It was like swimming through fog.

Unclear and heavy, it pressed in all around Harry as he unexpectedly surfaced during various moments of clarity. His thoughts were jumbled; he was unable to discern what thoughts were his and what where the mumbled voices he thought he could hear at times.

What happened…?

A deep, fervent burning caught Harry's attention. His right arm—the arm that had been injured during the attack—made itself known as Harry tentatively attempted to move his fingers. He winced, the burn spreading up from the bones of his hand right up to his shoulder. He swallowed back the groan that wanted to fall from his throat.

God, he was tired.

Where was he, anyway? He obviously wasn't dead… perhaps Voldemort had a sick plan that involved him in some way?

Harry's eyes flickered drowsily, heavy-lidded. He forced them open, taking in the blurry sights of what appeared to be the hospital wing at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts…?

Why on earth was he here? It was summer… wasn't it? Or had this all been some wicked dream? Maybe he'd been in a Quidditch accident—maybe school was still in session…

His thoughts were buried beneath the thick, fuzzy quality of his consciousness and as hard as Harry struggled to make sense of his thought process, the reminder that he had obviously been subjected to something horrible was a constant presence in his mind.

"It is about time you re-joined the living, Mr Potter."

A familiar deadpanned voice reached Harry's ears. He noted the hint of concern within the tone, something was that not normally present whenever the Potions Master spoke to him.

"P-Professor Snape?" Harry's voice sounded rough, his throat parched. He allowed his head to fall to the side, spying the dark-haired male sitting gracefully in a chair at his bedside. The older man had his legs crossed elegantly, his usual black robes draped around him.

Okay so probably not a Quidditch accident then. There was no way Professor Snape would be the first person he'd see if he'd been hit with a bludger.

"I see you've retained your memory."

Uncrossing his legs, Severus got to his feet, stepping closer to the bed and pulling out his wand. "I daresay you have questions about the attack on your relatives' home, however I must request you wait until I have completed a diagnostic scan. You have been unconscious for six days."

Harry could only stare at the fuzzy form of his teacher in bewilderment as Snape ran his wand up and down his body. The faint frown that was already tugging at the man's brow deepened as he hesitated over Harry's right arm, his wand beginning to vibrate in his hand. Harry followed his teacher's gaze, noticing for the first time that his arm had been bandaged and was set in a sling.

Snape was muttering to himself now. Harry could only catch every other word.

"Stronger." More ineligible murmurs. "Unstable."

Harry swallowed as a frown appeared on his face. "Sir?" he managed.

Snape broke his train of thought and straightened. "Hold still, Mr Potter," he said instead, "while I scan your cranium for underlying injury."

Harry simply blinked tiredly in reply, barely able to register the fact that Snape stood over him let alone the instructions he ordered. Catching sight of the confusion on the young male's face, the Potions Master allowed an eyebrow to rise in silent question as his scanned his wand over Harry's head.

"I am sure you are perplexed by the lack of Madam Pomfrey's presence?"

"It crossed my mind," Harry admitted in a murmur. "But considering what's happened… I'm learning to accept what is."

The smallest of smirks quirked Severus's lips.

"Madam Pomfrey, like many teachers, is away from the school for the duration of the holidays. I was the easiest person for the Headmaster to contact. You were moved here to the infirmary to only my, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall's knowledge."

Dark images flashed across Harry's vision.

"Professor Dumbledore was there, wasn't he," he stated. "At the Dursleys."

Snape nodded.

"Probably the only reason why I'm still alive." The brunet briefly closed his eyes, allowing a sigh to seep out of his body. "Is Professor Dumbledore here? Can I speak with him?"

"The Headmaster will return soon. He has gone to inform the Order on how you are progressing."

"Do they know what happened, sir? Why is no one else here?" Harry inquired.

"No one has been allowed on school grounds for your safety, Mr Potter. The Dark Lord is hunting high and low for you at the moment and it would be far too easy for him to infiltrate should the school be open to visitors."

"Does this mean I will remain here until school returns?" Harry asked.

Snape shook his head. "There is too much risk for you to remain here, especially with so few people to help protect you. The Headmaster will find a place of security for you to spend the remainder of the summer."

Harry couldn't help the frown as it pulled at his eyebrows. "But Hogwarts… I thought it was the safest place from Voldemort?"

At the mention of the Dark Lord's name a muscle jumped in Snape's jaw. The man took a moment to compose himself before speaking.

"During the semester, yes, this is correct," the Potions Master replied, voice edged with a slight bitterness. "What makes Hogwarts so secure is the collective magical energy of the students. It feeds the wards, protecting the inhabitants. Hogwarts was, after all, built specifically for young witches and wizards; a place to learn without the danger of outside threats."

Understanding dawned over Harry. "That's why Professor Dumbledore does not allow students to remain over the summer holidays."

Snape inclined his head. "Hogwarts will be the first place the Dark Lord will search for you—if he hasn't attempted so already."

Memories of the attack suddenly flooded Harry's mind and he winced as his arm began to throb, reaching for it instinctively.

"What happened?" he asked, turning his gaze to the man standing beside him. "How was—" his voice faltered. "The wards…?"

