Snape reappeared in the parking lot, just minutes after leaving. He hated to leave the boy but the death eaters had to be taken into custody. If allowed to escape they would give away Potter’s location and his own treason. The aurors would be just minutes behind him along with a few obliviators to take care of any muggles who had observed the altercation. He needed to move quickly.

Surveying the area and taking in the severe lack of Potter, Snape growled, “Where is that dratted boy.” The memory of the boy’s eyes, filled with pain and barely cognizant, made him wince. “Shouldn’t have left him.” He ran over to where he had seen the bike. Nothing. As he walked back toward Malfoy he saw an envelope lying on the ground, wrinkled and smeared with scarlet. He picked it up and examined it curiously. The red smear was blood and inside it was filled with paper muggle currency. “This must be the brat’s pay envelope,” he muttered. He stepped up to the death eaters who were starting to stir. After stunning them all he conjured ropes to bind them then disapperated.

Snape arrived back in his living room with a crack. Hermione and Ron, sitting side by side on the couch holding hands, jumped up immediately. “Is Harry okay? Where is he?” they asked in unison. Snape shook his head and dropped onto the sofa with his head in his hands. The boy’s disappearance made his chest tighten in a most disturbing manner. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, trying to ignore the teens who were staring at him with apprehension.

After enduring a few moments of their openmouthed distress he relented. He screwed a black look on his features and said, “He got away from the death eaters. In fact they are all in the custody of ministry aurors as we speak.” Ron and Hermione looked relieved but then perplexed.

“Then where is Harry?” Ron asked again.

“Once the situation was secured I disapperated to inform the order. When I returned he and the motorbike were gone.” He scowled at them both in frustration, unable to understand the boy’s motives. “He was injured in the scuffle, Malfoy even managed to get a crutiatis curse on him before it was over.”

“Malfoy?” Ron said with a frown. “Neither of them looked like Malfoy.”

With a muttered oath Snape said, “There were three when I arrived. That at least justifies the predicament he was in.” He twirled his wand through his fingers to distract himself from the memory of Harry twisting under Lucius’ curse. “The important issue now is determining where he has gone, despite my strict orders to remain at the scene.” He balled his fists and wished heartily the boy were here so he could make him wish he wasn’t.

Hermione whispered, “He’s gone after Voldemort. It’s the only explanation.”

“That’s Harry for you,” Ron murmured “Sometimes you can’t predict what the prat will do.” He caught Hermione’s eyes and took her hand in a comforting gesture. “We have to find him quickly, stop him before it’s too late” he said. He looked back at the potion master and asked, “How badly was he hurt?”

Snape scowled again as he pulled out the map to see if Potter was within it’s scope. It was blank. He threw it down and said, “He had a nasty slash across his face, it looked as if Malfoy wanded him.” Ron gasped at that and Hermione looked confused. Snape clarified, “It’s particularly malicious to wound someone physically with your wand. The injury often takes a long time to heal and leaves a nasty scar.” He sighed, “And it’s exceptionally painful.” Snape’s gut clenched when he thought of the boy with yet another scar to remind him of his ridiculous destiny.

As he fingered the bloody envelope Snape recalled the times Potter had thanked him for taking care of him this summer. His face twisted into a scowl as he wondered if the boy would thank him when he was captured by the Dark Lord and Snape was forced to torture him to maintain his cover. Suddenly he was struck with an inspiration. He jumped up and hurried out of the room, returning minutes later carrying a small caldron. The teens’ questioning gazes prompted him to speak. “There is a way to stop him, bring him back.” His black eyes bored into them with savage intensity. “It involves blood magic.” He let the question of their assistance hang unspoken in the air.

As he set down the caldron Harry’s friends shared a look. “What do we do?” Ron demanded as Hermione looked on with an intense expression. Snape’s smirk lasted only seconds before it was gone and he was preparing the caldron and instructing them on the spell. He tossed the envelope into the caldron then magically removed the paper, leaving only the blood behind. Hermione gaped at the intricacy of the spell but mercifully Weasley kept her from asking questions and distracting him. Every second let the brat get further away and closer to danger.

