Rated T

(Disclaimer: don't own, never will, don't plan to. Just doing it for fun.)

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

Chapter 25: Seeing Red

Severus stepped out of the woods at last, and stared in surprise at the ruined manor two miles away. Of all things, he had not been expecting to see something like that. Not for the first time, he wondered where in the world he was. The burned lane of trees leading to the castle-like house and the overgrown plant life around the house told their own story, but Severus wasn't interested in solving mysteries right now. As he had suspected, the bracelet around his wrist, which he couldn't remove, prevented him from apparating. So he was pretty much stuck on foot. Only the knowledge that Harry was still out here, lost and wandering, prevented him from returning to the cabin and demanding that Black remove it.

"Point-me, Harry Potter," Severus murmured, flicking his wand. Again, the wand swiveled and pointed him forward and a silvery ball of light shot from the end, disappearing too quickly for him to follow. His chest and head throbbed with a sudden ache and he could feel his magical core rebelling against the multiple point-me charms he had already used. He blinked black spots from his vision and kept walking. Apparently, Harry had gone straight to the old ruin.

After some minutes of brisk walking, Severus reached the lane of twisted trees and stepped onto a cobblestone lane. The twisted remains of a fence lay in the grass around the front of the manor, and he could see bits and pieces of a stone wall of some sort around the sides and back. The frontal courtyard of the house made it appear more like a castle than a manor house, and Severus had seen the style before, eyeing the towers on either side of the building like rooks on either side of a chessboard. This house was likely built in the eighteenth century, and judging from the faint hum of magic in the area, had been protected with some very powerful wards. Until they were destroyed. He guessed that this house was attacked and pillaged during the war, eight or nine years ago. Magic would have helped the plants to grow remarkably fast, and the magic in the manor's construction would have prevented it from being completely he didn't think the house was all that stable. He could only hope Harry hadn't gone and done something stupid to get himself hurt or trapped. He didn't want to think of the existence of still-lethal wards still being a possibility.

Severus steeled himself for the discomfort sure to assault his already exhausted magical core and began to cast some shallow detection spells. Since there was nothing to bounce against and resist his work, the magic didn't drain him as much as he thought it would. He detected the remnants of frayed wards that were beyond useless, old traces of magic that were left after an intense battle, high concentration of battle magic, (especially dark arts) and a steady concentration of Light magic in the ground and surrounding area. Severus nodded in satisfaction and walked briskly across the courtyard. The property's magic was clearly Light-affiliated, so a Dark family can't possibly have lived here. There were a few possibilities of who this fine manor could have belonged to, but it didn't really matter. All he cared about was finding Harry, and fleeing from Black before the insane Azkaban-escapee could come after them again. No doubt the bracelet would trace him, so he needed to find someone who could break its hold, or at least shatter its power. He was too weak right now to attempt it.

He carefully stepped into the manor, squinting into the shadows and struggling to make something out. It was a grand entrance hall, floored with cracked marble and decorated with the broken remnants tapestries, chandeliers, carvings and and glass crunched underfoot and Severus scowled, hoping that the boy hadn't cut himself. A magnificent flooing fireplace stood against one wall and Severus approached it out of curiosity. Most wealthy pureblood families put their family crest above the main floo as a show of power and authority. Here was no different. Marred by soot and chipped from spell-fire, the Gryffindor lion roared down at him with an odd looking triangle etched on its chest. Twined around the lion's feet was a snake, interestingly enough, and a stylized sun rose above the roaring beast. The carved banner around the crest had Latin letters engraved on it, but Severus didn't bother to read them. He had seen this crest before on a boy's school trunk.

He had just waltzed into James Potter's boyhood home.

Potter Manor.

He felt both dizzy with disgust, and smugly triumphant. He had heard somewhere during the war that the Potter home had been targeted by the Death Eaters, but at that point, he had been too busy worrying about Lily, getting a crash course in Occlumency from Dumbledore, and attempting to keep the Dark Lord from finding out his new loyalty. It was a little funny that after all these years, Severus Snape was simply walking into Potter Manor without so much as a by-your-leave. Mentally thumbing his nose at his childhood bully, he wandered around a little more, wondering if Harry was even here. But more by luck than anything else, he stumbled over the boy, curled up and fast asleep on the grand marble staircase. He sighed with relief and sat beside the child, casting a weak lumos so he could get a look at the boy's bare feet. They were scratched and bruised from his run through the woods, but he could detect no glass and no freshly bleeding cuts. The boy must have been careful as he was coming in, or else he went around the edge of the hall where there was less glass.

