Severus was feeling along the lines of how Harry felt about the old asylum: he wanted to explore it on his own. But the hand gripping his right and the other gripping his left arm didn't allow him that pleasure. Lizzie's fingers squeezed Severus' as she peered around a corner and on the other side of him, Hermione's stopped any blood flow that was trying to get past his elbow. Ron was better with his fear, staying as close to Hermione as he could and never leaving Severus' sight, or, rather, never letting Severus out of his sight. They made their way up the stairs and through the hallways cautiously, climbing higher and higher until they reached the top floor and then inching their way back down. So far, there was nothing out of the ordinary, just a creepy building with creepy rooms and creepy beds and creepy chains.

"Oi, where do you think Harry got off to?" Ron asked. They made their way around another corner and when the large metal door to one of the bedrooms on the fourth floor shut by itself, the group jumped and even Severus felt his heart skip a beat. "Wind," Ron muttered, he made no move to detach Hermione from his arm; the door freaked him out pretty badly as well-but he was a man. A Gryffindor man at that! He showed no fear, he comforted the women, and he faced life's scares head on. If that meant he was able to hold Hermione's hand without it being obvious that he was just as scared as she was, well, then so be it.

"Merlin only knows," Snape mumbled. But, if he was honest to himself, he was starting to worry. They had not even heard a peep from the Boy-Who-Lived since he had vanished up the stairs and down the second floor corridor. Severus could see that the asylum was big, but it wasn't nearly big enough not to have had them run into Harry at some point.

They descended to the third floor with ease and walked through the hallway curiously. This, it seemed, housed the kitchen and the staff lounges and offices.

"We'll run into him at some point," Severus continued, silently hoping that he was right. Harry was a bona fide magnet of everything dangerous, so the last thing he needed was for some other mishap to befall on the boy. He didn't think his body could take another near tragedy concerning Harry; he was too damn old for this. Though, he would never tell Harry that. The teen didn't need any more ammo against Severus getting up there in years.

"We better," Hermione said, "I'll kick his skinny behind if he gets into any more trouble!"

"That makes two of us," Rom muttered as they pushed open the door to the stairwell at the end of the corridor.

"Should we go down and into the basement?" Lizzie asked, a touch of bravery only evident behind the layers of fear.

Hermione made a face. "I don't know. Maybe we should just wait for Harry in the foyer. This place is really frightening me."

"What's this?" Severus teased, "A Gryffindor admitting to being scared?"

Hermione shot him an incredulous look. "Sometimes being brave is admitting when you need to escape."

"This from one-third of the Golden Trio," Severus huffed, but his eyes were light. He took a glance at Lizzie and at Ron, seeing their fear easily and sighed. "All right, fine. We'll go back down to the entrance hall and wait for Harry there." Ron nearly fell over with relief.

"I'll admit I've seen some scary things with Harry and Hermione, but this, UGH! This takes the cake." Ron said, "We always more or less KNEW what we were up against. This is completely mental. Er, no pun intended. But we know NOTHING about this place."

"One of the largest fears anyone can have," Severus started as he led them down the back stairs, "is the fear of the unknown. Bigger men than you or I have been bested by the fear of what they didn't know."

"Thanks for calling me a man," Ron lightly joked. Severus just snorted.

They reached the front entrance hall and it was with a sigh that Severus sat down on the decrepit couch that was the only piece of furniture in the red room. He had been hoping that Harry was already there and waiting for them. He was almost able to see the boy bouncing on the balls of his feet with his green eyes twinkling, excited about the adventure he had just embarked on.

"Where the bloody hell IS HE?!" Ron snapped, twirling around as if Harry was hiding in one of the corners behind him.

Lizzie took a seat next to Severus on the couch, making a face as she did so. "It's WET." She grumbled, "You couldn't even cast a drying charm?"

"Now why would I do that when I can cast one on your arse when we get out of here?"

"Har har," she cheeked. "Only if I get to cast one on you."

"Only if you do it when not in front of Harry, Hermione, and I." Ron said, "We like this new Snape and all, but we draw a line at any spells involving his arse."

"Aw, but it's such a nice ass!"

Hermione snorted, "Still don't want to see it, Lizzie!" The group laughed, Severus' tinted with embarrassment; however, the joy was short lived. They fell into silence. Hermione was the first to speak after a long while, "Where is he?" She asked, her worry splattered across her face like paint.