“Potter foolishly offered me a wizard’s debt,” he explained with a sneer. “I will call it in, forcing him to return. We must scry his image to inform him that I am exercising my prerogative. It will take the three of us to do the scrying.” He held up his lean hand to forestall their questions. “Explanations will have to wait.” He bent down to draw a triangle on the floor. With his habitual economy of movement the potion master placed the caldron in the center of the figure and briskly directed Harry’s friends to each stand at a corner while he took the third position.

“Join me in this incantation. Together we will summon an image of Mr. Potter in his current location.” Hermione’s questioning expression stopped Snape’s monologue. “There is no time to explain everything, Miss Granger. You must trust me in this if you wish to stop your friend before the dark lord detects his presence.” She clamped her lips shut and nodded to indicate her compliance. Ron merely held his wand at the ready, his eyes showing nothing but concentration.

Snape nodded, his lank hair framing his face, as he stabbed his wand into the caldron and he began to chant. “Revelo, Distantania, Communicada,” He repeated the phrase and then the two younger wizards joined him with their wands also in the caldron. Above it a wavering image began to form. As the chanting gained in strength the figure began to be recognizable as Harry. He was crouched over the handlebars of his motorbike, his face a mask of pure hatred. The angry red mark from Lucius’ wand stood out starkly against his fair skin and blood was drying on the sharp planes of his face.

With his teeth clenched and lids slitted against the wind Harry looked ready for battle. His eyes, glittering with malice, seemed to catch on the three wizards as they incanted the spell, causing Hermione to gasp and the chant to falter momentarily. The image flickered then stabilized as she regained her composure. When Harry’s likeness looked substantial and unwavering Snape halted the chant. “I call upon you, Harry James Potter, to fulfill your Wizard’s promise. Return to my presence immediately for instructions to fulfill the debt.”

The three stood shoulder to shoulder around the caldron watching as the full power of the summons hit Harry. His heated expression turned glazed and he stood up on the brake pedal with all his strength. The back tire locked up and the bike skidded crazily. With a sickening lurch the motorcycle bucked into the air then crashed into the berm. They looked on in horror as bike and boy tumbled for a few yards before the bike finally fell down on top of Harry. When his eyes slid closed the image flickered and disappeared with a pop.

The sound broke the frozen tableau around the caldron and Ron cursed loudly. “Bloody hell! We’ve got to get to him! Can you apparate us there?”

“I cannot. I did not recognize his location.” Potion stained fingers gripped the edge of the caldron as Snape’s frustration began to mount.

“Is Hedwig here?” When Snape shook his head Ron broke ranks and slid to his knees in front of the fireplace. Throwing a careless handful of floo powder into the flames he stuck his head in as he shouted, “The Burrow!” Snape and Hermione watched as he shouted into the house and soon Molly Weasley’s voice answered him. “Mum!” he shouted, “Send Pig through to me. I’m at Snape Manor. It’s life and death, Mum!” They heard her muffled response then Ron said, “Yes, through the floo! I need him now!” He sat back on his haunches and looked up at Snape. “Do you have a couple of brooms?”

Catching on to Ron’s plan, Snape snapped, “Yes,” as he left the room at a run. He waved his hand in acknowledgement of the young wizard’s demand for a length of twine. Pigwidgeon’s cage came rocketing out of the fireplace and caught Ron hard in the midsection. With an oof and a muffled curse he landed on his back, cradling the sooty owl. Sitting up with surprising speed he pulled the frightened bird from the cage and began to soothe him by lightly stroking his feathers and crooning in a soft voice.

Hermione still stood next to the caldron with her mouth agape. “What are we doing, Ron?” she asked. Just then Snape returned carrying two brooms and a small ball of string.

“Brilliant,” said Ron. He grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her outside, closely followed by Snape. “We’re going to use Pig to find Harry, ‘Mione. We’ll follow on the brooms and keep him from getting too far ahead by tethering him with the string.” As he spoke he was tying the cord to Pig’s leg. He looked into the owl’s eyes and said, “Find Harry, Pig. You’ve got to take us to Harry.” The bird looked solemnly back at Ron. “Do it for Sirius, Pig.” There was a catch in Ron’s voice as he pleaded with his owl. The owl ruffled his feathers, obviously preparing for flight.

