brought the old man a smug joy, if anything.

Perhaps he was reading too much into it.

"Come along then, Potter."

Heading towards the door, already thinking about what potions he would need, Severus waited for Potter to bid farewell to the Headmaster and then ushered him down the staircase. Potter had lost some of his color just from the short walk down the stairs, it was alarming but Severus kept his face neutral and walked beside the boy, keeping close enough to catch him should he lose unconsciousness.

"Sir, do you know what happened to Brent?"

Severus glanced at Potter, looking for more signs of that self-loathing he had seen earlier and finding none. "By the time the Headmaster was made aware of the situation, the Muggle authorities had arrived and began an investigation."

"Shit," Potter muttered, turning pale, his steps faltering.

"Yes," Severus agreed, deciding that the language was appropriate. "I've heard from Kinglsey Shacklebolt that the Auror department had quite a time trying to reign the investigation back in-your relatives were not much help. A believable excuse for his death was given to the neighbors, it seemed the boy lived with some...friends, none of which were of sound mind at the time they were told of his death. Substance abuse...with more than one type of substance, I should think," he added to Potter's curious look. "No relatives have been located."

At his side, Potter went quiet with a slow nod.

There was more to tell, the Ministry had been held off by the Headmaster's influence, but they would want answers to Potter's whereabouts soon enough. He did not see a need to burden the boy with that information at the moment.

They continued walking until the air changed and grew cool around them, the silence of the dungeons both comforting and all encompassing.

"I thought we'd still be going to the Hospital Wing," Potter said hesitantly, his voicing bouncing off the stone walls. "Aren't all the potions and medical supplies there?"

Stepping into a small corridor, Severus went directly to a certain area of the wall and traced his wand around the four corners of one particular brick, just as he had done for many years.

Glancing at Potter, Severus felt oddly pleased to see the boy gaping as the bricks moved aside slowly, flipping over and sliding around to form the shape of an open doorway. The silencing spell ingrained into their mortar causing the whole effect to be utterly silent. Most rooms in the castle were guarded by picture frames and their odd inhabitants, but Severus didn't trust most people, so why would he trust the magical painting of some long deceased person?

Stepping through, Severus replied to Potter's question at last.

"I understand you are tired, Potter, but take a moment to think. Who do you suppose supplies the Hospital Wing with potions and balms that heal the cuts and bruises of your fellow students?"

There was a soft, "Oh," from Potter as the boy hesitantly stepped into the room. The fireplace lit with a muttered spell as Severus noticed how the boy had wrapped his unhurt arm around his chest. The dungeons were always chilly, the jokes about Slytherin's having a stronger immune system than most circulated around at the beginning of every school year.

"Yes, and though most of what you need would be accessible upstairs, there is at least one potion here that won't be found in the Hospital Wing."

"What's that, sir?"

"It helps with the aftereffects of the Cruciatus. You are the only student to ever have needed it..." Severus frowned when he saw how far back Potter was lingering, his eyes cautious.

"What is it?"

"I've just never seen a Professor's rooms before. It's...nice."

He could read on the boy's face what he wasn't saying. It was all there in how he shifted from one foot to the next, his eyes darting around as if trying to find other exits.

Severus blinked and stood up straighter.

"These are my guest quarters, Potter. Seldom used except when I need to hold a private audience with the Slytherin Prefects to discuss the new students or reaffirm rules. It's hardly a breach in propriety. The door will open to your touch, no need to feel trapped or look so uncomfortable."

Severus paused and then said carefully, "I have a license to practice medicine, Mr Potter. The Headmaster has entrusted me with healing you and once that is done there is a room waiting for you near the Murdock children...would you prefer that I asked Mrs Weasley down here?"

He had not meant to sound slightly defensive, part of him could understand Potter's hesitation, but the part that held dignity was larger.

"Er, no that's okay. Sorry, I was just surprised you'd let me in here. I'm not exactly a Slytherin Prefect."

Dismissing Potter's qualms, Severus sighed and pointed at the cloth couch, "Sit there, I'll be back."

He left Potter alone in the guest room, where if the boy knew what was good for him, he'd sit down and not touch anything. The small storeroom was a part of his private rooms, heavily guarded with wards as some of his more expensive ingredients were kept here, along with some potions that involved months of attentive care.

It was kept room temperature to not interfere with the more delicate potions that would ruin in the heat, he'd had mold grow more than once when the potions hadn't been preserved properly. The tedious task of removing the slime had fallen on the shoulders of more than one unfortunate Gryffindor.

Severus cast his eyes over the orderly labeled rows and he frowned, normally by this time in the summer he was thoroughly stocked. Recent events had upturned his normally productive days. He should have been able to spend his time at home by now, happily ignoring the world and its multitude of problems.

Using a supply tray to hold them, he selected the potions that Potter was sure to need and a few that he might not.

Potter was sitting on the edge of the couch staring into the flames of the fireplace when Severus returned. Walking over, he sat on the strong wooden coffee table in front of Potter and placed the tray of potions at his side.

"With your permission, I'm going to cast a diagnostic spell, to help determine the severity of your injuries."

Potter nodded, but leaned back into the couch and away from Severus. Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Severus cast the spell and then said to the empty air beside him, "Jilly."

The elf promptly appeared, "Yes, Master Snape?"

Severus preferred Jilly to the majority of the other house elf's. She didn't fall over herself to please him, but gave him exactly what he asked for with respect and in a timely manner. It helped that he had never seen her decked out in a multitude of ridiculous hats like some other house elf's.

"Bring me a pitcher of water along with a glass and something light to eat, a bowl of broth or a sandwich will do."

Jilly bowed her head and promptly popped away. The diagnostic spell finished with the sound of a small bell jingling cheerfully and a rolled parchment appeared on the table next to him.

Potter had grinned (rather cheekily, in Severus' opinion) at the sound of the bell and received a scowl for it.

He had yet to find a diagnostic spell that concluded with a more masculine sound. One that announced its findings with a deep 'dong' like that of the drums before a beheading would have been quite acceptable. Alas, he would have to make do with what was at his disposal.

Severus looked down at the paper, his eyes scanning over the first few lines-and then he froze and looked up incredulously.

"Potter, your shoulder is broken."

"Yes, sir."

Severus leaned forward, frowning and barely resisting the urge to peer into that mind. Potter's mental shield was probably laughable, it wouldn't take much...but it would also ruin the barely perceptible amount of civility they had thus far managed to not destroy.

