A/N: Took a while to find the direction for this segment, but I figured it out eventually. That's why there was a wait. Bear with me here, and thanks for reading!

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Chapter 8: Eight Miles

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It was funny how his priorities changed so abruptly in response to the situations of others.

Rather, other, since it only seemed that things changed this rapidly when a certain single entity was involved.

The most ironic part was that the boy didn't even realize the effects he had on those around him. And probably, Snape had to honestly assume, the boy would rather not be involved in any of these situations at all.

In this case, he didn't need to ask the boy if he'd rather not be involved. The answer was obvious…no one would currently want to be in his place.

Which was, unsurprisingly, in Hogwart's hospital wing.

When he'd discovered the history of abuse, when he'd followed up on it, he'd become interested in fixing the matter. In somehow solving it, proving that he could overcome his own prejudices and the boy's stubborn nature.

Certainly, time had been an issue in the back of his mind…that he couldn't let this fester, or, worse, peter out until it became useless to pursue. But he hadn't thought time was the most critical element.

And now, the past twenty-four hours had changed that all completely.

Because twenty-four hours ago, Potter had been abducted from off of Hogwarts grounds.

And twenty-three and a quarter hours ago, the boy had been recovered from inside the Forbidden Forest, at the toll of three Aurors, one of which was an Order member, and nine Death Eaters.

None of the Death Eaters had been anyone especially important, disappointingly, nor anyone particularly clever or useful.

But still they managed to make it eight miles into the Forbidden Forest.

Less than two miles from the apparation border. Two miles from getting back to their master.

According to what he'd last heard, Potter was recovered mostly from pure dumb luck… his captors had decided that they wanted a little time exacting revenge on the boy, and only because of that delay had missed escaping from Hogwart's protective wards.

They'd played with the teen instead, petty revenge on their minds. Cruciatus, mostly, but he didn't know details. All he knew was that Pomfrey had practically barricaded off the infirmary, unwilling to let anyone in while she worked.

And so Snape guarded the entrance hall, as he'd been ordered by Albus, and contemplated his new priorities.

Suddenly, he was seeing things from Potter's perspective—where the abuse did not matter, the neglect was unimportant, and the only thing that did matter was destroying the Dark Lord. Because Voldemort could do this to the boy.

Not even Voldemort, really. If the Dark Lord had had Potter in his clutches, they would never have recovered him. The boy would have already been dead, a mess of blood and flesh and violence left behind for them to pick up.

From experience, Snape knew that the Dark Lord's lackeys weren't as…efficient…as their master tended to be when fully angered. The Death Eaters wanted a little 'fun,' and they were not as powerful as the monster they served.

Meaning they could be dealt with, but that they could also cause harm.

Just Death Eaters alone could be enough to kill the boy, provided they had sufficient numbers. How in Merlin's name did he stand a chance against the Dark Lord?

It was irritating, really, to know that Potter had been right…again…in suggesting that he was safe only most of the time…that no matter how great Hogwarts was, he was still vulnerable.

He recalled his last conversation with Potter, a day after the pensieve incident, as he sat against the stone wall, arms folded and wand held lightly in his right hand. Potter had been apologetic, nauseatingly so, and Snape had snapped at the teen to stop saying he was sorry and start admitting that he needed help.

Potter had snarled back at him that he didn't need any help, and Snape had left it at that.

So it hadn't really been a conversation, Snape admitted to himself. More of a one-minute argument. But he hadn't felt the need to press the point at that very moment, though now he realized he probably should have.

Sighing, he shifted his position leaning against the main doors, wand held lightly in his fingers, and gazed up the quiet staircase, silently cursing the boy and Voldemort and happenstance all in one breath.

The students had been sent to their dormitories, prefects in charge of keeping everyone there while the school was searched and any breaches mended, and the professors were scattered about, scanning every inch of the supposedly impenetrable castle.

Apparently, Potter had been abducted from within the school. His friends had not been with him at the time…if they had, they probably would be dead…and no one had seen him for about half an hour. He was discovered missing when he didn't show up for Transfiguration, luckily, and from what garbled words he'd managed to tell his rescuers, he had been in the school, like he was supposed to be, when he'd been taken.

A frightening thought, really, Snape mused. Someone must have plotted long and hard to devise a way to get the teen out of the school, which had anti-just-about-everything wards layered on it ten times over.

But that didn't mean there weren't holes in the defenses, holes that were liquid and difficult to catch. Holes that Potter was, apparently, slipped through.

"He's asking for you."

Snape startled slightly, forcing himself to pretend calm disinterest as he turned to face Kingsley Shacklebolt, who looked worn and battered. "Indeed?" Snape asked, gazing up the staircase again.

The auror nodded slowly, sighing. "He's still a bit of a mess, but he's insistent that he has something to tell you."

"It is that urgent?"

"He promised Pomfrey he'd take a sleeping potion if he got to talk to you," Shacklebolt explained, shrugging. "So I suppose it's more urgent you get there before Pomfrey drags you in there, more than anything else."

"Hm," Snape mused, then strode towards the stairs. What could the boy possibly have to say to him?

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The auror hadn't lied when he'd said Potter was still a mess, though the boy was clearly on the mend. The blood staining the white of his left eye suggested blood vessels had ruptured under pressure…probably while he was under Cruciatus…and his face and exposed torso were a mass of bruises. His right arm was wrapped almost entirely in bandages, only the tips of his fingers protruding from the wraps.

