When Harry reached the hallway outside the drawing room, he found it still gloriously devoid of people. I should have asked Dobby to keep Remus occupied, just to be sure, he scolded himself. Too bad he hadn’t remembered the Wall Watcher in time.

Sitting himself on the lowest step – still close enough to see and hear properly – he closed his eyes, removed his own glasses, and put the magical glasses in place. He opened his eyes slowly, remembering the shock he’d gotten the first time he tried them and had seen nothing underneath him. Sure enough, every which way he looked, he could see through the walls.

However, only one room interested Harry at that moment. In directing his attention to the other side of the wall to the drawing room, his eyes and ears focused on the two wizards who were already well into their conversation.

“No!” Snape looked as if he had been pacing the room and had stopped mid-stride to address the Headmaster, who was seated on the same sofa on which he had briefly questioned Harry earlier that day. “I have done too much to stop now. I need to be out there – doing something!”

“Now, Severus,” Dumbledore soothed, “I am not asking you to cease your efforts for this war. You can do plenty of good from here, after you have had time to recover – ”

“Recover! I am perfectly fine, Albus!”

“Fine,” Dumbledore repeated dryly. “Yes, Poppy must have been exaggerating when she wrote in her medical report that you had sustained multiple surface injuries, dehydration, and substantial nerve damage.” He deliberately softened his voice to add, “Severus. I know how you pride yourself on not allowing your weaknesses to show, whether they be physical, mental, or emotional. But you do not need to hide them from me. You are weak right now. Not broken. Weak. There is no shame in that. You must have time to recover.”

Snape scowled, clearly not agreeing with the headmaster’s assessment of his condition.

“And as it concerns the war,” Dumbledore continued, “at the present time, the most important thing for you to do is to lie low. Allow Voldemort time to be distracted from thoughts of searching for you. You will be of better use in the thick of the war when his guard is down.”

Harry noticed that Snape had flinched at Dumbledore’s use of Voldemort’s name, but he hadn’t corrected him like he always did with Harry.

“I fail to see of what importance I will be to the Order sitting here doing nothing,” Snape combated, “And before you suggest that I have anything to do with the training or babysitting of Potter, I should not need to remind you of the last time you forced me to work with him. I will not have my privacy trampled on again, and I will not waste my efforts with an arrogant teenager who refuses to listen to me or to learn!”

Harry bristled, wanting to tell Snape a thing or two about the man’s own behavior. It was hardly mature to intentionally drop a student’s potions assignment and refuse to grade it, now was it?

Dumbledore replied in his calmest tone, “I have admitted to you that those lessons were a mistake on my part. I am deeply sorry. I had hoped the two of you would learn to put your differences aside. Forcing you to work together, however…just magnified the problem, I am afraid.”

Dumbledore’s eyes showed defeat, along with something deeper…sorrow? Weakness? Maybe both…or neither. Harry didn’t have time to dwell on it, as Dumbledore was speaking again. “If you should choose to tutor Harry again, you know how grateful I would be to you. However,” he held up his hand to stay Snape from interrupting, “that would be entirely your choice. You have my word, Severus, that I will not force the two of you together in that capacity again.”

Harry found himself grinning a bit at that promise. Within the room, Snape looked calmer as well, though still wary.

But Harry’s relief was short-lived, as Dumbledore continued, “Nevertheless, you have no need for immediate concern, Severus. I placed Harry with his relatives for his own safety. Watched by a Death Eater or no, it is still the most securely warded place for him. He returns tomorrow.”

Harry grasped the edge of the step with both hands. Back? After everything he’d been through, Dumbledore was sending him back to the Dursleys? Images of tree-sized weeds and a permanently purple Uncle Vernon flew through his mind, and his hands tightened painfully on the step.

Snape took a seat across from Dumbledore, his expression inscrutable. “We had considered sending Potter to Hogwarts in approximately three weeks’ time,” he said slowly. “I see no reason why we shouldn’t send him on now. We would have no trouble finding a slew of eager volunteers to guard him for the duration.” Snape couldn’t resist a slight sneer at the jab at Harry’s popularity.

The headmaster’s brows rose a notch. “You are taking an interest in the boy’s welfare, Severus?”

“Of course not,” Snape snapped. “He is pivotal to the Dark Lord’s plans; I merely think it the wisest course of action to keep him away from a location where he is already known to be.”

Dumbledore countered, “Our plan might have worked, if not for your escape and Voldemort’s knowledge that you would inform us of his plans. Not only can a near-empty Hogwarts not offer him the same protections as his relatives’ home, but it is the first place at which Voldemort will now expect us to hide him.”

