Author Note: So, Alan Rickman's death really hit me hard. In response, I was struck with a craving for a mentor/father-figure Snape and Harry relationship with a drarry twist. So I indulged. Hope you guys enjoy!

Prologue

Harry had been at home for a week and was already bored out of his mind. The Hogwarts Express had dutifully dropped them off at the end of their sixth year and Harry, unsurprised to see that his relatives were nowhere to be found, had prepared himself to catch a taxi. Arthur Weasley, although excited at the prospect of muggle travel, had decided to Apparate them both instead, knowing it was safer. Ever since, the Dursleys had been in a right snit over the appearance of their nephew on the doorstep, angry at the use of magic so close to their homestead. Harry didn't have the inner strength to point out that if they had been there to pick him up in the first place, there would have been no need to use magic.

So Harry had returned to his room, hiding himself away as he counted down the days until he could at least escape and go stay with the Weasleys. If Dumbledore continued to make good on his previous promises, Harry only had another four weeks until he could get the hell out of Private Drive.

The door to his room suddenly shuddered as his uncle hammered against it with his fist.

"Boy!" he roared. "We are expecting guests any moment now. You are not to leave your room. Do you understand me?"

The brunet smothered a sigh. "Yes."

"So help me if I find you out of it!" Vernon threatened.

The usual beating then…? Harry thought tiredly, staring up at the ceiling. He listened to the heavy thumps as his uncle stomped away. Harry could only imagine the type of snobs his relatives were about to have over—he'd rather remain up in his room anyway.

Glancing over at Hedwig's empty cage, Harry wondered if she'd reached Ron yet. He had decided that he was old enough to ignore his uncle's orders now; if Harry wanted to write to his best friend he damn well would. Since it was the only thing that usually kept Harry sane, he thought it was only fitting to make sure he didn't lose his mind for the duration of the holidays. The only downside to corresponding with his friends was the waiting period. Ever since Hedwig had first taken flight Harry had collapsed onto his bed, waiting patiently for her to return. There was little else for him to do whilst he was here. As usual, anything magically related was locked securely away, save for his wand. Harry had made sure to keep that particular item on him, regardless if he was still too young to perform magic outside of Hogwarts.

Only a few more weeks until I'm seventeen… Harry thought with a small sliver of satisfaction.

Swiping a hand over his face, the brunet allowed himself to fall into a stupor. He couldn't go downstairs, there was nothing he could do in his room… perhaps it was time for a nap.

With that thought echoing in his head, Harry allowed his eyes to close, body relaxing into the stiff mattress below him.

A few blissful minutes passed in silence and Harry could feel himself beginning to doze. Below, he thought he heard the doorbell ring, which would explain the voices he heard drifting up the staircase. He could feel himself drifting into dreams… when all hell suddenly broke loose.

The explosion that rocked the house was nothing short of spectacular.

One moment Harry was lying peacefully on his bed. The next he had been thrown across the room from the sheer force, slamming into his wardrobe with a grunt, pain immediately sheering down his side as he landed on the wooden floorboards.

Harry stared around blindly. What the bloody fuck…?

His wand snapped automatically into his hand as he got to his feet. Dust was settling around him, screams and yells echoing in his ears. He spun around, eyes scanning the room for any sign of an immediate threat. There was a great gaping hole in the side of the house and Harry was able to see into the garden where a section of his bedroom wall was completely missing.

This what not good.

Harry's immediately thought was Voldemort, that the ever-determined Dark Lord had finally run out of patience and had come after Harry himself. But that was ludicrous. The Dursleys, as much as Harry detested them, were his protection. Voldemort couldn't enter the blood wards…?

A dark shadow entered Harry's line of sight, filling the frame of his blown-apart door.

"Impedimenta!" he yelled, a bright beam of red light erupting from his wand tip.

The shadow was knocked instantly backwards. Harry hadn't been able to tell if it was a Death Eater or not but he was not taking any chances. He turned around on the spot, eyes scanning the still hazy air as the dust slowly began to settle.

Was the Order here? Harry thought, eyes falling to the garden through the jagged hole in his wall. He could hear what he thought were exchanged curses and shouts but there were no voices he distinctly recognised. Turning once more, Harry analysed the immobile form of the unknown Death Eater he had knocked out. With a quick flick of his wrist and an incarcerous, Harry bound the figure on the floor and carefully stepped over it. He swept his stare up and down the hallway, checking for threats before moving cautiously towards the stairs, wand held out before him.

Before he could reach the landing, the entire house suddenly shuddered, and Harry was knocked sideways into the wall. His hand tightening reflexively around his wand even as he winced, his shoulder throbbing slightly from the impact.

What the hell was going on out there…?

More shouts could be heard. Harry thought he recognised some of them—shit! Was that Remus?!

"Diffindo!"

Harry spun and blocked the curse with reflexes he'd forgotten he'd had. He sent a reciprocated curse, trading spells with the enemy until the dark figure fell with a heavy thud to the carpet. Harry's breaths were coming out in hurried pants, the adrenaline from the duel flooding through his veins. Everything seemed so much louder all of a sudden. He could definitely hear voices he knew now; their shouts and orders echoed up the staircase, sending waves of relief to course through him.

Get downstairs you idiot… Harry's mind kicked into gear and he spun around. He was moving determinedly towards the stairs when the familiar crack of Apparation reverberated down the corridor, halting him in his tracks. Immediately, Harry instinctively knew who it was, even before the eerily familiar voice hissed venomously, and he turned, wide green eyes meeting with vicious red. The power of the curse Voldemort shot at him caused Harry's skin to itch in warning, and he moved, trying desperately to not make contact with the sickly purple light. All air left his lungs in a brutal gasp as the curse hit his right arm, his wand instantly dropping from his hand.

The pain was like nothing Harry had ever experience before. The bones in his arm instantly shattered, his entire limb vibrating from the intense heat that engulfed it. He could barely keep his eyes open as his knees buckled, the agony causing his limbs to go flaccid. He hit the ground unceremoniously, clutching his injured arm to his chest, and struggling to draw in shaking breaths through clenched teeth. He no longer heard the battle around him. All he could do now was wait, knowing that Voldemort was close, ready to cast the final curse.

Forcing his eyes open, Harry managed to catch sight of a familiar silhouette standing over him protectively. As the familiar dark tongues of shadows flickered in the corner of his vision, a final thought crossed his mind.

Holy shit… I'm about to die…

Then everything went black.