Shaking his head, Harry shook off those old memories. His voice was quiet and lacking any emotion when he said, "I got a clothes hanger."

He never trusted anything they promised him, after that.

Severus watched the play of emotions over Harry's face -- far fewer than he may have expected from an average child, but far more than he was growing to expect from Harry; the boy had a better blank face than almost anyone else he knew -- and he considered what the boy was not saying. There was obviously a lot more to that story, than, 'I got a present once, it was a hanger.' The pause between his two statements, for one thing, and the bright, brief glint of grief in his expressive green eyes.

Not to mention the question that had led up to this admission. As Head of Slytherin, he had at least one or two children a year who did not want to go home for holidays, as Harry obviously did not. The reason they gave was almost universal at its core, that they were not wanted at home.

Neglect was one of the more insidious forms of abuse he came up against, and one of the most difficult for him to combat in children who were already age eleven when they first reached his demense. The main problem, of course, was that children subjected since infancy to such profound neglect often grew up believing there was nothing wrong with the treatment they endured in their homes. Because they were not being hit, usually, it was easier for these children to believe their lives were not so bad, or that their guardians treated them normally, since they were taught they did not deserve to be noticed, cared for, or loved by those who were supposed to do so.

Harry had all the classic signs of this kind of neglect, but while the aunt and uncle had not abused him physically, seemingly content to pretend he did not exist at all, when they weren't telling him he was useless and worthless, he had just as obviously been routinely assaulted by his slug of a cousin and the slug's cohort at their school. The boy had the worst of both worlds.

For instance, Harry's simple statement about his one Christmas present told Severus far more about his home environment than the boy could possibly know. Severus did not know what his pregnant pause had been about -- there was much more to that story, for certain -- and he could ask for clarification now and get the whole story if he wanted. He still had one question, after all.

But Harry was currently staring back at him, holding his gaze unashamedly, to Severus' surprise. These kinds of questions about one's home-life -- and this was by no means the first deal Severus had made with a Slytherin to get those questions answered -- usually resulted in a lot of head hanging and averted gazes. Yet, he had known for some while that this boy had less fear, as well as less of a sense of self-worth, than most others he had dealt with recently. It was troubling. How far had his guardians worn him down that he could continue to maintain his cool, blank mask about this particular episode, the memory of which would have reduced most children to tears?

Severus pursed his lips. What should he ask? Harry opened his mouth, but before the Brat Who Lived to Interrupt could get a word out, Severus said, "Next question."

As he hoped, the boy subsided and sat back in his chair, his expression still contained in that blank mask. "Yes, sir?"

Severus almost smiled. Harry was also almost unfailingly polite. Not that such an attitude would have done him much good at his relatives' house, but such manners had likely been drilled in him since infancy. Only its lack would have drawn attention, and not any good attention. But Severus did not smile. Instead, he kept his tone perfectly level as he said, "How are you getting along in our House?"

"All of it, sir? Or just with Firsties?"

"How much contact do you have with the upper years?" He would wager Harry had far more contact with Slytherin Uppers than most other Firsties, because of whose curse he had survived when he was fifteen months old, among other reasons.

"Not much." The boy's forehead wrinkled as he considered. "Quidditch team . . . mostly . . ."

Obviously, Severus knew, as Harry averted his gaze after his hesitation, he was recalling at least one other interaction. But Severus did not call him on it, and merely waved at him to continue.

"I get along okay."

If the Brat thought he'd get away with that, he must have been Confunded. "Elaborate."

"Me and Teddy and Millicent are good friends."

"Mm." Severus had been bowled over to learn as much, in fact. But since then, he had seen the three students growing closer, spending much of their free -- and study -- time together. Not the trusting sort, he was keeping a close eye on the Nott boy, for obvious reasons. He doubted any son of Hiram Nott's would stand idly by -- or even less likely, attend -- while the Brat Who Sent the Dark Lord Scurrying continued to live and learn in the den of Snakes. So far, he had seen nothing incriminating, but he would not stop watching. Over a dozen years as a spy had ingrained that habit in him.

As had his promise to keep the boy safe.

As if he had gleaned some disbelief in Severus' expression, Harry defended his statement with an almost petulant, "They are. Teddy helped me figure out my Frogs weren't cursed. And Millie's always standing up for me against the upper years."

Severus raised one eyebrow. "Cursed frogs?"

Without objecting to the additional question, Harry smiled wryly. "Well, they weren't cursed, were they. Was nice, really, Hermione -- from Gryffindor -- she gave me some Chocolate Frogs when I went to hospital." Another wry look. "Both times. But she didn't sign the card, so I didn't trust to try them."

Severus nodded, though he was surprised. Not many children would be so suspicious of sweets. If he let it, the fact that Harry was so suspicious, at his age, would have distressed him. "What did you try?" He managed to put a note of admiration in his tone, which often worked wonders with children who had rarely, if ever, been praised in their lives.

