Harry felt himself being carried up stairs. He didn't remember seeing stairs in his time down in the dungeon, but he supposed they must have been there the whole time, enchanted so he could not see them. As Snape mounted the steps, Harry tried not to whimper. He didn't understand why he was so cold, but he felt utterly exhausted from the last few days. He had been at Snape's place only four days now, but it felt like a lifetime, and he couldn't remember ever feeling good or warm or happy or anything but miserable.

A door opened, and suddenly warm air swept over Harry, heating the parts of his body that were not crammed against Snape. But Harry said nothing - he did not even dare lift his head up to see what Snape looked like. He knew what he would see on Snape's face - bitter annoyance and anger at having to rescue the pitiful, pathetic, helpless Boy Who Lived so Everyone Could Hate Him.

They were on the bottom floor by now, but Snape did not drop him like Harry expected. The longer Snape held him, the more Harry clung to him. He dreaded the thought of Snape just letting go of him and Harry hitting the floor, cold and numb. The idea of such pain made Harry panicky, and he kept holding onto Snape's shirt tighter and tighter.

They were going up stairs, Harry getting slightly jostled with each step Snape went up. A few more paces, and Snape said coldly,

"Sit here, Potter, and try not to fall to the floor."

Harry found himself put down on a chair, not hard, just firmly with the intent of making him stay there. Harry could not imagine thinking of moving - he held onto the edge of the seat and stared blankly in front of him.

Snape leaned over the tub, stopping up the drain and turning on the water. While the faucet poured out, Snape turned to Harry and began to removing the tattered rags that were covered with dirt from the "dungeon". Snape's lips were pressed into a line and he seemed quite displeased, but he said nothing as he stripped Harry to his underwear. Harry moved to get off the chair, but Snape reached under his arms and picked him.

Harry felt only a twinge of aggravation that he was being carried around so much, but he let Snape take him to the tub and put him in the rising water.

The moment Harry felt the bath water, he sat straight up, clawing to get out.

"It's too hot!" he protested. "It's burning me."

Snape kept a hand on his bare stomach, holding him down in the tub. "It's room temperature - you just think it's hot."

Harry leaned back against the tub, tears welling up in his eyes. He could not stand the pain, but Snape would keep him in the water until he died. It was too much - too much for him to stand anymore.

"For goodness sakes," Snape growled as he snatched off Harry's glasses. "Here, put your hands up on the side. And here," he reached into the water and grabbed Harry's ankles, lifting them above the rim of the water, "your feet as well. They're the coldest, but they'll warm with the rest of your body."

Harry found himself able to stand the bath now that his hands and feet weren't on fire. He sank a little lower into the water, and he let out his breath when Snape started rubbing his feet. The man's potion-stained hands rubbed warmth into his feet, dipping them in and out of the water to acclimate them to the temperature.

Harry lay still for a few minutes, and then Snape started drawing hot water into the tub. It felt good, wonderful after being so cold, and even when Snape picked up a wash rag and the soap, Harry did not move, but stared listlessly.

Snape washed him without a word, cleaning the dirt from Harry's limbs and continuing to let the water out and refill it with warm water. After finishing washing, Snape hesitated, then said,

"All right, Potter, lift your face. Though I don't see any reason for all these tears."

Harry blinked - he did not know he had been crying until Snape told him, but sure enough, tears were leaking out of his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. Snape got a clean rag, wet it, and washed his face. The man's fingers were surprisingly gentle as he swiped over Harry's cheeks, careful not to hurt him, and Harry burst into real tears.

Sitting up in the tub, he leaned his head down and started to cry, deep wrenching sobs from the depths of his soul, tears flooding down his red cheeks, until his whole body shook. Then he started coughing, and he could not stop.

Snape unstopped the drain and reached under his arms to help him stand up. "Come on, Potter, let's get you into bed. All this fussing - you've made yourself sick. Always trying to get attention, aren't you?"

But Snape already had a towel and was rubbing him dry, helping him into clean underwear and his soft nightshirt. Snape didn't even bother with the buttons; he scooped Harry up and carried him into the small bedroom.