Ron fidgeted, "He's in trouble. I know it."

"Now, stop, don't jump to conclusions, Ron. He could be fine and having a blast," Lizzie said softly.

"No, Liz," Severus started, agreeing with Ron, "This is Harry we're talking about." He was already moving to stand.

"Aw, Sev, have a little faith!"

"I do have faith! I also have brains!" He snapped, his own worry making him almost irritable. "You three stay here, DON'T move." With a warning glare that shut Ron and Hermione up on the spot, he stalked from the room, headed up the stairs, and into the direction that he had last seen Harry.

&&&

In the basement, however, trapped in a morgue cold box, Harry Potter gave up trying to use magic to get himself out of the drawer. It was obvious that Nickolas was holding it shut. There was nothing that Harry could do; he had banged on the door, screamed, and begged, but nothing seemed to sway the ghost that held him hostage. The last time he had checked his watch, he had seen that he had been imprisoned for over two hours and idly he wondered how much oxygen he had left. The air around him felt warmer by the minute and the pressure in his lungs started to intensify, to deepen. He had always saved everyone else, risked all he had for those he loved, but now, as the air around him became thick and Panic wrapped her greedy hands around his throat, Harry wondered: Who would save him?

He was exhausted from fighting; his arms hurting from the exertion of the banging he had pleaded against the door, his eyes feeling swollen and tired and he blinked, having had no recollection of crying. He was far, far too distraught to have noticed anything save for the door that was so tightly shut that no light could filter through. With a strangled sound that carved its way up his throat, he canceled the lumos on his wand. There was no use of light, not here and not anymore.

And so, slowly Harry let his head rest on his arm. The tears in his eyes turned their routes, slid across his nose, and down his left cheek. They pooled under his face, slipping down his arm and wetting the cold metal underneath his body. His warm and still very much alive body that lay, in a heaving mess, in a drawer meant only for those whose last breath was already taken from them.

"Please," his voice begged, "I don't...I don't want to die." There was, as Harry expected, no answer. The oppression of the room pushed against him, the thought that so many lifeless bodies lay here before him seeping into his hope and drowning it; he felt like his head was under water, that there was no way for him to kick hard enough to push his body to the surface.  His eyes squeezed shut, forcing the tears from between the lids like Dr. Cogan had forced the life from Nickolas' body, like Nickolas was trying to do to Harry. His breath hitched and he curled his small body up, bringing his knees to his chest in a way that neither Ron nor Severus could. They were far too tall, much wider, and healthier than the Boy-Who-Lived. This child was little, the size of maybe a thirteen-year-old, fourteen, if fate wanted to be kind. But fate was never kind when it came to Harry James Potter.

And if Harry were to die in this cold chamber, he knew, sadly, that when his body was found, they would mark him as a little boy no older than fourteen, origins unknown. Maybe he would only be bones then, he mused, years and years from now. Some unsuspecting teens would find the door he unlocked open. They'd come into the office, see the file, and go to the morgue. A boy would dare his friend to climb into the chamber, and the boy, wanting to impress his girlfriend, would. He would open the drawer, and there would Harry be: the forgotten Boy-Who-Lived. A boy! Always a boy-never to be a man. At least, Harry thought, if I am nothing but bones, for once, no one will stare at my scar.

He let out a sob then, succumbing to the casualties of his emotions, allowing himself one more cry, just one, before he be would be silenced forever.

&&&

Severus found himself back on the fourth floor. The door in front of him was metal, but if he studied it close enough, he found burn marks on the frame. The room was empty, but Severus felt it-Harry had been in here and had been in here for a while at that; this room alone had captured the boy's attention. His eyes narrowed, this was the door that had shut on its own, before, when he, Ron, Hermione, and Lizzie were exploring. Something, though he didn't know what, occupied this room.

He felt magic in there, disembodied, soulless. And he felt Harry. He didn't know how or why, albeit his keen senses, his worry, or the fact that something in the room held its own magic, but he knew. "Harry?" His voice called out. There was no answer.

Finally, resulting himself to last measures, Severus pulled out his wand. He had been searching for the teen for well over an hour, something had happened. He knew it he felt it in his gut, the way the feeling tightened his body, strangulating his breaths like the rope on a doomed man's neck, the moments bringing him closer to a death he could not forestall.

"Point me: Harry Potter."

