“Severus, I have some rather surprising news for you,” Dumbledore said with a slight frown. Since the defeat of Voldemort in 1981, Severus had barely come out of the dungeons. He was too ashamed, although no one knew that save Albus, of course. The professor had avoided the headmaster most of all owing to that knowledge.

Severus sat in a large leather armchair, looking at artifacts and trinkets around the grand office – anywhere but at the headmaster himself.

“I was at the ministry the other day carrying out Hogwarts business, and I felt a bit nostalgic. I took a stroll down to the records room and requested a look at Harry Potter’s birth certificate.”

Severus groaned, and moved to get up. “Albus, what does this have to do with me? I have a very sensitive potion brewing, and it shall be ruined if I don’t get back to it!”

“Sit down, my boy. This has everything to do with you. As you know, once a person is imprisoned in Azkaban all their wizarding and legal rights are severed. When I read little Harry’s birth certificate, Sirius Black’s name no longer read under guardian and godfather, as it did when the child was born. His mother’s preference for godfather had replaced the name. Do you know who that might be?” Dumbledore stared intently at his student and colleague.

“Lily’s choice? Lily was close to no one in school, as you well know. I don’t pretend I kept up with her social life after our matriculation. Really, Albus . . .”

“Can you think of no one she was close to, Severus?”

“Surely you don’t mean . . . me, Headmaster?”

“None other. Now, it is up to you what you wish to do with the child. Of course I will help you make the necessary arrangements should you so desire. His guardians have already been contacted and they strongly prefer he return to our world. You may give the matter some thought.” The ancient man waved a crinkled, papery hand, indicating Severus was dismissed.

Severus took a few steps to the door, then leant on the stone wall, resolute. “If it was Lily’s wish, then I shall care for the child.” It was the least he could do; after all, Lily saved him from much pain in their school years, and baby Harry had unwittingly freed him from servitude.

Seeming very much like a sprite during a moonlight revel, Albus pranced over and clapped the black robed shoulder. “Very good, very good. We’ll just see to the permanent arrangements, then.”

The two flooed over to the Ministry and took care of the necessary signatures, magical and written, and then Severus was left with a muggle address. Grimacing at the revealing cut of the black muggle suit he wore, Snape strode determinedly down Privet Drive. He was regretting his foolish, sentimental decision with every step. Since when did Severus Snape rely on emotion to make a decision? ‘Since Lily entered the picture,’ his mind answered.

He knocked sharply on the door to #4, and a simpering housewife appeared on the other side. “You must be Mr. Snape?” she questioned with sickly sweet falseness.

“Professor Snape,” he answered snidely.

“We hadn’t expected you so soon,” she said, pushing her way out the door and onto the stoop. “I daresay our little Harry isn’t ready. Why don’t you come back in a week or so? That is what I discussed with Mr. Dumbledore.”

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Snape corrected. “And I will not come back another time. Step aside.”

He said it with such force and malice, Petunia squeaked in indignation but shrugged out of the way. When she came back into the room, she realized Harry was in his cupboard and could not be seen exiting. She led Snape into the sitting room.

“I’ll just put on some tea while little Harry gets packed. Harry dear?” she crooned.

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

She was calling me ‘dear’? “Yes, ma’am?” I answered immediately from inside my lair. I liked to think of my cupboard as a little hideaway, a cave perhaps; anything but what it really was. I didn’t come out of it, though. I never did unless I was bid to do so.

“Come into the kitchen, sweetums,” she called. This was truly odd. She must be putting on for the visitor. But visitors never saw me, especially the day after a punishment. As I closed the door to my cupboard, latching it shut, a tall, thin man with a hard face shouted at me.

“Pack all your things. We’ll not be coming back.”

I looked back and forth between the man and Aunt Petunia. Who should I obey? I decided that if he was taking me, it had better be him. Aunt Petunia rushed past me.

“We’ll just let him say goodbye to this old house in peace. Let’s take tea on the patio, shall we?”

She led him away, but he did not seem pleased about it. I wondered what was in store for me. Where was he taking me? Why? He seemed awfully mean; had I done something wrong? These thoughts and many others ran through my head as I packed my spare outfit into my school satchel. I knew I had to leave the school books; they didn’t belong to me. I took my rescued toys and my broken pencil . . . and everything else that was mine. I tidied the cupboard as best I could, folded up the cot and the mangled blanket, and locked the door for good.

I swung the satchel over my shoulder, but quickly put it down. That had been a bad idea. I waited in the doorway for a moment, but the man saw me and rushed toward me.

“Time to go,” he said, and walked out the front door. I followed without a backward glance.

We took a lorry to King’s Cross, and waited to board the train from Platform 7. It was going to Manchester, so I knew it would be a long trip. I had so many questions I wanted to ask, but I daren’t. I knew what happened when one spoke without being spoken to. I had to practically run to keep up with the man. He only really looked at me once as we were waiting, and I saw his face twist in hatred. If I could have read his mind, I’m sure he was thinking, ‘Worthless freak!’ or some such notion.

Once we got on the coach, he led me into a compartment. This train wasn’t busy like the ones in the underground, and we had the little room to ourselves. I stood in the doorway, wondering where to go. I knew I shouldn’t be permitted to sit on the cushions, but I hoped he’d let me sit on the floor. I really didn’t want to stand all the way to Manchester.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The miniature James just stood there; Harry looked the spitting image of his wretched father. He was staring at the floor, deep in thought. ‘Probably thinking up insults.’ I glared at him, determined to take the upper hand.

“Sit,” I commanded, and the cheeky little thing had the nerve to sit on the floor! I grabbed him up by the arm and sat him on the bench, cursing my decision to take him in with vigor. He gave a little moan at the gesture, but I paid no attention. The little bugger would learn his place. No wonder Lily’s sister was so eager to be rid of him. And I couldn’t believe he would go traveling in his worst play clothes. His outfit was obviously used for rugby or some other such nonsense. He must have played the day away prior to my coming; his hair was mussed and his face and hands were dirty. I noticed he pulled his knees up to his chin after a moment. ‘Pouting, no doubt. Ah, well, at least he’s quiet.’

I closed my eyes and woke when they made the call for Manchester station. I had the feeling he’d been staring at me in my sleep, but as I cast my gaze upon him his eyes were averted to the floor again. I was quite surprised he hadn’t slept on the long journey as well. ‘Probably fancies himself too old for naps. A big man of eight!’

I jerked my chin and he followed me onto the platform. The next part of the trip was the most unpleasant. I cursed Dumbledore for insisting on Muggle transportation.

“The child will be frightened by wizarding travel. Don’t get off on the wrong foot,” the headmaster’d chided.

We clambered into the hired car and took increasingly rough roads to Ashton-Under-Lyne until my pathetic childhood home came into view. The cab dropped us at the top of Spinner’s End, proclaiming the cobbles would damage his undercarriage. I paid him, neglected the tip, and he sped off with a rude gesture.

I’d originally thought to take the child to Hogwarts, but decided chasing a little scamp all over the colossal castle would be a grand hassle. As we trudged down the hill, I wondered if I’d made another mistake; my stomach was quickly filling with dread and acid as we neared the familiar hovel. ‘We can always leave in the morning,’ I decided. ‘The hell with Dumbledore, we’ll just apparate to Hogsmeade.’ That made me feel a little better.

The boy fell as we walked up the stone steps to my cottage. I paused, waiting for the wailing, sniveling mess to come. But he just picked himself right back up and shot me a contemptuous glance. ‘Proud, arrogant, Gryffindor!’ I thought. But I must admit I was a bit impressed. I had seen less stoicism from old Crabbe during Death Eater meetings. ‘Comparing him to Crabbe, am I? James would be furious!’ I chuckled at the thought.

…………………………………………………………………………

I wiped the blood from my hands as the man laughed at me. I was sure he’d smack me, but he just kept walking. I made sure to soak up all the red with my shirt sleeves so it wouldn’t get on anything. He let us into the house and I stifled a cough. It was so dirty and dusty! Everything was caked with a layer of soot, like the fireplace had exploded. It looked as if no one had set foot in here for a long, long time.

It was dusk, and he lit some candles on the crooked, aged-wood mantle. He sneered at me, and then went up the stairs. I shut the cottage door and locked it, hoping that was the right thing to do. When he came back down, he almost seemed embarrassed. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to see his house so dirty; Aunt Petunia would have died from shame!

He had changed clothes, and was wearing something that looked like a ladies’ black dress over trousers. And he was wearing a long cloak, which I thought very strange for the summertime.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

I knew it was a trick question. If he wanted me to eat, he would give me something.

“No, sir,” I croaked out. I hadn’t spoken for several hours, and I suddenly found my voice hoarse from all the dust.

“Well, then, follow me.”

He took off up the stairs again, muttering something under his breath. I followed him into a nice little bedroom that was miraculously clean. It also had a stone hearth and a small fireplace. There was a regular sized bed covered with soft cloth, and a wardrobe stood in the corner. I could see the waning moon from a small window; there was even a windowseat. I wondered why he’d brought me up here; he couldn’t possibly want me to clean this room first. The rest of the house needed it so badly!

“Put your things away and go to sleep.” He closed the door heavily and stomped away.

All my belongings fit into the bottom drawer of the armoire. I listened to be certain he wasn’t near, and then I dared to touch the covering on the bed. It felt like silk; like faerie wings and pixie dust. I pretended I was on an expedition and had just found the faerie queen’s kingdom. Any minute her court would come sailing in, dancing about on the cloud-like spun silk. They would all bow down, and she would see me, and make me a knight, and give me courageous jobs to do.

‘Stop daydreaming! You’re going to get caught!’ I thought, and sighed. I knew the bed was not for me. Perhaps the man would come in later and sleep in it. I looked round, and decided the best place to lie down was probably the corner. I took a lingering glance at the shy moon, put my head on the last stone of the fireplace, and went to sleep with my teeth clenched tightly together. Sometimes if I did that as I fell asleep, I wouldn’t cry out while nightmares fought through my dreams.

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

I offered the only two things I could think of; food and sleep. I hoped he would stay in his room all night; if he went wandering and nagging about I thought I might lose my mind. He was only a few years younger than my first years at the school, but he was so tiny. He looked no more than four or five. As I thought about it, I realized he’d only said two words throughout the entire ordeal.

Casting Engorgio on my pea-sized trunks, I tried to think of how I was going to occupy his time, day after day, for three months. What did children do? ‘Well, when I was a child I hid in the corner, tried to protect mother, and got the stuffing knocked out of me.’ I didn’t want that for Harry, no matter how much he reminded me of James. At Hogwarts, the children played Quidditch, and had pets and friends. Well, most of them had friends. I’d never done any of that, but most students did.

I didn’t have any friends then, and that hadn’t changed, so I knew I couldn’t introduce the boy to playmates. I didn’t fancy wild things running about, either. A broom was out of the question in a muggle neighborhood. ‘I’ll have to take him to the Hogwarts pitch,’ I decided. ‘I wonder if he likes to read? Lily loved to read . . .’ I forcibly turned my thoughts away from her, and set my mind to brewing Dreamless Sleep. After a strong dose, the dusky master bed swallowed me in slumber.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

I woke at first light, and heard roosters crowing in the distance. Cats were fighting in the tatty garden, and I listened to other unfamiliar morning sounds. After living in a crowded, middle class neighborhood in Surrey, this rural setting would take some acclimation.

I stretched and crept into the loo, praying I wouldn’t wake him up; I just couldn’t hold it any longer. I went to the kitchen to wash up, waiting for the water to turn from brown to clear. I settled for a pale yellow. I looked for some food to make for breakfast, but there wasn’t any.

He hadn’t left a list of chores for me, like Aunt Petunia always had, so I guessed where he’d want me to start. I found most everything I needed in the broom cupboard, and was suddenly very grateful I hadn’t been made to sleep there. It was covered in cobwebs and dead beetles.

I took a damp cloth and wiped down all the surfaces in the undersized parlor, washing the black dirt from the rag every few swipes. I rolled up the ancient, patterned rugs and scrubbed the floors. It was quite light out once I finished those tasks, and I hoped the man wouldn’t be cross with the little progress I’d made. I wondered if I’d learn his name today.

I took the rugs into the garden, kittens scurrying from underfoot, and beat them while the dust burnt my eyes. I was thankful there was a communal clothesline already strung between two sickly willow trees. The rugs were really quite heavy, and it took me a while to drag them back in after the strenuous task of cleaning them. Deciding I could do no more in the parlor, I moved on to the kitchen. I’d just finished wiping the counters when he came in, looking like he was still half asleep. We were both still wearing the clothes we’d had on the prior evening.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he shouted. Did this man ever speak without shouting?

I jumped down from the chair I was standing on and backed away as far as I could from him. “I’m sorry, sir.” What else could I say?

……………...

‘Trying to get on my good side, is he? The little brown-noser! Just like the idiot marauders, as they called themselves, did with Dumbledore,’ I pieced together. It really did look remarkably better in the parlor, but the intent was the only matter of importance. He wasn’t going to turn the tables that easily, even if he did look like a pathetic little street urchin.

“Go wash up and put on your best clothes. We’re going out.” We needed to go to the market; I knew he’d be hungry eventually.

He scurried up the stairs while I ran fingers through my hair. ‘Lily always said long hair suited me well.’ Damnit! I hated that he was making me think so much of his mother! My deepest regret was losing her companionship. I never got to find out if there could have been something more between us; the lure of power consumed me instead.

I felt his gaze boring into my back, and I turned to see him huddled in the doorway. He still looked wretched; had he even listened to what I’d said?

“I told you to put on better clothes! Don’t you listen? And half your face is still black as soot! Go back upstairs, and don’t come down until you’ve obeyed!”

I waited, becoming more furious by the second. I tried to still myself by looking upon the garden I’d tended as a student, but it was overgrown with weeds; any decent plants had been eaten by vermin long ago.

Unwavering, I barreled up the stairs. The boy was curled up on the windowseat, daydreaming. I was about to yell at him again, but he startled. If he wouldn’t listen to my words, I’d just have to show him with actions. I tore open the top drawer of the bureau, then the next and the next. They were empty.

“Did you not obey my order to put your things awa — Oh.” There were a few things in the bottom drawer; rotten toys and dirty clothing.

I started again. “I told you to pack everything from your aunt and uncle’s house. You couldn’t even follow that direction?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t want to hear any paltry excuses. “Silence!” I demanded. At least he could obey a simple command like that.

I took out my wand and transfigured his clothing into something more suitable. He nearly had a conniption! I could have set the clothes on fire for his reaction. Muggleborns! Well, muggle-raised, but it was just as bad.

“It’s only a simple spell. Now go scrub your face!” I could have cast Scourgify, but I wasn’t going to coddle the sod.

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

Wow! That was just like magic! I worried over my face, though. The dirt he was referring to was actually a bruise. I scrubbed anyway, squeezing my eyes shut from the hurt. That only made things worse. I left my face damp so he could tell I’d tried; hopefully that would be enough. I inched back into the room, but he grabbed me by the arm like he had on the train. We went back into the bathroom and he scrubbed my face as well. I didn’t say anything; he’d be furious if I contradicted him or cried out. He stopped suddenly, and dropped the cloth on the floor. I bent down and picked it up, handing it back to him.

“How did that happen?” he asked, not shouting for the first time.

“I fell,” I immediately answered. That’s what I always said when someone asked about a bruise. I regretted it, though. I couldn’t get in trouble with Uncle Vernon for telling now, could I? But I couldn’t take it back and tell him I’d been lying.

“When you fell last night?” he pressed on.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you hurt yourself anywhere else when you fell?”

I tentatively held out my hands. Would he hit them now he knew they were hurt? That’s what Uncle Vernon always did. The man didn’t do anything, though. He had an unreadable expression on his face as he left the tiny lavatory.

“Come,” he beckoned, and we trode up the uneven street again.

He left me in a small tailor’s shop, rattling off a long list to the bewildered old shopkeeper.

“Five dress shirts: three white, one black, one dark green. Five pairs trousers: three black, two grey. Seven sets undergarments and black socks. Two sets pajamas: whatever you’ve got on hand. Two sets play clothes. Any color except red.” And he walked out, the screen door banging behind him.

The tailor looked at me. He looked at me like he actually saw me. He had kind blue eyes, and he touched my battered face softly as he beckoned me to get on a stool.

“I’ll have to measure you, little one. Stand up straight and tall, now.”

He did everything with the utmost care, as if he knew I was hurting. When he was finished, he pulled me close to him, and asked very quietly, “How long you been livin’ with Snape there?”

So that was his name, Snape. “He just claimed me last night, sir.”

“So he’s not the one what did this to yeh?” he asked, pointing to my face.

“N—No, sir.”

“Well, if he do, yeh jus’ run on up here an’ I’ll see to it. I lives upstairs of a night.”

I know my eyes bugged out when he said that. No-one had said anything so wonderful to me in all my life.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you so, so much!”

He picked out some shirts and trousers for me to try on, but didn’t have as much on hand as Snape wanted. The man, Snape, returned, carrying a sack of groceries and a jug of milk.

The old man approached him, as if to shield me from him. “I’ve got three white shirts and two pairs black trousers on hand that fit him. One pair of pajamas that he’ll grow into after a bit, suitable play clothes, and all the socks and knickers yeh wanted.”

“Fine,” the dark man said, and proceeded to pay the shopkeeper an extraordinary amount of money. I wanted to slip under the carpet like a flea; how was I ever going to pay him back?

“Would you like the rest tailor made, or ordered from Manchester?” the shopkeeper asked.

“Whichever suits. Come, child,” he beckoned sharply.

I took the packages from the old man and smiled at him before running after Mr. Snape.

“Put your new things away,” I snapped at the boy as soon as we got in. Maybe he was more obedient than I’d originally thought; he went up the stairs straightaway and I heard drawers creaking open. I spelled the icebox to stay cold, and looked over the few groceries I’d picked. ‘Ruddy little village, ruddy little stores . . .’

“Ruddy blasted house!” I snarled aloud, just as the boy showed his pitch black mop in the kitchen. He meekly took the sack and milk from me and proceeded to put things away like he owned the place. It irked me, but at least he was busy. I retreated to the cellar to brew a Subtusum elixir.

…………………………………………………………………

I cleaned the shelves so I could put the food away properly. My stomach growled loudly and pains shot up into my ribs. It had been three days since I’d had a morsel. I gulped as much water as I could without it coming back up. I’d learned this trick long ago; your stomach didn’t hurt as much when it was full of something, anything. I washed some old dishes I found in an upper cabinet, hoping the crumbling lye soap was satisfactory.

The day was to heating up, and I noticed my clothes were starting to turn back into what they were before. The crisp, white shirt was turning blue and the fabric was beginning to go threadbare. A few moments more and the clothes became larger, the trousers rough. They were still relatively clean, though. That was something. I rolled up my sleeves and took off my enormous trainers, padding about barefoot fetching water to scrub the table and floor.

I thought of a story I’d heard in school. The little cinder girl, with mean step-sisters and step-mother. ‘Her parents must have died, too,’ I thought, and it cheered me a little. She’d become a princess or something, hadn’t she? She just had to wait until she grew up. I spent my time scrubbing pretending the Snape man was my wicked stepfather, and I’d grow up to be a prince with a white Clydesdale and a magnificent golden crown.

By the time that was done I was sure it was time for a spot of lunch, if not tea. The man hadn’t showed his face, and I really wasn’t sure where he’d gone to for so long. Maybe he left? I thought I’d better set out a meal anyway. All he’d bought was butter, milk, bread, and cheese. I cut thick slices of the luscious pastry and sharp cheese, placing them on a freshly dried plate. Setting out a pat of butter, knife, and a glass of milk, I considered what to do next. I decided I didn’t want to go upstairs just now; I feared I might wake him if he were sleeping. I set to pulling weeds in the garden. I was making good progress, considering I hadn’t any tools, save a disused broom handle, when he came charging out the back door.

“Don’t touch the garden!” he barked like a man possessed. I dropped what I was doing and scrambled back, stumbling into the trunk of one of the willows.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m sorry! Please, sir, I won’t do it again. I’m sorry!” I hid my face under my arms, waiting for the beating to start. But again, it didn’t come.

“Stop whinging, you didn’t know,” he said, a smidge calmer, and I unfurled. I was really starting to appreciate my new home!

“Don’t do it again!” he shouted. “Get yourself inside.” Well, I knew I could never count on kindness for long. But I would hold onto that moment when he ceded, speaking almost as if I were important in some small way.

I brushed off as much dirt as I could and followed him in. He sat down to eat, and I waited by the sink for instructions, or to wash the dish once he finished if none were given. I was fighting to keep from drooling; I wanted to suck more water from the tap but that would have to wait. I felt him staring at me, but I daren’t look up; that would not do at all.

“Well?” he said.

“Yes, sir?” I answered quietly. I only spoke quietly.

“Don’t just stand there staring at the floor! Go entertain yourself!” he dictated to me gruffly.

“Yes, sir,” I answered, and fetched the bucket, rag, and brush from the freshly cleaned cupboard before whisking up the stairs toward the loo. I did the tub and sink first, scouring off as much mold and mildew as possible without special cleansers. The cold, broken tile floor was finally too much for my knees, and they started bleeding halfway through the scrubbing. I rolled up my pant legs to cushion them, and kept going. I tackled the disgusting toilet last, sicking up in it as I finished. Cleaning the brush, my hands, and, lastly, my filthy-tasting mouth, I started on the corridor and stairs.

The Snape man came into the parlor and looked at me once, rolling his eyes, before taking a great hulking book from the shelf and retreating back to a short door behind the stairs. How I envied him! I longed to read those books, any one of them. The happiest moments I’d had at the Dursleys were after they’d gone to bed and I could read my schoolbooks over and over. History was best; I could read about people far away in a distant time and make up stories about living with them. I tended potatoes in a big, open field, basking in the glow of the sunlight all day and feasting with my ten brothers and sisters at night. I traveled to China, buying wonderful things I could trade to make money and buy lavish gifts for my loving mother and father. I fought along with other slaves to overthrow my cruel master; I especially indulged that one.

