Albus Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, June 1996

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, sat unmoving behind his desk awaiting word from Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Potions Master and Head of Slytherin.

Barely a year had passed since Snape's reintroduction into Voldemort's circle. Having survived that year, it was clear that Snape was fully capable of taking care of himself, yet Dumbledore worried each time Snape was Summoned.

Voldemort's return was confirmed when the Dark Mark burned on Snape's arm following the third task of the Triwizard Tournament. Yet, regardless of how faithless Snape appeared to others, Dumbledore knew with all certainty that the man would respond readily when asked to return to his old master's service as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.

'Severus, you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready... if you are prepared...'

'I am.'

'Then, good luck.'

Snape's Death Eater status granted him essential and unparalleled access to Voldemort's circle, but Dumbledore was well aware that Snape had had to endure some extremely sadistic punishments in exchange for that access. Unsurprisingly, they intensified the more Voldemort was denied Harry Potter's demise.

It was for that reason, that for the first time in a long time, Dumbledore wasn't simply worried - he was frightened. The battle at the Ministry of Magic had taken place a week ago. Though Snape had had no part in it, he'd not been seen or heard from since.

Following Snape's reinstatement as a Death Eater, he and Dumbledore had devised several fail-safes for the job, one being that no extraordinary efforts would be used to locate Snape should contact ever be lost. Having already exhausted all of their established means of contact in case of emergency, Dumbledore was left with the chilling possibility that Snape was dead - he had never failed to make contact before, not for this stretch of time.

Absently, Dumbledore scratched his hand, then rose, stiff from sitting. Looking about, his eyes touched on a blank spot on his desk, previously occupied by some innocuous, yet rare trinket. His thoughts regressed to his conversation with Harry following the tragedy at the Ministry.

'I DON'T CARE! I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE-'

'You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it.'

Following a sharp rap at the door, Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor, swept into the office.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said, nodding genially.

"Good evening, Albus." 

"Shouldn't you be in bed, resting?" Arching an eyebrow in mock admonishment, he assisted her into the lush sitting chair she instantly transfigured from a less comfortable one, then retook his own seat behind his desk.

McGonagall, still recovering from Ministry lackey Dolores Umbridge's savage attack a week ago, had been instructed by her attending healer at St. Mungo's to take it easy for at least a month following her release from the hospital.

"If I stay in bed any longer, I shall have to transfigure myself into a bed sheet," she replied, raising a hand at Dumbledore's proffered bowl of candies. "Besides, my only company these past few days has been Poppy, administering my potions," she said with an imperious sniff as she daintily smoothed her robes over her knees.

"Of course," Dumbledore chuckled. "I do apologize for being rather scarce, but as you know, Cornelius has been relieved of his post and the new Minister has requested several meetings."

"Why? Hasn't he enough to be getting on with without interfering at Hogwarts? Did he learn nothing from the cock up Fudge created?"

"It is not his intention to interfere at Hogwarts."

"Then, what?"

"Harry." Dumbledore rose, again, his expression troubled and angry.

"Harry? I don't understand..."

"Certain pressures come with inheriting a corrupt, blind, and rather ineffective government, Minerva."

"What has that to do with Harry?"

"Scrimgeour is rather desperate to distance his administration from Fudge's. He must essentially rebuild the Ministry from the ground up, but he has many to appease, and quickly. The rebuilding will happen over the long-term, but for the short-term... he and some other Ministry Heads have devised a plan to... revitalize the Ministry's image."

Behind her square spectacles, McGonagall's eyes narrowed in confusion, then widened, burning with outrage. "That's absurd! The audacity!" She paused, considering how most within the Ministry often conducted themselves. Disgusted, she asked, "Have they contacted him?"

"No, I will not allow it." Dumbledore's voice was as chill as an arctic wind.

McGonagall wondered how he would continue to deny the new minister an audience with Harry, then decided not to trouble herself about it. Dumbledore had trifled with far more troublesome wizards than a newly installed Minister of Magic, and as important as he was, Harry was not the Order's only concern.

"Have you any word from Severus?" she asked as Dumbledore resumed his seat. "What of You-Know-Who? Has he learned anything? It's been days since the battle at the Ministry..."

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore said, "There is no need to trouble yourself, Minerva. Severus will contact me as soon -"

On cue, a snowy white owl glided in through an open window.

"That's Potter's owl!" McGonagall exclaimed. Instantly, she was on the edge of her seat, sharp eyes on Dumbledore as he swiftly captured the note Hedwig dropped midflight taking scant seconds to read its contents.

"Albus, what is it?" McGonagall asked alarmed at how quickly he had paled. "Has something happened to Potter?"

Dumbledore began waving his wand in an intricate pattern, simultaneously chanting arcane words that were nonsensical to the Transfigurations professor.

"Albus?" McGonagall said when he fell silent, his wand still held gracefully aloft.

"One moment, Minerva," he muttered forcefully. Then, his wand's tip glowed a brilliant pulsing green, but its vibrancy faded quickly, becoming duller as seconds passed. 

Turning to the unique bird of red and gold perched nearby, Dumbledore commanded, "Fawkes, Cunnan!" In an instant, the phoenix was gone. Seconds later, a red feather flashed into existence before the old wizard's face.

