Severus awoke from his alcohol induced slumber with the familiar headache and dry mouth. With a groan, one sleep heavy hand reached out for his water, knocking it off the dresser in its haste. Swearing quietly, Snape stumbled from his bed and found his way to the bathroom with little to none of the trademark poise that was usually exhibited. After a shower and an obscenely large cup of coffee, the potions master felt able to manage human interaction, and with that thought he paced to the fireplace in order to contact Mad-Eye, with the intent to find out just when he was expected to accompany the ragtag bunch of wannabe aurors to the Potter Brat's luxurious home to "rescue" the boy. Snorting at the thought of the pampered prince-who-lived actually requiring rescue, the handful of floo powder was flung into the fire.

While his professor was completing said tasks, the boy in question was also steeling himself for human contact; however unlike his professor believed, he was in dire need of rescue. Wincing as the welts on his back complained at the sudden movement, he crawled out of the cupboard he had been relegated to. His uncle had discovered that Harry had managed to treat his injuries, and had delivered the biggest thrashing yet. The Boy-Who-Lived couldn't have survived the beating that Vernon wanted to give him though. Petunia had stepped in to tone down the eldest Dursley's rage somewhat, citing the benefits they received for tolerating their nephew's presence. Without the herbs that were in what was his room, Harry was left to manage the pain with a little water and willpower.

Making breakfast, all sorts of thoughts went through the suffering boy's mind. Firstly, how in the hell did one make an egg that was runny, but not runny, as his delightful cousin had requested. Secondly, what was the protocol from here? Harry wasn't stupid, he knew that the beatings his uncle were delivering could be-should be- classed as child abuse. But how the fuck could anyone know about it? Rita Skeeter would have a field day, Molly would smother him to death, Remus would blame himself, Snape would taunt him with the information… shit. What if Snape did find out somehow? The ministry might as well sign the death certificate for one Harry James Potter there and then. Cause of Death? One too many sarcastic comments led to Harry's unsuccessful attempted murder of Professor Snape, who slaughtered him in overenthusiastic "Self Defence".

Unaware of his fictitious crime, the felon in the making was turning over his hash browns while contemplating jumping from a fourth storey window to avoid the task set by Albus Dumbledore. Merlin, the man thought nobody had a life! How the fool could believe that everyone could just up brooms and go at 5pm- BROAD DAYLIGHT- to fetch a boy who wouldn't want to leave the damn house anyway, the professor had no idea. Groaning, he realised his breakfast was utterly carbonised due to the internal ranting. Throwing it away, the disaster was added to the litany of things that Potter would be punished for upon return to Hogwarts. A little cheered by this prospect, the Bat of the Dungeons began preparing a fresh breakfast while contemplating punishments that he could legally give.

Harry shivered. His uncle's fist bore down on him, and he braced for the inevitable impact. Another rib, he mentally added to the tally. And another. There goes a knee, hip, shoulder. Falling to the floor, the Boy-Who-Lived fell into the welcome blackness of unconsciousness while Vernon and Dudley's blows hammered into him.

"Mundungus, quit your chattering! This is serious! We may know the child's aunt and uncle are away, but he may still be in some level of danger! Take this seriously! Oh for Merlin's sake, don't start shivering now!" Alastor Moody's bark rang through Grimmauld like a gunshot as Snape approached the window through which they would leave. As soon as everyone had mounted their brooms, they left in perfect formation. Gliding over London, Severus thanked every deity there was for the invention of a disillusionment charm that covered brooms as he stole a glance at the pedestrians below.

Harry was a crumpled heap on the floor still. His inhalations were shuddering rattles, and a desperate wheeze accompanied each exhale. They were the only sounds in the house, as the Dursley's had left for their "Lawn Competition". A slight rustle betrayed Hedwig's indignation at being trapped in her cage as she awoke.

After an eternity of flying over the motorway, Moody indicated that they should turn left. Cursing ensued from everyone as they realised that it meant passing through low cloud. Kingsley spoke up, pointing that they were invisible anyway, and the seasoned auror relented. Swerving, they reached what he assumed was the Potter Brat's estate. Dismounting they put their brooms into a charmed box that the wolf had set up the previous week, and removed the charms on themselves as they elected to walk visibly. It avoided the necessity of watching out for other people, and the questions raised if someone bumped into a muggle accidentally. Even better, Potter would see them coming and have more time to worry. The thought elicited a smirk, and the double agent caught up with the others.

"This place is like a rabbit warren!" Mundungus whined as they picked their way through turn after turn on the estate. "Shut up, 'dung. We're nearly there." Was Kingsley's exasperated reply, accompanied by a stinging hex curtesy of Moody. A glare from Severus was the professor's contribution, and Remus strode on, ignoring Mundungus' complaint. "Look, Privet Drive. We just gotta find number 4 now." "Merlin's sake Remus, do you have to be so loud? We might have a tail! Or spies nearby!" hissed Mad-Eye urgently. Rolling his eyes at the man's paranoia, the blasted wolf just checked door numbers placidly. "14, 12, 10, 8, named house, garage, 4! Here we are! Number 4, Privet Drive" Severus looked up at the house that was the apparent residence of the boy saviour. No lights were on, and he couldn't hear a TV. Maybe the brat was outside.

As they strode in, a stench of blood hit their noses. Remus visibly cringed as he announced, to everyone's horror "It's Harry's. MOVE!". They split up. Severus' mind raced as they looked in bathrooms, bedrooms, closet, the kitchen, dining room. It seemed impossible to fins the source of the smell. Congregating in the hallway, they began to announce theories and stories, everyone's opinion was being weighted in. "SILENCE!" Moody screamed, daring them to continue talking. "I believe we should-"Then, a rattle and wheeze was heard from under the stairs. Disbelievingly, they opened the dingy cupboard to find the child-no,-brat on a worn baby's mattress covered in blood. "Shit."