Still coughing and crying, Harry could barely make out his bed, but the moment he was set on it, he drew a shuddering breath that deepened his coughing.

"Stop it, Potter," Snape ordered, his voice tinged with frustration and worry. "You have to stop coughing. You can barely breathe as it is. Sit up, and try to get yourself under control."

It was so cruel, but Harry tried to do as Snape told him, sucking in one long breath after another.

"Little brat," Snape shook his head as he reached out and felt Harry's forehead. "You're burning. What possessed you to stay down there so long?"

"You put me down there," Harry croaked, his head aching fiercely, feeling dizzy from not enough air.

"Because you wanted to be down there," Snape retorted. "I thought you were playing in the dirt, grubbing about like a pig - not catching pneumonia like a simpleton."

"Why would I want to go down there?" Harry demanded hoarsely, tightening his hands around folds in the covers.

"Boys like playing in the dirt," Snape retorted. "You keep asking to play, so I assumed you were fooling about down there. Or being stubborn and refusing to call me. It serves you right, getting sick, for being such a burden."

Harry blinked, feeling tears crowding in his eyes.

"Oh, stop it," Snape snapped. "You're safe now, up here in your own bed with a pillow and warm covers, and I'll fix your cough though I am very tempted to punish you for being so much trouble."

Harry didn't know what to say, if anything, and he considered keeping on crying, but he felt strong hands pushing him back on the pillow and a second later the covers were pulled up.

"Get out of bed, and it will be a whipping," Snape told him, but Harry could not even think of moving.

His chest ached along with his head, he was freezing but hot at the same time, and he never wanted to open his eyes again. His last coherent thought was hearing Vampyr padding into the room and settling down by his bed.

------

Snape woke him a few hours later, in the evening, shaking him on the shoulder. Harry opened his eyes, and immediately he knew he was sick. Everything hurt, the fading light from the window was too bright, and he wanted to go back to sleep.

"Sit up," Snape instructed, helping him to slowly sit.

Peevish and cranky, Harry pushed against Snape's hands, actually striking the man's wrist to get him off.

"Potter," Snape growled, "I know you're sick, but that won't keep you from being punished if you disobey."

"I want to sleep," Harry protested, his voice heavy and drowsy. "Leave me alone."

"You have to take some potions," Snape told him, propping Harry up on the pillow against the headboard.

"I don't want potions," Harry said, almost whining. "I hate them, and you're going to poison me."

"No poisoning," Snape said, his voice nearly a promise.

"They're nasty," Harry sniffed, feeling even worse.

But he felt the rim of the vial against his lips and he reluctantly gulped it down. It was awful, but Snape held the vial to his lips until Harry had swallowed all of it.

Two more vials followed, and Harry wanted to wail from feeling so tired and sick and having to take gross potions. Why couldn't Snape leave him alone like his aunt and uncle did when he was sick, locking him in the cupboard and ignoring him until he recovered?

The moment Snape said he was finished, Harry ducked back down on the bed and pulled his pillow under his head.

"Go away," he told Snape.

"Your insolence knows no limits," Snape said somewhere above him. "Believe me, once you are sufficiently healed, I will work on your arrogance and your rebellion, you horrid - Potter, are you listening to me?"

No answer came from the boy. Snape glared down at him, those flushed cheeks and dark hair that stuck up at all angles despite being cut so short four days ago. It had grown a little too fast, typical of a wizard who doesn't like his haircut, even if another wizard cut it with a charmed razor.

He could shave the brat's hair of completely. Snape pulled his wand out, the word "Accio razor" on his lips. But he hesitated. He could always do it later, and after all, best to let sleeping brats lie.

"Bark if he wakes," Snape told Vampyr. "And if he pitches a fit, bite him."

Vampyr gave a high bark, almost a yelp of disapproval. Snape glowered at him and swept out of the room.

------

Snape woke him twice during the night to give him more potions. Harry didn't even open his eyes - he gulped down the filthy brew as quick as he could and went right back to sleep.