Satisfied with his quick examination, he reached out and shook Harry by the shoulder.

"Harry, wake up," he said sternly. He wasn't going to let the boy off the hook for running off and leading him on such a mad goose-chase, but it was best to get the scolding done quickly so they could leave without delay.

"Hmm?" the child mumbled. He slowly woke and sat up, looking groggy and tired. "Wha' …? Who …?" he whispered, groggily blinking and struggling to focus on the Professor's face. With a soft cry, Harry suddenly launched himself into Severus' arms and hugged him for all he was worth. "Oh Professor, I'm so sorry!" the boy gasped, almost in tears. "I know I was bad to run off, an' I'm really sorry! Thank you for finding me, and I'm really, really sorry, Professor!"

"Alright, alright; calm down, and do be careful of that hand," Severus scolded. How could he reprimand the brat properly if he was imitating a monkey by swinging off his neck? He gently pushed Harry back and held up his glowing wand to inspect the boy's face. He was a little dirty, and there was a scratch on his cheek, but he looked fine otherwise. His cheeks were a bit flushed, but that could be from just awakening or it could be from the fever still running in his system. Unfortunately, Severus didn't have enough magic to spare in order to cast diagnostic charms. He lowered his wand and checked the boy's hand, which was still bandaged, though the white cloth was now brown with dirt and quite grimy. He grimaced in disgust at the sight and tapped his wand against it, muttering a weak cleansing charm. To his relief, most of the dirt disappeared and the bandages were more or less clean.

"I understand you were frightened," Severus finally said. "But running away into an unfamiliar forest is hardly the way to deal with your fear. What were you thinking?"

"'M sorry," Harry mumbled, blinking hard and rubbing his nose with his wrist.

Severus caught him by the arm and grumbled as he wiped the child's face with a handkerchief from his pocket. "For Merlin's sake, boy, what have I told you about using your wrist as a handkerchief?"

"S-sorry, sir," Harry whispered, a few tears rolling down his face. "I forgot."

"Yes, well …" Severus sighed. "To run away was expected, I'll grant you, after that … regrettable display you witnessed. But why by all that is sacred didn't you at least put your shoes on when you decided to disappear?"

Harry's face flushed bright red. "Forgot," he mumbled and hunched his shoulders.

"Yes, I suppose you did," Severus snorted. "If you ever do run off again, pray remember your shoes next time."

Harry blushed even harder and squirmed. "I won't do it again, Sir. I promise."

"There is a time for running and there is a time to be clever," the Professor said severely. "A smarter move would have been to hide until the worst was over, and come out when it was safe. I called for you, and we could have made a good start getting away from here if I had not been forced to waste time searching for you."

"Why do we need to get away from here?" Harry asked timidly. "He … he didn't hurt me."

"Besides burning you with a silver bracelet?"

Harry blushed again. "He didn't mean it," he mumbled. "I di'n't know it'd hurt me either."

"Do stop making excuses for him," Severus snorted, rummaging in his pockets (and the cloak's pockets as well) for something to transfigure into shoes for the boy. "Black has always been incredibly irresponsible and foolish. He was in Azkaban for the last seven years and that will not have done anything for his sanity or stability. He may not wish to harm you for some reason, but he will not be able to help himself, as he has no knowledge or common sense when it comes to caring for a child."

Harry frowned. "Why was he in Azka-whatsit? Is that like jail, or something?"

"Azkaban is a magical prison," Severus replied shortly. "He was supposedly the secret-keeper for your family when the Dark Lord killed your parents and attempted to kill you." He found a used handkerchief in the cloak that was probably Black's and a crumpled shopping list. They were paltry offerings, but they would have to do until they reached civilization.

"He told the bad wizard where I was?" Harry gasped in horror. "He did it?!"

"Of course, Black now claims that he didn't," Severus snorted, setting the hankie and the parchment down on the stairs and aiming his wand at them. "Surprisingly ... I am inclined to believe him. Black was always a dreadful liar. But then, if he was able to fool your parents and Dumbledore and everyone else seven years ago, perhaps he is lying. But I don't understand why he seems to care so much about you if he really wanted to kill you. It makes no sense."

Severus closed his eyes, concentrating hard on the two flimsy things that he was attempting to transfigure and praying that his magic didn't backlash or send him into a coma for this. When he opened his eyes a few seconds later, breathing hard and trembling, but still conscious, a pair of simple sandals sat on the stairs, ready for Harry's use. He felt strangely exultant at his success and gestured for Harry to take the sandals with a bit of a flourish. Minerva would have been proud of such perfect spell-work on two such appallingly inadequate objects, add to that the fact that he was almost completely exhausted in the attempt.