"Will you take off the shirt so I can see if Skele-Gro will suffice, or should I vanish it entirely?"

After a slight hesitation, Potter seemed to realize that his teacher wasn't going to budge, and tried to remove the grimy shirt. Unfortunately, small things like buttons could be quite difficult without the use of both hands and Potter gritted his teeth after a few tense moments.

"Just vanish it, I guess-though I don't have anymore clothes."

Speaking evenly, Severus replied, "I'm sure something can be found."

With the shirt gone, the bruises were on full display. Varying shades of dark purple to angry yellow mottled Potter's skin from the top of his shoulder to half way down his skinny arm. Defensively, Potter used his good arm to cross over his chest, eyes daring Severus to say anything scathing.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the flames nearby as Severus stared. Professionalism seemed the best option.

"Mr Potter, when did you break your arm?"

Potter blinked at his patient tone. "Er, I was thrown down on it by some Death Eaters, I think they just bruised it then. But, Thomas broke it in the Gringotts cave-I thought you knew."

Severus tried to think of how to respond without sniping. It was true, he had never once tried to make the boy like him. However, that should not have given Potter reason to believe that he would allow his student to remain in terrible pain. He'd made a promise to protect the boy, damn it, and he felt rather insulted by Potter thinking otherwise.

Carefully, he replied, "I knew your arm was hurt, but I was under the impression you had sprained it-or only bruised it. This is a serious break, you can't even move your arm, can you?"

"I...no, but you gave me a pain potion."

Severus reached forward to see if the skin was truly as inflamed as it appeared, and was aghast to see Potter throw his weight into the couch behind him, putting as much distance between them as possible. Severus blinked and pulled his hand back. There was confusion mingled with his anger now.

Listening to some instinct within, he spoke without moving, "Your arm looks like it could have enough internal damage to cause an infection. The potion I gave you doesn't effect the pain of a broken bone the way it does other physical injuries. Why have you been suffering for the past two hours instead of speaking up?"

"I thought you knew!" Potter said again, eyes narrowed this time and face flushed. He obviously didn't understand why he was being scolded.

Realizing it was the truth, Severus stared yet again.

Living the majority of the year in a castle full of reckless teenagers meant that Severus had seen his fair share of injuries, including broken bones. Unlike his fellow schoolmates, who would have immediately thought to bring their pain to the attention of a Professor, Potter had sat without complaint and endured it. Somehow he believed that Severus even knew the extent of his injury and was not even angry about the lack of care he had received.

It hadn't been an accusation, and now facts raced through his mind. Potter had been at Hogwarts now for at least two hours, speaking about the kidnapping, being told that he would have some relief as soon as this long, terrible ordeal had been dragged out of him. He hadn't once voiced a complaint, as if he thought it would fall on deaf ears.

A prickle of unease went through him.

How often did a child have to be ignored before they stopped asking for attention? The curious thought was not welcome.

Potter was watching him, his face guarded and breathing measured. The way he sat would almost appear relaxed if Severus hadn't sat that exact way himself in his early years. The boy's hand lay pressed flat into the seat of the couch, ready to launch himself away if he needed to. His feet were already pointed at the door.

They stared at each other. For a moment, the room was so quiet, you could almost hear Severus' misguided preconceptions falling to the ground.

Conversing with Severus Snape had often in the past left Harry feeling bewildered. Why did the man hate him so? Why was his vocabulary so extensive seeing as he was such a dungeon bat and didn't seem to talk much with anyone? Had he ever come across a bottle of shampoo? These were the questions Harry had asked himself as irritation ran underneath his skin, the latest insult causing his blood to boil in anger.

Remarkably enough, the past few hours had been peaceful, until now.

It was as though he'd been wading in treacherous waters. He'd been cautious with his words, careful to show gratitude-just be knocked off his feet from a behemoth wave. The reaction to his arm had been rather extreme in Harry's mind. Who cared how long he'd been in pain?

After Harry had snapped, "I thought you knew!" Snape had excused himself rather stiffly and retreated to some back room Harry couldn't see.

Happy to have a moment to let his guard down, especially when he had come so close to bolting only moments before, Harry sunk back into the couch and pulled one of the decorative pillows in front of his bare chest protectively.

A sigh creeped up from deep within his chest and emerged shakily. God, he wanted to sleep.

It felt like a hundred years had passed since he had arrived at Hogwarts with both children in tow. Their faces had been so young underneath the dirt from the cave. Harry felt guilty for being away from them so long. He wanted to reassure them that they were safe at Hogwarts, safe with Molly Weasley, maybe even confide that the castle had been more of a home to him than even his relative's house ever had or ever could be.

At the same time, part of him whispered that they wouldn't even be around much longer. Someone from Wizarding Child Services would arrive to take them away within the next twenty four hours, he was sure of it. Even the relief at finally being 'safe' wouldn't remain indefinitely. All that they had been through wouldn't matter anymore.

"Mr Potter, here."

Jerking in surprise, Harry avoided eyeing the bundle in the man's hands and instead looked straight up at Snape.

He had the ability to be such an imposing figure when he wanted, but now he didn't even raise an eyebrow at Harry's jumpiness.

"I believe these will be sufficient for the time being. Until we can return you to your relatives house."

Their eyes met. Suspicious green trying to gauge some sort of emotion in his teacher's own black depths. Quickly, Harry looked back down at the still outstretched hand.

Snape held two neatly folded items of clothing, expectantly waiting on Harry to take them. It was clear what they were just from the dark blue and green plaid material.

Harry stared at them, mouth open slightly in surprise. The man was lending him pajamas. His pajamas.

With a sigh, Snape dropped them and they landed in Harry's lap. Just from sight alone, they looked supple and warm. It was not the type of clothing he would have expected his hard, brusque teacher to have in his wardrobe. Harry lay his hand on the clothes slowly and let his fingers run over the clean cotton.

Maybe it was due to his wearing the same dirty clothing for days now, or perhaps it was because he was so tired and possibly a little high on painkillers...but the act of being offered pajamas by Snape of all people, made a jagged lump of stone to form in Harry's throat.

"Thank you, sir."

"Sweet Merlin," Snape said gruffly, looking unnerved as he noted the undercurrent of emotion in Harry's voice. "It's a pair of pajamas, Potter, not a vial of unicorn blood."

"Sorry," Harry murmured.

Snape cleared his throat. "Do your relatives have a way of reaching you? It's been quite a few days since the incident with the Muggle and they've yet to attempt correspondence with the Headmaster."