But my schoolbooks were gone. There had only been a week left in the school term, so I couldn’t hope to have books of my own again for months. I snapped back into reality and scrubbed ever harder, working out the lump that had swelled in my throat.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The child was really getting under my skin. I was surprised he’d set out a plate of food for me, but that was probably done just to appease me so he’d escape reprimand for gobbling down his own meal prior to asking. Not that he had to ask . . . And now he was taking up more of my time because I had to fix a bloody potion for his face! ‘I might as well brew another while I’m at it.’ I went up the crumbling cellar steps to retrieve the necessary manuscript.

He was playing at working very hard when I came into the room, pretending he’d been so awfully good. Probably rolled around in the fireplace while I ate so he’d look good and dirty from all that cleaning he was supposedly doing. But any other child would have looked up with a sloppy grin, waiting to be praised. He glanced up at me, but looked immediately back down. Strange. But you couldn’t put any amount of trickery past a Potter.

When the Subtusum was ready to boil I went up to the parlor again to find the boy playing chimney-sweep. ‘Probably saw that disgraceful Mary Poppins show on that huge muggle television.’

“Boy!” I shouted, determined he stop making such a mess.

He jumped and knocked his head around in the chimney, falling into the grate. He squinted at me, glasses hanging broken off one ear, and all I could see were his crystal green eyes floating in a sea of black. Lily’s eyes.

“Give me those!” I said, reaching for his glasses. He slumped back as I stretched out an arm and snatched them off his face. “Get upstairs and wash. And put on your new clothes, you filthy little brat!” I shouldn’t have said that, I realized as he scampered around the settee, away from me, and raced up the stairs. Damn! But those eyes . . . they had thrown me off guard.

I stamped into the kitchen and saw he’d already washed the dishes and put them away again. Taking out the mealy, scarcely edible bread and rotten cheese, I tore off hunks and slammed them down on cracked plates, pouring the boy milk and settling for water myself. ‘Lily always scolded me for my temper,’ I thought ruefully. If only she were here to care for the child, I wouldn’t be in this state.

“Boy!” I called again, and he came in, looking quite dashing in his smart new outfit. ‘Just like his father!’

“Sit,” I commanded, pulling out the shabby dining seat. He hesitated, but complied. I tossed him repaired glasses and began my meal, but noticed he was just staring at his plate, perched on the edge of his chair.

“Eat!” I growled, and he looked up at me, a smirk plastered across his dirty face. ‘Just as I thought, taunting at its best. Cheese and bread wouldn’t be good enough for his highness.’

“Not what you’re used to, eh?” I asked, utilizing my favorite brand of conversation: sarcasm.

“No, sir!” he answered back, laughing, with an immense hunk of Swiss, half masticated, showing in his flapping trap.

That was the end of it. I took both our plates and threw them in the bin, relishing the satisfying crash they made as they shattered.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

He sent me to bed, and I wished I’d eaten faster. Just a few more bites or sips of milk and I would have felt quite full. I wondered what I’d done wrong this time. It was useless, wondering. Uncle Vernon certainly never needed a reason to do any of the things he did. Actually, I was quite happy to be allowed sleep after toiling so vigorously. I put back on my less dirty pair of old clothes and folded the new ones, carefully replacing them in the top drawer. I wanted to wear the fresh new nightclothes, but decided I shouldn’t unless he told me to do so. After all, I was being punished, even if I didn’t know why. No need to anger him more.

My muscles were aching from all the heavy work. I was used to lots of chores, but the tasks Aunt Petunia had set weren’t so difficult because the house had been kept up. The bedroom was stuffy and warm, so I pried the window open and fell asleep in my corner, listening to a parliament of owls ghosting about the swishy branches.

Next morning, I woke before the sun. I was stiffer than ever, and the welts that covered me had been aggravated by sweat the day before. I waited ‘til the sun shown over the horizon, then ventured into the corridor. The man’s chamber door was open, and he wasn’t in there. I didn’t hear him, though. Perhaps he’d left in the night? ‘I hope he doesn’t come home drunk!’ I quivered. Uncle Vernon didn’t drink often, but when he did things were always ten times worse. After washing up and slurping from the tap, I slunk downstairs to see if it was safe. Deciding I’d best not be caught idle, I set to work on the stone floor under the grate. Inadvertently, I'd spread a lot of soot the day before.

The man came up from what I deduced was the cellar, and he looked like he hadn’t slept. Had he been drinking? I couldn’t tell. He swayed like he had been, but exhaustion could likely be the cause as well.

I held my breath, waiting to fall into the day’s fate.

The Snape man stumbled over to me, and I realized he’d definitely been drinking; quite a lot actually.

“Are you still cleaning that thing? No use in it. Scourgify.”

He flicked his tapered little stick and the fireplace was all clean. Brilliant!

“You eat?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Come on, then.” He smiled at me. He actually smiled at me! It was a sloppy, drunken smile, but I fancied he could be this way without the alcohol. I started to get out the food, but he waved me out of the way with a lazy hand and cut a colossal, lopsided wedge of cheese and a thick slice of crusty bread. He tried to spread a large glob of butter, but it didn’t work so well; most of it landed on the floor. After handing me the plate, he took out the milk and drank half of it right from the bottle, spilling a large portion on his dirty cape. I wasn’t invited to the table, so I sat on the floor and waited to be told I could eat.

He looked down at me, and for a moment I thought he might fall straight over. Instead, he laughed and plopped himself right down on the floor next to me, handing me the jug of icy cold milk.

“Finish it,” he slurred, and I took the opportunity to chug the rest down. My stomach started to protest and cramp, but I disregarded it. Who knew when I’d get the chance to eat again?

He picked up the slice of bread and took a large bite; for a tense moment I wondered if he’d intended the food for just him. But he handed me the partially eaten piece.

“Eat the ress. Thick ’m gonna be sick!”

He gathered himself up and tried to run to the bathroom, but only made it to the ragged plaid armchair. I fetched the few towels we had and cleaned him up best I could. He just looked at me while I did it, eyes fluttering, trying to focus. He caught my hand and patted it when I was finished, saying

“You’re a good boy, Harry. Finish yer breakfass, or lunch, or whatever ‘tis, then go out back ’n play. Need to ress.” And he passed out on the splintery wood floor.

I gobbled down the rest what was on the plate, cleaned up breakfast, and contemplated what I should do. He’d told me to go out back, but the day before he’d told me I wasn’t allowed in the garden. I thought perhaps I’d be safe if I stayed by the trees; they were away from other plants but still in the yard.

I sat under the low branches of the smallest weeping willow; the swaying and rustling of the wispy branches lulling me into a trance. I wondered about the things this man could do. He had to be a sort of sorcerer or something, didn’t he? What else could he do? I wished he could time travel so I could go back and see my parents. Maybe he could bring them back to life! Surely he’d like to be rid of me. But I supposed if he could do that, he would have already. Could he mesmerize people and make them do anything he wanted? That was a scary thought. I leant against the tree watching melancholy, grey clouds, trying to unclutter my mind.

I fell to sleep and dreamt the Snape man was a vampire who’d sucked the blood of the nice tailor in a field of poppy flowers. He turned himself into a bat and made a nest out of my hair, and then he took hold of my clothes with his claws and flew me home. Dropping me down the chimney he was off, flowing into the night.

I jerked awake just before I hit the bottom of the fireplace. It was growing dark outside, and the glowing moon was just visible through the ceiling of leafy branches. I was troubled; should I go inside? Most kids had to go inside when it got dark, didn’t they? But I’d slept in the bushes at the Dursleys plenty of times; sometimes Uncle Vernon wouldn’t allow me in. He’d said I was mangy like a tabby, so I could sleep outside with the cats. I reckoned if I was told to go outside, the best course of action was to stay outside until I was told to come in.

To fill the time, I pretended I was on a desert island sitting beneath a squatty coconut tree. I was all alone so I could do anything I wanted, wherever I wanted, and there were always fresh coconuts, bananas, and fish to eat. Cackling crows were squealing sea birds that flew overhead; the night’s gusty wind was the rush of the ocean. I could almost feel a cool marine mist on my face.

After a moment, however, I realized I really did feel moisture; it was beginning to rain. Few minutes later my clothes were saturated, and the air was becoming frosty. I took my arms out of their sleeves and pressed them to the warmth of my chest, snuggling up to the tree to keep a bit of the water off me. I was almost asleep again when the back screened door tore open like a gunshot.

………………………………………………………………………

I woke with a pounding headache and realized I was lying on the parlor floor. Sniffing my robes, I smelt alcohol and vomit. It was perhaps the most unpleasant way to wake up, save awakening with searing pain in my forearm from the dastardly mark. It was black as pitch, and I stumbled around for a candle before my muddled brain snatched my wand and struck up a fire in the grate. Suddenly, I wondered where the boy was. I wasn’t even certain of the day. The last things I remembered were brewing dreamless sleep and calming draught while downing a copious amount of firewhiskey. It must have been close to four in the morning when I’d started all that. How did I even manage to get up the stairs from the dungeon?

I hoped I’d find the boy cuddled up in his bed but, unsurprisingly, that was not the case. I searched the house, getting more and more frustrated with each step, before I thought to check outside. ‘It would suit the defiant little scamp to be in the one place I told him not to go.’

And there he was. In the garden.

“Boy!” I called, and he came running, soaked to the bone. The lengths this child would go to just to disobey me! I took him by the back of the neck and propelled him up the stairs, sticking his nose in the corner of his bedroom.

“I told you quite clearly never to bother the garden, boy. You will stay here until I tell you to move. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” he said in a small, petulant voice.

I left him then. I thought half an hour or so in the corner with wet clothes would be a fitting reminder not to defy me. I figured if I’d have to deal with lecturing the boy, I’d best take a calming draught first. Yelling at him wasn’t making him behave, so I thought I might try old Dumbledore’s method and reason with the child. Couldn’t hurt. The calming draught didn’t taste right, though.

‘I’m such an idiot! I should know better than to mix potions and alcohol! What on earth did I do to it?’

………………………………………………………………………

I’d made the wrong choice, as usual. I should have come inside when dusk shrouded Spinner’s End. I was so stupid! Why couldn’t I ever do anything right?

I stood in the corner, glad to be inside again at least. Ever so slowly, my clothing went from drenched to damp, and I warmed. As incensed as the man had been, I was surprised he hadn’t thrashed me. Perhaps he still would when he came back. My stomach grew quite thick with jitters, and my hands began shaking at the thought of being beaten. I flattened them to my sides to make them stop, but my nervousness only spiked at the lack of physical activity. I’d nothing to take my mind off my dread, and switched on in my brain was a bewitched cinema projector. I reeled with memories of Uncle Vernon’s punishments, and for long moments I feared I’s going barmy.

After a while my feet started to really ache, and that ache crept up my legs and into my back. It wasn’t really so bad; I’d dealt with much greater pain loads of times. And the physical pain overpowered my mind’s eye, liberating me from my past.

As the blackness turned to pale shades of purple, then blue, I realized I’d not been to the loo since early last morning. I perked up my ears and silently willed Mr. Snape to come back. Even if he was going to strike me, at least it would only be for last night’s offense. If he waited much longer to come, I’d be in trouble for two transgressions; the latter being unbearably embarrassing. But he did not come.

The sunlight took flight, and I was afraid I was hallucinating; it couldn’t be nightfall again yet, could it? A deafening thunder clap startled me, and in one moment I felt relieved in more than one way: I wasn’t hallucinating, but my pants were becoming warm and wet.

As the ultimate indignity washed over me, I began to cry. I was so tired and hurting, and now I’d shamed myself like a bloody little toddler. I knew for certain now I would be in for a true punishment.

……………………………………………………………………

I woke with a start as a summer storm battered Ashton-Under-Lyne. My limbs felt as if they were incased in marble. I’d made the calming potion entirely too strong. Then it struck me: Harry! What would he be into now, with me having been out for Merlin knows how long? I bounded up the steps to his room with the mild hope he’d be playing or sleeping or whatever else it was spoiled boys do.

My heart dropped to the ground when I saw him standing in the corner. Maybe he’d heard me coming up the stairs and had sprinted back to the corner to hoodwink me. I put my hand on his shoulder and he leapt. As I turned him round I saw great tears pouring down the little one’s cheeks; could that be a ruse, too?

I got my answer when I sniffed the acrid smell and saw the front of his trousers. The bed had not been touched either. He had to have been there for at least . . . ten hours! If Lily was looking down upon this scene, I knew she’d never forgive me for neglecting her son so. He truly had been standing there all night. What had ever given him the strength or will to do so?

“Child, bathe and change your clothes. When you’ve finished, come downstairs. We need to have a talk.”

He nodded his head and moved to take a step toward the door, but fell flat on his face. I was ‘bout to help the lad get up when he half-righted himself and crawled to the lavatory, hiccoughing sobs following him all the while.

I hauled myself out of the room fast as I could manage. I was afraid he’d kick me while I crawled; Uncle Vernon had done that a few times and my chest always hurt for ages after. But he didn’t, and he was letting me wash up first. When I got left in the cupboard too long and this had happened, Uncle never gave me that opportunity. He just started in straight away.

I drew some cold water in the bath. While it filled I tried to wake my legs up; they buzzed with that unsettling, prickish feeling. It was a trick getting into the bathtub; I slipped and made a loud noise as my head hit the tile. Any one of the Dursleys would have screamed at me for the racket, but the Snape man didn’t say anything. He really was being very kind to me, and I felt guilty I’d dreamed bad things about him.

I stayed in the water a bit too long, and my teeth were chattering as I dried off with my shirt. I wrapped it round my waist since all the towels had been used to clean up vomit, and ran back into the room where I slept. After I dressed I steeled myself, then plucked the object I hated most in the world from the back of the lowest dresser drawer. I knew I had to do this; it would be insolent not to.

He was sitting at the rotting kitchen table as I entered. He looked sick or something, and was staring at nothing in particular. It took him a few moments to look up, and as soon as he did I put my head down and held out the nasty thing for him to take.

His demeanor turned instantaneously to fury; his eyes could have glowed red and he wouldn’t have appeared any more upset.

“Where did you get that . . . thing?” he seethed, spitting in my face as the ‘th’ sounds came from his teeth.

“It was a . . . present, sir,” I said reluctantly. Even I knew Uncle Vernon was being downright evil when he’d given it to me for Christmas two years back.

“That’s a damn lie!” He grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me, repeating, “Where did you find it?”

I knew anything I said would make it worse, so I just stood and took it, my head beginning to throb as it got shook around. He stopped and grabbed the belt from me, holding it up close to my face.

“You know what this is for, don’t you.” he stated in a quiet, menacing tone.

I gulped. “Yes, sir.”

His mouth turned to a snarl, and he began trembling, his breathing shallow and fast.

“Go on, then, James! Tell me what it’s for so I’m certain why you brought it.”

Why had he called me James? Who was James? I knew I had to answer, though.

“It’s – it’s for w – whipping, sir.”

He reeled backward, his head jerking around like someone had attached it to a string. The man looked round frantically, like he expected to see blood dripping down the walls or something. Was he going mad right before my eyes?

As suddenly as it began, he stopped thrashing about and tuned in on me again.

“Why did you . . . why would you . . . You evil, scathing little beast!”

He swung the belt at me, catching me on the arm. I stood still; as I’d been painstakingly trained to do during a beating. But he didn’t keep it up; his grip loosened and the belt tumbled the floor, him dropping to his knees next to it.

“Go,” he said, in more of a moan. I was shocked; why would he tell me to go when my punishment had only just begun? He was not pleased with my hesitation.

“Go!” he repeated at a much greater volume. I turned tail and ran up to the room, getting back in the corner.

I’d made another huge mistake. I couldn’t believe I’d hit the boy. Doing so had ripped me out of my nightmarish reverie. I thought I’d pitched that nasty strap long ago, with everything else that belonged to my loathsome father. What Harry had done was definitely something the illustrious James Potter would plot. There I was, ready to talk rationally to the boy, and he seized the opportunity to heckle me by dredging up an item that turned my stomach to lead. Had it been in the closet? Or had he snuck into my room, or the cellar . . .

But no matter what he’d done, he didn’t deserve to be hit.

The gravity of my reflexive action sank in. I’d hit him with that belt, in this house of all places. In my father’s house. Where my father had hit me with it until my voice was hoarse from screaming. ‘I am not my father! I will not become my father!’

I picked up the awful instrument to bury it in the bin when I noticed the buckle. Instead of tarnished, pock-marked brass it was shiny silver. It wasn’t the same one that had laid contact on my bare skin thousands upon thousands of times. But then where had he gotten it? And why did he bring it down?

‘I will remain calm. I will talk to this child. I will not let my temper get in the way of caring for Lily’s son.’

“Child! Come back downstairs now,” I called up to him, fetching the strap from the floor.

He came down promptly with his sparkling green eyes downcast, and when he saw me holding the thing he matter-of-factly placed his hands on the table top. Stepping out from the furniture and arching his back, he was perfectly poised for a proper thrashing. ‘The belt was given to me because he thought I was going to beat him!’ I had so much to learn about parenting. Had I really been that awful to him?

“Stand up, child. There’s no need for that.”

Slowly, he did as he was told, looking at me with a mix of wonder and confusion. I motioned to the belt, about to ask him to explain more about it, and the confusion was replaced with fear. He held his hands out, turning the palms upward, and shut his eyes tightly. My apology wasn’t going very well.

Picking him up, I noticed he was very, very light, and bony. I plopped him on the table so I could talk with him eye-to-eye, and he yelped as the wood contacted his trouser seat.

“What is it, Harry? Did that hurt?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll be quiet, I promise!” he whimpered pitifully.

He was squirming on the hard surface, so I knew he was definitely in pain. The settee would be a more comfortable place to have our discussion. Putting him back down on the floor, I grasped his tiny hand awkwardly and led him the few steps to the negligible receiving room. Maybe he shouldn’t be sitting at all. I’d have to check for injuries soon; if he’d given that reaction he probably needed treatment.

I stood him beside me, and he threw himself over my lap. Now he thought he was going to get smacked. What in Merlin’s name had been done to this child?

‘I am so lucky! I’m only getting a smacking!’ He was in the process of taking my trousers down, but that was to be expected. As soon as he got them down, though, he did something odd. He gasped. He pulled my shirt up, too. Was he going to hit me there as well? ‘Wouldn’t be the first time someone did.’

But then he picked me up again, holding me like a wailing babe, and laid me over the back of the divan. He walked away, and I heard the cellar door open. Maybe I wasn’t getting away with a smacking. What was he going to get? He hadn’t gone to the kitchen, so it wasn’t my belt. A cane, maybe? ‘I hate the cane!’ It made you bleed ever so much quicker than anything else. Before I had time to properly panic he was back, and a cold liquid was being applied to my skin with a cloth.

‘Oh no, not that!’ Uncle Vernon had done this once! He’d put this cream on my welts that smelt like Aunt Marge and it felt all cool at first. But then, it got hot, and set my skin aflame. I remembered how my wounds had hurt way down deep, and the awful sensation had lasted hours.

I started to scream; I couldn’t help it. The man stopped at my noise, and he talked low to me.

“Hush now, boy. It will only take a minute to start working.”

Was that supposed to make me feel better? I stopped screaming, though, because he’d told me to be quiet. After he’d smeared the fearsome stuff all over my back, bum, and legs, he pulled up my knickers and faced me to him.

“There’s no need to cry, child.”

He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it over.

“Wipe your face, now. Blow your nose.”

When I was done he proceeded to put the stuff on my face, chest, arms, and legs, too. Afterward, he gave me a little glass bottle.

“Drink it all down.”

‘It must be the oil Aunt Petunia made me take when I was bad.’ I really didn’t want to swallow it; the times I’d had it before my stomach cramped and the fishy taste lingered all night. I wasn’t about to argue, however, and I was pleasantly surprised. It tasted like sweaty socks and burnt cinder, much better than castor oil.

He looked at me kindly. “Good boy. Now let’s get you into some nightclothes so you can rest for a bit before breakfast.”

I was so puzzled. My bruises and cuts had stopped hurting, and the hot sensation hadn’t come. My muscle aches were fading, and all the places where I’d broken bones were feeling comfortable as well; they usually throbbed when the weather was stormy. What had he done?

I began to relax in spite of my fear that any moment my whole body would be sizzling. He carried me up the stairs and dressed me like a small child. It took him a while to work the buttons, and he pulled my hair trying to get the shirt over my head, but I wasn’t about to complain. I couldn’t remember a time when someone had carried me, held me close, or dressed me. Was I dreaming again?

The pajamas were wonderfully soft! The skin underneath them felt strange, and when I looked, my scabs were gone and my skin was white all over! He had used some kind of magic to take all my hurts away. I wanted to thank him, but I knew better than to speak out of turn.

“Are you ready to get some sleep?” he asked. Taking stock of the morning, I decided I really must be dreaming! I’d gotten in trouble twice, made an awful mess, and hadn’t gotten any chores done since early the day before. Now the man was healing my bruises and letting me sleep during the sunlight hours?

“Yes, sir,” I answered. What else could I say?

I went over to my place by the hearth and laid my head on the stone pillow.

“What are you doing, boy?” he demanded. Uh, oh. What had I done now?

“I’m sorry, sir! Did you want me to sleep in the corner?” I got up quickly and headed toward the spot I’d served my punishment.

“No!” he shouted, and I stopped mid-step, cowering a bit. He sighed a big sigh, and asked more quietly, “Is that where you’ve been sleeping?”

“Yes, sir.” I looked at my feet. I couldn’t even be a good boy when I was asleep.

“Come here, child.” I headed over to him; this was real, and I didn’t think I’d get off so lightly this time. He put his hands on my shoulders, and for a brief moment I thought I’d be shaken again. He only looked in my eyes, sadness shrouding him like the cloak he always wore.

