Snape had walked the entire neighborhood searching for the damned stubborn child, but he was still nowhere to be found. As careless as he knew the boy could be, Snape refused to believe that he was stupid enough to have gone far from the wards.

"Point me… Harry Potter," he hissed as he whipped out his wand and laid it flat against the palm of his hand. "Insufferable, willful, pig-headed boy!" He murmured angrily. Snape followed his wand's direction, stopping every block or so to repeat the spell. As the wand tip began to glow and he knew that he was getting closer, he was in a cold rage to see that Potter had gone almost two miles from the safety of his home.

"He's going to wish he'd never been born after the thrashing I'm going to—"

But the words jammed themselves in his throat. He stood in stunned silence, as the sight before him made his blood freeze in his veins.

There was Potter, being held down by five other boys – one of them his cousin, who was forcing Potter's bruised and bloody face up against the fence while fiddling with Potter's pants, trying to push them down over his hips while trying to prevent his cousin from bucking him off.

This couldn't… How was this…? What in Merlin's name was happening here? Potter's eyes met his in that instant, and he could plainly see the panicked terror in their depths.

The world went red, and it was suddenly as if the ice in his veins had turned to fire. Snape roared as he sprinted down the path, the attackers freezing and whipping around at the sudden sound.

They didn't stand a chance.

Snape shot hexes and spells from his wand as if he were shooting a muggle gun, and he was in such a rage that he almost didn't register the screams of agony coming from the assailants. When he did, he took a sick pleasure in watching the blood spray as the spells hit their marks.

Snape spun around as the fighting lulled, his wand tip pointing threateningly. But he realized there was no one left standing. Amidst the moans coming from the downed attackers, he saw a terrified Potter crouched against the fence and staring at him with wide, petrified eyes.

Snape stalked towards the boy, breathing hard and fast, trying to ease the red in his vision. The sight of Potter pushed up against the fence, his cousin behind him and about to do unspeakable things, was seared into Snape's brain. He saw it every time he blinked or closed his eyes.

No child would go through something that vile while he was able to prevent it. Never again…

Snarling and still caught within the red fury, Snape ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. He tried to erase the sordid scene with pressure from his hands, and after a moment his eyes opened once more to the boy at his feet. Potter flinched as Snape suddenly raised his wand and sent his Patronus to Nymphadora, who was not only a member of The Order, but was also an Auror. Let her bring her fellow Aurors and deal with the memory spells. Let them deal with these monsters.

Snape held his hand out to the frightened boy, who simply continued to stare up at him.

"Potter!" he barked. "Take my hand! We must leave, now!"

The boy's eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. But still he didn't move.

"Dammit, Potter!" Snape growled, bending over and snatching him to his feet by grabbing him firmly by the wrist. He spun on the spot, and with a slight crack! they were standing on the doorstep to Spinner's End.

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

Harry bent double and retched, nothing coming from up his empty stomach. He fell onto his knees as he retched again, and was surprised to feel a hand land gently on the back of his head.

Harry recoiled and scrambled to his feet, wiping his mouth gingerly with the back of his hand, trying not to further inflame his battered lip. He and Snape stared at one another for a long moment.

Harry had absolutely no idea what to say. Rage and mortification roiled within him, threatening to make him retch again. But he was spared having to speak first when Snape said, "It's common to feel nauseous after your first apparition." He cleared his throat, obviously at as much of a loss as Harry. "When was the last time you ate anything, Potter?"

Harry looked away, embarrassed that he actually had to think about the answer. "Tuesday, Sir."

"Tuesday? Are you sure about that? It's Thursday, Potter."

Anger welled up inside, and after the day he'd had, Harry couldn't hold it back. "Yes, I'm sure. Withholding meals is one of the Dursley's favorite form of punishment." He met Snape's cold gaze again. "Sir."

Snape arched an eyebrow, but said nothing as he turned and walked up the path to the dingy house. He placed his hand palm down on the door, murmuring a string of Latin as the wood beneath his palm began to glow. Then the door popped open quietly, and Snape pushed it wide and strode into the house.

Harry was hesitant to follow. The last time he had seen this man, he'd wanted to kill him and had blackened his eye as he tried to do just that. He loathed his potions professor, detested everything about him, from his unfair treatment to his nasty remarks about his father.

But that same man had just saved him from… Bile suddenly rose in the back of his throat, and he swallowed hard. Pushing the disturbing images away, he quickly considered what to do.

Did Snape save him because he actually wanted to? Or was there some other nefarious purpose behind his unexpected behavior? He wasn't in the house yet, he could make a run for it. But where would he go? Back to the Dursley's? No, that was definitely not an option. The thought of being anywhere near his cousin at the moment made him sick. Not to mention there were probably Aurors converging on the Dursley residence this very second, which they wouldn't appreciate. He'd probably be beaten to within an inch of his life if he went back.

What would Ron and Hermione do if they were here?

"Potter, get in here," Snape called as a light flickered on inside.

