Harry liked Tookie more than he’d ever liked anyone in his life—except for his mum and dad, of course, and Professor Snape. She led him to a bathroom with a tub as big as a pool, then set the taps so the water was warm and there were lots of bubbles and foam, all floating in the air and popping. Then, right before he’d shed his clothes, she’d magicked him up a set of old little wooden boats. They had belonged to one of the professors sons a long time ago, when Tookie was a new elf, and she thought they might make the bath fun. She then popped out, promising to return as soon as he was done (‘House elves is always knowing when Masters is done, Master Harry!’) and Harry settled into the first bath he could remember in years.

He had an epic battle with the boats (which were magic and had little pirates manning them), then he tackled the dirt and his hair. By the time he was done, the water had a thin film of dirt in it before there was a soft ‘plink’ and the dirt was replaced by bubbles.

His hair was still knotted and tangled, but a little cleaner. Harry ran his hands through it and sighed. He would need a haircut, for sure, and he hated haircuts. Maybe he could get Tookie to do it—she would listen to how long he wanted it.

He had another battle, and when the last pirate had gurgled ‘Yaargh!’ at him, he regretfully got out of the bath and toweled off. He wrapped a towel around him, then looked around the room.

“Tookie?” he called out quietly, and he yelped and almost fell back intot he tub when Tookie suddenly appeared.

“Young Master called Tookie?” she chirped, then frowned. “Why has Young Master Harry not put new clothes on?”

Harry looked around, and saw, draped over a hook, a uniform like he had seen the hoards of children wearing.

“I—I didn’t know those were for me, Tookie. I’m sorry.”

“Young Master not need be sorry, is Tookie’s fault for not saying! Young Master put on robes, then Tookie take to kitchen for food. Elves has been working hard for Young Master Harry. Gibley has made Young Master a cake!” Tookie proclaimed with pride. She then clapped her hands to her mouth and her ears flopped down with horror. “Oh, Tookie told Young Master the surprise! Tookie is bad elf!” She burst into tears, started to wring her hands and moan her apologies, and Harry didn’t know what to do. No one had ever apologized to him before.

“It’s all right, Tookie,” Harry said awkwardly, patting the elf on the back. “I’ll still act surprised and all, it’s okay. I haven’t ever had a cake made for me before, it’s all right that I know ahead. Tookie, please don’t cry, I’m sorry.”

Tookie stopped crying and looked up at him with big, wet, blue-green eyes. “Young Master is good master, to say such nice things to Tookie!” she cried, and hugged him around the knees before remembering her orders. “Young Master must get dressed so Young Master and Tookie may go to kitchens and have secret cake!” She turned away and Harry hastily pulled on the shirt and trousers, tucking in and buttoning up before Tookie turned back around to help him with his tie. She had to levitate herself to do it, and she held out his robe for him to shrug into, then she ran her hand over his hair in a worry.

“Ohhh, Young Master’s hair is fright! Young Master cannot see Headmaster with such hair!”

“I know, Tookie, would you please—“

But Tookie was already at work, magicking a pair of scissors like she had magicked out the boats and snipping away. She chatted as she did, and even though Harry was nervous—he’d had a great many haircuts, but none done by elf—he tried to listen.

“Tookie did this for Young Master Francis all time! Tookie very good with snippers, Young Master not need worry! Just snip snip tangles, hair be nice and neat!”

Harry snorted. He doubted his hair had ever been nice and neat, except maybe when he wass a baby and he didn’t have any. “Was the other boy you took care of nice, Tookie?”

“Oh, yes, Young Master Francis very nice! He always give Tookie big hug before he go bed, always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’ Young Master Francis wonderful boy, just like Young Master Harry.” She made a few last snips and then let herself down. “Young Master Harry perfect looking gentleman! Come, Young Master and Tookie must go to kitchen!”

She grabbed Harry’s writst, and before he could catch a look of himself, he was being pulled down various hallways and passages until he found himself shoved through a portrait of fruit that appeared to be giggling.

Thousands of house elves surrounded him, it seemed, and were pulling him to a big, rough wooden table. The top was scarred, as if someone had been cutting things on it, and Harry found himself running his fingers over the table as he watched the small, enthusiastic creatures pile plate after plate of food in front of him.

It was everything he had dreamed of over the last three months. There was a plate filled with strips of seasoned meat, mashed potatoes and green beans, a plate of some kind of stew, and two bowls—two bowls!—of peppermint humbugs, which he’d never tried, but he liked. He was shoveling food into his mouth when the professor and the headmaster showed up.

