Diving behind the shed, Harry watched in horror as a stream of cloaked figures apparated onto the yard. The house had been set afire and smoke was rising and trailing out the open kitchen window. Harry heard his aunt’s shrill scream and his uncle’s deep shout.

“Come on out, little Harry.”

Bellatrix Lestrange stood in the middle of the pack of intruders, some of whom had their wands trained on the house, increasing the size of the fire that was licking its way hungrily along the front of the house. Others began to march across the yard.

“There’s no way out of this,” Harry thought with a shudder. His heart was pounding so fiercely that he was sure the Death Eaters must be able to hear it.

“Search the house,” Bellatrix ordered, a lazy flick of her wand blasting the door off its hinges.

“Watch yourself, Bella,” a thin man near her said mockingly, “Our orders come from the Dark Lord only.”

“Do you wish the fail him, Dolohov?” Bellatrix pointed her wand loosely at him, “Because I will not hesitate if you stand in the way. Now, search the house.”

Harry listened, ears straining, as they crossed out of his line of sight. Think, Harry, think. His wand was locked inside the cupboard under the stairs. The Death Eaters had already begun to search the house, and he could hear their muffled shouts as they cat-called for him. A male voice that could’ve been either Dudley or Vernon, as Dudley’s voice had lowered in register significantly over the past year, shouted a stream of what sounded like expletives.

“Uncle Vernon”, Harry thought ruefully, “Only Uncle Vernon would yell like that at an attacker.”

Harry began to take a catalogue of his options, though they were quickly dwindling. His wand was locked in the cupboard and there was no way he’d be able to get in, find the key, unlock it, and still remain unseen, but Hedwig was in his bedroom. If he could get that far, he could send her off with a message...and then what? No message would arrive by owl in time to produce anything useful, and Dumbledore had conveniently left him without any other means of communication. He’d already smashed the mirror Sirus had given him, and besides, it was unlikely that anyone would have the other mirror.

Aunt Petunia’s high-pitched keening ripped through the air, followed by the sounds of laughing. Her screams left goose bumps along Harry’s skin and set his heart racing faster. He felt as if it might burst, crouched behind a shed, letting Death Eaters torture his Aunt. Some hero you are, Harry. He had no choice. He’d have to try and get his wand. Perhaps there was something in the shed that he could use to break into the cupboard. Harry peered around the corner of the shed again, and though there were intermittent bursts of light coming from the smoking house, the yard seemed to be deserted. With a deep breath, he sprinted around to the front of the shed and ripped the door open. His eyes raced around the small space and he braced himself on the door. Lawn mover. Not helpful. Fertilizer. Clay plant pots. Gardening gloves. Even less helpful. Then he saw the tree-branch pruning shears in the far corner. There was a chance they wouldn’t be strong enough to break through metal, but Harry had cut up some rather large fallen branches following a major thunderstorm last summer, and the lock on the cupboard was relatively small. They would have to work. Harry stepped in and pulled them off their hook on the wall.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Harry felt himself freeze instantly and begin to fall forward, stiff as a board. He landed face-first on the shears that had fallen from his outstretched hand and, with a sharp pain, one side of the open blades sliced into his cheek.

“Looking for a weapon, were we?” Bellatrix’s voice sang from somewhere behind him. “You really think you can harm witches and wizards with Muggle gardening supplies? Well, Harry, then I do believe that Hogwarts education is lacking a bit, isn’t it?”

Harry sucked in a harsh breath as Bellatrix grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. With her knees on the insides of his elbows, pressing the frozen outstretched limbs to the ground, she brought her face close enough to his that he could see every yellowed tooth as she grinned maniacally.

“You’re lucky, Harry.”

A guttural scream from Aunt Petunia was cut off abruptly.

“The Dark Lord is going to give you lessons.”

A deeper voice let out a howl of agony.

“Well,” Bellatrix paused, capturing a drop of the blood rolling sluggishly down Harry’s face with a long finger, “One lesson.”

The voice was joined by another equally pained wail.

“Oh yes. One important lesson in submission.” Bellatrix spat out, “Oh, you’ll give in to the Dark Lord, yes. He has put up with your defiance long enough, but it will end now. And he will let me take part in the...teaching.”

The sounds of Death Eaters shouting to each other, tossing what sounded like furniture about, pots and pans rattling on the floors, his relatives screaming...Harry felt himself begin to shake.

