What transpired next was a pale blur to Severus Snape, as both magical and muggle authorities were alerted. Although since the kidnapping was done by apparating, Harry could be anywhere and it didn't fully make sense to alert both parties, it was just that Snape was, for once, at a loss for what to do. Panic has settled in his stomach and he felt sick. He was pretty sure the police were called by the muggles, and at this point, it was infinity better to have more people working in this than not. But by the time all of the witnesses were interviewed (and then obliviated by Aurors) Harry had been missing for nearly two hours and Snape felt the beginnings of a killer headache.

"Sir, I'm Auror Michael Jenkins." Snape looked up from staring at the untouched possessions of Harry's on the blanket. A tall wizard stood in front of him with sandy blond hair and brown eyes. The professor nodded his acknowledgment of him, looked back down at the CDs and discarded clothing, and swore under his breath. It was hard to believe that only a few short hours ago he was teasing the boy about his choices in music. "Mr. Snape, there really isn't anything else you can do here. You should go home and rest and we'll be in contact." The dark-haired wizard snapped his head up to look at the man.

"No." Snape said, "Absolutely not. I'm not leaving without Harry." Doing his best to intimidate the auror, he put on his most unsurpassed glare.

"I'm sorry, I know this is very hard for you, but it's prudent that you return home. There really isn't anything you can do at the moment." The light haired wizard was barely fazed by the glare that usually sent his students running. Snape dropped the look.”We are aware of the sensitivity of this case, of who the victim is. We promise you that everything in our power is being done to find the Boy-Who-Lived and we are adhering to secrecy. There really is nothing more you can do here.”

"He is more than just the Boy-Who-Lived! He is a smart, kind, and competent young mna, he’s braver than you could ever be! And NO. I cannot, I will not just do nothing!" He snapped, "This is my fault to begin with. And I have to-"

"I understand your distress, Sir," Jenkins interrupted firmly though understandably, famous or not, the teen was loved and distressed guardians all acted pretty much the same; however, it was imperative that they returned t their homes, not just to essentially not be in the way, "but I really must ask you to go home. If the kidnapper makes contact-"

"He won't. He didn't want money. He...He was making se...sexual advances. Toward Harry. Fuck. Shit! If he lays one finger on him...!"

"Please, Mr. Snape, you need to rest, you've been through quite an ordeal. I can apparate you if you don't feel up to it." He moved to take Snape's arm but the professor stepped back quickly.

"No. Besides, I drove."

Jenkins nodded, "Then I will escort you to your car." The implication was obvious; he wanted to make sure that Snape did indeed leave. “We WILL find him. If he isn’t after money, than he doesn’t know who Harry is, and that, well, that’s ups his chances for survival.”

Forfeiting, the potions master nodded, gathered up his and Harry's belongings, and allowed the auror to walk him to the Camaro. Jenkins lightly squeezed his shoulder when they arrived at the car and gave him what the auror hoped was a reassuring smile.

Snape’s pinched look in return was almost identical to all the other parents and guardians Jenkins had encountered throughout his fifteen years on the force. He waited until Snape turned out of the parking lot before turning back to the crime scene and letting out a deep sigh.

These cases were the ones he dreaded the most, and in most instances, he was only placating the parents when he said that he would find them. They were usually too distraught to remember what he said and it was far more important that they were home and waiting for a random note than hindering the investigation.

The truth was that if the kidnapper did not actually know who Harry was, well, then he was most likely already dead.

There was laughter coming from the dining room when Snape entered the house. He quietly shut the door, allowing himself several moments of respite before he told of his irresponsibility. For a moment he just stood still, hand on the closed front door and his head tilted toward the sound of his happy friends and students. They were trading stories of mishaps, it seemed, as he heard Jena complete her telling of the time she accidently transfigured her baby brother into a turtle. Ron launched into one of the many adventures he, Hermione, and Harry had stumbled into, his voice loud with excitement.

‘Ironic, isn't it?' Snape thought to himself. ‘Of all the times Harry could have met his end through the years, this, a simple kidnapping, is going to be the one to do it.' He caught himself, ‘No! Don't think like that! Why must you ALWAYS be a Negative Nancy!' The last was in Georgie's voice, his, not Dumbledore’s nor anyone else, was most often his conscience and his voice of reason. Sometimes, it was Lily, and damn, that one hurt the most. He was lucky it wasn’t her at that moment.

