"When we walk to the edge of all the light we have and take the step into the darkness of the unknown, we must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for us to stand on or we will be taught to fly."
--Patrick Overton

~*~*~*~

Harry could have sworn he'd felt someone holding him the night before, interrupting his nightmare and making it go away. It wasn't possible, though. He could not remember anyone, except Ron, ever holding him after bad dreams. His best friend was probably at the Burrow by now, so he must have dreamed the whole thing.

Harry rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes, climbed out of bed, and headed towards the loo. It didn't take long for him to wash up and get ready for the day. Heading back to his room, he grabbed some clothes and pulled them on, not bothering with the button or zip on the too-large jeans. Quickly, he cinched the belt through the holes he'd had to make for it to work, shoved his feet into his shoes, and cautiously left the room.

Harry's first thought at seeing Professor Snape sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea was that he didn't know what to call him.

Professor Snape gestured towards one of the chairs. "Sit down and eat something," he directed.

Without a word, Harry obeyed. He figured it would be best to operate under Dursley-rules until further notice. That was, stay out of sight, keep quiet, don't eat much, and do exactly as he was told. He couldn't really trust Snape, after all. He'd learnt better a long time ago than to put his trust in adults.

"What will my chores be, sir?" he asked. He had to know-despite all the times the Dursleys had twitted him about living on their charity, he hadn't. He'd damned well earned his keep since before he'd stopped wearing nappies. He didn't see any reason why that would have changed at all.

"Chores?" Professor Snape raised an eyebrow.

He knew better than to depend on other people for much of anything. Usually, they let you down. Without looking up, Harry cautiously took one fried egg and a bit of toast and put it on the plate in front of him. "I've always done chores, sir," he said. "I've never taken charity and I never will!"

"I see," Professor Snape said.

Harry went on, ignoring his guardian. If he'd managed his finances right, he'd never have to depend on anyone to survive. That fact was one of the few things he could be proud of. He could take care of himself, and he didn't need anybody! "I've been really careful," he said. "I've enough in my vault to do me through Hogwarts with a bit left over to see me through until I find a job." He picked at the egg, not really eating much of it.

Snape cleared his throat. "I think a trip to Gringotts should be in order," he said. "Black most likely would have seen to it..."

"That is, if I survive that long," Harry muttered.

The last remark caught Professor Snape's attention. His head snapped up and he glared at Harry. "Look at me, child," he commanded. When Harry didn't obey, he felt a hand under his chin that forced him to look at his guardian. "You will survive this war," he said. "I will not allow anything else!"

Harry snorted. "Of course I will," he said, sounding bitter, even to his own ears. "Aside from Quidditch, Professor, survival is my only true talent; I'm like a cockroach, I'd survive even a nuclear holocaust!"

He saw the muscles working in the professor's jaw as the man clenched his teeth. "Despite what the Muggles told you, Harry, you don't have to earn your keep here." Professor Snape let go of Harry's chin. "You're my ward and my responsibility; not a burden." Professor Snape stopped abruptly. "Now, if you're finished with breakfast, we have an appointment for a checkup at St. Mungo's."

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure if he could trust what the man had said, but he didn't have much of a choice but to pretend to go along with it. It wasn't like running away was an option-he'd pretty much figured out the futility of that course of action when he was five. Sure, he'd run away before third year, but that was different. Despite what his relatives had always told him, he was far from stupid. Running away was only an option if you had someplace to run to. While he did, it would only put them in danger. Harry refused to do that. He crammed the last of his toast in his mouth and stood up.

Snape gave him a cursory glance and half-nodded, as if confirming something in his own mind. "You will eat more at lunch," he ordered.

Harry looked at him in complete and total shock. He didn't know what to think, at all. "Sir?" he ventured.

Snape glanced at him as he pulled his cloak from a hook near the door. "You'll not starve here, Harry. You're much too thin as it is." He walked over to the fireplace and picked up a jar. "We're going to St. Mungo's." He held out the jar.