"The gates... He's at the gates..." Dumbledore mumbled, dashing from behind his desk to throw open the door.

McGonagall had never seen the man so out of sorts, so fearful. "Headmaster? Albus - please!"

He stopped to look back. Confusion and fear strained her features, mirroring his own, he knew.

"Severus!"

He then descended the stairs at a speed that would have shamed many of the students. McGonagall snapped into motion following as quickly as she could.

*WO

Emerging from the castle, their attention was drawn to the wildly flashing lights just beyond the school's entrance. A deafening roar erupted as a great, boulder-sized head became visible along with the giant's massive flailing arms, towering high above the wrought iron gates. A dark shape - with a face far too pale to be anything but a mask - went flying into the trees, sparks shooting from what had to be a wand. McGonagall winced as a loud thud cut short the screaming.

Though still a good distance from them, Dumbledore wasted no time in releasing the gates' protective spells. As McGonagall drew closer, she too drew her wand. She was nearly at the gates when Dumbledore reentered the grounds trailed by Hagrid, Fang, and Grawp.

Hagrid was cradling something, someone - Snape. Running up to them she instinctively gagged at the sight and acrid reek of blood, burned flesh, and bodily waste. Choking back a sob, she covered her nose and mouth, wondering how Hagrid bore the stench. Then she saw that he was silently sobbing, mucus and tears mingling to block his nasal passages. Hastily, she dispatched her Patronus to inform Madam Pomfrey of their arrival.

Trotting alongside the half-giant, she looked back to see Dumbledore making quick work of spelling the gates. When Snape moaned softly, she said, "Almost there, Severus," as soothingly as she could manage while running.

"Dum-ble-dore," he rasped, raising his head, trying to distinguish her amidst the darkness despite the needle-sharp pains in his chest.

"Quiet now," she chided in a tone not unlike the one she used when speaking to students. "Wait!"

"No!" His black eyes were wracked with pain, but his tone was fierce.

"Severus, we are at the steps of the castle, please..." she panted. "You can speak to Dumbledore inside!" Glancing back again, she saw Dumbledore racing in their direction.

Snape exhaled what would have been an irritated sigh, but turned into a harsh, watery sounding cough. Once the fit was over, McGonagall pursed her lips with relief when Hagrid confirmed that Snape was still breathing.

In the Entrance Hall, the soft light emitting from the torches outlined the horrifying extent of Snape's external damage: His robes were singed, frayed open, exposing a formerly white shirt, now stained impossibly with blood and muck; more alarming were his hands, mutilated beyond all comprehension. 

After nearly unhinging the hospital wing's doors as he burst through them, Hagrid gently settled Snape onto a bed. Madam Pomfrey quickly shooed the half-giant out of the way and busied herself cleaning Snape up to better assess his injuries, yet she made no inquiries regarding their source. Dumbledore stood quietly out of her way, remaining close lest Snape wake up.

"Albus, he asked for you," McGonagall puffed, perched on the edge of a nearby bed. 

The headmaster turned his intense, worried gaze onto the school nurse. "Poppy, I must speak with him. Anything you can do... The Cruciatus Curse was used - four wands, simultaneously." His tone was steely at the last.

"Oh, Severus..." McGonagall choked as Hagrid's pain-filled bellow rattled the ward's windows. Madam Pomfrey looked as scandalized as they sounded, but she gave Dumbledore a grim, determined nod and went back to work.

Then a muted red light erupted at Dumbledore's chest, beneath his robes. When it faded to black, he placed a hand over it and closed his eyes. In a burst of flame, Fawkes appeared. "MARK 12," he rapped and the phoenix flashed out of existence. A ragged sigh was Dumbledore's only reaction to the odd occurrence.

"Albus?" McGonagall said. Madam Pomfrey looked up, curious.

"Please, Poppy, continue," Dumbledore said. He glanced at McGonagall, communicating that he would fill her in later. She gave a reluctant nod, observing that he now looked even more troubled than he had after reading Harry's note.

The silent vigil carried on as Madam Pomfrey ran her wand the length of Snape's body, conducting a diagnostic scan. She then set to work on his hands, rinsing them of debris, and applying burn healing paste to the raw, weeping skin before bandaging them. His left forearm was flayed open, the tendons grotesquely exposed. Enraptured, Dumbledore stared at the destroyed flesh, reflecting on its possible significance beyond the wound.

"He's a right mess! I've never seen him this - How he surv -" Madam Pomfrey paused to take a breath.

Throughout the litany of injuries, her tone became more and more exasperated. She knew what Snape did for the Headmaster; she did not approve.

"And, his dear hands!" She angrily batted a stray tear off her cheek. "If he regains full use of them, it will be a miracle..."

Dumbledore hissed at her last words. For a Potions Master, manual dexterity was crucial - for Severus Snape, though, more than his livelihood was at risk. His formidable skills imparted an absolute air to his personality in his roles as a professor, as a spy and, more significantly, as a man. 