Gripping the pajamas, Harry looked down at his dirty fingers and bit his lip.

"Would you like some parchment to write them a letter?"

"No!" Harry replied quickly, feeling his face pale a little. He'd have hell to pay if an owl showed up at the Dursley's house. His response was too quick as his Professor went still.

Pushing the pillow away from his chest so he could attempt to stand, Harry continued. "It's like you said, I'll be back there soon enough-"

"'Soon enough' is a couple of days at least. Surely you'd like to end their worrying?"

Harry snorted and then blanched. He could feel Snape's eyes peering at him, probably narrowed in thought. This was going great.

"Honestly, Professor...they aren't big worriers. They know I'm well taken care of here-"

"You were kidnapped from their house," Snape said tightly. "A knife was plunged into your leg, a Muggle was left dead in their home and you think they'll be eating cream patisserie and discussing the Daily News?"

Harry couldn't help but smile tightly, "No, that's ridiculous, they never discuss anything educational."

Snape looked incredulous and opened his mouth, already inhaling for another verbal barrage.

"Potter-"

The house elf, Harry remembered her name was Jilly, chose then to return to Snape's rooms with a floating tray at her side. Even from where he sat, Harry could see the steam rise from the bowl of broth and felt pangs of hunger in his stomach.

Snape didn't seem quite ready to let the argument go, but neither was he willing to make Harry remain hungry.

"I can perform a cleaning charm, but if you would rather wash your hands in a legitimate sink, it's down the hall to your right."

Dragging himself out of comfortable couch was a lot harder than Harry imagined it would be. Sharply his breath caught in his chest and Harry held still in a slightly bent over position. If only his vision would stop swimming...he felt like the entire world was on an axis. Harry threw out his good hand just in case he needed it to break his fall.

A steady hand caught his shaking arm.

"I haven't even finished healing your first set of injuries and you're about to crack your skull open," Snape muttered. His tone wasn't degrading, so Harry managed a slight grimace that was supposed to pass for a smile.

"Sorry, sir. I-I'm just..." Harry couldn't even find the words to describe how utterly exhausted he felt. That combined with the lingering pain, the dirt and blood irritating his skin, the shakiness from the unforgivables. It was overwhelming.

"There are less than twenty steps from here to the wash room," Snape said from where he stood close by. "If you feel like you can't make that, I'll ask Jilly to bring you a basin of warm water here."

Harry blinked and nodded, "I...I can do it-just, um..."

"Yes?"

"Could you, just...not go far, sir?" Harry felt heat rise in his cheeks and didn't meet his Professor's eyes. "I feel like my knees are going to give out," he added in a soft voice that betrayed his embarrassment even more than his face did.

The hand on his arm tightened just slightly, and Harry saw Snape nod once out of his peripheral vision.

Harry traveled slowly towards the doorway of the washroom. Relief flooded him as his hand touched the open doorway, and he glanced sideways at his Professor.

"Thanks."

"Take these with you, once you're changed I'll finish with your arm."

Taking the pajamas that Snape had picked up from the couch, Harry stepped into the bathroom and closed the door after him quietly. His reflection was a little shocking.

No wonder Snape was being almost kind. Flecks of dried blood remained under his nose and Harry cringed at the sight of his drawn face, complete with dark circles under his eyes and cracked lips.

"You look a right mess, Potter," Harry told himself bitterly and shook his head before turning on the taps. As tired as he was, thoughts of what he'd gone through the past few days ran through his mind. Methodically he began to scrub under his fingernails with the bar of white soap left just for that purpose.

In the past, Harry had always attributed his survival in whatever deadly situation he found himself in, to others. Or, in some cases, pure dumb luck. It seemed that even though it had been years since Harry came to Hogwarts, some things didn't change.

Without Elizabeth's message, Harry would have never found the herbs in her cloak or known what to do with them. Then, young Parker had found the entrance to the cave that led to them finally being rescued.

Harry wondered if he'd ever be able to save himself. He hadn't even thought fast enough to save Thomas. The man could have had another chance to make the right decision, to become a better person. Frowning a little in self-contempt, Harry made a lather with the soap and moved to wash his face. The crisp, cold water felt so good on his cracked lips and bruised face.

Cupping his good hand, Harry splashed his face until water ran down his wrist and splashed onto the stone floor below. After tidying up the bathroom, Harry carefully pulled on the pajama top with a bemused shake of his head and slowly buttoned it up.

The pant legs on the pajamas were far too long and Harry knelt to roll them up. When he exited the bathroom in the borrowed clothes, Harry looked around the empty living room and bit his lip.

Snape had been very nice to him so far, in comparison to their normal encounters. But, it couldn't last forever, and Harry wasn't sure how much longer he could stay awake. He needed a place to sleep where he'd feel like he belonged and not like an intruder leaching off of someone else's generosity. Eyes sliding to the door he'd come in from, Harry considered leaving. Due to some of the potion he'd taken earlier, his arm no longer throbbed, and he could probably sneak some SkeleGrow from the infirmary.

"Sit where you were before and I'll finish the administrations to your arm," Snape said, walking briskly back into the room before Harry could leave.

Harry sat and watched as Snape moved to sit in front of him as he had before. There was a very recognizable bottle of SkeleGrow in one long fingered hand, and an odd length of material in his other.

"A sling," Snape explained as he noticed where Harry's gaze landed. "Your arm needs to be held as still as possible while the bone sets and mends back together."

Harry nodded like he understood the biology of mending bones and didn't argue when Snape helped him wrap his arm so it was secure. The dose of SkeleGrow that was handed to him was small and Harry raised an eyebrow at it.

"You aren't growing a whole arms worth of bones this time, Potter," his professor told him. "One would think you'd remember the taste and not even dare to question how little I give you."

Cracking a small grin, Harry tossed back the potion much like he'd seen people in pubs toss shots. Little amount or not, it was still disgusting and a shiver worked its way down his spine.

"Thanks for your help sir, even though it's not your job. I'll leave you alone now," Harry stood and made to move away from the couch.

"Sit down, Potter. You need to eat."

Shifting from one foot to another, Harry looked at the tray of food that floated over to land on the table before him and felt awkward

"What's wrong now?"

Startled that his discomfort had been noted so quickly, Harry cleared his throat.

"You don't have to feed me too, sir. I can go to the kitchens and find something."

Snape raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms in a slow, methodical way.

