Pain. He is first aware of the pain, then of silence. Light shines on his closed eyelids, drawing him from a deep sleep. Through the haze, his mind fights for control, regaining its sharpness with years of well-honed practice. This is not the first time he has been punished by the Dark Lord; he knows how to survive. Avoid panic. Think clearly. Observe before acting. Show no emotion, save what those around him wish to see.

And above all, trust no one.

He keeps his breathing as even as possible. Listens, hears nothing. Smells the air with one careful, even breath. Musty air tinged with herbs and cooked meat greets his nostrils. He is indoors, possibly a residence. He is lying on something soft, covered by a comfortable blanket. He is with friends? Perhaps. Not guaranteed.

Despite his closed eyes, he detects that the light is dim. Artificial. It is either night or he is in an inner room, no windows. There. A sound. A slight rustling. Paper. The pages of a book. He is not alone. He manages to not physically tense, though his senses go on high alert. A throat clears. A body shifts. Silence. Another page turns. He waits, needing more information before he can act. And yet he is prepared to react swiftly, should an attack come without warning.

He is alive. Despite his attempt to appear confident, he had known there was a chance that the plan would not work, that the Dark Lord would order his body immediately destroyed or that the poison would irreversibly work its way through his system before Lucius could administer the antidote. But his initial plans had gone awry, and he had had no choice left but to place his hopes in his last tenuous possibility of success. A long shot, but a risk well worth taking to save Potter…

Potter. A buzz of panic shoots through his body, quickly overridden by rational thought. Wherever he is, the boy is not here. First step: determine what this room is, who is in here with him. Second step: determine Potter’s location. Third step: develop a plan to get from this room to Potter. Fourth step: don’t fail. Don’t die. Don’t let Potter die.

If only plans were ever so simple.

“You are a good spy, Severus,” a familiar voice breaks the silence, “but I know you far too well to be deceived by your sleeping act.”

Lucius.

He opens his eyes without hesitation. He is in a small room. Unfamiliar. Unassuming. A cottage, perhaps, but large enough to have an interior room without windows. Lucius sits in an armchair with a book opened in front of him, eyes skimming over the page with a practiced air of boredom. Severus is not fooled. He knows Lucius far too well for that. The man is agitated, uncertain. He is not reconsidering his choice, but he regrets having had to make it.

It is that familiar well-disguised agitation, at least, that assures him that Lucius is himself, not an impostor.

“You managed to smuggle me out,” Severus says and hates the telltale rasp of his tired voice. He sits up slowly, his muscles screaming at him to stay still, but he has far too much practice ignoring his body’s complaints to begin to listen to them now. “You have my gratitude.”

Lucius waves a few graceful fingers in the air. “Draco would have my head if he had to start all over with a new Head of House,” he drones in his supercilious way. “I do so abhor family discord.”

Severus accepts the deflection. It is their way. To openly acknowledge anything in the way of a friendship that is tenuous at best would complicate matters. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere the Dark Lord will not think to look.” Lucius gives up on the book, tossing it aside on the small table next to his chair. He studies Severus for a long moment, and Severus lets him. Neither of them are men to be pushed. Their mutual understanding of that fact has been key to their ability to work together almost seamlessly for so many years. “I underestimated the boy’s faith in you.”

So did I, he adds silently but has better sense than to say it out loud. Lucius has too many misgivings already. Potter’s unexpected show of loyalty has swayed the man into a decision, though he is still wary of Dumbledore, still wary of the Order. But what is his alternative? Severus can see the gravity of the man’s choice in his eyes. He has too much at stake, too much riding on this. And, now decided, Lucius will not turn back from his chosen path.

He loves his family too much to risk it.

And that is the crux of the matter, isn’t it? That is where the Dark Lord underestimates not only his enemies, but his followers - particularly those of his inner circle. He fails to predict the impact of love on their decisions. And on their loyalties. He assumes them to be like himself. Creed above all else. Loyalty to the cause. Loyalty to himself. He fails to take into account the love of a man for a woman, a father for a son, a brother for a sister.

That failing cost him Severus’s loyalty so many years ago, when Lily was threatened. And now, with Draco nearing the age of service to an increasingly unstable and murderous Dark Lord, that same failing is costing him Lucius’s loyalty as well. The man’s doubts had been warring within him since the moment he escaped from Azkaban to be “welcomed” back to the fold with torture and distrust. Severus had only had to prey on those doubts. Doubts of his position within the Dark Lord’s ranks, doubts of his son’s future, doubts for his wife’s safety. Doubts that the rumors of the prophecy surrounding Harry Potter may be true - that the boy perhaps really did have some hidden quality foretold to bring about the end of their master. Doubts that the Dark Lord might even bring about his own end by his increased erraticism. If the Order wins this war, the best outcome Lucius can possibly hope for is a lifetime in Azkaban, and with it the inability to protect his family from the fallout. If, on the other hand, the Dark Lord prevails, he will watch his only son be conscripted into the service of a creature, more monster than man, who will bend his will to his own until little of Draco Malfoy remains. If Draco lives that long.

Neither option is quite so palatable as appealing to the Order for protection and clemency. Severus is no simpleton; he knows that Lucius’s loyalty will never shift so far as to embrace the Order’s ideals or to become Dumbledore’s new full-time spy. He is, however, counting on one incontrovertible fact: Lucius’s love for his family is greater than his loyalty to the Dark Lord. As Severus himself is still alive, his gamble has obviously paid off.

“How long have I been unconscious?” he asks.

“Two days.” Lucius smoothly crosses one leg over the other, appearing relaxed to anyone less observant than Severus…which includes nearly everyone. “Your body took longer than expected to expel the poison. Most likely due to your injuries.”

“I don’t suppose you thought to heal some of them,” Severus growls, testing out the limited movement of one arm and then the other. He knows that it would be risky to take too many healing potions with the poison in his system, but he is in pain. And when he is in pain, he lashes out. More so than usual, that is.

Lucius motions dismissively at Severus’s body. “Inadvisable with such a poison as the one I gave you, Severus. As you well know. However, I managed a nerve reparation spell before you awoke. Combined with pain potions and a bit of time, it should suffice until you are back at Hogwarts and able to be seen by that dowdy mediwitch Dumbledore employs.”