"I think the object used to stab him in his back was likely poisoned and is undoubtedly contributing to his difficulty breathing. The fire, it seems to have done away with the Mark... and good riddance! But, there's something wrong, internally, beyond a punctured lung, I think... He should be in St. Mungo's," Pomfrey concluded, shaking her head, eyes clinically sweeping the length of Snape's body is search of something she may have missed.

"No. He must stay here," Dumbledore said firmly. Pomfrey stared at him, flabbergasted. "You have treated him before when he has returned in less than... healthy condition."

"Yes," she said, nostrils flaring, "but this is beyond me Headmaster! There's something off about these injuries, the magic used... You saw! I couldn't even apply paste to his bruises - and his lungs!" she exclaimed. "It's unconscionab -"

"If his condition is beyond you, Poppy, then so be it, but he cannot leave the castle," Dumbledore said with a tone finality.

Though the school nurse's blustering indignation underscored the gravity of Snape's injuries, discretion would be problematic at an institution like St. Mungo's; at Hogwarts, Snape would come to no further harm. Dumbledore glanced up saw in McGonagall's expression that while she did not agree with his decision, she understood it.

*WO

Harry Potter's Bedroom, Surrey, June 1996

More than an hour had passed since Harry had sent Hedwig to Hogwarts and he was still waiting to hear from Dumbledore. He paced, needing something to occupy his mind outside of the recurring image of Snape being tortured; they resurrected less than pleasant memories of the night Voldemort regained his body.

‘Kill the spare.'

Cedric's death had been quick, but Voldemort had relished toying with his enemy, Harry. It was only after much speechifying and wickedly ironic etiquette lessons in dueling, that Voldemort did finally attempt to kill him. Thus, Harry had no doubt that had Snape not escaped, Voldemort would have killed him, too. But why had Snape been punished so severely in the first place? And why would Voldemort send the vision to him?

Harry plodded back and forth stewing over questions he had no answers to, and no tangible way to get them. His owl was gone; he couldn't perform magic lest he be hauled before the Wizengamot, where he would - without ceremony - be stripped of his wand, leaving him defenseless; and he couldn't phone anyone.

Since his return from school, the Dursleys made certain Harry had no unsupervised access to a telephone. They even went so far as to unplug each one in the house to take them with them whenever they went out, Uncle Vernon insisting it was a ‘matter of safety.' Having made the decision last summer after ‘Voldy-thing' came back, Vernon made it clear he wouldn't have his family tracked down because of one careless phone call to or from any of those ‘unnatural freaks' Harry hung round with.

Frustrated, Harry growled, and ran his fingers through his hair. The clock now read 10:05. He stopped midstride, cocking his head. He took a moment to focus on the silence of the house, then looked at the clock again. 10:07.

The Dursleys... Where are they? They should have been back by now. They-

A muted noise came from downstairs. Harry frowned. A car had not pulled into the driveway nor had the front door been opened with its usual slam announcing his uncle's arrival, so what - There it was again!

It might be Dumbledore or someone from the Order sent to fetch him as they had after the Dementors, or it might not. On edge after the vision he had just witnessed, Harry grabbed his wand off the side table, and cautiously made his way to the door. With his ear against it, and his wand at the ready, he put his hand on the doorknob. He listened, focused on every sound. Well acquainted with every squeak, groan, and sigh of those stairs, he would know if someone was coming up.

At the first squeak, he gripped the doorknob, prepared to yank it open and start hurling hexes, no matter who was there. He clenched his jaw when he heard a groan - whoever was out there was now halfway up the stairs. Harry had just begun to turn the doorknob, when a loud BANG echoed from downstairs. That sounded like one of Uncle Vernon's entrances, but they weren't usually accompanied by curses - well, not magical ones.

Harry's eyes grew wide at the sound of the voices shouting below: Mad-Eye, Mr. Weasley, Remus, and Kingsley!

They had come for him! A loud thud just outside his door caused him to jump back. Taking a defensive stance, he gripped his wand tightly out in front of him. Downstairs a voice yelled "Stupefy!" and something hit the door, causing it to bow inward from the impact.

"Arthur, move!" yelled Remus. "Stupefy! Avada..."

"Remus... NO! Stupefy!"

"Damn!"

Another thud echoed from the other side of the wall, then, someone was thundering up the stairs. Still poised defensively, Harry never took his eyes off the door. Someone muttered, "Incarcerous."  Harry knew that voice.

"Harry?" said Mr. Weasley, panicked.

"In here!"

Mr. Weasley tried to turn the doorknob, but Harry had gripped it from his side at the same time, so they fought each other for a few seconds.

"Oh, bugger it," muttered Mr. Weasley. "Go on, Harry."

Harry pulled the door open and peered out at the wizards before him. Mr. Weasley looked pale and shaken while Remus, off to the side, looked worn and angry. A bound Death Eater lay on the floor between them.

"Harry," Remus said, "are you all right?" Remus' normally warm, amber eyes were bloodshot and empty.

"I'm okay. What happened? How'd he get in here?" Harry pointed at the body on the floor.

"The blood protections have fallen," said Mr. Weasley, growing even paler.

"What?! How?"

"The Dursleys are dead," Remus said, his voice and expression flat.