Harry scooped up a handful of the powder and threw it into the fire. "St. Mungo's," he shouted, and stepped into the flames. He tucked his arms close to his body as he traveled dizzyingly through the network. He stumbled out of the fireplace, barely managing to avoid falling. Professor Snape stepped out half a second later.

Professor Snape pulled out his wand and muttered a few cleaning charms over both of them before he headed to the admittance desk, motioning for Harry to follow him. Reminding himself that he had to abide by Dursley-rules, Harry obeyed.

He didn't trust Professor Snape. At all. Well, he'd take that back. He trusted him about as much as he trusted other adults, but that wasn't much. Adults just couldn't be trusted to act in his, Harry's, best interests. Harry figured that it was only two months, after all. He could survive that long; especially if the Professor kept his word. It couldn't be worse than the Dursleys.

Harry had meant what he'd said to the Professor; he was good at survival. Without a word, he followed the man from the admittance desk down a hallway. Doors lined it, with signs indicating what lay behind each. After a few minutes, the Professor opened a door marked "pediatrics" and steered him inside before following. Once inside, they walked down another corridor before entering a waiting room.

It seemed forever from the time Professor Snape signed them in until they made it into an exam room. Harry was handed a loose, thin, cotton robe and told to change. After changing, he was told to sit on a padded table. He shivered slightly while they were waiting for the Healer to show up. Sitting on the table, Harry felt very exposed and very, very vulnerable. It wasn't a feeling he liked.

The rest of the time passed very slowly as he was poked, prodded, and scanned all over. After the first few minutes, Harry mostly stopped paying attention in favor of daydreaming about flying and Quidditch. In his head, he was catching the snitch during a match with Slytherin at the bottom of a seventy-foot dive soon after completing a Wronski Feat that drove Malfoy into the ground. It was much better than listening to the Healer, although part of him watched every move that both Snape and the stranger made.

After a while, he was sent behind a screen to change while Professor Snape and the Healer, whose name Harry hadn't learned, talked. As he pulled his Dudley hand-me-down t-shirt over his head, he caught bits and pieces of their conversation, like "malnutrition," "improperly healed bones," "evidence of rickets in early childhood," "stunted growth," and more worrisome in Harry's mind, "self-inflicted blocks on his magic."

Harry finished dressing and left the safety of the curtained-off area with trepidation. From the little he'd heard, it couldn't be good at all. As he watched, the Healer handed Professor Snape a piece of parchment. Harry couldn't see what was written on it, but he could guess. All the time he'd spent in Hospital Wing made that fairly easy; it was most likely a list of nasty potions he'd have to take.

"Mr. Potter." The Healer's voice snapped him out of his reverie as he walked across the room to stand near the professor.

"Yes, sir?" he answered quietly.

"Did your relatives ever take you to get vaccinations?" the man asked.

Harry frowned. He vaguely remembered hearing that such things were necessary to attend private schools, but couldn't remember Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon ever troubling themselves with it. Oh, they'd taken Dudley, but not him. Secretly, he thought that they'd rather hoped he'd catch something that would rid him of his magic, thus making him marginally more acceptable in their eyes. "No," he answered. "I don't think they ever did."

"He would have had to have at least the Muggle vaccinations," Professor Snape said. "From what I understand, they are absolutely required to attend school."

The Healer nodded absently. "That leaves the magical ones," he said. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, were you brought here after you received your Hogwarts letter?"

Harry shook his head. "No, sir," he said.

The healer gave Professor Snape a questioning look. The man sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if attempting to forestall a headache. "I remember Lily complaining how hard vaccinations were for her to watch when he was an infant," he said finally. "Hogwarts records rightly list him as wizard-born..."

The healer nodded. "Slipped through the cracks," he muttered. The man wrote something down, then spoke again. "Come back next week; we can begin a series of vaccinations, and start treatment for the bones. In the meantime--"

"Potions," Harry said, pulling a face.

"Yes," the Healer said. "You can either have the prescription filled or--"

"I will brew them," Professor Snape said. "I would not trust the task to anyone else."