"If you think that's bad," Ron was saying when Snape began listening again, "You should have seen Harry disarm Snape. He went FLYING across the room!" Ah, so the incident in the Shrieking Shack when they were in third year was what they were talking about. Snape groaned softly, a 13-year-old had pretty much owned him, and by the laughter from his friends, he knew he wasn't about to live that down.

If, that was, they ever spoke to him again when they learned he had lost the Boy-Who-Lived.

‘Oh, Merlin,' sighed Snape as he pushed away from the door and made his way to the dining room. Georgie, Baylor, Jena, Lucy and the two teens were seated around the table, empty pizza boxes were piled in the corner and a box of chocolate covered doughnuts sat open in the middle of the table. Ron was biting into one as he continued the story, "Of course Old Snapers wasn't too keen on Harry knocking him out when he came to, but hey, doesn't change the fact that it's still funny now!"

Snape stood in the doorway, watching the scene in front of him and not wanting to interrupt and inform them of what had happened. Saying it would only make it more real. But if Severus Snape was anything, he sure as hell wasn't a coward. He stepped into the room.

"Speaking of Old Snapers! He has returned!" Baylor said with his voice light. Ron wheeled around in his chair.

"Oh, crap, don't kill me!"

This only sent his friends into hysterics and had Hermione shaking her head, "Honestly, Ronald," she scolded.

There was no use in delaying the inevitable, Snape cleared his throat and said, "I need to-" but he was interrupted by Georgie.

"Where's Harry?" The man was beaming, happy that the two were getting along.

"No, he...I..." He made a frustrated noise. "We went up to the lake in Cooperstown and some guy...well...wizard, actually, took him. I'm sorry. I fell asleep; I was irresponsible, and he was kidnapped." All this was said with Snape looking straight at Georgie in the bravest manner possible. He didn't dare look at his students.

"WHAT?!" That was Ron. He stood quickly, his chair falling back. "What do you mean?!"

"I think I spoke clearly, Mr. Weasley! Harry was kidnapped, all right? I fucked up!"

"You notified congress? That Harry Potter went missing?" Jena asked.

"Of course I did! Both magical and muggle services know. How stupid do you think I am?!"

Jena held out her hands in peace, “Okay, I’m sorry, Sev, of course you did.”

Hermione was barely holding back tears, "They know where to contact you?"

Snape glared his answer to her question, "Obviously."

"We all need to calm down, Sev, I know you," Georgie said, "you get upset, you get defensive. So just stop while you're ahead. Tell us everything."

Taking a deep breath and seating himself tiredly at the table, he began his tale of the events preceding the kidnapping and what had taken place afterwards. When he finished, everyone remained quiet for a long while.

It was Lucy who spoke first, "They know what they're doing, the aurors, they know. And they'll find Harry and he'll be fine, okay?" It was meant to reassure, but it wasn't helping at all.

The silence that affected the group was like a bad cold and Snape found it nearly impossible to look the teens in the eyes. How could he face them—or anyone in that matter!—when he had failed so spectacularly.

A ringing sound startled the quiet and nearly all of them shook in surprise.

"That's my floo!" Georgie jumped up.

"I told them to contact me here!" Snape was rushing toward the living room even as he spoke. The others raced to follow him. But by the time they all scrambled into the room, the head in the floo was leaving and Snape was turning to face the group, his face hopeful, "They found him! I need to go down to New York City. Now." He was already stepping into the floo and grabbing a fistful of powder.

"Is he okay?!" Ron yelled. His hand gripping Hermione's tightly.

"They didn't say; I have to go. American Congress of Magic!" And he was gone in a rush of green flames. 

Harry did not know where he was. All he was aware of was the seedy and horrible smelling room that the man had apparated him too, the muggle man who turned out to be a wizard, that is. He could see the dirt and grease stained walls, the busted arm stair with the springs showing, and the empty bottles of Old English lying along the grimy floor. But he didn’t know, even a little bit, where this room was. He was left, locked, in the there for a long time before the man finally reappeared.

The teen's heart beat rapidly, pounding in his chest as he realized that his wand was lying under his jeans on the beach. He had no way to protect himself. Did this man know who he was? Or was this really just a random abduction. Harry had gotten himself out of sticky situations before nut this, well, he didn’t know if his sheer dumb luck could help him this time.

Like a cornered deer, his eyes shot wildly around him, searching for some form of escape. The drunken wizard hovered over him, a gleam in his glazed over eyes that told Harry all he needed to know about the man's intentions. If he knew who Harry was, he didn’t care. His mind was set on one track, and that was the handsome boy he had taken from the lake. The one that looked just like…

But Harry would be damned before he let anyone touch him like that.