“The Weasleys, then,” Snape said, before Dumbledore had quite finished his last sentence. “Send Potter to stay with his mangy friend and that horrendous family of his. It is already warded to a degree, and additional wards could be put into place.”

Harry’s grip on the step let up a bit. The Weasleys? He barely dared to hope…

“No,” Dumbledore countered again, promptly destroying that hope. “Still too risky, for reasons we have discussed before. You know better, Severus,” Dumbledore scolded, leaning forward to study Snape’s guarded face. “You are one of the most logical wizards of my acquaintance, and you know these arguments inside and out. What else is behind this sudden urge to relocate Harry?”

Dumbledore’s voice demanded answer, and Snape met the older wizard’s eyes unflinching, though he said nothing for a long moment. When he finally did speak, it was with a simple, “Nothing at all, Albus. I merely thought it important that we understood all options.”

The silence was thick as both wizards held their gazes. Dumbledore clearly didn’t believe the other man for a moment, but then Snape didn’t appear as if he had been trying to fool him. It seemed to be his way of saying that he was done with the topic of conversation.

Harry’s whole body felt tense, knowing that with the end of that discussion, Dumbledore had won. Harry would be going back to the Dursleys, whether he liked it or not.

The headmaster allowed the change in discussion, finally interrupting the silence to segue into another topic. “As we are on the subject of Mr. Potter,” he began, still watching Snape carefully, “I had hoped to speak with you about a few details of your stay with him.”

Snape slowly and deliberately placed his hands on the table before him, lacing his fingers together in a falsely relaxed position. He waited, wary eyes on Dumbledore.

“I have read Poppy’s letter regarding her examination of Harry, Severus. I have also spoken with Remus. He was quite concerned by her findings. In addition to undernourishment and a bruise on his face, he seems to have had a severely sprained shoulder and an array of bruises on both arms.” Dumbledore allowed a moment before continuing carefully with his next comment, “Remus was…rather worried that he might have received the injuries as a result of your…shared company over the last several days.”

Harry had worried that Dumbledore had the information from Pomfrey, but he now nearly clapped himself on the forehead for a different reason. So that’s why Remus had been acting so protective. Looking back, he guessed he should have figured…would have figured, if he hadn’t been so distracted. All the swift glares and suspicious looks…and all directed at Snape.

Snape’s eyes had narrowed to slits. “And what do you think, Albus?” he grated out, fury simmering in his voice.

Dumbledore studied Snape for a moment. “I think that you hate the boy, Severus. Or at least that you think you do. You have never hidden that fact. I will also not deny that I know you well enough to discern that if properly provoked, you have the capability to do harm…to yourself and to others.” Dumbledore spoke carefully, considering, eyes looking directly into Snape’s. “You have a temper, Severus. I will not pretend that you don’t, and you will not deny that you do.”

Snape looked ready to explode with that same referenced temper.

“However,” Dumbledore continued calmly, “I have put my trust in you and I believe that you will be honest with me in a matter so grave as this. If you tell me that he is incorrect, I will believe you. If you tell me that he is correct, then we shall deal with it. Together. I will not forsake you.”

Snape kept his thunderous eyes level with those of the older wizard and stated clearly and deliberately, “He is incorrect.”

Dumbledore did not hesitate: he nodded and placed one of his hands over both of Snape’s, which were still clasped together on the table. “Thank you, my boy. I believe you.” He left his hand on Snape’s for a moment longer. “Thank you,” he repeated, and Harry heard the relief behind the headmaster’s words.

Snape stared at Dumbledore’s hand holding his own, so that Harry couldn’t see his face, and he continued to study his own hands after the older wizard’s hand was removed.

“Now that we have that settled,” Dumbledore cleared his throat, “Poppy noted that the bruises were not all inflicted at once. Several, however, looked at most a day or two old. Are you able to shed any light on the cause or causes of his injuries, Severus? Other than, ah…falling, lifting, or boxing, that is?” he raised his brows in obvious disbelief of those excuses, and Harry blushed. To hear his feeble excuses laid out by Dumbledore…well, it was more than a little humiliating.

“Did you see or hear anything that might explain?” Dumbledore prodded Snape, whose silent focus was still on his own clasped hands.

Harry held his breath. Snape hadn’t told before when he’d had the chance. Surely he wouldn’t now…

Snape finally raised his head to look Dumbledore in the eyes and said two words: “His uncle.”