"This came from the kitchens. I don't fully comprehend your hesitancy toward accepting what people offer you. I could understand the clothes, as they belong to your much hated Professor-" he held up a hand as Harry opened his mouth. "This however, is just a bowl of soup, and you are obviously famished. One would think you'd be familiar with the aspect of those who are older than you finding a way to provide when you are in need. No?" His eyes bored into Harry's, once again searching for something.

Harry was wishing he'd just eaten the damn soup.

"I'm sorry?" he offered.

Placing a hand on the bridge of his nose in an odd show of tiredness, Snape muttered. "Just eat the soup already, Potter."

There was no arguing with that. Embarrassed, Harry began to eat.

The first sip of the broth caused goose bumps to rise on the flesh of his arms. Hot and wonderfully seasoned, it soothed Harry's aching throat and caused him to close his eyes. Falling asleep wouldn't be a difficulty tonight. The fire crackled, sparks occasionally flying out onto the hearth where they were immediately diminished.

He couldn't remember wearing a more comfortable set of pajamas...not that he'd tell Snape that. What in the world would Ron say when he found out Harry borrowed some of the professor's clothes? Maybe that should remain unmentioned.

"I'm curious as to why your wand was left behind at your relative's house."

It wasn't phrased as a question, but Harry took it as one. He opened his eyes. They had fallen shut again without his permission.

"Uncle Vernon threw it in my trunk then locked it up," Harry said and took another long sip of the broth. Some part of his mind threw up a warning flag but he was too drowsy with contentment to take full notice.

"I'm surprised he would do that considering how often you've had to use your wand to protect yourself."

Harry found this statement funny and couldn't stop from smiling.

"Why would he care about me having a way to protect myself?" Harry laughed a little and lay the spoon down beside the bowl. There was some left, but he couldn't find the strength to lift his arm anymore. Slowly, he leaned back against the couch.

"You were placed under his roof for your own safety," Snape voice sounded sort of far away.

"That's funny," Harry said quietly. He tiredly blinked. The room was out of focus in a very pleasant way.

"Why is it funny, Potter?"

Harry blinked again, trying to clear his vision so he could look at Snape's face. The man sounded so serious, but he couldn't think as to why.

"Why would your Uncle not want you to have your wand?"

The words were said slowly and seriously. Harry murmured a reply as his eyes slid shut.

"'Cause then he doesn't have to be 'fraid of me."

The crackle of the fire was like a lullaby he'd never been sung before. From far off he heard a deep, slow sigh and wondered sadly if he was once again the cause of it.

Potter was asleep. That in itself wasn't a surprise. What other outcome could he expect after dosing the boy's broth with sleeping draught? No, what surprised Severus was how quickly the potion had taken affect.

After only a few mouthfuls of the steaming chicken broth, Potter's eyes had started to blink slowly. It was apparent that he was trying to fight off the lull of sleep with various small shakes of his head. Could anything else be expected from the boy who also fought the Imperius Curse with headstrong determination?

When Potter finally succumbed to the potion, Severus gave a small sigh and stepped forward to stare down at his temporary ward.

He'd fallen asleep still sitting up, head resting on his own chest.

Jilly quietly popped back in the room at Severus' elbow. She took a long look at Potter asleep on the couch, the bowl in front of him, and then turned those large eyes on her Master.

"He was half dead on his feet," Severus said, a tad defensively. Jilly had a knack for knowing more than she was told, and had somehow picked up on the fact that Potter's current state of unconsciousness was not without aid.

She continued looking at him.

"The brat was going to leave and start wandering the castle," Severus said snappishly. The questions Potter had answered left him feeling unsure and on edge. "Look at him, he was moments within passing out anyway...I just hurried the process along so he wouldn't break his damn foolish neck. Albus would have a lot to say if that were to happen."

Jilly snapped her fingers and two blankets appeared where Potter's tray had been.

"Master Snape is a good man," she said quietly and then popped away, taking the used dishes with her. Severus stared after her, his mind had immediately started coming up with scathing retorts-when he realized that the house elf had no need to be sarcastic.

Looking back at Potter, whose head was starting to loll to the side uncomfortably, Severus frowned.

"It was self-preservation," he muttered even knowing there was no one left to put on a face fierce for...except the unconscious Potter, who really did look uncomfortable.

Severus moved forward, telling himself that as soon as Potter awoke, he would be unceremoniously booted out. Carefully he shifted Potter's legs onto the couch and frowned. His skin was cold even through the flannel material of the pajama pants.

The flames in the fireplace jumped higher at Severus's muttered spell. He then moved Potter's limp head onto a couch cushion and turned to pick up one the heavy blankets. Through this process, Potter never stirred. He was remarkably agreeable to be around when sleeping...though in the last few hours, even awake he had not been in the slightest bit obnoxious.

Straightening up, Severus looked down at the boy. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest under the blanket, one wouldn't even be able to tell that Potter was breathing.

Severus waited to feel annoyed. Not too long ago, that would have been the first but not the strongest emotion he felt at seeing Potter asleep in his guest rooms like he belonged there. No, once upon a time he would have been furious. This was not the case at present.

All he felt at the moment was tiredness. The gratefulness and constant surprise Potter expressed at being taken care made Severus feel quite unsure. He didn't like feeling that way.

There was a lot to think about. Determination to hate Potter had wrapped around his mind like steel before he'd even met the boy. It had remained and even strengthened through years of attempting to teach Potions.

Now though, that metal frame had a weak spot. That was extremely frustrating.

Something Draco Malfoy had said came to Severus in that moment. Potter isn't supposed to be like this.

The young Malfoy heir had been discussing how Potter was treated in comparison to how he'd previously thought the boy lived. Living on food eaten straight out of cans, not even a utensil given to him in goodwill. Severus had seen that and dismissed it - had made himself dismiss it.

Draco hadn't stopped there. "They haven't let him out of that room to do anything other than piss in nearly five days; his Muggle uncle threw his wand in a trunk and carried it off-after yelling in his face and shaking him so hard Potter's head almost flew off..."

Why was it that those words screamed neglect now when before they had been so easy to overlook?

Something bitter rose up in Severus' throat. Those half asleep mumblings about an Uncle that locked up his wand and was afraid of him had caused an intense mental battle. Albus would want the boy to go back to his relatives home soon. The summer wasn't even half over. The knowledge he was beginning to get a grasp on made him question whether Potter was truly safe there. Severus knew all about men who acted in violence when they were afraid. Though he had not seen the physical marks of abuse on Potter, other clues were there.