He does the math. Today is the 30th of August. In two days’ time, the Hogwarts Express will relay its students to the school to begin a new term. Albus will no doubt be making arrangements for Severus’s Potions class, though that is among the least of his concerns. The headmaster will be worried, but he will not have given up hope. Not yet. He must be informed of developments. He must also be informed of Potter’s discovery about the Weasley boy.

“I require parchment and an owl.”

Lucius nods. “Of course.”

Severus rises from the bed, testing his feet and then his legs. He aches everywhere, unable to move without pain, but he can walk. If he can walk, he can find Potter. “Where is the boy?”

“Under guard,” Lucius says shortly and rises from his chair. He would never say so out loud, but Severus knows that he abhors being towered over by an inferior. And as much as Severus has shown his worth, has proved his mettle and his intelligence in Lucius’s eyes, the wealthy pureblood would never go so far as to consider a low-born half-blood his full equal. Severus stopped openly displaying his bitterness about such slights long ago. Lucius always has been and always will be a condescending prat. That will never change. But he does wonder, not for the first time, how much Lucius knows of the Dark Lord’s own origins. Their conversations have never quite strayed there. Severus had had a cover to protect, after all.

But such thoughts are of no benefit to their current predicament. He waves an impatient hand. “Where is he being kept? Who guards him? How many? I trust you know when the guard changes.”

“So eager,” murmurs Lucius patronizingly. “With every day that passes, the Dark Lord becomes more certain that the Order has no way to attempt a rescue. In time - a few weeks or months, perhaps - he will relax his guard even further. Someone will make a mistake. I’ll be there when they do, disguised, of course, and-”

“I’ll be there,” Severus interrupts, “and I see no benefit in allowing prolonged access to the boy and his blood.”

“You do know that it would be simpler to leave things to time and my-”

“I’ll see him for myself,” he insists. He knows that a one-man, inside-job rescue may be less detectable in theory, but his trust in Lucius only goes so far. And this is his responsibility. He turned his back on the boy when his protection was most needed. He thinks his nightmares might always be haunted by the memory of that day. The pull of the ring, followed by an immediate flare of anger that Potter would dare use it only to plead his self-centered case - even while he answered its call - followed closely by the flurried confusion of a fading, snake-bit Lupin. Horror as a familiar-looking snake carefully pushed Potter’s abandoned wand into his line of sight. He put together the pieces quickly then, ran through all possible scenarios, despite Lupin’s inability to be questioned or Legilimized. It hadn’t been strictly necessary to stun the incapacitated man, but it gave him great satisfaction to do so. He had briefly considered leaving him to die, but both Dumbledore and Potter would no doubt have frowned on such an action. Noble, self-righteous Gryffindors. And so he left the werewolf to Kneader’s care and resigned himself to the man’s likely recovery.

He rubs his aching temples at the memory of the fruitless search that followed, of the guilt that had settled deep in his chest and the horror of knowing who had the boy…of knowing what they would be doing to him. And most unsettling of all, the worry. He is Severus Snape, logical professor, skilled spy, and one of the most highly regarded Potions masters in all of Europe. He isn’t supposed to worry over the wellbeing of insufferable teenagers. And yet he cannot categorize the unfamiliar feeling in any other way. Merlin forbid he has gone soft. And for Harry Potter, of all people. The boy has always weaseled his way into places where he didn’t belong. He wasn’t supposed to weasel his way into Severus’s affections. Severus doesn’t even have affections.

Or so he’s always thought.

Regardless, when they find the boy, he will be there. He shoots Lucius a look that insists he get his way, and the man answers with a nod. He walks slowly but proudly past Lucius to the door, needing to use the facilities, write a missive, and fill his stomach with food and water. Quickly, though. They have much to discuss, much to plan. His lapse in judgment got Potter into this mess; it is his responsibility to get him out.

“The Dark Lord believes you to be dead. That will work to our advantage.”

“Yes. However did you manage that?” asks Severus between steady spoonfuls of broth. He can guess at Lucius’s methods, and he would most likely be correct, but he prefers to hear for himself. “He was angry enough to have demanded my body destroyed immediately.”

Lucius shrugs from across the small table, and it annoys Severus, as it always does, that it adds to his sophisticated air rather than distracting from it. “I had another body waiting in the wings. Your little boy caused quite the commotion. A few well-placed spells of distraction as he was subdued, allowing for a substitution spell, etcetera.” He lifts an eyebrow from across the small kitchen table. “You are not the only wizard skilled in the art of subtlety and deception, you know.”

He unwraps each piece of information in his mind. Body. Commotion. Substitution. He requires clarification on all points.

“Whose body?” Murder is as good a place to begin as any.

“Crabbe,” Lucius says casually. “A few alterations, an appearance duplication charm combined with a mimicry spell for your clothing and injuries, and he made for a quite adequate and dead Severus Snape. Our lord was too distracted by both victory and anger to believe he could have been fooled again so soon.”

“You killed Crabbe.” It does not surprise Severus, but it is unfortunate. When Lucius had agreed to help him infiltrate the Dark Lord’s stronghold - albeit with no further offer of assistance at the time - they had together captured and sedated Crabbe. Murder had not been on the agenda. He has no soft spot for the man or his son, but as the latter’s Head of House, he may be forced to provide some semblance of sympathy. Highly inconvenient, as he himself played a part in events leading up to the man’s death.

“He saw too much,” Lucius says without apology. “If he had not glimpsed my involvement, perhaps he would have lived. As it is, I could not have him informing the Dark Lord of my betrayal, now could I?” Lucius smirks. “Do not tell me that the Order has completely overwritten your moral code, Severus. His would hardly be the first death in service to our ends.”

No, he admits to himself. No, Crabbe’s was only one in a line of deaths he could feel responsible for. He had been careful to limit the cost of this war, but it was war, after all. Not all deaths could be avoided. Some could, but not all.

“His death could have been avoided,” he points out, more for himself than for Lucius, but Lucius waves the comment away. Having already justified the necessity of his actions to himself, he does not need Severus’s approval. And while Severus does not, in fact, approve, he knows it is useless to quibble over a corpse. He moves on.

“And after my ‘death’?” he asks and takes a sip of water. He has only managed to eat a small amount of broth, but it was enough to satiate his hunger. The water soothes his parched throat. “You mentioned a commotion.”