Harry felt chilled as Snape went on. “I discovered Potter’s shoulder injury the first night. He never explained how it was injured, but in light of…other events, it was obviously his uncle’s doing.” He stopped to allow Dumbledore to speak, but the older wizard was still, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts.

Harry could do nothing but listen to Snape delve into the secrets of his home life. “The following day I heard a session of verbal abuse which I can now only presume is a commonplace occurrence in that house. His uncle proceeded to hit him.”

Snape paused a moment before adding, in a careful voice, “The Muggle hit his own nephew hard enough to knock him to the ground.” Snape stopped then, silently waiting for Dumbledore’s response.

“And that was the only time you saw or heard…anything,” Dumbledore said quietly, sadness lining his features.

Snape hesitated before admitting, “No.” His rigid posture clearly communicated that he did not want to continue, but after a glance at the headmaster’s imploring face, he did. “I am under the distinct impression that in addition to the aforementioned abuse, his relatives work him, starve him, lock him behind bars, and who knows what else. They do not appear opposed to using any or all of these punishments particularly in response to the slightest mention of the magical world.”

Dumbledore let out a deep breath. “I am sorry that you had to be there, child. It can’t have brought up happy memories for you.”

Snape brushed the comment aside, almost too quickly. “Did you know?” he asked, leaning forward a bit, eyes intense. “Did you know that your golden boy lived in an abusive home?” he demanded.

Harry, still feeling shaky, flinched at hearing the term “abuse” yet again from Snape’s lips. He hated it and hoped Dumbledore wasn’t going to start to see him that way. Abused implied weak, thought Harry. And he wasn’t weak.

Dumbledore sighed and slumped slightly into his seat. “Harry has never known love as he should have with the Dursleys. I did what I thought I had to in sending him back there – in keeping him safe from greater evils. Despite his relatives’ neglect, I had never seen proof of physical violence. I had truly convinced myself that Harry would be fine during the summers. Not ecstatically happy, of course, but fine. They are his family, after all.”

“Yes, because we all know that families never hurt their own,” Snape sneered, dark sarcasm lacing his words.

“Yes,” Dumbledore eyed Snape with sorrow-filled eyes, “Yes, you would know that, wouldn’t you, Severus?”

“This isn’t about me,” Snape replied quickly in rejection of the direction the conversation was taking.

“To the contrary, this is about you. After all, you are the one who chose to take Harry from his relatives’ harm.”

“I was the one who happened to be there. Do not make me into Potter’s shining hero, Albus. I care nothing for the boy. That has not changed.”

“And yet you helped him.”

Snape’s glare was nearly worse than his sneer. “You never desist in your foolish quest to find the so-called ‘good’ in people, do you, old man? Don’t try to pick me apart. I refuse to be psychoanalyzed so that you may imagine light where there are only shadows.”

Dumbledore leaned back, unfazed. “We both know the horrors you have faced, and I’ll not force you to rehash your past–”

“That’s settled, then,” Snape interrupted, but Dumbledore wasn’t about to be deterred.

“However,” the headmaster firmly stated, “for some reason unknown to Harry, you chose to help him instead of leaving him to further harm.” The corners of Dumbledore’s lips rose a bit, and he softened his voice so that Harry had to strain to hear. “For which I am proud of you, Severus. I recall a moment not so long ago when you questioned whether, if the time came, you would make the decision to help a friend – far less a self-proclaimed enemy – in need. You have always been a great wizard; here is proof that you can be great man if you wish to be.” Dumbledore hesitated before adding softly, “She would have been grateful and proud.”

Snape winced as though he’d suffered a physical pain, and his face whitened beyond his usual pallor. After a moment, he spoke, in a pained hiss, “Are you really so mad, old man, as to think one indecisive – truly, one inconsequential – moment can tell the true nature of a man? Or, dafter still, that even a lifetime of those moments is capable of atoning for having committed the worst of all sins?”

Snape winced as though he’d suffered a physical pain, and his face whitened beyond his usual pallor. After a moment, he spoke, in a pained hiss, “Are you really so mad, old man, as to think one indecisive – truly, one inconsequential – moment can tell the true nature of a man? Or, dafter still, that even a lifetime of those moments is capable of atoning for having committed the worst of all sins?”

“What happened in the past does not have to define you, Severus.” Dumbledore’s immediate answer was stern, yet loving. “What you do today, right now…that is what defines you.”

Snape’s skepticism showed on his pale face, though he made no move to argue. He looked down to the table, his black hair falling forward, hiding his face from Harry’s view.

Both wizards sat in silence for several long moments, which was fine with Harry, as it gave him time to think. He hadn’t expected the personal turn of conversation, and he shifted uncomfortably, even though he knew neither wizard could see him.

