The pain was unbearable. Snape screamed in agony as a red hot blade peeled the very skin away from his muscles. He attempted to claw at the raging inferno of nerves throughout his body, but his hands refused to move. His lips stayed silent and immobile, but inside his mind he bellowed at the unending torture.

He was trapped. Imprisoned in the dark confines of his own body.

Time had no meaning. There was only pain. Intense. Fiery. Continuous. As if he was being burned at the stake in the pits of Hell. I've been damned for all the evils I've committed… His body burned for minutes, days, centuries… He could no longer tell.

Suddenly his veins filled with liquid, and the pain eased somewhat.

Potions… Someone was attempting to bring him back from this hellish purgatory. And from that moment on, although the pain raged on inside the darkness, it was always with different degrees of intensity. Often he begged for death, if only to escape the anguish blazing within. But the potions would always come, and the pain would lessen.

Then something changed. The pain ebbed slightly away, like a flooding tide beginning to inch back from whence it came after a storm. With its departure, he could feel a cool hand within his own. He tried to cling to it, but his traitorous fingers still refused to move.

That hand connected him to something that his mind couldn't quite grasp, but his heart recognized instantly. There was something familiar lurking at the dark edges of his mind... But the harder he thought about it, the faster the answer danced away into the mist. It was like standing on the edge of a foggy sea shore; even though his vision was obscured by a thick haze, he could still clearly hear the waves. He yearned to break through that haze so he could see the sun reflecting like a thousand brilliant diamonds on the water's surface…

Suddenly another potion, and his awareness began to dim. He fought desperately against it, wantingto feel that cool hand even if it meant he had to continue suffering through the fiery pain. But the precious fingers clinging to his own, along with the agony burning away inside him, continued to ebb away until all he knew was nothing, nothing, nothing…

. . . . .

Snape's heart was pounding when he awoke with a strangled gasp. Each beat was like the stroke of a blacksmith's hammer shooting red hot agony throughout his body. Panic tore through him, and he couldn't suppress a moan as he tried to rise.

Where am I? His thoughts tumbled over one another like terrified first years fleeing the damned mountain troll on that long ago Halloween night... Except Harry. Harry hadn't run, the stubborn, foolish, brave little... Harry! Where is my son?! Snape's pulse raced as he attempted to rise yet again. But agony flooded him with each tiny movement, and he collapsed back against the pillow. Bellatrix, he panted, refusing to give in as he struggled to sit up and slide his legs off the bed. The fire. Where is my family?!

Two wizards in maroon medical robes suddenly rushed into the room. "Professor!" The younger one called with an urgent note in his voice, "Professor Snape, stop!" He grasped Snape by the shoulder and Snape tried to shake him off, but realized he was much weaker than he thought when he only managed to shudder uselessly beneath his grasp.

As the wizard gently pushed him back, Snape realized that he knew the boy. "Roger?" He croaked. "Roger Davies?" The Ravenclaw had graduated Hogwarts this past year, and Snape had never thought to see him again.

The older wizard that had rushed into the room with Roger looked over a few magical monitors floating in the air next to Snape's bed. "Your mental faculties don't seem to be damaged," he muttered as he made slight movements with his wand, and the monitors changed into various colors, beeping and pinging all the while.

"That's a good sign, Pete," Davies said brightly to the older wizard. He then addressed Snape as he continued to urge him back down with a gentle push. "Can you remember what happened before you arrived here, Professor?"

Too exhausted to fight back, Snape closed his eyes and collapsed against the pillows. The simple act of trying to get out of bed had drained what little energy he had. Panting and out of breath he murmured, "Fire…"

Davies' eyes darkened. "Yes. I'm sorry about that, Professor. I've heard that the fire was almost impossible to extinguish – they think it was magical in origin. It was lucky that Dumbledore got there when he did; he was able to get you out in time."

"Do you remember anything else?" Pete asked from Snape's other side.

Still exhausted, Snape's reply was a simple, "I was Crucioed..."

Davies nodded. "That's what Harry thought–"

"Harry was here? Was he with a woman and child? Are they safe?!"

"Professor," Pete interjected as he ran his fingers over Snape's many injuries. "You've been in a coma for almost two weeks. It's important for you to stay calm. Your body is still weak–" Snape let out a sudden hiss of pain as the man bent the joints of his shaking, spasmodic fingers. "Does that hurt?" Pete asked as he glanced worriedly down at him.