Lucius leans back, amusement in his eyes. “As you well know, Severus, I had my doubts about the boy and his faith in you, of all people. It seemed highly unlikely, considering the tales of your interactions I hear from Draco, but I freely admit that I was mistaken.”

“Get to the point,” Snape growls. He wants information, not exposition on the boy’s admittedly remarkable capacity for loyalty.

“You did not mention that you had grown close with the boy,” Lucius summarizes his point and looks at him expectantly…much like a vulture would eye its dying prey.

Severus takes a measured sip of water. He knows to tread lightly. Lucius may be willing to turn on the Dark Lord in exchange for amnesty and protection, but he will never turn honorable. If the man surmises that Severus and Potter are close in any substantial way, he will tuck that information away for later use, should Severus one day become an adversary. It has served him well thus far to have no loved ones, no one who could be used by his foes to get to him. It would not do for Lucius to put Potter into that category. Not that Potter falls into that category. Or does he..? No. No, of course not. But...he does fall into a category, does he not? The boy has managed to inch his way into Severus’s life in a way he has no understanding how to categorize. He has no past experience by which to measure what the boy means to him, no lens through which to gauge their relationship.

All he knows is that the thought of Lucius using Harry Potter in service of a plot against Severus has him reconsidering his stance on unnecessary murder.

“And what brings you to such a conclusion?” He knows better than to confirm it but also better than to outright deny it. He casually takes another sip of water.

Lucius smiles. “I trust my own eyes, Severus. Perhaps you would like to see what I saw in that clearing? I am certain my cousin Roderick has a Pensieve we could utilize. Hmm. No? Very well then. It might have moved you to tears to see Potter’s display as you ‘died’ before him. He overpowered all of us for a brief time, the Dark Lord included. Such power, such mindless rage. Such depth of feeling…such inconsolable grief.” His smile deepens, and with it the predatory glint in his eyes. “And all for you.”

“He overpowered the Dark Lord?” he asks, brows raised, though he is less surprised about that than about the boy’s strong reaction to his supposed death. He had clearly underestimated the degree to which he would be affected. He had known the boy would react, of course, had hated himself for the pain he had been about to put him through. The boy himself had told him of his greatest fear, after all - the death of those around him, and of feeling responsible for those deaths - and he had known the boy would blame himself. But he justified his choice to himself, as the response needed to be genuine. The Dark Lord could not suspect Severus of subterfuge, as would have resulted from a less than convincing reaction by Potter. And he convinced himself that all would be well in the end. The boy would know the truth before long. Still, he wonders if knowingly putting Potter through that ordeal is one more thing he will forever look back upon with shame.

Despite his attempts to deflect, he knows the look in Lucius’s eyes. He will not easily be persuaded to abandon his idea that Potter and Severus share a bond. To deny it would only add to his certainty. And Severus cannot trust himself to adequately deny it. The boy has unsettled him over these past weeks. He has found himself reconsidering past certainties, uncovering new realities, and taking an active interest in the welfare of James Potter’s son…of Lily’s son…of a boy who has somehow managed to be so much like his mother and yet so much his own person. And now, presented with incontrovertible proof that Potter has grown attached to him in ways he was never meant to do…an attachment that he shouldn’t have been capable of forming, considering their past…

He is mentally and emotionally drained, and he wonders if it would be so for a normal person. No doubt his heart is atrophied from lack of use. He had never expected to pull it out from the cobwebbed corners of his body, much less to put it to use again, and lately every day in Potter’s company brings a new struggle between his shrunken heart and the walls he has carefully erected around it. He’d thought they were impenetrable, and then the boy had to do the unthinkable and forgive him. The nerve. The audacity. The…the generosity, the pureness of spirit. He would not have been capable of such forgiveness. He doubts that even his beloved Lily would have done so. That such capacity exists in the heart of a sixteen-year old boy whom he had actively derided and hated for so many years is perhaps the most humbling realization of his life.

But then the boy compelled him with those ridiculously innocent green eyes to admit to things that he’d sworn never to tell a living soul. He had admitted…things. Personal things. About himself, about Lily. That the boy did not mock him, as he had braced himself for - that he had almost wished for, in a familiarly twisted, self-loathing sort of way - was perhaps the greatest gift he could remember receiving. But still…knowing that his confession is known to someone outside his own soul makes him feel bared, naked, vulnerable. He loathes feeling vulnerable. And he is fairly certain he would not have allowed himself to become so if he hadn’t seen his death looming in front of him.

But he didn’t die, did he? And neither did Potter. He cannot help the overwhelming feeling of dread that courses through his body at the realization that Potter knows. Potter knows and they both live.

It occurs to him that Obliviating a student is a fireable offense. Punishable by a stint in Azkaban.

He thinks it might be worth it.

No, even while he thinks it, he knows he will not do it. He mentally curses both Dumbledore and Potter for causing him to care about not violating their trust. Noble, self-righteous Gryffindors, rubbing off in the most irksome of ways. But…but also…surprisingly, there is a feeling of freedom in knowing that his secret is out and the world did not crumble around him. He never imagined that it would not. And, never foreseeing such an impossibility as forgiveness from Potter, he likewise never foresaw that the inevitable dread and the vulnerability could be offset by a deep feeling of relief. He is not wholly unburdened…but he feels lighter than he did before. Lighter than a man like him has a right to feel.

But he has learned to compartmentalize, learned to show only what he intends to show to the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, and so his thoughts remain hidden. Lucius searches his face but finds no answers. And the man never did take the time to learn Legilimency. Not that it would have served him well when up against Severus’s well-trained mind.

With a final smirk, a show of annoyed defiance rather than of victory, Lucius abandons his line of questioning and allows the deflection. “The Dark Lord was not rendered unconscious, but he was incapacitated for a time. I do not know what the Potter boy did to him, but it caused him pain.” There is a question in his voice. Lucius wants answers, but he is intelligent enough to know that he is not likely to get them.

Severus mentally scoffs, setting his mind back on track. He is in possession of very few answers himself. Once he retrieves Potter and ensures that he is safe from further capture, he will give in to worries - there is that increasingly familiar concept again - of what such bursts of power mean for the boy, what it means for the stability of his magical core or the connection that he shares with the Dark Lord. But it will not do to dwell on such things yet. Retrieve him now. Look for answers later.

“He is still utilizing Potter’s blood?”