“Harry,” he began, “Why didn’t you sleep in the bed?”

“The bed, sir? I – erm, I know the bed is not for me.”

He scrunched up his forehead. “Why would you think that?”

“I’ve – I’ve never slept in a bed, sir.”

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.”

He picked out a nice outfit for me, and soon we were whisked away by something he called ‘apparating.’ To me it felt like we were being squished into a jelly bean and sucked out again. We arrived in an alleyway which was so overrun with noise I presumed we’d made it to London. After a short walk we entered a dimly lit, musty pub, where everyone was dressed the way Mr. Snape looked at his cottage. These were the most adults I’d ever seen in one place, and they all looked big and scary. A rough, dirty man behind the weathered bar greeted my guardian.

“ ‘Allo, there, Professor Snape!” Professor? So he worked at University?

The barkeep continued, “Who’s that little thing ya got wif ya?” He peered at me, and I tried to find a place to hide. Could I disappear like the Snape man had?

“This, Tom, is Harry Potter.”

I jumped back when the man dropped two large glass mugs he’d been holding. He seemed to notice he’d frightened me.

“Well, what do you know? Hello, Mr. Potter! Pleased to make your acquaintance,” He acted like he knew me, and soon I noticed everyone else was turning to gawk as well.

“Thank you, sir. Pleased to meet you.” I knew better than to neglect my manners, even though I’d no idea what was going on.

The Snape man turned to the onlookers. “What are you all ogling at? Never seen a little boy before?”

Several women huffed, and the men sent him glares, but none were a match for Mr. Professor Snape.

We sat at a dusty table and were immediately waited upon by the man called Tom.

“What can I gets fer ya ta drink?”

The Snape man looked at me, but I didn’t know what to say. Other than the milk I’d had at Spinner’s End, I’d only ever had water. I shrugged my shoulders a bit, then waited for the reprimand. That couldn’t have been the polite thing to do. But he was really great about it.

“I’ll have a strong coffee, Tom, and how about a pumpkin juice for the boy.”

The barman handed me a menu, and I looked it over. There were so many choices, and the juice was expensive, I could see. Why was he spending more money on me? The bread I’d eaten an hour ago had half filled me up – what more could I hope for? We got our drinks; mine was strangely orange and thick.

Mr. Snape put his menu down and looked over to me. “Do you know what you want, Harry?”

“I, erm, I –” Scanning the menu frantically, I tried to find the cheapest on the list. I wasn’t fast enough, though.

The Snape man leaned close and whispered, “You can read, can’t you, child?”

I blushed. ‘He must think I’m really stupid!’ “Yes, sir, I can.”

Fretfully, I kept searching the menu, and saw a section called ‘a la carte.’ I didn’t know what that meant, but the things there were cheaper. Toast was only sixty pence.

I smiled a bit as I came to my conclusion. “Toast, please, sir.”

“Toast! Child, you’ve had nothing but bread for three days.”

I’d displeased him again. Glancing round the room, I saw people were still staring. My feet swung beneath me rhythmically, trying to empty the anxiety clouding my being. The barkeep returned. He gave me a long, wondering look, until Mr. Snape made a noise.

“Sorry there, Professor, wot ken I getcha?” he said, tearing his eyes from me.

“I’ll take a cinnamon scone, and bring young Mr. Potter eggs, sausage, and buttered toast with marmalade.”

Wow! Just at the sound of the food he’d ordered my mouth was watering! Had the coffee been an Irish one? Aunt Petunia had often ordered me to add whiskey and cream to Uncle’s morning cup. The man didn’t look drunk, though.

Taking stock of the room, he muttered, “For bloody Merlin’s sake!” before pulling a thread from his cloak and changing it to a tall, dark green curtain that hung all round us. He looked over at me, and turned a second thread into a black cloak just my size, and it had a silvery ‘H’ embroidered where a breast pocket would have been. He slipped it over my shoulders and bothered over the dragon-shaped clasp. It was warm and comforting, like the quilt had been. I smiled up at him. Could it be he really liked me?

Our food came and I couldn’t believe how much was set in front of me. I didn’t know how I could possibly eat all of it, but I knew I must. I’d never be so rude as to not clean my plate; I couldn’t imagine what trouble that’d land me in. No meals for a week plus a whipping, probably.

After a few bites of egg and half a piece of sausage I felt more stuffed than ever before. The food was so greasy and heavy, and the meat was spicy. I’d had eggs before, but only cold scraps. I made myself keep going; the man was glancing over at me frequently, waiting for me to be willful.

Once I polished off the link of sausage and a slice of toast I realized I was going to be sick. I tried to run to the lavatory, but didn’t know where it was. I ended up losing all what I’d eaten on the floor next to the bar. I was really, really going to get it now! Everyone was staring, and I wondered who was going to come over to punish me first. After all, I had ruined all their meals, and they were all adults.

I saw a rag on the edge of a table and tried to start cleaning up, holding in the next round of vomit ‘til it come out my nose. I was making even more of a mess! And I’d gotten my brand new clothes and cloak all dirty! ‘I’m such an ungrateful, horrible beast!’

The Snape man was coming toward me, and he was very upset and agitated. I wanted to scamper away from him back into the corner, but that would have made an ever greater mess. I made myself stay and take what was coming to me.

He took out his wand. Would he beat me with it? I didn’t see anything else lying around he could use.

“Scourgify.” He did the cleaning spell, and everything was good as new! I’d forgot about that one. He picked me up like a sack of potatoes and took me to the gentlemen’s. At least I wouldn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of a thrashing in public.

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

The child was trembling in my arms. I remembered all too well how uncomfortable it was to sick up, and I thought there’d be more to come. We made it to the loo just in time for him to get ill in the toilet. I waited a bit, patting his mussed hair.

“Is that all, Harry? Or do you need to stay in here a bit?”

His voice was shaky. “I – I think I’m done now, sir.”

I splashed cool water on his face and had him wash his hands.

“You probably don’t want to see that food on the table when we get back, eh?” He started to do a little nervous dance. “Do you need to use the toilet, boy?” Wasn’t he old enough to just go?

“No, sir. Er – I’ll eat the rest. I’ll try really hard not to sick up again. I’m so sorry, sir!” He was whinging and sounded frightened.

“Sorry for what?” Did he think I was angry he’d been ill? That was a normal thing for children; any decent wizard knew that! Hell, it was a normal thing for adults as well, especially when they got soused as I had all too recently.

“F-for getting sick and making such a mess.”

“Harry, didn’t you clean me up when I got sick from the drink?”

“Yes, sir.” He still looked confused. I’d hoped he’d figure out my gist. Ah, well, apparently not.

“Cleaning you up with an incantation is much easier than how you must have done it, correct? Why would I be upset with you for being sick when I did the same thing?” I was very interested in his answer; I had an inkling his thought process would reveal much of the damage done.

“Be-because I’m bad, sir. I deserve to be p-punished.”

The poor little thing! As soon as I had a free moment, I was going to have to contemplate an appropriate vengeance for those despicable muggles!

“Little one, listen now. You are not bad. You do not deserve to be punished. I am not going to punish you. Is that clear?” I hoped it was; I truly didn’t know how much more simply I could explain the situation.

“You’re not going to beat me?” he queried doubtfully.

“No, Harry, I’m not going to beat you. Now, tell me the truth. Are you still hungry?”

“No, sir,” he whispered, shamefaced. I took his chin in my hand, and tipped it up to banish the guilty pose.

“Don’t be upset, Harry. Now, let’s go pay, and then we’re going to get you checked over.”

We did the appating thing again and were suddenly outside a huge castle by a lake. It was just like a storybook kingdom! Perhaps faeries and pixies danced about the moors surrounding the expansive lake. Did mermaids flit through the dark depths?

A huge, black wrought-iron gate swung open for us, and I hurried to keep up with the Snape man. Why were we here? He’d said I was getting “checked over.” Was it a sort of test to see if I was good enough to live among sorcerers? What if I didn’t pass?

My stomach fell to my toes; if I wasn’t good enough to live with Mr. Professor Snape, I’d have to go back to Privet Drive, wouldn’t I? I desperately wanted to stay away from there, away from my cupboard, away from Uncle Vernon! I stumbled on the great stone steps, hauling myself back up quick as lightning. But the man had seen me.

“Can you not go a day without falling, boy?” he said derisively.

“Sorry, sir.” I answered sadly; what if the test had begun already?

“Yes, well, come along then.” He seemed exasperated.

We entered the castle; it was decorated lushly and felt very comfortable. It felt like . . . home. I felt like this was a place I could belong! What caused this inclination, I know not, but it was a heavenly feeling. It seemed as if eyes were upon me, wishing me well. There were lots of pictures on the walls, but I was concentrating on the stone floor, trying to keep my footing.

I got dizzier and more out-of-breath as we climbed endless, tall stairs. Finally, we arrived on a landing and entered a bright, white room filled with beds.

“Poppy!” the man yelled. I took a step back; I hated when there was yelling. I fought the urge to run right back out of the room.

“Severus? What are you –” A woman in a strange white veil and starched apron hurried out. As soon as she set eyes on me, she stopped dead in her pursuit.

“Is this . . . This can’t be . . . Why, Severus, he’s so small!” I was quite small, I knew that. I’d always been teased and shoved about at school because of it.

“Obviously, Poppy. That is part of the reason we’re here. Would you examine him for me?” The Snape man looked concerned. I felt a bit of relief; it seemed he’d meant a medical check up; not a test.

She handed me a big shirt with strings where buttons should have been.

“It’s the smallest I’ve got, dear.” Dear? That’s what Aunt Petunia had called me . . . but this lady seemed genuinely nice. Or was that just wishful thinking? She pulled the curtain round one of the beds and left me there to change in private. I could clearly hear the hushed conversation the Snape man and the Poppy lady were having.

“Do you think he’s ill, Severus?” She sounded worried.

“No, I think he’s been half starved since Lily passed. The muggles treated him horribly, Poppy.”

“No! Albus assured me he’d checked them out!” She paused for a moment, then went on, “Why is he so shaky at the moment?”

“Well, he sicked up his breakfast. He also frightens easily. The child really is quite difficult, I must say.”

“You know better than about anybody the repercussions of ill treatment, Severus.” The Poppy lady sounded as if she were speaking to a little child.

“I do not appreciate you dredging up old, personal matters of mine, Madame.”

She huffed, but changed the subject. “So he couldn’t keep breakfast down. What did you feed him?”

“Eggs, toast, sausage, pumpkin juice.”

“Well, there’s your problem. Why in Merlin’s name would you give a sickly child all that grease?”

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

Why Pomfrey felt the need to point out another of my shortcomings as a guardian, I do not know. I added nutritional idiocy to the long list of transgressions. There was more she needed to know in order to check Harry satisfactorily, so I delayed laying into her for the moment.

“He also came to me with several wounds and abrasions. The child was beaten, Poppy.”

“No! How bad was it, Severus?”

“Do you recall my third year? How I looked when I arrived from summer holiday?”

“Of course. It couldn’t have been as bad as that! Please tell me it wasn’t, Severus.”

“It was a bit worse.” By second year I’d kept a large stash of healing potions in my school bag whenever a trip home was required. That summer I’d used nearly all of them on mum.

“I’d have liked to’ve seen the wounds for myself. I assume they’ve been satisfactorily healed by now?”

“Of course, Madame.” Did she think I was cruel as well as inept?

“Fetch your pensieve, then.” She turned away, moving toward the curtained area with tears brimming on puffy, lower lids.

“Harry, dear? Are you dressed?”

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

I was as dressed as I could be. This thing was even bigger than my hand-me-downs!

“Yes, er . . .” What had he called her? “Madam.”

She picked me up and set me on the tall bed, pointing her stick at different parts of my body and frowning. Whatever she was finding out, she didn’t like it. I sat up as straight and tall as I could, and took deep breaths, hoping to be as good as she wanted. Then the questions started.

“How old are you, Harry?”

“Eight, madam.”

“What are you used to eating every day?” she asked. Would I be scolded for not eating all my breakfast?

“At my aunt’s I had bread and water sometimes. With Mr. Professor Snape I get cheese, milk, and butter too.” She chuckled at the last bit. ‘Uh oh; will she tell him not to feed me so much?’

“Now, Harry, you said you had bread and water sometimes. What did you have the other times?”

“Scraps or nothing, madam.” If I’d eaten once a day I counted myself lucky, even if it was only a crust or two. I used to make it seem like I’d more by pretending I was a mouse. Just a little, tiny, white mouse that had found a piece of bread ten times bigger than his head! I’d take in big bites of air with a little crumb, and chew like my mouth was overflowing. I always burped a lot after, owing to swallowing so much air, but that made it seem even more like I’d had a hearty meal.

“Scraps or nothing,” she muttered, writing notes with a big feather on a burnt piece of paper.

“How often did you eat?” She sounded hesitant to even ask.

“Mostly every day, as long as I wasn’t being punished.”

“And if you were being punished, dear?” She held her breath. I’d never had anyone listen so attentively to me!

“It might be a few days, perhaps a week.”

“Have you ever broken a bone, dear?” She looked up, giving me a tight smile.

“Yes, madam.” I’d had several. When Dudley got one, Aunt Petunia took him to hospital and he came back with a thick, white cast everybody signed. I never had one of those.

“Lie back and hold still, now.”

She waved her wand slowly down my whole body, and it kept jerking over old hurts I’d had. As she reached my feet, tears began pouring down her cheeks. What had I done to upset her so?

“I’m sorry, ma’am! I’ll be good, I promise!” If the Snape man came back and saw I’d made her cry, I was sure to catch it!

She did the strangest thing then. She choked out, “Oh, child,” and picked me up, cuddling me like a teddy bear. She touched her wand to the places that’d made it jump and whispered nonsense words. Sometimes my body shifted a bit as she did this, and it was quite a disconcerting feeling. She gave me several little bottles of liquid to drink; one tasted of grass and pipe smoke. She let me have pumpkin juice to rid the taste. She was so kind! I felt very guilty I’d made her so sad.

After all this was done, she sat me on her lap in a rocker and hummed gently. ‘So this is what it feels like to be held!’ The blanket and cloak were wonderful, but this . . . this was indescribable. My heart felt like it was surrounded by sunlight, and it beat stronger than ever before. The good feeling didn’t last, though, when I realized tears were beginning to spill over my cheeks. I tensed and wiped them away, pulling myself into a ball. I prayed she hadn’t seen!

But she whispered wonderful words! “Harry, dear, it’s all right to cry. Did those blasted muggles deny you that, too? You have plenty to cry about, child. Let it out.”

And I did. Once I started I just got louder and louder. She kept telling me it was okay, so I refrained from reigning it in. That is, until I heard the door open again. I bit my lips, held my breath, and as hard as I could I dug my fingernails into my palms. The Poppy lady had tolerated my fussing, but I knew the Snape man wouldn’t.

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

I’d taken the last few steps by threes. The boy was wailing; some children were such brats at a medic’s. I always dreaded seeing a healer due to the insufferable little horrors moaning all over. Soon as I walked in, he stopped, thank Merlin! But I beheld a curious sight. Poppy was rocking him, singing a bit. Is this how mothers were supposed to act? I watched her, cradling him seemed so natural, so loving. This was what the child needed. Could I ever give it? I tried to remember a moment in my life someone’d cared for me like that . . . Poppy had! How could I have forgotten. When I first arrived at Hogwarts, I was a bloody mess. A prefect had brought me to her straight off the train, and she cried over me. After I was sorted into Slytherin, however, she’d kept more distance. Perhaps that was why the memory had been buried; I got so sick of my house getting slighted!

I cleared my throat. “The pensieve, madam.” Selecting the pertinent memory, I pried it from my brain and thrust it into the silvery depths.

She spoke very quietly to the child. “Harry, I’m going to tuck you in one of those beds now for a bit of a nap.” After she laid him down, she pulled up the covers and wrapped them round his shoulders, fluffing his pillow and kissing his forehead. Should I be doing that? It seemed exceedingly sentimental . . .

She took a deep breath, then watched as I discovered Harry’s wounds and doused them with Subtusum.

A grim expression on her face, she didn’t look up after it finished. “I’d say your comparison was accurate.” Her eyes snapped at me, then. “But where did the fresh welt come from?”

‘Shit!’ I’d forgotten about that. I waded my way through the truth, watching her become angrier by the moment.

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

The Poppy lady was getting mad at my Snape about hitting me. But he hadn’t hit me nearly enough, couldn’t she understand that? After he told her all about that day, I understood it like never before. He thought I’d brought his father’s belt? That must mean his father had beat him like Uncle Vernon did me! Was he a freak like me, too? He sounded like he felt badly about hitting me; that was puzzling. He’d been ever so lenient since the day I arrived; why would he feel sorry for the little bit of discipline he’d given?

As soon as he finished telling Madam Poppy about it, she hauled off and slapped him, right across the face. He seemed like he knew the rules, too, because he didn’t move or flinch.

“I’m certain you can do better than that, Poppy,” he drawled sarcastically. Her eyes bugged and she got some powder and threw it in the fireplace.

“Dumbledore!” she screamed into the green flames engulfing the floo.

Dumbledore ascended the stairs and wafted into the infirmary, damned calm and superior as usual. However, to my surprise, Poppy did not immediately launch into a rundown of my transgressions; she began berating him about his lack of attention to our students’ struggles in general.

Apparently, she and Dumbledore had quarreled about the proper course of action to take with abused children in the past. She felt he was horribly negligent, and actually cited my case as a prime example. I’d certainly never heard any of this before; indeed, it was a rare moment anyone on staff questioned Albus’ decisions.

After nearly ten minutes of raging, she ended with, “You and I both know no other healer would be at your students’ and staff’s beck and call 24 hours a day all year, and I will be forced to resign if you continue to treat abuse cases with such blindness and naïveté! So, Albus, will you allow me to decide the appropriate course of action when I see a student in danger?”

Dumbledore was seven shades of pink. I admired the floor in an attempt to appear as though I’d not heard his thorough dressing-down. His face awash with false confidence, he pandered to the formidable medi-witch.

“Shall continue our discussion at a more appropriate time, then, Madame Pomfrey?”

With a steely glare, she turned from him, only to set the pensieve right in front of his face.

“Take a look at this, then tell me I’m wrong,” Poppy challenged.

I crept into the background. Not only did I want to avoid thinking about Harry’s marks, I wanted to avoid thinking about my grave error. I had no idea what Albus would say about my treatment of Harry. But I couldn’t escape it; Poppy was narrating for the headmaster.

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

The Poppy lady sounded really concerned about me. Were things really that bad? If I was hurt as much as she’d said, I must really have been bad to deserve all of it. The whole experience was scary. I waited til all of them’s backs were turned, then crept off the tall bed and, snatching up my clothes, scuttled into the corner. That’s probably where my Snape would want me anyway, what with having caused this scene.

“The child has been beaten and starved for years, Albus! Did not Minerva, Hagrid, and myself express reservations about that damned muggle family from day one? You said you were checking up on him; was that a lie? Was it?” The madam’s face was a shade of crimson I’d only viewed in tomato soup.

Dumbledore sighed. “I did check on him . . . although in hindsight perhaps not as thoroughly or as often as necessary.”

“Perhaps? Perhaps! Albus Dumbledore, when are you going to take your great grey head out your arse and realize that blind optimism is a farce? Don’t you care?”

Finally, he stated, “Children should be with their families.”

‘Oh no, oh no, oh no! He’s going to send me back to the Dursleys!’

Abruptly, Poppy turned and left, the glass in the infirmary door window shattering as she slammed it behind her. I jumped nearly out of my skin; she was going to let him take me away! She’d given up.

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

‘Surely he won’t try to take the boy from me!’ I realized for the first time, I wanted the boy. I didn’t think I could bear the thought of another caring for him; there was no question in my mind very few would understand his reactions or particular needs. And Albus had just said something about family . . . surely he would not take the boy back to his blood relatives? ‘I won’t allow that!’

“Severus, did you hit the child?” his voice was deadened as I rarely heard it.

“Yes, Headmaster.” No use belaboring this inevitable discussion; I’d not pretend I had a valid excuse, and he’d already heard my explanation by way of Poppy.

“This doesn’t seem to be working out very well, my boy.” How I hated it when his tone grew condescending!

“It will not happen again, Albus. I’ve promised myself and Harry that.” I wouldn’t waver on that promise!

“Even so, wouldn’t you be happier if we made other arrangements? Honestly, I expected you to be shouting at my gargoyle by midnight the first night.”

When I began to answer back, his crinkled, parchment hand waved my voice away.

“Allow me to speak with the boy, Severus. I’m certain you’ve some tinkering to do in your dungeons? After all, you’ve been gone several days now.”

I glanced at the bed; how was Harry taking all of this? But the boy wasn’t there. He was hiding on the floor in the corner. I turned to go to him, but Albus caught my arm.

“He already looks frightened, Severus. Best leave it to me, eh?” He lifted his eyebrows in that omniscient manner befitting only him.

Perhaps he was right. I did seem to scare the child endlessly. If Dumbledore never thought I could pull this off, why should I? But the boy seemed to be starting to respond to me and, Merlin help me, I didn’t want him taken away! I retreated to my rooms, competing motivations raging across my thickened consciousness.

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

It didn’t sound like the Snape man would stand up for me either. I fought not to wretch as the reality of my current situation impacted my scattered mind.

“Harry?” the old man whispered. I looked up, against my better judgment. “You needn’t be frightened child. I won’t hurt you.”

He stood his ground; that was promising. I thought my head might explode if he came closer.

“What are you scared of, my child?” As if it were as easy as that!

‘That you’ll send me away. That I’ll have to leave my Snape’s care!’

But, “I’m sorry, sir!” was the only reply that would fly from my clenched teeth.

“Nothing to be sorry for, Harry. I know Severus has been unkind, but you won’t be forced to suffer his ill temper any longer.”

I couldn’t help it; I spoke out of turn. “Please, please, sir, I’ll be good, I promise I will!”