"Wow," Harry breathed. "How d'you do that?"

"Magic," Severus couldn't resist snarking. "Alright, now put them on so we can get out of this horrible place."

Harry obeyed at once, and Severus picked up the boy's bag, glad that he'd had the sense to grab his clothes and things on his way out. He forgot his shoes, but if the shoes had been in the bag, Harry wouldn't have left them behind. It was a moot point now anyway.

"Sir?" Harry suddenly piped up, standing up in his new shoes. "D'you know who lived here?"

"I don't particularly care," Severus grumbled, not really wanting to indulge in childish chatter right now. He shut his eyes briefly and massaged the migraine banging away in his head. He was tired; exhausted, actually. Black could wake up at any moment and he would simply track Severus down, knowing that where Snivellus was, there Potter could be found as well. How foolish of him to think they could evade the man for long. Death Eater or not, Black was once an Auror, and he wouldn't have forgotten everything he had learned at the hands of Mad-Eye Moody.

"I like lions," Harry announced seriously. "And I like snakes too."

Severus looked up at the boy and found him gazing thoughtfully up at the carved crest above the fireplace.

"I like neither," Severus announced in disgust, standing and holding out his hand to the child. "Shall we go?"

"Where's Snuffles?" Harry asked innocently, taking Severus' hand without protest. "You didn't hurt him, did you?"

"Who is the world is Snuffles?" Snape demanded. "I hurt no one by that name. If you are referring to Black, I left him asleep. He isn't hurt. Well, not permanently so, unfortunately."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked softly, his face wrinkling in concern.

"It means that Black may come after us and attempt to take you back to that hovel he calls a house," Severus snapped, at the end of his patience. "Who would you rather be with?" Severus demanded testily. "Me or him?" He would not admit that he was holding his breath for the child's answer. It was a simple question. Nothing to hold his breath over. No reason at all.

"You," Harry replied at once, his face blushing crimson. "Sorry, Professor," he murmured.

"All is forgiven, I suppose," the Potions Master muttered. "Now do you think we could leave this depressing ruin sometime today?"

Harry nodded, clearly chastised, and said nothing more as Severus led the boy back through the broken hall and out through the front doorway. Severus shook his head at the blatant vandalism, knowing that whatever had destroyed the manor had almost certainly been a Death Eater attack. The destruction was excessive and ridiculously so. He knew that most of his old comrades had reveled in destroying property like teenage muggle gangsters. Absently, he wondered how many dark wizards it had taken in order to storm this formidable house. He wondered if there had been any elves left alive. Had James' parents perished in the war or before it? Had they died in this very house? He couldn't remember.

Severus led Harry out of the house, through the silent, overgrown courtyard, and along the lane of dead, twisted trees until he found moss growing on one of the trunks. But knowing which way was north wasn't going to do them much good. He still didn't know what part of the country they were in. At least he now knew that they were still in England, but he had never heard where Potter Manor was actually located.

"Which way?" Severus murmured, turning in a circle and wondering whether the surrounding countryside looked more like Kent or Yorkshire.

"Do you know where we are, Professor?" Harry asked quietly.

"No, I do not. Black kidnapped me and brought me here via portkey, same as you, I suppose."

Harry winced at the reminder and wiggled his bandaged hand at his side. "Why'd he kidnap you?" he wondered.

"To play doctor for you, of course," Severus retorted. "Let us follow this lane and hope it leads to a town. Most manors are built near communities, or rather, the wealthy purebloods often had serfs and retainers who formed their own villages on their liege-lord's land."

"Sounds like stuff from a fairy tale," Harry replied thoughtfully.

"Most fairy tales are based in truth," Severus agreed. "Do you feel well enough for a long walk?"

"Can't we just 'jump' back home?" Harry asked with a pathetic moan. "My feet hurt. And I'm tired."

Severus shook his head. "Jump? You mean apperate? No, we cannot."

"Why not?" Harry whined, dragging his feet and giving him a rather pitiful expression.

Severus sighed in frustration and pulled firmly on the boy's hand. He did not have the energy to deal with a moaning brat. "Stop whining," he ordered sternly. He held up his free hand and shook his arm so the sleeve revealed the the silver links clasped tight around his wrist. "Black put this on me and it is preventing me from apperating. Plus, my magic is very low right now. If I attempted to apperate in my condition, I would certainly pass out, and I might splinch you or myself, rendering either of us maimed or dead. It is safest to walk."