Snape's mouth was pressed into a very thin, McGonagall-like line to keep from crying out. When he gave a single, jerky nod instead of answering, the older man spoke across him to Davies.

"I think we should call in that doctor from Neurology again – the one that specializes in nerve damage caused by dark magic. She was the one that suggested those potions, and came up with the exercises that Lily and Harry were doing on his hands."

Snape supposed that the look the man gave him before he hurried from the room was supposed to be reassuring, but it meant nothing to him. He didn't give a damn about his hands. In that moment he would have gladly removed them himself if it meant garnering information about his family's whereabouts.

"Davies," Snape insisted, his eyes imploring as they bored those of his old student. "Tell me about my family! Where are they? I need to know they are safe!"

Davies' brow furrowed as his eyes flicked back and forth between Snape's own, as if trying to catch one of them in a lie. He looked confused as he studied his old professor. With a hesitant glance at the door that Pete had just left, he slowly murmured, "There's been a lot of people coming and going, Professor. Ron Weasley's family, Professor Lupin, even Professor Dumbledore. He collected the little one – Jillian – the last time he was here. But Lily and Harry… They refused to leave your side, no matter what Dumbledore or anyone else said. The headmaster was worried because they weren't sleeping, they were barely eating…"

A wave of guilt crashed over Snape at Davies' words. He was intimately familiar with the cold, gut-churning fear they must have been feeling, having felt it himself when Harry had run from him that first morning. The terror of not knowing if he would find Harry in time still haunted him, and it was that same terror that drove him now. After all the tragedy and loss that Harry and Lily had suffered in their lives, the knowledge that they were experiencing that exquisitely anguished pain because of him almost ate Snape alive.

"Where are they?" he murmured.

"Sir, I think Pete may be right. You shouldn't–"

"Roger… please…"

The use of the boy's first name drew him up short, and Davies was suddenly looking at him as if he'd grown three extra heads. "Well…" He looked unsure, like the words might bite him while coming out of his mouth. "There was a, ah… situation here at the hospital," he said delicately. "Bellatrix Lestrange must have heard you were here." Snape couldn't help an involuntary jerk when he heard the name. But Davies didn't seem to notice, and he continued, "She attempted to simply walk through the front doors, but Dumbledore, Mr. Weasley, and his son Bill were able to stop her before she got further than the second floor." He paused, and another curious look crossed his face. "There seem to be a lot of, um, able fighters around since you arrived. In fact, there was a girl with pink hair that was here before you woke up, said she was an Auror just coming off a double shift. I'm not sure where she went – maybe to get some coffee or something. She looked dead on her feet…"

"My family," Snape prodded, trying not to lose his patience. "Where is my family?"

"After the attack, Dumbledore said it wasn't safe for them to stay. Wouldn't be swayed no matter what they said. Lily agreed to go back to Hogwarts, where her daughter is currently being looked after…"

Relief momentarily washed through him. There was no safer place for Jillian and Lily than at Hogwarts. But he was still anxious. "And Harry? Did he go to Hogwarts, as well?"

"Lily begged the headmaster not to separate them. Said she feared for Harry's safety, that the other family he had was dangerous…"

The relief that had washed through him suddenly froze in his veins. "Whatfamily?"

"Dumbledore said something about blood wards, that it was the safest place for him–"

"What. Family?"

"The ones he grew up with… the muggles."

.:HP::SS:HP::SS:.

Harry sat with his back against the wall in the far corner of Dudley's old spare room, running his fingers over his bruised and swollen face. His tender knuckles ached as he brushed them across his lips to wipe away the blood.

Leaning his head back against the wall, he dully contemplated what his punishment was going to be for starting a fight against 'poor, defenseless' Dudley. It didn't seem to matter that the fight had been completely physical, as his wand had been promptly locked away in his old cupboard as soon as he'd arrived. It also didn't seem to matter that the fight had been in Dudley's favor, as the boy had roughly three stone on Harry and had absolutely thrashed him after Harry managed his few quick punches.

He knew the backlash would be brutal. Dudley was probably filling his mother's ear with lies at this very moment. And Uncle Vernon, whenever he finally arrived home… Harry just hoped that the threat of Dumbledore's wrath would be enough to keep his Uncle's brutal fists off him.

