This was a dream. It had to be a dream. Despite the wet mud soaking through the ripped denim that was barley covering his knees, Harry had convinced himself that he was lost somewhere in the disorienting depths of sleep. Despite the cold steady rain pelting down around him, he knew that it was only a matter of time before he awoke on the ragged pile of material he called a bed.

The hand still clutching the back of shirt in a tight fist suddenly shoved him forward. He barley caught himself, his palms slipping in the muck. This is a dream, he repeated to himself but the sodden ground beneath him was too real; the clumps of sticky fir needles poking into his hands were too real. He dug his fingers deep into the mud as if to ground himself from the reality spinning in the whistling wind around him but in the end it was the crazed ranting from the man above him that brought reality crashing down.

"Were it not for your stupidity we could have been out of there before anyone even noticed," Snape was yelling wildly. His hands were planted on his hips as he paced back and forth, screaming up at the falling rain. Harry had missed the beginning of the tirade but it wasn't difficult to catch up. As always, it was his fault.

"No one would have suspected me," he continued as he stopped and moved a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his crooked nose between his thumb and forefinger. The wind whipped at his long black traveling cloak flaring it around him as his own anger seemed to flare higher. "I could be back in my office and still have the Dark Lord's trust. I could have continued my duties but you-" He brandished a finger at Harry like a weapon, his face stretched into a crazed grimace. Instinctively, Harry recoiled, head turning protectively as he waited for the hit to fall; however a silence settled around them broken only by the raging weather.

Cautiously, Harry turned to look up at Snape, squinting as water coursed beneath his glasses. The headmaster had frozen, finger still raised but his eyes had narrowed. His lips pressed into a hard line and his nose crinkled as if he were fighting back the wave of furious berating. Finally, he spun on his heal and began to wave his wand, muttering something Harry could not hear over the storm.

Harry sat back, breathing in lung full after lung full of fresh damp forest air. His eyes closed and he tilted his head back letting the rain wash over him as if it had the power to wash away the memories and in a way it did. The pain was suddenly forgotten. The hurt, the loss, everything seemed to fall to the back of his mind and the only thing that mattered was the here and now. It was bliss as he had never felt.

"Potter."

The call seemed to be coming from far off. He pushed it away focusing instead on the sound of the wind howling through the tops of the fir trees, the steady drum of rain against the sodden ground, the distant deep roll of thunder threatening the worse still to come. They were all sounds he had thought he would never hear again. A weak smile broke his lips and he grinned up into the cloudy sky like a mad man.

A hand gripped him by the bicep and yanked him roughly to his feet. Opening his eyes, he saw an a-framed tent had been erected in the only open area, its small frame looking even tinier nestled against the base of two towering trees. Snape steered him towards the open flap, muttering under his breath.

"All I need is for you to catch your death out here," he grumbled sarcastically as they entered.

Inside, Harry was not surprised to see that the tent had tripled in size. A small sitting area, complete with dingy furniture, welcomed them and beyond that he could see a kitchen and living quarters divided by a canvas sheet. The smell of moth balls and mildew seemed to permeate the air and he crinkled his nose at the intrusion. He felt his chest tighten at the memories that seemed to accompany the familiar environment but he pushed away the emotion.

"Sit," Snape said shortly, indicating to an overstuffed easychair nearest a roaring fire.

Harry didn't argue. He sunk into the worn chair cushion and crossed his arms around his chest. The orange flames danced in front of him, sparks sputtering from the wet wood like tiny fireworks; however the heat seemed incapable of penetrating the cold that had settled over Harry's body. He began to shiver and his teeth were chattering despite the working of his arms.

"Here," Snape said, offering him a bundle of clothes. On top, Harry could see a familiar maroon jumper. These were his clothes. "Remove your shirt first. I will need to heal those wounds if we are to get the infection under control."

Startled, Harry shook his head. "It's fine," he managed to croak.

"Its not fine," Snape hissed impatiently. "You have a fever and I can practically smell the decay. The longer you wait to do something, the longer we will be stuck here waiting for it to heal."

Harry opened his mouth to argue but instead his lips fell into a sardonic grin. There was no point in denying he needed the help but it galled him to admit it, especially to Snape. Staring ahead, he tossed his options, or lack thereof, around until he could stall no longer. He turned in his seat and, with a shaky hand, managed to pull the wet shirt from his body, exposing his raw back to the man beside him.