So many bloody clues, and him, playing investigator.

The problem was this. He didn't know what was truth and what were lies anymore. It was not a healthy position for him to be in. Severus could no longer look at Potter with jaded eyes if he wanted the real story.

He would have to start over with a clean slate.

Seeing Potter ignoring his own pain, the way he had shrunk back from Severus's hand, his tendency to be surprised at the most mundane forms of hospitality...it had changed something.

Though he was many things, Severus was not one to pass up knowledge. Without his skills of perception and reasoning, he might have been dead long ago. It came with being a double spy. The uncomfortable shift in his world view could not end with just deciding that Potter was not so spoiled as he had previously thought. There was more to it than that.

It would not be easy, but he was beginning to see that something had to change. The deluge of evidence hailing injustice done to Potter wouldn't let him return to who he used to be. He no longer wanted to be that man. The man stuck in his own false logic, he would be useless in the war to come.

Severus snorted in disbelief and shook his head. Who would have ever thought that Potter, of all people, would make him doubt himself? But there it was. That haven of hatred Severus had built with his own lies and prejudices could never be returned to its former strength.

No matter how safe it felt to hide there in his fortress, walls built of negativity and disdain, he knew now that some of the beams holding it together were lies. Therefore, the walls would have to fall.

He would no longer be a prisoner to his own biases.

Until recently, Draco had never pondered death. Certainly he had never been reduced to a state of despondency over thoughts about how he might one day die. There had been a great deal more interesting and current happenings to occupy his mind. At least, before the unfortunate situation at the Ministry took place. That was when he had been shoved out of childhood and into his father's world.

Trying to remember how he had come to be here, in this almost hopeless situation, was comparable to trying to find the starting point of a landslide. It had just...happened. Afterwards, he had managed to avoid thinking too heavily on what might occur should he fail this unwanted mission. Finding the spell that allowed him to spy on one Harry Potter had fueled his procrastination. However, it had also saved him, for a time, from those dark thoughts and the all consuming helplessness.

Now though, the spell hadn't worked in a manner of days. He was beginning to think that the one person who had kept his mind occupied all those days he'd been close to giving up might now, in fact, be dead. This was rather a hard blow.

Then, that afternoon, Draco had pulled open the heavy curtains to look out at the gardens and the sight of a dead moth had made him pause. The small white moth lay on its back, feathery antennae fluttering from a breeze through the cracked window.

An inescapable coldness pressed down on Draco as he stared at the moth. There were so many ways he could die, and suddenly, old age didn't seem to be the most likely of the options. Backing away, Draco slid down the wall in a graceless slump and brooded over the ways his life could end.

Avada Kevadra was quick, presumably painless because it was so swift-almost merciful in comparison to the other ways people could die by magic.

For the first time in his life, Draco thought about the Longbottom's and felt his stomach turn painfully.

Sure, he had known about their perpetual stay in the Mungo's Spell Damage Ward. The hushed knowledge of their insanity had been used more than once to get a rise out of the Gryffindors or Neville Longbottom himself.

Now though, Draco seriously thought about the events that had caused not one, but both of his classmates' parents to be driven to the point that not even magic could heal their broken minds.

It was considered one of the most atrocious acts in Wizarding History. Cruciatus cast with such a steady flow of hate and the desire to cause pain that there was no relief from it...and Draco was supposed to become one of those people.

His aunt Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus were sent to Azkaban for their heinous crime. The same location where Draco's own father now waited for retribution.

Before birth he had been destined to serve the Dark Lord. He had been raised knowing that the day would come when he would continue the work his father had also taken on, that of cleansing the Wizarding World of the filth constantly trying to mingle in. He had been told that if he was careful, he could one day be honored enough to be called to the Dark Lord's side.

Draco closed his eyes tightly. It did nothing to prevent the doubt that raged inside his mind. It could not stop him from questioning what was right anymore.

Why did the very thing that was supposed to feel like honor, feel like a death sentence? Why was he sitting here, on the floor of his bedroom, with the grandness of the room around him closing in like prison walls?

Why was he imagining the ways he might die should he turn away from the Dark Lord? Since when was turning away even an option...

"Draco," his mother's voice was quiet.

Looking up sharply, he noticed how she stiffly stood in the door, watching him. Any other time she would have scolded him. Malfoy's didn't sit on the floor, she would say. More than that, any proper Malfoy did not have an emotional breakdown without the proper wards cast around the room and a heavily secured door between them and the rest of the world.

The fact that she did not reprimand him told Draco something that caused his heart to speed up. His palms broke out in a sweat. Someone else was in their house.

"He is waiting for you downstairs."

Draco nodded almost absently and looked around at his room and then down at his hands wrapped around his knees like a small child. He had to stand up.

There was a Death Eater waiting in the parlor.

Carefully he began to clear his mind. No more negative thoughts about serving the Dark Lord. Only the feeling of being humbled, honored even, and the overwhelming eagerness to please...just as he had been taught. Because, when it came down to it, what other choice did he have? Draco made his way across the room, building that wall of coldness that would turn him into one of them. A wall he could hide his disgust and revulsion behind.

From the doorway, his mother watched, eyes tired and dull. He knew she didn't believe he would accomplish his mission. Even with the Unbreakable Vow she had acquired from Snape, she still worried that he would be punished and possibly killed should he not manage to kill Dumbledore himself.

He wanted to tell her that it would be alright. Spew some kind, meaningless drivel that would bring a smile back onto her pallid face, but the words wouldn't come. He had never been good at lying to his mother, or to himself.

Instead, he moved past, careful not to look her full in the face. Cool fingers brushed his wrist, just a soft touch to remind him that he wasn't alone in this. For a moment Draco wished she would grab his hand and jerk him back, tell him that she did not think it was wise for him to go and that they were leaving.

But that was a fantasy, much like the one he had fallen into by watching Potter. Focusing on the other boy's life and leaving his own behind. Now though, even Potter was out of reach, possibly even dead by the same Dark Lord that Draco would soon be standing in front of.

Breath shuttering, he made his way toward the stairs and started to descend. The wooden railing was cold to the touch and Draco drew his hand back quickly. Even his home didn't feel welcoming anymore. It was as if the house knew that things had changed. Times were different now and Draco was slowly realizing that real life didn't come with ways out.

"No reason to don your fancy cloak, Malfoy," Yaxley said when Draco walked into the parlor, face forced into boredom. "Just a little search party of sorts tonight. You're just an extra set of eyes for a dull job."

