Harry’s eyes slowly opened, his head throbbing painfully and his throat dry and painful. Raising a hand to his forehead, he pressed his palm against his scar, hoping to quench the blinding pain shooting through his skull. His other hand fell to his midsection, his queasy stomach nearly as troubling as the pain in his head. His muscles ached as if he had participated in a marathon, and he found it hard to catch his breath.

The vision had been remarkably more intense than the previous one, and Harry noted with a scowl that this was a reoccurring theme. Either Voldemort was getting stronger or Harry was getting weaker, neither of which provided Harry with a firm sense of security.

Movement from his doorway caught his attention and he looked up to see Hermione staring at him, her face pale and streaked with tears. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his voice hoarse, “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright?” Hermione asked incredulously, “Of course I am! I’m worried about you, though.”

“Did I disturb you?”

Harry felt his cheeks begin to burn and he suddenly felt highly self-conscious. He hated being seen like this. It was bad enough that his roommates in Gryffindor had seen his reaction after his vision of Arthur Weasley being attacked the previous year, but for his friends to know he was still having visions—and suffering from them—was nearly too much for his pride to bear.

“You were screaming.” Hermione said softly, sitting next to him, “I couldn’t wake you up. I had no idea that your visions were so bad…that’s what it was, a vision? Can I get you anything?”

Harry shook his head, letting his eyes close in a weak attempt to end the pounding in his head, “I’d like to be alone.”

“But—“

“Please, Hermione, I just want to be alone.”

With a heavy sigh, Hermione turned away, lingering in the doorway for a few moments as she watched Harry roll over onto his side, facing the wall.

His head continued to throb as Harry bit his lip, fighting tears. He absolutely hated these blasted visions. He loathed feeling so helpless, having to watch such cruel acts of violence without being able to help at all. More than anything, he wanted a chance to face Voldemort again and put an end to this madness once and for all, before anyone else was hurt. Especially the ones he loved. He had lost too many people to that bastard and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The Death Eater meeting had not been one of the worst Harry had experienced, but it was definitely bad enough to leave a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth and he doubted he’d be able to close his eyes without hearing the haunted, tormented screams of those who had been tortured.

He heard a commotion downstairs, but decided he wasn’t concerned enough to investigate. Only he and Hermione were occupying the house and he knew his friend well enough to know she’d come to him if she needed assistance. He’d have to rectify that, the sooner the better. As much as he loved his friends, they were in serious danger as long as he held them close. That had to be rectified.  Immediately.

Voices drifted up the stairs, stopping outside of Harry’s room. He could make out Hermione’s worried tones, but wasn’t able to hear who she was speaking to. He didn’t think Snape would be back from his meeting yet, judging by what he had seen of the activities taking place in Voldemort’s presence, and if it had been the Weasleys returning, Ron would have already barged into the room, regardless of anything Hermione had to say.

“I’ll get my things.”

Harry pulled the pillow over his face, this couldn’t be good. If Hermione was preparing to leave, it was likely Harry would be making a journey as well, and he felt entirely too tired to even consider it. If Hermione was leaving alone, he’d be left alone with Snape until Ron and his family returned. Either way, he was certain to be miserable.

The door burst open, but Harry refused to give the person interrupting his miserable lamentations the courtesy of acknowledgment. What part of “I want to be left alone” did no one in this house understand?

“Get up Potter, we need to leave immediately.” The voice of Severus Snape hissed from above him, “Gather whatever you need as quickly as possible, we’re going to apparate out in exactly two minutes.”

“What?” Harry asked as he shot up, the pillow falling carelessly to the floor, “Why?”

Shooting Harry a cold glare, Snape growled, “I do not have the time nor the patience for an interrogation, Mr. Potter. Rise and gather your belongings!”

“Where are we going?”

“That is none of your concern.” Snape replied, “If you are not downstairs in exactly 90 seconds, we will leave without you.”