“Those imbeciles are searching for you, Harry. Giving your Muggle relatives a little lesson. But I knew you’d still be out here. And now you’re all mine to present to the Dark Lord. Crucio.”

Harry’s whole body felt as if it had burst into flame. He couldn’t see...couldn’t breath...couldn’t move. His organs felt as if they were rearranging themselves, making up for the writhing that his frozen body could not manage. And then it stopped abruptly. His chest heaved and his throat felt raw. Bellatrix lay on top of him, eyes open and unseeing.

“Harry!”

The warmth of Lupin’s familiar voice rushed over him as he scrambled to push Bellatrix’s limp body off of him. Lupin hauled Harry to his feet and began looking him over.

“Is-is she dead?” Harry asked nervously.

“No, just stunned,” Lupin said, turning Harry’s face to look at his split cheek, “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No, no, I’m fine, but my aunt and uncle-”

“The other Order members have gone into the house, Harry, but we’ve got to get you out of here.”

A blast of red light shot out of the house, shattering a window and grazing Harry’s head. The blast reverberated in his skull and he turned to see Lupin saying something and motioning for him to run, but he could hear only the ringing in his head and stumbled to follow. He felt off-balance, like the world was spinning, or at least had suddenly tilted slightly. One knee buckled and he pressed his hands to his head, hoping the scene would straighten out in a moment, but a large hand grabbed him firmly around the bicep and started half dragging, half carrying him. He struggled for a moment before he realized it was Lupin pulling him towards the street. A cutting curse grazed the werewolf’s robes, shredding the hem and sending scraps of cloth floating along behind them. Another cutting curse followed quickly behind the first, and Lupin spun around, Harry behind him now, and blocked it. The third missed, blasting into the ground next to them and throwing clods of dirt into the air.

Suddenly the silent fuzziness in Harry’s head vanished and his hearing came back full-force. The smoky air was rent with screams, the sizzling of curses, and the shattering of glass as yet another window burst outward. One Death Eater was hotly pursuing them, while three other were fighting to break through the Order members – Moody, Tonks, and Shacklebolt, by the looks of it- who were holding them off.

“Come on, Harry! Run!” Lupin’s voice was hoarse, and he shot a stunning spell behind him as they ran. The dull thud that followed told Harry that Remus had hit his target. With a burst of energy, Harry managed to sprint with Lupin towards the small park at the end of Privet Drive.

“Where are we going?” Harry shouted over the din of the battle behind them.

“Apparition point. The Death Eaters put up anti-apparition wards around the house.”

As they leapt over the threshold of the playground onto the wood chips, Lupin grabbed Harry and spun on the spot. The front stoop of Grimmauld place came up to meet Harry as he flopped face-first on the cement. Without a word, Lupin pulled Harry up and dragged him inside the house, slamming the door behind them. With a flick of his wand, Lupin’s patronus burst into being and disappeared through the door.

“That’s the high sign. The others will meet here now that they know I’ve got you.”

Harry nodded, or at least tried to, though he felt shaky all over, so it might not have been discernable. Lupin started down the hallway towards the kitchen, picking at the torn edge of his robes thoughtfully. Harry followed numbly and plopped down on a bench, head in hands. The others should be returning soon, Shacklebolt, Tonks, Moody, and any others. Hopefully no one would be injured. Hopefully no one else would be dead. Harry shuddered. Dead on his account. Again. He didn’t want to think about it.

“Let’s look at your cheek, Harry.” Lupin’s warm hands were on his face, but Harry’s eyes suddenly unfocused and Remus’ face floated in front of him in double. Harry felt something dab at the blood and he realized that the hole was deep, almost all the way through his cheek. He could almost poke his tongue through it. With the thought of seeing his tongue poking out of the side of his face, Harry’s world went dark.

~*~

When he next woke, he was lying on something soft, a wet cloth on his forehead and a bandage on his cheek. A few voices were speaking softly around him, and there were the sounds of shuffling and ripping. Harry slowly opened his eyes, wincing at the light, and took a moment to adjust.

“Oh, Harry, finally.” Lupin came over and took the cloth away, holding Harry’s chin and moving his head from side to side.

“I gave you a bit of Concussion Potion, but I want to have Pomfrey look at you. And at that cheek. I’m a little rusty on my healing spells.” Lupin scratched the back of his head and frowned.