Harry grinned, looking pleased. Severus suppressed an answering smile, but he was glad to see one on the boy; they were rare enough. "First, of course, we tried Revelio and Finite Incantatem, which I'd read about before, but then Teddy taught me Ostendo Virum, the one where you look for poisons, and then one for specific curses. We did some research--"

"In the library?" Severus interrupted, eyes wide with mock incredulity.

The boy's grin turned cheeky. "Yes, sir."

"Please." Severus waved his hand. "Do go on."

"Very well," Harry said slowly, in a fair imitation of Severus' own tones, and Severus shook his head, a smile touching his lips at last. "So, we did research, sir, in the library, and then tried Quiest Vomica and . . ." He listed a few more diagnostic spells, rather enthusiastically, and Severus was duly impressed.

He decided to say as much. "I'm heartened by your thoroughness. You did far more than I would expect the average first year to do. Did you discover who sent the sweets?"

"Yeah! Er, I mean, yes, sir. By eliminating our own signatures, we figured out the magical signature of the one who'd sent the Frogs . . . and 'cause we had two samples, we were able to cross reference it to make sure. Then I checked the signatures of a couple people I thought it might be, and found out it was 'Mione. I mean, Hermione Granger."

"Magical signatures? That's a fairly advanced bit of spellwork there. I believe it's taught in fourth year Charms."

The boy ducked his head at the perceived compliment. Severus waited till the tousled head came back up before he steered the conversation back to his question. "So, Mr. Nott assisted you with a project. You said Miss Bulstrode supports you in conflicts with other students . . ."

"Not conflicts, sir. Not really."

"No?"

"No."

"You're equivocating."

"I'm what?"

"Equivocating. Being deliberately ambiguous. There have been conflicts, but you do not wish to admit to, or dwell on them, perhaps?"

"Well . . ." Harry frowned lightly, drawing his lower lip between upper and lower teeth. Severus wanted to smear the peppery Salpician Potion on the boy's lips, to train him out of that habit before it was too ingrained. Such an obvious display of nervousness went against everything Slytherin. For the time being, though, he simply made a mental note to address the issue later. "I guess. I mean, no one gets along with everyone, right?"

"Correct. However, I believe some of your difficulties have less to do with you not getting along with everyone, and more to do with your history and the reason behind your fame." Severus was speculating wildly here, having not heard of any specific troubles coming out of his House, but he was well acquainted with human nature, especially when it came to his Snakes.

"My history . . . Oh. You mean because of Voldemort?"

Severus winced. "Do not say his name, Potter. Not in my presence."

"I . . ." Harry frowned a bit, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

Inclining his head, Severus pressed, "Your conflicts?"

Harry looked down at his hands. "Teddy's pointed out a couple kids whose parents were allied with Vol . . . er, with him, and I think there's a few others who don't like me because of that."

Severus could just imagine. Mr. Nott was a standout because he didn't seem to harbor resentment on behalf of his father. "What form does this dislike take?" he asked.

"Oh, er, just, like name-calling mostly. Nobody's ever beat me up or anything."

"I am glad to hear it."

"Except Professor Quirrell."

With a sigh, Severus nodded. "I know. I am trying my best to have him removed, but am running into unexpected obstacles."

"Like the Headmaster."

It wasn't a question, and Severus stared at the boy, boggled again by how well Harry seemed to appreciate the difficulties he was up against here at Hogwarts. "Indeed."

Harry nodded solemnly and his lip disappeared between his teeth again to be chewed for a few moments. Before Severus could admonish him for the behavior, he said, "Sir? Was the Headmaster the one who left me with the Dursleys?"

"Why do you ask?"

A corner of the boy's mouth quirked up. "Well, I figure, you're asking questions, so I could ask questions, too."

"That is an unwarranted assumption."

"Yes, sir." Harry hesitated, and Severus held his gaze. "Will you answer anyway?"

Severus considered the pros and cons of doing so. He would like to know what had brought Harry to ask the question in the first place. Did he believe the Headmaster, in refusing to get rid of Quirrell, was merely continuing the policy of being cavalier with his safety begun ten years ago, when he was left on the doorstep of those Muggles? Even more, though, he wanted to know what Harry would do with the answer to that question.

"Why do you want to know?" he asked again.

The corner of Harry's mouth lifted a bit further, into what could almost be a sneer. "If I told you I just wanted to know who to thank, you wouldn't tell me, would you?"

"Perhaps not." Severus leaned forward on his desk, to put additional weight on his words. "Revenge is not the end you should be seeking at this time."