"Okay," Harry sighed, and said no more. Severus heaved a silent sigh of relief and he supposed he could be grateful for one thing the abominable Dursleys had taught the boy: tantrums were not to be tolerated.

"Whether or not the nearest town has any magical individuals living there doesn't matter, of course, but if we do find someone they may have a floo we can use," Severus pointed out, wondering if he was attempting to convince himself or the child. "It should not take long to reach civilization, at any rate."

The child nodded silently and plodded along beside Severus without any more whining or complaining, and the Potions Master had to admit that the child made a very good effort. He was obviously exhausted and still should be resting from his silver poisoning, but he was marching along, obedient and quiet. The lane stretched on forever, but Severus felt it the moment they stepped out of the immediate manor-wards. Something like a tattered curtain passed over his skin, and he knew Harry felt it as well. The boy shivered and looked curiously over his shoulders. The lane was gone, leaving only meadow, hills, and scattered trees.

"The Isolation Wards are still in place," Severus explained. "I imagine the goblins renew them every year to keep vandals or curious idiots away. You can't bother what you can't see, am I right?"

"Yeah," Harry murmured, still gaping at the empty meadow behind them. "That's pretty awesome."

"We are likely still on Pot – I mean, we are still on land that belongs to the manor," Severus pointed out, flustered by his near-slip to call this area 'Potter land'. "This road should lead us to the local village soon enough. Would you like to stop for a quick rest?"

Harry groaned and shook his head. "If I sit down, I won't be able to get up," the boy said honestly. "But I'm terribly thirsty."

"… I am as well," Severus said after a few seconds. "But the Aguamenti spell requires a great deal of focus and a good burst of power behind it. If I attempted it now, I would likely fall into a coma and you would be left alone to find the town and bring help."

Harry looked alarmed. "Are you sick, sir?"

"Not sick, just magically exhausted," Severus assured the worried child. "Now, the sooner we reach the village, the sooner we can find water and rest. Shall we?"

Harry nodded firmly and stepped up his pace. Severus hoped that it was a second wind and not that the boy was pushing himself for his sake, but he wouldn't comment about it. The earlier slow pace he had set because of Harry's obvious weariness had irked him more than he would care to admit. He was almost too tired to be as snappish and rude as he would usually, plus, he had gotten into a habit of being more or less gentle with the boy. They followed the cobbled lane until it turned into a rutted cart-road, and they both stumbled in the ruts and over the clumps of weeds overgrowing the lane. The lane skirted some low hills and curved around a neat group of trees and low hills. Severus wondered if he should risk casting a water-detection spell. It wouldn't take much power, though it would likely bring him to his knees for a few minutes. Harry's lips were cracked and he looked rather gray from exhaustion. Severus was certain that he didn't look much better. They needed water and they needed it now. The day was getting too warm and the sun was well past midday by now. Black still hadn't come after them, but Severus wasn't sure what to make of that. His immediate concern was boy's steps were starting to drag from sheer weariness and Severus knew he ought to pick the exhausted child up, but he was tired himself. Just a bit further, he said silently. Surely the town isn't far now.

"Professor," Harry suddenly spoke up in a faint voice. His little sweaty hand was trembling in Severus' grip and he looked ghostly white except for two spots of colour on his cheeks.

"Harry?" Severus asked cautiously, reaching out to feel the boy's dry, hot face. "Are you feeling ill?"

"I dunno …" the boy whispered. "I feel …" Harry's eyes suddenly rolled up in his head and his knees gave out.

Severus gasped and caught the child in his arms, his heart pounding in terror. After a few horrified seconds, he found the presence of mind to check for a pulse, and was relieved to find that the boy had just fainted. His skin was dry and feverishly hot; his cheeks were no longer white but flushed with fever. All symptoms pointed to heatstroke. Severus reached up and wiped sweat from his forehead, wincing at the dark spots that danced in his vision. With the black cloak he was wearing, he would certainly be next, he mused. Never mind the nonexistent village, he decided. They needed shade and they needed water. He could not afford to cast for a direction, since he needed his strength to carry the boy until they found a stream or a home of compassionate he couldn't afford to wander until he collapsed either.

Cradling Harry with one arm, Severus drew his wand and shrunk the duffel bag he had been carrying. He tucked it in his pocket, alongside his potion bag, and swayed for a minute, forcing himself to stay focused. His migraine worsened, almost bringing tears to his eyes. But he had survived a dark war under the most tyrannical of Dark Lords. He had gone through rounds of torture and walked away. He could cast a few measly spells while he was tired. It was easy.