The Headmaster was smiling, but sadder looking then before. The professor was looking disdainfully at the two bowls of humbugs.

Harry felt the mashed potatoes in his mouth, but he was no longer hungry. He was surely going to be in trouble! Of course all this food wasn’t for him. Professor Snape was surely hungry as well, and the Headmaster—oh, they would be so angry, like when he ate Dudley’s food or got caught stealing from the fridge! He swallowed the lump of mashed potatoes and almost gagged on them. He jumped up and wondered if they would hit him, or if they would just send him to his cupboard.

“Pro-professor. Headmaster. I’m, I forgot—“ Harry’s throat closed up with regret. He’d always thought that, if he got away from the Dursleys, it would all be different. Well, even without the Dursleys for three months, he was all the things they said he was. And it hurt, to realize that, even though they had been lying about everything else, they weren’t lying about that.

It made him wonder if they really were lying about everything else.

The Headmaster let out a laugh. “Harry, no need to stand on ceremony! Sit, eat—it looks a long time since you’ve put in a hearty meal.”

Harry sat down cautiously and looked from man to man. Both had sat down across from him, the Headmaster kindly taking tea from a cheerful looking elf who Tookie had introduced him to, Tippy, and Professor Snape snapping out his order for black coffee and glaring at everything.

He picked up his fork again, slowly, and started to eat a little more slowly, watching to see whether the Professor or the Headmaster were going to yell at him. When they didn’t, he tucked in with his previous gusto. They might yell at him, but later he would just be satisfied to have a full stomach.

“Harry, my boy, slow down a little, you’ll be ill.” Harry tried to, but he was so hungry, and the food smelled so good. It was hard to tell what time it was in the castle, the thick walls made everything seem like it was late at night, but he could see the elves working on supper. It couldn’t be later than 2:30 and his world had changed, but his hunger had not, so he kept eating, slowing down only slightly.

Professor Snape sighed and snapped “Potter! The Headmaster said to slow down, show him some respect!”

Harry swallowed his food and said “But Professor, I’m hungry.”

Snape sighed again and pinched his nose. “Potter, stop sounding like a petulant child and start eating like a human instead of an animal. If you stuff all that food in your stomach now you’ll just sick it all up later.”

Harry slowed down a little bit more, but was still eating with considerable speed. The Headmaster waited a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Harry, I would like to talk to you about the Dursleys.”

He should have said that first, because suddenly Harry lost his appetite and stopped eating altogether. He started to mold his mashed potatoes into a square.

“Why?”

“Why, because they’re your family. And Professor Snape here told me you never received your letter—“ Harry glared at the professor, who glared right back, “—it does set me wondering. Why did you run away, child?”

Here was his chance. He could tell Dumbledore the truth, tell him everything from that day a week before his birthday until he’d felt Snape’s boot in his back that morning. He could tell him about the last ten years of his life, he could tell him everything he needed to know.

Instead, Harry shrugged.

“I don’t know why, sir.” He started to poke at the remaining stew. “I was just bored, I guess.”

“Bored, Harry?”

They would hate him now, he knew, hate how he was so selfish and thoughtless, but it was better than them knowing that not even his family could love him. “Yeah. Uhm, I just, in all the books you read all these kids have such, uhm, such exciting things happening to them, and I guess I just wanted some, uh, adventure.”

Snape looked Potter up and down. The boy was lying, Severus knew it, and he wondered if Dumbledore knew it too. A quick glance showed the man next to him his eyes flicker.

“And was it, Harry?”

“Uhm, was it what?”

“An adventure. Was it an adventure?”

Harry stared at his potatoes. “No,” he said softly. “It wasn’t an adventure.”

Dumbledore changed the subject. “Well, Harry, I think that, once I write a letter to your relative’s, they’ll understand. I know you probably miss them terribly and want to go home, but the school year here has been underway for a little more than a month now, and you will have to work very hard to catch up—

Harry looked up suddenly. “You mean, I’m going to stay here? And, and be a student?”

Professor Dumbledore looked baffled. “Of course, my boy. It was a shame you were so hasty in your thirst for adventure, but I won’t take your education away as punishment.”

“You mean—I have magic?”

“Yes, Potter.” Snape suddenly broke in. “You’re a wizard.”

Harry felt the floor spin underneath him, and he gripped the table. “I—“

“Headmaster, perhaps it would be…beneficial if we could allow Mr. Potter a little time to soak this all in. Perhaps, in your office?”

The Headmaster nodded. “Yes, a splendid idea. I trust you are done, Harry?”

