“Harry! Oh, wait up!”

Harry had started to run as soon as he left the dungeons. He had thought about going back to the dorm, but decided he didn’t want to deal with Zabini, who would most probably be writing a letter to his mama like he did every afternoon. Instead his feet led him up, into the part of the school he knew only well enough to find his way to classes. He just kept on running, as fast as he could, his bag bumping his side and his breath coming in starts.

He had run directly into Professor McGonnagal at the bottom of a flight of the stairs, nearly knocking the witch over. She had almost deducted points, but upon seeing his agitated state she paused.

“Mr. Potter? Are you quite all right?”

The boy swallowed, then nodded and licked licked his lips. He was panting. “I—yes, miss.”

She looked him up and down. The boy’s hands were clutching at the strap of his bag—were they trembling. His eyes looked panicked, and he hadn’t seemed to notice that his glasses were slightly askew. She reached over gently to correct them—she didn’t know why, really, she was hardly a demonstrative person, but the boy seemed so distraught—and he cringed, his own hands coming up and shakily correcting the problem himself.

She frowned. Something was wrong. Perhaps the boy was being bullied—she knew that Malfoy’s son could hardly be making life easy for him.

“Are you quite sure, Mr. Potter? You seem a little upset.” The boy shook his head.

“I’m fine. I—I really am, I’m all right.” His eyes darted around as if he imagined someone might be coming up the stairwell behind him.

“Is someone giving you trouble, Mr. Potter?” The boy swallowed and shook his head—but a little less forcefully. Ah. Bullies, then. “Are you certain? We can take you to your head of house, you know, and he’ll have a stern talk with who—“

But Potter was shaking his head so hard Minerva thought it might fly off. “No! Please, don’t take me to Professor Snape—I’m fine, I’m fine! I just—I, I’m running late, please, I have to go!”

McGonnagal frowned deeper. This wasn’t right. “Running late to where, Mr. Potter? Classes are over for the first years for the day, I believe.”

The boy’s mouth opened once, then shut itself firmly.

That’s when Hermione Granger rounded the corner. “Harry! Oh, good, I was scared you’d gone back to your common room and I wouldn’t be able to give you the notes—hello, Professor.”

“Hermione!” Harry said gladly. “I—I thought you might be in the library already!”

His eyes begged her to play along, so she did. “I—erm, no, not—not yet.”

The boy turned back to McGonnagal. “Hermione and I are—are studying Potions. In the library. I was—I was scared to be late. I’m very sorry for running, please don’t tell Professor Snape, he’ll give me another detention.”

McGonnagal gave Potter a stern look. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time, Mr. Potter. But do be careful sprinting up the stairwells—it’s very dangerous.”

“Yes, miss. Sorry, miss. Thank you for not telling Professor Snape.”

The woman nodded. “Well, you both best get off. I do know that Professor Snape likes to pile on the homework.”

“Yes, miss. Thank you.” Harry reached out, grabbed Hermione’s hand, and started to tug her down the hallway.

“This is the wrong way,” Hermione hissed. “The library’s down the other hallway.”

Harry let go of her wrist. “You lead, then, I’ve not been yet.”

Hermione led them to the library, which Harry liked immediately. The shelves towered over his head and big windows made it sunny and light in the main areas. Hermione led him over to a row of wide wooden study carrels. She pulled a chair up, sat down, and regarded Harry reproachfully.

“I just lied to a teacher. I’ve never lied to a teacher in my whole life.”

“Er—sorry. I just—I didn’t want to get into anymore trouble with Snape.”

“Sit down,” Hermione said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a neat roll of parchment, which she held out to him. “You can copy the notes while you tell me why Professor Snape was being so awful to you.”

Harry hesitantly reached out, then dug around in his bag for a quill and ink. “Hate these things,” he grumbled as he sharped his quill and dunked it into the ink before starting to roughly scratch out the beginning words on the parchment. “Messy.”