The wand spun in his hand. It felt as though it were pressing down against his skin, as if the direction it wanted was lower. Severus took the hint and hit the stairs running. He repeated the spell on the third floor, the second, the first, every time the result was the same. His wand pressed his palm.

"The basement," his coarse voice bit out. Exactly where they should have gone had the others not been so afraid. His anger fell away though, how were they to know that Harry was in danger in the basement? But Severus could not shake the feeling that by the time he reached wherever the boy was, it would be too late.

He took the steps two at a time, coming to a narrow hallway. The door at the end was open and with a jerk of his head, he entered it. It was an office; beyond it was another door that led to a small corridor. This, Severus discerned, was the head mortician's office. But by the looks of the place, he had his hand just as deeply into the studies of the mentally unwell as any of the doctors who worked in this so called home.

Severus stepped through the opposing door. "Point me: Harry Potter." This time, the wand did not dig into his palm. It, instead, turned to his left and pointed to a door. He steeled his gaze, squared his shoulders, and gripped his wand tightly. Severus would be prepared for whatever he found in that room. He would save Harry from whatever trouble he had fallen into.

He had to. He had no other choice. Severus knew that he could kid himself into thinking that it was the pulls on the unbreakable vow he had made for the boy's life, but if he were honest, the answer was blazingly simple: He cared for Harry. The teen deserved to live, to be happy, to be okay.

Cautiously, Severus approached the door. His hand slid along the cool metal as he attempted to push it ajar but he had to fight hard against it. It felt as though someone were holding it closed, but, finally, he managed to open it enough to slip inside. When he regained his bearings after the door slammed shut behind him, Severus let his eyes travel the room; it was a morgue, he deduced with a shiver. With a hard swallow, he prayed that he would, for once, find a living body in a place meant only for the dead.

"Harry?" he croaked out. Movement from the corner caught his eyes and he turned, expecting to see the teen he had grown so fond of. In his place, however, was the transparent figure of a boy no older than Harry was. He blinked slowly at Severus. Behind him was a dusty and old chalkboard; traced into the years of dirt was one word: Friend?

"Where is Harry?" Severus asked the ghost, the message on the board sending a chill through his body like that word never should. "What did you do to Harry?" He knew, again, he didn't know how, but Severus knew that this spirit had done something to Harry. It was his intangible magic he felt, that was his room! It was he who had captured Harry's attention!

The ghost, he saw, looked abashed and, for the first time, Severus felt that the room was filled with pressure. The boy looked down.

"Please, for the love of Merlin, where is Harry?" The ghost did not look up. "Harry! Harry Potter! Green eyes, black hair! That damnable lightning scar on his forehead! What have you done to him!"

The apparition lifted his eyes and the pressure ceased. Severus almost lost his balance at its sudden disappearance.  The room fell quiet and that's when he noticed it. The saddest sound he would swear he had ever heard, a sound which was not just perceived. It was felt. Sobbing. The deepest, most hopeless of weeping, heavy heaves of breath, hiccups that grasped no air, and a moan of lament so troubling that Severus' heart was breaking just from the resonance of it.

He felt his breath leave his body and for an instant, time stilled. He choked out, "Harry?" and the apparition lifted his hand and pointed to one of the cold chambers, his face a map of defeat, remorse, and regret.

When he listened carefully enough, Severus knew. Harry was locked in that chamber, the sobbing was him! It was Harry! His chest clenched, his heart dropping, and his breath stalling, but it was with a strong resolution that Severus Snape turned to fully face the chamber, his hope renewed. If the child was crying, that could only mean one thing: He was alive.

Sweet Merlin, he was alive!

Severus tried to remain calm. He really did, but it was all too much for him. Hearing Harry cry like he was churned his insides; it wasn't right. Harry should never, ever have had need to weep as he was.

He didn't remember moving to the drawer. All he knew was that one minute he was standing by the door and the next his shaking hand was reaching for the handle. It unlocked easily under his palm, the catch clicking open and the metal hinges grunting softly as it swung outwards. Severus froze at what he saw.

Harry's small body was curled up tight, his head covered by his arms, and his back and shoulders convulsing with his sobs. Severus could see the tension in his muscles; he could feel the hopeless air, smell the fear, and hear the quake of fragility. Slowly he reached his hand out; Harry had not reacted to the door opening and Severus could see the sweat at his neckline, he could hear the great gasping sobs that stole teen's air. Startling him would only make matters worse. So, with a light touch of his hand, he softly stroked Harry's shoulder.

