Severus woke with a start and a snarl as the carriage went over a particularly large bump. Harry was still huddled in the corner, biting his nails and staring out the window. When he noticed that Severus was awake, he stopped biting his nails and hid them in his lap.

“When was the last time you washed you hands, boy?” he snapped, and then growled as Harry’s hand returned to his mouth as he tried to remember. “Stop, stop, if you have to think about it, it’s too long! Don’t put that hand in your mouth, you unhygenic child, you may ingest something toxic and Poppy will skin me.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry started to crack his knuckles instead, then softly said “Sir?”

“Yes, Potter?”

“Uhm, what’s your name, then, sir?” He tried to crack his knuckles again, then failed and seemed to decide to fiddle with the loop of his filthy trousers.

“You may call me Professor Snape, Mr. Potter.”

“A professor? Do you teach at the university, is that what you meant before by school?” Harry seemed to have determined that he wasn’t a threat, and Snape half-wished the boy had not reached this conclusion. He had a splitting headache.

However, he mused, if the boy hadn’t decided he was safe, he would probably still be shrieking in the sqare at Hogsmeade.

Severus had hired a Muggle carriage to take them to Hogwarts, operated by a Squib named Hrothgar Snubb, or Gary. It was a nice, easy way for Muggle parents to get to the school, in the case of an emergency, and Severus had determined a nice, non-magical ride was just the thing to soothe their nerves. He had forgotten, however, that Gary hadn’t put any Cushioning Charms in the seats. Severus was sore all over, and he started to shake out the cricks in his neck while answering the boy.

“I teach at Hogwarts, Potter.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know what that is.”

Snape looked at him, slightly puzzled. “What, have your relatives never mentioned it, Potter?”

Harry’s eyes turned sad and he bit his lip before shaking his head. “No, sir. Why would the Dursley’s know, sir?” Perhaps it was like Smeltings—Harry looked at the man in front of him. He certainly looked dour enough to deal with Dudley.

“Your letter, Potter. What did you think it was about, if not Hogwarts?”

Harry looked curiously at the professor. “But sir, I’ve never gotten a letter.”

Snape sneered and rubbed his temples. As soon as he got back to his quarters he was downing his entire stock of headache reducers. This boy was clearly thick.

“Oh, p’rap’s you’re thinking of Dudley. Smelting’s sent him lots of mail, all about his dormitory and his class schedule and supply lists. Maybe you thought they sent something to me, but I’m going to Stonewall, and they don’t send any letters home. I’ve never even gotten a overdue notice, sir, I haven’t got a library card. So it can’t have been my letter.”

But Harry was remembering, with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, about the letter he had thought he’d seen the day before—well, before. Dudley had refused to get the mail, and when Harry tried the same tactic he got a sharp thump in the head with Dudley’s stupid stick. He hadn’t been able to properly look at the mail until he got back to the kitchen, his world was whirling about him as he picked it up and shuffled back to his seat. He had thought, for a moment, that one of the letters, a thick one written on funny paper, had said Harry Potter on it. But when he asked Uncle Vernon, he’d simply spluttered “From the government—a, a pittance, for raising you—cupboard, go to your cupboard—Dudley, go—“

Dudley had thumped Harry in the head again and shoved him in to his cupboard. The next thing he knew, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were driving away in the car and he was left with twenty pounds, an old jacket of Dudley’s, and strict orders to get every item on the list.

He’d spent ten pounds before he realized they weren’t coming back.

Staring at the professor, Harry swallowed and faintly asked “This…this Hogwish letter—“

“Hogwarts, Potter, Hogwarts.”

“Uh, yeah, is it on funny paper, like cloth, kinda? Heavy?”

“Parchment, boy, parchment. Growing up amongst Muggles has done nothing for your brain—unless the brain damage is a result of being smacked in the head too much.”

“No, sir.”

“What that negative in response to the comment of your brains or my hypothesis of how they got to be in such a lamentable state?”

Harry nodded, then shook his head. “Uh,” he said, looking confused. “Neither, sir?”

Snape snorted and looked out the window when he was interupted again by the brat. “What, uhm, what is Hogwarts, then, sir? Is it a public school? One of the boys at my primary, he’s headed to a public school. He’s going to Eton, he wrote a whole report on it and read it to the whole class.”

Severus gave a disdainful sniff. “Hogwarts was founded while the founders of Eton’s ancestors were still soiling their nappies. There’s far more to Hogwarts than silly boys running around in ridiculous Muggle clothing. Hogwarts is about magic, boy, not children mucking around in the dirt. Hogwarts is about power.”

