With a sharp crack, Severus alighted in the front room of his own safe house. Shifting his weight, he swung the boy’s legs up and settled them in the crook of his left arm, leaving Potter’s head resting on his chest as his right arm tightened around the boy’s thin torso. Disregarding the blood being smeared all over his robes, he stalked through the house, up the stairs and into the spare room.

His parents’ house at Spinner’s End was small, cramped even, but at least it was unknown, well protected and kept under the Fidelius Charm, with Albus Dumbledore as the Secret-Keeper. He could keep Potter safe here until the next course of action was decided upon.

He gently placed the boy on the bed and took out the trunk and birdcage, placing them at the foot of the four-poster before muttering ‘Finite Incantatum’ to undo the shrinking charm. With another flick of his wand, he banished Potter’s blood soaked clothing, leaving the boy in only his underwear. His shock rose further as he took in the mottled bruising covering the skeletal torso. Surely these couldn’t all have resulted from the Death Eater attack? He bit back the shock a moment later and hastily examined the child for broken bones.

Brusque fingers discovered three cracked ribs, a fractured collar bone and broken wrist. The bruises were too numerous to count, but they were layered and some were obviously weeks older than others. The handprint wrapped around the boy’s left wrist was particularly vivid. Potter was also sporting a number of scrapes and scratches on his hands, neck, face and head – where he found what looked like a day old wound that may have caused a concussion. The scrapes and scratches looked to have been caused by the blown up arm-chair he had seen in the living-room. All the wounds would need cleaning before he applied any healing – magical or otherwise.

Placing a warming charm over the bed, he stepped out to the small bathroom and after quickly shucking off his blood soaked outer robe and washed his hands before digging out the antiseptic and cotton swabs. Setting the supplies on the bedside table, Severus found parchment and a self-inking quill. He penned a short note to Albus, explaining where he and Potter were, what he had seen, and asking the man to arrive as soon as possible.

“Bolly!” A crack and a small House Elf appeared, dressed in a neat, plain pillowcase, large eyes a bright golden in colour. “Yes, Master Snape, Sir?”

“Take this immediately to Headmaster Dumbledore – give it to his hand only. Make sure absolutely no one knows you are there, or that you are giving anything to Albus. Secrecy is imperative in this situation.” He handed the sealed parchment over. “Now go.”

Bolly nodded gravely and disappeared.

Severus immediately moved to Potter’s side, sitting on the edge of the bed.   He removed all traces of blood and dirt from the boy’s skin with a small flick of his wand and a light incantation.

He began to cleanse the gash on the child’s face – hopefully it wouldn’t scar, for though it was large, passing from right temple in a jagged line down to his chin, it was clean and neat. As the stinging liquid began to come back only slightly pink, indicating all foreign matter had been removed, Severus moved on to the lesser wounds. He silently catalogued each new wound as he promised himself Potter would be far safer and better looked after for the rest of the summer, even if he had to take the boy in himself. He would ensure that Potter was protected.

Severus was not gentle as he worked, and Potter often stirred, moaned or frowned in his sleep, but it had to be done. Eventually, all wounds were clean, and he began to rub a skin bonding cream into the larger wounds, before dressing them and then rubbed in a cure-all bruise salve where it was needed. A particularly large dressing was needed for the partially healed wound on the back of the boy’s skull. He sat in silence, using a complex medical charm to reset the bones in Potter’s wrist; it took a great deal of concentration, and as he was not a trained medic, it was harder work than he had anticipated. He performed the same spell on the collar bone – though it went a little quicker with the lesser fracture. He bound the wrist tightly, to prevent further damage and then wrapped the child’s ribs.

After a moment’s rest, he dug out some Skele-Gro and spelled it directly into Potter’s stomach using a common medical charm, so it could begin working on the various cracked or broken bones without disturbing Potter’s sleep.

With all obvious ills cared for, Severus cast a diagnostic charm. It confirmed what he already knew; it showed there was indeed a slight concussion and revealed Potter had been inadequately fed and watered for many weeks. He would have to rectify that, once the boy awoke. Shutting the charm off, he covered the thin body with a thick blanket, cast another warming charm, and then made his way downstairs to the tiny kitchen at the rear of the house.