The teen froze for a half of a second. His body still trembled but the sobs desisted. It was only an instant and he had yet to look up. But Severus realized his mistake; he should have voiced his presence first.

It took him a moment to hear the screaming. He registered the movements first; Harry's shaking body jolting and snapping to the side, escaping the hand and the danger of whomever had come to hurt him.

"Har..." Severus swallowed the lump in his throat, "Harry! It's me, it's Sev!" He tried, reaching for the boy again, "It's me, Harry. It's me! You're okay. You're fine. Harry! Harry, it's all right. You're safe now!" The boy jerked away, but, at last, opened his eyes and looked up. All at once the panicked screams stopped. He hiccupped and a fresh wave of tears slid down his young cheeks. "Hey," Severus said softly, "hey, it's okay."

Harry could not even get out any words. He tried, but they all came out as choked gasps. And so, unable to speak, he threw himself out of the drawer and into Severus' arms, clinging to him, weeping again, his body still shuddering so badly that Severus could barely retain a hold on the small form.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Harry's back, holding him up as the child fisted his shirt. "Hey," he tried again, "hey, it's all right. You're safe now." Stumbling back, Severus hit the wall and sank to the floor; his strong arms encircling Harry and maneuvering him, pulling him into his lap and cradling him. He pressed his face into the mess of black hair, "Come on. It's okay. I need you calm down. Take a deep breath. It's okay, Harry. Breathe, child, breath!"

Slowly, very slowly, Severus began to rock the small body in his arms, hoping that the movement would soothe the boy. He rubbed his back with his left hand, unable to even fathom the terror Harry had just encountered but not at all surprised at the effect it produced. He kept the trembling form close, hugging him tightly, protectively. One eye glared at the spirit who stood still as Death himself in the corner. "Just go away." he finally said. Nickolas wrapped his transparent arms around himself and vanished.

Severus was still staring at the empty corner when the feeling of a thin arm reaching up and around his neck caused him to jump slightly. Harry had barely moved aside from his uncontrollable shudders and sobbing, every movement was involuntary, his fists clenched in Severus' shirt not for a cognitive purpose but for Harry to feel grounded and alive, sheer instinct.

The man did not know the length of time that had transpired, but Harry's quakes had lessened considerably and his fist had loosened, allowing his arm to snake around Severus' neck in search of comfort. Severus helped him by moving his body upwards, reading the teen's movements and discerning what he thought he wanted: a hug. A simple form of physical comfort that had been denied to the boy for so long that Severus wondered of the intuition of Harry's actions. The other arm joined its counterpart around his neck and Severus wrapped his own arms around him in return, squeezing lightly. The boy hid his face in Severus' neck and the older wizard squeezed his eyes shut in his own grievance. One hand released the thin chest it encompassed to caress Harry's head. Its fingers running comfortingly through the soft and messy hair. He felt his own neck grow wet with the tears that flittered out of the closed green eyes. The moisture dampened the long lashes and they fluttered softly, trying to rid themselves of the burden of the tears.

"Let's get you out of here." But Harry made no effort to move save from tightening his arms around Severus' neck. "Harry," he said softly, "What must I do to convince you of your safety?" His only answer was the shuddering of a breath and Severus let out a sad sigh. "Too many times, even in this summer alone, I have failed to protect you. I led Lucius to where I said you'd be safe; I fell asleep when you should have been watched. Though you," Severus gave a small smile, well aware that he was talking now more to fill up the empty space than for actual conversation, "you managed to save yourself that time, didn't you? Brilliant, Harry. You got away from him not because of some ‘sheer dumb luck' as Minerva always says you have, but because you ARE a fighter. You ARE a survivor." Harry shifted in his arms and the older man knew then that he was getting through to him. "And you can survive this. It's over now, you're out and I've got you. And this time you will not have to deal with it on your own."

Gently, ever so gently, Severus moved himself to his knees and into a standing position. Harry gave a small and startled gasp at the movement and, most likely, at the thought of being carried. But Severus held onto him tightly, pleased to see that there was still a spark of the old Harry somewhere inside the trembling boy he clung to his chest.

"Now," Severus repeated, "let's get you out of here."