“Everyone- did anyone-?” Harry couldn’t voice the question as panic rose in his throat.

Lupin paused sadly and hesitated for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he said softly, “But your aunt, uncle, and cousin were already dead when we got there. I’m so sorry.”

Tears prickled at the corners of Harry’s eyes, but he wasn’t sure what emotion they were from, or if they were simply from the swirling in his head. He nodded slightly and took a deep calming breath, letting the weight of Lupin’s hand on his shoulder ground him. Don’t think about it now. Don’t think about it.

“What about the Order members?” he finally managed to ask.

“Moody took a nasty cutting curse to the chest, but he’ll be fine. Arthur will be on bed rest for a few days, but he should be fine as well.”

Harry slumped in relief and cautiously probed the inside of his cheek. It felt raw, but his tongue no longer threatened to break through. Madame Pomfrey bustled into the room and walked straight towards the couch.

“Mr. Potter, how is it that you’re always injured? Never mind, dear, Remus tells me you’ve got a bit of a concussion, but that’s easily fixed.”

Pomfrey held Harry’s chin just as Lupin had and shined a light from her wand into his eyes. She hmm-ed softly.

“Stand up, Mr. Potter. Now follow my finger and touch it with your own...here....here...”

Madame Pomfrey led Harry, moving her finger in every direction and instructing him to touch his finger to hers, then back to his own nose, then back to her finger. The exercise made Harry nauseous.

“It’s quite a concussion, actually. No wonder you passed out.”

She moved on to undoing the bandage on Harry’s face and probing the cut lightly.

“This looks fine, actually,” she said, flashing Lupin a small smile, “I’m going to give you another dose of Concussion Potion and you’ll take one more in the morning, but I want you to stay in bed tomorrow. You’ll probably feel the need to sleep a lot anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem.” Here, she turned to Lupin.

“Remus, I expect you’ll make sure he follows my directions?”

“Of course, Poppy.”

Madame Pomfrey nodded her head briskly, handed Harry two small bottles of blue potion, and walked out.

Harry lay back on the couch, suddenly exhausted, and quickly fell asleep.

~*~

When Severus Snape cracked his tired eyes open, it was all he could do not to groan. The cold hard stone beneath him and the tingle of powerful magic nearby were sickeningly familiar. He snapped his eyes shut and took a quick catalogue of his current state. Damp robes, raging headache, sore chest. Satisfied that he did not seem to have sustained any dire injuries, he concentrated on keeping his breathing at the even tempo of unconsciousness. He remembered darkness closing in quickly as he was struck by a stunning spell, but where had he been? There was a fire...

Potter’s relatives’ house, yes. He had stepped out of the Dumbledore’s floo into Rosmerta’s and quickly apparated to Little Whinging. He had expected a commotion, but the scene that appeared before him was unexpected. The house looked as if it were about to collapse under the ministrations of a thick fire, heat radiating uncomfortably inside the bubble of privacy sitting tightly over the property. Thick smoke had already filed the air, and breathing was steadily becoming more and more difficult. Severus had taken a short breath, trying not to cough, and quickly assessed the situation. There were three Death Eaters down in the garden, judging by the piles of black robes and masks slumped against the grass. Mad-eye Moody was flinging himself about wildly, and he felled one more Death Eater as Severus had watched.

Out of the corner of his eye, Snape had seen Lupin dragging a confused-looking Potter towards the edge of the wards. Potter had a hand to his head and his eyes were unfocused. Lupin was struggling to keep the sluggish teen moving, and Amycus Carrow was closing the distance between them quickly, blasting the pair with cutting curses. Lupin spun around, shooting stunning spells behind himself and Potter until one felled Carrow. It seemed that none of the other Death Eaters had yet noticed Potter’s absence, too caught up in their individual battles with Order members.

A grotesque grunt of pain caught Severus’s attention, and he had watched as a large spot of blood grew from Moody’s chest. Dolohov stood over Moody as he stumbled, seemed to catch himself, and then fell to the ground. He lay there panting and cursing, trying to stand back up again, but it seemed that his body would not obey and his eyes rolled up into his head. Severus had taken a step out from the shadows, hoping to distract Dolohov, move him away from Moody.

“Come watch me kill him, Snape, now that you’ve finally shown up,” Dolohov said with a sneer, “I haven’t time to play with him as I’d like. You gave us quite a bit of trouble, you did,” he said, addressing the unconscious form and gracing it with a swift kick, “But I’ll have to be satisfied to simply watch you die and know I finally knocked the great Auror out of the game.”