He heard the irritated sigh as Snape dropped the clothes he had been holding to the tent floor. Cold fingertips pressed against his skin and Harry pulled away, his breath escaping in a low gasp between his clenched teeth. The pain was excruciating. It felt like his skin might actually fall off with the slightest touch.

"Sit still," Snape ordered as he placed his left hand on Harry's shoulder to steady him. The grip was firm but not uncomfortably tight.

The other hand was now slowly guiding the wand tip back and forth across the lacerations, a warm wave following in its wake. The itchy flesh began to sting as if a million needles were pricking just beneath the surface. Harry closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath through his flared nostrils, determined not to make another sound.

"There," Snape said and released Harry's shoulder. He picked up the clothes and pressed them into his chest. "Get changed and I will give you something for the pain."

"I don't-"

"Just change," Snape interrupted, his voice trailing off as he entered the sleeping area and drew the curtain that partitioned the rooms.

Harry stared down at the clothes in his lap and felt the familiar prickle of emotion starting to form. It was, of course, the sight of the jumper that was the culprit. The last jumper Mrs. Weasley… He stopped himself, pushing the thought to the back of his mind as he had become so good at doing.

Fumbling through the clothes, he found a towel mixed in with the lot. With slow carefulness, he ruffled it around his hair and began to dry his upper body. By the time he had shed his remaining clothes and dried himself the shivers had worsened and he felt faint. It was a miracle he managed to redress himself without calling for assistance.

He was just pulling the jumper, which he had purposefully left for last, over his head when Snape reappeared. He too had changed clothes and Harry found it slightly startling to see him dressed so causal in his brown corduroys and emerald jumper. He had only ever seen him in his familiar black robes. He pressed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and watched as the man pulled a leather doctor's bag across the kitchen table. He clipped it open and rummaged around placing several vials on the wooden table as he went. After a minute, he seemed to find what he had been searching for and brought it over to where Harry sat.

"Here, take this," Snape said as he held out a small vial.

Harry stared uneasily at the thin blue liquid sloshing back and forth behind the glass. Could he really trust Snape? After everything he had done? He shook his head slightly and the Headmaster let out a low sigh.

"Potter," Snape said slowly as if talking to a young child. "If it has not pierced through that thick skull of yours yet, we are stuck together for the foreseeable future. I will not constantly repeat myself during this…this adventure." The last word came out in a snarl.

Wetting his dry lips, Harry gave in and took the potion with a hesitant look. He uncorked it and with one last glance at the man now seated opposite of him, he tipped the contents down his throat. It was bitter but he forced it down with a hard swallow, his dry throat clicking loudly in the silence.

For a long minute they sat there listening to the wind thrash against the tent. Flashes of lightning could be seen through the canvas walls like a strobe light flickering on and off in a quick secession. Snape opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the frozen

ground beneath them.

"I am under the impression that Dumbledore left you a task to complete," he said as the rumbling trailed off into the distance.

Harry, who had drawn his knees up into the chair, was watching the fire through glazed eyes as he fiddled absent-mindedly with the empty potion vial. He thought that hearing Snape say Professor Dumbledore's name would awaken some beast inside him, some roaring animal that would want to tear his former professor into shreds; however, he felt only the same emptiness that had kept him company for months.

"If you could tell me what information he gave you, we could-"

"It doesn't matter," Harry said dully without looking away from the leaping flames.

Snape stared at him with a bewildered expression dawning on his slim face. "Doesn't…doesn't matter," he stammered as if he had never heard those words before. He perched himself on the edge of the chair and leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees. He fixed Harry with a hard stare, bewilderment shifting to furry. "It doesn't matter?"

"The Dark Lord has won. He controls the Ministery, the Prophet, and Hogwarts," Harry said in that same hollow voice as he looked over the fire and into Snape's livid face.

"And you are alright with that," Snape asked and it was obvious he was trying to control himself. His hands had begun to shake and he clasped them together in a feeble attempt to conceal it.

Harry dropped his gaze and his cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson. Of course he wasn't okay with it, but what could he do? How was he supposed to stop the world's most powerful wizard? He was a boy of 17, alone and completely useless without a wand.

"I have given up everything," Snape hissed so quietly that Harry had to strain to hear him over the storm raging outside. "Everything to help you escape. And yet you have the nerve to tell me that it doesn't matter."

