Severus woke to the sight of a water-stained ceiling and the smell of dust. He was on a sofa, bundled in a multitude of blankets, in a silent room streaming with light. Perspiration beaded his upper lip; his hair was in his face, obscuring his vision with lines of oily black. He blinked a few times. This was not Malfoy Manor, nor was it an alleyway—which meant he'd managed to Apparate home after the meeting without splinching the shit out of himself. Good. That was—that was good.

What had happened? His memories were hazy at best. He'd…gone to report to the Dark Lord. They'd brought out—entertainment. Interrogation fodder from the Ministry: someone high enough on the chain to know Ministry information Yaxley couldn't provide, but too low to be considered high-profile by any means. Keep low, keep quiet. He made his report, then. The Dark Lord hadn't been pleased with it. Not enough effort; he should have the boy by now; when should he expect the Veritaserum? Then Yaxley had made his report, and while it gone better than Severus's, it hadn't eased the Dark Lord's ire. A Cruciatus for all those who'd fallen out of his good graces.

Nothing unusual.

But there was something else…something nagging at him, something like—Potter. If he'd somehow managed to find himself wrapped up on his couch, where was the boy?

Severus turned his head carefully enough not to send pain zinging through his neck, but it didn't help the ache behind his eyes. The room was empty. Belatedly, he realized he could hear the dull roar of the shower in the background. He'd woken up blessedly alone.

Then, turning his gaze back up at the ceiling, he casually proceeded to have a violent panic attack.

Clamping his hands over his mouth to smother the mess of sound bubbling up his throat, Severus fixed his gaze on a large book on the shelf across from him, reciting the recipe for Wolfsbane over and over, until he felt calm enough not to descend straight into complete hysterics. His fingernails dug sharply into his cheeks. He was hyperventilating. Holding his breath, Severus screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to stop feeling the panic, until he was left weak and shaking, but calmer.

Then he got up and made coffee.

He had splinched himself, Severus noticed as he measured out coffee grounds. The shoulder of his robe was stiff with dried blood, and the wound reopened as he reached up to open the cupboard and find the filters. Abandoning his coffee the moment it had begun to brew, he climbed the stairs and went to his room to check the damage, snagging the first aid kit as he went. He still needed to brew more antiseptic. Essence of Dittany would have to do for now; he could treat any lingering infections later.

The wound wasn't deep—a centimetre, at the most. It was the size that was worrying. It spanned from his collarbone to where his shoulder met his arm, bloody and swollen. The antiseptic was not an option, now. He took a deep breath and dripped it over the torn flesh, watching it sizzle and smoke. The redness round the edges of the injury receded immediately; he applied the Dittany then, and finally found relief. Severus bandaged himself and changed quickly. Then he downed a nerve regeneration potion.

He headed downstairs in time for his coffee to finish brewing. This time, the boy was there, bundling up the blankets on the sofa and setting them aside at one end, to be used again later. Their eyes met; Potter looked away quickly, shoulders tense.

"What?" he said warily, but Potter only shook his head with an indecipherable mumble. "Speak up or don't speak at all."

"It's—nothing. Sir."

And that was that. Stepping into the kitchen to make some toast, he grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee while the toaster heated up. Potter shuffled into the kitchen after him and sat down at the table in his usual chair. He could feel the boy's gaze on his back, burning into his spine. Why was he looking at him so oddly? He had no clear recollection of the night before, until—

"Is your arm all right?"

—and the night came rushing back to him in a whirl.

"I thought I'd told you to go to bed last," he said softly, not bothering to turn round as he plated his toast and stirred three lumps of sugar into his coffee.

Potter didn't respond, at first. "I couldn't just leave you there," the boy finally muttered, adding an even quieter 'sir.'

"You most certainly could have. In fact, I would have preferred it."

"Why?"

"Why, what?" He took a bite of his toast.

"Why should I have left you there?" Potter was picking at the chair; the loose leg on the table juddered against the linoleum as he bounced his knee. "Sir."