"But... but... that's no-" Harry stuttered, horrified.

"We don't have time for this!" Mad-Eye growled from the stairs. "Fill him in once we're back at headquarters!"

"Head - I don't want to go back there!" said Harry.

"We have no choice, Harry. Moody's right, we must hurry before You-Know-Who sends reinforcements," Mr. Weasley said, fidgeting anxiously.

Harry shook his head, resolute. "I'm not going there." He fingered his wand, thinking he might hex anyone who tried to force him to go.

"Harry, be reasonable!" Remus said, suddenly impatient. Harry gave Remus a look that said, ‘You of all people should understand why I don't want to go there!'

When Remus maintained his flat, irritated glare, Harry squared his shoulders and said, "No, anywhere -"

"Enough!" Moody roared. "We need to move, now!"

"Harry, gather your things... quickly now," said Mr. Weasley, smiling. That got him moving. Possibly meant to calm Harry, it only served to unnerve him, as it was horribly strained and lacked any of the man's natural warmth.

Since Harry hadn't bothered to unpack, even after a week, he had only to throw his book bag into his trunk, and grab his broom and Hedwig's cage - be it reluctantly. Mr. Weasley then shrunk the trunk and wordlessly took the broom and cage when Harry refused to let him shrink them.

Out in the hallway, Mr. Weasley said, "What'll we do with these?"

Harry looked down. There was a second Death Eater lying prone on the stairs. Though he didn't recognize either one, he felt a chill snake up his spine at the sight of their masks and robes and wondered if they had been among those present during Snape's torture. When he heard Moody's harsh reply, Harry then wondered if they would be in for the same treatment once Voldemort discovered they had failed at their task.

"Leave'em," Moody spat. "Let You-Know-Who sort'em out!"

Moody turned to stump down the stairs leaving Harry and the others to follow. In the kitchen, where Kingsley had obviously been standing guard, Harry could see through the back door that out in the garden there was yet another Death Eater stunned and trussed like the others.

"Harry," Kingsley said with a deeply somber nod.

Harry nodded a greeting in return. The strained atmosphere gave him the odd feeling that more had occurred than he'd been witness to, but there was no time to dwell on it.

"I've sent word to Dumbledore," said Kingsley, directing his words to Mad-Eye.

"Fine," the old Auror growled. "Lupin, you and Arthur take the boy. We'll meet you back at headquarters." He finished sternly as if expecting Remus to protest.

Remus simply nodded, then to Harry, said, "Take my arm."

"Where-" Harry began.

"Harry!" Remus barked.

Remus looked so grim and was so uncharacteristically sharp, Harry didn't dare argue. He grasped Remus' arm and immediately felt himself being squeezed into a suffocating darkness. Moments later, he tumbled gracelessly onto a dirt road.

"What was that?" Harry gasped blinking hard to bring the world back into focus and to get adjusted to the oppressive dark. Looking about, he soon realized they were on the road leading to Hogwarts.

"Apparition," Remus said just as Mr. Weasley popped into existence farther up the road.

Fred and George Weasley had made an annoying habit of popping in and out of the rooms at Grimmauld Place last summer after earning their Apparition license. Harry didn't understand why they hadn't just walked. Shaking off the residual disorientation, he hurried alongside Remus to join Mr. Weasley. With wands out, they all set off at a brisk pace for Hogwarts.

*WO

Albus Dumbledore's Office, Hogwarts, June 1996

Entering the castle's Entrance Hall, Remus instructed Harry to Gryffindor Tower, telling him he would see him after he'd spoken with Dumbledore.

"But, I wanted a word with him, too," Harry said, frowning.

"Harry, I need to discuss some things with him priv -"

"Good evening Remus, Arthur, Harry," came Dumbledore's voice from behind them. They all turned to see the white-haired wizard striding swiftly toward them.

"Headmaster," Remus said.

"Albus," said Mr. Weasley.

"Professor," Harry mumbled, not quite able to meet the man's eyes now they were face to face. He was curious how his note had been received, but was also feeling embarrassed because of his behavior in Dumbledore's office scarcely more than a week ago.

Dumbledore appraised him knowingly. "Remus, Arthur, if you would proceed to my office, I will meet with you both shortly. There is something I must first discuss with Harry."

Harry looked up, surprised. Remus started to say something, but after noting the look on Dumbledore's face, he simply nodded and cast them a curious glance before following Mr. Weasley.

"Harry, this way, please." Dumbledore turned back in the direction from which he had come. Harry hurried to follow.

For several moments they walked in - for Harry - a tense silence. Finally he blurted, "Professor, did you get my note?"

"I did, Harry, thank you."

"Well... was Snape being tortured like I saw?" Harry pressed, fairly running to keep up with Dumbledore's long stride.

"He was."

"Why would -" Dumbledore cut him off by raising his hand.

"In a moment, Harry. First I want to warn you that what you are about to see will not be pleasant."

They were at the entrance to the hospital wing. Following Dumbledore inside, Harry's eyes were immediately drawn to the only occupied bed in the ward. White, gauzy curtains were drawn up on the left, but the right side was open, exposing Snape. He looked, to Harry, as though he had just suffered through several rounds in a Muggle boxing ring with Grawp.

