The first thing that hit him was a godawful stench of blood, stale urine, feces and vomit. He nearly added to the last item himself.

He pulled out his wand and stepped into the living room. The place looked like it had been hit by small tornado. Shredded books were strewn over the threadbare carpet along with the smashed remnants of several pieces of furniture, including one nearly ceiling-high bookshelf that had been pulled down in its entirety.

He took his invisibility cloak back out of his pocket, realizing belatedly that he probably should have pulled it out before he'd ever entered the place.

A strange, animal-like keening noise emanated from a doorway down the hall from the living room.

"I do not think you have suffered nearly enough, Death Eater, but I grow tired."

The woman's voice was rough, suffused more with pain than anger.

"You should have died, not my Anthony. He was an innocent, loving boy. Everyone who knew him loved him, and you let him die! You let your Death Eaters have him! You were the headmaster, you should have protected him! I don't care what lies you told the Ministry, if they will not deliver justice, I will."

Harry crept up to the doorway, his wand raised. A figure stood in the middle of the room, crooked and hunched, staring down at a lumpy mass of dark cloth surrounded by the filth he'd smelled earlier.

A thin, shaking hand raised a pale-colored wand, as if hesitating.

"Avada—"

"Expelliarmus!"

By the time her wand reached his other hand, she was on him, flying at him as though possessed, screeching and clawing at his face, the cloak dislodged and tangled around his feet and tripping him over backwards

She grabbed his wrist, slamming his wand hand into the doorframe, trying to make him lose his grip. He cried out as she bit into his ear, knocking his glasses off and sending them tumbling back out into the hallway. Her fingernails tore at him, trying to gouge at his eyes, just as he managed to get his left hand beneath her and pushed up with his legs, levering the both of them over until he was above her, now holding her down beneath himself.

She began crying, screaming incoherently as tears flowed down into her tangled hair. Having finally wrenched his wand hand free, he aimed at her where she was pinned beneath his weight.

"Stupefy!"

He dragged the woman's dead weight back out into the hallway and placed a binding curse on her as a precaution in case she woke. He retrieved his glasses and cloak before rushing back into the small kitchen.

He covered his mouth and nose with his shirt, trying not to give in to the urge to be sick and approached the unmoving black mass on the floor.

"Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please don't be dead"

He took hold of an edge of fabric between thumb and forefinger, peeling it slowly aside, revealing the side of the man's face. It was blotched and bruised where capillaries had burst, but his eyes twitched beneath tightly closed lids, his lips parted in a pained grimace, revealing crooked teeth. He was curled into a tight ball, soiled clothing tangled around him.

Harry slowly let out a shuddering breath.

"Oh god."

What could he do? He was miles away from the nearest witch or wizard. He took his wand back out and banished the filth on the floor and on his clothes. It was largely unimportant, but he didn't quite know what else to do at the moment.

He placed a hand on the man's hunched shoulder. If anything, Snape merely curled into himself more tightly.

"Please, sir... please, tell me what to do... tell me what you need..."

Harry wiped his face with his sleeve, brushing away sweat and now tears. He felt a sense of hysteria creeping up on him and closed his eyes, pulling in several slow breaths and letting them out through his nose.

Calm down. Do not panic. If you panic, he most certainly will die.

Some bloody great Auror he was going to turn out to be at this rate.

He'd finally screwed up the courage to come find his father and seek some answers, and now he would lose him. Harry knew he had no relationship with the man other than long years of mutual antagonism and his strange, unfaltering protection. Yet he suddenly could not stand the thought of watching him die like this, humiliated and helpless.

There was too much he wanted to know, too much he needed to ask.

Harry rummaged in a cabinet, finding a cup that looked more or less clean, and filled it with water at the sink. Harry set the cup down out of the way but within reach, and sat behind Snape with his back against the door of a lower cabinet.