Harry didn't dare look up. He knew that soft whisper was more dangerous than any amount of yelling, like a snake being stirred from slumber. Instead, he glared at the slender glass in his hands, determined to remain silent.

"Do you think it mattered to the Grangers?"

The question hit him like a physical punch. He closed his eyes and with clenched teeth tried to think of something else. Anything else.

"What about the Weasleys," Snape pressed on coldly. "Do you think it mattered to them when they lost two children?"

Outside the storm had reached a crescendo but it held little comparison to the thunder of Harry's heart now beating wildly in his chest. He bit his tongue in an attempt to hold back the angry cry bubbling up inside him like lava. It would do him no good to get mad, to act out as Snape desired.

"And what about Nymphadora Tonks and her unborn child? Do you think it mattered when she had to bury her husband? When she has to raise her baby alone?"

Harry's eyes sprang upwards. He stared at Snape for a long minute trying to find the lie in the man's eyes. He found none.

"I didn't-" He began numbly but Snape cut him off.

"You didn't know but it doesn't matter does it?"

"Don't," Harry breathed, still reeling from the new information. He shook his head as if to clear the fog from his mind, but he could not get past the image of the Grangers unaware they had lost their only child, or Tonks standing beside Remus's grave, or Mr. and Mrs. Weasley weeping with their remaining boys.

"The Chosen One says the war is los-"

"I SAID STOP!"

Harry was suddenly on his feet all thought of pain gone from his mind as he threw the vial in his hand at Snape's feet. Snape, however, hadn't moved. He stared up at Harry with a crooked sneer of satisfaction as if he had finally accomplished something.

"What about you," Harry accused wildly. "You had every opportunity to help us escape and you did nothing. You could have stopped this whole...this whole thing from happening. " He waved his arms around effectively blaming Snape for their current predicament and everything that had led to it.

"If you will recall," Snape replied, matching Harry's raving madness with his own cold calmness. "I tried. But you were to dim-witted to listen."

"You thought I would trust you? After what you've done? You killed Professor Dumbledore!"

"Has it ever occurred to you that you were not the only one acting on Dumbledore's secret plans?"

"I don't-"

But before Harry could consider the meaning of what the Headmaster had said, the tent swirled around him. His vision swam and when he looked up again he was no longer standing in front of a roaring fire. The canvas walls had been replaced with a dimly lit study. Remnants of destroyed books littered the polished floor, their stray pages were being whisked around by the wind howling through shattered windows. Before him three people were kneeling and two lay crumpled beside them, their vacant faces staring at the ceiling above.

"How…" Harry hissed in a cold voice that was not his own. His anger had swelled but it was different now, murderous in fact.

"M-m-my Lord, please. S-s-snape" the voice of Lucius Malfoy pleaded but his begging turned quickly into shrill cries of agony. He fell forward onto his face as his hands wrapped helplessly around his twitching body.

"You dare ask for mercy," Harry screamed and with a flick of his pale hand Lucius was tossed maliciously onto his back where he continued to writhe in pain. "After allowing the boy to escape?"

Malfoy's screams faded into desperate gasps for air as Harry turned away. He was taking deep breaths through his slit nostrils, contemplating his next move. Snape, his most loyal servant, had betrayed him and now… His anger rose again but along with it was a glimmer of fear. The Potter boy had an extensive knowledge of the Horcruxes he had created and Severus surely knew how to destroy them. His only hope was to find the pair quickly and when he did….

"Potter!"

Harry was aware that he was lying on his back. There was a painfully dull throb radiating around his head but that wasn't the only thing hurting; his left forearm was on fire. Opening his eyes, Severus Snape's face swam above him in the dancing yellow light.

"He's…he's," Harry stammered as he slowly sat up.

Snape's face drained of color and he stood up. "You have to learn to block him out. He could use it to find-"

"Don't you think I want to," Harry snapped irritably. He could hear Hermione in those words and it seemed to set his heart on fire. Moving his glasses aside, he pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes and watched the array of colors form in the darkness of his eyelids.

"Go get some sleep," Snape said, his demeanor suddenly changed. He offered Harry a hand but his face remained vacant of emotion.

Narrowing his eyes, Harry shifted his gaze to that outstretched hand. Instead of taking it, he pushed it aside as he clambered to his feet. Without a word, he hoisted himself into the top bunk of the double bed and rolled to his side. He thought it would be hours before he fell asleep, his thoughts were still racing through his brain, however, in the comfort of the mattress, he quickly drifted off.