Severus swallowed his toast too soon. It scraped its way down his throat. "I fail to see why it's any of your business, but if you must know, your connection to the Dark Lord's mind may potentially have been quite fresh. You had been asleep, had you not? The connection may have remained open. It wouldn't do for the Dark Lord to see you dragging me onto the sofa. Next time, Potter, you will do as you are told and leave me there. It will do us all good."

The boy didn't try to argue with him, but he knew he wasn't content. Wasn't that a shame.

"I will be leaving at noon. For the next two hours, you will begin working on your Potions assignment, but you may have the evening free." Severus washed down another mouthful of toast with a swig of his coffee. "I've been told you're missing letters from your friends. I will take care of the problem."

"Oh. Thanks." Potter sounded surprised. "Could I make some toast?"

Wordlessly, he took his plate and mug and migrated to the table, leaving the space in front of the toaster clear. Potter got to his feet and pulled the bread out of the cupboard with another soft 'thanks.' "Were you able to make a satisfactory supper, last night?"

"Yeah. Er—we're almost out of broccoli, though. If you would give me a bit of money, I wouldn't mind going to the store again and picking up some while you're out. I would use my own, but I only have wizard money, and…" Stopping abruptly, the boy shrugged, saying with a sort of forced casualty, "I doubt I'd be attacked in a Tesco."

Severus didn't want Potter to leave the house. As ridiculous as he knew it was, he wanted the boy inside at all times, where he was safe and warded—not outside, not even to the garden. A multitude of things could happen. Narcissa could happen to be stopping by and have a chance meeting with him on the street, he could get into an altercation with the neighborhood gang, he could be hit by a car…There was no end to the list of things Potter could get himself into. He had a knack for finding dangerous situations and placing himself in the dead center of them.

"Is broccoli a necessity?" he asked, draining his coffee and setting his dishes in the sink to wash later. In the meantime, he needed a wash himself. It had…been a while. Standing under a cold shower for five minutes only did so much.

"A necessity? I s'pose. We don't have any other vegetables right now."

Dammit.

"Then it's a necessity. I won't have you devolving back to your Hogwarts diet during your stay here. You will go straight there, and straight back. You will not make any detours. Fifteen minutes is your limit. I shall give you my house key—if you lose it, Filch's threats will seem like flirtations after I'm finished with you. Do we need anything else?"

They put a small list together, and had it finished by the time Potter had polished off his breakfast. As the boy scrubbed the dishes, Severus headed upstairs again to find a change in clothing and a clean towel. He was going to need to do laundry tonight once he returned—only one clean towel remained, and even its freshness was dubious. He would need to dig the scrub basin out from the depths of his parents' home. Perhaps he could force Potter to stand and watch the charms that went into it…could even teach the little pustule something.

Said pustule was standing around aimlessly when Severus returned to the kitchen, with such a hapless expression on his face, he felt a small fragment of his soul die upon sight of it. "Your summer assignment. Get to it, Potter."

"I've got it out," the boy said, waving vaguely at the new mess on the table. "I just don't really…"

"What, pray tell, do you 'not really'?"

"I don't…It's nothing." Potter's face was as red as a fire hydrant.

"Do you not understand the material? We went over the properties of doxy eggs for two days last term. Were you, perhaps, not paying attention?" He generally ignored the boy's essays in favor of just giving him a flat passing grade; he knew Potter rarely did his own work, anyway. Why bother, when you had a more talented friend at your disposal to copy off of? He'd certainly copied off Lily in Charms when she'd allowed him to. "Or do you simply not want to?"

"It's not that!" Potter stood up from his chair and began pacing, flushed and agitated. "I was paying attention."

He cast a Cooling Charm without thinking, and Potter paused to look at him in bewilderment. Severus gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to cancel the charm out of spite. The boy knew—things, now. About his house. He had access to his personal items, and was without a doubt trying to find a way up the stairs. He'd found him last night and had gotten him to say God knows what. And as much of a Gryffindor as Potter was, content to keep secrets instead of using them as blackmail, he would most certainly giving detailed anecdotes to his little friends. Severus was not keen on any of those anecdotes involving his personal affairs. If he were somewhat nice to the brat, he might focus on his strange behavior, rather than the way he'd found his Potions professor sprawled half-dead on the kitchen floor.