"Will he be okay?" Harry asked, unable to stifle a wince at the devastating condition of Snape's hands.

"That remains to be seen. As soon as your note was delivered, I called upon Fawkes to locate him, but Hagrid found him first. As luck would have it, he and Grawp were out hunting at the time. Fang picked up Severus' scent and tracked him to the road. They reached him just as he was nearing the gates, just as Death Eaters were firing curses at him from the other side of the forest."

"All this happened on the road?" Harry pointed to Snape. "So what I saw was wrong, then!"

"I have my suspicions, but I do not believe so. In all probability, Voldemort dispatched them once Severus escaped."

"Has he said anything?"

"He was unconscious when we found him. Professor McGonagall said that he was able to communicate a few words as Hagrid brought him up to the castle, but nothing beyond that."

"What did he say?"

"He... asked for me."

"What d' you think he wanted to tell you?" Harry ventured, surprised at Dumbledore's openness, yet eager to glean as much information as he could.

"That you and your family were in danger," Dumbledore said, piercing Harry with a look.

Shock and doubt ruled Harry's features as he reeled at this information. "Why would he do that?"

"Harry, you are well aware of Professor Snape's duty as a member of the Order to spy on Voldemort."

Harry scowled, flatly refusing to believe Snape had had anything to do with the Dursley's deaths or with what had happened at the Ministry - beyond perhaps giving Voldemort pointers on planning them.

He vividly recalled how Snape had coldly ignored his coded plea in Umbridge's office:  ‘Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage...' It didn't make sense that he would now try to save Harry and the Dursleys, not when he had been so quick to dismiss Harry's appeal for help barely more than a week ago!

"How do you know it wasn't his idea for Voldemort to go after the Dursleys and me in the first place?!"

"Harry, I trust Severus Snape. Do not think to disparage him to me beyond this conversation."

Dumbledore's tone wasn't cold, but Harry felt chilled nonetheless. He swallowed and said, "Yes, sir."

When Dumbledore remained silent, Harry volunteered, "Death Eaters got inside the house." He turned his eyes to Snape, suddenly captivated by the purplish bruise on the man's swollen forehead.

"Three of them; one was right outside my bedroom door when Remus and the others got there. I'd been waiting to hear from you. It was past ten when I realized the Dursleys hadn't made it back from dinner yet. They should have been back at 9:30 or so..." Harry said. He turned back to Dumbledore. "What happened to them?"

"There was a one-car accident eight kilometers from the Dursley's house."

"It was just a car accident?" Harry felt oddly relieved. "So, it might not've been Voldemort at all!" he said, forgetting his previous damning accusation of Snape.

"It was no common car accident, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "Muggle witnesses reported seeing the car floating above the roadway, being bounced about until it finally crashed to the ground, mangling the car and its occupants."

Harry felt instantly deflated and nauseous. The act reminded him spine-tinglingly of what had been done to Snape. With their blinding disdain of all things magical, Harry could imagine how terrified the Dursleys must have been, probably cursing his name all the while.

"Why now?" he whispered.

"Tom would have been frustrated by the outcome at the Ministry, missing his one chance to hear the prophecy," Dumbledore said, his eyes never leaving Snape's face. "He is not avowed for his patience or for blithely accepting defeat. Nor is he obliging of incompetence or disloyalty amongst his followers."

"That I'm well aware of," Harry muttered, recalling the failures of Quirrell, Wormtail, and he hoped, Bellatrix Lestrange. Quirrell had paid the ultimate price with his life, while Wormtail had merely been divested of his hand. Harry could only hope the results of Bellatrix's failure at the Ministry had been as equally lethal as Quirrell's.

"Of course, access to you was his primary goal," Dumbledore continued. "But, I am afraid your relatives' deaths were an unfortunate consequence to that end. I am quite certain he was unaware of the particulars of the blood magic surrounding you all, but, Tom's cruelty knows no bounds."

Harry grimaced, angry. He had come so close, once again, to being killed, and Snape... Though Harry found the Headmaster's certainty that Snape was on their side, disarming, he couldn't avoid the obvious: the man had been tortured, and there had to be a reason.

‘Disregard of loyalty amongst my followers is intolerable.'

"How did Remus find out so fast?" Harry asked, not wanting to brood over Snape's condition or how it came about.

"If the blood protections fell, instant notification was crucial. Thus, the magic contained within them was connected to this." Dumbledore pulled a silver chain from beneath his robes. Hanging from the chain was a shiny silver Sickle sized medallion emblazoned with a runic symbol. "It was charmed to glow brightly if the protections were breached. When it did, I alerted the Order."

"What's that symbol?" Harry asked, mesmerized. He found it beautiful, and strangely familiar.

"That is the runic symbol for the first letter of your mother's name."

"Th-that was my mum's?" Harry stammered, awestruck.

"Yes, Harry," said Dumbledore, smiling, for the first time that evening. "It is yours to keep now, if you wish. I have no further need of it." He looped the chain from around his neck, and placed it in Harry's outstretched hand.