Hermione looked aghast at his handwriting. “You should work on your penmanship, it’s atrocious. Teacher’s will mark you down for that, you know.”

Harry grimaced. “I know. I don’t care, I don’t even want to be here long enough to hand in their homework.” Harry struggled with the quill and got smudges on his sleeves.

Hermione looked aghast again. “Leave Hogwarts? But—you’ve only just arrived!”

“I wish I never did.”

“But—“ here Hermione looked confused. “But—well, you’re muggleborn like me, right?”

Harry shrugged. “Erm—sort of. Raised by muggles.”

“Well—it’s magic! How could you want to give it up? Doesn’t it explain everything?”

Harry shrugged again and dunked his quil again. “All magic’s ever done to me is nasty things, so I don’t want it, thank you.”

Hermione suddenly looked sympathetic. “Oh—I remember. You’re Harry Potter—you’re parents—“

“Er, yeah,” Harry said uncomfortably. “But that’s not why. Well—I guess it contributes, but it’s not the nasty thing magic did.”

“What’d it do?”

She looked so curious, so nice and normal and like a girl he might see in Little Whinging, a girl who wasn’t lording it over him that his mum was a muggleborn or that his glasses were disgraceful, just a normal girl who seemed so nice and seemed like she would help him that Harry spilled. “Someone used magic to kidnap me.”

Hermione looked properly shocked. “Who? How’d they get you back? Is whoever did it in prison? I didn’t read anything about you being kidnapped in the books you were in, but is it hushed up?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Snape did it. He took me from my relatives and drugged me and brought me here.”

Hermione looked skeptical. “But—but he’s a teacher. Teachers don’t do things like that.”

“He did.”

Hermione bit her lip. “But—he’s your head of house. He’s supposed to look out for your best interest.”

“He isn’t.” Harry paused in his copying and gingerly touched his arm. He’d have a bruise there later, he could tell.

Hermione still seemed a little skeptical, and Harry felt his heart plummet. He’d taken a chance—told someone else the truth—and they didn’t believe him. Well, that would teach him, wouldn’t it? All he had to rely on was himself, really, that’s all. He had to remember that—

“Oh, Harry.” Harry’s heart immediately lightened. She believed him.

“Maybe—maybe we should go tell Dumbledore.”

“He knows.”

Hermione looked scandalized. “And he didn’t stop it?”

“He sent him.”

Hermione looked so outrage that Harry found himself telling her the whole thing, every detail since Snape had apparated into the hut on the rock. When he finished, Hermione looked almost as disapproving as McGonnagal.

“Well…what are you going to do?”

“Run away. As soon as I find a way, I’m going back to the Dursleys.”

Hermione bit her lip again. “But—we’re in Scotland. That’s very far from Surrey.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t care, I’ll find a way. I have to—I think Snape might kill me if I stay around too long.”

“But—he wouldn’t kill you. He can’t, he’s a teacher—“

“Being a teacher didn’t stop him from kidnapping me, now, did it?” Harry snapped, and he immediately felt bad. Hermione was just trying to help—he might even have that same belief in teachers, if he hadn’t had his Snape experiences. Maybe not—the teachers at his old school were pretty mean also. And blind, in their own way. Either way, Hermione didn’t deserve to have him snap at her. “Sorry.”

Hermione’s forehead was wrinkled in thought. “From Scotland to Surrey—you’d have to leave soon. You certaintly couldn’t travel in winter, not through Scotland. You’d have to leave by November, or wait until March or May, when the snow has melted.” Her brow knit together. “Of course, I did read that wonderful continuous warmth charm yesterday—but you’d need a lot of power to keep it up all the way back.”

Harry’s heart warmed. “You—you’ll help me, then?”

“Of course! I mean—I think you should stay, really, and learn as much magic as you can, because maybe it was really all—“

“If you say misunderstanding I’ll scream.”

She cracked a small smile. “No. But maybe it’ll all work out for the best, really. I mean—and don’t you like Hogwarts?”