Dropping to the floor in false defeat, he waited until the perv was leaning over him to lean back and kick him in the crotch. With his kidnapper doubled over in pain, Harry lunged for the familiar outline in his jeans pocket: his wand. He ripped the wand free and pointed it at him.

"A wizard," the man gasped, still hunched over in pain.

Harry only smirked and with a flick of the borrowed wand called out, "Stupify!" It was satisfying to watch the pervert sail across the room, but Harry knew that he could not stick around any longer.

Slipping the wand in the waistband of his swim trunks, Harry ran from the room, in his haste, however, he failed to check the rooms in which he ran into. Two other equally dirty looking wizards were seated on a foul, grey couch watching American Football. They jumped to their feet when Harry burst into the room. The television was so loud it wasn't a wonder why they hadn't heard his former spell. Their wands were stretched in front of them, but, in their own drunken states, they had not the reflexes to react before Harry brandished the stolen wand.

"Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalus!"

With the two men disabled, Harry bolted, finally making his way out and into the hallway. It was then that he knew he had been taken to an apartment. His body was catching up to his mind though and Harry panted as he darted his eyes around the disgusting hallway, taking in what he saw. Shredded wallpaper, cracked and missing floor tiles, and a grotesque hue of beige that may have at one time been a pristine white.  At the end, behind him, was a red EXIT sign, though at the moment it was looking rather blurry. Giving himself up to survival instinct, he ran, just as the door from the apartment he had escaped banged open.

"Get back here, you little shit!"

Pushing through the door to the staircase, the teen didn't even bother to look behind him; he already knew he was being pursued. It was pure, bloody instinct, and his fight or flight had been triggered. It had chosen flight. And it was right. The only way Harry got out of this alive was if his speed stayed true, just as when he ran from Dudley.

Jumping down the steps at such a force that he slammed into the wall every time he came to the end of each set of stairs, Harry finally made his way into the entrance lobby of the building. Sprinting past a wall of mailboxes, he aimed for the front door. Sunlight fought its way through the years of neglected cleaning and the few smudges from equally dirty hands.

He was so close.

Pain, searing pain, engrossed his wrist as the man grabbed it, finally catching up to him. Harry cried out -he was so close! -and even more so when he felt the bone in his left wrist snap as the man twisted his arm. The resounding crack echoed in the empty lobby and a strangled cry from Harry’s mouth followed it.

Pulling him close, the perv wrapped his arms around him and whispered in Harry's ear. "You're mine." The smell of malt liquor assaulted the teen's senses and he gagged. He ran his hand down Harry's bare chest. "Where's my wand, little boy?"

Again, Harry allowed human instinct to take control. He bent his head down and bit hard on the arm that entrapped him.

"Fuck!" the perv yelled and loosened his grip on Harry long enough that the boy was able to squirm free. The man yelled and reached for him, but Harry was already out the door and running, at full speed, down the street.

He allowed himself a reprieve several blocks away to catch his breath. The neighborhood was broken down and dreary, the buildings the color of cold gravy and the streets littered with potholes. Each building he passed looked out at him like depressed old men, the windows sagging and sad, as if they remembered times long forgotten when the sparse lawns were green and children ran and played through the gushing waters of now decrepit looking fire hydrants. Old sneakers hung from the power lines and graffiti and stickers covered the street signs. One had a black and white one under the word so that the sign read: STOP WAR. Harry ooked resolutely away from it.

Wrapping his arms around himself and cradling his injured wrist, he walked. His bare feet stung from running unprotected on pavement and his wrist sent sparks into his vision. Up ahead, standing on a corner, were two young men. Their dress reminded Harry of the rap music videos on television that Dudley used to watch. He approached them warily, but for the moment, and other than the shifty looking guy speaking nonsense to himself while he dug through a dumpster, they were the only people around who weren’t driving, eyes forward, don’t make eye contact.

"Excuse me, but could either of you tell me where the authorities are located?"

The taller of the two, a white boy that looked to be in his mid twenties, laughed outright. The other, a short and slim black boy who was about the same age, lightly hit the other boy. "Look at this shit! What you doing playin' in this neighborhood, junior. Shouldn't you be in some prep school?"

"Please," Harry pleaded, holding his injured arm closer to his body. Emotions were catching up to him and he felt his eyes well with tears. Why did these things always happen to him?