In a way, Harry found that fact comforting; he was pretty sure that Snape made the potions for the Hospital Wing, and he hadn't been poisoned yet. Perhaps, though, the reason for that was that there was no way to make sure that he, Harry would end up with a poisoned potion. Then again, there was the Unbreakable Vow that Professor Snape had made to his mum. After all, it was that bloody vow that had made the man take him.

Harry held no illusions about himself. He'd been unwanted and unwelcome since he was fifteen months old. The Dursleys had never wanted him around and he'd bet his vault that Professor Snape felt the same way. The man had practically admitted it, after all, with that little speech about Harry being Snape's responsibility. In Harry's experience, things connected with the words responsibility and duty were rarely pleasant.

Sirius. The simple fact that his godfather had wanted to adopt him, and had even prepared the paperwork proved to him that he had been more than a duty to someone. Merlin! He missed Sirius. He wanted his godfather back with the bone-deep ache that had previously been reserved only for his parents. It wasn't possible, but he wanted it. It was the same longing that was reserved for things that he could never have.

Harry didn't ask for things he knew he wouldn't get, which encompassed anything and everything. He had dreamed of a family that wanted him when he was little. He'd dreamed of a mother and father that loved him, and gave him all the kisses and cuddles and hugs that he'd seen other children getting. Part of him had known it would never happen, but that didn't stop him from wanting.

The Dursleys had rarely touched him. Sometimes he'd provoked them on purpose because their predictable reaction was to hit him. While he hadn't liked being hurt, at least they touched him them; they noticed him then. It had worked for a while, at least until smacks turned into beatings. He'd stopped provoking them after that; it hadn't been worth it anymore. But still-he wanted to be touched just as much as he almost feared it.

He was abruptly jerked back to reality by Professor Snape calling his name. "Come, child," he said, not unkindly. "We need to run a few errands in Diagon Alley."

Harry nodded and followed his guardian back to the public Floo. With a handful of powder, a shout, and green flames, they Floo'ed to the Leaky Cauldron.

~*~*~*~

Harry repressed a sigh. He was bored. The tape measure whipped around him, measuring almost every conceivable part of his body. Professor Snape leaned against the wall, watching with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "He needs a basic wardrobe, including Muggle attire, Madame Malkin," he said. "Please be sure to put some grow-with-me charms on the clothing. I expect you shall see us again before summer's end when he outgrows the charms and the clothes."

Madam Malkin nodded. "I'll see to it," she said.

Harry flushed a little. Aside from his school clothes, and the jumpers that Mrs. Weasley knitted for him, he'd never owned anything new that fit him. He'd kept wearing Dudley's castoffs, partially because the Dursleys would wonder where he got the money to replace them, and also because he'd been trying to be careful with how he spent the money in his vault. He'd figured that he could deal with Dudley's hand-me-downs until he was shut of them for good.

Madam Malkin hauled out bolts of cloth, holding them up to his skin. His guardian approved a few, but sent most back. "Green would look well on him," Professor Snape murmured.

The stitch witch nodded and sent an assistant off for more fabric. Harry repressed another sigh. They'd stopped at Gringotts first, where his guardian had demanded a full accounting of the Potter holdings, to be forwarded to Hogwarts. When asked why, his guardian had replied that it was past time that he, Harry, learn how his money was being managed. According to the Professor, he needed to know for when he came into his full inheritance; it made no sense to leave him ignorant of such things.

Finally, the measuring tape stopped and it seemed like Professor Snape had finished. "That will do," he said, pulling out a money bag. He counted out coins and handed them to Madam Malkin. "Have them sent to me at Hogwarts."

"Yes, Professor," she murmured.

Without a word, Harry stepped off the platform and followed his guardian outside. "The Magical Menagerie next, I think," Professor Snape said. "I need to buy some owl treats for my eagle-owl, Murgatroyd."

"I need some for Hedwig, too," Harry said, thankful he'd thought to grab the galleons he had leftover from Hogsmeade trips.