"Then what does that make you?" Draco drawled back at the larger man.

Not taking the bait, Yaxley smirked, "Tonight I'm just the sitter, taking baby Malfoy to the pool so he can get his toes wet."

A myriad of mental images came with that description. A swimming pool filled to the brim with bright red blood. In his mind, Draco imagined himself being shoved into that pool, the blood thick and hot as it splashed into his eyes and up his nose. Corbin Yaxley's brutish face split into a wide grin as Draco blanched.

"Wha - what are we searching for?" he tried to say with a firm voice, but it trembled and Draco hated himself for it.

"Not a what-but a who, now come on." Yaxley turned and bypassed the fireplace, heading out into the lobby and toward the front door.

Left behind, Draco stood there in shock. Potter had been a captive of the Dark Lord, and now they were searching for someone. Surely Yaxley didn't mean they were searching for Potter? Had he escaped? That would warrant a little more reaction, right?

Striding quickly after the older Death Eater, Draco tried to form his thoughts into sentences that wouldn't end in his own demise. After all, he wasn't supposed to know that Potter had even been in the Dark Lord's hands at all.

"Who are we searching for?" Draco called as he walked out into the dark, stones crunching under his booted feet. "Yaxley, I asked you a question!"

He'd been walking so quickly down the dark pathway that he never noticed the sudden stop Yaxley made until he'd ran into his back. The next instant, a large hand had grabbed his collar.

"Listen here you little rat," Yaxley's bitter smelling breath filled his nose as he spoke quietly. His hand tightening on Draco's robes until they bunched together. "I was told to take you with me, and so I am, but no more questions or I'll sew your mouth shut until this night is over."

Draco was released and stumbled backwards a few steps. With a mix of anger and fear, he stared.

"I'm serious, you're to shut your gob, Malfoy. This should be an easy enough task if you just do what you are told." Draco hadn't shut the front door behind him, so the lights from the entry way caught on Yaxley's teeth as he smiled thinly.

"Who knows, if you play your cards right boy, I might even let you light the fire."

With his wand in hand, Yaxley turned and strode away from the house, already whistling something jaunty. It was a mockery of the words he had hatefully snarled.

Confusedly pondering the man's last sentence, Draco followed him out of the gate. His steps were heavy with dread.

Hard earth met Draco's feet as they arrived at their destination. Beside him, Yaxley released his arm, almost throwing it away as if touching Draco disgusted him.

Resisting the urge to scowl, Draco stepped away and looked around at his surroundings. They had side-long apparated into a valley. Wind rustled the branches of the trees surrounding them. Even in the darkness, he could feel how alone they were. This knowledge provided him no comfort and he flinched as Yaxley lit his wand with a muttered, "Lumos."

This man was no friend of his. Worse than that, he was an enemy of Lucius's and any failure on Draco's part reflected heavily on his father. Draco did not doubt that Yaxley would make true on his earlier threat to 'sew his mouth shut' at the slightest provocation.

Yaxley was squinting and turning slowly where he stood. His pitiful spell lit only the area around his feet. Keeping his expression cold, Draco internally smirked. Some men depended on the strength of their vocal chords to power the spells they cast. The quieter their casting, the weaker their spell.

A truly powerful wizard could kill with a whisper. Corbin Yaxley was not one of these men.

The smell of rain encompassed them. Draco wondered if it had washed away whatever Yaxley was looking for or if the man had somehow arrived at the wrong location.

"Do you see a house, Malfoy?" Draco shook his head at Yaxley's frustrated question. "I don't see no bloody house either, not even a shack-but it had to have been here. The Dark Lord had it under watch at one point. I would have made the git stay nearby, kept a better eye on him. Bloody bastard," Yaxley spat on the ground. "Should have killed him when I had the chance, knew he wouldn't amount to any good-too chatty."

Patiently, Draco listened as his fellow Death Eater complained and gazed around in the dark. He couldn't imagine what Yaxley was hoping to find here that was worth standing in the wet grass for. This was not what he had envisioned when he'd decided to serve the Dark Lord. There was no glory to be found amongst insect infested woods.

His life had reached an all time low. He wasn't even brave enough to press Yaxley for information on what exactly they were looking for. True cowardice.

"Stop staring at your feet, Malfoy. Make yourself useful and start searching!" Yaxley snapped and stomped off taking his faintly lit wand with him.

Turning away so he could roll his eyes without facing repercussions, Draco cast his own lumos. With a glimmer of his old smugness, he noticed it shone far brighter than his counterpart's and lit a wider area around where he stood. Remnants of rainwater from the sodden grass clung to Draco's pant legs as he stalked off. The stupid man hadn't even told him why they were here beside some incomprehensible muttering and at this point Draco just wanted to get away.

A tad too hopefully, he wondered if getting lost was a possibility. He could apparate back to the manor and crawl into bed or the nearest chair, go back to thinking about the whole pathetic situation in the dry, safe, manor. How sad was it, that he was so well acquainted with his personal form of misery, that it almost brought him comfort to think of going back to it?

Closing his eyes against the brightness of his lumos, Draco let himself simmer in his own self pity. His frown felt like a permanent fixture on his face and smiling more like a memory from childhood. What would Yaxley say if he were to just lay down right there in the valley? He could let the coldness from the earth seep into his bones, then they would match how cold and unfeeling the rest of him was.

A slight gust of wind blew his fair hair askew. He brushed it away from his eyes blankly with the back his wand hand and the light from his lumos shone widely across the field. There was a glimmer in the distance.

He froze.

Aiming the beam from his wand back in that direction, Draco could barely discern the shape of a small cabin in the distance. He had found it. But, why did this sad looking little place matter to one of the most feared Dark Lord's of his time?

Eyebrows creasing in thought, Draco felt a flicker in interest he hadn't felt since the discovery of the mirror spell. Without even attempting to inform Yaxley, Draco headed to the front door. The last inhabitants had left the door ajar.

Lifting his head, Draco raised the wand defensively and pushed at the door with his foot. It creaked open slowly, revealing a dark interior lit only by the moonlight at his back. Furniture had been haphazardly thrown across the room. A wooden chair leg lay at Draco's feet. Pieces of ceramics with a shiny glaze were scattered across the hearth.

Something unpleasant had happened here. An ominous presence seemed to leak from the walls, reaching out to Draco with long dark fingers of discontent.

