Never slept in a bed? How pitiful. Those rotten, devilish, disgusting muggles! There was a myriad more questions burning to be asked, but this child needed to rest and eat before anything was addressed.

“Well then, Harry, you are in for a treat.”

I patted the tatty old comforter, but the he didn’t move.

“Come now, child. Get in bed; you need a rest.”

Keeping both wide, emerald eyes on me, he crawled up on the springy mattress, balancing on the very edge. He was testing the situation. My ire was starting to creep up; would I have to dictate every movement the boy made?

“Lie down, boy,” I directed, snarkiness creeping into my sotto voce. He immediately pushed himself over, drawn taut as a bow. Letting the irritation slide down my back I reminded myself to have patience. ‘What’s that? Severus Snape does not have patience!’

I would just have to act the part. I knelt by the bed and looked at the sunken, dark eyes of my new charge.

“Relax now, child. I’m not going to change my mind; I want you to rest in this bed. Wouldn’t you like to get under the covers?”

He became very excited, all at once.

“I get a blanket too, sir?”

Those damn muggles!

“Of course, child.” I tugged down the covers and watched him slip between the sheets, his expression pure bliss. He lay his head on the mattress, and rather than go through the inevitable exchange, I simply lifted his little noggin and slipped the feather pillow beneath.

“Thank you, sir!” he chirped, like a bed was some luxurious, exotic gift.

‘Just like I would have.’

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The bed was so amazing! I was warm, and the heavy bedclothes pushed all the shudders and chills out of me. I couldn’t believe my luck! First the Snape man let me play outside all yesterday afternoon, then gave me medicine for all my injuries, then put me in bed . . . he’d said something about breakfast as well, hadn’t he? This was shaping up to be the very best day of my life! I knew I would still have to face my punishment, but at the moment I couldn’t bring myself to care much. I was just so comfortable, and I found myself wondering

‘Is this what being held feels like?’

I planned to stay awake; I really tried! I didn’t feel right about sleeping during the day, especially if he was cooking. That was my job. And then a jarring thought hit me. ‘Why is he being so nice to me?’

Why was he being so nice to me? I certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve it. On the contrary, I’d been nothing but trouble for the past two days. While puzzling it over, I lapsed into a liquid, stormy slumber.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I busied myself about the kitchen, trying to make sense of everything I’d learned. The child had obviously been beaten barbarically, repeatedly. He looked as though he’d been starved. Taking stock of the amount of food left, he hadn’t eaten very much here either. That he could take such delight in a simple bed and blanket spoke volumes of the neglect he’d suffered. How had I not seen it before? ‘Since I noticed he looked the spitting image of James I’ve scarcely looked his way. I didn’t see him; not really.’ Not long after the hellacious days I’d served as a double agent, I’d all but massacred the part of my mind that analyzed every situation from a variety of perspectives. Life was so much easier when I could shut myself off from others and in so doing, I didn’t have to care. I didn’t have to see and I didn’t have to know. I could live only with my own suffering, instead of mine plus everyone else’s.

But I was not alone anymore, and whether I liked it or not, I owed Lily. And seeing in Harry the horrors I faced as a boy and more, I wanted to heal him. I wanted to give him the care I never knew. Perhaps my inner demons could be exorcised by –

A bloodcurdling scream rang out from the first floor of our humble cottage. A mere reflex, I carried myself to his door in seconds. He was still asleep, his body contorted into a fully arched, harsh paroxysm. He was muttering, simpering between the shrieks of an old soul.

“Harry! Harry, wake up now. You’re having a nightmare.” He didn’t respond to my voice, so I gently shook his shoulder. As soon as he was touched, he woke, launching himself away from me. He didn’t seem to notice when he sprawled backward onto the floor. Pushing himself back into that damn corner, he was begging as if it were for his very life.

“I’m sorry, sir! I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to cause a stir! I won’t do it again, sir!”

Then he stopped, and an eerie calm took over his slight form. He stood, one arm wrapped round his emaciated body. Faintly, lacking the urgency and desperation from the previous moment, he spoke at a barely audible volume.

“I am sorry, sir.” Each word was pronounced carefully, as though it had been rehearsed monotonously. He sounded resigned, if any eight-year-old could.

