Harry froze. He knew that if Snape and Draco caught him he faced certain death. His hands slipped on the floor, frictionless because of his own blood that covered the ground. Smacking his cracked ribs on the edge of the stair Harry could not suppress a low moan. Severus descended upon him. Harry tensed, expecting the blow that he knew was inevitable.It never came. Daring to look up, Harry saw Professor Snape’s eyes laced with concern. Severus reached out towards the boy before him only to stop, seeing Harry flinch violently.

“Harry, how are you?” Severus asked sharply.

Harry was unsure of how to respond to his mortal enemy. He tried to speak but could only emit a loud, raspy moan. Seeing this, Severus descended upon Harry and lifted him by his injured arm. Crying out, Harry struggled in an attempt to get free. Snape quieted Harry and told him to stay still. For a reason inexplicable to Harry, he complied. The professor helped Harry down the stairs and told him to lean against the wall. Draco had followed their descent and was standing idly behind the older Death Eater.

“Harry, can you talk to me?” Snape whispered, trying to focus Harry’s wavering attention.

Harry tried to speak again, but found his throat would not cooperate. Dumbly he shook his head, but regretted it almost immediately as it just increased the pounding in his temples. Snape conjured a glass of water from his wand and held it to Harry’s lips. “Drink,” he ordered.

The teen sipped the water gratefully and leaned back, exhausted by the energy spent. “Sorry,” he managed to choke out.

“There are some things I need to tell you, Harry,” Snape said quickly. “I want you to know that I am innocent. I did kill Dumbledore for Voldemort; I was ordered to, by Dumbledore. We are going to get you out of here…” He broke off seeing Harry slipping out of consciousness.

Harry knew that he was alone in a room with his two least favorite people in the world, except Voldemort himself, and struggled to maintain consciousness. His injuries were too deep however and he slowly lost the battle. 

Harry was warm; warm, comfortable, and stretched out on an extremely soft something. He cautiously lifted his head and opened his eyes. Looking around he realized he was in a large bedroom, decorated with antique furniture. He tried to push himself up but found that his arm was in worse shape than he’d first assessed. Crumpling back on the bed, he recalled the events of his previous consciousness.He heard a noise behind him and gingerly rolled over to find the source. Snape was moving towards him holding several bottles of potions.

Forgetting his condition, Harry leapt out of bed and raised his fist at the older man. “Murderer!” he screamed.

Snape held up his hands in attempt to calm Harry. “I am not, Mr. Potter,” he said severely.

“You killed him,” Harry persisted, shaking an unsteady finger in Snape’s direction. Tears Harry didn’t know were left in him began to well up in his eyes. He collapsed and fell to the floor sobbing.

Unaware of his surroundings, Harry suddenly tensed when he felt an arm snake around his back that drew him towards the bed. Still sobbing, Harry crumpled onto the bed. He felt someone begin to rub his back gently.

“Harry,” a deep voice began quietly, “I did not kill him because I wanted to. He ordered me to.”

This made Harry pause;he allowed himself a last shuddering breath, before reigning in his emotions once more. He sat up stiffly and looked his former professor in the eye. “Tell me,” he mumbled, afraid to miss some information that would be helpful in his mission.

Snape looked taken aback at the teen’s resoluteness. After a moments time he began recounting his tale to Harry. “At Hogwarts, the summer before last school year, Dumbledore and I were investigating the location of a certain black ring I’m sure you have heard of.”

Harry was astounded but also knew that he needed to keep his emotions in check. He nodded to indicate his knowledge and to urge the Death Eater to continue his tale.

“I know of the Horcruxes, Harry,” Snape stated bluntly. “I wish to help you find the rest to destroy Voldemort.”

Snape was one of the few people Harry had ever seen that did not flinch at the name of the Dark Lord. Harry also noted that Snape referred to the man he desired to destroy as Voldemort and not the Dark Lord, as he supposed a Death Eater would.

“Voldemort killed my brother. He killed my brother and Regulus…” Snape broke off as if caught in a memory.

Something stirred inside Harry. “Wait, Regulus. Wasn’t that Sirius’s brother?” Harry asked incredulously.

Snape nodded. “He was my best friend.”

“I beg your pardon, uh sir, but why are you telling me this,” Harry asked noncommittally. Throwing caution to the wind he voiced his true thoughts. “You hate me. Why do you want to help me? And why should I believe that you killed Dumbledore on his orders?”

Snape looked at Harry with harsh eyes. “I don’t hate you. Just because I don’t indulge your every whim like...” Snape swallowed hard and tried to continue. “Like …. Like others do does not mean I hate you.”

“Sir, if you can help me, please do so. If you can’t, please let me go so that I can finish what I started. I’m not going to give up,” Harry told his former professor vehemently. He was sick of this, sick of the constant dance that he played with Snape. He no longer felt anything for the man before him; he simply knew what he had to accomplish and wanted to achieve his goal in the most efficient way possible. He moved to sit up straighter and winced as his ribs protested.

Snape moved towards him, again holding the potion bottles. “First, Mr. Potter, we need to get you healed. Can you tell me what hurts?” he asked.

Harry mused for a moment taking personal inventory before responding, “Yes my head and arm, my ribs, and my back.” After a moments pause, he added with hesitation, “My stomach and knee hurt, too.” He looked up at the professor expecting to be reprimanded for complaining so; he was instead greeted by the same look of concern he’d seen Snape wear in the basement. Harry had no time to marvel at this odd look of Snape’s as he felt himself becoming increasingly tired. The adrenaline from his anger at Snape was wearing off fast and he was succumbing to the welcoming darkness which would alleviate his pain.

Snape noticed the teen’s slowly closing eyelids and began to prod Harry. “Mr. Potter, stay awake. You cannot go to sleep. Potter- wake up!”

Harry was aware of being poked and shied away from the hand. He wanted to go to sleep, wanted to be pain free, and not have to deal with his situation.

Harry panicked at the next voice he heard. “Perhaps if you called him Harry, Severus.” Harry knew that voice, his long time enemy who never let a year pass by without calling his best friend a ‘mudblood.’ Harry fought to wrench his eyelids open intent upon glaring at Draco Malfoy.

“Harry, come on, wake up,” Snape pleaded. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and pulled the teen into a sitting position. “Focus, Harry, focus.”

Harry shoved his former professor away and jerked his eyes open. Focusing on Draco, he sent a look of contempt filled with malice to the pale boy before giving his attention to his ex-professor. “Sir, I’m really tired. Can’t I just lie down a minute?”

“Harry you have a concussion. Before we stabilize your condition we can’t risk you loosing consciousness,” the older man explained.

Harry sighed in defeat and waited for the Death Eater to continue. Snape handed Harry a bottle of dark green liquid. “Drink,” he ordered.

Harry tilted his head back to drink and immediately dropped the bottle. The room began spinning and he could not figure out which way was up. Collapsing back on the bed he put his uninjured hand to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the nausea. Rolling onto his side he began retching, soiling the ornate comforter that adorned the bed. His ribs smarted and he straightened out, trying to lessen the sting.

He felt cool hands on his hot forehead and tried to breathe normally. He felt a bottle being held to his lips and opened his mouth, allowing the potion to slide down his raw throat. His dizziness lessened and he was able to open his eyes. Too tired to move, he allowed the Death Eater to administer a number of potions before daring to ask a question. “Sir, may I sleep now?”

“Yes, Potter,” Snape replied hotly, disturbed by the extent of the injuries he’d found. “We will discuss the Horcruxes later.”

Harry closed his heavy eyelids gratefully and embraced the darkness that surrounded him.