In silence, Severus opened a bottle of his best red wine, poured himself a large glass and made his way into the cramped front-room. He collapsed into the old arm-chair and tipped a large amount of the wine into his mouth, swallowing convulsively. He closed his eyes, rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Finally, now that Potter was safe, clean and cared for, he allowed himself to think. Eyes glaring unseeing at the rows upon rows of books that covered every wall of the small room, Severus frowned in contemplation.

Obviously, the Blood Wards had failed, which meant that Petunia had either allowed the Death Eaters in (unlikely, as she knew very well what a Death Eater was and what they were capable of) or she was dead. The latter option made the more logical sense. Unfortunately, Petunia’s own son was too far removed from Potter to hold the Wards in her place, so Potter could never return to Privet Drive. Not that he would have allowed it in any case, considering the state he had just found the boy in, not to mention the ‘room’ he had been kept in. Even if the wards had not failed, he would never have sent the boy back there.

With a growl of frustration, Severus passed a hand over his face, roughly rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. He took another gulp of wine. Bloody Potter! The boy was a mass of contradictions! At Hogwarts, he was so arrogant and foolhardy that Severus had been certain of his ‘spoilt brat’ assumption. Now it turned out he was wrong – so very wrong, in fact, that he was undergoing an unwelcome, yet unstoppable paradigm shift. And the boy had obviously been abused from an early age; he had either missed or ignored the signs – as had all the staff.

Severus had the uncomfortable feeling that he had simply ignored them, preferring to nurse his dislike of anything Potter, because in retrospect the signs were certainly there – especially in the way the boy completely failed to trust any adult. Hagrid didn’t count, the buffoon was far too childlike, particularly for a man in his fifties. Black also didn’t count – after twelve years in Azkaban, his mind had been closer to that of an adolescent, closer to the way Potter and his friends thought and behaved, than any true adult. He wasn’t sure of the Werewolf, he seemed to have gained some modicum of trust from the boy, though gauging precisely how far that trust would go was not something he wished to contemplate.

With a frown, he came to the realisation that Potter didn’t completely trust Albus, either. With a slight smirk, he found he approved of that particular lack of trust. The man was a manipulative old coot at the best of times; a healthy mistrust of him was a sure way to keep as much control of one’s own life as one could.

With another gulp, he considered asking Minerva about the boy, but knew she wouldn’t have seen anything out of the ordinary. While she was a good friend and a good teacher, the woman had a disturbing blindness to problems any larger than passing the OWLs and NEWTs, or physical injury that would prevent Quidditch play that was frustrating in the extreme. However, though she may not have noticed anything wrong with the child before, she would keep a sharp eye on him once informed of the situation. If needs must, he would demand it of her.

The thoughts brought to mind one of his recently modified memories. Before the blocks had crumbled, he had remembered Lily simply asking him to protect her son. Until the memory returned, he had had no idea he was actually under an Unbreakable Vow – though it explained his actions over the years.

“Promise me, Severus. Promise me you will keep him safe.”

With both his friends giving him piercing looks, an obvious melancholy clouding both sets of normally bright eyes, Severus could not refuse. With the autumn wind rattling the old panes of Spinner’s End, Severus swore a Wizard’s Oath.

“I promise. On my Honour as a Slytherin, as your friend,  I will protect Harry for as long as I am able.”

James stepped forward and they clasped hands. “I know the charm should keep us safe. But we needed your word, for our peace of mind.”

Holding a sleeping Harry in one arm, cradled against her hip, Lily stepped forward and lifted her wand.

It had been less than two weeks after making the vow that Lily had modified his memories, for all their sakes. With some venom, he considered what the implications could have been, had he been made aware of Potter’s situation before regaining his memories. He could have died! He had had little regard for the boy’s life outside of Hogwarts; a simple word from Albus and he would have ignored it as the rest of the staff apparently did. Such action would have resulted in his death.

Throwing back the last of the wine, Severus found himself wondering how the hell Potter had managed to kill three Death Eaters. Three adult wizards! He summoned the bottle from the kitchen and poured himself another glass. Carey, at least, appeared to have died of blood loss, rather than being outright killed. But that still left two adult wizards, fully trained in the Dark Arts no less. Though it had to be admitted that Brooks had not been the most intelligent of men – nor the youngest.

Sipping the wine more carefully this time, Severus couldn’t help the spark of pride that caught in his chest as he contemplated the acts the boy had committed in self-defence. Thankfully, the boy appeared to be growing up, accepting his situation. Perhaps he could be trained.