"Sit, Potter," he said, pointing to the usual chair. "Do you have a quill and ink ready? Spare parchment?"

"Er—yeah, 'course." Sitting heavily, Potter pulled a roll of parchment towards him, and sat with his quill poised and a gormless expression. It didn't take long for him to start chewing on the quill and bouncing his foot where he had his ankle balanced on his knee. Severus swallowed down a sigh.

"Turn to page 256. You'll be taking notes this afternoon."

—

The heat from outside clung to him like a heavy winter robe. Wiping sweat from his forehead and wishing desperately that he'd had a chance to take a bath earlier instead of attempting to teach Potter something useful, Severus glared at the front door of Grimmauld Place and imagined himself setting the whole building ablaze.

Much to his disappointment, his daydream remained just that.

The tracking spell he'd placed on Potter's right shoe dinged softly; the boy was on the move. And so, lamentably, was he. He opened the door and stepped inside to the same gloom that had always permeated through his own house. The afternoon bustle outside cut off sharply in the sudden hush that tingled its way up his spine, raising goosebumps on his arms. Deftly avoiding the umbrella stand lying in the middle of the foyer, Severus made his way down the hall to the faint sound of whispers from the Weasley children (badly) hidden at the top of the landing above him. The door to the basement creaked softly as it swung open, and the murmuring of voices below halted as he descended the narrow steps into the basement.

The fire at the far end of the room cast dancing shadows along the stone walls of the kitchen, partially obscuring the details of the faces of those gathered in the room. The chairs scattered about were nearly full. Dozens of eyes followed his movements as he reached the bottom of the stairs and began to unload the potions he'd brought for the headmaster.

"Severus, I'm glad to see you've arrived in one piece," Lupin greeted from the center of the table, getting to his feet to come round the corner and greet him. "The meeting is due to begin any moment now."

Lupin's true face was oddly refreshing to look upon, but it didn't help Severus's sudden urge to smoke an entire pack of cigarettes at the mere sight of him.

"Where's Albus?" he said shortly in reply, depositing the last vials of Polyjuice on the counter. The lull of chatter had slowly begun to start up again. "I have a report to make."

"He's speaking with Sirius in the drawing room upstairs. They should be returning soon." Hesitating, Lupin shifted marginally closer to him, and Severus in turn took a step back. "Are you well? You seem a bit…peaky."

Peaky was one word for it, he supposed. He hadn't applied enough Dittany; the wound had reopened as he Apparated here. Severus would be doing laundry tonight. "As much as I so obviously enjoy you prying into my personal affairs, Lupin, I'm afraid I'm going to have to tell you to mind your own fucking business."

The calm composure fractured, just a bit. A bit was enough. "I suppose I'll just wait until you pass out in the middle of the meeting," the wolf said coolly. "Tell me about the arrangements you've made for Harry in the meantime. I'd like to hear them before you lose consciousness."

Fuck you, Severus thought, and the ever-present anger humming in the background roared to life. "Potter is currently in the local Tesco."

Suddenly quite alarmed, Lupin said, "You're letting him roam around without a guard?"

The wolf had been far too loud. The conversation in the kitchen hushed once again; Severus sneered at them all, eyes locking with a curious Tonks's, and then he grabbed Lupin roughly by the collar and dragged him further away. "Shut up," he hissed. "Do any of them know I'm currently playing host to the boy?"

"Some," the werewolf muttered, quickly getting the hint to lower his voice again. "Why are you allowing Harry to go to the store alone? The child escaped an attack from rogue Dementors less than a week ago. How will you know whether he's safe? What if a Death Eater happens upon him and decides to snatch him up, right there and then?"

"I know where the boy is at all times," Severus said dismissively, even though he himself had begun to have second thoughts on allowing Potter out the moment he'd arrived here. "I placed a tracking spell on his belongings."

"I…see," said Lupin slowly, and there was a crease between his brows.

"Would you prefer I have no knowledge of his whereabouts?"

"Not as such. Harry's safety is essential. Ah, there's Albus."