Who was the “she” that Dumbledore had mentioned? And what was this “worst of all sins” that Snape seemed to think he had committed? It also hadn’t escaped his notice that Dumbledore had alluded to Snape’s own memories when talking about Harry’s family, and he wondered for the first time about the memories he’d briefly glimpsed of Snape’s own childhood during their Occlumency sessions…

But that thought was quickly overshadowed, and Harry felt a chill run through his entire body as he came to a familiar thought. Snape had been a Death Eater. He had probably tortured, killed, and done loads of unspeakable things in Voldemort’s service. What sort of horrible atrocity could he possibly have committed that would dwarf all of that to become his self-described “worst sin”?

Harry all of a sudden didn’t want to know.

He narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the two men before removing the Wall Watcher from his face. He was supposed to be getting answers by eavesdropping, not more questions!

He sat another minute, mind reeling from the conversation he had just heard. Most importantly, the fact that Dumbledore knew. Snape had told him…about Uncle Vernon…about everything. How would he see Harry now? But more importantly, would he still send him back to the Dursleys? Harry felt an unbidden flash of anger directed at the older wizard. Of course he would send him back! He’d sent him back before, hadn’t he? Sure, he hadn’t known quite as much…but he’d known plenty of other stuff, and he’d always sent him back!

Harry finally headed toward the kitchen, stopping short of the door to get his anger under control before facing Remus. One deep breath. Another. And another.

He forced his mind onto other things…like the fact that Dumbledore had promised not to make Snape and Harry work together again. That, at least, was good news. The relief of hearing the headmaster give his word to not pair him up with Snape for lessons again helped combat his anger at the wizard for other things.

But still…there were simply too many questions and secrets and not enough answers, and Harry felt a headache coming on from thinking too much about them. Sighing, he tried to push the thoughts from his mind as firmly as he pushed open the door to the kitchen.

“Harry!” He was greeted right away by Remus’ welcoming smile. The man had turned quickly from the kitchen table, where it looked like he had been working on something. Harry couldn’t tell what exactly, as Remus had positioned his body directly in front, in an obvious attempt to hide whatever it was.

Harry couldn’t help himself – he craned his neck to get a look at yet one more secret someone was trying to hide from him. But Remus moved his body to block him still.

He glared. “What are you hiding, Remus?”

“Why, nothing, Harry,” Remus answered quickly, still smiling in the face of Harry’s suspicion. “Please have a seat. I’ll just clean up my meal and –”

“I’m not a little kid, you know, I’m sixteen. Whatever you’re hiding from me, I can handle it.” Harry crossed his arms in a gesture to let Remus know he wasn’t going to be put off.

Remus’s smile didn’t falter. “Of course you can, Harry. Tell you what – why don’t you have a bite to eat while I clean up here, and we can talk about this later?”

Harry felt his headache worsen, along with all of his frustrations and anger…toward Snape and Dumbledore and Uncle Vernon and Voldemort…and every other person in his life who conspired to betray him in some way. Anger at secrets and hidden motives and adults treating him like he was nothing more than a child…all of it came rushing through him all at once, tiredness and frustrations pored out in a tirade directed right at the only person in the room – Remus Lupin.

“Damn it, Remus!” Harry shouted, temper taking over completely, “Why doesn’t anybody ever think to tell me what’s going on? I do have a stake in this war, you know! Maybe – oh, wait, maybe it’s that Voldemort KILLED MY PARENTS! Or maybe, just maybe, THIS SCAR THAT MAKES ME WATCH HIM TORTURE PEOPLE! OH, AND FEEL HIS ENJOYMENT OF IT ALL! YOU EXPERIENCE WHAT I’VE HAD TO GO THROUGH, THEN JUST TRY AND TELL ME I DON’T DESERVE TO KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON!”

Harry was seeing red, his vision clouding in on him, he was so angry at it all. So angry that when Remus reached out a hand to calm him, Harry jerked back. “NO! DON’T YOU TRY TO CODDLE ME LIKE A LITTLE KID! I DESERVE MORE, REMUS! I DESERVE MORE! SIRIUS WOULDN’T HAVE TREATED ME LIKE THIS! HE WOULDN’T HAVE–” Harry stopped on a choked sob, and humiliation ran through him as he realized he was on the verge of crying.

Here he was screaming that he wasn’t a little kid, and he was about to cry like a baby.

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, forcing himself past the danger point. He jerked back at another attempt by Remus to reach out at him. But he stayed silent this time, biting his tongue at another angry tirade.