&&&

Hermione was near tears. It had been well over two hours since Professor Snape had left to search for their lost friend and about one hour since Lizzie had put both her and Ron into a body bind. But Lizzie, the young witch was pleased to note, seemed to be getting antsy herself. The two shared a glance and with a sigh, Lizzie released the teens.

"We give them ten more minutes. Then we'll go search. And NO trying to run off again or I'll put that bind right back on you!"

Ron snorted. "Whatever. Nine minutes now."

With her hands finally free, Hermione wiped at the tears that had been building in her eyes. "It's too long! Please, Lizzie! They're in trouble! I just know it!"

"Hermione, doll, listen to me. I know I only just got back with Sev but some things never change; Severus knows what he's doing. You just need to have a little faith in him. They could be on their way back up right now as we speak!"

"You said that an hour ago!" Ron retorted, "It doesn't take an hour to get back up here!" He paused and narrowed his eyes. "Eight minutes now."

Lizzie looked away from them, her wand tapping anxiously against her knee. "I'm worried, okay? I was just trying to, I don't know, be strong or something for you two and NOT a word about this to Sev! He'll never let me live it down."

"In that case," Ron said, "I think ten minutes are up."

"I think they were up over an hour ago," Hermione added.

Lizzie sighed. "You're right. You're fucking right." She jumped up, "Let's go!"

They had barely made it to the door when the recognizable footsteps of Severus flittered to their ears.

"Sev!" Lizzie cried out, flinging open the door to the first floor corridor. "Where have you--" She froze. "Oh my God, what happened?!"

Ron and Hermione were pushing their way past Lizzie before the words even left her mouth. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth, "Harry!"

With Harry cradled in his arms, Severus entered the room. He looked from one face to another and finally down at Harry's, which was mostly hidden in Severus' shirt.

He looked, at that moment, like a small and lost child and Ron's throat closed up with the fear of what had happened to his friend. "Harry? Mate?

Severus shook his head, "He's been mostly unresponsive." He looked at Hermione, "This place is definitely, indisputably haunted."

"What happened?"

"I'll explain when at the house. Lizzie, in my right pocket is my keys, drive them back. I'm going to apparate with Harry." She nodded and silently fished them out. In any other situation, this would have earned several sarcastic and borderline pornographic remarks from Lizzie; she was never known to be serious about anything. But now, in the light of the moon that reflected off a pale Severus and an even paler Harry, shaking in his professor's arms, she kept her mouth shut.

"We'll," she swallowed, "We'll see you in forty-five, okay?"

Severus nodded, clutched the child tighter, and was gone with a crack.

Gripping the keys, Lizzie turned to face the other two teens. "Let's get out of here."

&&&

He apparated them straight into the guest room that Harry had been assigned, not trusting himself to risk the steps to the second story landing. Harry was light, lithe, and little, but he was no toddler. He, at his age and yes, at his height, was not meant to be held, but Severus could think of nothing else and his presence, for whatever reason, seemed to help soothe the distressed teen.

Carefully, he laid him on the bed and pulled the covers up and over him, for once happy to see that the bed had not been made that morning.

"I'll be right back; I'm just going to my lab, getting something to calm you." Harry did not move or make any sound to signify that he had understood or even heard. Severus, not many moments later, returned with two vials. "Here, it's a mild calming draught and a second for later. Take one now."

Harry didn't move at first and Severus feared that he had gone completely impassive, that this had affected him much more than he could have guessed but a moment later a hand reached up and took the vial. Harry downed the potion quickly and sighed.

"Harry?"

"He was a wizard, Severus, and an orphan. Like me. And that's where he ended up, they thought he was crazy." Severus held his breath, letting Harry speak. "One of the doctors knew though. He figured it out. He knew he was magical. And he killed him. He wanted to find his core, so he cut him all open while he was alive to find it. And he killed him." Hastily, Harry wiped at the tears on his face. "All he wanted was a friend, someone like him. And they killed him! Severus, they killed him!"

"Harry," Severus started, brushing some hair from the teen's forehead. But Harry shook his head.

"That could have been me. He could have been me! Unwanted orphans." Again, Harry wiped his eyes, "And if I died in there, no one would remember me. I'd be dead. Like him. Still unwanted, always unwanted."

"You're not unwanted, child."

But the draught had begun its work and Harry had fallen asleep before he could hear the words that Severus had whispered.

Around them, the night wore on and in an abandoned psychiatric hospital out in East Suffolk County, a lost and lonely little ghost wept like only a spirit could.