Albus and Potter's insufferable godfather had finally arrived in the kitchen. Pushing past Lupin to greet the headmaster, Severus ignored Black with a faint curl of his lip to show his disdain. "Headmaster."

"Severus," Albus greeted, and briefly clasped him on the shoulder. Severus fought back a shudder. "How have you been faring? Remus has, of course, been keeping me updated on recent events, but I've found that hearing it from the source is far more beneficial. Is Harry settling in well?"

"The boy has not yet attempted to run away, nor has he thrown a temper tantrum beyond the one during his arrival," he said, unable to resist a smug glance at Black, who visibly bristled but still miraculously kept his silence. Then, giving into the impulse, Severus asked softly, "How is the cleaning going, Black?"

"Albus," Black snarled, "I've told you what I think about all of this. This creep isn't suited to take care of Harry. Why you think he can watch over a fucking flobberworm, let alone my godson—"

"Seeing as how Potter and a flobberworm share an exceeding amount of qualities, I should be given a congratulations, if your words mean anything." To his left, Severus heard Lupin groan quietly. "Unfortunately for you, your words have never meant anything—to anyone."

Albus's eyes were steely, and the expression on his lined face was even moreso. "Men, I will not tolerate childish squabbling. You are both allies now. As such, you will behave accordingly. Sirius, Harry is perfectly safe with Severus. We have spoken thoroughly on the matter. I trust Severus's ability. Harry will be at headquarters in less than three weeks; you need not wait much longer."

"Excellent points, Albus," said Lupin, who clearly only wanted the argument to end as soon as it had begun. "Now—the meeting?"

The meeting of the Order of the Phoenix began as it always did: with reports to be made. Mad-Eye went first, as was the norm. He'd recently been reconnecting with his old colleagues as he was reinstated from his retirement, gathering allies within the Auror branch; Kingsley had been his first recruitment. There were sure to be more on the way. He had high hopes for a man who'd been initiated into the ranks as the same time as Moody's golden protege, Miss Tonks.

Next came Bill Weasley, with his attempts to recruit the goblins, and the absence of what should have been Hagrid's report on the giants.

He always reported last. Severus veered violently between hating it and preferring it that way; he'd have rather make his report and leave the moment it was over, but then he would miss out on potentially crucial information. However…by the time Hestia Jones was finished speaking, he was never sure whether he wanted to kill himself, or if he wanted to kill everyone else, instead. Perhaps both. (Or, at the very least, himself and Black.)

At last, Jones finished her piece and took her seat, and Severus stood. "The Dark Lord is not pleased. His patience is quickly wearing thin, on multiple accounts. He has recently requested a multitude of potions from me, such as…"

He rattled off the full list of what the Dark Lord had demanded of him (Girding Solution, Veritaserum, Polyjuice, Drink of Despair, and others); then, detailing the full extent of Yaxley's report from the night before of the innergoings of the corrupt Ministry, he turned to a description of Lucius Malfoy's most recent ventures and ploys. "Josephina Thompson," he eventually said, changing the topic without warning, after a brief time spent on the subject of the Department of Mysteries. "She is dead."

"One of the personnel from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?" Arthur Weasley specified, frowning. "How do you know?"

"She was the evening's entertainment."

He'd been unable to save her. It had been a lost cause from the start; the woman had been brought in by Macnair and Dolohov for the sole purpose of a good time, under the shoddy guise of an unneeded Ministry interrogation. Severus would have had a chance to save her had she been more than the evening fun; weaken the locks on her cell, slip her a poison…

"They brought her in under the assumption of interrogating her, but her fate was sealed from the moment they managed to capture her. Her death was quite public in the eyes of the Dark Lord's followers; it would not cast suspicion on me if somebody were to report her as missing." Severus opened his mouth to continue on the same vein of the Dark Lord's impending return to the world, when his tracking spell made a soft ding and his shoulders tensed. "My report is finished."

Potter had not returned to Spinner's End. He'd made a detour—

The tracking spell dinged again, chiming in unison with a much older alarm, set nearly fifteen years ago.

—and that detour had led him straight to the playground.