With wide eyes, he surveyed the room. What could have happened here and why was the Dark Lord involved? It seemed like some Death Eaters may have already been through here once, destroying the place as they went...his eyes caught on the far left hand side of the room. It was so bare except for the few pieces of broken furniture. As he looked around, Draco noticed the windows had been blacked out with paint.

Had someone wanted to keep people from looking in...or certain inhabitants from looking out?

Cautious not to step on anything sharp, Draco slowly walked deeper into the house. He had this paranoid feeling that the door would slam shut behind him, some ghostly presence announcing itself for the first time-but it remained open.

The beam of light from his wand traveled across the room, looking for clues of what could have happened here. He reached a door to the right side of the small house and discovered it was locked. Someone had wanted this room left undisturbed. That meant Draco had to get in.

Alohomora, the most common charm for this, didn't aid him at all. Eyes alight with a challenge, Draco quickly cast the other unlocking spells he knew. They grew in power, his voice a bit exasperated near the end when suddenly-the door handle flew off and across the room.

"That's right," Draco muttered triumphantly, "bow before my majestic power."

The sudden mental image of the Dark Lord forcing his followers to bow or be tortured came to his mind at those words. Draco's smile fell off his face. The room that had been hiding beyond the door was lived in, but no where near as disastrous as the main living area. Someone had kept this bedroom neat, probably expecting to return and sleep in the partially made up bed.

Snooping was almost second nature to Draco. Growing up an only child, and a rather spoiled one at that, had left him with a rather privileged view of the world. The things that didn't belong to him could easily become his with the right price...and if no one was there to see, why should he not take a gander through someone else's belongings?

In this case, snooping was literally his job...even though Draco still wasn't sure what he was supposed to find.

His eyes passed over robes, most hung neatly in a small closet. There were some other belongings that screamed 'Muggle' that were piled up mostly out of sight.

"Why am I here?" Draco sighed and poked uninterestedly through a stack of books. "Who in the world reads this? 'Adolescent Psychiatry'?"

The pile of books were a mixture of Wizarding and Muggle authors, all about the mind, though some didn't seem as interested in helping. 'How to Prosper Using Other's Weak Points' certainly seemed like an advantageous read, but Draco wasn't sure he'd want to be very close the group of readers that book was aimed at.

The bedside table had two locked drawers, and Draco had to once again use his arsenal of unlocking spells to get the doors open. He noticed the notebook immediately. It lay alone in the top drawer, one long piece of red ribbon was wrapped around it multiple times. It looked old and slightly brittle, and when Draco picked it up, he could feel how well read it was. A lot of time and been spent bent over this book.

Someone had cherished this.

"Could have yelled that you found the place, arsehole!" Yaxley yelled angrily from the other room.

Without even considering why, Draco shoved the notebook inside his robe and secured it there with an almost silent gluing charm.

"Doesn't look like there's anyone here anyway," the older Death Eater said, dark outline appearing in the bedroom door.

"Were we looking for a person? I don't think anyone has been here in a while," Draco said quickly, turning to look around the room as if he hadn't already searched the entire place. He was grateful that one of the Dark Lord's pet werewolves hadn't been invited along, they would have noticed his racing heart before entering the house.

Yaxley grunted noncommittally and walked back out into the main room.

"Bloody prick made a right mess of the place," he grunted, looking around and shaking his head at the mess. "Should have ran right after Potter instead of spending time trashing his own house."

Draco had to remind himself to keep breathing.

Yaxley was too caught up in his own story telling to notice how still Draco had become.

"Thought the Dark Lord would kill the little maggot when he failed, but instead he let him go after Potter and the other brats that escaped. 'Course he didn't come back. Would you come back Malfoy?"

His throat felt so dry, but Draco swallowed and weakly said, "Come back?"

"Exactly, if you lost the fuck'in Boy Who Lived you wouldn't come back either. This was a bloody waste of time, just like I knew it would be." The disgust was obvious in Yaxley's voice and he marched out of the house angrily.

Forcing his feet to move, Draco hurried out of the dark room and back into the wet grass. "Wait-um, Potter was here and he escaped?"

Yaxley ignored him for a moment, a small smirk dancing around his mouth. Slowly the Death Eater straightened his robes and slicked back his hair as if trying to wipe his irritation away. Draco gritted his teeth. He hated when people had knowledge that he was not aware of.

"Potter left the dick head unconscious, stole his wand and took two other captives along with him-"

It wasn't lost on Draco that Yaxley sounded grudgingly amused by this series of events.

"Thomas hasn't been seen or heard from and the Dark Lord wants him dead-but until we catch him we'll just have to destroy every place he's ever stayed-starting here."

With that, Yaxley turned and yelled, "Incendio!"

Small flames shot out of his wand and latched onto the right side of the cabin. A gentle rain could probably wipe them out. Draco was almost embarrassed for him.

"Go on, Malfoy. You were a complete waste of space, but I'll be generous and let you take a shot at it too," Yaxley said in a mocking tone.

The notebook seemed to burn within his coat and it took away any bite the words had. There was something special about it, Draco could feel it he just couldn't imagine what it was.

Turning to face the rising flames, Draco cast his own spell. The house exploded in fire as if the very beams were made of kindling. From his peripheral vision, he noticed Yaxley take a step back in alarm.

Draco smiled. Knowing that Potter had escaped so spectacularly caused a deep sense of satisfaction to hum under his skin. In that moment, the reasons he should feel upset or at least conflicted didn't seem to matter.

He watched as the flames consumed the house, but his mind was already pondering what this latest event meant for him and his future.

---------------------------------------------------

It was the most peaceful sleep he'd had in months. There were no dreams in this sleep or those ever occurring nightmares.

His muscles felt relaxed and warm. The room smelt pleasantly of spices and citrus. How odd to think that the overwhelming sense of contentment came from a night spent on Snape's couch. There wasn't even the underlying sense of not being wanted like he often felt at the Dursley's house.

Harry couldn't remember falling asleep, just the remnants of some odd conversation. Something about the Dursley's? A lead weight seemed to land in his stomach painfully and Harry cringed.

Damn. He must have been heavily drugged to talk about his aunt and uncle. The worst part was, he couldn't even recall what all he'd said. Harry sighed.

Though the fireplace was no longer burning, the air around him was not chilly. A heavy blanket had been draped over him sometime during the night. There was an odd moisture on Harry's face and confusedly he blinked open his eyes.

His cheek was wet from drool. Harry groaned softly in embarrassment and wiped his mouth...with Snape's pajama top.