Remus didn’t try to touch him a third time. “Harry…” he began tentatively, continuing when Harry didn’t interrupt or explode at him, “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you felt so strongly. I…didn’t mean to compound the issue for you, I assure you.”

Harry opened his eyes to warily take in Remus. The man looked even older than usual, face drawn in sadness and shock. He seemed braced for another outburst at any moment, and Harry felt shame inch its way through his wall of anger.

“I…” Remus paused before finishing his thought, and stepped to the side to reveal what he had been hiding from Harry’s prying eyes. “I was going to surprise you later, Harry. I know you’ve had a rough couple of days… Anyway, happy birthday, Harry.”

Harry deflated as the anger, frustration, and steam left him in an instant, replaced by the worst sort of humiliation. There, on the table near where Remus had been sitting, was a small, half-decorated birthday cake. “Happy Bir” was clearly written on its top, where Remus had been in the middle of finishing the words with a few waves of his wand.

Harry barely made it to the table to sit opposite where Remus still stood by the cake. His legs wouldn’t hold him up any longer, and his stomach felt about to lose its contents…although luckily, it didn’t have any. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. Oh yeah, last night. Mrs. Weasely’s package, came the fleeting thought. He supposed the thought of sleep had overcome any thoughts of food. And now, hollow stomach or no, actually having a meal had never sounded so unappealing.

Folding his arms on the table, he dropped his heavy head to rest on them. Here he had just chewed out Remus, when the kind man had done nothing more than remember his birthday.

He was the worst sort of insensitive prat.

“I’m sorry, Remus,” he groaned, his voice muffled by his arm, “I shouldn’t have…I mean, I didn’t mean it, not really. Not at you. I…I’m just so sorry.”

This time, when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he didn’t jerk away. The hand rubbed slow, small circles on his back, and a weight settled in the chair next to Harry.

“It’s alright, Harry,” came Remus’ slow, soothing voice. “I knew you must have had a rough couple of days. I suppose I underestimated quite how rough.”

Remus continued to rub Harry’s back, which helped considerably with the physical ache he felt at his horrible gaffe. They sat like that for a while, the calming hand on Harry’s back and the heavy ache of his head lulling him into a not-quite sleeping, yet not-quite awake state.

He was barely aware in his drowsy mind when the rubbing of his back stopped, though he felt the coldness in its absence. And he didn’t know how long he had been sitting there before he heard the clanking sounds of utensils against dishes, and finally a soft voice near his ear calling him by name.

Figuring it wasn’t likely he’d be able to pretend for long that he didn’t hear, he slowly lifted his head. But he was careful to avoid eye contact with Remus.

“Here, Harry. Eat,” Remus ordered softly as he pushed a bowl of some sort of stew in front of him.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbled. His stomach still felt upset, but he latched onto the spoon for no other reason than to have something to do while under Remus’ scrutiny.

The room was quiet for a few long moments, save for the sounds of Harry’s spoon on the sides of his bowl. As conspicuous as Harry felt at first, he started not to care so much about that as the food hit his stomach, which rumbled in demand for more. He briefly wondered if the ache he’d been feeling was entirely nerves or if it had more to do with lack of food. He spooned faster, as the full awareness of his hunger hit him.

“Whoa, Harry!” Remus slowed Harry’s hand with his own, a hint of laughter in his voice. “You’d think your family never fed you!”

Harry couldn’t help but swivel his head at that. Had Remus figured things out? But Remus’ eyes only showed amusement. He didn’t know.

Harry sighed and took another bite of food, quickly, before Remus started asking him any more questions.

No such luck.

“Harry, you do know you can tell me anything, right?” Remus began, in his gentlest tone.

After a brief hesitation, Harry gave a polite nod and returned to his food.

“I mean it, Harry. Whatever you need to say, you can tell me the truth. The headmaster and I won’t let anything happen to you, you know…”

“Um…yeah. I know, Remus.” He cast a helpless glance around the room for something to distract Remus from his line of questioning, but he could think of nothing except running straight out the door. And that wouldn’t exactly help with easing Remus’ concerns.

“Harry…” Remus took a deep breath and let it out, leaning forward. “Professor Snape may be a teacher at your school, but that does not give him the right to harm you. You must be honest with me so that we may prevent it from happening again.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly closed it. He couldn’t let Remus think what he thought had happened, but that would involve telling him the truth. And he couldn’t let him know about that, either. It was horrible enough that both Snape and Dumbledore now thought he was a weakling who couldn’t stand up for himself to his bully of an uncle.

