It was no surprise the boy was exhausted. He’d somehow managed to nullify Snape’s Dark Mark—something Severus still couldn’t reckon—move Snape to his bed, get up on the bed himself in his injured state, and administer a fever draught. If the boy wasn’t already asleep, Snape would have insisted he rest. And given that the boy had just saved his life, as well as any future torment at the Dark Lord’s hands via the Dark Mark, Snape wasn’t going to complain one bit about the boy sleeping in his bed. Severus would sleep on the floor if he had to. Well, perhaps not the floor. But he could configure one of the chairs into a sofa.

First, though, he had to take a shower and make dinner. And ponder this new development some more. He felt an incredible lightness, as if a great weight had been lifted off of him. The mark had always felt dark, ugly, heavy. It always ached, like the burn of first receiving it—it never quite went away. He’d got used to it but, now that the ache was gone, it was as if he had a new lease on life. All thanks to Potter. Harry, he reminded himself. The boy’s father may have been a right arse, but Snape could no longer deny that Dumbledore had been right after all—Harry took after his mother, not his father.

Harry woke up in a tangle of white sheets on an unfamiliar yet comfortable mattress. He stretched and looked around. He was alone in a large bed, with sun streaming in through a couple of windows. He was not chained. He could move freely. He was not naked. “I’m safe,” Harry murmured. Nowhere is safe. “Snape promised he’d keep me safe.” We’ll find you wherever you are. “NO! I’m safe with Snape.”

Harry breathed through the panic, forcing back the terror. He made himself look around the room, the room in the safe house. He took in the seating arrangement near the window, the fireplace, and his camp bed. He was in Snape’s bed.

“I’m safe,” he repeated, over and over, trying to convince himself. “I’m safe. I’m warm, and I’m safe. Snape is here.” Somewhere. “Snape will keep me safe.” He debated calling out for Snape, but managed to resist. He wished the man would return. Even though it was the middle of the day, he still felt much calmer when Snape was nearby.

As if his thoughts had had summoned the man, Snape appeared in the doorway carrying a tray of food. “Are you hungry?”

“A little,” Harry admitted.

Snape walked over to the bed and set the tray of food down on the bedside table nearest Harry.

“May I help prop you up?” Snape asked.

Harry nodded and let Snape shift him into a sitting position. Then Snape sat on the edge of the bed, preparing to charm the food and drink so Harry could feed himself.

“Where are we, exactly?” Harry asked, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Snape glanced out the window, a pensive expression on his face. “If I had to guess, I would say France.”

“You don’t know?” Harry asked.

Snape shook his head. “This is Dumbledore’s safe house, not mine.”

Harry swallowed. “What if something happens to you? What if I need to contact someone for...” He had wanted to say help but the thought was so frightening, he couldn’t force out the word.

Snape’s expression faltered before he turned away.

When he didn’t answer, Harry felt the panic in him rising. He reached out and grabbed Snape’s arm. “Sir?” he asked, his voice rising. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Snape must have heard the panic in Harry’s voice because he turned back immediately. “Nothing is wrong,” he said, meeting Harry’s eyes. “Now that you’ve fixed this,” Snape said, turning his arm to show Harry the coiled snake sleeping on his inner wrist, “we have nothing to worry about. The Dark Lord cannot harm me from afar any longer.”

Harry bit his lip, staring between the mark and Snape.

Snape knew he needed to distract the boy, and fast. Something shocking should do the trick. “Have I told you how amazing you are?” Snape asked.

Harry’s mouth fell open. “Er… Are you sure that snake didn’t affect your brain?” Harry asked.

Snape chuckled. “Positive,” he replied. “You are probably one of only two people in this world who could have removed the threat of the Dark Mark. I do not believe I can ever thank you enough… Harry.”

Harry blushed. “It was nothing,” he murmured, looking away.

“It was much more than nothing to me,” Snape replied.

Snape allowed himself to relax minutely at having successfully side-tracked Harry, at least for the moment. He felt a slight twinge of guilt, both for preying on Harry’s weakness for praise and acceptance, and for avoiding Potter’s question, but he’d think on those things later. The boy could certainly use some positive words to hang onto, and the last thing Snape wanted to do was worry him more about the possibility of another adult abandoning him. And he most certainly didn’t want to let the boy know how disconcerted Harry’s query had made him.

The thought that Voldemort could have killed him through his Dark Mark, leaving Harry entirely alone and even more traumatized, had been haunting him since he’d woken up beside the boy earlier that day. What was Harry supposed to do if something happened to Snape? Would Dumbledore be stopping by to check on them? Shouldn’t Dumbledore have left an emergency Portkey to a secondary safe house in case of emergency?