What was most telling, though, was the row of potions by Potter's beside. Skele-gro, blood replenisher, a pain killer, three potions known to combat the effects of several nasty curses, Cruciatus included, and, at the end, a sleeping potion.

Potter noticed his scrutiny and let him do so in silence, eyes on the ceiling above his head.

"Done yet?" the boy finally asked, sounding vaguely out of it.

Snape stared. "What did they do to your arm?" he asked.

"Broke it when I said no," Potter said tiredly, and Snape could tell now that the boy was instants from passing out on his own. "Anything else?"

"You wished to speak with me?" Snape reminded mildly. Potter hesitated, looking confused, and Snape spoke again. "Pomfrey says you've been insisting on it."

Potter rubbed at his face with his left hand a moment, eyes squinted in thought, and then he nodded wearily.

"Yeah, yeah," he said slowly. "I think they know…about you…they said something about a drawing…no…drawing you…yeah, drawing you out…"

Snape stiffened. "Are you certain?"

Potter seemed to ponder this a moment. "Certain…I'm certain if you go back, they'll kill you…Malfoy was chatting with someone…you know, I spit right in his face…" Potter smiled weakly, eyes unfocused and expression dazed. "Talked about you…they didn't know I was going to get away...you…you're supposed to kill me."

Snape folded his arms on his chest. He had indeed been given strict orders by Voldemort to kill the boy if he ever landed himself in the infirmary again…just a little bit of the wrong potion, an 'accident.'

Of course, he hadn't been told that Potter was going to be purposely put in the infirmary. Clearly, he wasn't fully trusted.

"When were they talking about this?" he pressed.

Potter was silent several moments, eyes distant, as he tried to recall everything. At least, that was what Snape told himself the boy was doing.

He didn't want to ponder the possibility that Potter was silent because he was attempting to gather his scattered mind back together. "It was damp…there was blood making mud…" Potter said, voice light and emotionless. He sounded as if he were confused. "I think I was lying on my back, but maybe I was on my stomach…I was hungry, too, you know…"

"When?" Snape pressed again. Potter started, then shook his head slowly, focusing.

"I was on the ground…Avery was nearest…Goyle asked Malfoy why you weren't there…he broke my hand, you know, Avery did…and Malfoy said you had your own part to play in all this, but he was sure you'd be colorful…no…show some color…er…"

The boy stopped a moment, eyes squinted as he tried to recall the blur of the fifteen minutes he'd been held captive, unbandaged left hand unconsciously scratching at the bandages on his right.

The boy sighed heavily. "…and then Malfoy saw I was listening, and he kicked me in the face…he had black leather boots…it gets kind of blurry after that."

Potter looked away again, face shadowed with memory. His left hand dropped back to his side, and his every breath seemed to draw more energy out of him.

"Avery is among the dead," Snape felt compelled to point out.

"So is the other, with the brown eyes," Potter said, voice low. "I killed them."

Snape hadn't known that.

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"Fifteen minutes," Pomfrey said tersely. "Fifteen minutes' worth of that horrid spell." She shook her head and continued to fold linens by hand, movements abrupt and jerky.

"Not all at once, surely," Snape commented eyebrows raised. The woman shook her head.

"Great Merlin, no," she agreed. "The Longbottoms broke after about ten minutes of continual exposure…a minute is more than enough to fully incapacitate most."

"Will he recover?" Snape asked.

"Will he be the same?" the woman asked in return. "I doubt it. He was never your typical teen to begin with."

"Physically?" Snape pressed.

The nurse shrugged, using her wand to move the stack of sheets to a cupboard across the small storage room. "Maybe," she admitted finally, sitting down on a chair in one corner. "The hand…he says they broke it when he wouldn't give up his wand…broke the hand in ten places, at least…shattered his wrist…"

She shook her head. "It will heal, with time, but I'm worried about those fifteen minutes."

"Did he seem greatly impaired?" Snape asked, knowing Potter had been when they'd spoken. If that was an improvement, he was concerned.

Pomfrey actually glared at him. "What do you think?" she asked, much harsher than he'd ever heard her speak before. "He was in and out of consciousness at first, and as soon as he was coherent enough to speak, all he would insist upon was talking to you. I got the gist of what happened out of him in between random comments on his friends, house, and favorite foods."

She rubbed at her face tiredly. "Once the pain was alleviated, he seemed to calm down somewhat and regain his bearings, to the point of how he was when you spoke with him, but we won't know anything until morning. Muscle spasms and chronic pain are certainly the least of his worries."

"Hm," Snape said quietly, mulling this all over in his head. He knew Potter was resilient…he'd been placed under the Cruciatus more times than most fully grown wizards...but fifteen minutes worth in an evening was alarming. And it didn't seem likely that any reprieves Potter had gotten had been conducive to maintaining his sanity.

Of course, he'd never considered the teen sane anyway, so perhaps it wouldn't matter if Potter was a little more crazy. All he could do is wait and see.

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A/N: Well, here we go again. Took me a while to decide what to do in this chapter, but I just wanted it to be clear that this isn't just Harry-Snape bonding time. Things are going to happen. Plus, I like writing about stuff other than people talking and arguing with each other.

COMING SOON (as in, before xmas, hopefully?):

Chapter 9: Nine Lives