Arabella Figg's house stood out distinctly from those around it. Large metal cats adorned her front garden, with the occasional wooden hand painted cat statue there also. Her real cats slipped in amongst them with that delicacy only cats possess. None of this was taken in by the Master Spy however, as he hurried to the front door. He rapped his knuckles on the bright wooden door, which was opened almost immediately.

"Severus, how nice to-" her words were cut off as he brusquely pushed past.

"I need to use the Floo immediately. What were you thinking woman, keeping this form Dumbledore?" Severus snarled at the unfortunate squib.

"What are you talking about Severus…?" she gibbered, shutting the door behind him.

Severus threw a handful of Floo powder in the already crackling fire and stuck his head inside.

"Albus Dumbledore's office!" he called. An elaborately decorated room swam into view, and a disturbed Headmaster peered down at him.

"I have been to the Dursley residence, Headmaster. The Dursleys were involved in a car accident last night; they did not survive. The boy is supposedly in a critical condition in hospital,"

Severus ignored the sharp intake of breath from the woman behind him and continued.

"I will remain in the area; he is apparently at one of the local hospitals. I will find him and report back,"

The other man had stood and moved towards the fireplace, but Severus stopped him with a shake of the head.

"I will find him, Albus. I know the school wards need rebuilding after last month's fiasco; letting the Darklord gain entrance can not be overlooked,"

Finally Albus spoke, his blue eyes betraying his worry.

"Please Severus, you must find Harry. We need to bring him back to the Wizarding world as soon as possible,"

"I will do what I can, Headmaster," Severus replied softly, before withdrawing his head from the fireplace.

"Severus, I know I should have been keeping closer tabs on the boy, but I didn't leave the house this morning because Blackie was sick. I-" Arabella began, looking distressed.

"I have no time for your prattle woman. I will find Potter, and for your sake he'd better still be alive," Severus said with a sneer in her direction.

With those words he swept from her tacky house.

He was floating. Confused images chased each other through his aching head as he tried to work out why he felt this way. There was no pain; in fact, there was very little sensation at all. Harry tried to move his fingertips, but they felt like he had pins and needles. Worse, he tried to open his eyes and found it impossible. A strangled noise left his throat, but there was no one around to hear it, and something was sticking down his throat blocking all speech.

He was terrified, to say the least.

'Breathe Harry, just Breathe. Now, think, what is the last thing you remember?' Harry thought to himself desperately.

Images of a crush of metal, harsh breathing in the silence of the night came to mind.

'We crashed. Uncle Vernon was going so fast…Uncle Vernon? Where are the Dursleys? What has happened to them?'

In a real panic now, Harry tried to move, to speak, anything to bring attention to himself.

"Lie still, Potter. You will only injure yourself further," the silky voice was oddly familiar, but Harry could not immediately place it. Perhaps sensing his distress, the voice spoke again.

"I hope you don't think this will excuse you from your potions homework, Mr. Potter,"

And Harry knew with that sentence that he was dead and had gone to hell, and he allowed the darkness to claim him once more.

The white building stood out in stark relief against the blue skyline. Severus had never understood why hospitals always had such blank exteriors; it was as if to distract the mind from the death and sickness they contained within. A few inquiries and memory spells and he had gained Potter's location. He was dressed in the same Muggle attire he had worn to the Dursley residence; plain black suit, white shirt. Anyone who saw him would have had a hard time remembering his distinctive features, apart from his shoulder length black hair.

As the automatic doors opened, the smell of antiseptic hit him immediately. He wrinkled his nose slightly. To be a Potions Master, one must have a refined sense of smell in order to judge a potions readiness, but in this instance Severus regretted having such a nose. Crying children sat on the laps of tight-lipped adults. Others clutched at bloody injuries, or coughed into handkerchiefs. The tension in the air was palpable, but it was into this tense environment that Severus calmly walked into. The woman behind the counter raised a questioning face to him as he approached.

"I'm looking for someone. I was told he was at this hospital," he allowed a dance of fake emotions to play across his face. Worry, sadness, and pain; the things any other human would feel if someone they knew was in such a situation.

"What was his name?" the woman asked, hands poised above the computer.

"Harry Potter. He was involved in a car accident last night. I believe his relatives were killed," he replied.

"He is listed as critical, family members only to see him, Mr…?"

"Stevens. I am Harry's Uncle," the lie fell easily from his lips. The hand in his pocket twitched slightly and the woman's face switched from slight suspicion to complete ease.