He gritted his teeth and carefully cast for the nearest water source. The effort nearly drained him. He vaguely heard his own voice cry out in agony as his magic was torn from that bruised, tender spot that he kept prodding and worsening with his 'little' spells. When the white faded from view, the bluish runes hovering in front of his face informed him that water was to be found a few miles directly to his right.

Severus had to rest for several minutes before he found the strength to stand with the boy in his arms. He kept Harry upright, letting the boy's head rest on his shoulder, and he let the child's skinny legs wrap around his waist so he could better support the limp form in his arms. In that more or less secure position, he supposed he could carry the boy for a while. Taking a deep breath, Severus turned and stepped into the trees, making a curve around the high hill in his way, and hoped he could last long enough on his own legs.

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The Weasley children were playing Quidditch. Nothing new about that. With Bill visiting for a couple days and Charlie and Percy home from school, the twins managed to get Mum to let them all come out to the special valley where they played their Quidditch games out of sight of potential muggle eyes. Even Ron, who was only nine, was up in the air on a broom and ignoring his big brothers' admonitions to stay out of the fracas and play referee. They left Ginny at home, of course, since she was only eight and a girl at that. No matter how she howled, even mum agreed that their little sister ought to stay at home while her brothers ran off their energy. Or flew it off, so to speak.

Thirteen year old Percy was sitting at the edge of the wooded clearing, reading a book. Only Bill and Charlie were older than him, so that made him one of the oldest Weasleys. Sometimes, he felt like he was the only one in the family with any sense, and that alone made him feel like the oldest child. He hated sports and always resented it when his brothers dragged him along on their mad excursions. Why couldn't they just leave him at home where it was quiet? Well, aside from Ginny's whining, that is. He didn't ask to come out here, but he jolly well was going to enjoy it his own way.

Technically, Ron was using Percy's broom, but since he hated Quidditch, he didn't begrudge his little brother the use of it. They were playing with one keeper and one chaser on each team, with Fred and Bill versus George and Charlie, and Percy supposed he could have offered to referee. Ron was zipping back and forth, sometimes on one team, sometimes on the other. Several times, Fred or George hollered down at Percy to get his head out of the book and help them. Without another broom, though. Percy couldn't do much besides threaten to tell mum. He sighed and shoved his glasses up his sweaty nose and wondered how his brothers were enjoying such a hot afternoon. They were likely sweating buckets up there, and they would just taunt and tease Percy if he told them to get down and drink some water before they died of heatstroke. It wasn't his fault he tried to be responsible, he mused angrily. Somebody had to make sure they didn't kill themselves, and Percy knew that his mum would turn on him first anyway if something happened.

So with an angry grumble, Percy put a bookmark in his spot and stood up. He was skinny and frail compared to his stocky brothers. His red hair was slightly curled, unlike most other members of his family who had straight hair. His eyes were weak and his parents couldn't afford a St. Mungo's specialist, so he wore glasses. All five of his brothers, and even his little sister Ginny, loved Quidditch with a passion that was absolutely ridiculous. Percy preferred to read, and think, and play chess, and do quiet things with his spare time. He didn't understand why anyone would adore a sport that more often than not left you with injuries and pain.

"Oy, you lot get down here and get water or I'll go right this minute and tell Mum!" Percy hollered up at his brothers. It was better to get the 'tell Mum' threat out there as soon as possible. It saved time, and Percy loved being efficient.

Grumbling and sighing, the five other Weasley boys drifted down out of the sky and congregated around Percy, who was handing out wooden mugs of water filled from the no-spill pitcher that Mum always sent with them when they came out this far. Naturally, his brothers made Percy carry of his different interests, Percy Weasley was a bit of an odd duck among his siblings. He got teased, pranked, picked on, and delegated for unpleasant chores more often than not, and he held his own by having Mum's ear and becoming known among his brothers as a tattle-tale. He told himself that it didn't matter, that he didn't care. All he cared about was doing well in school, making his parents proud, and maybe getting a good job in the Ministry after graduation. For a thirteen year old, he was a bit ambitious, but to Percy's mind, there was nothing wrong with thinking ahead. His brothers were the ones who couldn't understand that. Even Bill, the most responsible one besides him, hadn't given much of a thought to his future until the summer before his seventh year. He was home now after his first year of training with the goblins as a curse-breaker. He was only eighteen, and still Quidditch crazy, and Percy had been disappointed that Bill hadn't seemed interested in talking to his bookwormish thirteen year old brother about anything of importance. They'd had one chess game together all summer (though it only started three weeks ago) and Bill had been playing with all of his other siblings more often, or chatting with Mum and Dad about 'adult' things like girlfriends and money and stuff.

