Harry sat staring up at his potions professor, dumbfounded. It was all so surreal, sitting on the sidewalk in the dark, hurting so badly. Snape must be one of those optical delusion things brought on by the pain.

“Mr. Potter, I do believe I asked you a question,” Snape sneered.

So not a dream. Harry opened his mouth, but then shut it, glaring at the man before him. Several seconds of silence lapsed, and then Harry said very coldly, “It’s not really any of your business now, is it, Professor?”

But it was hard to look disdainful while he was sprawled on the concrete, hoping his recent beating did not show. Snape gazed down at him with a severe frown.

“I will have none of your cheek, Potter, and I would like to point out that it is my business. You are a student at the school where I am a teacher.”

“We’re not at school,” Harry had no idea why he was arguing points with Snape. The man would find everything out; he was not about left Harry on the side of street like some unknown beggar.

“Potter,” Snape’s deepened, making Harry swallow nervously, “why aren’t you at home, tucked in bed with those muggle relatives of yours?”

Snape stepped a few paces closer, making have to lean back to see his professor’s face.

“None of your business.” Harry spat at him choosing anger over anxiety.

Snape glared and reached down, grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him to his feet. With his usual kindness, Snape fully intended to smack the boy for his insolence. Yet, the man noticed that the minute Potter was on his feet, the blood drained from his thin face. Even in this weak streetlight, he was terribly pale, looking like he had been sick for a long while.

“What’s the matter with you, Potter?” Snape snapped. This was most certainly not how he planned his evening to go. Harry gave him yet another glare.

“Nothing is the matter with me, expect I have this greasy git thinking he has a right to know everything about my life!” Harry snarled.

Snape raised a hand to lightly thwack the boy on the back of the head, but he froze. Potter had already flinched and raised his free arm to protect his face. Snape lowered his own hand, his eyes narrowing, taking out his wand.

“Luminos.”

The wand glowed and then cast out a strong light, illuminating Harry’s face. Snape’s mouth dropped open as he stared at his most troublesome student. Bruises were already forming on Harry’s face, molding to mesh with the ones he had received earlier. One particularly nasty one was on the side of his right temple, a vivid purple-black. Snape narrowed his eyes.

“Potter, what happened.” It wasn’t a question but a demand.

“I walked into a brick wall,” Harry answered, lowering his arm to glare at him.

Snape had the urge to cuff the boy’s ear for lying, but for once he resisted the urge. The boy did not look like he could stand another blow, even a light one given in remonstration.

“Potter,” he warned, “what happened to you?”

Harry swore silently, but the look in Snape’s eyes warned him not to lie again. Harry knew with a sinking feeling that he would not be able to walk away from his potions professor now, not after Snape had seen his face.

“My uncle was a bit smashed,” Harry said through gritted teeth. His knee was wide awake, aching and throbbing and hurting like he could not believe his body could hurt. He watched in shock as an odd look crossed Snape’s face.

“Your uncle hit you?” he repeated. “He hit you, his nephew? His kin? His wife’s dead sister’s only child? You Harry Potter, the star of Hogwarts and Savior of the Wizarding World?”

Harry shrugged angrily. He hated when Snape reminded him of his famous place and his impending destiny. Snape swore then growled.

“Very well then, I see that at least for tonight there is no other choice.” Snape said in a resigned, heavy tone. He slid his wand back into his robes and grabbed a hold of Harry’s trunk.

“What are you…” Harry began, but was silenced by another glare.

“I swear, Potter, you get into more trouble than a two year old.” Snape said a hint of disgust in his voice. “Only you could manage –”

Harry snarled and attempted to jerk his arm away from the older man. “Let me go!”

“Do not try my patience, Potter. I have half a mind right now to take you back to your relatives and leave you,” Snape threatened. He winced inwardly when he saw Harry look as if he had kicked him. “Calm down, boy, you won’t be going back to those muggles.” Snape’s tone sounded surprisingly less acidic than normal. “But you are coming with me, like it or not.”

Harry stared at him before he felt the world become disorientated. It took him several minutes before he realized that Snape had Apparated them both elsewhere. Still leaning on Snape for support, Harry blinked at the darkened room he now stood in and jumped when a fire blazed to life.

Snape gazed at Harry in the now lit room and found himself actually…caring. No, not caring. More concerned about the boy who had gotten himself into trouble yet again. Yes, concerned in a very teacher-like way.

Harry raised his eyes to meet his professor’s eyes.

“Now what?” he asked, attitude plain in his voice.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Concern nothing – he was glad to see the brat suffer. He set Harry’s trunk down and finally released Harry’s arm. Harry yelped as his leg twisted, and he fell down to the ground.

“Nothings wrong, I do believe you said that did you not?” Snape said dryly, folding his arms. Harry found himself looking up sheepishly.

“Might have been a tad bit of a understatement.” he admitted.