As Dolohov had raised his arm to land the finishing blow and, wordlessly, Severus had disarmed him.

“What the-” Dolohov looked around, confused for a moment, until he saw his own wand in Severus’s outstretched hand. Severus remembered feeling a moment of sharp but fleeting panic as he scrambled for an excuse.

“Perhaps,” he began slowly, “the Dark Lord would like to play with this one himself. Perhaps we should leave him here now and bring him along once we’ve finished up. Tie him up nicely next to Potter.”

At Potter’s name, Dolohov had seemed to come to himself and the look on his face that clearly screamed his intent to curse Severus into oblivion loosened slightly.

“You had to bloody disarm me for that, Snape?” Dolohov stalked over to Severus, who let him rip his wand back. Severus regretted it an instant later. Dolohov quickly pressed his wand against Severus’s neck, and Severus could feel another wand pressing hard into his lower back.

“I saw that, Snapey,” Bellatrix’s whispered words made Severus’s skin crawl, “and I don’t believe that excuse for a second. The Dark Lord cares not about this nuisance and you know it.”

“What I know is not your concern, but you know that the Dark Lord enjoys doling out proper punishment,” Severus said, his throat irritatingly dry despite his silky tone, “Do you not want to please our Lord, Bella? Dolohov?”

“Nice try.”

Severus shook his head grimly, chastising himself for becoming too wrapped up in the memory. Dread slowly filled him, creeping along his body, as he realized he was naked. He heard soft rumblings and scratching from above, but it seemed he was otherwise alone. In the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Wonderful. He had been in these dungeons on a few previous occasions, although he had never found himself on this end of their facilities. The metal rings around his hands, he knew, were spelled to allow the prisoner to reach just short of whatever he was trying to obtain. Or scratch, as the case may be. His fingers wiggled helplessly a millimeter away from the raging itch on his admittedly overlarge nose. The dungeons were also spelled to stay just cold enough for discomfort and the air just moist enough to give the illusion of slight wetness.

Severus quickly went to work examining his surroundings. The dungeon had only one door with a barred window on the far wall. In the corner closest to him was a bucket and on the wall to his left stood a shudder-worthy array of painful looking instruments. No matter how hard Severus tried to convince himself that they were merely for show, merely there to frighten prisoners even before the physical torture began, he knew that the Dark Lord enjoyed dabbling with crude methods of torture, especially when he could have the captivated audience of Bellatrix or Lucius.

As if he’d heard his name in Severus’s head, Lucius Malfoy swiftly unlocked the dungeon door and stepped inside.

“Severus,” Lucius said stiffly, “You’re awake.”

“What’s the meaning of this, Lucius?”

“The meaning?” Lucius took a few strides closer, his shining cane striking the floor with each step, “Severus, what have you done? Is it true that you’ve betrayed our Lord?”

“Of course not,” Severus said, willing himself to forget about his current nudity, “This is all but a misunderstanding.”

Lucius paused suspiciously, thinking for a moment, and then sighed.

“Severus, you know as well as I do that there are no misunderstandings with the Dark Lord.”

“I will explain myself to him.”

The two men seemed to mull over this statement for a moment. Severus, for his part, wondered how exactly he was going to explain himself. He had no way of gauging what sort of treachery he had supposedly committed. Surely if the Dark Lord knew he was a spy, then his betrayal would have already been announced to the rest of the Death Eaters. Surely Lucius would be one of the first to know, one of the first to be interrogated himself for any potential involvement in the scheme, as he and Severus were thought to be close. But there had previously been whispers, even nods, from the Bellatrix, from Dolohov, and from the Dark Lord himself that suggested Severus was not as loyal as he made out to be.

Severus had always prided himself on his ability to read people, to make out their intentions from the slightest signs. The twitching of an eyebrow, the quirking of a lip, the clenching of a fist or shifting of weight; all signs he could discern and analyze in an instant. But the signs he was observing lately, the whispers and nods, were even less subtle than all of that, and yet far harder to explain. He had still be called to every meeting, been informed of new intelligence and plans that other Death Eaters did not have the so-called privilege of hearing, he was still given tasks as usual. He was let in on everything. But he had a feeling that everything wasn’t actually everything.