The Professor nodded sharply. "Stay close," he said quietly. "Most of Riddle's inner circle was arrested-I don't know how far he's come along in recruiting replacements."

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly.

"We'll make a trip to the cobbler in Hogsmeade for new shoes later," Professor Snape said.

Harry fidgeted nervously with the hem of his worn t-shirt. "Sir?" he ventured finally. "Do you think they'd carry trainers?" He'd pay for them himself; the professor had spent far too much money on him as it was. He frankly didn't know how he'd pay the man back.

Professor Snape stopped and gave him a measured stare. "Then we shall stop at Oxford Street," he said. "I had forgotten trainers, but you do need them. Don't ever hesitate to ask if you need something, Harry."

Harry bit his lip and nodded, silently vowing not to ask. All the things that the Professor had been buying him felt too close to charity for comfort; he'd rarely had anything just given to him. His guardian started walking towards the Magical Menagerie again, so he followed.

Professor Snape moved closer to him suddenly, and he was unable to repress the flinch. He relaxed slightly as the Professor put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right," the man murmured. "That Skeeter woman is hiding over there; I thought you should know. And we have an appointment with an oculist this afternoon to have your eyes checked."

Distracted by the last admission, Harry protested. "But my glasses are fine--"

"When was the last time you had your eyes examined?" Professor Snape questioned.

"I think I was eight," Harry said, after a few minutes of thought.

"It is past time, then," Professor Snape said. "I wish we could simply fix your vision, but unfortunately, it can't be done until after you stop growing."

Belatedly, Harry realized that he'd been warned about Skeeter. "We don't have to worry about Rita Skeeter," he said, keeping his voice quiet enough so that only the professor could hear.

"Why not?"

"Have something on her," he said. "She won't print anything defaming me."

"How very... Slytherin of you, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape drawled.

Harry wasn't sure what to say, but finally settled on, "Why thank you, Professor!" just as they reached the shop. He followed his guardian inside and, ignoring the owl treats, let himself wander a bit. His eyes were drawn to a terrarium containing a brightly-colored snake. "Hello there," he said, once again hearing only English.

"Hey to you, too, little one," the snake said. "I thought that Speakers were nothing but legend; how marvelous to meet one! You are my Master now."

Harry shook his head. "No," he said. "I will not be your master, pretty one, but I would like to be your friend."

The snake hissed its pleasure at the words. "Why, aren't you the perfect little gentleman?" it inquired. "I have chosen well. You will take me with you and feed me lovely treats, and stroke my scales and let me sleep with you where it is lovely and warm, just like the Georgia summers."

"I, um--"

"And who is that fella with you?" it inquired. "He has a face like he ate a green persimmon, bless his heart. And what is your name, little one?"

Harry cleared his throat. "My name is Harry," he said. "And he's my guardian." The word came out sounding more like ‘father' than anything else.

The snake nodded. "Ah, so you are his hatchling. My name is Sarah Sue Rae."

"Not exactly." Harry shifted from foot to foot. "You are beautiful," he whispered. "But I don't know if he'll let me take you with me, and I don't want to ask."

Sarah Sue Rae writhed a bit in her tank. "You don't need to ask, honey," she said. "I am gorgeous. He will not be able to leave me behind!"

Harry almost jumped as a familiar hand landed on his shoulder. "What have you found?" the man asked.

Harry nodded towards the snake. "She says I'm to take her with me, sir," he said.

Professor Snape's lips quirked up a bit. "It seems natural that a Parselmouth should have a snake familiar," he mused. "It doesn't hurt that it's a pretty little snake. From her color pattern, I would say that she's quite deadly."

"Deadly, sir?" Harry questioned. Part of him loved the idea of having a poisonous snake for a pet, but he wasn't sure he wanted anyone hurt by it.

"Oh, yes," Snape said. "She's a magical coral snake-even treated, her bites can prove fatal." The potions master paused for a minute, as if thinking. "Her venom is also useful in some rather rare potions-it's a bit hard to acquire, but as a neurotoxin, it's priceless."