"I'm not--"

"Listen!" He stared into the boy's emerald eyes. Harry must understand this. "There's an old saying: La vengeance est un plat qui se mange froid. 'Vengeance is a dish best served cold.' You are currently reaching an awareness that your life was not all it could have been. Between the Dark Lord, your relatives, and a few select others, what could have been an idyllic childhood was wrenched from you. You have suffered, yes. You are furious and frustrated and want someone to blame."

As Severus went on, he could see Harry tense. His hands clenched into fists, though he kept them in his lap. His shoulders were shaking from the strain. His eyes were green fire. Oh, yes, Severus' words were striking home. He just hoped he could pull the boy back before he did anything horrendously Gryffindorish.

"In such a state," he said, in a low, clear tone that he had learned over the years was one that often mesmerized his students, "your thinking is impaired by such extremes of emotion. You will make mistakes. Thus, your revenge will never be as complete, nor as sweet as you want it to be. It cannot. You cannot fully appreciate the fruits of your efforts while still caught up in your rage and distress."

When Severus paused to let his words sink in, Harry nodded slowly. The fire in his eyes dampened to embers. "But when I've . . . cooled down?"

"At that time, you will be more in control."

For a long moment, Harry held Severus' gaze, but then he dropped his head to stare at his hands. His voice was soft, and void of emotion, as he said, "But I was right. Professor Dumbledore left me with them."

Severus let his silence answer for him. Then he sighed. "To be fair, you had no other family. And your godfather had just been imprisoned. There was nowhere else for you to go."

Harry's head came up with a jerk. "I have a godfather?!"

Severus barely kept himself from growling. "Yes."

The boy frowned at the enmity contained in that one word, and Severus winced. He obviously had still not cooled enough -- if he were to come across bloody Sirius Black from some inconceivable reason -- to enact his own revenge against that cur.

"Who is he?"

Severus shook his head.

"You don't know him? I thought you said--"

"I don't wish to discuss it!"

The damnable Brat cocked his head to the side and considered him like a Cerberus considered a steak . . . or a Potion Master's leg. Then he nodded slowly, again, his face taking on his blank mask once more, after all Severus had done to dismantle it this evening. "My apologies, Professor. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

"Never mind. Forget it."

"Yes, sir."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Are we done, sir?"

Without looking up, Severus said, "What form, besides name-calling, have your conflicts taken?"

As he had planned, the boy was enough taken aback by the swift change in subject to not hide his reaction. He shrugged and looked away. His shoulders hunched. But at least he did not deny such other incidents existed.

"Tell me."

"I'm not sure it even--"

"Just tell me."

The boy sighed, tucked his hands under his armpits, and if he could have, he probably would have drawn up his knees in front of his chest to protect himself further. He would not look at Severus. "There's, um, this guy who kinda . . . I dunno. He's, um . . . he touches me."

Severus stood up and took a long stride toward Harry without thinking. Touched him!? The boy was meant to be safe within their House! "Has he hurt you?"

Harry startled when Severus spoke, having not expected him to be so close. "No . . . I mean, he just . . . makes me real uncomfortable." One shoulder came up a bit higher. "I don't like it much when people touch me."

"That's understandable, Harry," he said softly. Children who had been neglected and/or abused were often averse to physical contact, along with having a high startle reflex. Harry's cheeks were well on the way to red, when Severus added, "And nothing to be ashamed of."

"I guess."

"Who was it?" Severus asked, still speaking quietly.

Harry shook his head.

"Tell me, Harry. Just like I want to know whenever you have pain in your scar, or interaction with Professor Quirrell that affects you negatively, or even debilitating nightmares, I also want to know of students who might be a danger to you."

"I don't think he's a danger."

"Harry . . ." He knew saying the boy's name was enough of a surprise it often took him off guard -- and wondered briefly how often he had been called 'Harry' by his relatives; not often, he would wager -- and he was willing to use any weapon in his arsenal to get through to this boy. "Harry, would you let me be the judge of that?" He moved another step closer and sat on the corner of the desk, just in front of the boy. Folding his arms over his chest, he lifted an eyebrow. "I have had a bit more experience ascertaining levels of danger of teenage boys." Not to mention that of Death Eaters' sons.

"I guess. He just . . . Well, he only just said some stuff after the match yesterday. But Teddy, he and Millie said I should watch out for him 'cause his father was a supporter of . . . of him. And then last night, he . . . it was just weird." Severus nodded and gestured for Harry to continue. "I don't want any trouble. For me or him."

"I understand. Like your friends, I shall just keep an eye out."

"Okay, okay. It--" Harry broke off, slapping a hand to his forehead. His face crumpled with pain.

"Harry?" Severus leaned toward him, reaching for his arm. "What is it? Your scar?"

"Forest," he gasped. "Blood . . . He . . . he's thirsty." When Harry pulled his own hand off his forehead, it came away slick with blood. Then his eyes rolled back in his sockets, and Severus barely caught the boy before he hit the floor.