Saturday, Aug. 31, afternoon

I can't tell what's going on out there. I'm pretty sure Ron and ‘Mione got here all right, ‘cause I felt the Floo . . . don't ask me how (as if a silly journal could) but I felt the . . . magic of it, like a whoosh of feeling in my gut. It's been like that since . . . since I was blind, I think, actually, feeling magic. Like I could feel signatures, and even tell one person's magical signature from another, now I can tell if magic is being used in the area, and sometimes, even what kind. It's weird.

So anyway, I felt the Floo, twice, about twenty minutes ago now. But it's been so quiet, it's like there's no one actually there.

I sure hope Snape didn't kill them.

---

Previously:

"Harry is my ward. I am his guardian, and I will address him as I see fit in our home!"

The silence was broken by Miss Granger's teacup hitting the floor.

Hermione stared at Professor Snape for a long moment before she scrambled to get the teacup off the floor. She looked around for something to wipe up the mess before deciding to heck with it, drew her wand, and banished the spill with a cleaning spell. Technically it was still school hols, and she shouldn't be using magic yet, but she knew that it was almost impossible for the Ministry to detect underage magic at Hogwarts.

Covering up her tea-spilling gaff, and to take the Professor's glare off poor Ron - who still looked like a fish, honestly - Hermione cleared her throat. In her most respectful tone, she said, "When you say ‘ward', Professor, do you mean-"

Professor Snape interrupted, "That I applied for guardianship of Harry, and it was approved by the Ministry of Child Welfare, and he will now live with me - except when school is in session - until he is of age. . . . Yes." He pinched his nose again, obviously under some strain, and closed his eyes briefly.

Ron, meanwhile, had turned rather green, and was staring at his shoes. Just as well, really, as Ron in a temper was not terribly conducive to getting to the bottom of things.

"And Harry agreed to this, Professor?" she asked, still very polite, not wanting him to feel he was under attack. She knew this was one of the best ways to get details out of reluctant informants.

A tic pulsed along the Professor's jaw line, but at least he sat back down, and lifted his gaze to meet hers. She could see nothing even approaching deceit in his dark eyes. "Yes. I would hardly have done it without his permission."

Hermione nodded. "May I ask why?"

The Professor pursed his lips, and Hermione would almost have sworn he was trying not to smirk. "Why did Harry agree? Or why did I offer in the first place?"

Hermione did smile. "I would be glad to hear about both, if you would not mind sharing."

He hesitated, and Hermione didn't know if he would answer after all, but he had offered. After a fashion. Whilst waiting, she poured Ron a cup of tea, and then another for herself, if for no other reason than to give her hands something to do other than wring together. Ron nodded his thanks, seemingly thrown off by the direction the conversation had taken. She took a sip and nodded appreciatively. Though it was nothing like her Mum's tea, the blend was nothing to sneeze at either.

Finally, the Professor said, "I can only tell you my own reasons. And I do so with the understanding that this . . . that Harry wants both of you to understand what the summer was like for him, but does not want to be inundated with your questions. He has . . . It was . . ." He shook his head and gave a huff of annoyance. "Let me start back a bit further, and I will try and explain. Harry's relatives, as I am sure you are aware, were never . . . kind to him." He peered at Hermione as if trying to get a sense of what she knew.

"Harry never spoke of them much," she admitted. "At least not to me. He did say they didn't like him. That they didn't like magic." She looked at Ron, who was obviously trying to rally, and had something to say. "Ron?"

He nodded, his face still pale, and his voice was hoarse as he said, "He always asked Dumbledore, er, Professor Dumbledore if he could stay here summers, you know? And Mum sent him care packages, too, ‘cause they never fed him right. He told me once it was the only way he got through the hols, but I thought . . . I thought he meant he just liked her pasties." He swallowed hard and looked at his hands. "Second year, me and the twins broke him out; they'd put bars on his window and locked him in his room." Ron hitched one shoulder up, seemed to work up his courage, and looked at the Professor again. "Were they worse this year? We didn't get any letters from Harry at all, and some of ours even got returned."

Professor Snape regarded Ron for a long moment, his expression utterly blank. "If by worse, you mean more than just starving him or locking him up, then yes. When he was . . . abducted from their house, he had been abandoned by his family. I do not know for how long exactly, days at least, and he was near death from lack of food and water. But he had . . ." He took a slow breath and looked away, and his eyes were hidden by the curtain of his dark, greasy hair. It seemed he did not want to go on.

"Yes, Professor?" Hermione said quietly. "He had what?"

The man's hard gaze found hers again, and she barely kept herself from flinching at the sudden rage in them. "His uncle," he spat the word, though he continued so softly, Hermione almost had to lean forward to hear, "killed Harry's owl. Hedwig. Apparently kicked it to death, after beating Harry unconscious."

Hermione felt her jaw fall open, and could not for the life of her get it to close. Hedwig meant the world to Harry, everyone knew that. And for that, that vicious man to kill her . . . and beat Harry? No wonder he didn't want to talk about his family with anyone. No wonder he was hiding away from his friends. And then he'd gone from frying pan to fire, hadn't he, when the Death Eaters kidnapped him. How much could he be expected to take?