There was something in the way the others regarded him now, something in the way they regarded each other that suggested that there was something in the air. That something was whispering into their ears and poisoning other Death Eaters against him. Their bodies leaned unconsciously away from him, their heads turned just a fraction of a centimeter further in the opposite direction, and their stares lingered just a moment too long and a bit too suspiciously upon his face. He knew that something was afoot, but he could not tell how deadly it may be.

“You will be punished, regardless,” Malfoy said sadly, breaking the terse silence.

“I know.”

The door to the dungeon burst open once more, this time revealing the Dark Lord, Wormtail peeking out from behind his robes.

“Lucius,” Voldemort barked, “I do not recall asking you to check on the prisoner.”

“No, my Lord, but I thought I might-”

“Unless you wish to join him in shackles, you will remain silent.”

Lucius Malfoy’s mouth snapped shut audibly and he gave a low bow as he backed away.

Voldemort turned his attention to Severus, who, under the scrutiny of those red snake-like eyes, became painfully aware of his nakedness once more. Though the various possible circumstances of his imprisonment were swirling around in his head dizzily, he kept quiet, waiting for the Dark Lord to speak first. After a few painful minutes of observation, the Dark Lord seemed to gather his thoughts.

“Severus, I have heard a most interesting story,” he began slowly, “I have heard that you stopped Dolohov from killing an Auror, an especially pesky Auror at that.”

Severus kept still, merely blinking up at his accuser.

“Crucio.”

Severus knew only pain for a few moments as fire licked through his veins.         “I want an answer, Severus.”

“I did, my Lord,” Severus choked out, “I thought you might enjoy taking care of him yourself.”

“Really?” the Dark Lord caught Severus’s chin in one of his pale spindly hands and held it fast, “Thanks to you, he got away. Crucio.”

As the pain flared, and then stopped once more, Severus’s hands began to shake slightly of their own volition.

“Thanks to you,” the Dark Lord continued, “Harry Potter got away. He got away!”

The Dark Lord roared the last word, a bit of his spittle flying onto Severus’s face. He bared his teeth, and then seemed to calm himself. Potter’s safe!

“You always have an excuse, my friend. But your time is up. The only way the Order could have known about the attack was from someone in my inner circle. Do you know who gave them that information?” he whispered.

Severus began to shake his head.

“I know it was you,” the Dark Lord spat, “Oh yes, I’ve been watching you. I saw you hesitated before apparating from the Manor. You were the only one who hesitated.”

The Dark Lord laughed sharply and began to pace around the dungeon. Lucius, standing in the corner, stood stiffly, but his wide eyes flitted from his Lord to Severus and back again.

“You thought I’d never find out that you’ve been reporting back to Dumbledore, did you? You thought I didn’t know? Oh, I’ve known. I’ve known for a while now, Severus. I’ve been giving you false information, testing you.”

A shudder ran along Severus’s exposed back and he winced.

“How do you think I felt when I discovered Dumbledore’s little detection charms and eavesdropping spells littered around the empty field where I falsely told you I would be? Oh, they were well hidden, but I told only you that bit of planted information. Why would Dumbledore waste his time on a dead expanse of grass if not because you told him to go there?”

The Dark Lord crouched down next to Severus and pulled him closer by the hair so as to whisper in his ear.

“I have valued your services in that past, but I cannot tolerate disloyalty. I will not tolerate TREASON!”

The high-pitched shout echoed against the dank stone walls and, out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw even Lucius flinch slightly.

“Sectumsempra!”

Blinding pain seared through Severus’s chest as deep gashes appeared and began to bleed freely. He fell back onto the floor, blood already gargling in his throat.

“How does it feel, Severus, to have your own spell used against you? I’m going to kill you, Severus,” the Dark Lord laughed, “Crucio!”

Severus was on fire now, surely about to die. This had to be the end. And then the fiery pain stopped again, and he could once more feel the gaping strips of flesh on his chest and the wetness beneath him as he lay in the growing puddle of his own blood.

“Tut, tut, Severus, we can’t have you dieing on us just yet.”

The Dark Lord ran his wand along a few of the larger wounds and they each sealed with a hiss. One still remained open and bleeding.

“The Portkey!” Severus thought with a snap, “If I can just reach it...”

