Essence of murtlap, Harry thought. Got to make more essence of murtlap to bring home next summer. I wonder how long before I can get out of here?

The bags in his arms were heavy, filled to bursting with last-minute items for Dudley's birthday dinner that Aunt Petunia had forgotten.

Everything must be perfect for Duddy's birthday, Harry thought sardonically.

In truth, though, he didn't mind being sent on errands. Such tasks provided him opportunity to get away from the Dursleys for a bit, to see other people, and to get a break from the endless chores around a house that did not welcome him.

Getting out today was extra enjoyable for two reasons: first, it provided less time in which Harry would have to contend with Dudley and Piers; second, the walk to the store and back gave him a chance to clear his head after the altercation with Uncle Vernon yesterday – something that was harder to do when he was stuck at the house, doing chores.

He was relieved his uncle had not marked him anywhere that couldn't be covered with clothing. If he'd hit him in the face or on the lower arms, for instance, Harry would not have been allowed out of the house until the blemishes faded. As it was, the early afternoon sun was unpleasantly warm on back, making the skin prickle and reminding him of his dream last night, but the t-shirt did an adequate job of concealing the damage.

All too soon, Number 4 appeared in view. Harry sighed, but did not slow his pace – he still had a lot to do before precious Diddykin's birthday dinner, and it wouldn't pay to upset his aunt and uncle again. Besides, he shouldn't have any trouble going on with his work – now that they were older and Dudley knew what he had for a cousin, "Harry Hunting" had become pretty much a thing of the past.

And anyway, the two idiots would no doubt be holed up in Dudley's room, spending this lovely day indoors, playing violent video games. Which was fine with Harry, seeing as how that meant they would not be watching Harry work, eating ice cream and ruminating on what a shame it was to get overheated on such a warm summer's day.

As Harry crossed the parameters of the blood wards, a man strolling past on the opposite side of the street studied him a moment, then vanished into thin air after Harry disappeared from view.

* * *

Clinging to the inverted mesh Potter had affixed to the top of the cage with the claws of three of his paws, Snape, frozen with shock, stared upside-down at the two astonished teen-aged boys standing in front of him. Their identical expressions of bemusement did nothing to improve their gormless features.

Dudley recovered first, glaring at his friend.

"I know it's a bat, Piers! I'm not an idiot you know!"

"I thought you said Harry had an owl?" Piers demanded, never taking his eyes off Snape.

"He does. I don't know where it is, probably off sending messages or something. I don't know where this thing came from."

Piers walked slowly around the cage. "Look – it's got a bandage on it."

Dudley looked, then snorted. "That explains it – it was probably hurt or something, and that freaky cousin of mine found it and decided to try to play doctor. He was always doing that when we were younger." The fat boy chuckled. "Half the time I put his little pets out of their misery while his back was turned; he never figured out why they didn't get better!"

Piers, meanwhile, kept walking around the cage, back and forth, inspecting the bat from all sides. Snape kept twisting his body around to keep him in view.

"This is so cool," Piers breathed, his eyes eager. "Will you just look at the size of it! I'd swear there aren't any bats this size native to the UK."

Dudley was uneasy. "Do you…do you think it's a vampire bat, or something?"

Trust his witchy cousin to have a dangerous animal like that. Dad would kill him.

"Nah, I don't think so," Piers said, moving quite close to the cage and taking hold of the bars above the door, poking his fingers – just slightly – past the mesh. "Look at its teeth – they don't look big enough for that."

Dudley eyed the clearly uneasy bat, which had dropped to the floor of the cage and backed away, baring its teeth as Piers threatened to invade its space. "I don't know…they look big enough to me."

Ask Potter, he'll tell you about my teeth! Snape thought irritably. He backed up as far as he could, until this back came in contact with the bars at the back of the cage and prevented him from going any further.

"Look, Big D – it's got a dish of fruit there. It's a fruit bat!" Piers pointed to the food bowl on the bottom of the cage. Dudley looked closer.

"Hey, that's my breakfast kiwi! My mum got that for me for my diet!" Dudley glared at the bat. "That freak wasn't even supposed to have any food today 'cause he's being punished!"

"Dudley, we've just got to show this to the guys! C'mon, let's take him out of there!"

Snape's heartbeat kicked up another notch.

Not good…not good at all.