The white boy adjusted his baseball cap and flipped up the hood of his white zipper hoodie. "Please, sir, I want some more!" he mocked.

The other boy laughed. "Come on, dawg, let's blow this shit." He lit a cigarette and the two began to walk away.

"No! Please! I need help!" They stopped and turned to face him, watching silently as the tears in Harry's eyes spilled over and slid down his cheeks.

"Shit, son, what the hell happened to you?" asked the tall boy.

"I was taken; by some man...I just...I got away. Please, just tell me where a police station is, anything!"

"Three blocks up, two to your right." The other one said.

Harry nodded and turned to walk in the direction he was pointed to. "Wait." He turned to face the two boys. The white one pulled his hood down, "We'll...we'll walk you." The other nodded. "We didn't know you were kidnapped, son."

Harry shrugged and began walking; the two boys flanked on either side of him. "I'm Lonnie," the black boy said, "and this is my best friend Paul."

"Harry." was the only answered they received.

The two shared a glance over his head. "Where you from?" Paul asked.

"England." Harry paused, "Where am I?"

"You in Queens, son."

"Where?"

Lonnie bit his lip, "New York?"

"Oh, yeah. He took me from a lake in Cooperstown."

Both boys stopped and gawked, "Cooperstown, that's upstate!" Harry shook his head, not quite understanding. "We downstate, Junior, Cooperstown's like 4 hours away from here."

"Oh."

"Damn, Son. When'd he take you?" Paul asked.

"Today."

"So he didn't, you know, do anything?"

Harry shrugged and gestured to his wrist. "He did this when I was trying to escape."

"Could be a lot worse, junior," Lonnie said, "I seen it happen. You one lucky kid, junior, and you don't even know."

By the time they reached the police station, Harry was shivering from exhaustion, pain, and the still slightly damp bathing suit. The sun had long since set and night air was cool. Paul removed his hoodie and draped it around Harry's shoulders, zipping up the front over his arms. They entered the station and Lonnie spoke in hushed tones to the woman behind the front desk while Paul stood with Harry by the entrance. The woman nodded, made a call, and moved from behind the desk. Lonnie rejoined Harry and Paul.

"This where we leave, junior. Hope you okay."

"Thank you," Harry said in a quiet voice, he moved to take off the hoodie.

"Keep it," Paul said, "I have more."

Lonnie gave him a small but genuine smile, “I hope you get home, dawg, hope you ‘ite.”

 "Thanks." Harry's voice was quiet with appreciation. He watched as the two friends left the building and walked down the street, his two unlikely saviors that he would never see again.

"Harry?" the woman asked.

He jerked to face her, "You know my name?"

"The young man told me, come on, come here, have a seat, sweetie. Are you okay?"

"My wrist. I think it's broken." Using his right hand, he unzipped the hoodie to show her. It was swollen and crooked.

"Looks like it," she said. "My name is Officer Hannah Douglas, okay? My sergeant is coming out to speak with you, all right?" Harry nodded. "For now, let's get that in a splint and we'll get you to a hospital as soon as possible, okay?" She waited for his consent before doing anything and he appreciated it more than she could ever know.

 Briefly, Harry wondered if she would know where the American version of the Ministry of Magic was, but he doubted it. He nodded again and she led him into a back room that served as both break room and as an area to treat injuries of those who come into the station. It was an odd mix, bandages and gauze next to a microwave and bottles of painkillers and antiseptic lined up next to the coffee creamers. Very carefully, she placed his wrist into a splint and was about to call for an escort to take the boy to the hospital when an officer walked in.

"I'll take care of it, Douglas."

"Sergeant McDermott, this is Harry." Officer Douglas said. She smiled reassuringly to Harry and left the room. Harry looked up from his seat on an old brown leather couch and judged the man wearily. He was about 6 feet tall with short blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a friendly smile.

"Can ya tell me what happened, Harry? I'll drive you over to the hospital as we speak, is that okay? You need to have your wrist better looked at." Sergeant McDermott spoke in a soft voice, but he accentuated his vowels in an accent that spoke of being raised in Brooklyn, though Harry didn’t know that. He only recognized the inflection from the small snippets of movies he had seen.

"He took me...from the lake...I..." Looking up at the man, Harry weighed his options. He'd much rather a mediwitch heal his wrist with magic then go through the more painful and elongated process of muggle healing. But how did he go about telling the cop this? Better yet, how did he tell the man that he was apparated here? This wasn't a muggle kidnapping by any means, but at the time of his escape, it just seemed the rational thing to look for the muggle authorities since he did not know how to go about asking for the wizard ones. "I don't want to go to the hospital, Sir, please."