"I told you, little one, that he would admire me," she said. "He will let me come with you, and I shall protect you from your enemies. I will bite those who threaten you. If they are unlucky, they will survive. You are mine now, and no one will take you from me."

"What did she say?" Professor Snape asked curiously.

"She says, ‘I told you so,' she'll bite my enemies for me, and that I'm hers now," Harry replied.

The was a slight pause. "It would be well for you to have a hidden sting," Snape said slowly. "With the loss of most of his inner circle, Riddle might convince some of my Slytherins to bring you to him next year."

Harry nodded. "Perhaps he will let me take you with me," he told the snake.

Professor Snape nodded sharply, as if deciding something in his own mind. "You may have her," he said finally. "Please make sure that she does not bite anyone if possible-I would hate to explain it to the Headmaster if anything went awry."

Harry was gobsmacked, to put it mildly. He sort of understood the clothes-the professor couldn't have his ward embarrassing him by going around in rags, now could he? Like everything else, the Dursleys had used clothing as a weapon against him. Unless he wanted to somehow be paid back for the clothing, he didn't think that Snape would do the same. "Sir?" he said, his voice cracking a bit.

Professor Snape smirked. "Pick her up," he said, "she's yours."

Harry opened the top of the terrarium and lowered his hand inside. He ignored the shout of alarm from a clerk as Sarah Sue Rae carefully slithered up and around his arm, under his sleeve. He giggled a little as she found a ticklish spot.

Professor Snape sent him a questioning look.

"She tickled me," he said, by way of explanation.

Before anyone could say anything more, the clerk came over, fussing about how dangerous it had been to pick up Sarah Sue Rae. Professor Snape all but ignored him, instead ordering the man to gather supplies to take care of the snake. Harry grabbed a couple bags of owl treats and took them over to the counter, where supplies for his new pet had been deposited. He reached for his money bag, but was stopped as Professor Snape handed over the galleons to pay for everything. "Thank you, sir," he said.

Professor Snape gave him a brief nod, shrunk the bags, pocketed them, and headed out of the store.

In the meantime, Sarah Sue Rae finished crawling up his arm and poked her head out of his shirt collar. "You taste of mother-love," she informed him. "But it is faint; where is your mother, sweetheart?"

"My parents died when I was a hatchling," he explained.

"Then who is the big man?" she asked. "A not-father?"

Harry hesitated, not knowing how to explain. "He is my mother's friend," he said finally. "He is the one who takes care of me."

"Ah," she said, nodding. "He tastes of strange things. Perhaps that is because he needs to clean his scales."

Harry choked back a laugh as she continued. "You need a mother, honey. I think I shall claim you as mine. Yes. You are my nestling now!"

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that, but considering how lethal his new friend was, he wasn't about to object. Instead, he stroked her black head gently, smiling as she hissed her pleasure.

"What's her name?" Snape asked.

"She told me it was Sarah Sue Rae," Harry said.

Professor Snape smirked, and Harry could see his amusement. "That sounds a lot like a Greek phrase meaning, ‘your turn, dude,'" the professor said.

"I am not Greek," Sarah Sue Rae said. "I am a Southern lady, and he needs to wash his fur. He will call me Miss Sarah Sue Rae; it wouldn't do for him to be overly familiar. You may tell him that," she said haughtily.

Harry simply laughed.

"What did she say?" Professor Snape asked.

Harry chuckled. "She says that she's a Southern lady, you have to call her ‘Miss Sarah Sue Rae,' and that you need to wash your fur."

Professor Snape shot the snake one of his infamous death glares and swept down the street. Harry followed, laughing softly at Sarah Sue Rae's commentary. The Dursleys had never really allowed him a pet-they'd barely tolerated Hedwig.

Maybe Professor Snape wouldn't be so bad after all. It wasn't that he trusted the man, but perhaps things weren't so bleak after all. As he followed his guardian into a shop marked ‘Ulysses Argus, Occulist,' that he'd never more than glanced at before, he hoped that maybe this time, he wasn't hated and unwanted as he had been with the Dursleys.