He looked puzzled, like he didn’t understand English.

“Yes, well, I expect you to be good, Harry. But that’s beside the point. Now, come, get up off the freezing floor and we’ll discuss where you’ll be headed.”

He came toward me and I panicked. My body felt as if sparks flew from each follicle, and the Master Dumblesdore was thrown backward, away from me. He landed flat on his back, proud head hitting the polished white floor of the infirmary.

What had I done now? My heart beat so fast I’d trouble breathing; my skin felt itchy and hot all over. I vaguely registered a sound like chuckling in the distance, but my ears were rushing and pounding so I couldn’t be certain. As through a pea-soup fog, I noticed him sit up and stand. I just wanted to be somewhere . . . safe. As he came toward me again, hand outstretched, I was squished like a bug and spat out into a dusty, familiar room . . . in to Ashton-Under-Lyne.

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

It unnerved me as much as always when Albus skipped through my wards. At least this time he’d not caused me to botch a potion. He seemed particularly jumpy.

“Well, Severus, I must say it is clear the child wishes to stay with you,” he said rather doubtfully. Would he ever have faith in me? ‘Not bloody likely!’

“Will you allow him?” My voice conveyed much more desperation than I was keen on showing. Ah, well.

“You are his guardian, my boy, you know that.” As if law ever mattered with Albus Dumbledore around! If he was convinced Harry should be moved, so would any authority at the Ministry.

“Is that a yes or a no?” I’d turned away. No need for him to see what he could clearly hear.

“Do you even want to keep the child, Severus?”

I pivoted back round, lunging toward him with shoulders and eyes. “Yes!” I growled, at a deafening volume.

“Ah. Well, then, you’ll have to find him.” Damned calm, exasperating . . .

He filled me in on the details. I was quite impressed with the force revealed in my charge’s accidental magic. And apparating? At eight? From inside the most powerful apparition wards anywhere? Nothing short of impossible . . . ‘Just like a one year old surviving Avada and killing the most evil being ever known!’

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

“Who’s ‘ere?” The kind tailor sounded worried. Had he seen me appear? I realized I’s under a table, and he was coming down the stairs, so likely he hadn’t. I got up, purposefully knocking my head on the underside of the counter to momentarily curb the tears and panic. What should I say?

“Y-yes, s-sir. It’s just H-harry, sir. I – erm – I got lost.”

“Little ‘un?”

I showed myself, glad I’d taken the time to change out of the hospital gown.

“C – could you point me back to M-mister S-snape’s house, p-please, sir?” I had no idea how long it would take the wizards to figure out where I’d got, but I knew I’d best be home when my Snape arrived.

“A course, child. But . . . are you certain evrythin’s on the up and up, now?”

I hesitated. I shouldn’t have hesitated. “Yes, sir. Everything’s been . . . j-just great, sir.”

He looked at me closely. “Yer face looks better.”

“Yes, sir. He gave me m-medicine for it.” That seemed to convince him I wasn’t being mistreated.

“Might ‘s well take yer new clothes wif yeh. Was waitin’ fer a lass shipment afore bringin’ ‘em all away a Spinner’s End.” He handed me the nicely wrapped brown parcels. “Want me ter walk down ‘ere wif yeh?”

“No, n-no thank you, sir. Just, er, p-point me the right way, please.” I desperately wanted to stay with him; have him show some kind gesture and talk nice to me as he had that one day. But there wasn’t time for it; I didn’t deserve it anyway.

He showed me to the door and pointed to the right, where I knew he would.

He called after me, “Don’t be a stranger, child. Come up ‘ere again right soon!”

I almost smiled. I ran down the cobbled lane, desperate to get back. I knew not what good it might do; I couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of punishment I’d receive for this. I’d done the freakish equivalent to . . . attacking an elder and running away! By the time I tripped and fell going up the front stoop, I was crying even louder than I had in Madam Poppy’s arms. I was ever grateful the door wasn’t locked, and I bounded up the steps to my room. What had, up til now, been my room, at least. Who knew where I’d be sent? The Dursleys would probably kill me if they found out about this. ‘Maybe he’ll just beat me and lock me in the broom cupboard,’ I hoped fervently. I knew I deserved much worse!

After tucking the parcels into the bureau drawers, I threw myself into the corner and tried to stop my infernal weeping. Digging my nails into my flesh wasn’t working, nor was biting my tongue and lips. I did what I’d done in my cupboard so many times; I banged my head into the wall repeatedly until the tears dried. It was funny how hurting oneself on the outside got rid the pain on the in.

Real panic set in when I heard the pop of appating downstairs. They’d found me! At least I couldn’t breathe well enough to cry.

I sprinted from the castle, still wondering about the boy’s accidental magic. Going on instinct, I apparated to the first place that’d come to mind, Spinner’s End.

“Harry?” I called throughout the house. I thought I heard a scuffle at the top of the stairs. There he was, huddled on the splintery, dry-rotted floor in that dratted corner. I’d have to put something there so he’d not be able to punish himself at every erroneous misdeed.

“Child, come out of there.” When he didn’t, I went around the side of him to get a good look. In a frenzy, he appeared to be near panic-induced convulsions.

“Did you scare yourself that much, then?” I chuckled. “You’ve apparated before, child. You didn’t splinch something, now, did you?”

He drew a great, rickety breath, and began babbling, “I didn’t . . . I don’t . . . I’m sorry, s-sir. I wasn’t . . .” Then sobs overtook him.

“Hush, now, Harry. Come out of the corner,” I insisted, gently as I could. He scooted himself into the room woozily, then tightened his grasp around his shins ‘til white shone in the tiny knuckles. Pushing his forehead into knobby knees, his weeping slowed to whimpers.

I fetched a glass of cool water and a cloth, and he stared up at me like I’d brought a great bag of galleons. Coughing and sputtering as he gulped the water, his eyes brimmed with salty, unspilt tears and copious questions.

“Go ahead, child. Ask your questions,” I bade.

“Really, sir? I’m allowed?”

“You are always allowed to ask questions of me, Harry. Did those blasted muggles disallow it?”

“Yes, sir,” he whispered pitifully, before summoning the courage to ask what was on his mind. After a steadying breath, he said swiftly, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

I certainly hadn’t expected that one! Was I being nice? I guessed if he thought I was, that was a good sign. Maybe I wasn’t going to turn out a terrible caretaker in the end. ‘I’ll show Dumbledore I can do this!’

“Because you deserve to be treated nicely,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Next question.”

A cockeyed grin flickered across his face before the green pools turned stormy. His next query was carried on tones no more forceful than a midsummer breeze.

“Do I get to stay with you?” he breathed.

“Yes!” I hadn’t meant to shout, but I did, and after the initial startle that shot him backward, he lunged at me. I found myself captured in the grandest hug I’d ever experienced. Tentatively, I returned the embrace, whispering, “No one nor nothing will take you away from me. This is your home now, child. I am your rightful guardian in the wizarding world, being your godfather.”

He leant away from me abruptly, looking up into my eyes for the first time. “You’re my godfather?”

Had I not even told him that? ‘Idiot!’

“Yes, I am your mother’s choice for godfather and guardian over you. I would have taken you from your appalling relatives sooner, but no-one realized I’d been named and, well, it is complicated. Suffice it to say you are staying put . . . as long as that’s your wish.”

He squeezed me again, nearly knocking the breath out of me. “It is!” he chirped gleefully. “It is, godfather!”

At that moment the fear returned, and he settled quickly, moving away from me slightly.

“I’m sorry, sir. I shouldn’t have said that without permission. I apologize, sir.”

Before I could utter another word, Dumbledore apparated into the room.

“Brilliant Harry, just brilliant! Never have I seen such potent accidental magic. Have you, Severus?”

My eyes were only for the boy. He was backing away, apprehension seeping from his very aura.

……………………………………………………………

He was here! I was already in trouble with my Snape, and the man I hurt was here too. I didn’t know what to do, so I slid back as far as I could until the wall smacked my back. Master Dumblesdore was talking and I was straining to pay attention, to sort it out, but there was a mad whooshing sound in my ears, or in the room; I couldn’t decipher which. I only knew I was shaking and jerking about something fierce, and the air surrounding me seemed a thousand ravens taken to flight. The rush grew ever louder, and I stumbled backward. The wall had vanished itself! I found myself in a new room, his bedroom. As the wall re-appeared, I only became slightly more worried that I’d invaded his chambers sans permission; how could I possibly get into any more trouble than I’s already in?

I heard footsteps nearing the door to this, my Snape’s bedchamber, when my fingertips prickled and the door slammed shut, apparently locking itself in the process. He’d think I did it! Surely he’d send me away now. But maybe, just maybe, if I could get up, open the door, apologize, and accept my punishment from the both of them like the good boy I’d always wanted to be . . . It was worth a try. I pushed my teeth together and hit my head a few times to stop the tears, then forced myself to stand tall and open the door. My Snape looked very angry; indeed, I hadn’t seen him this angry in a while. Master Dumblesdore looked sad. Maybe he didn’t like doling out harsh punishments like the one I deserved.

“I’m very sorry, Mister Professor Snape, sir, and Master Dumblesdore, sir,” I said, with my head slanted firmly toward their boots. I remembered my first day here, when I’d fallen and feared being slapped, as Master Dumblesdore started to laugh. I didn’t dare look up, and before I knew what was happening, I was trapped in his arms, being lifted off the ground. I cringed, but did not fight. If he was taking me now, I deserved it. Whatever he was doing, I knew I deserved the worst.

He leant me away from him so as to look at my face, and spoke as though he might be amused.

“Did you not hear what I said, little one?”

I couldn’t look at him as I apologized for yet another mistake I’d made in the past quarter of an hour.

“I tried, sir, but I couldn’t hear you. I’m sorry, sir!”

He chuckled again. ‘Chuckled?’

“No matter, Harry, no matter. I only said that your accidental magic was brilliant, very fearsome and strong. I feel privileged to have witnessed it, even though my backside does not share the opinion.”

And he chuckled again. I chanced a flickered glance in his direction, and then my Snape’s, and the old wizard looked, well, the opposite of angry, really. My Snape had the same sort of annoyed expression he usually wore affixed to his likeness.

“Master Dumblesdore, sir?”

“Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry,” my Snape – my godfather – corrected, in a compassionate voice.

“Now, now, Severus, I thought the moniker was rather kitchy.”

Godfather snorted at that one!

Headmaster Dumblesdore went on, “Yes, Harry?”

“So, you’re not hurt, sir?”

“No, child. How very kind of you to ask.”

“And you’re not – you’re not, er, angry with me, then, sir?” I must’ve been barking to ask that outright, but I had such a sense I’d not be in trouble by it.

“Of course not!” He bounced me around a bit, tickling my sides until giggles erupted, before he continued. “Harry, will you come with me to the kitchen a moment?”

Godfather looked livid, but he nodded when I looked for approval. Once there, the ancient Headmaster knelt in front of me, looking at me in the eyes.

“Do you truly wish to stay here, child? Many kind witches and wizards would love to take you into their families. Several have other children your age.”

What was he searching my face for? He wanted me to say I’d go, but why? I said nothing; I’d learned long before if your words wouldn’t be welcomed, it was best to keep them to yourself. But he still searched.

“Harry, do you want to stay with Severus?” A direct question. I couldn’t ignore it.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

How could I answer that? I’d have to start somewhere.

“Because he took me from the Dursleys, and he’s lenient, and kind, and he’s my godfather, and my mother wanted me with him and please don’t make me go!” To my horror, my voice had risen to a wail again, and tears were seeping from my hooded lids. I gasped as the tall, dark figure of my guardian approached.

“You may leave, Albus,” he said, or, rather, commanded.

Dumblesdore struggled to get up as he began, “Severus, my boy, I was simply –”

“Goodbye, Albus!” my Snape roared.

With a pop, we were alone.

…………………………………………………………………

All of that headache, worry, all the tears, just so high and mighty Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Order of Merlin – First Class, can meddle even more profoundly in my life! ‘First class pain in my arse!’

As I was fuming, Harry slipped past me and padded up the steps. Merlin help damned Dumbledore if he’d stuck himself in that corner again.

He had. Damnit.

I heard him sniffling, and saw him stiffen as he realized my presence. He started banging his head against the bloody wall! It took a moment to sink in that that was, indeed, what he was doing. I picked him up and sat him on my lap in a rocking chair I transfigured to temporarily block the offending right angle of the room.

“Why were you hitting your head, foolish child?” I said that harshly, and he flinched. Damn, damn, damn!

“I’m sorry, sir! I was being bad and crying and hitting my head makes me stop but I won’t do it again if you don’t want me to and I’m ready for my punishment, sir.”

All this rubbish spilled out piteously as he wriggled to the floor and cast his eyes down. I chucked him lightly under the chin, tipping his view from floor to façade. Resolute, I was determined to stay calm and collected during this exchange.

“For what do you believe you’re about to be punished?”

He fussed and stuttered through a dozen or more supposedly heinous actions. ‘Does this child think everything he does is malefic?’

Once he finished, I simply expressed, “Harry, you’ll not be punished for any of that. Honestly, every young wizard has bouts of accidental magical mayhem.”

“Every young wizard has . . . do you mean to say . . . am I a wizard?” he shouted, then clapped his hands over his mouth.

I wondered bitterly over my amnesic, inconscient mind as of late. “Did I not even tell you that? You are, quite possibly, the most powerful wizarding child ever born.”

Poignantly noting he still had thin fingers pressed to seemingly errant lips I added, by way of an afterthought,

“Dear child, you’ll not be punished for shouting!”

‘I am a wizard? I’m a wizard! Harry Potter, a wizard . . .’

“May I ask a question, sir?” I needed it to be clear. I wanted to believe there was a reason I was always doing everything wrong, being ‘freaky,’ and getting into trouble; other than I was just born horrible.

He had a slight grin on his face as he replied, “You needn’t ask first. In fact, the asking, in itself, is a question.”

Great! Again, I was trying to be good, but it just didn’t work.

“I’m sorry, sir! I didn’t realize . . . I wasn’t . . . I’m sorry.” As usual in such circumstances, my voice first betrayed panic, but by the time I’s done apologizing, it was a bare whisper; I’d braced for what would come. I had hope it wouldn’t be bad . . . My Snape had just shown me how much he would tolerate without beating me. But maybe that was just because the Headmaster had nearly taken me. Maybe he didn’t want the embarrassment of having a child taken from him, being a teacher and all.

“I believe you had another question, child. You may ask it.” He seemed exasperated, but level. ‘He’s working really hard at keeping himself from blowing up.’ I owed him so much already, for the clothes, the food, the . . . home! If I was bad and it frustrated him, he should take it out on me!

“I won’t tell, sir.” Would he know what I meant, or would I have to say those hateful words?

“You won’t get an answer if you do not ask the question, boy,” he growled as I winced.

He definitely did not understand. He watched me squirm for a moment before I pushed out the words, “I meant I won’t tell if you hit me again, sir.”

……………………………………………

Again. Ah, yes. I deserved this suspicion. Blasted temper of mine!

“I will not hit you again, Harry. You have my word on that.” I paused, hoping the declaration would stick in his confused little mind. After a moment of meeting my gaze, he let out a breath it seemed he’d not realized he was holding, and smiled.

“As for questions,” I continued, “I imagine you have a great many. You may ask questions whenever you please without fear of punishment. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

I waited for the all important query, but it was not forthcoming. ‘Patience, Severus.’

“Well?” A sarcastic tone. Was it better than a gruff one? He’d jumped. ‘Guess not.’

I’d have to work on that as well. I needed to start a bloody list!

“Er, um . . .” So quiet I could scarcely hear. ‘Wait for it, breathe you idiot!’

He finally managed, “Is all the bad things I do because I’m a wizard?”

Well, that was quite an important question. The simple statement belied a hearty misconception. ‘Perhaps someone at the castle will watch him whilst I call upon the filthy muggles.’

I surveyed him as he swayed with anticipation; as moved by authority’s whims as a willow whisp in a gale. Yet I also sensed he’d the tenacity to bend in two before breaking.

“Child, the short answer is yes. The bad things you are referring to, apparating, vanishing the wall, shutting the door . . . that is all accidental magic. But I hope you’ll come to understand that it’s not bad. It’s just an accident. Accidents aren’t anyone’s fault.”

He was not convinced.

……………………………………………………

All of a sudden, the fireplace glowed green and the Poppy lady’s face showed up. It was a bit scary, like something you’d see on the telly at Halloween, but it seemed she wasn’t hurt by it. ‘Must be magic.’

“Severus,” she whispered.

“He’s gone, Poppy,” he jeered and sniggered at the same time.

She stepped out of the fireplace all covered with cinder soot. My nose tickled with the raven dust, but I daren’t sneeze. It was my fault the hearth was so untidy. I took a quick look round. Everything needed swept and washed down again. My arms ached just thinking about all the work I’d cut out for me. ‘Bad Harry! Don’t think like that!’

My Snape and the Poppy lady were talking, reading over a thick piece of paper that could have been torn from a paper grocer’s bag. I took the opportunity to fetch a rag and soapy water to rid the floor of ash.

The Poppy lady stopped and took notice.

“Harry, dear, what are you doing?” She gave my godfather a reproachful look. ‘Uh, oh. Should I have waited ‘til she left? Am I being impolite?’

Godfather raised his eyebrows at me, and I started to stammer.

“I, er, um . . .”

“He likes playing chimney sweep, don’t you, Harry?” The tilt of his chin boldly insisted upon agreement.

Flustered, I croaked, “Yes, sir.”

“Harry, run along upstairs and freshen up,” he banished.

“Yes, sir.” I was already halfway to my room. I knew what he meant.

……………………………………………………

The information Poppy brought was not unexpected, but to have it all laid out on a flimsy parchment hurtled bile to wash my teeth. Choking, I sank into the nearest arenaceous shay. She recounted the confidences he’d uttered about his treatment, and handed me a list of potions.

“I’ve brought you the necessary balms and tonics, Severus. Before you start ranting - yes, I know you can brew them yourself. I wanted to save you the time. I knew young Harry would be distraught, and . . . Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

Giving me a sort of half smile, the kind where one purses one’s lips and frowns a bit, she took me off guard. Since when did my countenance reveal emotion?

“Yes, thank you, Poppy. I do appreciate the potions.” She was tactful enough not to mention the cost-prohibitive nature of many of them. “I would offer you a cup of tea, but my larder’s empty at the moment.”

“No matter, Severus.” She had more to say. The upward lilt at the last word of the sentence, the intake of breath, the chewing of the left side of her bottom lip. Would she spit it out?

Indeed, she would. “If you’re ever in need of a nanny, a few hours or longer, do not hesitate. Just pop on over to the castle. Young Harry is a precious gift; you realize that, do you not?”

I did.

Being the snarky bastard I am, I only muttered a noncommittal reply before holding out the pot of decades old floo powder.

………………………………………………………

I washed up, like he said, and hurriedly used the loo and drank from the trickling sink. Mister Professor Snape always seemed mad when he found me in the corner, so even though I knew that’s where I should be, I sought out another place in the room to wait for his arrival.

I decided on the windowsill, where I could busy my mind about flying over treetops like Peter Pan. I’d always felt lost, thrown about here and there. I fancied Tink would come and find me, sprinkle me with fairy dust. ‘Wait! I’m a wizard!’ Could wizards fly to Never-Neverland? But then I’d have to be eight forever, and I wanted nothing so desperately as to grow up and be at no-one’s mercy. ‘The other lost boys would probably think I was weird and stupid anyway.’

As my corner of the sky transmuted from steel-blue to blushing, currant-veined flames, I was lost for a moment in the startling beauty of the outside. Would my world always be bleached white and gun-metal grey? Would my view be limited to inky dirt on a ragged flannel and the puce rainbow of fading bruises?

As I heard the whoosh of the floo and click-clack of shoes floating up the rust-colored wooden steps, my perspective held only the licorice mud that glazed the inside of my eyelids.

“Ready, Harry?” I opened my eyes and blinked. He didn’t seem angry, more dismal and sad.

I tripped down from the sill, barely keeping my footing. ‘Thank goodness! He hates it when I fall!’

“Yes, sir,” I admitted hesitantly. I waited. Wondered.

He drew his wand, and I had to keep myself from flinching. I’d have to control myself. I waited for the order. But all he did was change his wizard clothes into regular ones.

“Take off your robe, child.”

‘Here we go.’ I complied, naturally, and took down my trousers.

“What are you doing?” he crowed.

‘Time to own up.’

“I should not have cleaned the floor while Madam Poppy was here, sir. I’m sorry, and I’m ready to be punished for, er . . .”

What exactly was wrong with it? I didn’t know.

“ . . . for doing that.”

He set his jaw and cleared his throat. We stood like that for a moment; me half dressed and him in clothes that looked as foreign on him as an iris blooming midwinter.

“Fine,” he bit out. “What do you suppose I’ll do it with?”

After all this time, and all I’d done, there was only one, venomous, unpalatable answer.

“A cane, sir.” My voice never wavered; I refused to allow it.

“Get yourself ready, then,” he ground out through clenched teeth while stalking out of the room.

Lying over the bed, I pinned folded arms under my weighted chest. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him return with the implement. How long had he been hiding it? Why had he waited this long to use it?

He drew up beside me, declaring flatly, “This is the very worst beating you will ever receive from me, Harry Potter. Do you understand?”

‘The very worst beating I will ever receive. At least I’ll know how bad it can get.’ He’d asked if I understood. Did I?

“Yes, sir.”

I heard his breath draw in sharply. He was practicing, tapping me a couple of times for aim. ‘He must not have done this in a while.’

His voice was calm, clear at the next command. “Pull up your trousers, child.”

“Sir?” He’d be doing this over clothing? How was that possible?

He sighed, and did it for me rather than repeating the order. Then he turned me round, lifted me up under my arms, and deposited me on the bed.

………………………………………

He looked at me incredulously, unable to puzzle out the situation. Had I done the right thing? It was soon to be told.