Harry shrugged. “The classes, I suppose. They’re all right. But I hate—I hate looking over my shoulder and think Snape’s always behind me. Or that the food’s not safe. Or that—that Malfoy’s reporting to his father about me. I don’t like the people all that much—not the Slytherin’s, really, except Teddy. Kinda. Magic…” he shrugged again. “I like the magic. But I don’t like Hogwarts much, no.”

Hermione looked at him a long moment, then sighed. “I’ll help,” she said. “I’ll try to convince you to stay, of course, but I’ll help.”

Harry gave her another rare grin and handed her the parchment back. She looked at his notes, tutted on the penmanship, than gathered her things together. “Come on,” she said bossily. “It’s almost dinner and you’re not eating properly. I’ll get you some food from the Gryffindor table, Snape won’t touch it. I’ll taste it just in case,” she added, seeing Harry’s skeptical look. “Come on. Madame Pomfrey will slaughter you if she knows all you’ve eaten today is toast.”

Harry followed Hermione out of the library, and even though he felt much better than he had since he entered the old castle, he noticed with part of his mind that his hands were still shaking.

00000000000000000000000

Severus Snape loved solitude. He hated to fraternise with his peers, and he loathed chatter. Which was why the Friday afternoon staff meeting was not anything near to beloved in his heart. He normally sat there, disagreeable and silent and scowling. That was much better than forcing himself into chatter with excitable Flitwick or fat Pomona.

Dumbledore had, of course, addressed the necesssary items and departed. Some nights he stayed, chatted, had a drink, but not that night. The Heads of House had all gathered together with Filch, announcing detentions and scheduling them.

Minerva had frowned at him when he mentioned Potter’s detentions.

“Really, Severus, that is a little extreme. Seven? The boy has not even been here a full week!”

“Potter’s been here more than three weeks, you know that,” Severus said idly. “And he earned each and every one of them, Minerva.”

Minerva scowled. “Severus. He’s barely been through a week of classes—he’s only had one with you. What did he do hat earned him seven detentions?”

Severus counted them off of his fingers. “Loitering. Sloth. Failure to take care with ones appearance. Insolence. Being unprepared for class. Causing a potion to explode. He was docked points by Quirrel for failure to take care in his appearance, so that’s another.” He counted them all up again and nodded. “Seven.”

“Severus—he is an eleven year old boy. You’ve no right—“

“I have every right to discipline members of my house, Minerva! Or have you forgotten—I am the head of Slytherin. And Potter is my charge.”

McGonnagal pressed her lips into a thin line. “Be careful, Severus, please. I ran into the boy today and he was absolutely petrified I would report him to you for a detention. Begged me not to.”

Snape’s eyes glinted. “What did he do that deserved a detention?”

McGonnagal shook her head. “Nothing.” She paused. “I think he’s being bullied.”

“Minerva, I will deal with Slytherin House how I see fit. You’ve never tried to intervene before when a Slytherin was being bullied mercilessly.”

Minerva opened her mouth angrily. “That is not true, Severus! I have always been impartial in the taking of points and the maintaining of discipline! Whoever I have caught has been punished, and thoroughly!”

Snape softened a tiny bit. “Yes—you always did.” He paused. “Minerva, I shall deal with it. I promise. I’m sure Potter’s just blowing things out of proportion.” He smiled dangerously. “Besides—Headmaster Dumbledore has suggested we get started with Occlumency. He believes the boy may be vulnerable—I shall pick his mind then.”

Somehow, that didn’t comfort Minerva at all.

0000000000000000000000

That night, Harry Potter locked his curtains the way he had become accustomed to doing, pulled on his pajamas, and settled into bed with his wand under his pillow and his ears listening out for the telltale swoop of robes and loud footsteps.

That night, something unexpected happened. Someone tried to open his curtains.

“Potter?” Teddy called from outside. “Open up, I think your curtains are jammed. We have to talk.”

Harry pulled open the curtains a safe amount and poked his head out. It was just Teddy, in his own pajamas, looking uncomfortable.