Lucius inclines his head. “It has been taken only once since the ceremony. He seems content for now. With you out of the picture, he is no longer overly anxious. He does not believe anyone else in the Order capable of locating him, and he has reduced the guard accordingly. One man outside the door. Four sentries at the exterior of the manor. In addition to the wards.”

“Yes. The wards,” Severus murmurs absently. He rubs his hand across several days’ growth of stubble on his face. It only serves to remind him that time will not stand still while they talk and plan. He has already sent off a coded letter to Albus. And he has assessed the state of the boy’s captivity through Lucius.

It is time for action.

Not rash action, but a plan of action. He will not allow the Dark Lord any more access to Potter than he has had already. And he refuses to see the boy process that he has lost any substantial amount of time to the potion that Severus himself developed. So they will act. As soon as…

“When do you take your turn as guard?”

Lucius scoffs. “Do you think me so daft as to allow you to take him on my watch? No. If I am to help you, then I will also benefit from the arrangement.”

“You are benefiting from the arrangement,” Severus points out dryly. “That is the entire point.”

Lucius shrugs his annoyingly aristocratic shrug and leans forward, a glint of pure hate in his eyes. “I have another, more immediate benefit in mind.”

Ah. Severus smirks. “Bellatrix,” he guesses. Her place as the Dark Lord’s most trusted follower was assured the instant Lucius fell from grace at the Department of Mysteries. It was solidified after the discovery of Severus’s betrayal. Lucius could stomach Severus outshining him for a brief time - he, at least, is worthy of a professional respect - but he must be seething at having been replaced by such an uncouth sycophant as Bellatrix Lestrange. His snobbish sensibilities have no doubt been reeling all summer.

Truth be told, Severus also would not object to knocking the odious woman from her position of favor. Her eyes are as sharp as her tongue, while her moral compass is duller than a teaspoon. Not that he has anything to brag about there. But he does have some principles…and the thought of bringing her low does not contradict a single one. He remembers her taunts to Potter, the way she brought his Lily into it, and his eyes narrow. He also pulls up the memory of another Death Eater, a full-grown man, kicking a defenseless boy, of the helpless feeling of watching as that same man later dragged the boy from his sight, to do who-knows-what to him, and rage boils beneath the surface.

He nods. They are in agreement. Just one more thing… “I don’t suppose Nott will also be on duty?” he asks smoothly.

Lucius smiles.

Dumbledore responds to the letter immediately, as Severus knew he would. The headmaster’s relief is apparent even through his brevity. Details will wait. For now, he trusts Severus to see to Potter while he sees to the Weasley boy and the start of term.

“The masking and concealment wards are of no concern,” Lucius interrupts his thoughts, studying a rudimentary sketch he has drawn of the manor’s grounds. “Obviously. I can get us to the manor. Nothing can be done about the anti-Apparition wards. As for the rest, he has relaxed some in light of your ‘death,’ and I can easily dismantle or bypass others, as I helped to put them in place. There is only one other protection we need concern ourselves with: the Mind Link Spell.”

Severus absently toys with his wand, newly returned to him by Lucius. He is grateful to have it back, even more grateful to find that the enchantment placed upon it was simple to break. Holding his own wand after so long is empowering. He feels whole again, powerful, ready to engage in battle. “All of the guards will be linked then?”

Lucius nods. “If one sees us or is taken down, the rest will instantly know.”

His fingers still on the wand. “Which means that we need to take them out simultaneously unless we want to risk them summoning the Dark Lord.”

“May I remind you, there are two of us and five of them,” points out Lucius, though he manages to sound unconcerned by their disadvantage. “I may be a highly skilled wizard, but I have not yet mastered the art of being in two or three places at once.”

“Pity.”

Lucius leans back in his chair, considering. “We could impersonate two of our ranks not on duty. Fool some of them into congregating.”

Severus is shaking his head before his companion finishes speaking. “Using Crabbe was risky enough. The Dark Lord may think me dead, but he still fears the possibility of further betrayal. He will have taken steps to ensure what I did does not happen again so soon.” He does not say that he also does not wish to be responsible for the possibility of more bodies being left in Lucius’s wake. Even if they are Death Eater bodies. Severus is capable of murder, but he does not wish to be party to it. He prefers to leave the killing to battle.

Lucius narrows his eyes. “I will not be present as myself on the night that Harry Potter is spirited away. I do not have a death wish.”

“Perhaps you should not be present at all,” retorts Severus. He continues before Lucius can argue that point. “You will see to the wards and wait for me near the Apparition boundary. I will attempt to retrieve Potter without alerting the guards to my presence. Should I fail, I will endeavor to cause a sufficient enough distraction for you to complete the task. A simple Disillusionment Charm should suffice, with their attention diverted, and if you work quickly enough. They will not suspect that I am not working alone, and they may be far too thrilled to have thwarted me to call for the Dark Lord before they’ve had their fun.”

“And precisely how do you intend to sneak past five guards?”

“I only need bypass two if I select the most advantageous entry point.”

“Three,” corrects Lucius. “Perhaps even four. A guard is posted at either side of the manor, another posted at the door to the cellar where the boy is kept. The fourth and fifth guards will be making their rounds around the perimeter, and occasionally through the hallway to the cellar. Random, to prevent possible intruders from predicting their whereabouts.”

Severus narrows his eyes. “That complicates matters.”

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Lucius drawls in a way that brings Draco to mind, and he returns to his map, outlining the path to the boy’s prison for Severus to follow. Sometimes, at the most random of times, Severus is taken aback by how alike father and son are. Draco hero-worships his father, emulating him in as many positive ways as negative. It is as far from the relationship Severus had with his own father as he can possibly imagine. He did adopt many of the elder Snape’s personality traits, he admits, but never on purpose. He more often went out of his way to prove to himself and to the world that he was nothing like the man. It had been easy for him to assume that all happy boys - boys he categorized as having had a Malfoy rather than a Snape upbringing - had an inclination toward paternal emulation.

Even an orphaned Potter boy.

One of his many mistakes was in assuming Potter to be a happy child. He is more happy than his childhood has given him cause to be, but Severus can now see in the boy’s mind what he had prevented himself from seeing before…the same thing that he had all too often seen reflected in the mirror from his own eyes before he’d grown up and accepted that happiness was not to be his lot in life.

Longing. Longing for family, for acceptance, for belonging. For love.