“Harry,” Remus was more intent at seeing Harry’s indecisiveness, “What did Severus do to you? What happened? I’ll protect you, I swear. Just tell me.”

Harry tried, he really did. He even opened his mouth again. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t bring himself to admit to his father’s only remaining true friend that he wasn’t strong enough to stand up to his Muggle uncle. So he shut his mouth, drawing his lips into a tight line. And he could feel, more than see, Remus’ frustration at his refusal to cooperate.

“Having trouble speaking, Potter?” A sneer brought both wizards’ attentions to the doorway of the kitchen, where Snape now stood, moving to enter. “I would think that your tendency to think only of yourself would make an offer of protection highly motivating.”

Harry grimaced at what Snape had heard, or rather, not heard. After all, by keeping silent, Harry was letting Remus continue to believe that Snape was behind his injuries…and that belief was turning Remus an pale sort of plum color. The man didn’t respond to the taunting, but probably only because Dumbledore entered the kitchen a few moments after Snape.

The two men took a seat at the table, directly opposite where Remus sat with Harry. The tension in the air couldn’t have gone unnoticed by Dumbledore, but he apparently chose to ignore it, as he pleasantly started right in, “Well, Harry, as I must be off soon, I think it necessary that we discuss your living arrangements for the remainder of the summer.”

Harry glanced at the older wizard through carefully guarded eyes. Was this where he would be told that he was heading back to the “care” of the Dursleys? He managed not to glare…though just barely. But as he didn’t know what to say, he took another bite of his food.

“After speaking with Professor Snape,” Dumbledore continued, “it has become clear to me that it is not in your best interest to return to the home of the Dursleys.”

“It isn’t?” Harry looked up again, taken aback. He’d already prepared himself for the worst.

“It is not,” Dumbledore confirmed, a reassuring smile in place. “Instead, we have decided that you will be staying here.”

“Here,” Harry repeated, still absorbing the fact that he wouldn’t be sent back to the Dursleys after all. As it fully hit him, he felt the sudden urge to laugh. He settled for a grin. “All month? Until school starts? How about Ron and Hermione? Can they come to stay too?”

Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling as he held up his hand. “Yes, you will be staying here until the beginning of the school year. As for your other question, I do have it on good authority that your friends will be in residence toward the end of the summer. Until then, you are free to correspond with them as often as you wish.”

Well, not a bad trade-off, considering everything. Harry felt truly happy for the first time all day.

“You may stay in the room which Dobby was so kind as to prepare for you,” the headmaster said, “and you may spend your days in any room that you wish, with a few exceptions.” He waited for Harry’s nod of acceptance before elaborating, “Firstly, this house is still used for the occasional Order meeting. You are not to attempt to attend these meetings unless I give you express permission to do so. Is that understood?”

Harry nodded slowly, considering. He wanted to be honest, and he honestly knew that his need to know what was going on all the time would make that rule incredibly hard to follow without argument. But then, he didn’t really have a choice. As Dumbledore seemed to be waiting for a more definite answer, he said, “Yes, sir. I understand.”

And though Dumbledore gave him a knowing look that caused Harry to fidget slightly, he moved on. “Secondly, you are not permitted to enter Professor Snape’s sleeping quarters or his temporary laboratory at any time without his permission.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “Sleeping quarters?” Until then, he’d completely forgotten the portion of the overheard conversation about Snape staying at Grimmauld Place.

But his question was overshadowed by Remus, who had instantly risen out of his chair. “He’s staying here? With Harry! Albus, after what he–”

“Please sit, Remus,” Dumbledore cut him off gently, though somehow even the powerful wizard’s gentle words carried quite a bit of force behind them.

Remus sat, though he wasn’t through arguing. “Albus, how can you even think of leaving Harry alone with him? He makes it clear every day how much he hates Harry! How can you possibly think this a wise course of action?”

“Worried you won’t be around to save him from my evil ways, Lupin?” Snape apparently couldn’t resist taunting.

Remus looked angry now, and Harry shuddered as he was actually reminded of Remus’ werewolf self ready to strike.

“Severus,” Dumbledore scolded simply, then redirected his attention to Remus. “I have spoken with Severus about the concerns you were diligent in bringing to my attention. He has answered them to my satisfaction, and there will be no more discussion on the matter. You will need to trust me in this, Remus.”

“I do trust you, Albus. I believe the issue that we have established is that I am finding it difficult to trust him.” Remus pointed at Snape, who, while sporting a sneer, remained stoically silent after Dumbledore’s scolding.