Snape held the young man's gaze for a moment. He clicked his fingers, a house elf immediately popping into the room.

"You be calling, Sibby, sir?" the elf asked with a bow.

"Fetch some broth, bread, and water," Snape instructed. He turned back to Harry as Sibby disappeared. "You will need sustenance. Afterwards, I will answer any questions you have."

Rather than argue with the man, which Harry knew would be an extremely futile attempt, he simply nodded, pleased when Snape rewarded him with the ghost of a smile.

"This is the most compliant I have ever seen you, Mr Potter."

"Being the subject of an extreme attack has that effect on you, Professor."

The older man snorted, lowering himself back into the chair he had once been sitting in. Again, he crossed his long legs, eyeing the young male carefully.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Harry could tell it was not out of concern—the questions was too matter-of-fact, standardly brisk.

"Weird," Harry replied. "Tired… and my arm feels strange."

"I daresay it must. It was a rather nasty curse you were hit with." When the young man frowned curiously at him, Severus shook his head minutely. "Not yet," he continued. "You will eat first."

The usual rush of anger that Harry generally felt whenever he was ordered around by Snape was uncharacteristically lacking. He wasn't sure if it was due to the gratitude since Snape had apparently been the one to care for him for the past week, or if Harry honestly couldn't bring himself to feel any particularly intense emotions. Ever since he had woken, the brunet had been in a daze. The fact that it wasn't entirely due to his exhaustion was becoming more and more apparent, however. Harry had been so close to dying that day it scared him. The only reason why Harry seemed to have survived was because Dumbledore just happened to get there in time to save him. What sort of Chosen One was he…?

"Sibby be bringing the sirs plenty of food!"

"Thank you," Snape answered, dragging Harry's attention back to him.

Harry watched his Professor summon a tray, levitating a bowl of soup, a plate of bread, and a glass of water onto the floating wooden receptacle. The professor allowed the tray to hover steadily over Harry's lap, before the older man expertly flicked his wrist and Harry felt his body slide smoothly into a sitting position, pillows shoved behind his back and his food coming to rest on his legs.

"Er—thank you," Harry murmured, feeling a hint of embarrassment tinge his cheeks. He was used to Pomfrey fussing over him in such a manner but Snape? This was almost too much. He stared down at the food with minimal excitement. Despite being asleep for six days, Harry was unable to find his appetite. All he wanted to know was how this had come to be, why he was at Hogwarts, what had happened to his arm, and how the fuck Voldemort had managed to infiltrate the wards surrounding the Dursleys' home.

Feeling clumsy at he reached for the spoon with his left hand, Harry decided that staring at his food rather than eating it was not going to help his predicament. The silver utensil was cold, foreign against his skin as he manipulated it with his fingers, trying to find a comfortable position in his non-dominant hand that wouldn't cause him to spill soup all over the sheets.

Voldemort couldn't have hit my other arm…? Harry thought bitterly.

When the spoon proved to be too awkward, Harry opted for soaking pieces of bread in the broth and eating it that way instead; at least it was easier on his left hand than trying to work out how to hold a damn spoon.

The silence between him and the Potions Master was uncomfortable at best.

Harry could not remember a time he felt more discomforted. He would have preferred it if the Professor would make his usual snide comments, at least to maintain some form of normality between the two of them given the circumstances.

Harry snuck a glance to the side, perturbed to see Snape eating the broth Sibby had brought with an elegance Harry envied. The older man was not looking at Harry however. He had his dark eyes trained on the soup hovering on a tray before him as if he too, was just as uncomfortable with the situation as Harry was.

When Harry had eaten his full, he reclined back against the pillows with a silent sigh. His stomach swirled uncomfortably despite the small amount of food he had eaten—no doubt his stomach was rebelling against the sudden invasion after going so many days with nothing. He remained quiet as Snape continued to eat, taking small sips of his water to help soothe his churning stomach and allowing his gaze to wander around the familiar, although slightly blurry, sights of the hospital wing. It was odd, not seeing Madam Pomfrey bustling around in her usual manner. The lack of humming voices was also a strong reminder that Hogwarts was currently barren, everyone home for the holidays.

Suddenly, Harry's mind drifted to thoughts of Ron and Hermione. Did they know? Had they been told what had happened? Surely if the Order knew then they would as well—

"Are you done with your meal, Mr Potter?"

Snape's blurry face came into his line of vision once more and as Harry was nodding his reply, he found himself realising that he had yet to ask for his glasses. It was becoming a little hard to concentrate when all he could see were out-of-focus shapes.

"Professor, where are my glasses?"

The Potions Master cleared his throat. "Your spectacles were irreversibly damaged during the invasion, Mr Potter. Once you are well again I am sure the Headmaster will assist you in acquiring new ones."

Oh. Fantastic.

Harry closed his eyes, already beginning to feel the start of a faint headache blossoming. The tray was removed from his lap, and he heard a gentle thunk as his glass of water landed on the bedside table on his left. He waited until Snape had stopped moving before opening his eyes once more, turning to look at the Professor who was seated, gazing at him steadily.

