The day started like any other for Harry Potter, and it continued this way throughout the rest of the day. First he awoke to the stench of dry blood, then he cooked breakfast for his relatives (while never getting any for himself), and then he got beaten and sank into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.
The days passed and the nights blurred, until finally something out of the ordinary happened: the doorbell rang. Harry found this odd because usually he'd be told when someone was coming over so he could be brought to hide in the shed in the backyard. The only reason he wasn't there regularly was because the Dursleys didn't like to walk a lot, thus they couldn't beat him as much as they would have preferred.
He heard his large uncle waddle to the door, throwing it open. "Yeah?" Harry heard him ask. The stranger at the door muttered something that he couldn't make out. Then there was a flash of blue light and large crash that sounded like a wall breaking.
"Wizard," Harry murmured to himself. Nothing but magic, or perhaps a crane, could have lifted Vernon Dursley in the air. Dudley and Petunia came running in after Vernon was thrown. The mysterious stranger, who Harry would have to thank, whispered more enchantments, sending the two remaining Dursleys to the floor. Harry assumed his aunt was on the floor, but Dudley made such a booming noise all the time so he wasn't sure.
All Harry could think was that his captors were down; there wasn't anyone left that could torture him as the Dursleys had. The thought that it might be Death Eaters never crossed his mind. He lay back down in the comforting three inches of dry blood, imagining the possibilities that lay ahead. He was free, so utterly free of his relatives that he could have wept or wooted with joy, though the pain in his body kept him still. He was so wrapped up in joy and imagination that he didn't hear the sound of the small door opening. He only looked up when he felt eyes boring in to his empty ones.
He was shocked to see Severus Snape staring down at him with bottomless eyes of pity. Before he could comment, though, Snape set his face into neutral lines, the ever-famous sneer.
"Come, Mr. Potter, it is time to leave. You need no longer remain here," said Snape in his smooth, silky tone, which was for once was lacking in its usual venom.
Harry tried to sputter out a reply and to move, but he couldn't manage either. Yesterday's beating had been slightly more extravagant than usual. He wasn't sure why though; maybe his uncle had been feeling particularly angry that day.
"Don't worry, Harry," whispered Snape in a surprisingly calm and soothing voice. "We'll get you out of this. No need to reply." He knelt inside the cupboard, his head almost reaching the top. "Let's see what we can do about these cuts, shall we? I am afraid I won't be able to do any serious healing until we reach the Dark Lord's residence."
As expected, Harry's eyes flew open at the mention of Voldemort. He'd assumed Snape had been sent by Dumbledore. He started to struggle, knowing it was futile, but continued anyways, trying anything to escape from Snape.
"No need to struggle, Potter. If the Dark Lord had any intention of killing you he'd have stepped aside and let the fat Muggle continue." Harry looked up at the potions master, his eyes wide.
He wasn't able to keep them open long though, for the struggle had taken the little energy he had. He looked out through his glazed eyes, looking at Snape, who had merely become a dark blur.
"Take… take care of me?" he whispered softly to Snape, before falling into his friend's embrace, unconscious. Snape looked at the boy, who'd just given him, Severus Snape, his trust. The world was a haunting place.
"Something is most methodically wrong with this picture," said Snape to himself, rather glad when no one replied.
Spelling the boy senseless, he carefully and gently picked him up and walked out of the bloody house. Outside the wards, he turned in the direction of the blasted normal-looking house and conjured the dark mark above it.
Now everyone would know Potter was either dead or captured. They'd see the mess that were the Muggles and the bloody cupboard. Make of it what they will, Snape had no doubts.
Without a lingering glance he Apparated, the unconscious boy in tow. They landed in the throne room, the only room were Apparition was possible. He sighed when he realized it was empty. He would have had a hard time explaining things to the boy if it hadn't been.
He walked as quickly as he dared towards the Dark Lord's chambers, the boy still in his arms. It never occurred to him to conjure a stretcher or use a levitation charm. He resembled a new husband carrying his bride to their suite, except for the blood of course. Someone with a sadistic humour would have agreed.
He knocked on the study door, where he thought Voldemort was most likely to be. The door opened immediately, for he'd been waiting. Snape walked in and followed the Dark Lord through several doors. They reached a bedroom, most likely Voldemort's. Voldemort indicated for Snape to lay Harry on the bed. Together they began to strip the boy, removing every article thick in blood. This allowed them to see the many severities of his injuries. Both winced in pity and anger.
They redressed him in a pair of black silk drawstring pants. They were Voldemort's, but they fit Harry well. When he was dressed and clean, Colder sent Snape for his strongest healing potions. The boy was in need of some long traumatic saving. In Snape's absence, Voldemort did nothing. He simply sat and watched The Boy Who Lived, wondering what the future might bring. What many possibilities would unfold? What turns would the next day take? He sat in silence.
a/N: this chapter is now beta'ed , thank you steph, enjoy.