Severus Snape rubbed away the spit and blood on his face on the moss beneath him. He closed his eyes, concentrating, allowing himself the luxury of whispering the words he needed instead of just thinking them. His body went limp as he lost consciousness, concealed behind hasty wards woven into the thicket shielding him from view.

...

Albus Dumbledore stared at the man unconscious on the couch before him, pale skin bruised, dark hair in clumps and mats, thick with blood. His own or someone else's, the great wizard did not know, which was the reason he had not yet tended to the younger's state beyond healing his serious injuries. Blood magic may have been labeled a dark art, but it was damn useful. If there was some form of genetic matter from their enemies clinging to his body, even beneath the boy's fingernails, those samples could be used, and the more they had from an individual the more powerful their effect.

Abruptly, Severus startled awake and scrabbled back, breath coming in gasps, a high whine issuing from his throat , his knees rolling up to his chin as one hand shot out palm forward in threat, the other upwards and close to his body to protect his face and neck.

Albus wordlessly cast a charm to calm him. Slowly his breathing evened, and his black eyes resumed their normal tunneled state. A light press from his own mind confirmed to him that the boy's shields were successfully shuttered. Severus loosened his muscles, and scooched his back further upright with a grunt and a scowl.

"Now damn couch ruined. Feck!" Severus growled, a peculiar twang to his voice, like he was having a hard time suppressing an accent.

"Well I wasn't going to just lay you on the stone floor my boy," Dumbledore replied, mildly. "Is the blood you apparently bathed in only yours, or did you exsanguinate someone?"

"Some mine, some not" Severus gingerly relaxed back into his couch and bared his teeth in an unholy grin. "Yaxley lost at least a pint."

Dumbledore sighed, ignoring the comment, and got down to business. "Your shields are subpar. Had I tried to break into your mind immediately after I woke you, you would have been completely vulnerable."

Snape winced and closed his eyes. "And what if those shields will no longer be so important . . ."

Dumbledore frowned. "Yet you escaped with your life. This tells me you are either extraordinarily lucky or he still counts you a follower. Which is it?"

Snape's eyes snapped open, his eyebrow raised. "I only wished to know your reaction." He paused, avoiding the older man's eyes. "After . . . he made his decision regarding my loyalty he bid me come back in a week's time, after I had been 'patched up and given a pat on the head by the slimy old bastard,' His words." Severus flicked his eyes up briefly to meet the headmaster's. "How long have I been . . . convalescing?"

Dumbledore huffed. "Tom is nothing if not considerate. Barely a day. Only The two of us, Minerva, and Hagrid remain in the castle. You have three more days to recuperate." Dumbledore stood, hideous orange robes slightly muffling the cracking of his joints "I will leave you to rest until then before we speak further. About the meeting, and the future." Dumbledore gazed down at the man contemplatively.

Severus clenched his jaw and shifted his neck to keep the man in sight, the wizard's silent regard setting him on edge.

Dumbledore sighed, breaking out of his thoughts. He patted the younger wizard on the shoulder as he turned to go, ignoring the flinch it elicited - that it always elicited.

"I would offer to convey you to your room where you would be more comfortable, but I know you would just spit fire at me, so in the interest of not treating you like a child and remaining un-singed I take my leave, my boy. Just remember to preserve some of that blood," Dumbledore said as he stepped into the floo.

"Figg can't take him."

"Who will mind him then?"

"I don't know! He's your dratted nephew!"

"Don't take that tone with me!"

"I'll take whatever tone I like! This is my house, dammit!'

There was a snort.

"I might. . . Have an idea."

Harry's breathing came in short sputters as he tried to control his anxiety. An altercation with Vernon always made his adrenaline run rampant, causing his body to shake, and the strength to leave his limbs - he wondered if he even had adrenal glands left - his anxiety would leap into his throat and choke him, stirring his fear into a froth to suffocate him, even as a powerless, sickly sort of rage spread his chest like a blood eagle.

In this state, the slightest noise made him feel like death could strike at any moment. Honestly, being locked in the tiny cupboard was almost a relief.

According to what he had heard after Vernon had thrown him into the cupboard, Grunnings was sponsoring his uncle on a business trip to ngthe continent. While Petunia and Dudley were going too, there was no way in hell the were going to pay for Harry as well. Apparently though they had nowhere to stash him during their absence.

Normally something like that wouldn't worry him too much, as he doubted they would put him with someone truly despicable, as any odd stories that leached into the neighborhood would reflect badly on them. Placing him with old wrinkled Mr. Patterson at the end of the street for example would brook too much comment, considering the entire neighborhood warned their children against venturing to his cul-de-sac. Someone might accuse them of being neglectful . . . !

...

"He truly believes you are still his?"

"Yes," Snape muttered, shifting uncomfortably, still not completely healed from his first ordeal.

"Why?" his master demanded.

"Because he wants to believe it. He does not think anyone would ever have the bravery necessary to betray him after pledging to follow him. Because of who he is, and what he can do, his position, and the power he holds. . ."

"And?"

"What."

"What is the other reason? That other reason he believes you to be true? I see it in your eyes, yet you refuse to say it. Speak!"

"In his own twisted way, I believe he loves me, as much as he is capable of it. . . No, I see you scoffing, it is true. Not as a lover, do not mistake me," Snape curls his lip in disgust, "had that been so I would have begged never to go back . . . He believes he sees himself in me, and it is why he loves me. I am his mirror."

Dumbledore stood, removing himself physically from the conversation, his steps taking him to Fawkes, asleep on his perch.

"Have some refreshments my boy," he murmured, as a tea set popped into being on his desk behind him, complete with an extra bottle. Firewhiskey, it looked like. Snape let his hair fall into his face, hiding his eyes as he reached for the alcohol, not bothering with a glass.