"Thank you, sir," Harry whispered reverently.

Because his emotions were always so irritatingly close to the surface these days, his voice became gruff at seeing this small object that had belonged to his mother. He had his father's cloak, but he'd had nothing of Lily's - until now. Slowly, he ran a finger over the symbol, feeling the raised ridges of the piece, trying not to shed the tears welling in his eyes. He quickly swiped his hand beneath his glasses to clear his vision.

"You are very welcome. Now, Harry, I must go meet with Arthur and Remus -"

"But - sir, what about the Dursleys, what'll happen to them?"

That he was likely to never return to Privet Drive finally struck him. Would there be a service? He hadn't liked his relatives, but they had died because of their connection to him, thus, he owed them something.

This last thought caused Harry's stomach to churn. How many? How many more people who stood between him and Voldemort would die? He clutched his mother's medallion tightly in his fist, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I owe them," he whispered, speaking his thought out loud.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore, softly touching a hand to his shoulder. "Once I have met with Remus and Arthur, we shall discuss it, yes?"

Harry nodded, his constricted throat making it impossible to speak just then.

"Until then -" Dumbledore cleared his throat, "- would you mind sitting with Professor Snape?"

Harry's eyes flew open and Dumbledore raised a beseeching hand.

"Madam Pomfrey is currently occupied with Professor McGonagall, else I would not ask," Dumbledore said. "She shall be returning momentarily." His eyes were expectant. 

Harry cast a suspicious glance at Snape, lying so quietly, Harry wondered if he was not already dead. If he were though, that would be one more to count among the rapidly growing list of the dead linked to Harry.

"I'll stay," he said, resigned.

"Thank you, Harry. I shall come fetch you once my meeting has concluded."

*WO

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996

Harry prayed Dumbledore wouldn't be gone long. The cavernous ward had grown creepy, empty of all sound save Harry's own nervous breathing, highlighted by Snape's deathly silence. He watched Snape, staring hard until he perceived the man's chest rise and fall.

As his eyes roamed Snape's battered body, Harry quickly realized he had never given much thought to what being a servant of Voldemort entailed. He pondered the appeal of following a nutter if it meant being tortured for said nutter's malicious pleasure for no other reason than it pleased that nutter. 

But, Snape had found it appealing. Harry shuddered.

This thought, coupled with five years of mutual, burning hatred made it easy for Harry to dismiss Dumbledore's claims of Snape's loyalty. For Harry, Snape had yet to do anything to disprove just how well-suited his personality was to being a Death Eater. Every Death Eater Harry had ever encountered had been atrociously heartless, selfish, and mindless.

Lucius Malfoy certainly met each qualification with ease: his treatment of ‘inferiors' was reprehensible; he smugly watched one of his ‘brethren' tortured and nearly murdered; and he had, without conscience, given an eleven year-old girl a book rife with soul-corrupting Dark Magic. Yes, Harry believed that most likely all who had been present in that forest fulfilled every single one of those qualities, and more.

But, Harry determined that while Snape could be easily considered heartless and selfish, mindless was not a label so easily affixed to the man. Snape had to have acted outside the realm of Voldemort's demands to warrant nearly being killed.

But, why?

The question forced Harry to contemplate the meaning behind Dumbledore's words to Snape the night of Voldemort's return: ‘You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready... if you are prepared...'

Had Snape really been prepared to experience something as heinous as this? Had he been prepared to give his life?

Voldemort was a vindictive equal opportunist when meting out punishment, making no marked distinctions between innocents, enemies, or followers. Thus, Harry's skin crawled at the thought of what other punishments Snape might have endured over the past year. Having seen the man in action, Harry knew Snape possessed a certain mental fortitude allowing him to be both duplicitous and cold, but no one, not even Snape, should have had to endure the physical cost.

Squinting curiously at the vulnerable, weakened man, Harry found it quite easy to empathize with his condition, but, his unfair treatment of Harry and his housemates in Potions class, his sneering joy of taking points unnecessarily outside of it, not to mention the snarling, biting exchanges between Snape and Sirius at Grimmauld Place went a long way toward curbing his innate desire to pity the man.

Just as Harry was envisioning Snape bullying some wayward student - Snape moaned. Shocked, Harry instinctively raised his wand, nearly hexing the man. Then Snape began to mutter unintelligibly.

Harry whipped around, wishing to find someone, anyone else, in the ward with him. When Snape continued muttering, Harry cautiously lowered his wand and ventured forward toward the bed. Snape's eyes sprang open, moving frantically back and forth, giving him an utterly wild appearance.

Harry inched closer. "Professor?"

Snape's eyes lighted upon him, but Harry felt as lucent as glass as Snape seemed to be gazing through him to some point beyond him.

"Dum... bledore," Snape wheezed, before his thin frame was wracked with a vicious cough. 

Harry winced at the sound and was alarmed at the sight of blood glistening on Snape's thin lips.

"I-I'll go get him!" Harry turned, poised to run, but stopped when he felt something damp against his arm. He looked down to see Snape's hand flop listlessly back onto the bed.

"Potter... okay?"