"Harry, you gotta have that wrist seen to."

"I just want to get back with my friends and my professor."

McDermott thought for a moment. "Are you in America for vacation?" he asked, taking the hint from Harry's own accent.

"Yes, Sir."

"With your professor?"

Harry squirmed in his seat, realizing the awkward position he had put himself in. He didn't want to give too much information to the man if he was ignorant to the existence of wizards; he didn't want him asking too many questions that Harry couldn't answer. So, instead, Harry chose his words carefully and explained of the road trip he, Ron, and Hermione had taken and how their car had broken down. He explained that his teacher had happened upon Harry walking and had taken them in for the moment. "He took me up to the lake today and while I was in the water he was napping on the shore. And this man was drunk and he...well I had come out of the water because the lifeguards had said that they were off duty and we had to swim at our own risk and I wanted to ask my professor if that was all right when he grabbed me and took me."

Sgt. McDermott nodded, "How did he take you in broad daylight? Was he armed?"

"Well, he..." Harry paused and looked down, how on earth was he going to explain this? "I...I don't know."

"Were you unconscious?"

"Not exactly, no."

"Harry, you can tell me, it's all right."

But Harry couldn't tell him, he knew that. If he even insinuated magic being used the sergeant would definitely think him insane and most likely making the whole kidnapping up.

"How did you escape?" Sgt. McDermott asked, obviously sensing his unease and changing the subject.

"I kicked him and ran..." Harry answered, carefully omitting. "And then when I was close to the front doors, he caught up with me and grabbed me and twisted my wrist. He pulled me against him but I bit him. And then I ran again. And I didn't stop until I saw Lonnie and Paul."

"The two youths who brought you in?"

"Yeah."

"Do ya know them, before all this? Did ya know them?"

"No, Sir."

The Sergeant nodded and stood while he pulled out his wallet. He plucked two dollar bills from the leather case and handed them to Harry. "There's a soda machine down the hall, help yourself. I'm gonna put out an APB to look for any suspicious behavior, all right? Then we'll get ya to the hospital."

Harry nodded and held onto the dollars tightly. He waited until McDermott had left the room to stand and make his way down the hallway to the vending machines. Selecting a Cherry Coca-Cola, he paid and retrieved the bottle. It was while he walking back that the pain in his sore feet flared up and he hobbled and lost his balance, falling against the wall. The stolen wand slipped from his waistband and clattered on the floor.

"Harry?" the sergeant stepped into the hallway. Harry was scrambling to pick up the wand and conceal it, but the man had already seen it. "You're one of them." Hastily tucking the offending object away, the young Wizard did his best to look like he had no idea what the cop was talking about. McDermott bent down and picked up the fallen Coke bottle. "Come on, back in the break room, there ya go. Have a seat; I didn't realize your feet were so bad."

Clutching the bottle after it was given back to him, Harry remained quiet. He sat on the couch and waited.

"The man who took you," McDermott said, "was he a wizard also?" Harry swallowed and nodded. "Christ, that makes it harder to find him. Though, I'm sure, I mean, I guess that your version of cops is better prepared to find someone like him. Is that how he took you then? That's why you were afraid to tell me?" Again, Harry nodded. "Okay, well in that case, I'm not taking ya to the hospital. Wizards have their own ways of healing, right?"

"Yeah, but...How do you know about us, Sir?"

"We had a bit of a problem, few years back, with bad wizards in the area. I became caught up in things and it was decided that my knowing, as a sergeant, and my captain's knowing also, was what was best for our area, so that we could adequately deal with situations that manifested in our precinct."

"So, what are you going to do with me?"

He smiled, "I'm gonna take you into the City to the ACM and there they'll fix up your wrist and take you back to your professor."

"The ACM?"

"The American Congress of Magic. What's it called in England, which is where I'm assuming you're from?"

"It is. And it's the Ministry of Magic there." Harry held out the wand, "It's his. I took it from him."

McDermott grabbed an empty garbage bag from a cabinet and held it open; Harry dropped the wand into it. Tying the bag closed, he said, "Come on; let's get you to the City."

"What city, sir?"

"Manhattan, Harry, we all just call it ‘the City,' not sure how that came about though." He smiled and led Harry outside to a white Ford Explorer with ‘NYPD' printed on its sides. "Hopefully they'll have some socks or something for your feet. They're not bleeding at least, just bruised." He opened the passenger side door and helped the teen in.