What would he do if these boys tried to handle him? They both looked far rougher, much more ham-handed and much less gentle and considerate than Potter. If he was forced to transform to save himself, the boys would have to be obliviated, both for their own sakes and for his. Yet this house was under the scrutiny of the ministry for any magic performed onsite – even now, with popular opinion for Potter running high, the minister would use any excuse to pounce on the boy. The chances of Snape's cover being irrevocably blown, to the point of it getting back to the Dark Lord, would be very high indeed.

The tightrope-walk that had been his adult life had compelled Snape to become an expert at thinking on his feet, making drastic decisions on the spur of the moment in life-and-death situations without faltering, time and time again – but now, to his disgust and consternation, the question of how to deal with two bullying, teenaged muggle boys had him at a loss. Whether it was the unfathomably bizarre situation or the fact that they were teenaged bullies, with all the bad memories such beings forced him to relive, that had him freezing, didn't make much difference.

Snape tried to make himself appear as large as he possibly could, bristled the fur around his neck, bared his teeth, hissed menacingly and glared daggers at the two boys.

Dudley Durlsey, at least, seemed somewhat cowed.

"C'mon, Piers…it doesn't look too friendly."

"Don't be a prat, Dud…it must be tame if your cousin was able to get a bandage on it." Piers opened the cage door and reached towards Snape.

Snape snapped at the approaching fingers and dodged to the right, but the muggle boy was too quick, avoiding the flashing teeth and seizing Snape by the scruff of his neck. His graceless fingers dug thoughtlessly into the wounded shoulder, and he dragged Snape roughly through the door of the cage and immediately flattened the potions master-turned-bat against his chest.

Snape squirmed to get free.

"There there, little batty bat," the boy crooned in a sing-song voice, snorting with laughter. He thumped Snape's skull with his fingers, making him see stars.

"Too cool!" Piers exclaimed. "C'mon, Dud…let's show it to the guys. We should keep him, seriously…use him to freak people out!"

Dudley, emboldened by Piers's success in subduing the creature, now wanted to prove he wasn't scared, either.

"Here, let me take him!" he said eagerly.

In retrospect, Snape thought perhaps he could have timed the whole thing better. The great lump of a boy was far faster than he'd expected – no doubt from his boxer's training at school.

As Piers passed Snape over, Snape sank his sharp little teeth into the Dursley boy's meaty forefinger – his hope was that the boy would drop him, giving him time to scurry under the bed and into a position of defense. The fat boy howled with pain, but instead of dropping Snape, he grabbed him roughly by the scruff of the neck with one hand, tight enough to pull on Snape's skin and put pressure on his windpipe. Then the hand with the wounded finger came up to grab Snape around the middle, tightening around the ribcage and squeezing the breath out of him.

Piers was laughing, but Dudley was furious.

"Filthy little thing probably gave me rabies!" he snarled.

The hand around the bat's furry middle tightened, and Snape's head began to swim.

As his vision began to grey, his last thought was an ironic one.

Instead of dying at the hand of Voldemort, which he more than half suspected was how he'd finish his life, he was going to be crushed by a spoiled, obese, petulant muggle boy.

He had a sudden, mad vision of Potter burying him in the garden in a shoebox, perhaps having a little funeral service over him, and felt a wild desire to laugh.

Probably no one would ever realize what had become of Severus Snape.

The boy's fingers clamped down. His ribs creaked and he squealed in pain, front claws raking at empty air.

* * *

Harry entered the kitchen through the back door, set the grocery bags down on the kitchen table, and began putting the food away. Okay, put away the food, see if Dudley and Piers want lunch, then get started on the hedge–

He heard a shrill, animal-squeal from upstairs, then Piers' voice:

"Dudley, c'mon, don't kill him!"

Spartacus!

Harry dropped the package of chops he was holding and bolted up the stairs.

He skidded to a halt as he flew into his room, staring with horror at the bat in his cousin's meaty hands. Its eyes were bulging and there was froth on its snout.

"Dudley, don't! Dudley, put him down!"

Dudley turned to glare at him.

"It bit me!" he ground out. "You're keeping dangerous animals up here now? Wait 'til I tell Dad!"

His hand clamped down harder and Spartacus squealed again.

Going on pure instinct, Harry did something he hadn't done in years: he launched himself at the larger boy, aiming low to upset his center of gravity.

Harry's head rammed into Dudley's vast stomach. The larger boy's breath left him in a whoosh and he stumbled backwards, dropping the bat to the floor. Harry had just enough time to seize Spartacus and sweep his inert form under the bed and out of harm's way. Then Dudley and Piers were both on him.