“What is it?”

Teddy looked around and harry saw Malfoy, the Lumps, and Blaise pretending not to listen but obviously doing so. “Er—could we shut the curtains? I just want to talk about Potions.”

Harry regarded the boy a moment, then pulled the curtains open enough for the boy to come in. Teddy jumped onto his bed and, sitting cross legged, waited for Harry to close the curtains. Harry settled back and waited.

Teddy cleared his throat. “I wanted—er, I wanted to say I was sorry.”

Harry blinked. He hadn’t expected that. “What?”

“I wanted to say sorry. For ditching you like that. I knew Snape would be awful and I just left you to face it alone.”

Harry shrugged. “I dealt with it fine. Don’t worry about me—I can take care of myself. Besides, you would have gotten in trouble too.”

Teddy shifted uncomfortably. “I know. But—it’s not good form, you know? You stick by your mates, even when thingss get a little tough.”

Harry blinked again. “Are—are we mates, then, Teddy?”

Teddy nodded and played with the tie to his pajama pants. “Er—I thought so, yeah. I mean—I mean, if you don’t want to, after today, I understand. Rotten friend I am, yeah, leaving you all alone to take him being all mean, and with that mudblood too—“

“I—I would like to. Be mates, I mean.” Harry thought about confiding the fact he had never had a mate and decided it wouldn’t be a good thing to let get out. “But what’s a mudblood?”

Teddy shrugged and smiled. “Er—you know, mudblood. Magical kid with non-magic parents. It’s slang.”

Harry thought about it. “Sounds foul.”

“Yeah,” Teddy grinned. “If you use it in front of my mum then she’ll wash your mouth out.”

“Is that what Hermione is—a mudblood?”

Teddy nodded. “Yeah…Malfoy was pissed you’d gone off with her. He was storming around the commons saying you were diluting the house.”

Harry shrugged again. “I am, sort of. I like Hermione. She’s my mate too.”

Teddy deflated a little. “Better than you and I, I s’pose. Since she stuck by you and all.”

Harry shook it all. “Er—no, you’re both my mates, I suppose.” What a move up—from no friends to two! “Just—different ways. Don’t call her that, though.”

Teddy nodded. “Yeah, all right. S’just a word, you know? Shorter to say than muggleborn. Not nearly as hard to spell.” He shot Harry a grin, which Harry tentatively returned. Teddy yawned. “I better go—we’ve a free day tomorrow, but I have detention with Flitwick for accidentally setting that stool on fire. See you at breakfast?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Harry waited as Teddy left his bed, then called out “Ted?”

Teddy’s head poked back in. “Yeah?”

Harry tried to smile again. “Thanks.”

Teddy beamed. “Yeah, whatever, Potter.”

Harry fell asleep a little faster that night.

00000000000000000000000000000000

That night, Severus Snape entered his chambers, locked the floo, brushed his teeth and got into his night shirt before settling in. His wand was in it’s usual place on the nightstand, and the wards were up around his room, ready to stop any sort of intruder.

That night, something unexpected happened. Someone wouldn’t leave Severus’ mind.

All he could see was Potter—Potter who he hated, Potter who he loathed. He even tried to read some Christie to drive the boy out, but when Hercule Poirot gained a lightning bolt scar he let up and sentenced himself to staring at the ceiling thinking.

The boy was a menace. The boy was an absolute horror, a wretch, a good for nothing scrog. Snape would like to throttle him, like to slap him so hard his head spun, break his nose and his wand but Snape knew now that there was something more to the wretch than met the eye.

All Snape knew was that he dodged well. What had he been dodging?

By the end of the night, Snape had convinced himself it was cricket balls and childhood play, and he knew that Potter was an innocent, and that was what made Potter so damn hateable. Potter was an innocent and a liar and a conniving little demon, and Severus knew that the boy was nothing good but had everything good happent to him. He reached this conclusion and he sighed and smiled.

After that, he fell asleep a little faster.