Snape raised both eyebrows. Harry hated that expression – so adult and condescending. He wanted to yell for Snape to get out and leave him, but Harry found himself mumbling, “Okay a large understatement.”

Snape smirked, his lips drawing up in satisfaction. Harry hated him even more. He tried to think of something to say, something awful that would make Snape angry and erase that smug look from his face.

Before Harry could speak, Snape reached down and pulled him up, his strong hands under Harry’s arms, gripping his thin ribs. It made Harry feel like a mix between a potato sack and a helpless toddler. Snape kept his hand on his side, supporting him.

“I’ll help you over to the sofa,” Snape nodded to the leather couch near the fireplace. “Hop on your good leg.”

“I can walk,” Harry objected though he knew he would fall over if Snape let go.

“Hop, or I’ll put you over my shoulder and carry you.”

Harry growled, but he began hopping gently on his good leg while Snape directed him to the couch. It felt so stupid, and Harry couldn’t imagine how dumb it would look to someone else watching. Once or twice, it felt like Snape was carrying him, but finally Harry made to the couch. He sat down, and Snape scooped up his legs and put them up on the couch. Harry watched as his professor walked over to a cabinet on the other side of the room.

“So what exactly is wrong, Mr. Potter?” Snape said in his usual tone of voice.

Harry rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch.

“Nothing much,” he answered. “Just a few bruises

“Oh, so your not being able to stand on your own two feet is “Nothing much” but a few bruises?” Snape said dryly. He walked over to Harry and setting a potion down on the table near the couch. Before Harry had a chance to think, Snape placed a hand on his hurt knee and pushed down slightly, putting pressure on the leg.

Harry gasped, his eyes widening. He clutched the edge of the sofa with white-knuckled hands and fought back tears. He would not cry, he would not, he would pass out first.

“Oh, yes, nothing much at all,” Snape agreed, smirking.

Harry looked up at him with pain hazy eyes.

“I hate you,” he ground out.

“Yes, yes,” Snape waved away his loathing. “Where else are you hurt?”

“Nowhere else,” Harry spat.

Snape sighed as he tilted Harry’s face towards the light. “This is no time for your antics, Potter. Where else are you hurt?”

Harry crossed his arms stubbornly.

“Are you hurt anywhere else, or do I just have to treat you like a child and strip you down and check every inch of you?” Snape said sternly.

“You wouldn’t.” Harry said paling. Snape grinned, he actually grinned at the boy, a grin full of vindicated meanness as far as Harry was concerned.

“Oh, but I would.” Snape assured the boy, staring deeply into his eyes with that quiet determination that terrified so many students. Harry shivered and looked away.

“He got a couple licks in my chest,” he relented. “And my face, of course.”

Snape nodded and reached over grasping the potions vial.

“Drink.” Snape snapped.

Harry shook his head. “No thank you, I don’t know what is in…”

Snape never let him finish. He took Harry’s chin in his strong hands and tilted the opening of the vial into his mouth. Harry tried to pull away, tried to spit it out, but Snape was too strong, and Harry was finding himself with less and less energy to fight back. Once the entire vial was poured out, Snape still held on a moment longer to make sure his swallowed. It was nasty and vile and slimy. But Harry swallowed defensively while he glared at the man. Snape smirked.

“There now, Potter, that wasn’t very hard now was it?” Snape said.

Harry wanted to reply, to swear at the great bat. But suddenly he felt so tired, so exhausted, and he wanted nothing more than to lie back and rest. He comforted himself with the idea that he could yell at Snape later, but for now, he would just content himself with relaxing on the couch while glaring at Snape.

Snape’s trained eyes noted that already Harry’s eyes were drooping. With any luck, the boy would be asleep in minutes, and Snape could deal with what the stupid muggles had done to their nephew without interference from the Boy-Who-Barely-Managed-to-Keep-Living. A moment later, Harry’s head rolled to the side slightly, his eyes closing on his bruised face. Harry snapped his eyes open so he glower at his professor, the effort seeming the hardest thing he had ever done.

“Oh, relax already, Potter,” Snape told him. “Once you swallow that, you’re not going anywhere until you sleep it off. That’s what you want more than anything, isn’t it? To go to sleep? Just relax and close you eyes. Come on, close them. Ye-e-es, like that.”

Snape smiled with satisfaction as Harry’s eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled to the side again. Snape waited, but this time the boy didn’t snap up again. He could see Potter’s chest rising and falling with deep breaths, breaths that would no doubt hurt him if he were awake.

Snape put the vial on the side table, shaking his head. The boy was more stubborn than most of his Slytherin year mates. That rebellious look in his green eyes, that set of his thin face and tightness of lips that Snape knew would cause more trouble than good.

Sighing, Snape laid the boy out on the length of the couch, laying him flat with a pillow under his head. It was going to be a long night . . .