“That, child, was the very worst beating you will ever receive from me.”

He held eye contact with me for the longest time, searching. Grand, fat-raindrop tears welled in his eyes as he breathily asked,

“It’s really over, isn’t it, sir? The - the beatings?”

He was shaking violently; he needed to hear my answer as much as he needed sleep, air, food. ‘It was the right thing to do!’

“Yes, Harry, it is,” I all but whispered as I knelt beside him.

“Thank you, sir, thank you, thank you,” he managed before dissolving into gut-wrenching, spastic sobs that sang the countermelody to his prior, hellish life.

It was not at all awkward to have him curled in a ball, rocking him, as his tiny heart seeped pain and grief.

Poppy would be proud.

………………………………………

I was crying, being held tight, without much fear of punishment. Was this normal, or was it heaven?

I tensed as I my tears dried. How long would his sympathy last? How long before he got tired of me being a crybaby? And would he be mean next time he drank?

Soon as I’s able, I pulled myself upright and attempted at looking presentable.

“Are you ready, Harry?” he asked, as if I knew what for. ‘Please let it be something pleasant!’ I prayed.

“Yes, sir,” I answered hesitantly.

He looked down at me, a smirk that betrayed a less than normal amount of frustration playing across his jaw.

“Do you know what you’re ready for, child?” He gave a half-grin, took a little breath and held it as a sniff as if he might laugh. ‘At me or with me?’

“N…no, sir.” He did laugh.

“To eat, of course. That is why I had you remove your cloak, child; we’re among muggles, you’ll remember.”

“Oh.” I felt a bit stupid, but no insults were forthcoming, so I set my concentration on not tripping as we entered the stoop and long, cobble-stoned way of Spinner’s End.

………………………………………

Walking into the Knight’s Head Pub, eyes were on me as opposed to the boy. I silently cursed this town once again. I was chagrined that Hogwarts had been such an unsettling experience for the boy; I’d wished we could return there sooner rather than later.

He still hesitated to sit until told, so I decided to begin there.

“Harry?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Why do you hesitate to sit down at a dining table?”

I could almost hear the pace of his heartbeat rocket. He cringed, and pulled in on himself a bit, chin down but eyes on me.

“I, er - I’m sorry, sir!”

‘Take a deep breath, Severus. You will stay calm! You will!’

“Don’t worry, Harry. I only want to talk with you. Now, take a breath, and answer the question, child.”

“I never got to eat at the table at home - I mean, at the Dursley’s, sir.”

“I was afraid of that. Where did they have you eat, then?”

“Mostly on the floor, sir.”

“Bastards!” I exclaimed a bit too loudly, drawing attention from the matronly bar maid. Recovering, I added, “You’ll become accustomed to eating at the table with me. When it is time to eat, you may always sit down at the table without being told. How’s that sound?”

“Good, sir. Thank you, sir.”

One crisis down. How many to go?

………………………………………

My Snape was being very understanding all of a sudden. He seemed to be seeing me now; really looking at my face and eyes and trying to know what kind of boy I was. Again, he had become angry when he heard about my treatment at the Dursleys. Did that mean he really wouldn’t repeat it? Thinking back on the day, he’d had plenty of chances to get rid of me, if he’d wanted to.

My chest felt fluttery and warm, thinking all those brilliant thoughts.

“Wot ken I getcha at drink, then?” asked a motherly-looking lady who wore a stained, lacy apron.

“I’ll have a lag-”

Mr. Professor Snape stopped, looked at me with a wrinkly brow, then cleared his throat.

“Make that a coffee, black. What would you like, Harry?”

They were looking at me. How could I choose? I didn’t deserve anything! And this change in feelings was really strange. One minute I was happy - me, happy! - , but the next I was all worried and scared again. ‘It was easier just to stay tensed up all the time. At least I didn’t feel like I’s going mad!’

“Harry?” His voice was edgier this time. ‘Please don’t let me make him angry!’

“Um, water, please, mum.”

“Only water?” She raised her eyebrows at my Snape and gave him a schoolteacher’s glare.

“Milk,” he said. “Milk as well.”

I whispered “thank you” after she left.

“Would you like me to order for you, Harry?” he offered after perusing the menu.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes in on me, as if he was making up his mind about something. It made me feel squirmy, and I fidgeted with the dirt under my short fingernails.

He didn’t say anything. Just cleared his throat again.

When our food came he told me quietly, “You do not have to clean your plate. Eat as much as is comfortable.”

Was he reading my mind? It made me wonder. I tried a few thoughts to see if he was. ‘Why is the sky blue, Mr. Professor Snape? Will you tell me?’

Nothing.

The food was wonderful, boiled potato that was hot and a bit salty, chicken that was soft to my teeth, and fresh, slightly crunchy French beans.

I tried again. ‘How did you know just what I would like, godfather?’

Stupid me, I flinched back at that one. If he was reading my mind, would I be in trouble for thinking of him as godfather? The term of address still seemed awfully informal to me.

“What are you thinking about, Harry?” he asked at just that moment. I dropped my fork. It clattered to the floor. I bowed my head, waiting for a reprimand, at the least.

‘He won’t strike me, he won’t strike me,’ I tried to tell myself.

Quickly as it dropped, the bar lady brought me another fork.

“Here you are, dearie,” she crooned, and shot a contemptuous look at my Snape. Why was everyone always thinking he was being bad? It reminded me of how everyone always saw me. ‘He is a freak!’

“All right there, boy?” There was that word, ‘boy.’ Hadn’t bothered me so much before I started having that good feeling.

The bewitched cinema projector flickered to life again, and the pub slid away into the Dursley kitchen. “Boy!” was bellowed barbarously. I’d dropped a plate. It had slipped through my soapy fingers. My hands were bleeding from trying to pick up the pieces so hastily. Someone was coming toward me. Uncle Vernon? Uncle Vernon! I curled up in a ball, protecting what I could of me. ‘I’m tiny. I’m miniscule. I’m a small target. Slip away, slip away.’ He was kicking me; I was reacting to the blows, but it was strange. I felt gentle hands on me as well.

“Harry! Harry!” was whispered frantically in my ear. Uncle never called me Harry.

“Open your eyes, little one. Look at me”

Where was I? It was all so confusing! I could scarce breathe.

Someone else moved to the periphery of the scene.

“S’ere owt I ken do a’ help there, Mister Snape?”

I knew that voice. That voice was not from Magnolia Crescent. It was the kind voice, first one I’d heard in so long. Long as I could remember. The tailor’s voice. And he’d called my attendant -

Snape. Yes, my Snape.

I was hot, sweating, shaking, trembling.

My Snape huffed at the tailor.

“You can try.” But my Snape didn‘t leave me, he stayed by my side, as the tailor talked low to me.

“Havin’ a hard time ‘ere, laddie? Nuffin’ a’ fear here.” Then, extra special quiet, “ ‘E hurtcha?”

………………………………………

I heard him ask. I expected it to annoy me, but it did not. I would have asked the same question given the situation.

Harry shook his head slightly, then eyed me warily. I tried to look, well, reassuring, but it might have looked like a snarl. ‘I’ll have to practice in the mirror.’

“Summat else spooked ya, then?” the tailor continued.

The child nodded.

It was a flashback. All too clearly, I remembered having them after settling in at Hogwarts. Something would trigger a far-off, torturous memory and I’d be in it again, oblivious to the here and now.

Such a difficult child he was turning out to be! Thankfully, I knew what to do for Harry in just this situation. I wondered how often these would come, and what had caused the remembrance this time.

Harry blinked as if sunlight was assaulting him. Next moment he did the most endearing thing; he reached out toward me. I drew him to me awkwardly, knowing I was going red in the face. He was still shaking, breath coming in little gasps. Halfway between past and present, stuck in a time-turner’s other realm.

“Harry,” I began, “Look around the room. We’re at the pub; you’re in Ashton-Under-Lyne. You are safe here. No one will hurt you. Right, er -”

“Gray, sir,” the tailor said. “’As right, laddie. Nowt’ll happen t’ ya.”

I stood the boy up, instructing him to stomp on the floor. It was the logical step; he had to get an awareness back in his body - shake off the past, so to speak. I must’ve looked a sight, telling this tiny child who’d seemed to’ve gone utterly barmy minutes before to make all that noise in the middle of a musty pub.

Gray decided to demonstrate for Harry; the old shopkeeper jumped right in, taking away from my embarrassment. He stomped and clogged about as if an Irish jig had just sprung out of the air. Holding both little hands, the pair was off, galloping about, rattling the rotted wooden floorboards. The few others in the establishment laughed and shouts of “Eh, Gray!” were heard. The barkeep clapped in time to the frolic as the maid guffawed. By the time Gray picked him up and swung him round, Harry was giggling gleefully. I feared he’d vomit again. I cared not a whit if he did; he was positively jubilant, which was worth any amount of mess imaginable.

Waking was more like a dream, a pleasanter dream than ever I’d experienced. Covers tucked tightly round me, I was quite warm and relaxed. In this bed, in clean, fitted nightclothes, I felt like I just might be that prince I’d envisioned mere days ago. The last thing I remembered was the pub, being pleasantly full and tired and sweaty. My Snape must've carried me home and put me to bed! How I wished I could have that recollection, to be trotted home just like somebody’s real son. But would he be cross with me in the morning? I tried not to worry.

I had every intention of getting up and starting chores, but since it was quite clearly still the middle of the night I allowed myself to doze.

“Wake up, child.”

Oh, no! It was very bright outside now, I was surely late! He didn’t sound annoyed. Well, not any more than I was learning was usual for my godfather. My shoulders dropped a bit from their fear-induced clench.

“Take a bath and get dressed. We’re going on a bit of an outing today.”

“Yes, sir.” I jumped up, braving the dizzy sway that affronted me. Luckily, getting a lightning-quick start in the morning was not something to which I was unaccustomed.

After washing up, my glasses went flying as I bumped into him coming out of the lavatory. He’d set them gently on my face before I could even apologize.

“Why are you shivering so, Harry?” He’d narrowed his gaze at me, actually looking at me again. Why was he taking such an interest all of a sudden? I really had no idea what would set him off, induce fury, like I had with Aunt and Uncle. Quite an unsettling realization, that was.

“I’m –” I stopped myself. I did recall apologizing had recently angered him.

Trying again, I began, “It’s from the bath, sir. I’ll try to stop straightaway.”

I fished my hands out of the ape-like shirt sleeves and clasped them to my concave stomach, sucked my lips in between teeth to stop the chattering. Would that do it?

………………………………………………………

“From the bath? You weren’t in there long enough for the water to go cold. Are you ill?”

That’s just what I needed, a sickly little charge. Children were invariably whiny, needy, snotty little things during illness. ‘I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have dared. Harry would probably be much the same . . .’

“I – I’m not ill, sir.”

The hesitation. There was something he wasn’t telling me.

“But . . .” I waited for him to fill in the blank. He did not. ‘How exasperating!’

“Well, go on, child!” I snapped.

That got his attention, although not in the way I would have preferred. ‘It’s too early for this. I’ve not even had tea!’

“I didn’t, I mean, I wouldn’t use the hot water, sir.”

Ah. This was starting to make sense. I edged into the loo; the porcelain was frigid. He was also wearing those ghastly hand-me-down rags again. I stoppered the tub and ran warm water, casting a heating charm on the tiny room.

“Do you like the clothing you’re wearing, Harry?”

………………………………………………………

What should I say? It would be stupid to say I did; he shouldn’t believe it. But I still might be in trouble for the truth . . .

I bit my lip, chewing it as I said quietly, “No, sir.”

“After your nice, warm bath, we’ll throw them out or – better yet – burn them. You’ll only wear your new clothes from now on. I assume that will be suitable.”

“Yes, sir!” I exclaimed too loudly. He didn’t notice; whew! “Thank you, sir,” I added, carefully subdued.

He was testing the water, swishing it and making little waves in the claw-footed bath. ‘Someone is drawing me a bath? A bath, for Prince Harry!’

“Were you permitted to use the hot water with the muggles?” he asked low, eyes trained on the spigot.

“For dishes, laundry, and cooking I was. Not for bathing, sir.” Would he disallow it, then? ‘Please, oh, please let me feel that warmth, just once.’

When he looked back up his eyes were flashing; I stepped back, stumbling against the door jamb.

“Never take a cold bath again. I’ll run the water for you until you’ve grown accustomed to it. Don’t want you burning yourself.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” I was beginning to feel like a broken record. No one had ever talked to me this much. He’d blanched when I answered, but what else would be a proper response? Maybe he was upset I was looking at him so much. I made a mental note to keep my eyes on the floor. I don’t know why I’d gotten out of the habit as of late. ‘Bad Harry!’

After bidding me to check the water to be certain the temperature was comfortable, he let me alone with a new change of clothes and a fluffy olive flannel. I got into the water slowly, the quaking in my limbs disappearing wonderfully. I relished this new joy. Who’d have thought there were so many ways to be cuddled? My Snape had shown me every one, between what he’d given me and the kind people he’d introduced me to.

‘This is better than being a prince! This is being loved.’

………………………………………………………

One would expect the little one to stay in the bath forever and a day, but he did not. That I was thankful for, as we’d a full day ahead. I was itching to get my hands, or, rather, set my wand on those ignorant muggles. I’d not slept at all the night prior plotting and planning. My punishment would be innovative, and not a little bit demanding on my particular skills. It would rip their lives apart, as they had Harry’s. I surmised a Saturday morning would be the perfect time to strike, with the entire family most likely home.

It was a lovely, albeit breezy, warm day as we arrived at the gates outside Hogwarts. Even the Whomping Willow looked satisfied. But the child at my side was shaking as though it might be a winter’s night.

“Harry, we’ll have breakfast in my chambers. Then you’ll stay with Poppy for a bit while I take care of . . . some business. It shouldn’t take long.” I used my best reassuring voice, but I was definitely not accustomed to coddling a small child. Usually, I aimed to frighten them instead.

As if it were an instinct I’d always had, I reached my hand down to grasp his. It was that way we walked, hand in hand, up to the colossal gates to the only place I’d ever called a true home.

………………………………………………………

I hoped and hoped we wouldn’t see Headmaster Dumblesdore. Would he take me away while my Snape was gone? ‘The Poppy lady won’t let him!’ But he was her boss, and even though she’d scolded him, I’d the feeling she couldn’t outright disobey him.

I wasn’t surprised as my godfather led me downstairs to the underground part of the castle. Somehow the dungeons seemed to suit him. He’d fitted me with the same type robe as at the wizard pub, and my mind busied itself imagining I was a caped superhero.

One glorious spring day at school, one of the boys in my form had thrown away a tattered comic book – Batman. I hoarded it until lunch, and hid under a tunnel during our midday break. I tried to memorize it the best I could so I’d have an extra special something to think about in my cupboard. I recall I’s being punished at the time, so I would spend many long hours there in the next several days. At that memory I shuddered and took my mind back to the new surroundings.

Then an excruciatingly disturbing thought hit me. Where would I stay during the school year? Certainly I couldn’t live at Spinner’s End alone, could I?

“Blurry!” Snape yelled. I fought the urge to hide under the sofa table. Not two seconds later a fascinating, yet highly odd, creature appeared after a loud snap. It had great, bat-wing ears as long as my arms, and it was green! Like an alien! Its fingers looked as if they could be off a zombie, and its clothes were something I might have worn previously as a gardening shirt.

“Yes, Professor Snape, sirs?” it squeaked.

“Blurry, bring Harry and myself breakfast. Whatever suits.”

“Blurry brings it right away, Professor Snape, sirs.”

With another deafening pop he vanished. I was trying to calm my breathing. If my Snape wasn’t bothered by this . . . thing, I shouldn’t be either. My guardian rounded on me, though, a concerned look on his face. Again, the little voice in my head hollowly stage-whispered, “Why does he care? You don’t matter!” I told it to hush.

………………………………………………………

“Harry, what’s the matter?”

If the child was going to have a fit every time we came to Hogwarts . . . well, I don’t know what I would’ve done, but it would not have been a pleasant situation.

Then I noticed he was fixated on the spot my favorite house elf had disapparated.

“House elves are not the most handsome of creatures, but are perfectly harmless, I assure you.”

He seemed to have picked up my trademark ‘curt nod;’ and utilized it once his focus drifted back to reality from somewhere in outer space.

I merely shook my head as Blurry came bringing trays that held the food that suited our appetites at the moment; Harry and I’d both come up with very lightly buttered toast. To drink he had milk while mine was strong, Turkish coffee.

Shortly we were climbing flights upon flights of stony steps, headed to the infirmary. Much to my chagrin, Minerva happened to be up from breakfast as we neared the final passage.

She called after us, “My goodness, Severus! I was not informed you would be in the castle today!”

She crouched down nimbly to get a good look at Harry. ‘Damned, ruddy cat!’ He recoiled a bit, and I had an inkling that he should run to me, look to me for support at least. He did not. He seemed to catch himself inching back, and it was as if a spirit had taken his body under tight control. He stood up straight but, at the same time, let his head slump a bit. He was also holding his breath.

Minerva went on as though he was behaving perfectly normally.

“He looks the spitting image of James, doesn’t he, Severus? Except he has –”

“Lily’s eyes. I’ve noticed.” I spat those words as much as I ever could an utterance containing the name of my . . . my Lily. The tabby was irritating me quite quickly this morning. I did not have the time for this Gryffindor foolishness!

………………………………………………………

She said I looked like James. She was tall, and old, and stern looking. She was much too close for comfort; however, since it was clear she knew my godfather and he knew her, I couldn’t be rude. Especially not after I’d made a fool of myself with that elf-thingy. I made myself be still.

But she said I looked just like that name Mister Professor Snape had called me right before he hit me. He was so angry then!

‘I don’t want to think about that. I won’t think about that right now!’

What else had just been said? Oh, yes, the Snape man had also acknowledged my eyes were like a lily . . . no, a woman named Lily. She’d been mentioned before . . .

She must have been my mother! Of course! And James was my father. I knew their names! And there was so much in knowing someone’s name. James and Lily. Lily and James. Mr. and Mrs. James Potter.

The Potter family!

But that was all gone. ‘Now it’s just me, just Harry. That’s all there will ever be.’

………………………………………………………

“Where were you headed with him, Severus?”

Why hadn’t she spoken to the boy? He was not an infant! Probably best she hadn’t, as unpredictable as he was. Minerva was not known for embodying all that is motherly.

“Up to the infirmary.” I began to guide Harry past her, up the steps, but she countered.

“He’s not ill, is he? Or hurt? What exactly did you do to him, Severus Tobias Snape?”

Yes, the shrillness she’d used on me as a schoolboy remained robust as she started a vigorous rant. In light of Harry’s skittishness, the great grey witch was spared gallons of richly-deserved venom.

“We are not visiting the infirmary about his health, Minerva,” I seethed through tightly clenched teeth, barely above a whisper. “Poppy will be watching the b –” I caught myself. “. . .child while I see to a rather important engagement.”

“Poppy? She left for Hogsmeade not quarter of an hour ago. But I’d love to spend some time with Harry. After all, in a few years I’ll be his head of house. Wouldn’t you like him to get a head start?”

So very, very many noxious, malevolent retorts flew to the tip of my tongue. At precisely that moment, like a harbinger of muggle terror, the grand, mystical clock began to strike. Eleven. Did I want this enticing, yet taxing, ordeal over with today? Did I want to put it behind me and, in so doing, free more of my hesitant soul for this needy little being?

I looked at him. He would be fine. After all, what could happen in an hour?

“Harry?”

“Yes, sir?” He sounded so small. He was small but he sounded, well, pathetically so.

‘The sooner I leave, the sooner I’ll be back!’

“Will you be all right, staying with Minerva? She’s another teacher at this school. She works with Poppy and myself.”

“Yes, sir,” he immediately responded, looking at the bloody floor.

“It is polite to look at someone as you speak to them, child!”

His eyes snapped to mine, then quickly to my mouth.

“I’m sorry, sir!”

Blast my quick temper! He was startled. But what had caused that strange reaction – to only flash eyes at mine before averting them again? And his manner of speech, reciting ‘sir’ as often as most children laughed, had to go. He spoke so formally one would think every adult within his circle was a member of the royal family. So many issues to be discovered, to be worked through.

An exasperated sigh escaped my lips before I managed to feign placidity.

“You needn’t apologize, Harry. Just be a good boy and I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

He was so eager.

So lost.

Then he was gone. Why couldn’t he take me along? ‘Probably tired of you already.’ I’d have to try harder to remain quiet, invisible. I didn’t need anything else from him. Couldn’t he see he could let me alone with the chores and I’d be good? And all the money he was spending. The food, and the clothes – didn’t need them either. Safer not to need. Disappointment hurt.

“Come along, Harry,” the lady called Minerva beckoned. I rushed to keep up with her as we made several turns throughout the labyrinth of the first floor.

She led me into a room that looked a cross between a parlor and an office. An intricately carved, cherry-wood desk graced one corner of the room, littered with many thick papers, all in various states of address. Crests were emblazoned on each one, and several were folded as if they awaited sending.

There were floor to ceiling bookshelves to my right, with a grand, grimy fireplace on the left. A chaise lounge and arm chairs made the fireplace and furniture seem a cozy sitting room. A low shelf by the fire held many dusty trinkets that begged cleaning.

In front of the chaise sat a squatty table of the same dark, brickish wood as the overwhelming desk. It held more papers, little black bottles, and a pot full of feathers. A feather duster? Aunt Petunia had one of those; it burnt up right in my hand as she reached out to slap me. ‘That must have been accidental magic!’ After that I used rags to dust. It took much longer that way.

The Lady Minerva gestured to that low table and said, “I trust you can keep yourself busy for a bit, Harry? I’ll just freshen up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” It took a moment to get all the little feathers up in my hand. It seemed silly to me they weren’t tied together like Aunt’s had been. I was just beginning to move those dirty little trinkets when she came back out, smelling of powder and old-lady perfume.