Severus took a steadying breath as he saw the Dark Lord raise his wand once more, and plunged his hand into the remaining wound, ripping it further open to allow his whole hand access. The pain of it made him gasp and choke, and he tried not to think about what he was doing as his fingers searched his chest cavity. The Dark Lord paused, as though unsure of what exactly he was seeing.

“Are we mad already, Snape? Is that all you can take? Crucio!”

The return of the fiery pain made Severus lose his concentration, and when the spell ended, he discovered that his hand had twitched with the pain and even further ripped open the wound. Something in the Dark Lord’s eyes changed.

“Are you searching for something?”

Before he could muster an answer, Severus felt his fingers brush a small, hard disc in his flesh, and he gripped it tightly. The Dark Lord saw the fist beneath his skin and the slight smile on Severus’s face now, but before he could lift his wand, Severus whispered the word “home” and felt a familiar tug at his navel.

~*~

Severus slammed onto the wood floor of his home in Spinner’s End, gasping in pain. Blood gargled in his throat, and his hand, jostled by the Portkey ride, had ripped out of his chest, which now sported a gaping hole just between his ribs. Blood was quickly pooling beneath him, and sharp pain stabbed him as he coughed weakly. He just needed to make it to the fireplace and floo for help...

With great effort, Severus managed to work his way onto all-fours. He gritted his teeth against the pain- a sharp throb that was working its way steadily through his chest. Blood dripped sickeningly onto the floor from his wound, and as he moved, air pushed slightly into the hole and he sucked in a hissing breath. It felt as if his innards were cooling and prickling in contact with the air. He cursed slightly under his breath as his shaky hands slid in his blood when he tried to motor himself forwards.

As he lowered his head, he thanked the stars that he was alone for this painful trek. He did not even want to imagine what he must look like- naked, crawling around on the floor like an animal in a puddle of blood, a large flap of skin hanging down from his abused chest...Stop thinking about it!

With a sharp readying breath that he immediately regretted, Severus slowly began sliding his heavily limbs along the wet floor towards the fireplace. One foot....two feet...his knees were aching with the effort, and though the fireplace was only about three meters away, it seemed as though there were miles still to go. Suppressing the urge to whimper like a wounded beast, Severus pushed himself to the opening of the hearth and, bracing his legs together to quell their shaking, he reached up with one arm and blindly began searching the mantle for the floo powder. His vision was faltering and the room spun rapidly. He almost cried in relief when his hand finally dipped into the pot of powder and he weakly threw a handful into the fire, shouting,

“Headmaster’s Office!”

Into the fire he threw the Portkey disc and watched it disappear into the green flames. The adrenaline that got him to the hearth now spent, he staggered to the side and slumped over. From the sofa behind him, he pulled a throw off of it and used it to cover himself. He had nearly succumbed to darkness when a purple-robed Dumbledore stepped frantically out of the fire and dropped down next to him.

“Oh, Severus...” Dumbledore summoned his Patronus and it galloped off a moment later.

“You’ll be alright, my boy,” Dumbledore took off his outer cloak and draped it carefully over Severus’s lower half, “Poppy will be ready for you back at Hogwarts, but I want to staunch some of this bleeding before to go.”

With a few chanted words, the tip of Dumbledore’s wand glowed a light blue, and he pressed it in an oval around the wound. Despite his gentleness, Severus flinched, feeling as though even the light touch were the stab of a knife. The blood within the bubble that had formed, however, slowed its steady march across Severus’s chest. It then halted altogether, though remained as a small pool around the wound.

“That should do for now,” Dumbledore muttered, “Accio Severus’s robes.”

The robes came bobbing down the far hall and into the sitting room. Dumbledore grabbed them with his good hand. Severus felt as though he would throw up and pass out at the same time, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit back a groan.

“Severus?” Dumbledore’s face was mere inches from his and, had he been feeling better, he would have barked at the man to back away, but he simply dipped his head slightly in what he hoped would look like a nod.

“Severus, I’m going to have to lift you now and carry you through the floo.”

Severus just grunted. Dumbledore quickly levitated him off the floor. The sensation was uncomfortable, but surprisingly not as painful as he would have imagined. It felt as if he were being cushioned by a thin line of air, one slightly too thin for even his thin body. His arms felt as if they were on the edge of the line of air, though they stayed firmly at his sides. Once he had risen to arm-level, Dumbledore ended the spell and Severus dropped into Dumbledore’s waiting arms. With a quick puff of floo powder, Dumbledore strode into the fire.