He thinks even the boy himself does not realize how intricately those emotions are tied to nearly every thought, memory, or decision that passes through his mind. Longing for what he has never had is so natural to him, like breathing, that he forgets he is doing it most of the time.

He did not expect to have to consciously harden himself against the boy through the course of their Occlumency lessons. It had been his natural state for so long, and that it would suddenly take effort to keep it up was an unfamiliar concept. But the things he has seen in Potter’s mind…things about himself… He had been startled - frightened may be more apt - by the revelation that Potter could see him that way, could see him as a protector, as someone to cling to when he needed comfort. He has never been that for anyone, doesn’t know how to be that for someone, and he had not known what to do with that knowledge.

Potter has begun to frighten him as little else has been able to do, even more so now that he cares what happens to him. Yes, he can admit that much to himself. He cares not only what happens to him bodily, but what happens to his spirit. And ironically, now that he can stomach to be around him - has found himself enjoying Potter’s company, even - he realizes that to encourage their newfound closeness to continue will only harm the boy’s spirit. Severus does not know how to comfort or to heal, only to hurt. Potter would only emerge damaged in the end. The boy should already know that, and yet he remains naive to the reality before him. It is up to Severus to protect the boy. It is up to him to pull away. His hope is that he can do so naturally, without Potter objecting or feeling the brunt of his withdrawal. After they are safely back at Hogwarts, the boy will return to his friends and his routine. Dumbledore will take on his instructions in the mental arts, and he will be surrounded by numerous far less damaged professors. Severus will continue to protect him from the shadows, but Potter will find someone else to worry over him, to care for him, and to help him to heal. He will not forget what he has learned about Severus, but he will keep what he has learned to himself. Though little should surprise him anymore, Severus is shocked to discover that he trusts the boy to do so.

He wonders when the sky began to fall and why the earth is still spinning as if nothing had changed.

In the end they settle on stealth rather than force. As satisfying as it would be to take out Nott and Lestrange, they stand a better chance of getting the boy out alive if no one knows they are there. The Death Eaters will be unlikely to expect a silent, undetectable foe, and with Lucius’s knowledge of the wards and Severus’s aptitude for stealth - not to mention his knowledge of the Death Eaters’ psyches and weaknesses - silent and undetectable they will be.

To personally take down the two detestable Death Eaters would have been thoroughly enjoyable, but it is no small consolation that the Dark Lord will be more furious at his followers if they are outwitted rather than overpowered.

It does not help Severus’s state of mind that they must wait. Days pass, then a week, before the Dark Lord has relaxed his presence at the manor, the appropriate guards are on duty, and Lucius is willing to dismantle what wards he can without being detected. While it does allow Severus’s body to begin to heal, his patience is at its breaking point. He does not know which will give out first: the creaky wooden floorboards from his pacing or the scratched surface of the table from his finger tapping. He breaks a cup - a ridiculous floral teacup with irritatingly chipper-looking birds - and feels marginally better.

The school year has begun, he realizes. It has started without him, and he feels pity for Potter having to begin one of the most intensive years of his studies by playing catch-up to his classmates. He passes some of the time by devising a study schedule for the boy that he will no doubt hate. The silver lining is that word will have reached the Dark Lord that Potions classes have been delayed. He will naturally assume that Dumbledore has yet to find a replacement for Severus - or even that the headmaster does not yet know the fate of his Potions professor - and the reminder that he is dead will lift the dark wizard’s spirits. His followers will follow suit. High spirits equal less vigilant guards.

It is an advantage that he will gladly use.

He has been stuck at the cottage for far too long, sequestered with his thoughts. The chance of being seen, of his survival being reported, is something he is not willing to risk until after Potter is safe, and so he stays hidden. Lucius leaves for long stretches of time. He must, in order to see to his family and to display to the Dark Lord that nothing is amiss. It occurs to Severus to ask if Draco thinks him dead, but he finds that he cares little for the answer and refocuses on plans for the upcoming rescue. It is not that he cares nothing for Draco. He has known the child since his birth, after all. The boy has much to learn about life and prejudices and self-control, but he is intelligent and a fair hand at Potions. There is even a sense of pride when Draco excels at something Severus has taught him. No, it is not that Severus cares nothing for the boy’s wellbeing; it is that Draco has no need of it. He has a mother to coddle him and a father to keep him in line. He has no practical use for Severus’s sympathies. As he is not a man to extend his energies where they are not needed, he rarely wastes them on the younger Malfoy.

He resumes his pacing, and his mind returns to thoughts of Potter. So often, to thoughts of Potter. And of Lily, but mainly of Potter.

Over and over he paces, sits, taps fingers, and ruminates on all things Potter and plans and stealth and how to catch up his Potions students to where they should be by the end of term and how to keep Potter on track with his schoolwork while extricating himself from his life and his confusion that he should feel so conflicted at the thought of extricating himself from the boy’s life. It is for the best, he knows, and yet he finds himself regretting the necessity of doing so, and he is frustrated by such thoughts, for they make no practical sense. He knows why it is necessary, and he typically has no trouble acting on decisions that are necessary. He breaks the annoyingly bright saucer that matched the teacup - on purpose this time - but the distraction lasts for a moment before his thoughts and pacing and finger tapping continue…

Until finally, it is time.

“I see him,” Severus whispers before Lucius can point out where Pettigrew slouches in the darkness outside the front door to the manor. He doesn’t know what the Dark Lord is thinking, putting that imbecile on guard duty, but it is telling that he is guarding the front door, not the back where an infiltration is more likely. The Dark Lord has chosen this lair well, for there is no other access point that can be easily breached from the outside. The windows are too high, the landscape in between the front and back entrances too thorny and overgrown to allow for stealth.

Granted, it is risky to waltz in at the front door, but they agree that Pettigrew is the easier target. Unfortunately, the other guards appear to know this as well, as the roaming sentries make it a point to check on the access point frequently.

Lucius slinks back, a dark cloak disguising him adequately even before he withdraws into the darkness of the trees. He has determined the locations and identities of the guards on duty, and he has dismantled what wards he can. His part is done until Severus returns with the boy…unless, of course, Severus fails.

No, he will not fail. He cannot fail.