“He has done a great many services over the years, not only to the cause of the light, but for myself personally, and I am truly grateful,” Remus said, “but I know what I saw, Albus! Harry did not come by those injuries by falling. Someone did that to him, and Severus Snape, who time and again announces his antagonism toward Harry, was the only one with him for the past several days!”

Remus had half raised his wand to gesture at Snape, and before Harry had time to react, Snape brandished his own wand and stood to face Remus. All Harry could do was stare at the wands and remember the standoff between Snape and Sirius that had taken place in this very room during the past Christmas break. That had started over Harry too…

“Gentlemen!” Dumbledore boomed. “Put your wands away! Severus, sit! There is no need to resort to violence.”

“No nee– Albus, that is the whole point!” Remus argued, exasperated, though his wand was lowered. “He resorted to–”

“No, he didn’t!” Harry found himself yelling. He was all of a sudden fed up with the adults in his life constantly arguing over him and about him.

All talking stopped, as three pairs of eyes turned to him as one. Harry blinked, not having prepared what to say next. All he knew was that this was ridiculous. He hadn’t meant for things to get blown so out of proportion when he’d fudged over his injuries with Remus.

“Harry?” Remus asked cautiously.

Harry cast a helpless glance at Dumbledore, though he realized as he did that even though he knew that the headmaster knew about Uncle Vernon now, the older wizard didn’t know that Harry knew that he knew…or, well…it was something like that…

All Dumbledore did was give him a small encouraging smile, and Snape stayed silent, still rigid after having taken a seat on Dumbledore’s orders. They both seemed to be letting him decide whether to tell Remus the truth. Remus wasn’t speaking either, his attentive face letting Harry know that no matter the truth, he’d be there for him. Harry felt his heart warm at realizing that he already knew that. Too bad it didn’t make this any easier.

He cleared his throat, putting it off for just another moment, then plunged right in. “Er…well, look. Sna – I mean, Professor Snape didn’t do anything to me. We all know he hates me and all.” He thought better than to add that the feeling was mutual or to glance at Snape right then. “But…um, he didn’t hurt me in any way, I swear.”

Harry took another breath to organize his thoughts, then blurted them out in a rush of words. “I was getting water ‘cause it was hot in the garden, see, and Professor Snape showed up all injured and out of it, and I had to hide him, and when Uncle Vernon found out I didn’t finish the weeds, he wasn’t exactly happy and he sort of yanked my arm.”

He searched Remus’ face for a reaction to his speedy explanation, but he found only more confusion. After a moment, Remus narrowed his response to the focus of conversation. “Your uncle? He sort of yanked your arm? Harry, Madam Pomfrey listed your arm as severely sprained. And the bruises! And what about your face?” Remus’ puzzlement with the whole situation clearly shined through in his every word.

Dumbledore and Snape remained silent, letting Harry control the conversation, so he took his cue from them and only addressed Remus…who by now only looked more confused.

“Well, maybe he was more than a little upset about the weeds,” Harry admitted reluctantly. “And maybe it…wasn’t the first time. It kinda already hurt from the last time he yanked it. And from getting Professor Snape up the stairs before they found him. He’s not…er, exactly light. It was after that that it really started to hurt…” Harry trailed off, deciding that this explaining every little instance was too excruciating and tedious. Especially with the three older wizards just sitting there, staring at him. Maybe it would be better to just get it all out.

So he did, ignoring his overwhelming desire to keep it secret. “Look, Remus, it was all Uncle Vernon, okay? This isn’t the first summer he’s yanked me around like that. And he gave me the bruise on my face, too. He was mad that I hadn’t finished my chores, and things sort of…escalated.”

Remus opened his mouth to speak and promptly closed it, only to repeat his attempt to speak. He finally managed, “Esc– Harry, what do you mean…escalated?”

Harry cringed. Remus wasn’t shouting, but Harry sure felt like he was.

Remus’ face dawned understanding at Harry’s uncomfortable silence. “Your uncle hit you? And the – the rest of the bruises?”

Harry didn’t trust himself to speak further with all eyes on him. Instead, he nodded, studying his hands on the table to distract himself from his discomfort. He was acutely aware when the other two wizards rose from the table to exit the kitchen, leaving him alone with Remus. He breathed a little easier, grateful for the more private conversation.

“Harry…”

“It’s okay, Remus. Really,” Harry regained his voice and rushed to stop whatever coddling was about to occur. “It’s not like I’m messed up or anything because of it. It happened, and it’s over. And it wasn’t even really that bad. I’m fine,” he finished firmly.