Harry had his first view of the beautiful NYC skyline that night. He stared, in awe, at the buildings and the lights as the sergeant pointed out various landmarks.

"That's the Empire State Building," he said and Harry gawked even more so. He had seen glimpses of the famous city on the television when the Dursley's actually let him watch it, but that was nothing compared to the real thing. The buildings and the lights stretched across the horizon like a painted dream. As they drew closer, and the city grew clearer, he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. Like the first time Harry had seen Hogwarts, he knew that this was something special. Something to be treasured and remembered for the rest of his life, however long that would be. He had never seen anything quite like this.

Harry jolted when they entered a tunnel. "Whoa..." Rolling down his window, he looked out at the beige tiles flying past him and up at the lights that lined the walls.

"We're under the East River now."

"Wicked!" For the moment Harry had forgotten about the ordeal he had just went through, he thought only of The Big Apple and it's lights and tunnels and how badly he wanted to explore the city he'd only seen in movies. He could smell the tunnel’s distinct gasoline smell; hear the amplified sounds of the engines, and the sporadic honking. It was strangely gorgeous, this man made tunnel. It was old and dirty, but something about the fact that countless cars had made their way through it, each with their own story, their own destination, well, that made it special.

McDermott looked over at the teen next to him, happily noting that if he was allowing himself to smile now, then it was evident that not too much damage had been done by the man who abducted him. He would be just fine and the sergeant, from years of experience, knew it.

As they entered Midtown Manhattan, Harry continued to gape like a tourist. With every street they turned onto and every store, street performer, and crowd of rushing city goers they passed, the young wizard's mood rose. He was safe and in probably the coolest place in the world--at least he thought for the time being. He tried to read each sign they passed, try to memorize every face. The juxtaposition of the trees against the cement, the streets dotted with stores and coffee shops, a woman walking eight dogs, a man singing, all of it.

When they pulled up in front of the ACM, Harry was happily shocked to see that the building held some of the beautiful old architecture that many of the buildings in the city held. That and it was obviously not as hidden as the Ministry was. Or perhaps it had charms on it that made the bronze sign above the door stating ‘American Congress of Magic' invisible to muggles. Regardless, he admired the aging but still striking white columns, they grey slated steps, and the carful gardening that framed the entrance.

Stepping down from the SUV, Harry continued to take in his surroundings as the sergeant spoke to an auror standing on guard outside the door. He handed him the bag with the wand in it and nodded over to Harry whose neck was craned as he looked to the top of the buildings.

"Mr. Potter? I'm Auror Daniel Smith, please come with me." Harry was startled for a brief moment when the wizard spoke. He hadn't noticed when he was approached. And he hadn’t told the muggle sergeant his last name, but then again, he was no longer with muggles. Of course they knew who he was.

"Okay," Harry said and waved good-bye the sergeant, once again saying farewell to a stranger who helped him but he would never see again, and followed the auror inside.

He was questioned while a mediwitch fixed his wrist and fed him potions, given thick woolen socks for his feet, and sent into a lounge to wait for his professor with a snack of treacle tarts and pumpkin juice. They knew of him, had been alerted to what had happened, and swore to him that no one would ever know that the famous teen was ever even there.

In the room they had sent him to, the furthest wall was all glass, a window that overlooked the busy street below. Harry sat on the red couch that was backed against the window, propped his head up with his right arm, and stared out into the night, content to lose himself in the bright lights.

When the door again opened, about 45 minutes later, Harry had expected to see another auror, but what he saw instead was his professor, looking worn, tired, and relieved.

"Severus!"

It was uncharacteristic. It was something he would never have thought himself to do. It was an action that he would later deny, but at the moment, he couldn't care less. Stalking forward, Snape pulled Harry close and hugged him, feeling far too emotional to trust his voice.

Harry was alive and untouched. He had escaped the pervert with a broken wrist that was easily mended and there was no accusation in those green eyes of his.

"Thank Merlin you're all right!"

The young wizard reveled in the embrace, enjoying and cherishing the safe feeling that was emitted into his very being. Severus would protect him; he knew that. Severus would make sure that the feeling he felt upon coming to the ACM and having someone come to claim him would not go away.

And for a fleeting moment, Harry wondered when exactly he had become Severus and not Snape. But it was gone as soon as it came. Because at the end of things, it really didn't matter.