Percy learned a long time ago that nobody listened to him unless he invoked higher authority, so he had gotten rather good at bossing people in the name of other bosses. His head of house at Hogwarts, Professor McGonegall told him that he would likely be made a Prefect once he hit fifth year. The thought of being recognized for a talent of his had helped him to work harder. September would start his third year, and he was determined to do his absolute best, determined to prove once and for all that he wasn't the misfit, weird, awkward little shrimp of the Weasley family. He had gifts too, and one day everybody would see it.

Nobody thanked Percy for the water, but he didn't really care much. They never thanked him for anything except in an angry, sarcastic way if he got them in trouble.

"Perce, it's your turn," Charlie suddenly said, nudging his little brother good-naturedly. "Ronnie tries, but I don't think he knows what team he's on."

"I do so!" the youngest Weasley boy protested shrilly, his freckles standing out on his indignant face. "I'm on your team, Charlie!"

"Funny," eighteen-year old Bill drawled as he messed up Ron's hair. "I thought you were putting the quaffle through Charlie's goal a few minutes ago. Points to me an' Fred!" Ron grumbled and protested and slapped his oldest brother's hand away from his hair, but his brothers just laughed. Well, all of his brothers except for Percy.

"Hey, let's play me and Forge …"

"Against you and Charlie," the twins demanded. Nobody could ever tell which was which when they pulled their odd twin-speak act. The fact that they called each other weird amalgamations of both their names just made things more confusing.

"Only if you're ready to be trounced," Bill grinned. "Of all of us, who's actually played matches and won?"

"Yeah, we know," one of the twins sighed.

"You and Charlie only brag about your Quidditch exploits …"

"Every time you come home …"

"And you've got the better brooms …"

"So I suppose we'll just have to beat you …"

"To prove that you two aren't the only ones …"

"Who can handle Quidditch …"

"Besides, we'll have Percy …"

"To even things out!"

Ignoring Ron's howl of protest, Percy rolled his eyes. "I am not jumping on that death-trap of a broomstick," he declared. "I don't care whose team I'm on."

"Aw, come on Perfect Percy," one of the twins wheedled.

"If you play, we promise we won't play another prank on you …"

"At least until tomorrow."

Percy scowled and folded his arms. "Considering that I'm smart enough to know that tomorrow begins at twelve-oh-one tonight, that isn't much of a bribe."

"I'll play!" Ron shrieked. His brothers ignored him.

"It'll be fun, Percy," Charlie the peacemaker attempted. "Mum did say she wanted to you to get some exercise."

"Yeah, poor ikkle Percy-kins is wooking so vewy pale," Bill teased, to the hooting laughter of the twins, and slung an arm around his little brother's shoulders.

"Shove off," Percy growled angrily, pushing Bill away. "I hate Quidditch and you know I do. You'll break my glasses again, and what'll Mum and Dad say if I break my arm or something?"

"Oh come off it, Perce, you always go to the worst case scenario," Bill snorted and rolled his eyes. "One game. And I'll get you a new book before you go back to school. Deal?"

Percy briefly wavered. Books were his weakness, and trust his big brother to know there was something fishy about all of his brothers, (except Ron, of course) attempting to bully and/or bribe him into a game. They usually left him alone. Unless they had ulterior motives, of course.

Getting suspicious, Percy turned up his nose and walked away, shouting over his shoulder, "I'm not getting on that Cleansweep, not even if you bought me the entire Hogwarts Library, so there! Play with Ron!"

Leaving his brothers behind, Percy went back to the tree he had been sitting under, intent on finishing his book. For once, it wasn't something for school. It was actually an adventure novel a friend of his had got him for Christmas and he hadn't got a chance to read it until now. Penny was a Ravenclaw, kind of cute, and actually serious about schoolwork, unlike his annoying brothers. He had gotten her a book about flowers since she loved gardening, and he had been rather shocked when he opened his gift to find Colin Rosenstone and the Cursed Locket, an adventure story about a young wizard whose parents mysteriously disappear, leaving behind nothing but a locket and a set of clues for him to use in attempt to find them was just at the part when the young wizard confronted his father's old employer and found out that the man was actually a dark wizard in hiding.

Settling back down with his book, he watched his brothers bicker out of the corner of his eye and relaxed when it looked like they were indeed letting Ron play on the Twins' team. He didn't mind when his brothers did their own things and let him do his. It wasn't as if he would force any of them to grab a book and sit with him all afternoon if they didn't want to. So why had they been so adamant in trying to get him on a broom with them? Percy shook his head and tried to get back into his book, but a sudden noise almost right beside him caused him to drop his book in fright.