Severus scowled viciously.  He refused to become maudlin. Furthermore, he refused to get emotional. He forced his mind elsewhere, immediately settling on the repercussions of the past day.

The only true problem he could conceive of was the Ministry. That fool, Fudge, would leap at the chance to use this circumstance against the boy. Though, perhaps the populace would have a few things to say about it, if he attempted anything underhanded. Knowing what those three particular Death Eaters had likely been up to over the past year, when the Aurors checked their wands, they would find numerous illegal spells and their DNA would be connected with at least three murders, as well as a dozen or more rapes.

He closed his eyes and dropped his head onto the backrest. Potter’s face swam into his mind and he startled. Blinking, he glared at the ceiling. He had been too distracted earlier, but yes, the charm was beginning to fade. Potter’s nose was visibly more like his own. Not in the least bit crooked – Potter hadn’t had his broken numerous times – nor as long, but the resemblance was there. Soon, the boy would begin showing further changes. It was disconcerting, to say the very least, but it backed up the memories, proved the child was indeed his.

It also presented another problem. The change would be slow, but it would soon be noticeable – and seeing as no-one had seen Potter since June, the change would be remarkable come September. They would need to think of something to cover the change, or explain it, although the idea of continuing to hide their relationship was beginning to become unpalatable. Potter was indeed his, and he could now no longer ignore that fact. Severus was a rather possessive man, and his possessive streak was likely to surface sooner rather than later as the idea of the child being his began to settle into his mind.

Severus shifted as the fireplace crackled loudly. A sharp surge in the wards warned him that someone was about to come through the Floo. Knowing who it was, he didn’t move.

A moment later, Albus stepped through, dripping green flames from his expansive sleeves. “Severus, my boy. Is the situation so bad?” The Headmaster nodded toward the wine, eyes sparkling with subdued mirth.

Severus sneered, “It couldn’t get much worse, you old coot. I take it you received my note?”

Albus carefully settled himself on the sofa, arranging his flowing robes comfortably. “I did. The Aurors are at the house as we speak. Order Members, all. I made sure of that.” He paused briefly. “How is Harry?”

With a snort, Severus gripped the bridge of his nose again, eyes squeezed closed. “He was almost catatonic when I found him.” He looked up and caught the Headmaster’s gaze. “He was far more injured than the fight warranted. Either his relatives have been abusing him, or someone we do not know about has been using him as a punching bag.”

The shock on Albus’ face looked genuine enough, but he had to ask.  With a low growl and watching Albus’ expression intently, he did just that. “Did you know, Albus?”

Sorrow enveloped the older wizard. “No. I had not the faintest idea.” He sighed, “Of course, I knew Petunia took him in most unwillingly, but I assure you, I had no inkling that...”

As Albus trailed off, Severus interrupted with: “Of course, you had no idea that the boy’s relatives hated him so much they would keep him in a cupboard, starve him and beat him to within an inch of his life!”

Albus appeared frail at that moment, old and weak. Severus ignored it, knowing it for the manipulative game it was. “You placed him in that home, Headmaster. You knew they didn’t want him. Yet, instead of finding more suitable accommodation, you left him there.” He glared at the elder wizard. “And do not give me any of that rot about the wards. The blood wards were good, but others could have been used.”

Albus dropped the weary old man look and instead met him eye to eye. There was a fierceness there that Severus rarely saw, but he did not back down. After a moment, Albus nodded slightly. Not an admission of guilt, exactly, but an acceptance of Severus’ words, an acceptance of his right to say them.

“As you know, Arabella kept a close eye on what was happening at Privet Drive – she reported nothing out of the ordinary.” Severus recognised the excuse for what it was – an attempt to distance himself from the discovery, laying the blame elsewhere.

Leaning over, black eyes still locked on blue, Severus carefully placed the glass of wine on the small coffee table. “However, it appears they have been mistreating the boy for some time. He was almost unrecognisable when I found him. I have done what I can to heal his numerous injuries.” He paused a second. “I would not be surprised if they have been treating him like this since early childhood.”

Albus broke eye contact. “Is he awake yet?”

Severus shook his head, allowing the situation to settle for now. “I spelled him asleep for the journey here. By now, he is sleeping naturally. I felt it best to let him. By all appearances, I do not believe he has been sleeping half so much as he ought.”