For his part, Ron blanched once more, and moaned softly, "Ohh, bloody hell. Poor Harry."

"Indeed," the Professor said in an awful, sarcastic drawl and looked away again. His thin, pale hands were clasped together in his lap, but his knuckles were bone white, as if he could only keep his hands still by gripping them tight. Hermione watched him closely, trying to get a better feel for what had happened to her friend. She was glad when he continued, "Thus was Harry rescued by Death Eaters. The Dark Lord decided, for some reason, that he wanted Harry whole and strong. Perhaps to turn him, perhaps to make a bigger mockery of his execution, I do not know, and conjecture on that madman's motives is moot at this point. Regardless, he ordered Harry to be healed and fattened up before seeing him again. I . . . I tried to help the boy, but there was only so much I could do without raising suspicion. When I did too much," he said with a sharp wave of his hand, "I became a captive as well." Professor Snape sighed and closed his eyes again, as if recalling something painful.

He maintained his stiff posture, not looking at her or Ron, and his voice was strained as he continued, "Still, I formed a plan for escape. Harry had been cursed horribly by one of those assigned to guard him, and his eyes were damaged in the process. I had an idea for a potion that might aid his recovery, but I could do naught where we were. And Harry was . . . he was not doing well. So I attempted to run, with him. Alas . . . my plan failed. We were captured again, and this time, the Dark Lord tried to break him."

Hermione's stomach plummeted, and she did not want to ask, but she had to, if she would be any help to Harry at all. "And did he?" she whispered, leaning forward. "Did he break Harry?"

The Professor nodded, one sharp jerk of his head, and Hermione could not hold back her tears anymore. It was too awful: Hedwig, his uncle, kidnap, and torture . . . She did not try to wipe her tears away, but let them flow. She would not hide her sorrow on Harry's behalf from this man, not when he looked like he had swallowed poison himself. Instead she said, "Will you tell us?"

Professor Snape shook his head swiftly, but then . . . "I will not give you details, as I said earlier. You neither need them nor deserve them. But you should know this, before you hear from anyone else . . . and Harry has given permission for me to tell you. When we were captured the second time, while I was still unconscious, they started torturing him. He was hit with so many curses, I could not count them all even after I woke. I have only Madam Pomfrey's record of his injuries as any proof of what happened. He still managed to hang on through all of that," the Professor said, and Hermione imagined she heard a note of something odd - pride? - in his voice, "and rallied again when he realized I was conscious at last, though I've no idea how he knew, as he was still blind . . ."

He shook his head and waved his hand again, as if aggravated with himself, or his inability to get through his telling. "He knew I had woken, and tried to be brave, for me." Hermione heard the pride for certain that time, and perhaps a bit of awe mixed in for good measure, but then the Professor clenched his jaw, his hands clutched at the arms of his chair so hard she thought he might break it, and the tic on his jaw line jumped madly.

His next words came out in a rush, though each one was bitten off as if it caused him actual pain. "But then they raped him. Lucius Malfoy and the Dark Lord raped him, with Bellatrix Lestrange as their mad audience, and he broke."

Already in tears, Hermione stared in shock, the breath slammed out of her, before she sobbed aloud. "Oh, my God, Harry!" She wrapped her arms around her middle, to try and hold on to some semblance of . . . of rationality. She was supposed to be rational, for god's sake, but all she wanted to do was scream and hit something, something hard, if she could, and then kill Lucius Malfoy and Voldemort herself, strangle them with her bare hands! Not rational at all. They had raped him??! "Oh, my God," she sobbed again. "Oh, Harry . . ." Harry, who had never done anything to these people, to anyone! Who had only tried to be good and kind and . . . how could they!?! Why couldn't they just leave him alone???

She hardly felt it when Ron wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest, but she let him anyway, and it wasn't till he held her so close that she realized she was shivering. Crying and shaking and getting Ron's shirt all wet with tears and her runny nose. Oh, Harry . . .

"Shh, ‘Mione," Ron whispered, rocking her, and she wondered when he had gotten to be so comforting. She let him comfort her, and wondered how they were ever going to comfort Harry. Who was there, for him? Who had ever been there for him? Not his relatives, if they were the type to lock him up and beat him and starve him, and not even her and Ron! No matter how much they wanted to, they had never gotten past the walls Harry built around himself, and no wonder! If he never had anyone to trust, anyone to help him, was it any wonder he could not even trust those who said they were his friends?

Ron patted her back softly. "It'll be all right, ‘Mione, you'll see. He's safe now." Ron raised his voice just a little. "He's safe now, yeah?"

"As much as he can be, Mr. Weasley," Professor Snape said, tonelessly. "He had a . . . run in with Mr. Malfoy a few days ago in another attempt to kidnap him-"

"Oh, my God!" cried Hermione. If she had to hear about one more thing happening to Harry, she was going to never stop crying. She was going to break, right along with him.

"-At which point, Harry rendered the man a squib," the Professor finished, as if he had not been interrupted.