Snape was perfectly confident he could keep Harry safe as long as he was alive. Having just narrowly escaped a fatal attack on his person, he’d come to see the many potential flaws of their enforced captivity. He would have to work out a plan before the boy asked again. In the meantime, he needed to stay focused.

Harry still seemed to be contemplating the incongruous fact that Snape had paid him an over-the-top compliment. Better that than worrying about being stranded here alone, Snape reasoned.

“Do I still need the nutrient potion?” Harry asked as he drank the slightly thicker beef broth through the straw.

“You will require it until you are able to eat solid foods,” Snape said.

Potter grimaced.

“While we are on the subject of potions, do you have any discomfort or other physical symptoms to report?”

“No,” Harry said. “I think I am healing well. But I was hoping I might ask you for a couple of favors?”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“I would still like to take a bath,” Harry said, and then worried his lower lip.

“And?” Snape prompted.

“And,” Harry said, pausing for a moment, “do you think you could brew a potion to make my hair grow back faster?”

Harry was looking at him so earnestly and with so much hope in his eyes that Snape had to look away momentarily. It was such a simple request.

“On one condition,” Snape said. “You help me brew the potion.”

Harry looked surprised. “You trust me to help you?” Harry asked.

Snape quirked his lips. “As they say, ‘On your head, be it.’”

Snape saw the briefest hint of a smile touch the teen’s lips.

“You do have a sense of humor after all,” Harry said.

Snape merely cocked an eyebrow in response. “Would you like some bread?”

Harry nodded and Snape tore the bread into pieces to make it easier for Harry to pick up with his healing fingers.

Once Harry had finished eating, Snape spoke again. “Bath and then bed, I think.”

“I’m not all that tired, sir,” Harry said.

“By the time you are done with the bath, you will be,” Snape assured him.

Snape supervised as Harry made his way back from the bath to his camp bed and settled between the sheets. Harry yawned widely. Snape handed him his evening potions.

“Any physical complaints?” Snape asked.

Harry shook his head.

“What about your bottom?”

“No, sir,” Harry said, his cheeks flushing.

“You would tell me if there were any problems?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said. “I promised I would.”

Snape nodded. “I will hold you to that.”

Harry shifted deeper under the covers. “Sir, do you think my friends know I’m here with you?” Harry asked.

Snape seemed to consider Harry’s question before answering. “I presume you are referring to Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley?”

Harry nodded.

“I would imagine that the headmaster informed them that you were found and are staying at a safe location. I am unsure if he would have revealed my presence.”

Harry bit his lip.

“What is it?” Snape asked.

“There isn’t any way I could talk to them, is there? Write them a letter or something?” Harry asked.

“I am sorry, but no,” Snape said. “It would compromise your safety, as well as theirs.”

Harry let out a long breath. “I understand, sir,” he said.

The look of disappointment on Harry’s face grated on Snape. The boy had been through hell, managed to break the connection between the Dark Lord and himself, and was stuck indefinitely in a safe house with his once-hated professor. And yet, he wasn’t even permitted the small comfort of communicating with the two friends who had stood by him through thick and thin since he’d come to Hogwarts.

Snape sighed and looked out the window. Darkness had set in and rain splattered the windowpane. Potter’s life, as well as his own, had never been fair; why should now be any different? Snape wondered vaguely if anything would change if they managed to defeat the Dark Lord and lived to tell the tale.

Several hours later, Snape sighed as he watched Harry curl in on himself after awakening from a nightmare. He’d given him Dreamless Sleep two nights in a row, and he didn’t dare make it three. The boy had enough to contend with without adding a sleeping draught addiction on top of everything else. Hence, the nightmares.

The sound of a sob rent the air, and not for the first time, Snape felt woefully inadequate. Clearly Potter had been badly traumatized; there was no doubt about that. And after what had happened to the boy, Snape hesitated to touch him any more than was absolutely necessary, and never without asking permission first, or at least giving him some warning.

Snape sat on Harry’s bed, a couple of feet away from the boy: close enough for Potter to know he was there, but not so close as to be a threat. After a few moments, Snape leaned back against the wall and thought back to a time when he was a young, frightened boy. His mother would take him in her arms and cradle him, rocking him back and forth, and sing that song to him. The song that could make all the pain go away, at least for a little while. The song that made him feel loved and cherished, comforted and cared for. It was one of the few bright memories of his childhood, and one of the things he missed the most about his mother. Snape closed his eyes and, in halting tones, began to sing. It was all he had to offer the sobbing, traumatized teen.

“Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me…”