Albus nodded, a look of concern on his features. He seemed to come to a decision. “I shall update the wards on the house for now. Continue your work, Severus. I will not leave until I have spoken to Harry.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow, but nodded his acquiescence. Potter would sleep through the rest of the day, perhaps waking late tomorrow; he was not currently needed and he did still have a lot of work to complete. With a nod to the Headmaster, Severus climbed to his feet and made his way to his bedroom.

As he passed the spare room, he glanced briefly in on Potter. The boy was sleeping deeply, frown lines marring his forehead. With a snort at his foolishly sentimental attitude, Severus turned away and sought his own room to change out of the remainder of his ruined clothing.

Harry awoke suddenly, silently, still reeling from the blood filled nightmares. It took him a long time to realise he was lying in a bed rather than his cupboard, but when he did, he relaxed marginally. Without moving his body, he opened his eyes a crack and took in what he could see of the room. With his glasses gone, that wasn’t much.

It appeared he was in a four-poster bed, which at least meant he was in the Wizarding world. It was entirely unfamiliar though, hung with deep green curtains currently cinched back with gold ropes. The wall that he could see looked like it had been decorated in the seventies.

With a frown, he turned his head and looked out into the room itself. It was small, terribly so, with room only for the bed, a wardrobe, a small desk and a chair. Harry was slightly startled to realise someone was sitting in that chair – or, lounging. It looked like they were asleep. Seeing the black robes, he at first thought it was a Death Eater and panic began to rise in his chest, but when he squinted slightly, he realised it was actually Professor Snape.

Of all the people he would have expected to find sitting by his bedside, Snape was very nearly the last on his list!

With a slight huff, Harry rolled onto his side and stared at the man, considering him. He had a vague recollection of Snape finding him in his cupboard. Which meant, more than anything, that Snape now knew. But it also meant he must have been the one to heal all the injuries he had been living with for weeks. His wrist, ribs and collarbone ached horribly, but for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel half-dead.

Considering the strength of emotion, the real hatred and disgust that had been thrown his way in fifth year by this man, on top of the previous four years of vitriol, Harry was utterly confused by Snape’s actions and continued presence. He closed his eyes with a sigh.

With the deceptive slowness of such things, the memories of what had transpired at Privet Drive began to seep into his consciousness.  The fear came first – in the relative luxury of a comfortable bed, without the adrenaline that had made it easier at the time, Harry began to relive the true extent of the terror he had faced. He sucked in a silent, sobbing breath and curled up, squeezing his eyes closed. As he tried to force the fear away, exactly what he had done came back to him.

There had been so much blood! It had been everywhere – on the floor, on the walls, the ceiling and the furniture. He heard again the sickening, tearing sound of blade slicing through flesh. The sickening crunch of the blade sinking into the man’s chest reverberated through his mind. Squelching breaths, wet thuds, and pained screams rang in his ears.

The glint of light on the blade as he swung it at the man’s neck. Kicking him in the face to make him let go. Struggling to get away, but slipping in the warm sticky fluid spreading across the tiles. Lifeless eyes staring at him, accusingly.

Alone. They had left him alone! He had had to defend himself, because his relatives had left him there alone! No one had come to save him. No one.

Ohgod – he couldn’t stand this. He curled up tighter, gripping his hair in white-knuckled fists, breathing in great, gulping fits and starts.

“Harry?”

Harry shook his head, flinched away from the voice. Alone. He was alone. There was no one to save him. He always had to save himself. There was never anyone else to save him.

A hand on his shoulder startled him into action. In a second, he was across the bed, over the trunk and into the space between wardrobe and wall, staring wildly at whatever had dared to touch him,  threaten him.

Chest wracked by silent sobs, face wet with tears, Harry looked into the shocked face of a vibrantly dressed smudge that could only be Professor Dumbledore. Snape was standing no more than a foot behind the Headmaster. He could barely make out the looks of shock that both men wore – Dumbledore’s tinged with sorrow, Snape’s, strangely, tinged with understanding.

Dumbledore stepped around the bed and moved a little closer, but Harry shrank further into the corner, shaking his head and hugging himself. Dumbledore would ask him what had happened, he would want him to explain! Snape would sneer at him, berate him for being so stupid as to let his wand be locked away... for not taking the first Death Eater’s wand when he dropped it... for simply being Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived! He couldn’t face either of them.

But Dumbledore simply sank slowly to his knees a few feet away and gave him what looked like a sad smile. Snape hadn’t moved, but his face looked blank.