Remus looked as though he thought Harry was anything but fine. The man spoke through clenched teeth to question, “Not that bad? What do you mean by that, Harry? Has it…has he ever…?” He trailed off, gesturing feebly with his hands.

Resisting the urge to run from the room, Harry looked up to meet Remus’ horrified gaze. He felt a sudden wave of exhaustion roll over him at this never-ending day. “Does it really matter, Remus? I mean, it’s not like they beat me or anything. It was just a slap for not finishing chores, that’s all.”

“Just!”

“Yes, just! Look, I appreciate your caring about me and all, Remus, I really do.” Harry tried to soften his darkening tone to show he really was grateful, “It’s just…I’m really okay. I’m not a little kid anymore – I know the difference between the way things are and the way they’re supposed to be. Only…things don’t always work out the way they’re supposed to or the way you wish they would, you know?”

Remus’ face told that he felt as defeated as Harry. “Yes, Harry,” he sighed, “I do know. I would do everything in my power if only I could see your father one more time. And Sirius, my friend…to find him, only to lose him again…” Remus’ voice wavered slightly, and he cleared his throat. “But they’re not here, Harry, and I know that nothing I can do will change that. Accepting death is a part of life. Accepting abuse, however, does not have to be,” he stressed, fervent emotion in his brown eyes.

Harry squirmed under his sharp gaze.

Remus brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose, breathing a heavy sigh, before continuing, “Harry, look. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this summer, going through some of Sirius’ old things… I know how much he meant to you, and how much it meant to him to come to know James’ son. I…just want you to know that while we may not be as close as you and Sirius were in the end, I do care about you. I can be here for you…should you need anything.”

Harry nodded, swallowing against something oddly large in his throat. Hearing out loud that Remus cared about Harry… It made him feel nice inside, even through all the other emotions churning around.

And he came to a sudden realization then, taking in Remus’ words, intense gaze, and recent out of the ordinary protectiveness. It was an insight Harry that somehow just knew. Harry was grieving Sirius, yes, but he wasn’t doing so alone. Remus was grieving in his own way - a way which apparently included a need to take over the most important role his two best Marauder friends had left behind…that of parenting Harry.

Even if Sirius had been more of a friend than a parent…

Harry liked Remus. He really did…he sort of loved him, actually. So he couldn’t understand why the thought of Remus wanting to take on that role made him feel so conflicted. He should be happy to have someone wanting to take care of him…right?

So why didn’t the thought make him happy? Or content, at the very least?

“Remus…” Harry cleared his throat. He had a lot to think about, but he needed to say something; Remus was just watching him, waiting for a reply. “Thanks. I mean it, really, thanks. My dad and Sirius…they were lucky to have you for a friend.”

“You’re welcome, Harry. And thank you.” Remus smiled and reached around to pat Harry on the shoulder. “I’ll be leaving shortly to accompany the headmaster on a few errands for the Order. Will you be alright until my return in a few days?”

Harry felt the urge to point out that he’d managed alright for years without Remus checking in on him, but he thought better than to spoil the first completely calm moment he’d had with the man all day. He nodded and left it at that.

“Good,” Remus smiled, rising from his chair toward the pantry door, “Now, we have a birthday cake to consume, do we not?”

Harry grinned as his stomach rumbled loudly.

Remus set the birthday cake on the table in front of Harry, and with several flourishes of his wand, completed the decorating he had begun earlier, complete with sixteen burning candles that floated just above the cake so as not to ruin the frosting.

Harry looked to Remus, who made him wait until he had told the other wizards they could return, and with Remus, Dumbledore, and a reluctant Snape gathered around the table, he finally blew out all sixteen candles in one breath. Well, maybe in two breaths.

It was Dumbledore, with twinkling eyes, who congratulated him first with a jovial, “Happy birthday, Harry!”

Remus said it second…and last.

The third guest at Harry’s impromptu birthday party didn’t appear nearly as happy to be “invited,” and as soon as Remus set to cutting the cake with a spell from his wand, Snape excused himself and swept out of the room.

That suited Harry fine, of course. He could only hope that Snape would be just as reclusive in the following weeks. He really didn’t want to think of the close proximity he would be sharing with the man. For now, it was his birthday. Dark thoughts and worries involving Professor Severus Snape could wait.

He turned back to Remus and Dumbledore, thankful for their smiles and this reprieve from questions and the day’s emotional toll. Yeah, he had pleasanter things to think about, he grinned to himself as he bit into a delicious piece of cake.

And just as chocolate eased the effects of dementors, Harry chased away thoughts of uncles and Potions masters with his very own slice of chocolate birthday cake.