What exactly did the headmaster think was going to happen when he sent me back here? Dumbledore may not have known the extent of things that had happened early on in the summer. But he knew enough that he should have realized sending him back to the Dursley's was a bad idea.

The headmaster had dropped him here three days ago, and Harry still had yet to hear any word on how Snape was… It was that constant, gnawing fear for his dad that was driving him to be incredibly reckless and stupid, like with Dudley.

In the past Harry had always been able to let his cousin's taunting jeers roll off his back, and in fact had barely even bothered listening. But since his arrival, Dudley had gotten a twisted, sick satisfaction explaining in sordid detail just how he imagined Harry spending the summer with his 'freaky professor'. The words had gotten under Harry's skin in a bad way, remembering the memory he had seen of Snape as a boy. And the fact that Dudley had tried to do those same things to him, but didn't remember after having his memory wiped, was even worse. It was a private, hellish torment, and after three days of listening to his vile cousin, Harry had finally snapped.

Wishing his uncle would hurry up and get home so they could get this stupid punishment over and done with, Harry impatiently picked at the carpet fibers beneath him as he wondered how things had spiraled this far out of control. First the fire and his dad, and now this…

When Dumbledore had come back to Snape's hospital room after fending off Bellatrix alongside Bill and Mr. Weasley, his first words had been that he and Lily weren't safe and could no longer stay at St. Mungo's. Lily had begged to keep Harry by her side, practically gotten on her hands and knees when pleading with the headmaster. But Harry hadn't bothered, too worried about his dad, and resigned to the fact that Dumbledore would not relent where the blood wards were concerned. At least, the headmaster never had in the past when it was Harry begging and pleading not to send him back to his relatives.

Harry was amazed that the Dursleys had even allowed him back in the house. There had been quite the commotion when Dumbledore knocked on their front door, Harry and what little remaining possessions had been saved from the fire in tow. Aunt Petunia's screeching had neighbors sticking their heads out to stare curiously at Number Four. His aunt quickly realized that the front lawn probably wasn't the best place for her tirade, and ushered them disdainfully inside.

They were not even two steps into the entrance hall before her diatribe continued.

"I will not have that filth in my house for another second!" Aunt Petunia screamed, pointing at Harry. "He is unwelcome in our home – I told Snape that we didn't ever want to set eyes on him again, and I meant it!"

"Don't worry, the feeling is completely mutual," Harry muttered, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he gazed listlessly at the floor. He had bigger things to worry about than if his spiteful relatives liked him or not.

"Why you disrespectful little–!" Uncle Vernon lunged in his direction, but a simple flick of Dumbledore's wandless hand halted him mid-stride. Harry could feel the warning radiating from the headmaster from where he stood behind him, and he glanced up at the ceiling as the lights flickered and dimmed of their own accord.

"I know this situation is not ideal," Dumbledore said coldly, "But you gave me your word when you took him as an infant that you would allow him space in your home, no matter how small. I can also see that I was negligent in my duties all those years ago. I assumed that as your sister's child and only living relative, Harry would be loved and cherished as much as your own son." The hair on the back of his Harry's neck prickled, and the soft fuzz along his arms stood on end. He could tell by the terror etched on all three of the Dursley's faces that, like him, they could clearly feel the danger vibrating in the very air around them. The headmaster continued, "I never said it then, but I can see that it needs saying now: if you ever lay a hand on Harry, I will be forced to take measures that you will find mostunpleasant – that I swear."

Uncle Vernon's small, watery eyes flicked in Harry's direction before settling back on Dumbledore, as if he were afraid that the headmaster would attack his family if he wasn't watching him. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I need to hear you say the words." It was as close to a growl as Harry had ever heard from the headmaster.

Vernon glanced sideways at his wife. "He… he can stay."

"Good," Dumbledore murmured, sounding relieved. "Harry, why don't you take your things upstairs and get settled–"

"No!" Aunt Petunia stepped brazenly forward.

Dumbledore's eyes flashed indignantly behind his spectacles as he peered down at her. "Excuse me?"

"H-he can stay. B-but only if those… those things," she glared first at the wand sticking out of his pocket, then at the trunk he dragged behind him as if they were both covered in fresh troll dung, "Are locked away."