Grudgingly, Harry began to toss the few items strewn around his room into his trunk, lugging it behind him down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he saw Hermione was already waiting alongside Snape. With a flick of his wand, the professor shrunk the trunk and placed it within his robes. "Grab my arm."

Hermione grasped the professor's right arm, Harry his left, and almost immediately there was a crack and he shut his eyes, opening them to find he was in a rundown, dusty old house. Coughing slightly as he inhaled the musty air, Harry released Snape's arm, taking a step away, "Where are we?"

"We are at an old family home, it is under the Fidelus charm, unplottable and unquestionably the most secure location for us at the moment."

"What about Grimmauld Place? Professor Dumbledore is the secret keeper, isn't he? How could it possibly not be safe?" Harry paused, a flutter of panic in his stomach, "has something happened to Dumbledore?"

"Professor Dumbledore." Snape corrected, "No, he is fine. Voldemort is aware of the location, however, I am not certain how at this point. Luckily, he does not expect you to be residing there at this particular moment, certainly if he had, the two of you would presently be in dire circumstances."

"But Professor," Hermione asked hesitantly, "How could he know unless Professor Dumbledore told him or one of the Death Eaters?"

"How he came to know does not concern me right now," Snape sneered, "I am much more concerned with what to do with the two of you until another location has been secured."

Snape took the shrunken trunks from his pocket, placing them on the floor and muttering an incantation to return them to their normal size, "I will show you to your rooms. You will remain there until dinner, and will return immediately following the meal. At that time, I will discuss the rules I expect the two of you to follow. You are not to touch anything, nor bother me with any inane nonsense. If you do disturb me, and it is not for a lethal emergency, you will find yourself transformed into potions ingredients to, no doubt, be wasted by your peers when the term starts."

Not waiting for a response, he stalked out of the room, his robes billowing behind him. The first room they came to was Hermione's, and she gave Harry a sympathetic smile as Snape jerked Harry's arm and led him to another room, "Try not to get into trouble."

The door slammed shut behind him and Harry let his trunk loudly fall to the floor, the thud echoing slightly throughout the room. In his opinion, the room was more of a dungeon cell than an actual habitable room, and Harry couldn't help but wonder if this was an "old family home" or a prison. A thick layer of dust covered every surface of the barren room, from the windows to the old bed that sat in the middle of the stone walls and floor. The room lacked pictures, furniture and any sort of indication that it had ever been occupied by anyone. He walked to the window, using his sleeve to wipe away at the dust and grime, and frowned to see is view was of a stone wall. Lovely. He wouldn't put it past the greasy git to give him the worst possible room in the entire house, or even to transfigure a decent room into this cell. Of course, by what he had already seen of the rest of the house, the most likely scenario was that the whole house was similar in fashion. 

He would never admit it to anyone, but he found himself preoccupied and worried about the upcoming meal he'd have to share with his professor. Aside from the 5 minutes they had been in each other's company after the death eater meeting, their previous encounter had been a nightmare, and there was no doubt in his mind that he would be held accountable for the rude, obnoxious behavior he had exhibited earlier. He shuddered as he imagined the possibilities of his punishments...had they been in school, he'd be writing lines or scrubbing cauldrons, neither of which caused him a great deal of concern, but away from the structured and uniform discipline matrix, the possibilities were endless. Would he have to write 10,000 lines? Scrub the stone floors with a toothbrush? His toothbrush? Would Snape wash his mouth out with soap? Strike him? Would he even have the authority to do such actions?

Harry listlessly flopped onto the bed, his head aching. He was so sick of feel this way, torn into two, full of anger and despair. He wanted, more than anything, to confide in his friends and lean on them for support as he continued to be consumed with grief and guilt for Sirius's death. He wanted to hear that everything would be okay, to be soothed by their unwavering loyalty to the cause of the light, to believe that they were going to win this war and escape unscathed. But he knew this wasn't the truth. There would be more casualties, more bloodshed, more loss. Loss not only of life, but innocence, as a new generation of fighters would turn into murders. And if he continued to be seen in the presence of his best friends, if everyone knew how important they were to him, they may as well walk around with targets painted on their faces. More people, people that he loved, would die because of him and who he was. He couldn't let that happen...he had to protect them, he had to distance himself from them. It was the only way, he had to do this alone.

