Minerva, Severus and Filius had barely begun their breakfast meeting when the fireplace floo in Minerva's sitting room flared. Pomona Sprout's plump anxious face glowed a bilious green from its depths.

"Minerva!" she squeaked. "I'm worried about Harry. . .there is something odd going on here."

"What is it?" Minerva and Severus both demanded.

"When I arrived, there was a workman at #4. . . I wasn't sure what he was doing at first. . .I watched for a while - then realized that he was installing something over one of the upstairs windows. Minerva - it was bars - metal bars!"

"Bars?" Minerva looked bewildered.

"I understand that Muggles sometimes install bars on their windows for security. . . to protect their homes from burglars and such," Filius offered.

"That's what I thought at first," Pomona admitted. "But if it was a security measure, they would install them on all the windows, wouldn't they? . . .at least on the ground floor. The workman left a few minutes ago. . .he only installed bars on the one window. . . at that one is on the second floor, Filius! Why install only one - and why upstairs? Any intelligent burglar would try to break in downstairs, wouldn't he?"

"The bars aren't meant to keep someone out," Severus announced flatly, rising from the table. "They're to keep someone in." He gave Flitwick a grim scowl. "I think it's time we go."

Flitwick nodded, setting down his tea cup and rising as well. "You'd better go to Dumbledore's office, Minerva," he suggested hurriedly. "Watch for any device that might signal a change in Harry's location. And it might be wise to open the wards on the floos in Severus' chambers and the Infirmary."

"The Infirmary?" Minerva paled. "You don't think. . ."

"Best be prepared," Filius replied as he followed Severus to the fireplace.

"Step back, Pomona," Severus demanded curtly. "We're coming through."

----- -----

Harry cowered on his bed, curling up into a tight ball. He had been in a state of dazed terror from the moment his uncle had awoken him, just after dawn. Vernon had installed numerous new locks on the outside of his bedroom door, railing at him the entire time he worked. The screech of the cordless saw had hurt Harry's ears as his crazed uncle had cut away a large hole in the bottom of the door. He had then fitted a plastic flap over the hole - Harry hadn't known its purpose at first, but Vernon quickly enlightened him.

"I'll not have my family exposed to your freakiness any longer!" he had muttered with an unhinged glint in his eye. "Your aunt will push food to you through this opening - when I decide you may eat again - if ever! I don't want Petunia or Dudley anywhere near you. Things are going to change around here, boy - you mark my words!" He had ranted for a while longer, laying out Harry's bleak future. Harry was truly a prisoner now. His uncle would allow him five minutes twice a day to use the loo. . . the rest of his miserable, lonely life would be spent locked in the dreary room.

Harry had remained prudently silent throughout his uncle's menacing harangue. When he realized the extent of Vernon's demented plot to imprison him, he had toyed with the idea of climbing out the bedroom window. He might break a leg jumping from that height, but even a broken leg was better than being locked up for good. That desperate plan had been thwarted a short while later.

The sound of a ladder scraping the house had spooked Harry. When the contractor's face appeared at his window, Harry dove under his sheet in shame. He didn't want the stranger to see him half starkers and plainly in disgrace. It didn't take the workman long to mount the barred metal grill over his window. Without noticing the small boy huddled on the bed in the shadowy corner, the man had secured the grill, muttering something under his breath as Vernon had snarled orders at him from the ground below. Harry had heard the man climb back down and engage in a muffled, heated quarrel with his uncle. Then the ladder was dragged away and the sounds from below had faded.

Whatever the cause of the quarrel between the two men, Harry had a terrible feeling that he would be the one to suffer for it. He wasn't wrong. He heard Vernon's thundering footsteps stomping up the stairs. The various locks on his door were unbolted, and Vernon burst into his room. His stout face and neck were purple with outrage.

"Time and a half!" he bellowed. "Time and a half that thief charged me - just because it's Sunday morning! As if it's a crime to ask an honest laborer to work on Sundays! Between that crook and those locks you've cost me sixty pounds today, you worthless freak!" he screamed, advancing on the boy. His meaty hand shot out, clouting Harry's cheek with a vicious open-handed slap.