Standing not three feet away was a very tall, very familiar, man; though his familiar face was extremely pale and lined with exhaustion.

"Just my luck," the man's silky voice sneered, as scornful as ever. "Weasleys."

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Severus Snape was at the end of his strength. He was not sure if he could make it much farther, and he had only been walking through the woods for a half hour at the most. Harry was light and bony, but the boy seemed to get heavier and hotter with every step. He was frantic with worry, both for the boy and for himself. If he collapsed, who could tell how long it would be until he woke again. Harry might die of dehydration by then.

He was coming close to a clearing of some sort when he heard voices. The high chatter and laughter of children rang clearly from up ahead, and Severus wondered if he was hallucinating, or if he was going to stumble on a family picnic. He couldn't be anywhere near the water source he had detected yet, and muggles or not, people would be suspicious of a half-dead man carrying an unconscious little boy in the middle of nowhere.

He hesitated only a minute before he resolutely marched on. They needed water and shelter. Maybe these people could help for now, until he could return to a magical community. But realizing that he really was all alone in this was a sobering thing. Normally, his first instinct would be to call Dumbledore. But that was not such a good idea now, was it? Albus would insist on putting the child back with those muggles and Severus Snape would be in the same pickle he was in before. The only thing he really could do was tell the auror department that he and Harry had seen Black on the old Potter lands, and leave it at that. He wasn't letting the boy out of his sight again. It seemed every time he did, Harry managed to attract some trouble or danger. Frankly, it was irritating.

Severus came upon the clearing much quicker than he anticipated. Sitting under a tree at the very edge, literally right in front of him, was a red-haired boy with glasses who was contentedly reading a book. He was dreadfully skinny, dressed in a T-shirt and worn jeans that looked to have come from a muggle thrift store. But ahead in the clearing, five more red-headed boys were zipping around on flying brooms, whooping and tossing a red ball back and forth between them. There was no doubt in his mind that he had indeed found a magical family, but the knowledge of which family he'd found soured his elation. He'd been drilling potions into the heads of the three oldest boys for years now.

A stick snapped under his boot and the reading boy jerked in alarm, turning wide eyes behind round glasses on him and his burden. He knew the instant Percival Weasley recognized him from the sheer alarm and confusion that rippled across his thin face.

Just my luck," Severus sneered. "Weasleys."

"P-Professor?" Percival squeaked, stumbling to his feet and clutching his book with shaking hands. "H-how did you …? I m-mean, wh-what are you …?"

"Cease your senseless babble and bring some water!" Severus barked at him. When the boy frowned in confusion, he changed to his Move-Right-Now-Before-I-Give-You-Detention hiss. "Now, Mr. Weasley!"

"Y-yes sir!" Percival gasped. He fled across the clearing while Severus gingerly sat in the mossy space the young Weasley had vacated. It was soft and cool here, and he gently lay Harry down, frowning worriedly at the child's slack, flushed face and his labored breathing.

"Oy, Percy!" one of the flying red-heads hollered. "What's the rush?"

"What's got you in a snit, Perce?" another boy yelled.

Severus looked over his shoulder, noticing Percival Weasley returning with a pitcher in one hand and a cup in the other. The red-heads on their brooms seemed to notice something was up and soon there were six Weasley boys on the grass, five of whom were gaping at him in amazement. He treated all of them, especially William, his former student, and Charlie, a current troublemaker, with his best scowl.

"Professor Snape, sir?" William spoke up, only sounding somewhat timid, despite the fact that he was eighteen years old now and hadn't been in his potions class for over three years now. "May I ask …?"

"You may, but will I answer?" Severus interrupted smoothly. "That, I believe, is the question."

"Are you passing through, Professor?" Charlie piped up.

"Should we get Mum?" William added, sounding exasperated.

Severus took the cup of water from Percival's trembling hand and took a handkerchief from his pocket. After wetting it, he sponged Harry's face with it, trying not to chew his lip agitatedly as he considered his options. Much as he disliked the disruptive Weasleys, from what he remembered about them, they lived near a muggle town and their closest magical neighbours were the Lovegoods. Xenophilius would be a dreadful host, if he was even home. He really didn't have a choice, did he?

"Alert your mother that she has guests," he snapped, not looking 'round at the boys. He hated imposing on others and being forced to accept aid in any shape or form, but he needed somewhere to recover his magical strength, Harry needed somewhere cool and dim to heal from his heatstroke, and Black was likely still after them. He would need to visit the nearest magical families anyway to advise them to strengthen their wards. There was a loud crack from behind that told him the oldest Weasley boy had likely apparated to go warn his mother of guests, as he had requested.