"Dear God," Harry muttered and shut his eyes again. Ron would faint...or choke on his own spit from laughing.

From the quietness in the room, it seemed he was at least alone to think about his inadequacies, such as the fact that his mouth failed to hold in copious amounts of saliva.

With a soft sigh, he sat up and waited a moment to see if his professor would walk back in the room, as if some babysitting charm had been placed on him. The room remained quiet. Several details jumped out to Harry in his inspection. His shoes had been removed and were placed neatly by the edge of the sofa-and if he wasn't mistaken, a cleaning spell had been tossed their way. How odd.

The small coffee table in front of him held a breakfast tray that hadn't been there the night before. On its silver surface were various scones, a little dish of jam and even a steaming teapot with a solitary cup just for him. Harry leaned forward and found a little note with his teacher's familiar spiky handwriting.

It read, 'Potter, eat.' Harry scoffed. Short and sweet, how very unlike Snape. The man normally preferred a good rant while towering over his chosen victim. Looking down at the warm blanket that still covered his legs, curious thoughts went through his mind. He'd been treated very well by Snape since returning to Hogwarts.

Could his Professor have perhaps found a heart while searching for potions ingredients? Not likely, but at the same time he was rather hungry...and honestly who was Harry to ignore orders from authority figures?

Reaching forward, Harry collected a small pile of scones and began scooping generous spoonfuls of raspberry jam onto his plate. This was not a common breakfast item in the Great Hall and if they did show up, some greedy students were likely to shove several into their robe pockets for later.

A warming spell had kept them at the perfect temperature and Harry's eyes closed in pure contentment.

Yes, he could be quite happy here in Snape's rooms...especially with Snape not here. Harry grinned at that thought and fought back a small surge of guilt as he realized how ungrateful he sounded. Tea would help wash that feeling away, he decided, and poured a cup full of the hot brew.

Cup in one hand and a scone in the other, Harry stood and made his way slowly around the room. Yesterday was like one large blur of pain and messy emotions and though he could remember being surprised by Snape's space, nothing else really stood out. He couldn't even remember where the loo was located and that was becoming a rather pressing issue.

Unfortunately for Harry's unyielding curiosity, Snape had not taken a chance when it came to the security of the rooms he wanted left private. Which was to say, all the rooms. The connecting hallway boasted several doors, all with their own unique doorknob-and every single one of them refused to budge under Harry's hand.

His unsuccessful attempts were almost humorous. It seemed his teacher was either paranoid or knew Harry far too well. Either way, the Gryffindor knew when to accept defeat. Casting alohomora would be an even bigger breach in privacy than just a little wiggle of the doorknob. Harry wasn't stupid enough to attempt anything more than that.

There was a short popping noise from the living room and Harry hurried back to find an unwrapped bundle of clothes sitting next to the remains of his breakfast.

Harry dear, it read in a rather hurried script, I'm sorry I didn't think of this sooner, I was so wrapped up in the children that I utterly forgot that you'd probably enjoy a fresh change of clothes yourself. These are Ron's so there might be a need for some shortening charms, not calling you short, dear, Ron is just unlawfully tall. The children are eager to see you, even between bites of breakfast it was 'Harry this' and 'Harry that.' We've made a rather comfortable place for the children in the Gryffindor common room for now. - Molly

The note had reminded him of his other responsibilities, and though Harry was eager to see the children, being someone they looked up to came with its burdens. Even now, the thought of telling them about their mother caused an sharp ache in his chest.

There was an odd sense of resignation that came with knowing it was time to leave this quiet, peaceful room. Even though it does belong to Snape, Harry found the atmosphere to be reassuringly calm-as if the turmoil from the recent events was muted by the stone walls of the dungeon.

Grudgingly he placed his empty tea cup down and began straightening up the living area. Harry folded the blanket that had kept him so warm during the night and neatly lay it across the back of the sofa.

After finding the loo, washing his face off and pulling his shoes on, Harry was ready to leave though still somewhat reluctantly. Once he'd walked out of the rooms and back into the dungeons hallway, Harry turned to watch the magical bricks flip over themselves until the doorway was once again blocked.

There was no way he would ever be able to find his way back here. At that thought, Harry had to snort, because in what world would Snape want him back. That was a laugh.

Still shaking his head, Harry left and went to find Parker and Lizzy.

---------------------------------------------------

Several hundred miles away in Wiltshire, England, a certain blond with impeccable manners and a pedigree to match fell to the floor in a ungraceful slump.

His mouth gaped open of its own accord but no words came forth. Small gasps exploded out of his chest but his gray eyes never wavered from the pages before him. Draco Malfoy was shocked speechless.

He had re-read the same words multiple times now. His legs were cramping from the cold floor he couldn't seem to stand up from. This was entirely unexpected. His mind was having trouble processing what it meant. He was having trouble understanding what he had found in that dusty cabin. The very same cabin that had went up in flames less than thirty minutes after he had tucked this ratty old journal into his robes.

This journal filled with dark secrets. Something icy went down Draco's spine and goose bumps rose all across his arms. These were secrets he felt certain the writer had died for knowing. The Dark Lord wouldn't let anyone live that had this sort of knowledge.

Draco was shaking. His body had realized what his mind was just now catching onto, that he was at a precipice. Before him lay two very different decisions, either one could end with his tumbling over that cliff.

Closing his eyes, Draco gritted his teeth and tried to get his breathing back to normal. He had resigned himself to the life it seemed was destined for him. One where his eyes would stay on the ground in the presence of the Dark Lord, because the man held immeasurable power and had defeated death itself.

Should he run from the Dark Lord and then decide he was mistaken, trying to return would mean death more surely than turning away in the first place. That was a terrifying thought...but as Draco knelt there, eyes roving over the words before him, he felt something stir in his heart.

It felt like hope.

Draco shook his head in wonder and squinted at the messy journal he held in his hands. Even with all the dark tomes that resided in his father's library, he'd never heard of something like this. A terrible thing that had kept The Dark Lord from death, granting him 'immortality' and with it, fear. That fear had kept his family in bondage. To think what he could do if that fear was destroyed. It was easier to not be afraid when you understood how something worked.

Along with this new found hope came determination. He did not know how this would play out, but he had cunning on his side...he was a Slytherin after all. He needed a plan. Sitting back on his haunches, Draco closed his eyes and began to plot. One thought was louder in his mind than all the others.

I wonder, Draco thought, if Potter knows about these 'horcruxes.'