He crouches low in his black robes, waiting until a sentry passes before he slinks across a stretch of open ground and takes cover behind the shrubbery not far from Pettigrew’s post. He has been watching, and he knows that the sentries truly are operating in a random fashion. The one that passed - Grouen, a new recruit - could just as easily double back in seconds as make a full circle of the manor before reappearing. Severus remains as still as the crumbling statues in the abandoned garden nearby, waiting for the slightest sound of approaching footsteps. At least the sentries are not masters of stealth. It is ridiculous that the Dark Lord would not require that skill of more of his followers. It is one more indication of how cocky he has become. Cocky and paranoid - a conflicting and yet dangerous combination.

Pettigrew is yawning where he leans against the stone wall. He has a short attention span, something that works in their favor. If Severus knows him at all - and he does, having made it a point to study every Death Eater for patterns and weaknesses - he will soon be removing his wand from his cloak. He will begin to practice rudimentary spells, something he does only when he suffers from boredom and believes no one is near to see. It is no secret that Pettigrew’s grasp of magic is clumsy at best.

What will not work in their favor is the large door or the loud creak of its opening or the spell that links Pettigrew’s mind to the others. If Severus is to compel the witless rat to open it, he must ensure that the two roaming sentries are far enough away to give him time to enter before they respond.

He waits, not so much as twitching in the shadows of the manor, as endless moments and another sentry pass by. Pettigrew yawns again and finally withdraws his wand. Severus allows him time to feel comfortable before he inches his own wand from his sleeve, disillusions himself, and sends a silent spell toward the doors of the manor.

A low clink of sound echoes from within. Pettigrew freezes. The leaf he was attempting to levitate drops feebly to the ground. It does not have far to fall.

Severus waits several seconds before repeating the spell.

Even through the near darkness, Pettigrew’s nervousness is apparent. He shuffles his feet, darts his attention to either side of the doors, doubtless hoping for a sentry to appear to do his investigative work for him. He hesitantly inches his way toward the entrance and shakily cracks open a door. Another clink sounds and he flinches, but he must be buoyed by seeing nothing within, and so he opens it wide enough to enter. It creaks loudly on its hinges.

Severus is ready. Other than a small glance for the sentries, Pettigrew’s attention is not behind him, and so he does not see the distortion of light and shadows as the spy slides through the door and slinks into an unused room. He bides his time in the room as the sentries respond and, after a too-brief investigation, berate the simpering fool for overreacting to the typical sounds of the night.

The door closes. Severus is alone.

He wastes no more time. Following the path that Lucius has outlined for him, he turns first to the left and then to the right, and down a short flight of stairs until one more turn will bring him face to face with another Death Eater. He peers around the corner to be sure.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

She will not be distracted or complacent. She relishes any opportunity to prove herself to their lord. Unlike the sniveling Pettigrew, she will delight in the appearance of an enemy. A challenge, a capture - anything to make her evening more worthwhile and her master more pleased in her worth to him. If not for the Mind Link Spell, he would simply incapacitate her through a surprise attack. Or, if not for her shrewdness, he would distract her as he did Pettigrew. However, though it pains him to do something so lacking in creativity, he and Lucius have decided on a simple sleeping spell. The sentries will immediately head this way to wake her up, but Severus should have just enough time to retrieve the boy and hide near the stairs before they appear…assuming they are not already within the manor. And assuming they believe her to have naturally fallen asleep, not fallen under attack.

He takes a slow breath and flexes his wand hand. Easing around the corner, he sends a silent spell at the unsuspecting woman. She yawns, then scowls, then yawns again. Slowly, so slowly that she tries in vain to stop herself, she slumps to the ground, fast asleep.

He quickly rounds the corner and dives for the door. Taking the steps two at a time, he sprints the short distance toward Potter’s still form.

The boy looks like death. Eyes open and unseeing, pale body dressed only in dirty trousers. Even his feet are bare, and they haven’t bothered to clean him, but why would they? He is an object to them, a vessel to the Dark Lord. Bruises litter his body, but so faded after a full week as to be barely noticeable in the dim light from the open doorway.

Though he wishes to check the boy, or to at least wrap him in the safety and comfort of his robes - his pale skin is like ice - he does not linger. He only closes the boy’s eyes, includes him in the Disillusionment Charm, and gathers him into his arms. He holds him as closely as possible, willing the boy to draw warmth from his body. He marvels, not for the first time, at the boy’s lightness for his age, but this time he welcomes it, as it will allow for the speed necessary to escape.

He is out of the room, up the cellar stairs, and nearly to the end of the hall when he hears the sound of approaching footsteps. They are unhurried. Good. They have assumed, then, that she fell asleep of her own accord. Fools. The day Bellatrix Lestrange willingly allows herself to fall asleep while on guard duty, Severus will voluntarily hand himself over to the Dark Lord. He has only enough time to duck into the corner directly opposite the set of stairs leading from the hallway to the main floor before Grouen makes his way down toward him.

He stands perfectly still, calculating that Grouen, not yet alarmed by events, will not look closely into the darkness to see the distortion where he stands with Potter. His calculation pays off. Grouen turns, not once glancing into the corner, and makes his way to the softly snoring Bellatrix.

They have seconds before the Death Eater realizes that she cannot be woken and then checks the empty room for Potter. He silently places a foot on the bottom stair, then hears another sound. Additional footsteps come from above. Another guard is making his way to the stairs, and he knows that even without Potter in his arms, it would be risky to chance passing on the stairs. With Potter, it is impossible to do so undetected. He retreats back into the corner, quickly assessing his options. By the time the new guard reaches the bottom of the stairs, Grouen will have sounded the alarm. If he acts now, he can easily incapacitate the two guards, leaving only the two outside to be dealt with. One, not counting pathetic Pettigrew. He can easily take out Pettigrew. But the ratlike Death Eater is a coward; he is the most likely to call the Dark Lord at the first sight of an intruder. And Severus knows that he will not survive another encounter with his former lord. The dark wizard may even be unhinged enough by now to be willing to sacrifice Potter, should he be in their crosshairs.

He takes a chance and remains hidden, quickly readjusting Potter over his shoulder so that his wand arm is free. It is an uncomfortable balance of weight, but the boy is secure.

Sallow makes his way down the stairs. He appears as unconcerned as Grouen. Imbecile.

