Harry

For a moment, Harry couldn't quite work out where he was or how he'd come to get there. He was warm and comfortable, a distinct change from his last memory of cold and fear and strife, someone was holding him and the bit of magic that he had identified as tying him to Snape as Ward and Guardian was telling him that Snape was very close. That was a nice feeling; one that meant safety and protection. It was odd to associate that with Snape, but he didn't let it bother him too much.

Something was vibrating under his ear in steady rhythm, but Harry found it soothing and rubbed his cheek on the unexpectedly soft material he was resting against. His pillow was hard, but not uncomfortable. Altogether he was very much enjoying where ever he was and hoped he wouldn't be needed to move too soon.

"I think he's waking up," that sounded like Professor Lupin. Harry had a vague notion that he was worried about his Professor… something about a rat and a Grim and a werewolf and Hermione's frightened voice and Ron's pained cries and then cold and despair and his parents dying over and over and over and over…

Arms tightened protectively around him as he whimpered in panic, unable to do more than struggle feebly against the memories. He latched his hand into the material under his cheek and buried his face in it as well, needing the warmth and the comfort to drive the dead back to where they belonged. Someone rubbed his back, and the bit of magic that was his Guardian warmed him from the inside, sending peace and protection.

"Harry?" that sounded like the Headmaster, but Harry didn't want to talk to him… he was angry with the Headmaster, although he couldn't remember why. The arms holding him shifted, dragging sweeps of material with them, and he burrowed under gratefully, curling up as small as he could. Despite Professor Snape's potion regimen he was still under height and slightly underweight, which was working in his advantage now.

"You are distressing him," the cold strict tones, with their piss off edge were not directed at him and he mentally stuck a tongue out, childishly thinking 'so there' at all the people who were worrying him.

"Severus, he needs to wake up," the Headmaster chided, "He hasn't eaten in…"

"He takes the potions I give him, they will sustain him," the calm voice disagreed sourly, "You heard Poppy. He is to rest. We almost lost him, Albus."

"Lost?" he whispered the word to himself, wondering if his Guardian meant when he'd run into the forest… no don't think about that, it brought back the cold and despair…

"Yes Harry," Professor Lupin must have heard him, "You've been very ill."

"Warm," Harry corrected without opening his eyes, feeling that it was important to at least let his Guardian know that he wasn't sick. Who knows what sort of potions he'd end up taking this summer if his Guardian decided he was sickly, "Not ill."

"Severus does radiate a lot of heat," the Headmaster agreed, proving that Harry was speaking more loudly than he had thought. Wait… Severus? Harry was curled up in his Guardian's arms?

He couldn't bring himself to push away, even knowing that Snape hated him to some degree and would certainly resent having to comfort him in public. Harry had felt that they'd at least come to some sort of working relationship over the year. He certainly worked a lot harder to meet the expectations of his teachers, knowing that Snape would not be pleased with shoddy work. It had been an odd thing, knowing that there was someone checking up on him, an adult who was responsible for him, and who his actions reflected upon. Most of his lie Harry's actions had only reflected upon him, so having to please someone else with his behaviour and grades had been something of a novelty. The fact that it was Snape, with all the strictness and standards that implied, had only made doing well even more essential. Perhaps his Guardian wouldn't begrudge him this warmth, just for a moment more, in payment for his hard work over the year…

… then again perhaps not. Either way it wouldn't help his case if he made the man wait for him while he 'lolled around uselessly' – something that was against Snape's Rules. Harry sighed and peeled heavy eyelids apart, staring blurrily at the dark cavern of Snape's sleeves and chest. The man certainly had a lot of buttons on his clothes, Harry mused, then took a deep breath and tipped his head up, looking for the scowling face above.

Snape wasn't scowling. He was peering at Harry, a concerned glint in his eyes that most people would have missed. Harry almost did. He put his hand over Snape's heart, not wanting to loose the soothing beat that his cheek had been pressed against only moments before. Something told him that noise had held the fear and panic at bay.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his words slurring a little. Snape nodded solemnly in response and Harry relaxed a bit more, "M sorry. I shouldn't have run after Ron."

It was important that he show he was aware of his transgressions, which wouldn't mitigate his punishment, but might please his Guardian anyway. Snape quirked an eyebrow at him but didn't launch into a lecture, which was a mercy of sorts. Harry didn't think he could deal with a scolding right now.

"Is everyone alright?" Harry persisted with his questions, needing to know in a vaguely urgent sort of way that felt very confusing. He was tired but now that he'd opened his eyes he knew he wouldn't get any rest until his questions were answered.

"Miss Granger was completely unharmed, and Mr Weasley's leg has healed quite satisfactorily. Mr Black is currently undergoing medical examination at St Mungo's and is not allowed visitors: he has been cleared of all charges in the wake of Mr Pettigrew's trial before the Wizengamot. Mr Pettigrew is incarcerated in Azkaban, in a cell fortified against an Animagus. Mr Lupin is to your left," his Guardian said crisply, that tickling feeling in Harry's mind telling him that the older man was reading his worries and answering them as they popped up, "You have over-extended your magic again, and will be spending most of Summer recuperating."

"I don't remember," Harry mourned, closing his eyes. His Guardian didn't need to see his confusion just now, "I'm sorry."

"Yes," Snape agreed above the darkness, "I know. Your memory will return eventually. Go back to sleep. I will not leave you."

Harry wondered why that last bit had been said, before a small memory popped up of screaming and fear and struggling against adult hands, followed by something that was not so much a tickle as a stab, someone in his mind, understanding him as no one ever had before, then the hands had turned to arms and the vibration of a heartbeat and the fear had slowly trickled away.

The memory didn't make sense to Harry, so he let it go; preferring instead to rest against his Guardian, something telling him that it was alright to do so.

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