“And just what do you think you are doing, Harry James Potter?” she’d demanded. If it weren’t for her peculiar accent, she could have been Aunt Petunia’s mother or something.

I’d startled and lost grip on the feathers when she shouted. She was obviously very angry with me. I frantically apologized as I bent to pick up the scattered plumage.

“I’m sorry is not an answer, child!” My Snape had said that too. ‘He didn’t beat me after. He didn’t beat me after!’

I stood, replacing the bent and dirty feathers in the pot.

“I was c-cleaning, ma’am.” I knew better than to look at her.

“That is obviously a falsehood, boy. You couldn’t even look me in the eye as you said it!”

I started to protest. Don’t know what made me do it – you never, ever answer back! ‘Bad, bad, Harry! You’re really in for it now!’

“Nonsense!” she regally rebuked at my desperate objection, advancing on me.

‘Where’s my Snape?’

…………………………………………

They were terrified when I cast Bombarda on the back door to Number 4. They were petrified, in both senses of the term, in a split second.

I scanned the obese tub of a son’s mind for memories of Harry and found quite a few pertaining to bullying. This eased my recently overactive conscience; the boy would be affected by his parents’ upcoming misfortune.

The grotesque child was levitated to his room, soon to be obliviated.

I turned to Lily’s hideous sister. How could she treat her own blood in such a manner? She was the one who should have protected and nurtured the little one; instead it seemed as if she’d been asleep through the entire proceeding – beatings and such.

As Harry had nightmares, so would she. I forced a Pervigilo Insomnium potion down her flimsy, proud throat, which was something like having a dementor invade one’s dreams.

Only more frightening.

Perfect.

Yet her husband’s punishment would compound her waking life.

For ‘Uncle Vernon,’ something more all-encompassing was in order. Legilimency was my chosen weapon for this task. I tore into his mind, shredding each cheerful memory; attracted by the incantation of Recordatio Ereptor. My will to take the good allowed me to siphon off the happy and the bright.

I manipulated what was left into remembrances ever more frightening and abusive. Vernon was left as I saw Harry during his flashback, that night at the pub; terrified of everyone and everything, always expecting the worst. Dursley would never be the same.

The whole lot of them was obliviated after the adults were administered spell reversal potion. Upon being taken into magical custody all what I’d done would never have happened. Our lovely ministry officials could accuse me of nought.

When Harry was ready to testify, their real imprisonment could begin.

Until then, we were already free.

………………………………

He was back. I thanked the stars, the moon, everything cosmic I could recall in my current state. should I be relieved? What if he left me here? What if he realized I was too much trouble and gave me to Dumblesdore? Surely Mister Professor Snape would punish me, but how?

I didn’t dare turn my head from the corner she’d ordered me into, but I could hear the crisp swish of his cloak as he rushed into the room.

“What in Merlin’s name happened, Minerva?” he ranted. He sounded quite livid and fiery!

She took her time answering. Setting the half-moon glasses gently on the desk, she explained how I’d bothered her priceless artifacts, destroyed thirty quills, and lied about it. ‘What are quills?’

Mister Professor Snape’s breathing was like a chugging steam train.

“You say he lied. What was the boy’s explanation?”

‘Boy!’ Oh no, oh no, oh no!

“He said he was cleaning! Can you imagine, Severus?” she squealed.

Immediately, my guardian bellowed, “Of course he was cleaning! That’s what the b—damn! child does – clean, you ignorant, ancient hag!”

Wait – he was calling her names. Could it be he was angry with her and not I? He believed me?

“Come out of that blasted corner, Harry. We’re going home.”

As I obeyed I saw her sweeping toward us.

“How dare you, Snape! Insult me, then usurp my authority! I thought you’d be grateful I disciplined the little scamp!”

My godfather’s eyes caught fire.

…………………………………

If she’d done what I thought . . .

My first year at Hogwarts the cane was still used. Being the head of my rival house, Minerva had taken ample opportunities to dole out ‘discipline’ to insolent students, primarily those in Slytherin.

“Did. You. Cane. Him?” It came out as a whisper between evilly clenched teeth.

The factious feline haughtily waved a crinkled paw, turning her back on me.

“Calm yourself before you have an aneurism, Severus. The smacking had no effect, he failed even to flinch. I’m ancient, as you so pleasantly pointed out. I’ve lost my touch. With the cane, twelve and not even a whimper.”

Twelve! I knew it hurt Harry; I imagined he was simply used to remaining silent lest the violence escalate. ‘Just as I was.’ I knew from experience Minerva’s strokes became harder when one stayed quiet; she thought she was neglecting to make the proper impression.

“McGonagall, you bleeding prig! You shall never be left alone with Harry again.”

I led little one out of old McGonagall’s office, utilizing every scrap of self-restraint I possessed to keep from hexing her into oblivion. That could wait.

The poor child was shaking fiercely; I wanted to get him home. But I thought apparating might be too jarring at this point. We took a detour to the dungeons.

……………………………

We went down into the depths of the castle again. He was so incredibly angry I could nearly feel the heat radiating off him. Once we were locked in his chambers he strode to the fireplace and leant there, head down, as if he needed such a brace. After a few deep breaths, he spun round and looked at me. I shouldn’t have done it, but I instinctively backed away, ending up swathed in a great tapestry. A hiss escaped my lips as my backside hit the stony surface beyond the cloth.

Steeling myself against the urge to bolt, I stayed still as he came toward me. But then I jerked involuntarily and panic enveloped me, dowsing me with grimy waters of too-close remembrances.

Pulling myself to the ground, crouching and covering tightly with the foreign cloak, I’d polaroids of terror, screaming, beatings trampling through my inside mind. My throat went dry as I tried to apologize.

“’M sorry, sir. Sorry, sir,” was all that escaped before my chest clamped up on me and present surroundings melted away. The cupboard. I was in the cupboard! No, no, no!

‘Arrogant, destructive little freak! You should’ve died with your worthless parents!’

“I’ll be good, Uncle Vernon! I promise I’ll be good. Please, please, sir. Please!”

But with Uncle Vernon, it never stopped.

Never.

………………………………

He didn’t respond to his name being called.

He wasn’t hearing, wasn’t seeing.

I knew he’d feel absolute terror if I touched him. He’d murmured the disgustingly obese muggle’s name as well.

I cast warming charms round us as the dungeons were, naturally, quite cold. Keeping the fire roaring, I listened to his quick breaths and hushed whimpers. As soon as his hunched shoulders began to relax, I took up talking to him again, reassuring he was safe and would not be hurt here.

It took over three hours, but he finally calmed enough to follow the directions I gave about deep breaths and feet pressed to the floor. Still, he shied from touch. I gave him a pain potion to drink rather than broach the subject of topical application of cream. After a calming draught was given as well, he fell to sleep, curled tightly on the settee in front of the fire.

I truly wanted a drink. I needed to calm myself. But I would not turn to that again, nor take a draught; he might so desperately need me upon waking. I paced for an eternity, itching for something. I picked up a habit I’d broken myself of years before.

Sitting in a regal armchair by the fire, I watched over the tiny slumbering child, conjured cigarette in hand. My lips took on the shape of curling smoke when imagining Number 4 Privet Drive. I banished the odour of tobacco as the fireplace dimmed.

Finally, I dozed, but gurgling screams drowned my flitting dreams.

I’d done that thing again. Where I was lost and remembering and I was there – there – again. Just scared, so scared and not able to think, breathe, move at all.

So cold, so hurting, so sad and stupid and why did he still want me?

Who would want me, especially like this?

I did no good, just slept like a lump. He should beat me.

‘I am bad. I deserve to be punished.’

Even woke him from his sleep. Sleeping in a chair cause I hogged the sofa.

‘What is wrong with me?’ screamed in my head. At me. Voices there, talking to me, yelling at me. Uncle Vernon, Aunt, me . . .

Why can’t I be free?

‘He’s talking again. Listen!’

……………………………

“Can you hear me, Harry?”

It took a moment, but he answered faintly, “Yes, sir.”

“She should not have done that, you know. I am very angry with her. You did nothing wrong, child.”

“I’m sorry, sir!”

He must have been hearing my words differently; like a garbled mess though an ancient phonograph horn.

“You are not in trouble, Harry. Now tell me what I said.”

Alarmed and confused, he parroted, “I’m not in trouble, sir?”

“That’s right. Very good.”

I really, truly did not want to talk about this. He probably did not either. I chose to move onto other subjects I’d meant to discuss lately.

“Would you like to call me godfather, Harry? Or my given name, Severus?”

This caught his attention, rescuing him from the depths of reverie.

“You’ll allow me to call you ‘godfather,’ sir?” he asked excitedly.

“Yes, of course.”

Breathily, he exclaimed, “Thank you, godfather!”

Before he could slip into fearfulness, I wanted to move on.

“Would you like to see Poppy again, or would you like to go home?”

“Could I . . . could I please see Madame Poppy again and then go home, sir?”

There was that word again – sir. ‘Give it time, Severus. Patience.’

I scowled at myself.

……………………………

He had the Poppy lady come down the chimney again. She said something like “bloody cat,” which must have been some witch thing. Maybe a black cat?

They talked for a bit while I imagined I was on a broomstick soaring high above the shadow of a crescent moon. I could zoom through clouds and feel the wind tugging its way through my messy, tangled hair. I imagined I had windshield wipers on my glasses so they wouldn’t get foggy! Dipping, diving, and twirling felt like going over a bump in the road really fast, I supposed. If I’d only had a real witch’s broomstick before, I could have taken off from the rooftop at the Dursleys and never come back.

My flight ended sharply when my Snape nervously asked if I’d mind staying with the Poppy Lady for a bit. It was all right. I felt good here with her, like my insides wouldn’t fly away from the cloying static all round me. Like I did with my Snape – godfather.

‘Is this what they mean when they say “you’re safe”?’

……………………………

Seethingly, I ground out the noxious password “Rowntrees Jelly Tots” and bounded up the steps to the Headmaster’s office.

“I am going to kill that beastly woman, Albus!” escaped without thought.

“Sit down, sit down, my boy. Licorice snap?”

My gritty glare served an apropos answer.

“You nearly crucified me for one ill-thought action against Harry. McGonagall’s caned him, Headmaster!”

The old man’s eyebrows went up in surprise, yet he still answered, “She must have seen good reason for it, then, Severus.”

Sheer prejudice! I leapt from the proffered chair and nearly smacked into the hag in question as she graced our esteemed headmaster with her odious presence.

“I see Severus has already come to blather about my disciplinary practices,” she droned snidely.

“Twelve cuts, Minerva? To an eight year old!” This experience was so strange. I’d never gotten this worked up over anything of the sort in my life.

“Severus, will you please stop shouting! Albus, yes, I did give twelve strokes for destroying property and adamantly lying about it. I’d only planned on one, but I hadn’t realized how weak I’ve become in old age. I couldn’t even manage a sniff or an apology from the spoiled thing. I would certainly never hurt Lily and James’ precious son!”

“He was not lying! He behaves like a house elf when left to his own devices. Those damned muggles were horrible to him –”

At that moment, Poppy’s head appeared, awash in emerald flames.

“Severus, you must come here and see what that –” She faltered as her gaze swiveled to Minerva.

Beginning again with a voice like a straight razor, she declared, “You can be certain I will take the time to speak with you, Professor McGonagall!”

……………………………

Madame Poppy was angry! Didn’t think she was angry at me but how could that be? Couldn’t figure why everybody was so upset over a bit of a caning. She did it over my new trousers, even. I got blamed all the time for things I hadn’t done and had been beaten far worse loads of times.

As it was, I was laying on the settee, waiting for Mr. Professor Snape to see the effects of my punishment. ‘Wait, she said Professor McGonagall! Mr. Professor Snape was talking to her! I’m sure to get it now!’ I was already laid down, not a stitch covering my bum.

I fought a bit of vomit threatening to spill out my mouth. Clenching my teeth and making myself breathe, I braced for what was to come.

The sooty smell wafted from the floo as my guardian stepped out. He came straight over to me, and I was shaking so violently my legs were jumping.

“Oh, Harry,” he said softly, laying a warm hand on my back, “Let’s get this taken care of so we can go home.”

The Poppy lady gave to me that liquid stuff used for sores. ‘They’re so nice!’ She even let me put it on all by myself. I felt a great deal better, just being able to sit comfortably.

My Snape went back through the fireplace while Madame rocked me and told me a story about a fairy-tale game called ‘kiddish.’ ‘She has as good a imagination as I do!’

I wanted to savor this time, as I knew special moments like this wouldn’t happen often. Unfortunately, my stomach had other ideas. I scolded it for feeling hungry. I’d just had breakfast this morning! I was getting too used to eating all the time.

……………………………

Dumbledore was ready to side with McGonagall. However, when I showed them the image that, with a wave of my wand, I’d procured of Harry’s state, the effect was even greater than I’d expected.

Minerva was shell-shocked.

“I never meant to . . . You can’t believe I would . . .” After that, she broke down sobbing.

Albus made a fuss of offering a handkerchief and offering allaying utterances. This was typical Minerva, from my standpoint. She had no idea how to deal with children like Harry. ‘Or children like me.’ Indeed, my first intimate experience with her as a first year had been much like what the little one had just suffered.

I’d fallen asleep in her Tuesday morning Transfiguration class. I was so incredibly relieved to finally be away from home, the exhaustion of a thousand sleepless nights had caught up with me. Not to mention Pomfrey had patched me up straight away off the train. For the first time in my life, I was relaxed and pain-free.

That did not last once McGonagall got hold of me. After dinner I’d reported to her classroom with three other Slytherins, all older than I. I was first, and I did not move nor make a sound; my father’s insisted protocol. I received the maximum number of strokes allowed at the time, each one more forceful than the last.

Back in the common room, I was praised for my stoicism, yet advised to make a fuss next time so the proceedings would be quicker and less harsh.

After solid minutes of blabbering, I did the only logical thing; I lit a cigarette. In light of the circumstances, neither elder wizard scolded me. Finally, the worst seemed over, and the tabby regained her mewl.

“How, in Merlin’s name, did the child keep quiet?” she asked incredulously.

Albus began to answer, but I knew I could explain better, not to mention, more concisely.

“Training. He was frequently beaten at the hands of his uncle. He was also forced to cook, garden, and clean the entire home, exclusively. That should give you enough insight to realize you were not only gravely mistaken, but barbaric.”

With that, she swept out of the office urgently. Feeling a bit triumphant and quite languid, I flaunted my disregard for Albus’ office by just missing the fireplace with my discarded ashes before lounging in a chintz armchair. I wanted to smoke the rest of my fag before leaving. This also served to show the headmaster I knew I was in charge of this situation. I wasn’t head of Slytherin for naught.

Taking a final drag with as much condescension as I could muster, I assured, “Headmaster, I have serious decisions to make about the future of myself and my godson. Presently, I am not convinced Hogwarts will be a positive environment for him.”

He started to protest in that exasperating, simpering manner particular to twinkle-eyed mages when Minerva bustled back in - holding the bloody cane! But before I could take it from her and thrash her with it, she broke it in two and thrust it into the flames, casting Incendio to speed the process of destruction.

“Severus, I am so very sorry. I must apologize to Harry at once,” she proclaimed as if she still had some say-so in the matter.

“Absolutely not, it is out of the question. We’ve just now managed to calm him. Albus, I shall be in contact to discuss the coming school year. Until that time, I trust we’ll not be bothered.”

It was time to go home!

And so after Blurry brought a take-away snack, we started home. How did he know I was hungry? ‘It’s been a while. Probably hungry himself! As if anyone’d care if you wanted to eat!’ That sounded like Dudley! I tried to tell my fat cousin he was wrong . . . my Snape did care; he had to, didn’t he? But the shouts and whistling whispers in my head ebbed and flowed; I scarcely noticed we were treading steps until I fell, again.

‘Stupid sod!’ But my Snape did not even miss a pace; he had me right back up beside him before a lazy eye could blnik! I knocked my head about a couple of times to still the screaming; after that I could concentrate a bit again.

Took me a while to steady after he appated holding my shoulders. Even though I was still feeling a mite queasy, I ate all what was put before me. Hadn’t eaten all my breakfast and I suffered for it, didn’t I? He sent me to bed looking bewilderingly discomfited.

After readying myself, I popped open the little casement, hoping soothing midnight sounds would lull my shakes. I tossed about for a fair bit, wondering what was bothering my godfather. Could he be angry with me? What did Professor McGonagall tell him? Or was he trying to figure out what to do with me once autumn term started?

The Dursleys! Oh no, oh no, oh no! Didn’t think he’d send me back with them. ‘He won’t, he won’t, he won’t!’ Suddenly I heaved out of bed and leapt up to the window sill. Rocking back and forth so violently I knew I must be bruising my back, I tried to distract myself from the inside world of Number Four. As I dueled with the past, I heard crying far away? Was it me?

I curled up, preoccupied with this new question. The last thought that registered before fragranced, in-between swimming dreams ensnared me was, ‘If that is me, why is my mouth stuck shut?’

I awakened precious few hours later, cold and knotted from sleeping as a common rat. ‘Twas the time of morning colors were barely seeping through the misty grey; the safest time, light enough not to be frightening, but before everyone woke and rutted about.

I knew I’d been lazy long enough. It did not escape me the night before that the little house was grimy as could be. I began again with the surfaces, then floors. I decided the rugs and fireplace could wait. I’d just started on the bath when my Snape nearly tripped over me, needing the loo. He looked still half sleeping, and I scrambled out quick as lightening, giving my apologies. ‘Should have done the fireplace first and given him time to get up and about properly!’

I waited with my cleaning things in the shadows that topped the staircase. I noticed the walls needed washing up here. Should have done that before as well.

He left the lavatory and stopped short as he looked at me. I couldn’t stop it; I flinched quite noticeably and sank twitchingly back into the corner.

“Harry . . .” He gave a long sigh and a pause as his hands scrubbed his face and tousled his dark hair. Would this be it? Would I be told to leave? I held my breath until he began again.

“Child, put those things away, clean up a bit, and come talk with me in the parlor.”

He slid past me down the stairs; I waited a moment before making the trip to the broom cupboard. It wouldn’t do to appear to be following him.

After I washed, I nearly flew into a frenzy; I didn’t know what to wear! He’d said we were to burn my old clothing, but we hadn’t yet . . . and if he was getting rid of me . . .

No, I would not think that. If it happened, it happened. He’d probably allow me to keep the new clothes anyway, would he not? What would godfather do with a bureau full of little children’s castoffs?

I dressed in those wonderful, perfectly fitting dress clothes and promptly tripped, as adults would say, arse over tit, down the stairs.

……………………………

Yet again, he was hurt but neglected to make a sound. Indeed, the child seemed much more worried about the mussed clothing than his bleeding chin. We took care of that quickly enough, and were in the sitting room for a conversation I should have had with him that first morning.

“Harry, listen carefully. You do not have to clean any more.”

One would’ve thought any child, especially a boy, would be clapping chubby hands delightedly at such news. However, Harry most certainly did not have hands that were chubby, and he did not seem pleased with the declaration. And again, he refused to look at me, which never failed to prove immeasurably irritating!

“Look at me, b –” Ah! Caught myself. But a close inspection revealed he’d already heard what I was about to say. Bloody hell.

“Harry –” No acknowledgement, only itchy fingers picking at peeling, sore cuticles. “Harry, look at me.”

He did, in a way; gazed in my general direction while tensing and leaning as far away from me as possible would perhaps provide a better snapshot. Feuding with the choleric kindling settling in my solar-plexis, I struggled to proceed calmly. But where to go?

“Do you want to clean the house, child?” Would he be truthful, or try to appease me? I’d just set myself up for another bout of frustration, if I knew him half as well as I feared . . .

“I’ll do anything asked of me, sir,” he replied quietly, but lacking whinging urgency. That was passable.

“I have not asked you to clean the house child, and before you tell me you are sorry, I would like you to know there is nothing to be sorry for whatsoever. You’ve done a remarkable job with this old hovel, but with magic the tasks shall be quicker and simpler. Would you like to help as I cast the spells?” How I hoped the lure of magic would draw him away from this anxiety!

It took him a silent moment to grasp this offer.

Suddenly, he excitedly exclaimed, “Yes! Yes, please, sir!”

Did I dare correct him? I did.

“Yes, please, godfather, Harry.” As he screwed up his face in worry, I cut him off, blurting, “And no ‘I’m sorrys’ allowed, Mister Potter!”

Merlin be damned if I didn’t grin like a schoolboy; well, like the non-greasy, anti-Slytherin brand of schoolboy.

His subsequent expression could have lit up the Great Hall on a moonless night.

“Yes, please, sir – er – godfather! Yes, please, godfather!”

……………………………

He wasn’t angry I’d not said it right the first time! Of course he wasn’t; how much kindness had he shown me? I’d have to remember that every time the bad thoughts come calling.

He was sure right about magic! The cleaning took only minutes! He started where I’d left off – the loo. I moved the soap and tattered curtain so the spells could be properly aimed. Scourgify was a miracle, if I’d ever seen one! I wondered if I’d be able to do that one day. Would I get a stick, a wand, like his? Could I use his?

While he was cleaning, he said repair-oh to different things that were broken and they fixed themselves right up! Before he cleaned the fireplace, he bade me fetch Dudley’s old hand-me-downs. He helped me make a fire the regular way, only he called it ‘muggle.’ We did use conjured logs, though. Then I got to toss the stinky rags into the fire and move them around with a poker.

I felt strangely new as I watched my former uniform disintegrate into ash. I needed so desperately to ask him the burning question. ‘Now’s as good a time as any.’ I swallowed hard to avoid asking permission to ask a question; I remembered how upset he’d gotten at that last time.

“Sir? er – I mean, godfather?”

……………………………

Very good. Speaking up of his own accord had to be a step in the right direction.

“Yes, Harry,” I answered expectantly.

“Does this, I mean, does this mean I get to s . . .” He trailed off, mumbling into the spitting cinder.