Nott is still above ground then. He was to be the second roaming sentry. He and Sallow must have switched. It is another reason to wait for a chance at further stealth. Nott is a more formidable foe than the other three men. He would be best taken out in a surprise attack. He and Severus are too evenly matched in a duel to make for a simple escape. Unless Lucius decides to make an appearance…

Lucius is so afraid to be recognized that Severus considers that likelihood a toss-up. Then again, the man may yet join the fray so long as he can be certain that the end result for those he faces is death. He thinks sardonically that he should have dragged Bellatrix outside as bait. Lucius wouldn’t be able to pass up a chance to get away with cursing her directly.

Sallow barely reaches the last step when Grouen raises the alarm. It is to the benefit of Severus, as the man’s eyes are immediately drawn to the hallway rather than to corner opposite the stairs. Sallow runs to the cellar - again, imbecile - and Severus darts up the staircase as quickly and as silently as he can. But he knows without seeing that he cannot escape the way he entered. Sounds echo through the manor, among them the creak and slam of the front doors.

He sprints as quickly as he can for the third door on the left of the hallway - where Lucius had indicated the old servants’ stairs would be located. He allows himself a single deep breath as he softly shuts the door behind him and makes his way carefully up yet another staircase, this one small, rickety, and curved into a tight space. He adjusts Potter, careful not to bump the boy’s head against the wall, and makes his way up gingerly, slower than he would like, for one misstep will result in either a loud creak or a splintered stair underneath his feet. The sounds of activity from below keep him moving. He ignores the pounding of his heart, keeps his breathing steady. He has lived through enough close calls to know how to keep his composure.

The second floor is abandoned, decayed and crumbled stone in places, and sounds of the alarmed guards echo from below. They will have realized by now that most of the wards have been compromised and that neither the intruder nor Potter’s location can be detected. He makes his way to the room at the end of the hall. He knows that time is of the essence, that they will assume him still in the manor and may call other Death Eaters to join the search before long. He can only hope that Pettigrew has been prevented from calling the Dark Lord. The others will not wish to be punished if they can find the intruder and the boy before their lord hears of their failure.

Reaching the room in one piece, he releases the Disillusionment Charm and lays the boy gently on the floor. He glances out the open window, careful to flatten himself against the wall, should eyes other than Lucius’s be peering up from below. Seeing no one and praying that no one is lurking out of sight, he sends a short burst of sparks from his wand - their agreed upon signal - and is immediately answered with a slight burst of wind from the trees where Lucius hides.

He knows that this is less than ideal, as most Plan C’s are apt to be, but he prepares Potter for an uncomfortable landing. Removing his robe, he wraps it tightly around the boy’s limp body. He cannot stop himself from brushing a grimy lock of hair from the boy’s forehead. It strikes him, as it always does when the boy is asleep in his presence, how innocent he looks. It is those times that bring to mind most clearly his vow to Lily to protect her son. It is also those moments when he realizes how vulnerable and young the boy truly is, that regardless who his parents may have been, he is merely a child in need of guidance and protection. His lips quirk up at the thought of the boy’s typical reaction to being called a child, and he refocuses on the task at hand.

He lifts Potter, shifting him only long enough to cast a Softening Charm on the thorny mess of vines below, and holds him flat against the front of his body as he flings himself out of the window, back first. The rubbery vines cushion his fall, but even a Softening Charm cannot prevent the multitude of thorns from piercing his skin or snagging on his clothing. Lucius is there in an instant, his disillusioned form only detectable by a distortion in the moonlight and the cutting way of vines with his wand. When he is close, Severus reluctantly hands over the boy.

A shout comes from above. A face peers out of the window and voices sound from the main entrance. The door creaks. Footsteps sound.

“Get him to safety,” he clips and Lucius flees to the woods, leaving him to cut himself free from the vines. He is for once grateful that the man is self-motivated, for it means that he will not put his or Potter’s safety at risk to help Severus escape. But Lucius does assist when it will not put himself at risk, and so Severus hears the sound of multiple bodies tripping over an invisible obstruction.

It gives him the time he needs to break free, but not to avoid a painful curse that knocks him off his feet. He rolls over, not missing a beat, and aims a barrage of answering curses toward the small grouping of Death Eaters. One hits its mark and a man falls unconscious to the ground.

“Surrender, Snape!” calls Nott. He has been seen. Without his dark robes, he is easier to see, easier to recognize. No matter. It was only a matter of time before the secret was out.

He answers with a muttered “sectumsempra!” but it is blocked.

He rolls to the side in time to avoid a Blasting Curse and jumps to his feet with a silent spell that hits its mark in Sallow, who has just arrived to join the fray and immediately crumples to his knees, screaming in agony as he clutches his burned arm. Grouen is the body on the ground, Pettigrew was there a moment before but is currently nowhere to be seen, and Nott faces him from a short distance away.

“Where are the rest of your friends?” Severus taunts. “Too cowardly to admit to them that you were outwitted by a dead man?”

Nott snarls and lets off a curse that is easily deflected. “They used to be your friends too.”

“Even you are not obtuse enough to believe that. Flipendo!”

Nott dodges the curse, inches closer through a volley of exchanged curses as Severus manages to back away a few steps closer to the trees.

“Where is the boy? Immobilus!” Nott quickly scans the area, and Severus knows that Lucius has not been seen, that he believes him to be working alone, Potter possibly lying on the ground somewhere close by.

Severus deflects the curse and smirks. “Can’t really kill me until you know, can you?”

Nott answers the question with another “immobilus!” proving his lack of imagination, but he has managed it quickly enough that it almost hits its mark. Severus dives to the ground just in time, and he barely shoots off a silent spell before his leg is grazed by a Stinging Hex. He counts himself fortunate that Nott is only trying to incapacitate, not kill, him. If Potter’s whereabouts were not in question, murder would definitely be on his agenda.

He raises his wand, a curse on his lips, when Nott goes suddenly still, dropping face-first to the ground. Severus drops his hand, breathing a heavy sigh. Thank Merlin for Lucius…this time, at least. He rises quickly and darts for the forest, but not before glimpsing Pettigrew through the shrubbery. The cowardly man looks directly at him, slinks away, and places his wand to his Dark Mark.

Severus ignores the searing pain in his leg and runs.

“The Dark Lord-” he gasps for breath as he reaches Lucius’s side just outside the Apparition boundary.