Harry cringed, shrinking as far into the corner of the bed as he could squeeze himself. He was much too frightened to point out to Vernon that the locks and bars were his own idea. Vernon loomed over him, his face a mask of fury. "And as if the man's larceny wasn't bad enough," Vernon shrieked in outrage, "The bleeding wanker used a Black & Decker!" Vernon spat the brand name out as if it were obscene. "A Black & Decker, mind you! ON MY HOUSE!"

When Vernon grabbed for him, Harry silently cursed the treacherous Fates that had sent a workman to #4 Privet Drive with anything but a Grunning's drill. As Vernon yanked him by the hair and pulled him off the bed, Harry saw him begin to unbuckle his belt. In that moment, Harry fervently wished he had his wand. If he had, no Ministry restriction in the world would have stopped him from unleashing every hex he had learned at the huge man.

Vernon shoved him face first down across the edge of the bed and raised the belt. Harry clutched the rumpled sheets as the belt came down once. . . twice. . .three times. By the forth stroke he surrendered to his doom. He wouldn't have to suffer imprisonment, he thought bleakly as he let loose an agonized scream. He wouldn't survive this thrashing. Uncle Vernon was going to kill him.

----- -----

Severus and Flitwick rushed from Arabella Figg's kitchen fireplace, striding swiftly to the front door without even acknowledging the startled old squib. They paused only long enough to spell themselves with invisibility charms before advancing hastily down the quiet Muggle block, a worried Pomona Sprout puffing along behind them. When they reached the Dursley house and marched up the walkway, Severus raised his wand, unlocking the front door silently. He had only opened it a crack when a chilling sound rent the air. It was a loud crack of leather against flesh, punctuated by a child's screams.

Severus hardly paused. "Take care of the others," he barked at Flitwick and Sprout, pointing toward the lounge where a Muggle woman and boy were calmly sitting in front of television as if indifferent to the dreadful sounds from the second floor. Then he leapt up the stairs, taking four at a time with his long stride. He followed the sounds to an open door, outfitted with a half-dozen locking bolts, and stepped inside. His wand flared with frightening speed.

---- ----

Harry wailed, squirming to escape the agonizing strokes of the thick leather belt. A fifth blow landed, but before his shriek was barely out of his throat several confusing things happened all at once. A blinding flash of red light burst into his vision, so bright it even penetrated his closed eyelids. Vernon screamed - a weird strangled sound that Harry could hardly recognize as human. He opened his eyes to the astonishing sight of his Uncle Vernon in mid-air, sailing over his shoulder. The huge man crashed into the nearby wall with a deafening thud, then slid down the wall with almost comic slowness, crumpling into a mammoth mound on the floor.

Harry was so shocked and breathless from screaming, he scarcely heard the voice calling his name. He slid off the edge of the bed and curled up instinctively on the floor, gasping for air.

Did I do that? Did I kill him?

He closed his eyes and panted, in too much shock and pain to realize that he was hyperventilating. A sudden touch on his shoulder caused his terror to spike unbearably and even as he wrenched away from the touch, his mind went dark for several confusing moments.

----- -----

Severus fought a strong desire to swear loudly. When he tried to touch him, Harry had cringed away, curling himself into an even tighter ball on the floor. The boy was gasping, breathing too hard and fast, and his face - what little Severus could see of it behind his arms - appeared unnaturally pale. Realizing he was still invisible, Severus swore softly and removed the charm. Then he advanced slowly, not wanting to frighten the boy any more than necessary.

"Potter?"

Harry didn't seem to hear him, so Severus spoke again, keeping his voice low and soft. "Harry?" The boy stirred a bit. Severus knelt on the floor, reached out and touched his shoulder gently. This was a mistake, he swiftly realized with some chagrin. With a sharp gasp, Harry rolled over and sprung into a crouch, facing Severus. He ducked his head with a muffled whimper and threw both arms up to shield himself. Severus stared at him, dismayed by the boy's defensive reaction.

"Harry - it's all right. . ." he murmured soothingly. "You're safe now. He can't hurt you. Harry?"

Harry lifted his head and blinked at him dazedly. His pale face was streaked with tears and a nasty bruise was starting to darken on one cheek.