His eyes grew heavy and he covered his eyes with his arm, wishing he could figure out a way to become accustomed to the constant dull throb in his temple. Maybe his outlook on life, and death, would be improved if he could endure a full night of pain-free rest. The ache intensified as he found himself thrust once again into a vision, and as he was pulled from his own consciousness, the last thought on his mind was a mixture of surprise at the close proximity of this vision to the previous and irritation that Voldemort was once again up to no good. 

--

Severus Snape sat in the library, a glass of brandy in one hand as he reflected on the day's events. If someone would have told him that morning that he would be housing two Gryffindors in his childhood home, Hermione Granger and Harry Potter at that!, he would have sent them directly to St. Mungos for psychological evaluation. Yet here he was, an hour before dinner, playing nanny to the insufferable brats. 

He was not looking forward to dinner, where he'd undoubtedly be pressured into making small talk with the teenagers, or worse, listening to them carry on as most of the students did during meals while school was in session. To be completely honest, he didn't want to spend any amount of time with the arrogant, disrespectful imp Potter after the way the obnoxious brat had spoken to him earlier. He didn't imagine their next meeting would proceed any calmer, nor did he expect Dumbledore would condone hexing the child's mouth shut.

Although he'd never admit to being anything other than flawless, he was at a loss on how to proceed with punishment for the boy's blatant disrespect. It was much easier at school, the students had to follow whatever punishment he dictated; failure to do so would ultimately result in expulsion, but he didn't have the threat of expulsion behind him during the summer. Oh, how he wished he did! He would love nothing more than to be free of Harry-blasted-Potter. He imagined that if he tried to assign some sort of disciplinary action towards the brat, Potter would be openly defiant, and then he'd lose his temper and curse the boy and then he would find himself unemployed. While he often said he'd do anything to get rid of the boy, he didn't want to do it in that fashion. And even if Potter did decide to obey him, which he sincerely doubted, what sort of punishment is suitable for a sixteen year old boy outside of school grounds? It wasn't as if he could give the child lines, make him scrub cauldrons, sort through potions ingredients or some similar menial task to pass time. 

Looking around the filthy room, he contemplated the idea of using housework as a punishment for the boy, as least then he'd be getting two things accomplished at once--punishment and a habitable living area. A smirk crossed his lips, that would be suitable, there was nothing more a sixteen year old child hated more than cleaning. 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by a blood curdling scream. Wand-in-hand, he sprinted into the hallway, fully expecting to see fully robed death eaters, or perhaps the Dark Lord himself, but was met only by darkness. He reached the small bedroom at the end of the hall, surprised to see he wasn't the person person who had arrived to fight off whatever attack was taking place in Potter's room. 

"Harry! Harry! Wake up!" Hermione's pleading voice echoed into the hallway.

Severus could hear she was close to tears, and he hesitated outside the doorway. Emotional, angsty teens weren't necessarily his forte, and this situation just oozed with drama. Another guttural howl from Harry snapped him to his senses and he barged into the room, his voice sharp, "What is going on?"

"A vision...or maybe a nightmare...I don't know." Hermione said urgently, holding Harry's wrists down onto the bed as he continued to thrash about, "We've got to wake him up, he's clearly in pain."

Although Severus had never experienced one of Harry's visions before, he had heard of them, but had no idea that they were this intense. He shoved Hermione out of the way, grabbing the boy by his forearms and shaking him roughly, "Potter! Potter! Stop this right now!" 

The screaming and struggling ceased almost instantaneously, the boy going limp under his grip. Looking from the pale, unconscious boy in front of him to the crying, slightly panicked girl beside him, Severus had the distinct feeling that he was in over his head.