When morning came, Harry opened his eyes and stared up at the white blur of the ceiling. His throat still hurt, and his chest ached when he tried to breathe too deeply, but he was not quite as bad the night before. However, he had no intention of getting out of bed and being put to work again. The chores at the Dursleys were bad enough, but at least there they left him alone to work rather than hollering at him every minute and bullying him just for fun.

By the time Snape came down the hall and into the room, Harry had grounded his body in the bed and stared defiantly at the door. As the blur of Snape came into focus as he approached the bed, Harry declared," I'm not getting up."

He meant to sound cold and rebellious, but his voice was hoarse and he only sounded weak and tired.

"You're not getting up," Snape put his hand out to feel his forehead, but Harry jerked away.

"Don't touch me."

"Potter," Snape gave him a warning look, "I need to know if you still have a fever. Lean over so I can feel."

"No, I don't have a fever," Harry said in a low tone.

Snape reached out again, but Harry moved his head away.

"You will let me feel your forehead, or I will fetch a thermometer and do this the old-fashioned way," Snape ground out.

Any other time, Harry would have felt mortified at Snape suggesting such an embarrassing thing, but now Harry could only think that Snape would realize he didn't have a fever and make him get up, and Harry wanted to cry at the thought of dragging his exhausted body though so many chores.

Snape grabbed his arm and held him still while the other hand palmed his forehead. Harry squirmed, and Snape finally released him, declaring,

"Why are you fighting me? You're still warm, and I'm not fooled into letting you out of bed yet. You'll be staying up here today, and I better not hear any fussing."

It was relieving news, but Harry felt anger rise inside him.

"I hope you're happy," he flung the words at Snape, forcing his small voice to sound as cruel as it could.

"What?" Snape paused with a vial of potions in his hand.

"I'm sick," Harry cried out. "You wanted me to be sad and awful and terrible, and now I am. Are you happy?"

"Yes," Snape snarled, but Harry kept going.

"I tried to do what you wanted. You wanted me to be a workboy, and I worked all day, but it was too much and you got mad when I couldn't work enough. Then I was the schoolboy in the dumb clothes, and I tried to learn stuff, but you wouldn't teach me. Then I had to be your apprentice thing, and I couldn't get it right so you locked me in a dungeon which was only a cellar. I have done what you wanted, but you know what?" Harry raised blazing green eyes up. "You're really rotten pretender."

Snape blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You can't pretend anything right," Harry kept going. He knew he should stop but he had to get it all out. "The workboy bit was all right, I guess, but the schoolboy? You went back and forth between magic and the old timey stuff. And the apprentice was in the same room - not a real lab like at school, but the living room you changed halfway. The dungeon was a cellar. You're stupid when you try to pretend."

"Is that the best you can do?" Snape retorted. "Complain about my pretending? I kidnapped you, I spanked you, and you got sick - you aren't upset over all that?"

"I'm not happy about those things," Harry replied, "and you're going to be in trouble when Dumbledore finds out what you did."

"You think he doesn't know?" Snape shot back.

Harry's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest, Snape shoved the vial in, making him choke down the potion.

"You're wrong," Harry sputtered the moment Snape pulled the vial away. "Dumbledore would never -"

"Dumbledore would do whatever he had to do to ensure that people do what he wants," Snape hissed, leaning down closer to Harry. "Dumbledore sees ends, and he uses whatever means necessary to get those ends, and he will use anyone he can to do it."

Harry could not understand the venom in Snape's voice as he spoke about the headmaster, nor the look of rage on Snape's face as he went on.

"He will sacrifice whomever he has to, push whomever, kill whomever - all to fit his grand scheme. He makes those loyal to him promise to commit unforgivable sins, he twists truth all around, and he hires foppish novelists rather than relying on those who are loyal to him. Does that sound like a man who would care about you?"

"Dumbledore's not like that," Harry protested, aghast. What on earth was Snape talking about?

"How would you know? You've seen him for a year - some know him for a lifetime. A lifetime of cruelty and misery that he dismisses, and then has the nerve to blame me for choosing -" Snape broke off, looking both murderous and tortured.