"I didn't mean to startle you. . . I apologize," Severus murmured reassuringly. "You're all right now, Harry."

The boy frowned at him, then leaned back very cautiously, his fingers scrabbling on the desk behind him. Severus remained very still, waiting for the boy to recognize him. Harry found his glasses and fumbled to put them on, then stared blankly at him. "Pr-professor S-S-Snape?" he stammered in confusion. Severus nodded, giving him all the time he needed to calm down. To his dismay, Harry's face crumpled and he huddled in on himself with a low moan.

"Harry?"

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" Harry whimpered.

"Didn't mean what?" Harry pointed a trembling finger at his unconscious uncle. "You didn't do that, Harry. I did," Severus soothed.

Harry stared at the unmoving lump. "Is he dead?" he whispered.

"Not yet," Severus replied dryly.

Harry looked at him, his face filling with dread. "I didn't do anything!" he whispered. "It wasn't me! It was him - I swear, Professor!"

"I know, Harry," Severus replied soothingly, assuming he was referring to whatever had triggered the whipping.

"He tried to make me promise! I wouldn't, so he floated the pudding and then he dumped it! It wasn't my fault!" Harry babbled, fresh tears coursing down his cheeks. Severus had no idea what he was gibbering about but nodded to reassure him.

"I begged him not to do it! And then the owl came, and Mrs. Mason is scared of birds, and that just made it worse! Please believe me! I didn't do it! I didn't!"

"Didn't do what, Harry?" Severus asked gently.

"M-magic!" Harry sobbed forlornly. "I couldn't have. . . I don't even have my wand! Please, Professor! Please don't let them expel me!"

Severus gaped at him. What was the child on about? He shook his head and tried to calm the boy. "No one's going to expel you, Harry."

"But. . . but isn't that why you're here?" Harry eyed him dazedly.

"No, child. . . I came to help you. I was worried about you," Severus replied. He glanced furiously over at the fat Muggle. "And with good reason, it seems."

"To. . . to help me?" Harry said faintly, his face crumpled with confusion.

"Come on, Harry. Let's get you out of here," Severus leaned forward very slowly, holding out his hands. "Will you let me help you up?" he asked quietly. When the boy didn't shy away, he grasped his arms lightly and stood, helping Harry to rise. He held him there a moment, letting the boy steady himself, his swift gaze assessing the boy's condition. Harry was dressed only in a large ragged t-shirt that hung down below his knees. His arms and legs were appallingly thin and covered with small bruises. The bruise on his cheek bore the unmistakable imprint of a large hand. Severus didn't need to turn the boy around to view the most recent visible damage. When he'd entered the room and hexed the brutish uncle, he had seen the angry welts that scored the boy's bare thighs and buttocks.

Harry wiped at his wet face, trying to hide the tears that refused to halt. When he saw Severus watching him, he ducked his head in shame. Severus patted his shoulder lightly. "It's all right, Harry. It's nothing to be ashamed of. . .it's all right to cry."

Those soft words of compassion seemed to break the boy's tenuous restraint. With a hoarse sob, Harry leaned forward, laying his wet cheek against Severus' arm.

It was suddenly all too much for Severus. His stern self-control. . . his carefully maintained detachment seemed abruptly pointless and absurd. Everything he believed about himself - every emotion he had guarded against felt trivial compared to the anguish of this helpless, suffering boy. Without even a flutter of regret, Severus pulled Harry against him and wrapped strong arms around his trembling frame. His firm embrace dissolved whatever lingering control the boy possessed and he buried his face in Severus' robes and wept.

Severus said nothing. He was inexperienced at sympathy and did not know the comforting words a child needed to hear. Instead, he just held the sobbing boy and stroked his dark hair, much as if he were soothing an injured pet. His own loss of composure didn't bother Severus. He didn't care if he appeared weak or sentimental. He realized he didn't even care if his compassion led to heartache later on. . . all he cared about, in that startling moment of self-awareness, was bringing comfort to a young boy who had somehow wormed his way into Severus' well-fortified heart.