He watched Potter’s eyes shine on that, saw him mutter ‘magic’ to himself. He said, with more courage he had seen in the boy yet, “It’s real. Magic, I mean. It’s real.”

“Of course, you foolish child. Did you never wonder the small matter of that scar on your head?”

Harry’s hand flew to his forehead as he deflated. “Oh. Oh, sir, no, there’s been a mistake. I got my scar in the crash that killed my mum and dad.”

Snape stared at him, bewildered. “What are you saying, boy?”

“Well, it was an accident. They were driving and the road was wet and, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge say they were probably drunk, but I don’t believe that because my parents were smart, they wouldn’t do anything like that, and Uncle Vernon lies about everything anyway. But the road was wet, and they slipped and skidded off the road and ran into a telephone pole, and the car was all twisted and everyone was so shocked no one saw to my cut, so it scarred very badly.” Harry tugged on his fringe self consciously. “Aunt Petunia says it looks horrid and gory.”

“But—“ Severus started, then he stopped. He, a reformed (mostly) Death-Eater, should leave this matter to Dumbledore. Yes, that’s what he would do.

“That’s not true, Potter,” he said finally, and Harry shrugged sadly.

“Well, Aunt Petunia said I should be ashamed of it. Says it should keep me humble, my scar, but I think it’s brilliant. I mean, if you have to have a scar, it should at least look nice. Specially since it’s right on my face, you know? And, and she says it should remind me that my parents were, weren’t capable of even driving in a little rain, that they were prob’ly as stupid as me, but I don’t think about that because rain can be real bad to drive in, Miss Zell told us, so we hafta be careful. And my parents just had somethin’ bad happen to them, but it isn’t their fault.” Harry got quiet for a moment, tracing his scar across his forehead. “You know what I pretend?”

Severus shook his head, listening to the dam of feelings that had probably been stifled within this boy for years. Much as he hated James and Lily Potter and all they stood for, much as he disliked the boy, he listened. Because Potter was talking so fast, sounded so desperate, that Severus really wondered what would happen if he was denied this right one more time.

“I pretend that my mum, she died protecting me. That when the car started to skid, she shielded me and kept me safe, because she loved me, and otherwise I would’ve died too, and she didn’t want that. And her, and my daddy, they died because they loved me. And so, so maybe it’s okay that they’re dead. I mean, not okay, but just---when I pretend that it doesn’t hurt so much. Because it means they loved me.” Harry paused, then sighed and pulled his hand down from his forehead. “Stupid, I guess.”

Severus inhaled through his nose, then exhaled again. Just as he was about to say something, the carriage jerked to a quick, sharp stop, and Hrothgar poked his head into the carriage, demanded his seven galleons, and wrinkled his nose at Harry’s stench.

“We’re at the Entrance Hall now, Professor.”

And Severus yanked Harry out of the carriage, threw some coins at Gary, and briskly swept into the most magnificent castle Harry had ever seen, or even dreamt of.

If this was Hogwarts, Harry thought in a daze as he ran a labyrinth or corridors and moving stairwells, he didn’t ever want to leave.

000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000

Severus reached Dumbledore’s office about a corridor or so ahead of Potter. The boy was jogging, slowly, taking in everything. He was gaping at a portrait of a beautiful woman with the same sort of hair he imagined his mum having, long, red hair like he’d seen once in when of Aunt Petunia’s photo albums. She was his mum, he decided, slipping back into the fantasy. She had come out of the fortune place just after he had left with the professor, and she had cried and cried and cried in the middle of the road, but then the fortune lady came out and said ‘He’s at Hogwarts.’ So she ran, ran real fast and got here before them, by magic! And she was hiding in the portrait until she could come out and hold him in her arms and promise, promise to love him forever and always and never leave him again—

At that point, the hallway he was in flooded with students and Harry was promptly swept away in a crowd of clean, well dressed, chattering students.

Suddenly, Harry was very aware of how long it had been without a shower, or a change of clothes.

The older students simply wrinkled their noses and moved on. The middle ones, still older than Harry, jostled him slightly as if to question why such a ragamuffin was in their hallways. It was the youngest children who started to tease, because they were the lowest on the food chain and it was nice to get fresh meat.

Harry got through them without tears, but minus a sleeve of his shabby coat and several people stepping on his as yet unshod feet.

He found the professor standing outside a stature of a beautiful bird, and the professor sneered at him.

“Now, Potter, we’re going to see the Headmaster. You’re to be on your best behaviour, clear? No, no blowing your nose in the Headmasters beard or anything.