“Harry, can you hear me?”

Blinking, Harry nodded hesitantly.

“Good, child, good.” A lingering pause, “Do you know me?”

Again, Harry nodded, roughly wiping his face.

“You are safe here, Harry. You are in a safe house, protected by numerous wards and the Fidelius Charm. You have been asleep for nigh on twenty-four hours.” Another pause. “Do you understand?”

Slowly, Harry nodded. It meant he was safe here, at least for now. Tucking the cuff of the overlarge, unfamiliar pyjama top over his hand, he attempted to wipe away the tears still trailing down his face. Why wouldn’t they stop?

“Won’t you come back to bed, child? I daresay it is more comfortable than that corner.”

Harry considered this. He felt a little safer with his back covered like this, but it wasn’t particularly comfortable. Nodding slightly, he slowly got to his feet. Professor Dumbledore followed and stepped back, clearing room for Harry to reach the bed unimpeded.

Watching the two men warily, Harry skirted the bed-frame and slithered onto the mattress. He gathered the duvet around himself and sat with his back pressed to the wall. He wiped his face again, giving Dumbledore an assessing look.

“Well now!” Harry flinched at the loud statement and with a flourish, Dumbledore transfigured a second, more comfortable looking chair into the cramped room and sat down. Snape, after hesitating briefly, followed suit. Harry simply watched them both in silence, occasionally rubbing at his eyes.

“Now, firstly, Harry, I need to ascertain your physical state. Are you feeling well?”

Harry blinked and shifted slightly, testing his body. He nodded slowly, but lifted his left wrist into view and rubbed at it. He opened his mouth to tell them all was fine, even though his wrist ached, but the words wouldn’t go past his throat. He closed his mouth instead, allowing the words to settle against his teeth.

“Headmaster...” Harry watched in mild fascination as a number of expressions crossed Snape’s usually impassive face. Professor Dumbledore nodded, frowning slightly.

Sounding concerned once again, Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, “Harry, may I ask you something?”

Pulling his hands back under the duvet, Harry nodded, taking a deep breath. He really didn’t want to answer any questions right now, but he knew Dumbledore needed to know what had happened.

Feeling the gazes of both Professors on him, Harry kept his eyes on the mattress as Dumbledore spoke.

“Are you able to speak?” The Headmaster’s voice was very soft, causing Harry to look up at him.

He tried to answer, he really did, but the words wouldn’t come, they simply lodged in his throat and stayed there; his mouth opened once, twice and then closed firmly. More tears slid down his cheeks as he shook his head.

“I am not entirely surprised at this reaction, Severus. Many a child has gone mute after such... horrific incidents. Some after far less.” Albus sighed, “It is a wonder the child has not reacted in similar fashion before now.”

Severus had retreated to the front room with Albus, after they had made sure the boy was tucked in and had taken a half draught of Dreamless Sleep. It was already late afternoon, so Potter would likely sleep through ‘til morning, when Severus hoped he would be more in control of himself and his ability to react to this new problem.  He had never been faced with a mute child before – shy children, certainly, uncommunicative, yes. But actual mutism? This was new and entirely unexpected – even if Albus did say it was fairly common in such circumstances.

He ran a hand over his face, “Will he speak again?”

Albus nodded, “With the correct help, he will speak again sooner or later. This mutism is in reaction to a trauma. It is therefore slightly different to traditional Selective Mutism. He will be silent for perhaps a month – maybe less, maybe more. It depends on how the situation is handled.” The elder man sighed, “Though he may be more prone to its return from now on.”

Brilliant. The Boy Wonder was liable to return to speechlessness at the drop of a hat! Just what they needed. Potter was essentially a marked man! Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, Dark creatures – all were after him, all could make an appearance at any moment! An inability to speak at any given moment would be an unforgivable liability.

To make matters worse, the child’s instinctive reaction to an adult approaching him, touching him in a moment of distress! Severus felt dismayed by the revelation. It spoke volumes about the deeply ingrained mistrust Harry felt, even of those who were supposedly there to protect him. It also spoke volumes about the levels of conditioning Harry had been put through over his relatively short life. No child, especially not a child like Potter, should have to live the kind of life that they reacted in such a way to a perceived threat.

He met Albus’ gaze and knew his thoughts were abundantly clear to the man. There was no twinkle, not even subdued, to his blue eyes as he said; “I will ask Poppy to provide us with material on the subject.” That simple statement had Severus feeling thoroughly chastened for some unidentifiable reason.  