Harry pulled at him, murmuring encouragement until the man finally slackened somewhat. Harry managed to get his hands under the man's arms and dragged him somewhat upright, leaning Snape's head against his chest and holding him in place with one arm while he reached for the cup. Snape began shivering in his grasp, though whether from cold or pain or some other damage, Harry did not know. His hands and legs still shook as they had done weeks ago at Hogwarts, but that was not surprising.

"Please, just.. for once in your life, don't fight me."

Long minutes passed as he held the cup to the man's cracked lips. Bouts of harder shaking nearly dislodged him from Harry's grasp, but he held on to the larger man, shifting until he could get his arm entirely around the man's broader chest and stretching his legs out on either side of his torso, steadying him when he threatened to slip off to the side.

"Please... just drink it."

The pain and noise and light of the world receded to some distant point as his mind retreated, burrowing deep into itself and floating away.

He could hear a voice, somewhere far away.

...you let him die... ...you should have protected him...

No, no, you have it wrong. He lived, he lived . He was supposed to die, but the Dark Lord had failed, again! The child had triumphed beyond all wisdom and reckoning, released from the horcrux that had held him, and from the prophecy that had bound him.

...if they will not deliver justice, I will...

Something within him uncoiled, laying passive and receptive. He would walk into the arms of Death gladly. He had earned his reward.

The shadow and its burning magic moved away, suddenly, leaving him. A woman's scream. Something heavy shook the floor beneath him. Finally, silence.

He felt a presence standing over him, again, but not the same shadow as before. Its magic was far more familiar, a sense of warmth that surrounded him gently, not the searing heat of earlier.

Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, please don't be dead

Why? He was not afraid of death.

He cried out within his mind as he was pulled back into his body, the shocking pain returning. He could not cry out with his voice, neither could he free himself from the pain again, as he had before.

Hands pulled at him. They were gentle but oh, the pain ... He forced his muscles to yield, as much as he could; the tension in them was nearly pulling his joints apart.

Warmth against his back, and a steady, if somewhat anxious heartbeat. A voice murmured something at him, breath against his face.

Something hard and cold pressed against his bottom lip, but he could not move any further as his entire tortured body rebelled against the control of his slipping mind, refusing to take orders.

The sunlight streaming in through the kitchen window was fading. The man in his arms was slowly, slowly unwinding from his paralysis.

It had taken over a half an hour, but he'd finally manged to tip some of the water into Snape's mouth, all the while praying that he'd swallow it and not choke. He'd refilled the cup with several Aguamenti spells and given as much to Snape as he could manage to get down the man's throat.

He didn't know the first blasted thing about caring for somebody in this sort of condition. He knew there was the threat of something called shock, and that he needed to keep Snape warm, but beyond that?

He needed to go find help, somehow, but that would mean leaving. He was fairly certain the witch he'd stupefied and bound would not rise for at least a day, if not longer, given the fervor he'd put into the spells, but he did not want to risk her breaking free somehow and finishing Snape off while he was gone.

The Weasleys would wonder where he was when he didn't turn up for supper, right? They'd come to find him, wouldn't they? He'd showed Mr and Mrs Weasley the letter from McGonagall yesterday, but did they even know how to get here?

He was scratched and bruised and aching from his fight with the witch and with Snape's weight leaning against his chest, he began to feel like he suffocating. Harry thought he might have bruised a couple of ribs when he'd hit the floor and his wrist and elbow were turning an interesting shade of purple. The hard wood of the cabinet door and awkward position were not doing him any favors, either.

He refilled the cup once more, this time drinking it himself.

SATURDAY, 18 JULY

He was laying on his side on a hard wooden floor. His arms were wrapped around something yielding but heavy. His right hand was completely numb where it was pinned down.

It took a while for full consciousness to return to him, and when it did, it took several long moments for him to take stock of his condition. He ached terribly all over, and he most definitely had bruised some ribs and his head pounded. Thin false-dawn light very faintly illuminated the room.