“Get on the brooms,” Ron breathed. He pulled Hermione on in front of him as Snape mounted alone. Pig launched himself off Ron’s shoulder and the wizards kicked off into the air with Hermione securely positioned between Ron’s arms. Snape muttered a disillusionment spell as they followed the tiny owl.

After flying for several minutes Pig began to head downward. Hermione let out a cry and pointed to the roadside. “There he is, Ron!” With a shout of praise Ron released Pig and aimed the broom downward. Snape followed suit and they landed near the accident. As they rushed to Harry’s side he was struggling to rise and muttering incoherently.

“Go… promise… geroff…,” he panted. The bike still lay across Harry’s midsection and blood stained his lips. Hermione knelt beside his head and gently brushed his fringe off his sweaty forehead.

“It’s okay, Harry. We’re here now,” she soothed. Harry squinted up at Hermione. His eyes were glazed and his expression strangely vacant.

“Have to…manor.” He appeared to focus on her. “Help me…” Harry groaned and thrashed in a feeble effort to extricate himself. More blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth and he coughed, sounding too weak to expel the liquid from his airway. Hermione noticed with revulsion that his right leg was bent at an unnatural angle.

“Harry?” Ron whispered. The boy did not respond other than to continue to push at the bike. “Bloody hell, it’s the spell! It’s like he’s under imperius.” He turned to Snape who was staring impassively at the fallen Gryffindor.

“Actually, Mr. Weasley, it is worse. It turns the …recipient’s… magic against him. In fact, the stronger your magic is, the more you will be compelled to obey the summons.”

“How is that possible?” asked Hermione.

Snape sighed. “A wizard’s promise is linked to his magic. The magic makes sure you keep the promise.” He shrugged. “Clearly, Mr. Potter here is quite well endowed.”

“Lift the bloody spell, Snape,” Ron snapped.

“There is one more issue to be resolved here.” He crouched before the struggling boy. “I am here, Mr. Potter, you may cease trying to get to the manor.” As the boy relaxed with a soft groan Snape waved his wand and floated the bike away. He eyed Harry’s pain lined face as he weighed the risks and benefits of various scenarios. There were things he needed to know. In a matter of seconds he made his decision and spoke.

“Now you must comply with my instructions to fulfill your promise.” His eyes flicked to the two teens who were watching with trepidation. With a patented smirk he returned his attention to Harry and intoned, “You will explain your reasons for avoiding contact with your friends this summer.”

“Professor,” Hermione shrilled. “You can’t force him to tell something like that! It’s immoral!”

Snape drilled her with his blackest gaze then laid his hand on Harry’s arm. The boy flinched but turned his unfocused gaze to the potion master. “You will explain now.”

Harry’s mouth opened and shut as he appeared to fight the compulsion. “I…I’m a danger. Need to…stay ‘way from me. To be…safe.” He paused and gulped.

Snape’s kept his eyes on the boy, compelling him to continue. Harry struggled against the force of the spell, clawing at the earth and twisting his face away from Snape. Hermione whimpered and looked away with her hand over her mouth. Finally the words were drawn forth. “I’m…not worth... Just a …” Here the pause was very long and Harry literally moaned with distress before speaking. “A freak…a weapon…a murderer. The Dursleys… right all along.” He choked out a laugh that sounded more like a sob then the words flowed freely. “A fucking freak that gets everyone who cares about him killed.” He stopped for a moment then finished up by saying, “I’ll be dead soon anyway. It’s either him or me according to the… prophesy. Not worth the risk…dead already, just don’t know it.”

Harry sank back against the damp ground and closed his eyes. Two tears leaked past his lids and slid down his cheeks, leaving a trail through the blood and dirt. Snape continued to stare at him for several moments before he turned back to the two stunned Gryffindors. The boy’s words had affected them more than he anticipated and himself more than he could admit. The silence stretched out too long and Snape felt compelled to end it.

“The war has begun,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It will call for… sacrifices from many of us.” Potter’s friends nodded, their eyes still glued on Harry’s still form. “Potter,” he indicated Harry’s body with his chin, “will play a huge role.” The Gryffindor began to stir, reaching for the wound on his head and whimpering faintly through clenched teeth. Snape cast a sleeping charm and Harry relaxed again.