“We may need to allow her into the house to speak to Harry.”

Severus scowled at the declaration but nodded in reluctant agreement. He disliked the idea of having yet another person knowing about his safe house, but he could see the necessity.

“As it stands, I do believe Harry’s owl will arrive shortly. If she brings letters with her, see if you can persuade Mr. Potter to reply to them? It may help him in the long run, to find at least some small form of communication.”

He nodded as Albus stood, following suit as the elder wizard pulled a small snuff-box filled with Floo Powder from one of his many large pockets. “I am needed at Hogwarts. I will return tomorrow afternoon and bring news of how the investigation progresses.”

He couldn’t help but scowl at mention of the investigation. “Albus, if Fudge gets word of this...”

Dumbledore nodded as he took a pinch of Floo Powder. “Of course, my boy. I will endeavour to keep it from him for as long as it is within my power to do so. When he does – well, we shall cross that bridge when we come to it.”

The Floo Powder shimmered in the air as he threw it down, calling out his destination as he did. A moment later, Albus Dumbledore had gone. Severus sank back into his armchair and rubbed his temples. After a few moments of blissful silence, Severus sighed.

“Bolly!”

A crack signalled the Elf’s appearance, “Yes, Master Snape, sir! How can Bolly be helping?”

He opened his eyes and looked down into the eager face of his little helper. “Check the provisions for me. Note down exactly what we have and report back to me as soon as you are done.”

“Yes sir! At once, sir!” The Elf disappeared again, despite the kitchen being only a few rooms away.

He sat up a little. “Mozo!”

Another crack resounded through the room and his second House Elf appeared, this one female and wearing a patterned pillow-case rather than a plain one like Bolly’s. “How can Mozo help, Master Snape, sir?”

“Keep an eye on the boy for me, inform me when he awakens.” After a pause, he added, “If he does happen to have a nightmare, let me know.”

Mozo nodded and disappeared.

With that sorted, Severus stood and made his way to the kitchen. Bolly was standing in the larder, a ring-bound muggle notepad in one hand, a quill in the other as he catalogued the provisions. He looked over his shoulder as Severus stepped into the room. “I is nearly done, Master Snape!”

He simply nodded and looked at the shelving above the little creature’s head. Nothing particularly appetizing jumped out at him, so he simply grabbed a tin of Muggle tomato soup.  As he set it to boil on the stove, Bolly presented himself. “I has completed the provisions list, Master Snape, sir!”

“Thank you Bolly. Please keep Mozo company for now.” The Elf nodded happily and disappeared.

He checked the list distractedly. There wasn’t much at all, and what there was mostly consisted of Muggle non-perishables, almost entirely consisting of tinned or dried goods. With a sneer, he decided he would send Mozo out later with a list and some galleons.

As he stirred the soup and contemplated what to put on the shopping list, there came an insistent tapping at the window before him. He looked up, only to come face to face with the bloody snowy owl the staff had been cooing over at the breakfast table not two days ago. “Hedwig, I presume?”

The owl clicked her beak together, ruffling her feathers. He quirked an eyebrow and opened the window wide enough for her to slip through. She alighted on the back of one of the chairs at the tiny kitchen table, bright eyes watching him. He left the window open to allow the air to circulate; after days of muggy weather, the kitchen needed it. “Your master is asleep upstairs.”

The bird chirruped at him and he glared at it over his shoulder. “Make any mess and I will lock you in your birdcage for the rest of the summer.”

Hedwig screeched at him, batting her wings a few times to get her point across. “Alright, alright! Damn bird.”

He dug into the larder and pulled out a small bag of owl feed. Pulling out one of his more damaged bowls, he poured some in and set it floating at just the right height for her to comfortably eat.

Sitting down with his own meal, Severus glared at the creature. It was known amongst the staff that she was a remarkably intelligent creature, even compared to the school bred owls – it probably had something to do with precisely whom she was the familiar of. As far as Severus could tell, Potter loved rarely, but when he did he gave that love whole heartedly and it affected how his magic interacted with others – particularly lesser beings. From all appearances, Hedwig had not gone unchanged, gaining several abilities not normally attributed to owls. That fact could prove useful in future, so he filed it away for later reference.

To calm himself, Severus turned his mind to his experiments. As he was finishing his meagre meal, Mozo appeared with a sharp crack. “Master Snape, sir! Little Master has woken up!”