His glasses went flying to join Spartacus under the bed as Dudley punched him in the eye, then followed it up with a right cross to the mouth. Harry kicked Dudley hard in both shins, punched him in the stomach and, as he leaned over, winded, on the nose. Piers kicked Harry's legs out from under him, Dudley landed hard on top of him, and there was a brief, blinding flare of agony as two of his ribs cracked.

The three boys fell away from each other then, and Harry sat up, breathing hard. He could already feel his eye puffing up, and his mouth was bleeding. But when he looked at Dudley, his heart almost stopped. His cousin's nose was also bleeding, and already beginning to swell.

"Piers, go down and get me some ice, would you?" Dudey said coldly, glaring at Harry. "I'll be right down."

Piers recognized trouble when he saw it, and was not keen to bring any down on his own head. There was no way the evidence here could be kept from the adults in the house, and he decided it would be best to get out of it before the Dursley parents got home.

"Sure, Dud," he said. Then he went downstairs, out the door, and walked home.

Meanwhile, Dudley continued to glare at Harry.

"Dad'll whip the skin off you," he told the smaller boy flatly.

Harry knew it all too well. The worst beating he'd ever gotten in his life – and, incidentally, the last time his uncle had been able to make him cry – was when, at age seven, he had dared to raise a hand against Dudley. Never mind the fact that never a day had gone by since he'd first arrived on the Dursleys' doorstep that Dudley hadn't hurt him physically in some way, be it a pinch, poke, squeeze, slap, punch or kick – or any and all of the above. One day, when Dudley had had Harry down on this back and was straddling him, pummeling him enthusiastically, Harry had swung wildly and caught Dudley in the face, giving him a fine black eye. Uncle Vernon had thrashed Harry mercilessly; he had been almost unconscious before Aunt Petunia had intervened – the one and only time she had ever done so.

Having just gotten a dose of the belt the day before, Harry felt his stomach turn cold. It was rare that he got another beating before he'd healed up from a previous one, but he had no doubt this would be one of those times.

Dudley spoke again.

"And he'll wring that thing's neck."

Spartacus!

"Don't tell him, then." Harry rapped the words out strongly before he knew he was speaking them. There was jut a slight quaver in his voice.

Dudley was incredulous. "Are you kidding me? I can't wait to tell him! I hope he lets me watch him half-kill you, you little freak!"

"I mean about the bat," Harry said quickly. "I know he has to know about…about the bloody nose. Tell him you were in my room and that's why I jumped on you. But don't tell him about the bat. You may have already killed him," Harry had to swallow hard at this thought and forced himself not to look under the bed, "but if you didn't I'll let him go."

Dudley seemed to consider it.

"What will you give me if I don't tell Dad?" he asked finally.

Harry was surprised despite himself. What could he possibly have that Dudley would want?

"What do you want?"

"That cloak of yours," Dudley said. "The one that makes you invisible."

Harry's blood froze.

"How did you know about that?" he whispered.

Dudley smirked. "Never mind that. How about it? Give me that cloak and I won't tell Dad about your little pet."

Harry's heart pounded. His father had left him that cloak. It had helped him in numerous ways, even saved his life. Dumbledore had told him to keep it near at all times now that Voldemort was back.

Then he thought of Spartacus, Spartacus who had never hurt anybody, but had been hurt himself. Spartacus who'd been his companion during these long, lonely weeks without Hedwig.

Harry couldn't stand the idea of losing someone else, not when he could do something to stop it. Not even if that someone was just a bat.

"Deal. But you can't have it until after I've let the bat go."

"OK." Dudley grinned. He got up, then, and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

Harry waited until he heard his cousin's footsteps retreating, then scrambled to the bed. He pulled the battery-less torch Remus had given him for Christmas last year from under the mattress and pointed the beam under the bed.

Please, please don't be dead!

Perhaps it was his recent loss of Sirius, but Harry felt panic brushing against his mind like a caged bird frantic to get free. His heart thundered in his chest, and he couldn't have been more frightened had it been Hedwig that Dudley and his cruel friend had brutalized.

C'mon, where are you?!

His sweeping fingers made contact with fur, and, his heart in his mouth, he swiftly but carefully pulled the inert bat out from under the bed.

For a moment, Harry cradled the motionless creature to his chest in his shaking hands, certain it was dead. Then he felt the fluttering heartbeat through its breast.

Alive then, but the bat's eyes were mere slits, the pupils rolled back into the skull. It was panting rapidly, tongue between its teeth.

