Harry laid in front of the fireplace, his eyes mesmerised by the bright orange flames as they danced and teased, before finally merging into each other. How he wished he was that flame, its energy burning ever so strongly. Perhaps once upon a time he was like this, but it was difficult to feel raw desire for his life right now, let alone anything else.

There was far too much uncertainty for that.

He closed his eyes. The inhaling of oxygen passing through his mouth before filling the void in his lungs was now the only sound he was aware of, besides the crackling of the fire.

Yet the flames did nothing to warm his body.

Nothing to ignite his soul.

He forced the air from his lungs, suddenly feeling unworthy of it.

It had all been his fault.

If he just pushed through it, if he had just cursed those death eaters, then Dumbledore would still be alive now and he would not be in this mess.

Harry clenched his teeth as a tear forced its way from his eye before running down his temple.

Why hadn't he been stronger?

The young wizard was suddenly thrust from his thoughts as the cold around him instantly ceased. He pried open his eyes, as though afraid of what he might find.

Yet, to his surprise, he was now emersed in a thick blanket as a plate of steak and chips was placed before him.

"It wasn't your fault." Snape stated slowly as he gazed down at the younger wizard.

Harry forced himself to sit up as he turned to face his old potions professor. He grimaced as he suddenly remembered that Snape could freely look right inside of his mind, whenever he wanted in fact, because he had never properly applied himself to learning occlumency.

He could have smacked himself.

"The Dark Lord won't find you here." Snape began as his gaze grew stronger.

"How can you be so sure?" Harry made no attempt to hide the doubt in his expression as he searched Snape's eyes.

"Trust me." The older wizard stated slowly, enunciating each word as though doubting Harry would understand.

"How can I?" The words fell from Harry's lips as though from instinct. It was as though someone else had spoken them, yet they were his own and he meant them.

Snape gazed down at the younger wizard, yet his expression remained stern.

"The Dark Lord cannot sense your energy while you are here with me."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, yet it seemed as though Snape had already anticipated what he was going to say.

"Your energy is stifled so long as you stay here with me."

"Stifled?

Snape nodded ever so slightly.

"Your energy is barely distinguishable now from the moment when you decided to chase after me in the Dark Forest."

Harry's lips parted further still, yet words were still evading him. Its not as though he didn't on some level know this already. But was it really true?

Had he really slipped so much from the person he used to be?

Had his strength dissolved from within him? And in such a small amount of time?

Where were his friends?

Why hadn't they come looking for him yet?

Were they even worried?

"He won't find you here." Snape reiterated, as though expecting that Harry hadn't truly heard his words until that point.

Snape knelt down, and to Harry's surprise he felt warm lips against his cheek.

"I promise it won't always be like this."

~*.*~

"Our guest will be here shortly." Snape reminded Harry, though it wasn't as though he needed reminding. A jolt of anxiety surged through him as he felt cold leather tighten around his neck.

Harry was instantly aware that his throat was now encompassed with a new collar.

"The glasses and mead are in the kitchen. When I summon you, you are to serve us."

Harry nodded, though he wasn't exactly sure what form this 'summon' would be in.

What if he didn't recognise it?

Would he get punished for that too?

Though, it seemed as though Snape wasn't exactly in a punishing mood at the moment. What did he mean by Voldemort not being able to find him because his energy had sunk that low?

Is that what Snape wanted? Did he want to protect him? Is that why he was treating him like this?

It seemed strange, on some level it made sense, yet there was nothing rational about it.

"There is something there for you too." Snape added, turning on his heel before sweeping from the room.

Something there for him?

But what?

Was Snape being generous?

Harry raised an eyebrow, more to himself as there was now no one else in the room. He rose to his feet, being careful to clutch the much craved blanket around himself.

The young wizard ventured into the kitchen, making the most of being able to walk on two legs like a normal person instead of all fours. He soon spotted a bottle of butterbeer on the bench.

Was this what Snape meant when he said there was something there for him?

Did he know how much he loved butterbeer?

He glanced around the dysfunctional kitchen before pulling the top off the bottle.

The familiar, warming scent hit him straight away.

It took him straight back to the three broomsticks, to his friends, to the times they shared together. Even the moments when they argued and weren't talking to each other seemed so valuable now.

Harry was torn from his reminiscing as a fierce knocking at the door reminded him of his current predicament.

A shuffle of footsteps paraded down the corridor before the unmistakeable creak of the front door opening filled the old house.

"Aberforth" Snape's voice greeting, sounding louder than normal as Harry turned in the direction of the front door.

"Severus."

"It has been a long time." Snape smiled slightly as he stood aside to let the old wizard past.

"Not long enough." Aberforth chuckled as he stepped past Snape into the man's home.

"Have a seat." The dark haired wizard offered, waving towards the lounge and the threadbare furniture arranged haphazardly around its walls.

Harry's eyes widened as his eyes caught a glimpse of a silver haired wizard, his resemblance to Dumbledore was unmistakeable.

But it can't be? Snape had referred to him as 'Aberforth', not 'Dumbledore.'

"Mead?" Snape raised an eyebrow, seeming to already know the answer. Perhaps his words were being directed more at Harry than Aberforth as Harry collected the ornate, pewter tray within his grasp.

He strolled out of the kitchen and into the lounge. He placed the pewter tray down on the coffee table before opening the mead and pouring it into the two glasses. He felt the eyes of the old wizard dance over his bare skin like a cool breeze.

"You have a very beautiful slave." Aberforth smirk as he reached out for his glass, taking care to brush his fingers against Harry's.

"Thank you." Snape stated, though he appeared to be watching the exchange with great intrigue.

"How much?" The man raised an eyebrow, directing his question toward Snape, yet not once taking his eyes off of Harry.

"He's not for sale." Snape stated a little too sharply before reaching for his own drink.

"Sit." The dark haired wizard added, facing Harry, making it crystal clear that he was referring to him.

Harry nodded, doing so with hesitation as he quickly felt the worn out carpet under him.

"Drink up." Snape added, waving his hand loosely at the bottle of butterbeer.

"Ahh, and obedient too. You have him well trained Severus."

A smirk grew on Snape's lips but he did not answer.

Harry hesitated as though not sure if he had heard Snape correctly. Did he want him to drink his butterbeer now?

He supposed so as he reached for the bottle before drawing it to his lips.

"You know it is unwise for me to be seen visiting you. What will the Dark Lord say if he ever finds out that you have been in contact with Dumbledore's brother?" Aberforth raised an eyebrow, undeniable smugness rested on his lips as he awaited Snape's answer.

Harry coughed, spluttering his butter beer down his chin as he inadvertently recaptured the attention of the other two wizards in the room.

"He won't find out." Snape turned his attention back to Aberforth, as though doing so would strengthen his resolve.

"How can you be so sure?"

Snape raised his glass to his lips, taking a slow slip as though mulling over his answer carefully.

"I have been following the Dark Lord for the best part of my life, I know his weaknesses."

"Is that so?" Aberforth raised his mead to his lips, though his doubt lingered within his eyes.

"But more importantly, how to exploit them."

"Are you sure about that?"