Harry cried longer than Severus expected. He clung awkwardly to his teacher as if he too was unused to such physical comfort. In his misery, he didn't hear the soft patter of feet that climbed the stairs. Severus heard, however, and turned to look at the door when Filius peeked nervously into the room. He shook his head slightly at the Charms Professor, who immediately understood his warning. Flitwick glanced once at the still unconscious Vernon Dursley on the floor, grimaced distastefully, and then left them alone.

"It's going to be all right, Harry," Severus finally murmured, when the boy's sobs had diminished. "Your uncle will never hurt you again - I promise you that." Harry's body stiffened and he pushed back a little as if trying to escape Severus' embrace. "Shhh - I understand. You don't have to talk about it now." Without releasing the boy, he pulled a clean handkerchief from his robes and pressed it into Harry's tense hand. Harry sniffed and scrubbed at his face. The boy's cheeks flushed a bit and he looked self-conscious, but Severus didn't comment. He pulled a small bottle of calming draught from his emergency pouch and held it out to him. It was a silent testament to Harry's trust in Severus that he swallowed the potion without even asking its contents.

"You can stop off in the loo and wash your face before we leave," Severus said.

"Leave?" Harry sniffled.

"You're coming back to Hogwarts."

"I am?" Harry looked up, warily meeting his gaze for the first time.

"Well of course, silly boy," Severus smirked wryly. "You didn't think I'd leave you here, did you? Now, where are your clothes? I doubt Professor Flitwick would mind your undressed state, but I'm going to assume you would rather Professor Sprout not see you half-starkers?" he teased lightly, releasing his hold on the boy.

"Profess...." Harry's face flushed a deep red and his expression turned horrified. "They. . .I. . . you mean, they're here?"

"Sprout and Flitwick are downstairs. . .it's all right, Harry! No one came upstairs except me," he quickly lied, realizing the boy's embarrassment. "Now where are your things? Your wand? Your clothes?"

"My trunk is in the cupboard under the stairs," Harry replied hesitantly. "I don't have anything else." He shuffled across the room and picked up a pair of dirty trousers and some tattered pants off the floor. Severus frowned but Harry only shrugged. "They're all I own," he stated bluntly.

Severus politely turned his back, affording the boy at least a small degree of modesty. While Harry dressed, he studied the room closely for the first time. It was small and shabby, and pitifully bare. He didn't need the new addition of the bars on the windows to understand the room's purpose - the numerous locks spoke volumes. It was without question, a prison cell. Severus' firmly suppressed anger simmered near the boiling point.

The only furnishing Severus didn't recognize was the brightly colored plastic flap at the bottom of the door. A now-clothed Harry stepped up beside him and nodded at the strange fixture Severus was staring at.

"It's a doggy-door," the boy said dully.

"You have a dog?"

"No," Harry's face twisted bitterly. "It's for putting my food through."

Severus fought an urge to turn and launch an nonstop Cruciatus Curse at the fat Muggle on the floor. He reined in the impulse only because he didn't want a twelve-year-old Harry to witness such a grisly demonstration. "Come," he said flatly, leading the boy out of the room.

He waited by the open bathroom door while Harry washed his sticky face and swallowed several handfuls of water. Then he escorted the boy downstairs. He noted Harry's stiff movements and wished he had thought to give the boy a pain relieving potion. But the boy's glazed look concerned him even more than his bruises. Drained from crying, Harry moved like a zombie - eyes dull, head down - hardly noticing his surroundings. Severus began to fear the child had gone into shock.

When they reached the downstairs hallway, Severus put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder and peered into the lounge. The sight that greeted him almost made him chuckle. Filius sat on a large over-stuffed chair, his feet dangling, his wand trained at two inert forms on the floor. Pomona sat on the sofa, staring wrathfully at the pair, her wand also drawn. The two Muggles were lying awkwardly in each other's arms, clearly insensible. The woman's unlovely face was screwed up in fright. The grotesque baby-whale of a boy had his eyes squeezed shut, with both hands clutching his enormous bottom. Severus glanced at his colleagues with an arched eyebrow.

"They wouldn't be quiet," Filius offered unapologetically.

"They were extremely rude," Pomona added with a sneer of disdain.