“His rather unconventional upbringing has left him incapable of expressing himself,” Snape muttered. He took in the teens’ unspoken agreement with his assessment as he continued, “and the resultant frustration is causing him to behave erratically.” He eyed the two young wizards, their rigid poses still expressing outrage at his presumptuous use of the promise. In a harder tone he said, “I needed to hear this in order to comprehend the problem and help him. Understand?”

When they were both still silent and gaping he tried another tact. The boy’s words were already causing a reworking of strategy in his busy, Slytherin mind and he needed their compliance to plug the holes left in the Order’s defense plan by Potter’s self doubts. He refused to admit to relief at the knowledge that this would also work to heal the boy’s tortured soul. Knowing how much Potter treasured their lives he sent a rare entreaty to Merlin to keep them from harm in the coming conflict. He made no such pleas on Harry’s behalf, not liking to ask for the impossible.

He spoke into the silence, choosing words he hoped would break them free from the doubts they were having regarding his loyalties. It didn’t require legilimency to discern their wavering trust. “It was also necessary to facilitate our side of the war effort.” This got their eyes to leave Potter’s sleeping form and latch onto him.

“Why, professor?” Granger wrung her hands, still distressed over the boy’s forced confession.

“He won’t do this thing for himself.” Snape didn’t have to elucidate. They all knew what Harry had to do. “The idea of killing sickens him but yet it must be done.” Two unwilling nods punctuated this statement. He made sure he had their eyes on him and said, “For you, to keep you safe, he will do it.”

“I, we, can’t make him do something he thinks is wrong,” the Weasley boy stuttered. “It wouldn’t be right. Or possible,” he added.

“If you do not then Voldemort wins and the wizard and muggle worlds will be subject to his rule. Do not make the mistake of underestimating him,” he glanced back at Potter, “either of them. If the prophesy is to be believed then here lies our only hope for salvation.” They all gazed at the sprawled form. Harry chose that moment to fight the sleeping spell, stirring restlessly and twitching his hands toward the wound on his forehead.

“The spell will not hold him for long. His magic is growing much stronger this summer,” Snape muttered. He hoped he could get this through their heads quickly so he could attend to the boy while he was still quiescent.

“Professor, perhaps there is another way. It can’t just come down to him…” Snape scowled at the disbelief on the girl’s face. She would fight the idea of the prophesy until proof was shoved in her face. Her contempt for divination was well known.

“Believe me, Miss Granger,” he interrupted. “Over the last two years I have researched all possible means of exterminating the dark lord. I have found none. If he cannot do it, we are lost.” He waited for her to realize that to argue further would be to impugn his research methods. “And for him to complete this task he will need both of you by his side, giving him a reason to keep trying.”

Harry mumbled and began to rouse. With his hand gently touching the boy’s forehead Snape muttered, “Somnus.” He looked back at Harry’s friends. “It will be so difficult that he will not believe it is possible to succeed. He will falter and it will be up to the two of you to sustain him.” He read understanding in their expressions and as it hardened into resolve he allowed himself to feel a shred of hope.

With the bottle cap that had served as the portkey on his outstretched palm Snape said, “Take this and return to my manor. Use the floo to get back to the burrow. I shall attend to Mr. Potter.”

He sighed as he glanced at the motorbike. “The boy won’t rest if this dratted bike isn’t taken care of.” He shrank the offending machine and stowed it in a pocket in his robes. Next he incanted a spell and a splint formed around Harry’s leg. With a grunt he hefted the unconscious boy into his arms. Harry’s head fell slackly against Snape’s shoulder. The boy looked small and vulnerable, a far cry from the warrior they had observed earlier.

The other two teens were still standing there silently watching him. Tears shone on Hermione’s cheeks and Ron looked stunned. Snape realized that they would not leave until he reassured them that they would be informed about Harry’s condition so, scowling dramatically he said, “We shall speak in two days time.”

He pulled out the portkey that he carried in case he ran into trouble at a death eater meeting. It was spelled to take him directly to the dungeons at Hogwarts. He had scoffed at Dumbledore’s insistence that he carry it, knowing that if his duplicity were discovered Voldemort would hardly give him the opportunity to activate any form of escape. The implication that the headmaster had predicted this senario had him applauding the man’s tactical genius. With the trademark pull at his navel he and Harry were on their way back to the castle.