Harry drifted back into consciousness. He had no idea for how long he had been stuck in the cupboard. He only knew that he hurt all over, and felt very sick. He could hear someone, presumably Uncle Vernon, moving around the house with unaccustomedly brisk strides. No sounds of anyone else. Aunt Petunia and Dudley had gone out for the day, and were not expected back until late. So that did not help him to pinpoint the time.

"Potter?"

Harry jumped. That had sounded remarkably like Snape. What would Snape be doing wandering around the Dursley household? Unless Dumbledore had sent him…Harry reached out a trembling hand, and attempted to bang on the door as hard as he could. This was not very hard. It turned out more like tapping. But he did succeed in making some sort of noise. He tried to shout that he was here, but found the sound coming out of his mouth made no sense.

I approached the door with caution. What was in there? ..Or…who…..

A strange groaning noise reached my ears. I froze. It had sounded like somebody trying to speak. My stomach clenched, and I could feel a sense of dread flowering inside. Surely, surely not….but I could not suppress the feeling that I would not like, at all, what I was about to find on the other side of this cupboard door.

I clutched my wand to be on the safe side and reached out my hand. The door was bolted. I drew the bolt back. The door opened outwards. I pulled it towards me.

He was there. Curled in a heap, blinking dazedly in the flood of light. Blood was crusted all over his face and hair. I could see bruising and swelling, both old and new.

An odd sensation swept through me. Despite the best efforts of my father, the Dark Lord and myself, I had not yet managed to completely obliterate all hint of human compassion in my character. I continue to work on it, of course. I particularly like practising on Gryffindors, whose shiny, hopeful honourable faces are an offence against the true nature of being.

Potter made another noise. I swallowed. Breathing had suddenly become painful.

"Potter," I said. My throat felt strangled. Hell. How was I supposed to deal with this? "Can you move?"

He tried. He fumbled towards me, out of the cupboard, on his hands and knees. He was shaking. He looked awful.

He threw up on my shoes.

Oh, please.

I identified what I was feeling as fury. Fury was all right. I allowed fury within my emotional repertoire.

I hated this boy collapsed and heaving at my feet. I hated him firstly because of his father, and then entirely on his own merits: our pint-sized celebrity, our little boy hero. The boy I had spent the last six years guarding. The boy for whom I continually risked my miserable existence. To find out information which would help protect this retching, battered boy, I had twitched and begged under the Cruciatus curse at the Dark Lord's feet.

I imagined my long fingers around Dursley's neck. I was taller than he. I would look down into his terrified, bulging eyes as I squeezed…and squeezed…

I sighed. This was not helping. I Vanished the thin vomit at my feet. I would have left it for the Muggles to clean up except I wanted it off my shoes.

"Potter." I tried to make my voice gentle. It did not come easily."We need to fetch your things. Where are they?"

He was trying to speak again. I decided that water might help. I fetched him a glass, and assisted him to sit up. I held the glass to his lips. I kept his head steady as he drank.

It seemed to help him. "Upstairs," he croaked. "Small room. Under floorboard."

Floorboard? Was the boy raving?

A thought occurred to me. I could not do much to heal him without my potions and my salves, for the healing charms had never been my field of speciality; I had selected quite different areas of expertise. However, I did know how to ease his pain, and how to take the edge off his nausea. I performed the spells. He seemed to benefit from them.

"Thank you," he said quietly. He had still not looked me in the face.

I left him there while I went to collect his belongings. There were not many of them, I realized, and not much to do. A trunk in the corner had been thoroughly locked up with Muggle padlocks and chains. I waved my wand and opened it. All his school things were there – exactly, I guessed, as they had been at the point he had left Hogwarts. Possibly I had been less than fair in the past for assuming his failure to study in the holidays was sheer laziness…

I recalled his comment about a floorboard. I located a loose one under the rug. There were a few pathetic possessions under there which he had presumably kept about him and hidden away. That damned parchment from Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs – the real identity of whom I knew all too well, thank you very much. A book on Quidditch. A photograph album.

I sucked in my breath. There were also some stale scraps of food. I could only think of one reason why the boy might want to carefully hide leftovers in his bedroom. That emotion swept through me again. The one I had already decided was fury.

I shoved the things in his trunk, except for the food, which I left. I hoped the Dursleys got rats. Lots of them. Preferably with plague-like diseases. I shrank the trunk, and stuck it in my pocket.

Potter had only moved a little when I returned to him. He had shifted to sit in a more comfortable position. I realized the vacancy in those green eyes was more than concussion. He had lost his glasses.

I found them for him at the foot of the stairs and returned them to his nose. He seemed truly grateful for that.

"Professor…" he whispered.

I arched an eyebrow.

"My wand..Uncle Vernon hid it…"

Oh. That was easily remedied. I performed a finding charm. It was hidden in a safe behind a picture. The safe was protected by all sorts of Muggle locks and alarm devices, but these were easily removed. The wand was there, and it was still in one piece.

I returned it to the boy, who looked relieved. And now… I debated my next move. I had Apparated to the nearest safe place in coming here, then walked to the house.. I had intended to escort the boy back to Hogwarts on the Knight Bus. Believe me, that was a concession made most reluctantly. I hated that thing and its pimply conductor. However, I somehow didn't think Potter was up to a journey on the Knight Bus. He would vomit before it had gone two yards. Probably, all over me.

I could think of only one thing to do. I would have to Apparate both of us to the gates of Hogwarts. It was very dangerous. It is hard enough not to leave your own body parts behind, let alone someone else's.

And…

"Potter," I said coldly. "I will need to Apparate us both out of here. For this, I will need physical contact. I assure you, it will be no more welcome to me than it is to you."

I reached for him.

Harry wondered what would have horrified Ron and Hermione the most: his battered state, or the fact that he was being carefully held in Snape's arms. In order for someone to successfully Apparate two people, it was necessary that they had full awareness of both bodies. His heart was held against Snape's heart. His head had been gently rested against Snape's shoulder. He had been crossly told to relax unless he wished his body parts to end up in four different counties. He had, obediently, forced his muscles to slacken. It was oddly comforting, he realized, to be held like this. After the weeks of physical and emotional abuse, it was reassuring to feel someone's calm breathing against your hair, their hands against your back, their heart against your own.

Harry blinked. This, he reminded himself was Snape. No longer evil Snape, since he had saved his life on so many occasions, but still, snarky, nasty, unfair Snape who made no secret of the fact that he loathed him.

Nevertheless, the Apparation would go wrong unless he went with it…so he leaned into Snape's embrace and enjoyed the unexpected sense of warmth and comfort it brought him.

Harry had never Apparated before. It was horrible. In his experience, this was true of most wizard forms of transportation except flying. Harry felt pieces of his bones and flesh dissolving, a sensation as if he had been turned inside out and then abruptly righted again, and then the next thing he knew he was staggering in Snape's arms at the gates of Hogwarts.

Snape released him as if he had been just dying to do so from the first moment of contact. Harry swayed, then collapsed painfully at his feet.

Just before he passed out, he realized he had vomited on Snape's shoes again.

Oh. Damn….