The headmaster's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Does your prejudice run so deep that you would disarm Harry of the only weapon he can use to defend himself? Because make no mistake Petunia – there are many evil men on Voldemort's side, and they may well find him here."

"I refuse to allow magic to be done in this house!" she spat.

Dumbledore stared at her unblinkingly for so long, even Harry began to feel uncomfortable. But is aunt was not backing down.

"Fine," the headmaster said with a heavy sigh. "But I agree only because I will have members of the Order watching this house at all times. And know this: if they even sense that something is not right with Harry, I will be here within a moment's notice. And I will not be happy if their suspicions prove correct."

The lights above them flickered and dimmed once again. But this time the bulb directly above Dumbledore shattered, plunging their side of the hallway in gloom and casting the headmaster's thin face in eerie shadow. Even the sunshine streaming through the sitting room window seemed to dim into non-existence. Harry could see Dumbledore's flinty blue eyes gleaming in the darkness, reflected in the glass of the family portrait hanging directly behind the Dursley's terrified faces. The site gave him chills.

"Do we understand each other?" Dumbledore murmured quietly from the shadows.

"Y-yes!" Petunia squeaked. "Vernon, get the trunk–"

But before the beefy man could so much as move, the trunk began to float down the hall of its own accord. Harry almost snatched his wand out of the air when it slipped from his pocket, but his fingers clasped into a hard fist at his side as he forced down the vulnerable fear attempting to rise up and choke him. The Dursleys jumped with a yelp as the locks on the cupboard door behind them rattled before unlocking themselves and hopping off of where they hung on the small door. The cupboard opened, and with a final snap as the lid of Harry's trunk closed after making room for his wand, it floated into place inside the small, spider-filled room.

As the locks maneuvered themselves back into place with metallic clinking sounds, the sunlight and the one remaining light in the hall reverted back to normal. Dumbledore turned to Harry and motioned him up the stairs saying, "Let's get you settled." Harry nodded morosely as he trudged up the steps, and he couldn't help feeling like a condemned man walking toward the hangman's noose.

When they reached his old bedroom, he wasn't surprised to see it cluttered and jumbled with boxes and more of Dudley's old, broken things. The mattress was stripped bare and leaning upright against the wall, the bed frame taken apart and laying haphazardly on the floor beside it.

"Allow me," Dumbledore said. And with a quick wave of his wand, the headmaster had banished the boxes and junk cluttering the small room, and the bed had magically put itself back together. In a touching gesture, the headmaster had also added the same pillows and duvet cover that Harry had slept on in Spinner's End. A small pile of books suddenly popped into existence, falling one on top of the other in a neat pile on the end of the bed, and Harry recognized them as the books he had been avidly devouring in Snape's sitting room. Although he appreciated what the headmaster was trying to do, he stood there feeling empty and drained as he took it all in.

Grasping him gently by the shoulders, Dumbledore turned Harry to face him and murmured, "I'm truly sorry about this, Harry. I give you my word that the moment he wakes, I will come to fetch you."

"So youthink he will, sir?"

"Will what, my boy?"

"Awaken…?" A single hot, fat tear slipped out of the corner of Harry's eye and rolled slowly down his cheek.

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore murmured as he enfolded Harry in his arms. "If there is anything you must know about Severus Snape, it's that he is a fighter. That man has fought his way through impossible odds that no mortal should have survived. If I know him at all – and I count myself lucky to say that I am one of the very few that do – I know that he is fighting hard to get back to you and Lily and Jillian."

And for the first few days, Harry had clung to his words like a buoy in a raging sea. Today, he'll wake up. Today, Dumbledore will come get me and I'll be back with my family. Today… Today…

But three days later, nothing. Not a word.

Harry had known by the first evening that his time at the Dursley's was going south, maybe even on track to getting worse than it ever had been before. His relatives had given him wide berth when he had arrived, too afraid of Dumbledore to carry through on the awful threats they hurled his way. But as the hours passed so too did the memory of Dumbledore's warning. Harry had to admit that he was rather relieved when Uncle Vernon gave him a long list of outdoor chores, as the work kept him outdoors in the sun where he could forget about his horrid relatives for a little while. The chores also kept both his mind and body too exhausted to agonize about anything else, including his dad.