“Turn toward me and repeat, more clearly this time.”

“Yes, sir. ‘m sorry, sir. Godfather. Er, it’s just that, does this mean I get to stay with you . . . for - forever and ever?”

He did look up at me then, and I did my level best not to curse and yell at him that we’d been over this. In the back of my mind, however, I knew that would only make him feel worse, and more insecure, and in turn compound the process to my utter frustration once more . . .

So I simply stated, “Yes, child, you’ll not be rid of me until you’ve become an adult yourself. Even then, I am certain I will harass you quite often.”

“Thank you, godfather . . . but what – what happens when you go back to work?” This was asked with much biting of lips.

“Of course, if I return to Hogwarts, you will stay with me in my chambers. I would arrange tutoring and childcare during the day when I would be teaching. However, we shall only do that if you are ready for it. I have other means to derive income.”

Again, the sun shone down on one formerly disgruntled potions master.

……………………………

We’d a simple breakfast, the toast with butter we both preferred, and then he trotted me off up the cobbly lane. I didn’t stumble once, but that was probably because he’d such a tight grip on my hand. When he turned to enter a small toy shop, my insides thrummed in anticipation!

A tiny bell tinkled overhead as we walked in, and all round us were the most bright, cheery toys I’d ever seen. Right in the middle was a grand, steam engine train set, coated with bright reds and golds. All manner of dolls and stuffed animals flanked one side, while trucks, cars, and army toys were at the other.

A shy-looking, mousy girl about the age of fifteen raced through a back doorway and returned with her mother, who was wiping her hands on an apron. She smelt of dishwater and bacon grease.

“Wot can I help yeh wif today then, dears?” she asked, half happy but half put-out a bit.

“We are in no need of assistance,” my Snape clipped, and the woman huffed off, admonishing her daughter to mind the shop well. The girl hoisted herself up on a small stool and stared at her hands. So she had to work on her holiday like me! Or, like I used to have to. I felt suddenly sorry for her, and very spoilt at the same time.

Godfather gave a sharp grunt, and ordered me to look about at the toys. Everything was so shiny and so new! The smell of plastics and resin seared my nose. I didn’t dare touch anything, although a silky stuffed bear sorely wanted my attention. If I could hold it, take it home and sleep with it, how wonderful it would be! It was so kind of my Snape to let me look at all these things. A stolen glance back at him told me he was ill at ease here, and impatient.

I returned to him and raised my hand for him to lead me out again, but he nearly shouted at me, “Well, pick something out, then!”

Oh! I got to choose a toy! How wonderful! But why? I didn’t deserve it! ‘Filthy little beggar. Bad boys get nothing, nothing at all!’ Aunt Petunia hissed in my ear.

I searched for the item that cost the least. Everything here was unbelievably expensive! Why, the bear I liked cost more than the entire outfit I was wearing. And I didn’t need it; I had a soft, cozy blanket, a real bed, and even a goose-down pillow to curl up with in the nighttime. Finally, I saw bins of little toys near the register; they cost less than one pound. I picked out a knobbly wooden top and handed it over, my heart pounding with fear I’d be struck, that this was a trick.

“Is that all you want?”

“Yes, sir. You – you don’t have to get me anything, godfather. I really enjoyed looking at all the toys, and I don’t need anything.” Telling this to the floor was infinitely easier than looking in his pinched, tight face.

“Harry,” he knelt down to me, “If I had to, I probably would not. Tell me this: just what will you do to keep yourself occupied all day, hm?”

Oh, so that was why we were here. I couldn’t clean anymore, and he didn’t want me underfoot.

“I could p-play in the front yard, sir. Or if I’m not allowed out, I could make up stories in my head. I can sit still and stay out of trouble, sir,” I promised vehemently.

His expression changed. “You like stories, then?”

“Oh, yes, s —. Yes, godfather!”

“How did you spend your time at your rotten relatives’ house when you were not working?” Seemingly, he was holding his breath. There was only one right answer to this one. Could I guess it?

“I was reading, sir.” That pleased him! “I love to read, godfather! It’s my favorite thing, really.”

He bought the top from the poor, forlorn girl, and handed me the tiny paper sack. I had to run to keep up as we sprinted off to the book seller.

So much like Lily! A reader, and a storyteller at that. Then a thought made me walk a bit slower. Did he sense my approval? Was he trying only to appease me? I remembered that day at the pub – could he even read? Why else would he want me to order for him? A niggling voice was trying to tell me he simply did not feel comfortable ordering due to the monetary aspect, as well as his acclimation to being fairly starved. Perhaps I was caving to cynicism . . . but before I bought him anything at Blighe’s, he was going to be given a reading test!

……………………………………………………

The book shop made the library at my primary look like a tatty shelf! The children’s section had loads of books covered with shiny, colorful sleeves. I was used to the graying, mottled library book covers.

Of course, after Dudley shredded my first ever checked out book in first form, I’d not been allowed to take out, or even page through, the books in Mrs. Warnette’s care. Every little piece of me hoped, wished, my Snape would buy me a book. He seemed excited to be here as well, not like the toy seller’s. There was even a cheery lady at the front who sprang to life once we stepped in. She had on funny glasses with a messy, but fussy, hair style. I swore she could have been Professor McGonagall’s muggle double! Only she was a lot friendlier than that professor.

I waited, holding my breath by his side, for the command to look about. But he didn’t give it; instead he picked a very childish picture book and held it in front of me, opened to the first page with words. I hoped I could prove to him I wasn’t stupid. Would he hate me if I did poorly?

“I like to run. Tom likes to run. We run at home. We run at school.” I read as quickly as I could, stopping at all the right places and such.

The book was snatched from me, a chaptered one put in its place.

“When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been sent here and there, sometimes on long errands through wind and cold and rain, she came in wet and hungry, and was sent out again because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that her slim legs might be tired and her small body might be chilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold looks for thanks . . .” I wanted to keep reading this one, but he took it away.

“Now tell me what you read,” he said sharply, watching close. Another test; would I be good enough for him to want me?

“Well, sir,” I began quietly, “It was about a girl who had lots of chores and errands to do. She had to go outside and run from place to place even in cold, bad weather. She was tired and cold and hungry, but nobody . . .”

It was so sad. I bit the insides of my cheeks to get my mind off unhappiness until my task was finished.

“Nobody cared, sir.”

……………………………………………………

How affected he was. ‘Probably a good sign. He needs to reason things out.’

Next I gave him a condensed classic version of one of my favorites. Although in the wizarding world I would vehemently deny it, a tattered copy of the complete works of Charles Dickens was ever-present in my library.

He adjusted his glasses and put his face mere inches from the smaller type. We’d have to see about wizarding spectacles as well as his neglected shoes. In a timid but eloquent voice, again he read rapidly, accurately.

……………………………………………………

David Copperfield. I thought I’d heard of this story before; perhaps on the telly?

“I crawled up from the floor, and saw my face in the glass, so swollen, red, and ugly that it almost frightened me. My stripes were sore and stiff, and made me cry afresh, when I moved. The key was turned, and Miss Murdstone came in with some bread and milk. These she put down upon the table without a word, glaring at me the while with exemplary firmness, and then retired, locking the door after her. Long after it was dark I sat by the window sill, wondering whether anybody else would come. My imprisonment lasted five days and I saw no one, Miss Murdstone excepted. The length of those five days I can convey no idea of to any one. They occupy the place of years in my remembrance.”

This book, too, was liberated from my shaky grasp, and I was bid to tell it over again as well.

“A boy, David Copperfield, he was thrashed and then locked in his room for five days. It seemed like forever to him, though, and the only person he saw was Miss Murdstone. But he got milk as well as bread, and he had a window to look out of. That was nice of them.”

Now I’d displeased him! Didn’t know how, but he looked angry and sad all at once. He put the book carefully back upon its shelf, clearing his throat.

“Are –are we leaving now, sir?”

“Why do you ask?” he countered, eyebrow raised. He was good at answering questions with questions.

“Erm, I don’t, I mean, you put the book down, sir – godfather.”

“We’re not leaving yet. You surprise me, child,” he said carefully, in a different tone of voice than I’d ever heard.

“I’m sorry, sir!”

“Stop apologizing. You surprise me for you read far better than I’d expected.”

“Oh.” ‘I did something good? I did something good!’ “Thank you, godfather!”

“What kinds of books do you like to read, then?”

A better question would have been what kind of book didn’t I like to read!

“I like to read anything, sir.” ‘Uh-oh, don’t want him to think I’ve been reading his books!’ “Anything I’m allowed,” I added quickly.

“That hardly helps us discern the appropriate tome, child!”

I didn’t mean to anger him. I didn’t. I was just exceptionally good at it!

Hastily, I added, “I liked those last two you had me read from, sir.” A glare. “I mean, godfather.”

“Very well.”

He bought both of them for me! I even got two free bookmarks, one with a thorny looking dragon, the other one with a paler-than-the-moon colored unicorn.

“Next stop will be the grocer, Harry,” my godfather threw back over his shoulder as I hugged my books and ran after him. It didn’t even occur to me to trip and fall down.

……………………………………………………

Walking down the hill to our little hovel, repressively weighed down by disgusting muggle paper bags, a voice from my past ripped me from melancholy reverie.

“Mum! They’re coming down the road now!” yelled a boy kicking about a football.

Then the mum’s voice, Chloe’s, rang out, “Well invite them for tea, then, William.”

The snotty lad did not even bother to wait for us to reach our Spinner’s End hovel, rather he shouted up at us, “Mum wants you for tea, Mr. Snape. And who’s that there? She wants to know that as well.”

Soon as that left his lips he was called in and scolded, as well he should have been. I noticed Harry was looking up at me expectantly.

“Would you like to go to tea at the neighbor’s, Harry?” I tried to keep the words from dripping with disdain.

“Very much, sir!” he answered more confidently than I’d heard before. How could I say no?

……………………………………………………

Godfather put the food away for us while I washed my hands and face, even though I wasn’t dirty. He’d gotten bags and bags of things at the grocer, and I was nearly certain I’d get to try all of it. And I was going to read books, and play with a new toy. But first, I was invited to tea, with a boy only a bit older than me, I thought. I had to try very hard to keep from jumping up and down waiting for tea time to come. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed like forever. My trainers were even transfiggered to be smaller, and shiny black. I got a look in the mirror and except for my hair I looked like I could be a boarder at a private school, Smeltings even.

Godfather didn’t seem as excited as me, though. In fact, his face might even have been paler than I’d ever seen it. That boy, William, was it? He’d known godfather by name. Of course! This was here my Snape had grown up, so they knew his family. And his father.

“Godfather?” He narrowed suspicious eyes at me. “If you’d rather not go to tea . . .”

His mouth formed a tight line that said he’d already made up his mind. He held out his hand, and we were off. I had a strange feeling that he needed his hand held just then more than I did.

……………………………………………………

Chloe Smith was quite frumpy, with hair in disarray, as she opened the door to her smart little cottage. It had exactly the same layout as ours, but well kept and well lit. ‘The only reason Harry and I don’t live in complete squalor is due to his backbreaking work.’ I’d have to redecorate this evening – magically.

Much to my chagrin, the children, including Chloe’s daughter Sarah, were sent outside with biscuits, cucumber and butter sandwiches, and milk. Meanwhile, I was entrapped with dowdy Chloe, with whom I’d spent six years of oppressive primary school.

Inevitably, her first questions were about the boy. Dutifully, and more cheerfully than I’d ever have imagined, I shared the story of my acquisition. After she confirmed that I was, indeed, a teacher, she asked, or rather, stated, something rather extraordinary.

“So what class do you teach at Hogwarts then?” she asked around a chocolate biscuit.

I dropped my teacup, leaving it shattered on the wooden planks; a great commotion had begun in the garden.

Soon as I’d settled outside, careful not to drop my rose-petal decorated china plate, William came and sat very close – much too close – to me.

“William, remember what mum told you. You don’t want thrashed twice in one day, do you?” his strawberry-blonde, stocky sister hissed.

“Belt up, Sarah! I want to get to know Harry a bit better. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Harry?” William asked.

I took a bite of dry biscuit; I couldn’t say anything. The older boy, with his yellow hair and tall frame, was quite frightening, but if I ran inside to Mister Snape everything would go wrong. William would never be my friend if I got him in trouble or if he thought me too young and fussy. Mister Snape would be angry I’d interrupted him and that nice lady and he’d never let me come to tea again. No, I’d faced many scarier people than William before. I could do it again.

“I’m sure you would. You’re shy, aren’t you? What are you hiding?” Could the boy see into me? He just kept going in a supposedly genial tone.

“So how is it livin’ with old Snape, there? I heard round town you were roughed up when you first come up. He hit you?”

When the tailor Grey had said this, it made me feel warm and cared for. But the way William said it . . . it seemed he wanted it to be true. Like when Aunt Petunia gossiped with her nosy friends on the telephone.

“No,” I managed to say, but then I thought of that day with the belt, and my face must’ve showed my thinking.

“That’s a lie. He has hit you! What else does he do? Why did he take you in anyway?”

“He knew my mum. He’s my godfather. He’s very good to me, and kind, and he got me these new clothes.” My voice dropped off after that.

The three of us ate in silence for a few moments, but William was staring at me with an evil grin. I’d never taken so little pleasure in eating my entire life.

He started up again.

“You know everyone in town thinks him beastly, don’t ya? They say he’s not right. Never married, you know? Hated his father as well, from what mum says.”

What was this boy getting at? I could feel the air around me starting to spark as I got hotter and hotter with anger.

“He makes you polish his knob, don’t he?”

“What are you on about?” It couldn’t be what I thought!

“How big’s his todger, eh?” William continued.

Sarah tried to interrupt, but her brother pushed her out of the way.

“Bit daft, are ya? Does he fancy skinny little boys?” he finally said, from two centimeters in front of my face.

“No! Of course not!” This was a rude, rude boy and I couldn’t allow him to say these things about my Snape!

The next few things happened lightening quick.

Sarah slapped the side of her brother’s head as she hissed, “William! You bleeding wanker!”

William said, “Harry, you’re protesting too much for it not to be true! He probably comes at you every night!”

William flew up into the air like a rocket, twisting and turning. He collapsed a few feet away from Sarah, landing solidly on his bum. He yelled like it killed him. And I ran.

………………………………………………………………………….

Chloe was out the back door half a pace behind me. Harry was nowhere in sight.

“Mum!” Sarah called, grinning like mad, “Will finally got his!”

“Teasin’ the little one, was ‘e?”

By this time, the lanky dimwit had picked himself off the garden ground. “A ‘course not, mum. You told me not to, didn’t you?”

“Mum! Harry’s a witch just like cousin Hannah!”

I am certain my face displayed a rare look of surprise when Chloe looked over her shoulder at me, winked, and said, “Don’t be silly, Sarah, Harry’s not a witch! Boys are wizards, are they not, Severus?”

After a gobsmacked pause, I removed myself from this quite random, surreal situation.

“Thank you for . . . tea, Chloe. I must be going.”

As I walked away she laughed and smacked William across the back of the head.

………………………………………………………………………….

I knew they weren’t supposed to see that. Just like taking off the cloak. Just like Mister Professor Snape – no, Godfather! Just like godfather changing to regular clothes. They were normal, but we were wizards. We had to hide it.

And I’d failed. Miserably.

Wanted to go see Grey, see his smiles. He would like me anyway, wouldn’t he?

But, no, that couldn’t be. If he knew I was a freak, he wouldn’t like me either. Only other wizards would tolerate . . .

“Harry!”

Mister Snape had just come in the back screened door. Would he take me to an orphanage instead of back to the Dursleys? I’d got it in my mind now that would be better, an orphanage. At least there’d be other children to take some of the beatings instead of just me.

“Yes, sir,” I called from the loo. I was trying to make my face look like it hadn’t been crying.

He swore, then climbed the stairs.

“We can’t seem to get along with anybody, now, can we?” he asked, with something that could have been half a smile.

Was he playing with me? Deciding I’d better play along, I said, “No, sir?”

He laughed!

“Did he fly backward like Albus?”

A look of mischief hovered in his eyes. This was quickly getting scary. I was trapped here, in the lavatory. Mister Professor Snape stood in front of the door, so tall, with a look of mischief in his eyes. Uncle Vernon always had that look about him just before he did something new, something unexpected, something . . . painful.

And now – my breathing sped up – now Mister Professor Snape was talking about Albus Dumblesdore, my elder, who I hurt, who wanted to take me away.

But Headmaster Dumblesdore wanted to give me to another family, not the Dursleys. Another magical family who wouldn’t think I was a freak.

Somehow, that thought made my chest ache even more.

“Harry? All right, there, lad?” my Snape whispered, kneeling, looking at me, seeing me.

In one harsh breath, I managed, “I’m sorry, sir. It was an accident, again. I didn’t mean to, I felt so angry and the tingling energy built itself up, then William just sort of . . . took off.”

The Snape man laughed again, and I looked at him just in time to see his expression of near joy slide back into hatred.

“What did William say?” Mister Snape spat.

“I don’t . . . I don’t think I can . . .,” How could I repeat those disgusting words, especially to him! I swallowed, hard. “Awful things, sir, about – about you.”

………………………………………………………………………….

The boy’s accidental magic stood up for me? Me? A child, a Potter, standing up for me -against teasing - on such a basic, primal level that a nasty boy like William would be thrown on his arse? Merlin, was the world coming to an end?

Being strung on a tightrope-walker’s clothesline between anger and amusement was quite odd.

Harry, however, was not sensing the amusement in the situation. My first thought was to distract him by bringing up plans for his upcoming birthday, but changing the subject hadn’t worked so well last time.

“Are you finished in the loo, child?”

“Yes, sir.”

I was ‘sir’ again, for now. I wanted to remedy that quickly.

“We didn’t have much of a tea, did we, now? Let us go down to the kitchen and have a bite.”

He followed silently. I was glad I knew him well enough now to know he wasn’t sulking; it truly would have been infuriating having a pouting little boy following me about the cottage.

He sat deathly still, perched on the edge of one of the tottery kitchen chairs, barely even breathing; waiting.

Chuckling, I had to shake my head at this entire experience. I felt twelve years old again, only this time, I had a friend! Anyone catching a glimpse of me like this would think me half knackered.

Settling down across from the boy with a pot of tea and two mismatched cups, I tried to put him at ease as quickly as possible.

“Harry, look at me.” I was graced with the small-animal-in-headlights glare again, but at least he looked. “You are not in trouble. I will not hit you, whip you, beat you, punish you, or send you away. You are not in trouble. Now tell me what I said.”

There. If that didn’t cover everything, we were really in for it.

………………………………………………………………………….

Letting out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, I rushed to say, “I’m not in trouble, won’t be hurt, and I . . .” Did he really mean that part? Truly? “I get to stay with you?”

“That is correct. Now, I want to hear all of the details. What did the prat’s face look like when he flew into the air?”

Suddenly we were both giggling, which quickly progressed to whooping, screaming laughs complete with a snort here and there. I laughed until I coughed and sicked up, but godfather simply waved his wand with that cleaning spell and kept right on chuckling.

This must be what a family is supposed to feel like! How did I get so lucky?

Settling down across from the boy with a pot of tea and two mismatched cups, I tried to put him at ease as quickly as possible.

“Harry, look at me.” I was graced with the small-animal-in-headlights glare again, but at least he looked. “You are not in trouble. I will not hit you, whip you, beat you, punish you, or send you away. You are not in trouble. Now tell me what I said.”

There. If that didn’t cover everything, we were really in for it.

……………………….

Letting out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, I rushed to say, “I’m not in trouble, won’t be hurt, and I . . .” Did he really mean that part? Truly? “I get to stay with you?”

“That is correct. Now, I want to hear all of the details. What did the prat’s face look like when he flew into the air?”

Suddenly we were both giggling, which quickly progressed to whooping, screaming laughs complete with a snort here and there. I laughed until I coughed and sicked up, but godfather simply waved his wand with that cleaning spell and kept right on chuckling.

‘This must be what a family is supposed to feel like! How did I get so lucky?’

……………………………

After a decent tea, Harry and I both settled down to read. He was positively rapturous, and I found myself watching the wonderment on his face more than my selected material. Within moments he was completely lost in David Copperfield, concentrating, emotions flickering across his face at an alarming speed. I’d half a mind to find my copy and read it over.

I lost track of the time, and when I next looked up from my potions journal, he’d collapsed in the cushions, napping, while the sun slipped under our paltry garden. We’d have to do something about this shabby place straight away!

“Harry?”

No response.

“Harry?” I repeated a bit louder. This time he startled miserably, his book smacking the hardwood floor.

“Yes, sir! I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know I was falling asleep and –”

Holding up my hand and shushing him gently allowed the millstone to lift from his scant shoulders, and he let out a tottery breath.

“We’ve missed dinner, child. Are you hungry?”

He was still waking, and I could nearly hear his thought process as he searched for the correct answer.

“I - erm . . . y-yes, I am a little hungry, sir, er, godfather! Sorry, godfather!”

“Quite all right, Harry. Let us see what sounds appetizing, shall we?”

………………………………………………………………………….

What a scary way to wake up! I couldn’t believe I’d fallen asleep right there, in front of him. I’d never fallen asleep in front of anyone before – wasn’t safe.

‘But here it can be, can’t it?’ I’d have to think on that later.

After we’d eaten our fill at dinner, godfather suggested we fix up Spinner’s End.

“Let us start with your room, shall we?”

It was quite difficult to say what could be different. This was the very best room I’d ever had! ‘Why does he care what I want, what I think, what I like?’ Standing there, in the middle of the room, he looked at me, raising one crooked eyebrow, waiting.

What could I say?

“It’s - well, it’s perfect already, sir,” I said quietly. He did not like that answer very much, but he was ever so nice.

“It is dull gray, child. The walls, the coverlet, everything’s faded and old!” He paused, scrutinizing me. ‘Must be thinking what a bad boy I am!’ I thought he’d scold me, but instead he said, “What is your favorite color?”