Harry, now daunted by the size of the casstle and it’s occupants, gave a small smile. Severus rolled his eyes. “Forget I’ve said that. You Potter’s don’t need any ideas.” And with that, the professor turned, muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘candy floss’ (but from what he had observed of the professor, he thought that unlikely) and suddenly he was being pulled up a revolving stairwell into a room far better than anything else he’d ever seen before.

It was a wonderful room, Harry thought as he wrapped his hands in his shirt sleeves and looked in awe at the room. It had a hushed tone to it, as though many different people had just been talking and were silenced by the sight of such a dirty, unkempt, ugly boy. Harry took a few steps into the room, careful not to touch anything, and he kept on gazing upon the wonderful oddities that filled the room to the brim. It was only when he heard a polite chuckle that he lept backwards and saw there was a man there, as well.

He was the most magical man, a kind of man Harry couldn’t even dream up, and that, more than the castle and the room and the professor, convinced him what he was seeing was real. The man smiled kindly, though how he could smile kindly at such a filthy boy in the middle of his special room, Harry didn’t know, not when Aunt Petunia had shrieked if he’d even stepping into the kitchen with mud on his shoes. Harry ducked his head bashfully as the man came closer, and he was so shocked he flinched when he felt the magic man wrap his arms around him and hold him tight, only for a moment. When the man let go, Harry was staring at him with shining eyes, and the old man teared up.

“Oh, Harry.”

Harry shuffled nervously as the man looked at him, and suddenly he was very frightened again. He wasn’t at the Dursley’s, or on the streets, where at least he knew the rules. Suddenly, this wasn’t a pretend anymore, this was real, and he was plunged into a world where he didn’t know any of the rules, and so he decided the safest thing to do was apologize immediately.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

The old man simply embraced him again, this time for a few more seconds than before, and Harry let him. He pulled back, and this time he was wiping his eyes.

“Oh, Harry, it’s all right. I think you’ve been punished quite enough for running away, hmm?” Dumbledore was smoothing the brats hair fondly, the boy looked stricken and Severus bit his tounge.

He would talk to Dumbledore later and get it all straightened out. Yes, he would talk to Dumbledore and then it would all be like it was supposed to be, him glaring at an ignorant, arrogant, pampered Potter and ridiculing him and slipping things in his potions to make them explode so he could dock points and glower. Yes, yes, Dumbledore would fix everything, later.

Harry’s mind was a whirlwind and he suddenly felt sick. They lied. He knew they lied, of course, they always lied about him, but they never—this lie felt different from the others, this lie was more than just a mean lie about his family, this lie was a cover up and this lie made him feel like he was about to throw up all over the rug. Because this lie meant that, even though he had done what he was told and tried his best and survived, they didn’t want him back.

His voice sounded strangled when he spoke. “R-running away, sir?”

“Yes. Now, Harry, I know that you’re going to miss your family, but Hogwart’s is truly the best place for you.”

Harry nodded. The Dursleys had ruined it all for him, once again. Not only was he now miles away from all his worlds and rules, he was in a place where they would all think him an ungrateful brat. And maybe he was, if the Dursleys and the magicians thought it, maybe he was.

“My boy, we were all so worried about you. I wish I had thought to go and deliver the letter myself, to explain things. Ah, well, you’re here now and we’ll just put all this unpleasantness behind us, hmm?”

Harry nodded and stared at the floor, which was a safe thing to do everywhere. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry for the trouble, sir.”

The man waved away his apology. “Tut, tut, boy, nothing to apologize for! Now, how about we get you something to eat, and perhaps a bath?”

Harry nodded and thanked the man, and as the man went behind the desk he retreated back to the professor, who still seemed safe.

“He isn’t Merlin, is he?” Harry whispered, and Severus shook his head and hissed “His name is Professor Dumbledore, and he’s the headmaster.”

Dumbledore smiled kindly at the waif and pointed to the door. “Tookie will be waiting there to take you to the baths, then to the kitchens for a bite to eat. Professor Snape and I will probably join you there in, oh, say, a half an hour? We have a few things to discuss. Tookie!”

Tookie, a frightened looking house elf, poked her head in. “Professor Headmaster is wanting Tookie to lead Mister Harry Potter to bath now?”

“Yes, please, Tookie. Then to the kitchens, get him some food. Myself and Professor Snape will be there shortly.” As soon as Harry was led out the room, giving an anxious look back at the professor, Dumbledore steepled his fingers, motioned for Severus to sit down and, with a steely side Harry hadn’t seen, spoke.

“All right, Severus. Tell me everything.”