Lucius shoves the boy into his arms - still safely cocooned in Snape’s robes, still looking so damnably innocent. “We must go. Quickly. He will be summoning me shortly.” He Apparates away, leaving Severus to follow.

He does, but not before pulling the boy closer to him, absorbing the shock of Apparition, though the boy will not be conscious for it.

He has taken Potter back to the cottage. He had briefly considered bringing him straight to Hogwarts, or back to Kneader’s, but it is easier to tend to the boy here, where he has prepared the counter-potion and no Dark Lord will be sniffing about. Lucius is gone; he has Apparated home, no doubt, securing his wife’s alibi for his whereabouts and preparing himself to look as if he has just stepped out of an intimate evening party or some such gathering of the elite set.

Snape wouldn’t know about such things; the Malfoys would never think to invite him to a social event, and he is perfectly satisfied with that arrangement.

He lays the boy on his own bed, casting a warming charm over him and easing the robe from his body so that he can cast a cleaning charm over him. He will still want a shower once he awakens, but the grime is gone, the dried sweat and dirt and traces of blood vanished from his skin. Quickly, he spells the boy into clean clothes. He has none here but those Lucius has provided for him to use; they are large on the boy, but they are comfortable and they will do. He pulls several blankets over him.

The counter-potion takes less than a minute to administer, but the waking up process will be slow. The boy will be groggy, disoriented. Severus pulls up a chair for the long night ahead.

No sooner does he allow himself to breathe in the comfort of his success, than he grunts at a sharp pain in his left arm. Lifting his sleeve, he watches as the Dark Mark awakens and then settles into a slow, steady writhing. The pain dulls but does not stop, does not pass as it does when the forbidden name is mentioned. The Dark Lord knows that his wayward servant is alive, and he is now powerful enough to punish Severus for it every second of every day. He allows himself a moment to close his eyes and grit his teeth against the dull throbbing pain.

But a moment is all he allows himself. He has been in enough pain throughout his thirty-six years of life to know that distraction is the best treatment.

He writes a coded missive to Dumbledore. Informs him of his success, of Potter’s safety. Requests safe passage to Hogwarts in the morning. He then sits back. Studies the boy. The potion has already begun to take effect: the rise and fall of the child’s chest is more noticeable, even through the heavy blankets. He resists and then gives into the urge to brush another wayward lock of hair from the boy’s forehead. His hand lingers. Potter’s skin is still cold, but the blankets and warming charm are doing their work.

He looks so young and harmless, tucked under the covers in oversized pajamas, that Severus can hardly reconcile him with the boy who overpowered the Dark Lord, not once, but multiple times over his recent ordeal. It has been years since Dumbledore entrusted his Potions professor with the truth of the entire prophecy concerning the Boy Who Lived. He was honored by the trust, knowing that the headmaster did not bestow it haphazardly. Perhaps he considered Severus so intricately linked to the boy’s past and future by his vow that he thought it imperative for him to know. Or perhaps he shared it in another misguided attempt to prod Severus into taking a more active interest in the boy’s welfare. He does not know why it was shared; he did not ask. He only knew to feel the sense of duty that such trust requires of a recipient. He did not know to what the “power” of the prophecy referred, and the headmaster did not share his theories, but it is all he can think about in this moment.

For the first time, he allows himself to feel truly awed by the power newly contained in the boy. It was fear he felt when Voldemort began to grow stronger, but Potter’s power does not inspire fear; it inspires awe.

Scratch that. It does inspire fear, but not fear of the boy. No, fear for him. Power can corrupt. He has seen enough of the boy over the past month of paradigm shifts to believe the boy immune to the worst kinds of corruption, but no one is immune to them all. He will need guidance and perspective if he is to maneuver this new mysterious state of his magic. He will need supervision as he learns to navigate it, and he will need monitoring, lest he fall into the traps of guilt and self-condemnation that he is particularly susceptible to. Severus looks away from the boy as a familiar wave of self-loathing rolls over him. Yes, he knows better than most the bitterness that results when such emotions are left unchecked. It may be too late for him, but Potter is still young; his dangerous tendencies toward self-reproach can be yet curbed, can be guided into more productive avenues.

Merlin knows Severus is not the one to teach him how. If anything, he serves as a cautionary tale, an extreme example of the worst outcome of such tendencies. If he tried to take on such responsibility, he would likely only succeed in destabilizing the boy further. No, Dumbledore will guide him, or he will find someone who will. Severus will insist on it. He will keep an eye on the boy, but from a distance.

And he finds himself believing that, given the right guidance, the boy will prevail. He has a courage that Severus has always lumped in with his recklessness. He does possess recklessness - in abundance - but it takes true courage to not cower before an all-powerful Dark Lord, to hold onto his spirit in the face of merciless Death Eaters and no rescue in sight. He had been inexpressibly relieved when he’d seen the boy’s cheeky grin in that prison, and he wonders when that grin’s effect on him changed from revulsion to…not revulsion at all.

He shakes his head, but clearing his mind of such thoughts only serves to emphasize the burning in his arm. He scowls. It is the way of his life, is it not? He is accustomed to pain. He sometimes wonders if he would know how to function without it. Pain serves as a warning and as a motivation. It reminds him not to get too close to objects or to people, that both have a tendency to betray and to harm. It also reminds him that his life will likely not be long, and so he must do his duty as thoroughly and practically as he can in the time that he has.

Pain. Sometimes it is all he has, but it is those times when he appreciates it, for it serves to remind him that he is still alive. And if causing others to share in the pain will keep it fresh, will keep his heart beating, then that is often all the motivation he needs.

It hadn’t occurred to him that he would wake up one day to find that he had no desire to see the person in front of him in pain. Even Dumbledore, who had given him a second chance, and Kneader, who had helped him to heal just enough to grasp that chance, often bore the brunt of his need to lash out. Why is this boy somehow different? He is under no illusions: he will lash out again at the boy; he will cause him further pain - hence why it is necessary to extricate himself - but the pain it will cause to himself is of a different sort: the sort that does not serve to remind him that he lives, but rather serves to remind him that he is already more dead than alive.

He sighs and settles his eyes on the boy - on Harry - as his breathing eases from a cursed state into true sleep. He watches, waiting for the first sign of stirring, but he empties his mind of all thought and focuses on the pain.

He is alive, and the boy is alive, and as long as the former is true, he will ensure the latter continues to be true as well.