Harry barely remained conscious as Snape half-dragged, half-supported him through the winding corridors of the Death Eater stronghold. His limbs felt like lead, his head spinning with exhaustion, pain, and the remnants of Bellatrix's curses. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and something metallic blood, his own, most likely.
He should have been fighting, resisting, demanding answers. But his body had long since given up on struggling. The only thing keeping him upright was Snape's firm grip, though the man was careful not to make it obvious.
"Keep moving, Potter," Snape muttered under his breath.
Harry swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "Why?" His voice cracked. He tried again. "Why are you"
"Silence," Snape snapped.
Harry didn't have the strength to argue.
They emerged into the cold night air, and Harry blinked against the sudden change. He felt the shift in the atmosphere before he registered the tightening of Snape's grip.
They were about to Apparate.
With a sharp crack, the world twisted and yanked at Harry's already battered body. He barely managed to hold back a groan as they landed, his knees buckling. Snape caught him, his grip tightening before roughly shoving him forward.
Harry stumbled, his feet hitting familiar ground.
The Burrow.
Through his hazy vision, he made out the warm glow of the house, its crooked form standing strong against the darkness of the night.
Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, the front door burst open.
"Harry!"
The sound of footsteps, hurried and frantic. The warmth of hands gripping his arms, supporting him as his legs finally gave out.
Molly Weasley's voice, thick with worry. "What have they done to you?"
Harry wanted to respond, to reassure her somehow, but the weight of everything crashed down on him all at once. His vision blurred.
The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was Snape, standing at the edge of the wards, his face unreadable before he turned and vanished into the night.