"He's good," Harry insisted, feeling dizzy. "He's good - I know it. I - I -"

Harry clasped one hand to his forehead, fighting off sickness.

Snape straightened, his face dropping back into its expressionless mask. "I'm bringing you up some breakfast and strong tea," he announced bluntly. "Then you will nap for the rest of the morning."

He turned and disappeared into the blur of the rest of the room. Harry reached for his glasses, but couldn't find them beside the bed. He settled back against the pillows, his eyelids drooping with fatigue.

A low rumble came from the floor, and Harry saw the dark blur that must be Vampyr.

Rolling on his side, he spoke to the dog, "Hey, didn't know you were there. Did you stay there all night? Do you know what he's talking about?"

Vampyr rose and trotted over to the bed. Harry reached a hand out and the huge dog nuzzled against it once, before pushing Harry's hand back to the bed. Harry wasn't sure why Vampyr kept insisting he stay in bed, but he supposed the dog wanted to make sure he didn't fall out.

Snape brought back hot porridge and toast with strong tea and stood over him while Harry ate. Towards the end, Harry tried to push away the last of porridge, but Snape insisted, "Every bite, young man. You barely ate anything yesterday, and you need your strength. And some more tea."

Satiated with food and tea, Harry could not keep his eyes open, and they slid closed and he tumbled back on the pillows while Snape stacked the tray back up. Picking up the loaded tray, Snape motioned Vampyr to the door, and the dog got up, whining in protest.

"Come on," Snape snapped. "He's asleep - you can eat and come right back up."

The dog reluctantly got up and followed Snape out the door, but Harry didn't budge.

Later Harry woke to find his glasses beside his bed along with the five black iron figurines from the downstairs shelves. The dragon's wing had been fixed, and Harry eagerly reached for the toys, piling them onto the covers beside his bed. The moment his hands touched the black iron, the figurines began to move. He held the unicorn in one hand and the dragon in the other, and when he made them pretend to fight, the figurines actually began to move and struggle against each other.

Harry ended up sitting in the bed with his legs bent and apart. The covers draped over his knees, making his legs look like two sharp mountains. He placed the unicorn on one knee and dragon on the other. Then he brought his knees together slowly, and when they were a few inches apart, the two creatures started snarling at each other.

He tried to find a way to make all five of the animals fight together. The dragon and the bird-horse kept flying up to snap at each other, and he wished they would all have a grand brawl, all five struggling for domination.

"What are you doing?" Snape barked out, suddenly beside the bed.

Harry jumped, dropping the figurines on the covers.

"Who said you could play with those?" Snape demanded.

"They were by my bed," Harry told him, coughing slightly from the shock.

"They were for decoration," Snape grabbed the figurines and flung them to the floor.

Harry immediately rolled over to peer off the bed, afraid Vampyr might tear them to pieces. However, the dog appeared to have no interest in chewing on iron figurines. Harry leaned back, planning to reach out of bed and snatch the creatures back once Snape left.

Snape was fiddling with potion vials, and for the first time since Harry had come to the wretched house, he felt awkward in front of Snape. Not scared or worried or unhappy or angry, but just awkward. Over the last few days, Snape had been much closer than he had ever been at Hogwarts, and Harry was not sure how he felt about Snape taking care of him. Hurting him, humiliating him - Harry could fight against that, but Snape putting him to bed and making sure he healed . . . it was too bizarre.

"All right, Potter," Snape whirled to face him, "by tomorrow you should be ready to get out of bed. But since you insisted on pointing out my flaws, I have some new plans for our pretending."

Harry looked down glumly.

"From now on, we are going to pretend one thing, and pretend that thing until it becomes reality for you."

Harry wanted to ask what that thing was, but he could not imagine what absurd scenario Snape would choose next.

"From now on," Snape smiled, almost evilly, "we will act as a family."

"Huh?" Harry's mouth dropped open.

"From this moment on," Snape chortled, "you are my son, and I am your father. You will call me Father and treat me as such until you begin think of me as your father. How will that do for pretending?"