Finally he remembered where he was, and why. He'd come seeking some sort of accord with the man he'd discovered to be his father. Instead, he'd had to break into Snape's home to disarm a strange witch who had apparently been hell-bent on torturing and then murdering him, apparently blaming him for the death of her son during the battle at Hogwarts.

Accord, indeed . He was halfway wrapped around the tall man, apparently having passed out at some point in the middle of the night and slipping downward under the greater weight of his burden. Snape was still unconscious, or seemed to be, his tremors mild and intermittent now, at least. He could not see the man's face from the awkward angle.

Harry slowly extricated his arm from underneath him, trying not to aggravate any wounds that might be hidden or jostle him too much. Once free, pins-and-needles blossomed over it, taking the place of the weird rubbery feeling of before. He rubbed at it for several long minutes until normal feeling finally returned and stood up, several joints cracking in protest at the night spent on the floor.

He crouched down next to Snape, watching him breath for several minutes until he was sure the man wasn't in immediate danger of perishing. Snape's eyes briefly cracked open and he peered in incomprehension at Harry before shifting slightly. Harry took hold of his shoulder and eased him onto his back, unsure if moving him further was a good idea or not.

Harry drank directly from the kitchen tap in the way that got Ron shouted at back at the Burrow, easing the burning of his dry throat. He thought about trying to get Snape to drink more but the wary expression on the man's face as he watched Harry's movements gave him pause. If Snape reacted badly, if he panicked, Harry didn't know what that might do to his injuries.

Harry withdrew his wand and went into the hallway. The witch lay precisely where he'd left her, at least. He levitated her into the living room, dropping her without much care onto the ripped up upholstery of the ancient and uncomfortable-looking sofa.

Harry paused, a sound of several voices in the street coming in through the front door, which had been left ajar in his haste the day before. He waited, his wand out and ready, in case the witch had friends who had come after her.

"Not exactly a posh neighborhood, is it, Ron?"

"Hush, George, just because it's early doesn't mean there isn't anyone about!"

"Just a bunch of Muggles, though, eh, mum?"

Mr Weasley shot the elder son a warning look, and another at Ron just in case.

"This is their home, boys. How would you like it someone said that about the Burrow?"

George snorted. "Well, you know I love the Burrow, but they'd sort of be right?"

Mrs Weasley shook her head at her son as she followed Professor McGonagall down the road.

"It's the last one on the row, I think," she told them.

Ron rushed to catch up to his former Transfiguration professor.

"You don't really think Snape's killed Harry, do you?"

"I rather doubt it, but obviously something has gone awry; if nothing else he might have some idea where Harry's gotten to."

"You don't really think Snape's killed Harry, do you?"

"I rather doubt it, but obviously something has gone awry; if nothing else he might have some idea where Harry's gotten to."

Harry nearly wept with relief. They'd found him. He drew in several shuddering breaths and rushed into the cramped foyer to be greeted with the surprised faces of his friends

"Harry!"

Ron rushed ahead, but he paused as he took in Harry's disheveled state.

"Oy, you look terrible."

He turned back toward the crowd behind him, laughing.

"Never mind, I think Harry's killed Snape instead!"

Harry grabbed Ron by the front of his shirt and dragged him over the threshold and into the house. Professor McGonagall and the rest of the Weasleys followed.

"I didn't kill him, but somebody else nearly did."

He pointed briefly at the prone figure on the torn sofa in the wrecked living room but did not pause. He rushed down the hallway back to the kitchen, coming to kneel beside Snape, who was still peering silently at the room through swollen eyelids, his breathing somewhat labored now. Harry grasped his robe at his shoulder, leaning over him as though he could make him stay alive through sheer will alone.

The rest of them crowded in after him.

"Merlin, Harry! What happened?"

He heard Professor McGonagall turning back to say something to Mr. Weasley out in the hallway.

It seemed like hours later when he finally heard the tell-tale pop of apparation. He recognized the voice of an Auror named Proudfoot, who had spoken to him to get several statements about the battle, and about Snape, not long after the defeat of Voldemort at Hogwarts. Two more pops and footsteps.