He nodded, slowly, and pushed himself away from the table. The Headmaster led the way out, and Harry made to follow him before Snape grabbed his shoulder from behind.

“I know, Potter. You’re lying, and I can tell. And you think the Headmaster won’t find out, you’re wrong, because he will. You’re lying about something, and we’ll find out.”

Harry swayed, then lurched. “I’m going to be sick,” he whispered, and then he vomited all over the kitchen floor.

000000000000000000000000000000000

After a quick Cleaning Charm and a few breath mints, Harry found himself in the magical room once again. This time, defiantly, he drifted from the professor and went to look at the magic trinkets. He had to get very close, of course, to see them, but he wasn’t really looking.

He wasn’t lying. The Dursleys were lying, but he was just following them. What else could he do? Let everyone know he was a freak, that he was just an ungrateful child, a naughty boy who didn’t show thanks to anyone? No, no, he would be back in London, on the street, and then what would happen? What if the next time he was grabbed, it wasn’t by Snape? So no. He wasn’t lying. He was—he was protecting. That’s it, he was protecting himself. And his family. And that wasn’t lying.

Snape must have noticed how close he was to the object, a tiny golden eye with long silver threads dangling from it. Harry could hear the sneer in his voice, but he refused to turn around.

“Don’t get too close, Potter, it’ll bite your nose off.” When he didn’t respond, Snape let out a sigh and continued. “You’ll ruin your eyes, staring so close at that thing.”

“My eyes are already ruined. My glasses got stoled—without them I don’t see so good.”

Snape was at him in two second, lifting his chin and forcing Harry to look him in the eyes. After a few moments of studying them, he casst a quick diagnostic charm.

“Dear God, Potter, what were you doing, stumbling around Muggle London blind as a bat? You must have been banging into walls all the time!”

Harry glared. “It wasn’t so bad. Everything just got a little blurred, is all.”

Snape rolled his eyes and cast another spell. Suddenly, Harry felt the cool, familiar weight of glasses on his face, and he took in the professsor for the first time.

God, he had forgotten how clear things could be. For months it had been like he was peering through a fog, but now everything was smooth and clear and light and Harry felt like himself again.

Then he looked at Snape and he lost that confidence.

The man was tall, way taller than Harry, with a hooked nose and angry black eyes. His face looked so uncompromising that rock came to mind, and it looked pale and yellow, like he had been ill. He turned and looked at the Headmaster—he still looked exactly like Merlin, only with more lines in his face and his eyes twinkled way more.

Snape snorted and pushed him toward the headmaster. “As if the boy didn’t look enough like Potter, Headmaster. Well, let’s sort the boy so he has somewhere to sleep tonight. Unless you want me to put him up in my private chambers?”

“Actually, Severus—“ Albus began, but Severus snarled so loudly that Dumbledore started to laugh. “I was just about to ask you to hand me the hat.”

The Hat in hand, Harry was placed on Dumbledore’s desk chair and Severus dropped it over Harry’s head unceremoniously.

Suddenly, there was a voice in his ear and Harry almost fell off the chair.

“Hmm—difficult, very difficult. Abundance of courage, I see—and you’re not lackwit, oh no, not a bad mind at all. Hmm—interesting. Well, you’ve got plenty of courage and brains and ambition, by the book you could go anywhere. But—“ The Hat paused and for a moment in felt like someone was rummaging and removing all his memories, then putting them back neatly. “I don’t think Slytherin is the best place for you at the moment. Maybe later you’ll learn those lessons on your own. But what you need now most, Mr. Harry Potter, is a childhood.

Which is why I think I’ll put you in GRYFFINDOR!”

As the Hat was being yanked off his head, Harry thought he heard the hat say ‘Try to have some fun’, but he couldn’t be sure.

Dumbledore was beaming and Professor Snape was scowling, and Harry was handed a new tie and robe (‘I’ll send Tookie to Hogsmeade today to pick up the things you’ll need, they’ll be waiting for you tomorrow, my boy.’), this one with a fierce looking lion on the patch.

“Professor Snape, could you please go and send Mr. Weasley to my office?”

“Which one, sir?”

“Percy. The Prefect. Send him and tell him he’s excused from his remaining class to show Harry around.”

“Classes will be over in a few minutes, sir, and I doubt that Weasley would leave the class if I slipped him a Diarrhetic Drought. Why don’t you go meet him and drop the boy off and I’ll leave Potter to his—tour.”

Severus had swept out of the room before Harry had a chance to say goodbye, and for some reason that made Harry nervous.