I liked red, but I knew he didn’t, not after the tailor’s.

“Er - Yellow, sir?” Yellow was cheery; a happy color, like how I felt more and more now.

He made a sour, dissatisfied face, and I knew I’d picked wrong! Taking out his wand, I knew he’d strike me with it. I flinched back, hard, clenching my eyes shut and clamping down my teeth.

“Please, please,” I whispered.

At the same time, he was saying my name.

He didn’t sound angry.

I peeked out from between trembling fingers, and the room was just like sunshine! The walls and bed were a bright, joyful, daffodil-yellow, and extra glowing bulbs had been added to brighten the room.

“Brilliant!” He’d done a spell with his wand. ‘Of course he did a spell! I’m such a stupid little chit.’

Kneeling, he asked me a quiet question. “Am I ever going to hit you . . . again . . . Harry?”

A test! Best to say what he said, what I wanted so, so, much to believe.

“N – no, sir?”

“Correct. Let us move to the stairwell, shall we? It needs more light as well, don’t you think?”

………………………………………………………………………….

It was like pulling bloody molars, trying to get an opinion from the little one. After I startled him so badly with what was, for me, a mild grimace, I was careful to react, at worst, neutrally, to his responses. I really don’t know why I had neglected re-decorating so long. Force of habit, perhaps. Spinner’s End had still, in my mind, belonged to my complete berk of a father.

‘Not any longer!’

I enlarged the wretched lavatory and dining area, failing miserably at explaining to the boy the theory behind wizardspace. Every wall, floor, and furnishing was brightened, shined, and generally transfigured to look completely different.

Breathing was easier when all was done.

Ghosts no longer lurked in dank corners.

Standing in the child’s new doorway, I nearly smiled as I took in the untidy shock of dark hair spread on a canary-colored pillowcase. He squinted up at me, undoubtedly fearful without his glasses.

“Do not worry, Harry. I will not hurt you, child.”

“Yes, sir,” he answered in a pitiful voice.

This evening seemed to have made him uneasy. My thoughts drifted back to Poppy’s coddling. ‘I suppose it couldn’t hurt, and no one will ever know. Perhaps the little scamp will stop behaving like such a simpering idiot if I tuck him in . . .’

………………………………………………………………………….

He’d just told me he did not intend to hurt me, so why was he coming toward me? I made myself lie still – as still as possible while I shook under the covers.

He handed me my glasses; once I’d put them on I could see the puzzled expression on his face. He reached toward me. ‘Is he going to choke me?’ Relieved, I realized he was only pulling the blankets to just under my chin.

After patting me on the head once, twice, he cleared his throat and said, just a bit louder than necessary, “Sleep well then, Harry.”

The lights went out, and my held-in giggle turned into a great, magnificent smile! ‘I shall have nice dreams this night!’ I’d been worried I hadn’t a clock to listen for here at godfather’s house, but suddenly staying awake ‘til midnight, ‘til I turned nine, wasn’t very important.

…

Upon awakening, the smell of bangers and coffee wafted into the room – my room! At first I was still happy, laying in the deep comfort of my brand new covers. Then I sat straight up!

‘He’s cooking! I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!’ Even though I made up the bed and dressed as quick as I could, still seemed like everything took forever! Out of breath as I was, it wasn’t possible to even apologize straight away after arriving in the new dining room.

“Harry. I’m pleased you’re up. I was about to come upstairs.”

Thank goodness I’d awakened! It would have been a punishment for sure if he’d had to come fetch me, wouldn’t it? ‘Everything’s so confusing!’

“What can I do, sir?” Surely he’d have chores for me, since he’d cooked.

“You may take your seat at the table, place your napkin in your lap, and eat breakfast.” His clipped tone left no room to say anything further.

Once we’d finished, I noted I’d forgotten about magic again! He sent the dishes to dance with the forks in the bubbly sink. At least, that’s what I fancied they were doing; dancing was much more interesting than scrubbing!

………………………………………………………………………….

It took me a moment to get the boy’s attention. Mouth hanging open, staring distractedly, it seemed as if he was waiting for the china to attack the silver. I bit back a comment about catching flies.

“Harry? Harry?” Finally, tapping the table in front of him gained attention, though, as everything seemed to, it startled him - but just a bit.

“Oh! Yes, sir? Sorry, sir!”

“No need, child,” I sighed. “Do you know what today is?”

His eyes lit up briefly, then he sniffed a bit and cast sparkling green irises to the slick marble floor.

………………………………………………………………………….

He couldn’t be thinking the same as me. How would he know 31st July was my birthday? He probably didn’t even realize today was the last day of the month; we had no calendar or schedule in the cottage.

“Wednesday, sir?” It was Wednesday, I wasn’t lying.

“Yes, and . . .” Both crooked eyebrows lifted this time.

“The 31st of July, sir?”

“Godfather, Harry.”

“Sorry, godfather!”

He waited, I think for me to say something, then rolled his eyes.

“Your birthday, Harry. It’s your birthday,” he growled.

“Yes, sir.” Birthdays! Whenever the Dursleys remembered, it made for a much worse day. ‘It will be different with my Snape, won’t it?’

………………………………………………………………………….

The discussion was not beginning the way I’d hoped, but who knew what he was thinking?

“I have tentative plans for a small party, but if you’d rather cancel, we can discuss it after I’ve gone over the details.”

Eyes could not have become bigger if one had seen a muggle ghost!

Finally, he managed to stutter, “P – party?”

Shaking my head – trying not to think of the reason behind his rather adorable expression of surprise – I answered, “Yes, Harry, a birthday party, because today is your birthday.”

“A birthday party – for – for me? Sir?”

………………………………………………………………………….

My Snape let out a long sigh before a slow grin captured his lips.

“Yes, you silly child, a birthday party for you. Now, the tentative plans are for tea with Poppy and Gray. They shall join us at four, we shall eat and have the party. Do you think you would like that?” ‘Do not remark on catching flies, Severus!’

“Yes, sir! Yes, godfather, I would like that very much!”

………………………………………………………………………….

The floor was threatening to vibrate, so much the little one was bouncing in a new, thankfully sturdy, dining chair.

“Is there anyone else you would like to invite?” I truly hoped he would not ask for any of the Smiths next door; I would be loathe to invite Chloe or William. Young Sarah might be passable, but how could I invite the daughter and not the mother? Thankfully, it was not an issue.

“No, godfather, there is no one else,” he chirped contentedly.

I wished there were other children his age to invite; I felt inadequate I could not help the child with social matters. However, taking in his excitement, I knew presently he’d not given a lack of playmates a single thought. That assuaged my unforeseen guilt, for now.

My head was buzzing and I had to make my legs be still. Surely he would shout at me for fidgeting soon.

“I thought you would appreciate having one of your presents now,” Godfather said as he was going down to the cellar. Presents! I was getting presents! And he had said ‘one of my presents,’ which had to mean there was more than one, didn’t it? What would he have for me there? Maybe another toy? Or a book?

His voice echoed as he ascended the cement stairs.

“It is not wrapped, as that would have been difficult . . .”

Then I could see it. I could see just what it was. This birthday was going to be like all the others! Why did I let myself hope?

………………………………………………………………………….

Little one’s face fell. He looked absolutely distraught by the time I was properly in the room. Was he afraid of heights? It hadn’t seemed so previously . . . he’d clambered up on the counters readily enough to clean out kitchen cupboards.

Was he becoming spoilt? Was he expecting a later model, perhaps? I’d only bought a training model, nothing fancy, for his first. Even so, the price was considerable. A damn sight more than I’d ever received for a birthday!

“Well if you don’t want it, I can return it, and you shall go without!”

………………………………………………………………………….

He threw the thing down, making a loud clatter. How could I have let my face show what I was feeling? I knew better than that! Been trained better than that! Stupid, stupid!

“I . . . I’m sorry, sir. Sorry! I like it v-very much, sir!” I smiled a very big smile as I began sweeping the kitchen floor with my new broom. Well, it was pretty old looking, but it was new to me. Then I noticed I’d let the floor get dirty. Perhaps that’s why I wasn’t getting a proper present!

And then he was laughing at me. Laughing at me again, like he used to. Sometimes Uncle Vernon would do this – be very nice to me so when he got mean again it would be even worse. His laughs tore tears from my eyes. I coughed, trying to cover.

“Child – Harry! Stop!” he said in a strange, breathless voice. “No wonder you seemed so forlorn. The broom is not for sweeping, you silly child. It is a training broom.”

I didn’t understand. He threw up his hands and continued, “For flying!”

………………………………………………………………………….

Poor child. I’d given him another fright with my horrid temper. He was still white as Sir Nicholas.

“I did not intend to frighten you. I see I’ve succeeded in doing just that.”

“Fl-flying, sir?” He was skeptical, hesitant.

“Yes, flying, not cleaning! Remember, you are a wizard, Harry.”

Instantly, it was as if a faerie fluttered in his chest.

Brightening, he asked, “Witches really do fly on brooms, sir?”

………………………………………………………………………….

Asked a question! Shouldn’t, but did, but he’s answering . . .

“Oh, yes, Harry. And wizards as well. Let’s be off. We can fly on Hogwarts’ Quidditch Pitch.”

‘Quidditch is real, like the Poppy Lady said?’

I caught that one before it escaped my lips. And he’d said Hogwarts, so I’d be seeing Dumblesdore most likely.

‘Why must we keep going back there?’

My Snape sprinted down the steps and retrieved a larger, but rather rattier, broom from the cellar. He took my hand, and in the blink of a squish-squashed eye, we landed outside the castle gates. To my relief, we did not walk toward the grand castle entrance, but headed over grassy hills until multicolored turrets with medieval flags rose before us. It was a huge field, with stands and hoops and I knew it must be real! I believed I would fly – here, today – now, on my best birthday!

Happy Birthday, Harry! You’re a real son now!

………………………………………………………………………….

In awe again was little one. I paused to gaze at his enraptured being before snapping back to all things practical and casting several privacy and warding charms. Merlin help anyone trying to spy today!

On impulse, I took off on my broom, feeling freer than I had since . . . perhaps freer than I’d ever felt. Harry let out an impressed, “Whoop!” carried to me on friendly warm winds. I touched down beside him, handed him the childproof-spelled Shooting Star, and began to explain. Before I was able to say two syllables, he was up, ecstatic and relaxed. He was a natural! We passed two hours, circling one another, weaving patterns, following and chasing. Regrettably, I realized it was nearing noon, and we’d best collect Poppy.

Little one smiled up at me and took my hand as we exited the pitch. However, once we neared the castle, he began to lag, just a bit, a look of apprehension clearly overtaking him.

“Shall we go about this a different way then, Harry? Would you like to fly with me up to the Infirmary window to fetch Poppy?”

His beaming smile nearly blinded me.

A heartbeat later, he was innocently tapping on the glass, which produced a screaming, huffing medi-witch. She vanished the window and gave me her best mother-hen glare.

I only smirked at her and said, “We’ll be apparating home in just a moment. Would you like to floo in shortly?”

She sighed, threw up her hands, and headed toward the fireplace.

“Think we can beat her there, Harry?”

He nodded fiercely, and we were off!

………………………………………………………………………….

It was a tie! The Poppy lady stumbled from the grate just as we popped back into the front room. She wasn’t dirty this time! That made me feel better.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” she said loudly, and grabbed me up in a big squeeze. It didn’t hurt this time! It was magnificent!

“So what have you planned, Severus?” she asked once she’d put me down. “I assume you have cake?”

“You would assume correctly, Poppy, and do stop glaring at me like an errant schoolboy!”

Presents, a party, and cake? Why were they doing this for me? I didn’t deserve it; of that I was certain!

………………………………………………………………………….

“Our muggle friend Grey should be here in half an hour. I have a feeling Harry should open your present now, Poppy, since it might be a bit odd to a muggle. Shall we have a seat?”

I never dreamed entertaining might be somewhat enjoyable when one possessed a dwelling of which he could be proud . . .

“I must say, Severus, you have outdone yourself. No-one would believe the crusty potions master had such a gift for decorating.” She was complimenting me?

The boy was hovering. My first thought was to ask him where he’d like to sit, but I quickly realized that was likely to throw him into a tizzy.

“Harry, have a seat on the settee with Poppy. She is going to give you her present,” I said, making the command as gentle as I could muster. The little one did not startle, so I assumed I’d done as intended.

His eyes were wide as saucers when Poppy extracted her tiny, pea-sized package, then enlarged it. She handed over a package wrapped in gold paper and green ribbons, saying again, softly, “Happy Birthday, Harry.”

He looked to me for approval, hesitant.

“Of course you may open it, Harry.”

Finally, he went about something in the manner expected of a small boy; the gold wrapping was ripped to shreds, ribbons discarded, in a wink. Once he came to the box, though, he stopped, suddenly horrified at the mess. He began tidying up rapidly, whimpering apologies. I banished the paper and knelt beside him, holding the box.

“Open it and see what’s inside,” I encouraged, nearly smiling.

After a moment of indecision, he lifted the top. His present hovered for a split second, then buzzed overhead, zipping this way and that. He was dripping with childish delight!

“Perfect choice, Poppy. Thank you.”

She waved away the thanks, but puffed up proudly nevertheless.

I had made the correct decision; this was definitely not a muggle-friendly present!

Finally, something had elicited a truly childish reaction in the little one!

He took off, pounding about the ground floor, tripping over everything in sight. I thought his delight would be short-circuited when a stack of plates crashed on the kitchen floor due to his gallivanting about. However, as quick as I happen to be with a wand, he barely had time to sniff before the dishes were back in order. After a zap to the snitch that caused it to hover just out of reach for a few moments, a gesture that said ‘scurry off,’ and a look on my face that absolutely could not have been a smile, Harry was nearly back up to speed.

“I think he likes it,” Poppy whispered conspiratorially, winking.

“Yes. Quite the perfect complement to his new broom.” Pride? Was that this feeling under my breastbone?

“Oh, Severus, you’ve given him his first broom? I only saw the two of you together on what I assumed was yours.”

“I’d already shrunken his. I warded the pitch and we flew a while before – dropping in on you.”

“You always did have a mischievous streak, Severus.” She wagged a half-hearted finger, then almost didn’t say, “You’re doing a marvelous service to Harry. I’m very proud of you, Severus.”

Then she got up, and before I could move she gave me a kiss on the top of the head.

“Harry?” she called in that same moment. “Do you like your new snitch, love?”

I listened to childish banter as I prepared tea.

I caught myself humming.

………………………………………………………………………….

I was able to catch the snitch three times! Three! I was so excited at first, I was running in the house – but I didn’t get into trouble at all. They even looked happy, godfather and Madame Poppy, watching me. I settled myself down quick when the Poppy lady wanted to talk to me, and I talked quietly, like I always should talk – but it was very difficult! I had this exciting feeling like my chest would burst if I didn’t jump or yell or scream, just like when I was flying. Only you can scream when you’re flying ‘cause no one can hear you with the wind rushing by.

There was a knock at the door.

“Gray!” I thumped down the first few steps, and then made myself Slow Down. I peeked into the kitchen; my Snape hadn’t noticed. Whew!

I started for the door, but remembered to ask if I could open it. I felt very shy, suddenly. Just as I turned to ask permission, my Snape came into the room, wiping his hands on a dish rag.

“Would you like to answer the door, Harry?” he asked kindly.

“Y-yes, sir.”

I got The Look.

“I-I mean, godfather! Very much, godfather!”

He nodded his head quickly at me, and I opened the door.

“Hello, Mr. Gray!” That excitedness just wouldn’t go away!

He looked very shy, just like I felt, his hands behind his back. “Hullo there, little ‘un.” He held a football in his hands, next I looked. “Happy berfday, Harry.”

He’d brought me a present, too? I’d popped into his shop unannounced, lied to him, and hadn’t gone to visit him like I’d promised. I didn’t deserve it!

As soon as he was properly in the door, and had quite nicely closed it himself for me, he held the gift out for me to take; well, he put it into my arms, really. I felt my lungs heat up super quick. The football flew out of my hands and back at Gray, hitting him solidly in the chest and nearly knocking him over. He looked from me, to my Snape, and back, with eyes like our old mismatched plates.

Then Godfather was behind me, whispered something that sounded like ‘obviously,’ and Gray shook his head a bit and looked confused.

“Thank you for joining us, Gray. I’ll just take Harry’s gift and set it on the table for now. He can enjoy it after we have our tea and cake.” He turned to me, hand firmly on my shoulder, and said, “Harry, say thank-you for your gift.”

Say something? I could scarce breathe! But I wouldn’t ever, ever disobey!

“Yes, sir,” I had to swallow a few times to get my voice to pop out over a hoarse whisper, “Thank you, Mr. Gray, for my gift, sir!”

He patted me on the head, absentmindedly. “No need to talk so formal there, little ‘un. Happy berfday, then. Did I say that already? Canna seem ta remember. Old age, eh, Mr. Snape?”

My Snape just nodded his head, and turned to the Poppy lady.

“Poppy, would you be so kind as to show Mr. Gray to our sitting room. Harry and I need to wash up. We’ll be back down shortly.”

She agreed, looking like she knew exactly what he meant, just like I did. She cast a concerned look my way.

She knew I was really going to get it now! Even if Mr. Professor Snape had been very nice to me about freaky stuff before, this was in front of the shopkeeper, who wasn’t a wizard and didn’t know any, either. I could tell that because he was so surprised. I could reason it was much, much worse to have an accident in front of Mr. Gray than anybody else I’d met with my Snape. I was suddenly very sad to have to be punished on my birthday - though don’t know what I expected. Birthdays were always, always terrible for me. Stupid to hope this one’d be any different. Probably get all my presents taken away - I should, too! Didn’t deserve them. Didn’t deserve any of this!

We reached the top of our new steps; they had cushiony carpet now and were easier to climb than the old ones. Mr. Professor Snape knelt down in front of me and held my chin in his hand. I so much wanted to shrink back that I did flinch.

“ ’m so, so sorry, sir!” I whispered. I couldn’t say more without crying like a ridiculous snotty baby, so I shut my mouth and told myself to quit feeling.

It worked a little.

………………………………………………………………………….

Harry was clearly terrified. This had been a poor idea after all. I immediately regretted attempting a party. It was a meager excuse for one, at that.

“Harry –”

“Yes, sir,” he answered immediately, desperately.

Where to start?

“Harry, that was accidental magic again. Gray is a muggle, so he didn’t understand what happened. I cast a spell to make him forget what he saw, which is why he became confused. No harm done, child. Understood?” He seemed half-aware of what I was saying, at least.

“Yes, sir!” he said again, in the same tone as last time. A bit infuriating, in truth! Couldn’t he simply listen and comprehend? Patience, Severus!

“Harry, you are not in trouble. Now, tell me what I just said.” There. That had worked nicely before.

“N-not in . . . I’m not in trouble, sir?” he queried quietly.

“That is correct. Now let us –”

Before I could continue, I had my arms full with a very excited little boy.

Once his ‘thank yous’ had quieted, we returned downstairs to a bit of a commotion. Madame Poppy was shouting and sounded very cross.

“Yes, yes, I’ll give him the blasted letter and package. Just go, you dratted bird! Obliviate!”

………………………………………………………………………….

Mr. Gray looked very surprised to see a great tawny owl in our sitting room! He was very confused again for a moment as I looked to godfather for approval to take the package. Turning away from our guests, he waved his wand over it for a moment; Gray still seemed too dazed to notice much of anything. The last wand movement he made caused the package to jump up in size until it was bigger than my new football.

After he handed them over, I opened the letter first.

“Dear Harry,

I hope you are having a very happy birthday today! I shall never forget how happy your mother and father were the day you were born. I first saw you when you were just a babe in their arms, did you know that? Always remember how loved you are.

I want you to know the day I kept you at Hogwarts I told Severus I wanted to apologize to you. He did not let me, and I understand his reasoning. I wanted to explain the situation to you, and to tell you how very sorry I am that I hurt you, Harry.”

The letter went on to tell me about quills, and how she thought it didn’t hurt ‘cause I didn’t make a sound. She ended by apologizing again, and promising she would never, ever strike me or any other child for as long as she lived. I couldn’t believe she’d broken and burnt the cane!

………………………………………………………………………….

“All right there, Harry?” Poppy asked. We were both concerned.

Little one looked up with startled, shining green eyes, and breathed, “She said she was sorry. She didn’t have to do that, but she did. She apologized to me. Why?”

Kneeling before him, I struggled with words.

“Harry, Minerva should be sorry. She treated you horribly, and wrongly accused you to boot.”

He seemed incredulous, chest heaving and voice cracking. “I always get in trouble for things I didn’t do. Nobody’s ever apologized before. I didn’t think adults did that. She didn’t have to. That was very nice of her. May I – May I write her a thank-you, godfather?”

That he was so affected by a simple apology – that knocked the breath from my chest. I was going to have to revisit our incident and give a proper apology as well. Tomorrow.

“If you wish to write to Minerva, you may after our party. For now, would you like to see what is in the package?”

He was delighted with it, but I had to suppress a groan. It was a very lifelike plush lion that I was certain would perform all manner of tricks when activated. I would have to ‘thank’ Minerva myself. Damn tabby!

………………………………………………………………………….

They sang “Happy Birthday” to me! It was the first time anybody had, and I blushed like mad. After our tea and cake, I found out I had even more presents!

“Harry, Severus told me what a good little reader you are. I thought you might add this to your collection.” Madame Poppy held out a book-shaped package.

“Thank you, Madame Poppy!” My Snape didn’t look too pleased. Perhaps he thought boys ought not read the Complete Brothers Grimm Fairy Tales. I knew I’d love it!

I opened the book and started to look at the story titles when I heard my Snape clear his throat.

He held something behind his back. He had a sheepish, half-grin on his face. I set the book down, walked over to him, and he held it out . . .

My stuffed bear!

‘I think I could get used to being happy!’