"Where is your father?" he demanded suddenly, looking over his shoulder and scowling at the silent children.

"At work, sir," Percival answered promptly. Now that his shock had worn off, the third Weasley boy was just as he was in school, always precise and respectful, unlike his mutinous older brothers. Judging from the looks he was getting from the other three Weasley boys he had never met, Severus could see that he still had a very long ten years or so of teaching red-haired dunderheads to look forward to. Oh joy.

"When do you expect him back?" Severus demanded.

"By suppertime, sir," Percival answered again.

"Hmm," Severus muttered, pouring a bit of water between Harry's cracked lips.

"Excuse me, sir," Percival spoke up timidly. "But … who's that? He looks … a little small to be a Slytherin, if you don't mind my saying, sir."

"Do keep your thoughts confined to your skull where they are more useful, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape sneered in his Twenty-Points-From-Gryffindor voice. "I expect you will discover the identity of my young charge quickly enough, if you've the sense God gave a dung beetle."

Seeing that he couldn't do much more for Harry, he stood up and scooped the boy back into his arms. He shut his eyes and staggered against the tree when the world spun dizzily around him. He supposed that it had been a bad idea to attempt standing suddenly with the boy when he was still so exhausted. His eyes snapped open when he realized that the second oldest Weasley boy had stepped up very close to him.

"I can carry him, sir," Charlie said quietly. He was a stocky boy; not as tall as his older brother, but broader. Severus could easily imagine him toting his brothers around with those arms of his, which were, while not impressive, were considerably more substantial than the twigs his brothers dared call arms.

Severus glared down at the sixteen year old boy, but Charlie's blue eyes stared back at him, unwavering and calm.

"I won't drop him, Professor," the boy said confidently. "And if you'll excuse my saying so, you look like a corpse about to fall over. I'll carry the kid, and no problem, sir."

Severus glared mutinously, his glittering black eyes promising retribution later for such a cheeky comment, but he couldn't deny the obvious without looking like a fool. He silently handed the limp child over to the Weasley boy, who cradled him tenderly, with clear experience behind the way he maneuvered Harry's limp arms and legs and smiled up at the professor as if thanking him. Charlie set off across the clearing at a good clip, shouting for his brothers to pack it up.

"Aw, Charlie!" the youngest boy burst out whining. "Can't me an' the twins keep playing? Percy's here!"

"You will obey your brother," Severus hissed menacingly, fixing the whining brat with a vicious glare. "The boy and I were kidnapped by Sirius Black, and I doubt your mother would appreciate you being left alone here with an Azkaban escapee so near."

The youngest boy only looked mutinous and confused, but Percival and the Twins paled before they dashed around the clearing, collecting their Quidditch gear, a lunch-basket, and the youngest boy's sweater. Severus jerked his head at them when they finished and stood there staring at him, as if he was going to lead them to safety now.

"Well?" he snapped. "I don't know where your house is, do I? Lead on, and hurry up!"

Percival hurriedly set off in the footsteps of his older brother and Severus brought up the rear. As they left the clearing and took a little path up the side of the valley, he clearly heard one of the twins whisper loudly to their older brother:

"So that's Professor Snape?"

Percival didn't even turn. "That's Professor Snape," he whispered back in a defeated tone.

"And we're gonna have him at our house?" one or the other of the identical boys pressed in disbelief.

"Looks like it," Percival muttered back.

"Wicked," the twins breathed at the same time, exchanging looks that would have done the Marauders proud.

Severus scowled hatefully at the grinning clowns, imagining all the foolish ideas swirling in their idiotic heads, and picked up his pace, crowding them a bit with his menacing presence. He never could get a break from idiotic Gryffindors, it seemed. But every single time, he had to grit his teeth and bear it, because he had no choice. Why oh why did he have such rotten luck? Those Weasley twins would just have to hope they didn't anger him, or they would find the next seven years of their lives to be hell on earth, he could assure them of that. With such a cheerful thought, he allowed his tense and aching shoulders to relax, anxiously watching Charlie up ahead to be sure that he didn't drop or bump Harry. If that red-haired brat dared hurt his child, he would tear the boy apart.

HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP~HP

I hope you have all enjoyed this twist! I have been anticipating bringing in the Weasleys for awhile now. Our Harry will be safe enough with them for a little while, and the poor kid can finally take a break!

Let me know what you think!