As the sun was setting on that first day, a face he knew well approached him from the shadowy alley across Privet Drive. The bubblegum pink hair gave her away long before she reached Harry.

"Tonks!" he cried, throwing down the large pruning shears in his hands and racing to meet her in the middle of the quiet street.

"Wotcher, Harry," she said with a smile before embracing him in a one armed quick hug. Ruffling his hair when they parted, she said, "I've got the night shift here. I wanted to check on you and see how you were."

"Oh, you know…" Harry said with a shrug, not quite sure what to else to say. "Have you seen Snape? Is he doing alright? Is anyone working on his hands, now that Lily and I–?"

"I haven't been at the hospital since the day before you left, Harry. I'm sorry." She seemed to take pity on him when she saw his crushed expression, so she hurried to say, "But you know, I have another night shift here and then a morning shift with Snape in a few days. Maybe you can write him a letter or something and I could read it to him, let him know you're doing alright–"

"POTTER!"

The angry voice barking his name made both of them jump. His uncle was hanging halfway out the door, his mustache quivering and his face purple with rage.

"What in Merlin's–?" Tonks said in surprise.

But Harry cut her off. "I better go. Thanks, Tonks." And he ran toward his uncle, who ushered him quickly inside before slamming the door and rounding on him.

"How DARE you, you little ingrate! Not even here a full day and you're already causing trouble!"

"What did I do?" Harry asked in surprise. He'd barely even been in the house at all since he'd arrived.

"How dare you draw attention to this house by talking to that – that woman?!" Uncle Vernon approached like an angry tiger, crowding him until Harry started backing fearfully away. But there was nowhere to escape, and his back quickly hit the wall.

"She was just–"

"I know she's one of your ilk! Pink hair, knee-high boots, outrageous clothing! Of course she's one of yours!" His face was so close to Harry's that he could feel the spittle hitting his cheeks, could smell the booze on his uncle's breath.

"I – I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon! It won't happen again!"

"You're damn well right, it won't! You won't be stepping foot outside this house for the rest of the summer!" His uncle roared. He hadn't laid a hand on him, but Harry could tell that he was only barely restraining himself. "Get out of my sight, NOW!"

The truth hit Harry full in the face when he ran into his darkened room and leaned panting against the closed door. Dismayed, he realized that his window not only had had bars on the outside, but now the pane of glass had been completely blacked out with spray paint.

The lock slid into place from the outside of the door, and he listened to his uncle stomp his way back downstairs. My very own prison cell…

Harry wasn't allowed out of his room until late the next afternoon, and that had only been to cook dinner for the family before he was tossed a single bread roll and chased back up the stairs. Harry was grateful for the fact that he'd only been picking at his food in the hospital for the past two weeks, as it prepared him for life back at the Dursley's where he was lucky to get scraps, if anything at all for days on end.

And then there was Dudley…

His cousin must have overheard Dumbledore speaking to Harry that first night and overheard Snape's name. He made no secret of the things he imagined Harry and Snape doing in their time together over the summer. The worst part was that what he said were the exact acts he and his gang had attempted to do to Harry. And although Dudley didn't remember the incident, Harry remembered everything – which only increased his agitation when Dudley gleefully muttered about the foul, disgusting acts. And the more disturbed Harry became, the more pleasure Dudley seemed to take in tormenting him.

Until today when Harry snapped.

Harry had been restless all afternoon, racking his brain for a way to get his letter to Tonks. Uncle Vernon had meant what he said – he and Aunt Petunia had not allowed Harry to step a foot outside since that afternoon, and they were always careful to be around when Harry was near any windows or doors.

Unfortunately Dudley caught sight of Harry sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands. "What's the matter, Potter? Dreaming about your boyfriend? What's his name again? Oh yeah – Snape, right?"

"Don't start, Dudley," Harry warned, not bothering to raise his head. But his cousin just didn't know when to stop.

"Ooo, hit a tender spot, have we? Do you miss Snape's big, throbbing–?"

Harry jumped up from where he was sitting, racing downstairs in an attempt to stop Dudley before he really got started. But Harry-baiting had become Dudley's new favorite past time, and his cousin followed him to the kitchen, all the while taunting, "You do, don't you? I always knew you were a little faggot. So who's usually on top, Potter? I bet you just loved when Snape would bend you over and have his–"

"Shut your disgusting mouth Dudley, before I shut it for you!"