"Of course. Room 103, there should be a doctor in with him at the moment," she said briskly, turning back to her work. A confusion spell had dispelled any worry, and she barely remembered the tall man in black as the flow of patients in and out continued. Severus had meanwhile found a lift that would take him to the required floor, and let go of his wand. The elevator played a simple tune as it moved slowly upwards, causing Severus to sneer at the strange Muggle inventions. The door clicked open, and the first thing he realized was that there was no noise on this floor. It was eerily quiet, and even the nurses at the desk spared him no more than a single glance. The noise of his boots seemed to reverberate around the silent halls. The numbers on the doors passed by, until he found the one he was after. Curtains drawn, and he hesitated. A soft voice spoke quietly next to him.

"Are you a relative?" a short man looked up at him from beneath thin, gray hair. Wordlessly, Severus nodded.

"The boy is in a bad way, I must warn you before you enter. He has been unconscious since the accident, and has some very grave injuries. Primarily, we are worried that he may never regain his eyesight. It seems his glasses smashed in the impact, and his lower body was trapped in the wreckage. His legs are broken, and he has internal injuries also. In fact, I was surprised he survived such a horrible accident,"

Severus felt his unease grow, but squashed it.

'He's Potter. The boy is like a cockroach, he'll survive. Doctors always tell you the worst so you don't get your hopes too high,' It sounded illogical, even in his own head, but he could not bring himself to think any different. The boy was a replica of his father; there was no room for the thought that he might have suffered just as any other child would have.

"If you're ready, we can go in now," the doctor offered, taking his silence to mean that he was upset.

Severus gave another sharp nod, and followed the man into the room. The first thing he noticed was white. Everything, the sheets, the machines, and most importantly, the boy, were white. His head was swathed in crisp bandages that hid the grotesque bodily fluid beneath. A steady beep indicated that he was still alive, and his chest rose in small movements. The doctor seemed to sense his reluctance to move closer.

"I'll give you a few minutes. It can be confronting, at first," he said with a sad smile as he moved out of the room.

Severus opened his mouth to say that it wasn't confronting. He had seen so much worse during the last war, scenes that had left him with nightmares for years afterwards. It was not horror that kept him from moving closer; it was disbelief. They were enjoying one of the few times in wizarding history that no conflicts were being fought, a time when it was supposed to be safe. Here lay the hope of the wizarding world, covered in bandages and barely breathing because of some muggle contraption. Here was the boy-who-lived-to-be-the-bane-of-his-existence in near death, and he had no idea that his most hated Potions professor hovered above him.

He took a step, feet dragging him nearer to the bed than he cared to be. The bandages covered his face, from nose upwards. Tubes ran down his slack mouth, blanket pulled up to his chin.

'What was I really expecting? That I would just be able to waltz up and grab the boy, disapparate and shove him into Pomfrey's care? That in days he'd be back on the Quidditch pitch, back to tormenting me with those damned green eyes?' Severus berated himself.

His fingers twitched suddenly, and his body gave a strange spasm.

"Lie still, Potter. You will only injure yourself further," he said, knowing full well the chances the boy could hear him were zero. More to himself than to the boy, he uttered the words; "I hope you don't think this will excuse you from your potions homework, Mr. Potter,"

He had to contact Albus. The situation was worse than he could have ever imagined.

A/N- there you go, a second chapter in as many days. I thought I'd address one review in particular, since the writer obviously went to a lot of trouble to leave such a constructive review (Thank you for that, by the way ). Firstly, regarding Severus being so shocked. While it is true that he has seen many things during the war, and has been a spy for many years, he has also lived in the peaceful times in the 11 years since the Darklord disappeared. He went to the Dursleys with the impression he would find a spoiled, pampered Harry, not the news that he was dead as the woman said first.

As for the summer, I suppose reading the books and watching the movies gave me the impression that all of Harry's summers were hot, even at the start of them. I didn't really base any of my descriptions of heat from anything I've experienced in Australia; I live in a cold part that only has a brief summer myself.

Also, I meant for Harry to be waiting outside, near the car park, so as not to antagonize his Uncle further by having to look for him. Heh, but the Motorway I can't excuse. I suppose I call it a freeway or a highway because that's the lingo here, and they are the words I use. My main inspiration for this chapter was the film clip for "One" by Metallica. Can't really say how inspirational that song and clip is, especially together, and if you haven't seen it, watch it! My other inspiration is the book "Accident" by Danielle Steele that I read years ago, and always liked. (Hence my title)

Thank you all for the reviews, it's overwhelming really!