Harry had no idea what to do for it. External wounds were one thing, but if Dudley had squashed any of its internal organs or splintered its ribs (his own side flared painfully at the thought), Harry did not know what he could do. If he were at Hogwarts, he would take Spartacus directly to Hagrid, but Hogwarts was a world away and without Hedwig, Harry had no way of contacting the grounds keeper for advice.

Briefly, he thought of grabbing his stuff and making a run for it with Spartacus, taking the Knight Bus to Grimmauld Place. He abandoned this plan almost as soon as he considered it – a similar endeavor had not worked out well when he'd attempted it before third year, and now, with Voldemort back and Death Eaters on the loose, the stakes were much higher. Uncle Vernon would thrash him, but that was nothing to what Voldemort and his minions would do, and infinitely preferable to getting other people involved and risking their safety.

All right. No Hagrid to fall back on and nowhere to go. He was on his own.

Harry set Spartacus gently on the bed, then pried up the loose floorboard in search of his potion stores. He had a pretty potent painkiller, an anti-inflammatory and a bruise salve. He would do for Spartacus what he could and hope for the best. He would also make him a new bed to lie in, since he wasn't sure the bat would be able to hang on to the wire mesh to sleep.

Harry moved carefully but quickly, wanting to finish with Spartacus before anyone returned to Number 4. He did not even bother planning to finish the list of chores Aunt Petunia had given him. This was more important, and there was no point, anyway. Chores finished or not, Uncle Vernon would have his head when he got home.

Harry just wanted to make sure Spartacus was out of the way, first.

* * *

Snape came to slowly, a fearful headache pounding at his temples. He tried to stretch and felt pain knife through his midsection, cutting his breath short. He forced his eyes open, then had to wait until his vision cleared.

When he saw that he was lying on the bottom of the cage in a cotton wool-lined box, Snape almost thought it was still his first day with Potter and that he had dreamed everything that came after. Then he remembered the two muggle boys.

He took a quick self-assessment of his injuries. The wounded shoulder had been sadly wrenched, and his ribcage throbbed painfully. He did not appear to have any broken bones, however, but he did have a significant number of bruises. No doubt he had lost consciousness from his air supply being cut off when the huge boy had squeezed him – that would also explain the headache.

Potter!

He vaguely remembered Potter confronting the two boys, the scuffle, and…did Potter really offer his invisibility cloak in exchange for keeping him, Snape, safe?

Not me. Spartacus. The thought made him feel strangely sad and wistful.

"How are you doing, Spartacus?"

Snape looked up. Potter was leaning toward him, his pale, thin face worried. He had a split lip and a puffy black eye.

What time is it? How long have I been out? Snape tried to sit up to get a better view of the clock on the shelf, but his legs had turned into water.

"Spartacus."

Snape looked back at Potter. The boy was very pale indeed.

"Listen, Spartacus," Potter said urgently. "I can't take you out of here like I did before…Dudley's home, and there's no time." He swallowed hard.

"I…I need you to be quiet and still Spartacus, OK?" Even with his exceptional hearing, Snape almost had to strain to hear the boy, so soft was his whisper. "Don't get upset like Hedwig…there's nothing to get upset about. Everything's going to be OK."

Far from reassuring Snape, the potions master was becoming more and more alarmed – because he sensed that Potter, while genuinely trying to soothe the bat in his care, was trying to reassure himself, as well.

Snape tensed as he heard a door slam, then a voice bellow from below stairs:

"Boy! Get down here NOW!"

Potter tensed and looked up, a hunted expression in his eyes. He took a deep breath and stood up, squaring his shoulders. He looked back at Snape again.

"Everything's going to be all right, Spartacus," the boy whispered. "Just keep still and quiet, OK?" He swept the cover over the cage and hurriedly fastened the top snap. Then, without another word, he left the room in answer to Dursley's summons, pulling the door shut behind him.

A sudden adrenalin rush forced Snape to his feet despite his many hurts. He frantically circled the perimeter of the cage, trying to find a weak place to push against. He gnashed his teeth furiously with frustration.

Merlin! Why couldn't I have come to before Potter put me back in here? I could have transformed and apparated us away, put an end to this nonsense and to hell with Potter finding out I'm an animagus!

He stilled for a moment. The house was ominously quiet. That couldn't last, he knew. Dursley would be infuriated that his nephew had taken a swing at his son.

That muggle will half kill him.

The thought spurred him into action again, and he resumed circling desperately, fruitlessly trying to find a way out.