Someone came up behind him where he sat cross-legged on the floor next his father, now covered with a blanket with a heating charm and with a pillow that Mrs Weasley had found somewhere underneath his head. He was still in some sort of troubling state that was neither waking nor sleeping.

Harry recognized the insignia of St. Mungos on the witch's robes. She smiled at him in a way she probably thought was comforting and then turned her attention Snape. Harry stood stiffly and moved away to give her room to work.

He spied a black object barely visible in the gap underneath the cabinet and bent to pick it up. It was Snape's wand. He turned it over in his hands, examining the carving of the handle and dark stained wood. It had an odd feel to it, as though it were appraising him while he appraised it. He got the sense that if he tried to cast with it, it may or may not be in the mood to cooperate with him, but there was a certain... sympathetic energy to it, for lack of a better term. Perhaps it recognized him, somehow.

He never really had understood how wands worked, exactly, or at least how they chose their owners, although Ollivander had attempted to explain. He thought of the elder wand, laying where he had returned it to Dumbledore's crypt on the grounds at Hogwarts. He did not regret relinquishing it but wondered if it felt the same, if "feel" was even a word that could apply. He put Snape's wand in his pocket for safekeeping. If nothing else, it would force him to speak to the man later to return it.

The healer's wand moved over Snape as she cast several diagnostic spells, one after the other with barely a pause in between. Professor McGonagall and Mrs Weasley appeared at the door from the hallway and Harry could see Ron standing close behind them.

"Cruciatus, repeatedly, although not in great duration at each occurrence. An inexperienced caster, probably. Cracked ribs, likely from a weakly cast bone-breaking curse. Blunt trauma from physical blows. Dehydration. Shock, although milder than I would have expected..."

She glanced at Harry as if studying him for a moment, then turned back to Snape, casting one more spell. She paused, mildly confused. "He also seems to be suffering from extensive nerve damage in his limbs, although I cannot ascertain the exact cause."

McGonagall spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that did not match her worried expression. "Envenomation by a rather unusual snake kept by Voldemort. His hands shake badly and have done for weeks, although Smethwyck had sent regular nerve-strengthening potions over for him for a time, which seemed to be improving the matter. I do not know if he continued to take it after he left Hogwarts, but I suspect not. That is the only reason that horrible woman was able to get the better of him in the first place, I can assure you that."

"Hm, I had heard about an experimental case involving cursed venom that was all the talk in the creature-induced injuries ward a few weeks ago, although I did not know this was the same man. Tough luck..."

The healer turned back to her patient, pulling a potion bottle out of her robes and spelling its contents directly into Snape's stomach.

I really ought to learn that trick , Harry thought. The healer called after Proudfoot. The crowd at the door parted to let him pass.

"Well?"

"She had only the one wand that Harry took off her when he disarmed her, although we will need to hold off on trying Prior Incantato until we get back to the Ministry, since the results will need to be documented. Savage has already taken her into custody."

The Auror looked down at Snape, shaking his head. "You really just can't catch a break, can you, Severus?"

He stood back as the healer conjured a stretcher. "Has anybody checked to see if there is a hearth connected to the floo network?"

McGonagall answered. "There's one in a bedroom upstairs, although I think you will only be able to leave through it. He has it warded to allow no one in but himself."

The healer nodded at her. "That will suffice. I would not want to make an attempt at apparition with him in this state. He's in for a stay in the spell damage ward back at the hospital, I'm afraid. Although I might drop in on Smethwyck later to see if he has any insight on how this current round of damage might interact with the preexisting issue."

Harry followed the healer as she levitated Snape through the house, pushing his way past the Weasleys with an apologetic look. The healer seemed to notice him as she came into the bedroom upstairs with the floo.

"Mr Potter, is there something you need? I really do need to get him back to St. Mungos right away, if you don't mind."

"Good. I'm coming with you."