"There is a temporary spell I can perform which will allow you to see somewhat clearly if you are happy for me to perform it," Snape said then. "It is the best I will be able to do for the mean time."

"I'd like to try the spell," Harry replied. "Please."

Inclining his head, Snape reached into his robes and withdrew his wand. He pointed the tip directly between Harry's eyes and murmured "Videre."

At once, Professor Snape's face came into focus, as did the hospital wing's surroundings. There was a slight blur around each object but it was certainly a lot better than his vision had been previously.

"The spell will last for approximately two hours. Afterwards your eyes will need to rest for a while before I will be able to reapply the charm," Severus explained, tucking his wand away once more. "Now, I believe I owe you an explanation."

Harry found himself glancing down at his injured arm, his first question already burning on his tongue. "What was the curse that hit me… sir?" He figured that if he continued to remain polite, Snape would be more inclined to answer his questions.

"The curse was intended to make your magic uncontrollable," the older man explained, "in order to defeat you in an easier manner. I am sure you remember what happens whenever you and the Dark Lord cross wands."

Harry nodded.

"I believe the Dark Lord had intentions in making your death… a public spectacle."

Before his eyes, Snape watched at Potter's skin paled dramatically, jaw clenching tightly at the bluntness of his response. The boy had already been pale from the incident. Now he looked positively grey.

"Thankfully," Severus continued, unsure at the feelings swirling in his chest at the sight of the boy appearing so vulnerable, "he did not succeed in his attempt."

"So far," Harry muttered, frowning down at the crisp white bedspread covering his legs. "Why hit my arm?"

"The Dark Lord's initial target would have been your chest; the core of your magic. Unfortunately still, the curse has hit your wand arm. While it is advantageous that it is simply your arm that requires healing, your magic will remain somewhat unstable until you are able to regain some form of control."

Some form of control… that doesn't sound promising…

"Is the damage e-extensive?" Harry found himself asking. His throat was beginning to feel tight.

"It is hard to say," Snape replied. "I have been unable to do more aside from scanning it each day. It would seem however, that the cursed magic has delved deeply within the tissues of your arm. It does not look promising."

Harry felt sick. "Meaning I may not be able to perform spells properly."

"Presumably."

Fuck.

God, the silence was deafening. Harry didn't know what to do. If it had been anyone other than Snape he could have cried, screamed, yelled, anything—

"I realise this may be hard to hear—"

"Do you though?" Harry suddenly snapped. Ah, here it was, the usual anger he had been expecting ever since he woke. "Having been hunted all of your life for something you never had control over? Being attacked in your own fucking home and almost being killed? Being told that I may not be able to use my magic ever again? Yeah, I bet you get told that on a daily basis!"

The familiar sneer had once more appeared on the Potions Master's face, disdain shining clearly in his black eyes. "Potter, if you would stop acting like a child for a mere moment—"

"Please don't."

Breathing harshly, Harry clenched his eyes shut tight, willing himself not to breakdown. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you, especially since you've apparently been taking care of me for the past week but I—I just can't—" His voice broke and he pressed his left hand to his eyes, swallowing convulsively. He would not cry in front of Snape!

"Mr Potter—"

Oh god, what if he could never do magic again…?

"Potter!"

Who would stop Voldemort?!

"POTTER!"

Harry jerked, turning wild eyes towards the source of his name. Severus Snape was standing beside the bed, staring down at him in astonishment. It took Harry a moment to realise the bed and the bedside table were both vibrating intensely, the glass of water that had once been standing on the table top was now missing, shattered on the floor.

"You need to remain calm," Snape murmured. "Your magic is unstable. That does not mean it is non-existent."

A deep, burning ache had begun to travel up Harry's injured arm. He reached for it instinctively with his left hand, flinching at the sudden flare of pain he felt as his fingers brushed across the bandages lining his limb. He withdrew his hand, staring down at the sling in anguish as his injury hummed. He didn't realise what Professor Snape was doing until his wand was hovering an inch above his arm, scanning from the tips of Harry's fingers to the top of his shoulder.

The deepening frown on Snape's face did nothing to stem Harry's worry.

"The Headmaster will need to be informed."

Harry had no idea as to whether the Professor was speaking to him or murmuring to himself.

"I will take my leave now, Mr Potter, try to rest."

A suddenly jolt of alarm swept through Harry as Snape stepped away from the bed. "No, wait, please," he begged. "I want to ask you one more thing."

Snape's nostrils flared briefly but he nodded jerkily.

Swallowing, Harry stared at the man standing beside him. "Do you—do you know how Voldemort managed to get inside the blood wards?" he asked. "Sir?" he added, quickly.

Aside from the standard muscle jump in his jaw at the mention of the Dark Lord, Snape's face gave nothing else away. After a moment, the older man shook his head minutely.

"I do not," he replied, holding Harry's gaze unwaveringly. "The Dark Lord said nothing of his plan of getting inside."

Harry felt his heart sink.

"That is enough for today. Rest now, I will return soon."

Before Harry had time to register what Professor Snape had said, the older man was already turning on his heel in a swish of dark robes, striding across the floor of the hospital wing.

A/N: Reviews are appreciated! Xx