"A . . . what? A squib?" Ron sat up straighter, and Hermione followed suit, wiping fruitlessly at her eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, a squib. Pushed far enough, Harry employed some kind of Legilimency against him - I am still attempting to discover just what exactly he did - and destroyed Lucius Malfoy's magical core. He will never use magic again." Professor Snape smiled cruelly. "He has also been disowned by his family, and is currently being hunted by both Ministry and the Dark Lord. So, Harry is safer than he was a week ago, at least."

Hermione nodded, taking out a handkerchief to blow her nose in, while they were all quiet for a few minutes.

Then Ron said, "So, when did you ask him to be your ward?"

The tic was gone, but the Professor still looked too still, as if he wanted to be pacing, or gesticulating wildly. "Several weeks ago. Once we returned from the manor where we had been held, Harry needed . . . someone to help him deal with what happened. As the only witness to most of the horrors he had undergone, I volunteered. I encouraged him to talk, about that experience, or any others that weighed on him. As I learned more of what his relatives were like, as well as the kinds of things he has been through at school, I determined that he had never had anyone who looked out solely for his best interests. I told him I would do so, and he consented."

Ron nodded tightly, then sighed. "As long as he's all right here . . ."

"I am," came a voice from the short hallway leading away from the sitting room. Harry followed his voice into the room, looking more pale and skinnier than Hermione had ever seen him. The scar on his forehead was red and inflamed, and he held his body tightly coiled, as if he would flee at the first sign of trouble, which was the only reason Hermione didn't jump up and hug him to death on the spot. But his eyes were bright, not fearful, and when he looked at Professor Snape, it was with gratitude and respect, something she had never seen from Harry before, for this particular man. Then he smiled over at Ron and her. "Thanks for coming, guys."

The Professor stood, and it was obvious in his softening expression, and in the seconds it took for him to look his ward up and down and nod briefly, that he cared for Harry, for his well-being, for his emotional state, and certainly for his health. "You are ready to join us then?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

Professor Snape waved his hand negligently, which for some reason made Harry smile again. "Do you require my presence further?"

Harry's smile deepened. "No, sir. S'okay. You can escape now."

"Cheeky," Professor Snape muttered, but there was an almost fondness in his tone, which continued as he added, "You may invite your . . . friends to stay for dinner, if you like."

"Thanks. I might just do."

"Very well. I shall be in my lab."

Harry mouthed the last three words along with him, and the Professor merely rolled his eyes at Harry before he left the room. Ron gaped at his retreating back, as if he could not figure out how Harry had gotten away with something like that with Snape of all people. But Harry returned the stare with a small smile and sank down in the chair the Professor had vacated.

"So, how're you guys doing? I, um, didn't get any mail over the summer till just the other night, so I haven't had a good chance to ask before."

It was Hermione's turn to stare. Did Harry think they were just going to leave it at that? That they could get all this dumped on them and then just pretend it wasn't sitting there like a huge purple hippogriff in middle of the sitting room? She opened her mouth to start her inquisition, and got a sharp elbow in the side for her troubles.

Shooting a glare at Ron - how dare he? - she rubbed her side, but when he shook his head with a return glare, her brain engaged fully, and she merely said, "Oops. Sorry." Hadn't Professor Snape just said that what Harry wanted most of all was not to talk about his summer and the horrors he had gone through? How could she have forgotten that already? She would probably have to stop herself again in the future, she knew, from asking questions - or rely on Ron's help again - but she absolutely had to follow Harry's wishes in this.

So she swallowed down her curiosity, and the words of comfort she wanted so badly to give Harry, when he so obviously wanted them to just pretend everything was fine. "I told you about my OWLS, did you get that letter?" she asked, and when Harry nodded, she continued, "Well, my Mum was very excited, and said that as a treat, we could visit America at Christmas break."

"Oh, you should see Disney's Mouse and the Grand Canyon, and I've heard Wideway is a smash, and Niagra Waterfalls and-"

"I doubt she's planning to Apparate all over the place," Harry told Ron, laughing.

Hermione smirked. "Oh, right. With my parents?"

"Yeah, see? So her trip'll probably be a bit trimmed down from that. Those places are really far apart."

"But it's all one country," Ron protested.

"A really big one, though," Hermione said. "Huge really. Almost the same size as all of Europe."

"Wicked," Ron breathed, eyes wide. "But you'll go to Disney's Mouse, right?"

"And pick up some Mouse ears, just for you," Hermione promised, noting Harry's half-smile, and how he seemed a bit more at ease than just a few minutes ago, now that they weren't pushing him for details on his summer. Though Professor Snape seemed to think he was doing . . . better, if not entirely well, Hermione knew it must be hard for him. How much harder, to think your friends would be awful to you, too?

"How did you do on your OWLS, Harry?" she asked, hoping that wasn't too much of a personal question.

"Pretty good," he said, ducking his head a little shyly, in a way she found utterly charming. "I'll be with you in Potions, at least."

"Oh! That's brilliant! I've already drawn up a study schedule-"

"Big surprise there," Ron intoned, but Hermione ignored him and happily started telling Harry all about it, even as the dark-haired boy shook his head in silent commiseration with Ron. Things were as back to normal as they could get.