Well accustomed to those fierce black eyes regarding him with nothing but deepest loathing, Harry was taken aback to now see them filled with a deep anxiety and fear.

Harry blinked, staggered. "Yes, sir," he said, overwhelmed with the need to be respectful. "I'm fine. I-I'll just go get Dumbledore."

Unsteadily, Snape raised his head off the pillow, trying to see Harry better. Though there had never been a time that Harry wanted to maintain eye contact with Snape, he didn't dare look away for fear of further distressing the man. After a long moment, Snape's head flopped back onto the pillow and his eyes fluttered closed. Sighing harshly, he relaxed to the point that he appeared too relaxed. 

Unnerved, Harry leaned over, eyeing Snape's chest. "Professor?" When there was no movement, he placed a trembling hand on it. Harry closed his eyes, willing it to rise, but nothing happened.

He was readying himself to shake the man by the shoulders when Snape suddenly inhaled; it sounded like someone trying to dislodge a boot from a muddy ditch, but it was a breath. Relieved, Harry counted ten up and down movements of Snape's chest before deciding it was safe to go get Dumbledore.

Streaking out of the hospital ward, he ran flat out up to the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Having no clue what the password was, he used the tried and trusted ‘lemon drops' and was rewarded with the gargoyle jumping aside. He dashed up the moving staircase and burst into the office without knocking.

"Sir!" Harry gasped, clutching his sides. "It's Snape! He... he woke up... asked for you. His mouth... H-he's bleeding..."

Dumbledore made it to the fireplace in two long strides. He tossed in a handful of Floo powder and shouted, "Poppy!"

Her curious face appeared in the flames seconds later. "Headmaster?"

"It's Severus," he said and she was gone in an instant.

"Come, Harry." Dumbledore gestured toward the fireplace. Harry raced to join him as Dumbledore hurled down more Floo powder. Momentarily, they arrived in the hospital wing.

"Did he say anything else?" Dumbledore asked as they emerged from the ward's fireplace.

"He asked... if I was okay."

"Indeed," Dumbledore whispered.

"Will he be okay?"

"He has suffered terribly, Harry."

Harry cast Dumbledore an uneasy glance before turning to watch Madam Pomfrey work for the next few minutes.

"Where are Remus and Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked, suddenly recalling that neither had been in Dumbledore's office.

"I sent Arthur to headquarters so he could inform the rest of the Order about what has transpired, and Remus had an important meeting to attend."

"At this hour?" Harry had been troubled by Remus' demeanor while at Privet Drive. He would like to have seen his old professor before he left.

"Yes, Harry. It is very important."

Both Harry and Dumbledore fell silent when Madam Pomfrey fired off a sharp look.

Snape groaned, but did not wake when she applied pressure to his chest with her knuckles. In the short time Harry was gone, Snape's skin had taken on a dull, waxy sheen and his cheeks seemed more hollowed out than normal, emphasizing the devastating angles of his cheekbones. Had a marble likeness been placed next to the man, Harry would have been hard pressed to determine which was rendered from stone.

"He wasn't responding a moment ago," Pomfrey informed them. "Headmaster, he must go to St. Mungo's. His lungs sound much worse!"

"We have discussed this... We cannot risk it, Poppy."

"Then a qualified Healer must come here!" she snapped, frustrated with Dumbledore's inaction. "There's naught more I can do for him! If he's left as he is... he will die!"

Dumbledore appeared stricken by Pomfrey's grim pronouncement. Harry turned to look at him, wondering why the old wizard was hesitating. He wouldn't leave Snape to die, would he? Looking at him more closely, Harry saw an emotion there he had never witnessed - fear.

What was he afraid of? Voldemort had to know by now that Harry was safely away from Privet Drive. What more was there to know? What could -?

Snape. He had escaped.

Harry knew Voldemort would never allow a follower, one who had managed to outwit and defy him,  to go free after the fact. With a certainty born of experience, Harry also knew Voldemort would not only want Snape dead, but would do everything in his power to make it happen. Snape couldn't go to St. Mungo's. It would mean certain death as Voldemort had eyes everywhere. Yet, he couldn't remain at Hogwarts either, simply left to die without proper care.

"We have to do something, Professor," Harry said, turning his eyes back to Snape. Another life as payment for the price of my safety was the thought running through his head. 

Dumbledore regarded the young wizard, a shameful resignation shadowing his features. "Yes, Harry, you are right." Dumbledore strode to the fireplace, disappearing in a puff of green smoke after stating, "St. Mungo's."

*WO

Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, June 1996

Nearly an hour later, Harry was sitting in a wooden, straight-backed chair beside Snape's bed, peering at Madam Pomfrey as she fussed about, checking Snape's vital signs every ten minutes, noting every change on a sheet of floating parchment. His bum had become numb, but he was too exhausted to notice. After a while his head began to nod forward onto his chest, only to jerk up once he realized he had been dozing.

Wanting to be awake when Dumbledore returned, he sat up, stretched his arms above his head, and yawned. As he scooted around trying to get blood flowing to his behind, he glanced up to find glittering, black eyes inspecting him.

"You make... more noise... than," Snape paused to take a fluid-filled breath, "a Fwooper... without the... s-silencing c-charm, Potter."