Of course Potter would awaken already. The boy had no concept of following the rules while awake, it had been a false hope to believe him capable of doing so in his sleep. Any normal person, after a half dose of Dreamless Sleep would still be out of it right now.

“I will be there directly. Bolly!” The Elf appeared next to Mozo, “Both of you please give the house a going over, make it suitable for an invalid teenager. Perhaps a small bowl of soup for the boy as well.”

As he passed her, he lifted his forearm and Hedwig clambered on, perching herself quite happily.

Harry lay in silence, listening to the sound of Snape’s voice coming from below. The man sounded tired, though not angry – which was unexpected. Professor Dumbledore had told him, before he had slept, that this was Snape’s home and that he would be staying here for a little while.

He had been surprised by the two House Elves sitting together by the door; what he had seen of the house seemed rather Muggle, especially the bathroom, but he supposed appearances could be deceiving. As soon as he had moved, the female Elf had vanished, followed shortly by the apparently male Elf.

Avoiding his left wrist, Harry levered himself up into a sitting position as he heard footsteps ascend the stairs. A moment later, Snape stepped into the doorway. Harry smiled broadly as he recognised Hedwig perched on the Professor’s arm. With a loud squawk, she swooped down and alighted on the headboard beside his head where she proceeded to groom his messy hair, chirping lightly all the while.

Quietly, Snape seated himself in the rickety chair; Harry ignored him in favour of petting his familiar.

“She arrived not too long ago. Apparently she can overcome even the Fidelius Charm’s protection, when she wishes to find you.”

Harry nodded; Hedwig had always struck him as intelligent.

“Potter.”

Harry flinched.

“Potter, look at me, if you would.”

Harry shrugged and turned, allowing his eye to lock on Snape’s.

Snape nodded as if pleased with him, which was surprising enough that he instantly paid attention. “The Headmaster has gone to cover his duties at Hogwarts and find out what he can concerning the Auror Investigation.”

Harry scowled and twisted his fingers in the duvet. At the time, he truly hadn’t thought about the consequences of fighting, killing, the Death Eaters. It wasn’t really something that came to mind when you thought you were about to be killed or kidnapped and dragged before Voldemort.

One of the House Elves reappeared, holding a tray, balancing a bowl of soup and spoon on it.

“Soup for the Little Master, Master Snape, sir!”

Snape took the tray, “Thank-you, Bolly. You may go.”

With a happy squeak, Bolly did so. Harry looked at the Potions Professor uncertainly as the man brought the tray over and settled it on his lap.

“Soup only, for now. We will see if you can stomach more in a day or two.”

Harry picked up the spoon and managed a weak smile in thanks.

For a moment, silence wrapped around them and for some reason, Harry actually felt perfectly comfortable with it. Maybe it had something to do with Snape not berating him or sneering? Maybe it had something to do with the way Snape was acting, well, human at the moment.

“Professor Dumbledore suggested you try replying to any mail you may have received. However, your bird didn’t bring anything with her.”

Harry stared at the man for a moment. Snape simply raised an eyebrow at him, black eyes emotionless.

Harry blinked and nodded. He could reply to the birthday letters once he was done eating. Though the prospect of telling Ron and Hermione about everything... No. The idea didn’t appeal to him. Though writing to Luna did, even if only to thank her for the unexpected gift.

“Have you any letters, Potter?”

Harry nodded and pointed at his trunk. He caught the slight roll of the man’s eyes, but really, he was only surprised Snape was leaving it at that. He had been expecting him to start yelling at any moment.

Instead, the man stood and after checking for permission (and wasn’t that surprising?) he opened the trunk and moved things around in search of the letters. Harry continued to slowly eat the soup, watching as the professor searched. After a few minutes, Snape stood, with a pile of parchment in his hand, which he then held up, “Are these the ones?”

Harry squinted, then held a hand out. Snape rolled his eyes again and handed the pile over.

Rifling through the pile, Harry found the three he needed, pulled them out and handed the rest back. Snape replaced the letters and made his way to the door. “I will have Bolly bring up spare parchment, ink and quills. Try not to abuse the privilege.” He paused. “I am going to send Mozo out for provisions. If there is anything you would like added to the list, please provide Bolly with it within the next hour.”

Harry watched as the man swept from the doorway, black robes flying impressively in his wake.