Run! Ron screamed at him inside his head. Are you mental, mate? You're about to go into Snape's house! RUN!

No, Harry! Hermione said firmly, arguing with Ron as always, even inside his head. Dumbledore trusts Snape. You should, too.

"Potter! I said in. Now."

Harry's breath was coming in quick, shallow gasps, and a cold sweat broke out on his face. His extremities had started to go numb at the thought of following Snape, but Harry didn't see any other choice. He didn't even know what part of the country he was in, and his wand was locked in the cupboard back at the Dursley's.

He stepped slowly over the threshold.

He began to hyperventilate right there in the entrance way. What the hell am I doing?! Snape would love nothing more than to make me disappear from the face of the planet, and I have absolutely nothing to defend myself with! Blackness was staring to converge on the edges of his vision, white spots almost blinding him as all he heard was the frantic pounding of his heart.

The world tiled precariously and Harry stumbled, but Snape was suddenly there, grasping him hard by the shoulders in order to keep him upright. "Easy…" He maneuvered Harry over to an old sofa, pushing on the tops of his shoulders to make him sit. He then thrust a small potion vial into Harry's limp hand. "Drink this."

Harry struggled to rise, but Snape held fast to his shoulders. "I'm not going to hurt you, Potter. Had I wanted to I would not have bothered rescuing you." He then backed off, as if emphasizing his words that he was not going to hurt him.

It took a moment for that to penetrate Harry's clouded brain, but when it did Harry couldn't help but admit that it made sense. He slowly uncorked the vial and tipped it back against his lips.

Within moments, the panic clutching at ribs and making it difficult to breathe eased. His heartbeat slowed, and the feeling in his hands and feet started to return.

"Calming Draught?"

Snape looked at him a moment, then gave a jerky nod.

He almost choked on the next bit, but as the Calming Draught took effect, Harry realized it needed to be said. "Thank… Thank you. For… everything."

Snape was watching him again, but something moved behind his eyes, and an odd look passed over his face. He nodded again, slower this time. Then he turned to leave the room.

Harry jumped up."Where are you going?"

Snape turned back around – slowly. "Do not tempt me, Potter. If you do not sit – now – I will have to force you. And since I have a wand and you do not, believe me when I say that you will not like what happens."

Harry stared at him with wide eyes, but fell back into the old sofa.

"Good," Snape said. "Now stay there until I get back." Snape strode out of the room, and Harry took a moment to inspect his surroundings.

He couldn't help but go slack jawed at what he saw. It was actually quite… normal. Shabby and a little dilapidated, yes. But you would never have known that one of the most well-renowned wizard potion masters of all of Britain lived here. In fact, it could easily have been a muggle house. There was no sign of magic anywhere.

The room he was in would normally be defined as a muggle sitting room. However, the room had been transformed in what could only be described as a library. Floor to ceiling shelves on all four walls were packed with books, and shelves had even been built above and below the windows. The couch he was currently occupying was one of a matching pair, a small coffee table in between the two, all opposite a small, muggle-sized fireplace. Harry found this odd since most wizarding households had larger fireplaces, which made traveling by floo much easier. Next to the fireplace was an old, green wingback armchair, and next to that, a muggle floor lamp.

Harry stood, Snape's instructions forgotten. As he moved around the room, Harry's gaze swept the mantel above the fireplace, looking for photos or clues to figure out why Snape, of all people, would bring him to a house that was so very... muggle. His eyes fell upon a small dish of green, glittering powder – floo powder. It was the only sign of magical inhabitants that he could see.

What the hell? Thought Harry in confusion. What exactly is this place?

"What were you expecting?" Snape sneered as he walked back into the room. "Coffins? Chains hanging from the walls?"

"Well… Yeah. Kind of." At the dark look Snape threw his way, he hastily added, "No offense, Sir. But you do live in the dungeons at school…" Harry thought he saw the corner of Snape's mouth twitch, but a wave of dizziness hit him again at that moment, and he weaved where he stood.

"Sit down before you fall down, Potter."

"I'm fine, Sir."

"You are many things, boy. Rash, reckless, uninterested in the rules…" Harry sputtered in anger, but Snape raised his hand to cut him off and continued. "But 'fine' is not one of them." He gave Harry one of those piercing stares that made Harry squirm uncomfortably for long moments. "A nerve potion," he said suddenly, holding out another small vial to Harry. "For your hand."

At Harry's blank stare Snape explained, as if speaking to an idiot, "Judging by the swelling and abrasions across your knuckles, I'm guessing that you graced your cousin or a member of his gang with that right hook that I'm so intimately acquainted with."

Harry blushed deeply at the reminder of their previous encounter, but realized that the pain from his hand and wrist was indeed radiating down to his elbow like it had in the past.

"Thank you, sir," he muttered quietly before quickly downing the potion. Immediately the pain in his hand started to lessen. There was an awkward silence as the two stared at one another.

What now?

"I assume that if you haven't eaten since Tuesday, Potter, you must be hungry. Can you eat?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Stay here. I'll be right back."