Startled, Harry jumped up, shoving his chair backwards, inadvertently scraping it across the floor in the process. Both he and Snape winced at the piercing, teeth-gnashing sound.

"Sorry," Harry groaned. "Should I go get Madam Pomfrey? She's just in her office."

"No," Snape whispered hoarsely. "Dum - dore?"

"He's at St. Mungo's. He should be back soon."

Snape nodded wearily, and closed his eyes, extinguishing their dark light. Harry knew the less he engaged Snape the better it would be for the man, but combined feelings of fatigue, impatience, and anxiety drove him to begin babbling.

"D'you want some water, an extra pillow, or... a-another blanket?"

Startling blackness once more as Snape's eyes snapped open. With a preciseness belying his condition, he fired off an extremely familiar glare, then closed his eyes, again. Harry stepped back feeling thoroughly chastised, yet oddly relieved. He lifted his chair, quietly set it close to Snape's bed, and sat down.

As a means of staying awake, Harry tried counting how many times Snape's narrow chest rose and fell. Less than a minute later, he was asleep, slumped pretzel-like in the chair with his head resting awkwardly on his arm. It was in this less than comfortable position that Dumbledore found him half an hour later.

Roused by the soft murmuring of voices, Harry opened his eyes. Dumbledore, Pomfrey, and a strange man wearing blood red robes were clustered together near the foot of Snape's bed.

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable in the Tower, in your own bed?"

"No, sir, I'm fine," Harry lied. His glasses were askew, his neck had a crick in it, and the leg he had tucked underneath him was bloodless and stiff. "He asked for you again."

"Did he?" Dumbledore reached out to gently touch Snape's covered foot.

"I told him you'd gone to St. Mungo's and he fell back asleep."

"Yes, well, I dare say, you should do the same. You have had a rather eventful night. Come, I shall escort you..."

"No." Harry straightened his glasses. "Sir, I wanna stay... see how he's doing." 

"Harry, Healer Brady will need some time to assess Professor Snape's condition and he cannot do that with an audience."

Harry turned his attention to the stranger, thinking he looked much too young to be a healer, let alone a specialist.

"Hi, Harry. I'm Galen Brady." He smiled easily, extending his hand.

Harry forced himself out of his chair. It felt as though his leg was being pricked by a thousand needles as blood rushed back into it. Grimacing, Harry managed to shake the man's hand.

"Harry Potter. Pleasetamee'choo."

"Do excuse me," Dumbledore muttered, waving his hand distractedly. "My manners leave much to be desired this morning, I think."

"It's not a problem Headmaster, but I will need to begin examining my patient."

Harry watched interestedly as Brady set his healer's bag at the foot of Snape's bed. He pulled out his wand, bottles, and other instruments which were completely foreign to Harry.

"You may return later once you have rested," Dumbledore said, gaining Harry's attention.

Protest was futile as Dumbledore had firmly grasped Harry's elbow and was directing him toward the exit. Before entering the corridor, Harry turned to catch one last glimpse of Snape's dark head.

"Sir, how do you know that Brady's... reliable?" Harry asked as they walked. Dumbledore surprised him by chuckling.

"Do I detect a note of concern for Professor Snape?" Harry scowled at the inference, but said nothing. Dumbledore's lip twitched lightly as he said, "Healer Brady comes highly recommended by a very close acquaintance, Harry."

"Oh," Harry muttered, inexplicably comforted. Once they reached the Fat Lady's portrait, Dumbledore uttered the password.

Harry suddenly asked, "Sir, what's a Fooper?"

Dumbledore looked at him, puzzled. "Fooper?" he repeated. "Do you mean Fwooper?" Harry shrugged. "A Fwooper is an African bird whose song will drive the listener insane, so each bird must be sold with a Silencing Charm on it."

"A right nuisance, they are!" trilled the Fat Lady. Harry frowned at the chorus of agreement from many of the surrounding paintings.

"Professor Snape said that I was as noisy as one when I was trying to get comfortable in that ridiculous hospital chair!"

Dumbledore laughed merrily at Harry's words, blue eyes twinkling for the first time that night. "I am glad he felt well enough to say as much to you."

Harry shook his head as if to clear his mind of the exhaustion and insane strangeness of the past several hours. The desire to do nothing more than sleep for a week suddenly trumped the fear of nightmares peppered with images of Sirius.

Before stepping through the portrait hole, Harry remembered. "Professor? The Dursleys?"

"Ah, yes. Your uncle's sister has seen to the arrangements. A service will be held Tuesday at 10 a.m."

Already sure of the answer, but needing to ask regardless, Harry said, "I don't s'pose I could go... could I?"

"I do not think it wise, Harry."

Of course. Going to the service would make Harry far too easy a target for Voldemort. And, he could only imagine Aunt Marge's wrath, lambasting him for being the only member of the household left alive. Though she knew nothing of his magical abilities and believed him a common teenage criminal, she would find some way of blaming him for her brother's strange death and Harry would feel helpless to defend himself because he would know the accusation to be too true.

He sighed heavily. "All right."

"Good night, Harry."

"Night, sir."