As the injured were carried away to be sent to St. Mungo's, Harry quietly sought out Kingsley Shacklebolt. He spotted the experienced Auror talking with Tonks, her bubble-gum hair returned now to its usual brilliance. With a gesture, Harry walked over to a demolished stump where a towering oak had been standing that morning.

After a moment, Kingsley came up behind him, surveying the damage. Talking low, he pointed to several large scorch marks, and asked, "You saw it?"

Harry nodded, looking at the marks. "They must have hit him a half dozen times." He gestured aimlessly at the next tree over. "I didn’t recognize the last one that Bellatrix threw."

"Bone breaker curse. Nasty one to get hit in the head with, cracks the plates but doesn't shatter them."

Harry shuddered slightly. "Any idea where he's being looked after? He can't go to St. Mungo's anymore."

Kingsley nodded, and stepped up beside him. Harry felt a hand slip something flat into his pocket before Kingsley leaned in close. "Portkey," he muttered. "If you find him, that'll take him back to the little shack he's been calling home since last July. We've been keeping an eye on him." The Order, his eyes said.

Harry walked farther along the tree's trunk. "You don't think he Apparated out of here?"

Kingsley snorted. "Not with that, he didn't. Probably not even conscious. Holed up somewhere--"

"Dawlish," Harry muttered under his breath.

"-- the spell's radius," Kingsley continued smoothly as the other Auror came within hearing range. "We are lucky that it hit the tree and not you or Hermione."

"Potter, you're not allowed on the battlefield! This is a Ministry matter," Dawlish announced, arms crossed, wand held at the ready.

"I was part of the group they attacked. I didn’t have a choice in the matter," Potter snapped at him, earning a glare. It didn't bother him; Snape did them much better over a cauldron full of pink froth than this man ever could.

"I'm going to find my belongings, then I'll be out of your way," Harry continued, making eye contact with Dawlish briefly. Nodding to Kingsley, he said, "Thanks for explaining that spell to me."

"You're welcome, Harry. Just remember, we were lucky."

Harry agreed with him and strode away. 

Harry moved in and out of the sheds, glancing inside each one. He moved steadily away from Dawlish's gaze, until the Auror was called away to investigate something one of his underlings had found.

Immediately, Harry ducked into the shed he knew the injured man had fallen into. Waiting for his eyes to adjust, he watched as ramshackle walls focused into being, along with rusty farm equipment and paint cans stacked against one wall. Glancing down, Harry could see the thin trail of blood, mere droplets that he would have missed if he didn’t know they were there. Scuffmarks showed that the Slytherin had dragged himself away from the open doorway to the far wall.

He looked like a drop of the night sky that hadn't left with the dawn light, so formless was he upon the ground. His cloak covered him completely, hiding him from boot-tip to mask, wary even in shock of being discovered. A casual glance inside would not have realized that a man lay underneath that shadow.

Harry knew better; moving forward slowly, Harry kept both eyes on the injured man. Knowing that even all the man had endured the former Head of Slytherin was still very deadly, even when two steps from death's door.

Wand out, he cast a whispered diagnostic spell. The results were as Kingsley had predicted: cracked plates, as well as several broken ribs and internal bruising. Dragging it down lower, he noticed the swelling in one foot due to a fractured ankle. No doubt thanks to that lovely little dripping jinx, he thought to himself.

With a glance at the door behind him, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope Kingsley had slipped inside. Glancing inside to make sure that everything was in order, he moved a corner of the cloak and placed it within an inch of Snape's hand. It gave a slight twitch before returning to stillness. Harry nodded to himself, replaced the cloak the way it was before muttering an energy spell. The spell was a weaker cousin of the Enervate charm, only giving the person a slight boost in energy from the caster for a very short time. It would wake him up enough to hopeful use the Portkey.

Standing, he stepped away from Snape, still keeping his eyes on the slowly stirring figure. Pulling his cloak out of his bag, where it had been all along, he turned and made his way out of the shack, to see Dawlish searching amongst the sheds as well.

Potter ducked around one building, coming up to a larger two-storied shed. Dawlish was only two buildings away when Harry quietly vanished a plank in the wall, slipping inside the shed and exiting through the main door, less that twenty feet from where Dawlish had just turned the corner.

Shaking out of the dust from his cloak, Harry swung it around his shoulders, fastening the clasp as the Auror stalked up to him. He looked up, an idle look on his face, brushing a leaf from the shoulder. "Is the clean-up all finished, Mr. Dawlish?" he inquired politely.

"You were told to leave, Potter," the Auror hissed, standing right in front of Harry. The man was still several inches taller than Harry, and seemed to be trying to intimidate him.

Smiling slightly, that smile that always bothered the new Minister for Magic, he said pleasantly, "And I am, now that I found my cloak and gloves. Good day to you, sir," he added, overtop the faint crack in the distance of someone either Disapparating or being Portkeyed away.

Dawlish sneered and brushed past him into the shed where Harry had just exited. With a smile, he left the field to return to Order Headquarters.