“Harry? Child, look at me.” He wouldn’t, or couldn’t. I thought perhaps distraction was the key. Children were easily distracted, weren’t they?

“It’s time to eat, and then we’re going on a bit of an outing.”

He followed me down the stairs, nearly tripping on my robes. Knowing I’d soon have to change into my lovely muggle costume, I transfigured my attire; he didn’t seem to notice. ‘The novelty of magic must’ve already worn off. How fickle the young are!’

He sat in the old chair when I motioned to it, and waited until I started eating to nibble on the last of our bread.

“What’s the matter, child? Too stale for your liking?”

“No, sir,” he whispered, swallowing hard.

“Harry, how many times have you eaten since you arrived?”

He gulped, face shadowed with . . . guilt? “Two, sir.”

This was bad. Not only had I left the child in that cursed corner all night, I’d starved him as well. That would have to change immediately. But his current behavior didn’t complement this last comment.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yes, sir.”

He still didn’t eat more than a nibble. This was getting exasperating!

“Then why the bloody hell aren’t you eating?” I immediately regretted my tone as I saw him flinch.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he squeaked. I was also getting tired of his constant apologies.

“ ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t an answer, child. Tell me why you aren’t eating.” There, my tone was a bit gentler that time.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that . . .” he trailed off, and coughed.

“Yes, it’s just what? Keep going.”

He took a deep breath, like one ready to go sky-diving might as they stood on the edge of the plane door.

“I think, sir, that I’ll be able to eat more after – after my, er, punishment, sir.”

“What punishment?” What in Merlin’s name did he think he’d done now?

“My punishment for staying outside after dark, and going into your garden, and making a m-mess, and screaming.”

It was going to take a long, long time for him to move from the battered child mindset. We’d just have to take it one crisis at a time. ‘And I’ve got to control my temper!’

“Child, listen to me. Your punishment for staying out and being in the garden was to stand in the corner. I didn’t mean to leave you there for more than half an hour. It was my fault you wet yourself; no child should stay in a corner all night! You were screaming because you had a nightmare; you’ve no control over that.”

“S-so you’re not going to w-whip me, sir?” he asked hopefully.

“No, Harry. I’m not going to whip you or punish you in any way. I was wondering, however, why you chose to stay out back in the rain.”

He took a drink of water, and I could see the wheels turning. Whatever he pondered, he was trying to put it to me in just the right way.

“Well, sir, when you, erm, weren’t feeling well, you s-said to go out back and play. I thought I shouldn’t come in until I was told to, so I stayed outside ‘til you come and got me.”

“You mean when I was drunk, correct?” I asked, already furious with myself for imbibing so foolishly. He bit his bottom lip and looked away. So I’d punished him erroneously in the first place. I was hating myself more and more by the minute.

“Eat your breakfast. I’ll be back in a moment.”

I threw the door to the dungeon open and poured all the firewhiskey and other alcohol in sight down the drain. I also got rid of the tainted Calming and Dreamless Sleep potions.

When I came back up, he was staring off into space, a half eaten piece of crust held limply in his fingers. I watched him for a bit, wondering what he was thinking, how he was feeling. He couldn’t be very comfortable here, and I highly doubted he was comfortable with his aunt and uncle. Had this child ever known happiness? Love? Warmth? I didn’t want to startle him, but I did want to move this day along. He’d need to be put to bed early after the night he’d had. A few hours sleep couldn’t hold him for long, I was sure.

“Harry?” I said softly, slowly approaching the little forlorn figure. “Harry?”

“Oh! Yes, sir? I’m sorry, sir!” He stood, knocking over the chair and dropping the bread.

“I’m sorry! I’ll pick it up straight away sir!”

“Harry,” I said, crouching beside him, “You do not have to apologize. It was an accident. You are not in trouble.”

I righted the chair, and he began to eat the crust from the floor.

“Don’t eat that, boy. Throw it away.” He looked longingly at the bit of food as he obeyed robotically. ‘The child must be ravenous still.’

I cleared my throat. “We’ll take a bite at the Leaky Cauldron before our errands. I’m tired of bread and cheese, aren’t you?”

He said nothing, but was shaking so hard his teeth were clicking.

“Come, little one, let’s get you dressed.”