"Ooo, the jealous type, are we? Don't like another man saying dirty things about your boyfriend?"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

"You know Potter, your lover Snape may not be around, but I'm here to help ease your loneliness. I bet I could teach you a thing or two about how to please–"

He spun on the spot, and Dudley was knocked flat by Harry's fist. Harry jumped on him before he'd thought better of it, repeatedly punching him across his filthy mouth. He took a sick satisfaction from the blood welling across his cousin's features, and didn't stop until he was kicked aside by Dudley's thick, meaty legs.

"I'm going to kick your ass, you little faggot freak!" Dudley screamed when he stumbled to his feet. But Harry was quicker. Jumping up, he ran to the patio door and flung it open with a bang to try and escape his lumbering cousin.

But he wasn't quick enough. Dudley tackled him from behind, landing on top of him hard enough to knock the wind from Harry's lungs. Gasping low, rattling gulps of air into his lungs, Harry tried desperately to crawl away. But Dudley's shadow appeared above, and his cousin kicked him hard in the stomach to roll him over before wailing on his face over and over again. His vision was beginning to fade on the edges as his head was whipped back and forth by the heavy blows.

A sudden scream rent the air, followed closely by the sound of groceries in a paper bag smashing to the floor.

"Dudley! Oh my God, Dudley! What has he done to you?!" Throwing herself to the ground beside her son, Aunt Petunia gently reached out and cupped Dudley's face, turning it this way and that to examine the damage and completely ignoring Harry.

"Mum! He – he attacked me!"

Harry groaned as he rolled to his side, his face throbbing and bleeding freely, his eyes already swelling dramatically.

"I had to defend myself, Mum!"

"Shhh, of course you did, Duddykins. He's a dangerous, evil little freak! Look at what he's done to my poor baby boy!" she cried, choking back a sob. Then as if a switch had been pulled, the tears stopped. Clutching Dudley to her chest she snarled at Harry, "You! Get up to your room this instant! I knew it was a mistake to allow you back here! Vernon will deal with you when he gets home – NOW GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Harry hastened to do as he was told but found it harder than anticipated since his eyes were almost swollen shut. When he finally made it to his darkened room, he slid to the floor and wavered between stages of intense fear that made it almost impossible to draw breath – What if dad never wakes up? What if he was tortured to the point that his mind is broken, like Neville's parents? What is Uncle Vernon going to do to me for bloodying his precious son? – followed by stretches of staring blankly at a smudge on the wall across from him, no longer caring about anything.

Harry was near the point of utter exhaustion when his uncle's car finally pulled into the driveway and his hefty steps walked through the front door. He knew the moment that Uncle Vernon saw Dudley's face, for there was a roar of "What the hell happened?!" followed moments later by heavy footfalls racing up the stairs. Harry scrabbled to his feet, his adrenaline pumping hard and fast through his veins. But no adrenaline surge could prepare him for his uncle's wrath.

Harry's door almost exploded off its hinges as Uncle Vernon burst into the room.

"YOU!" he roared. And then he charged Harry like a rampaging bull. His large, beefy hands wrapped themselves around Harry's neck a split-second before slamming him up against the wall. "I don't care what that old fool said – you laid your filthy hands on my Dudley! I'll kill you! I'LL KILL YOU!"

He punctuated his threats by smashing Harry repeatedly against the wall, using his larger bulk to heft Harry so that his toes scrabbled for purchase below. His eyes bulged as Uncle Vernon's meaty fingers bit into his neck, and his air was cut off with a panicked gurgle. Instincts took over as Harry flailed to free himself, but his uncle's bulk easily outstripped his meager attempts. Just as Harry's body began to go limp and his vision started to dim, Uncle Vernon released him and he collapsed in a heap on the floor, gasping for breath.

His uncle turned and stalked to the door. But before leaving he spun toward Harry and murmured in a low, murderous tone, "I'm going to let Dudley decide what to do with you, you god damn freak. You won't be so cocky then!" And he slammed the door shut with such force that the window rattled hard in its pane and threatened to shatter.

Harry lay where his uncle left him, too weak and afraid to rise. Tears burned hotly down his face as he wrapped his arms around himself, wishing more than anything that he was home, and it was his father's warm, protective embrace that cradled him.