Severus smirked. "Harry's trunk is under the stairs, Filius. Would you mind?"

"Not at all," Filius scrambled down from his perch and went to retrieve the trunk. Pomona cast a sorrowful gaze on Harry, but Severus shook his head to discourage her from distressing the boy further. She nodded and sighed. Severus lightly squeezed Harry's shoulder for reassurance, but the boy didn't looked up.

"Severus," Flitwick's tone was dangerously quiet. "I think you'd better come here."

Severus looked down the hall. Filius stood beside a small open cupboard door. The first thing he noticed was the locking bolt and vent on the door. The next was the look on Filius' face. The tiny Professor wore a outraged scowl that Severus wouldn't have believed possible for the perpetually cheerful wizard, even on his worst day. He reluctantly left Harry standing listlessly by the front door and moved to Filius' side. Severus leaned inside the cupboard, lighting the interior with a murmured ‘Lumos'.

As the boy had stated, Harry's school trunk stood just inside the door. But beyond it, Severus was surprised to see a small dingy pallet on the floor, with a ratty blanket folded at one end. In addition to the cleaning supplies one would normally expect to find in such a place, the dusty, cob-webbed shelves held a few broken toys - headless toy soldiers, some rough wooden blocks, and several broken crayons. He might not have recognized the significance of these items if it weren't for the drawings. Pinned to the back wall were numerous old crayoned drawings - childish sticklike images colored on the blank sides of brown paper bags. Severus didn't need the clumsy printed signatures on each drawing to know who had been the artist. Confirming his identity, a small placard of brown paper was tacked above the cupboard door, proclaiming the terrible truth. Written in crayon in neat block letters, it proudly read "HARRY'S ROOM". Severus was so shaken, he almost didn't notice the plastic bucket in the corner, with a half-empty roll of toilet paper beside it. With a flash of horrified understanding, Severus backed out of the cramped space and looked at the skinny child slumped in the hallway.

The temptation to cast on the Dursleys every sadistic, torturous curse he knew, was so strong that Severus' hands shook violently. He stared at Harry, standing with his head hung in shame and misery, and promised himself he would avenge the boy. Not now. . .Harry was his first, most immediate concern. He had to get the boy out of that house - get him safely to Hogwarts. . .but later. . .yes, later he would teach these filthy Muggles what true agony was. . .

Severus grasped Harry's trunk and hauled it into the corridor. He was puzzled to see that the trunk was wrapped in a thick chain, held on with a heavy padlock. The trunk's leather finish was scorched and sooty. Severus glanced in bewilderment at Harry, managing to catch his eye.

"Uncle Vernon tried to open it. . .he wanted to break my wand. . .the protection charm wouldn't let him in," Harry explained in a soft, tired voice that was totally devoid of emotion. "I wouldn't open it, even when he thrashed me, so he tried to burn it. It has standard fireproof charms, so that didn't work either. So he just chained it up and locked it in there."

With a wave and a soft chant, Filius removed the chains and tossed them back inside the cupboard. Then he relocked the cupboard door, shrunk Harry's trunk and handed it to Severus, who put it in his pocket. "Anything else?" Severus asked Harry gently. The boy shook his head.

"We'll need to walk over to Mrs. Figg's house now," Severus explained, eyeing the boy uncertainly. He looked so pale and weak Severus wondered if he would make it that far. "Can you do that?" Harry nodded, not even questioning his professor's directions. Severus led him outside and turned back to Filius.

"Pomona and I will take care of everything," Filius assured him before he could speak. "Do you want to leave Harry's wand here, as we planned?"

Severus shook his head. "It doesn't matter now. . .I've seen more than enough to justify removing him from this place, regardless of what the Headmaster thinks or wishes." He jerked his thumb, indicating the Muggles inside the home. "Blackmail them - threaten them - Oblivate them - whatever you chose. . . just don't punish them. . ." He gave the puzzled wizard a wintry smile. "At least, not without me. I want to be here when their reckoning comes."

Filius nodded, his eyes alight with a vengeful fire. "That is a welcome task we'll carry out together, my friend."

As Severus guided a dazed Harry down the street, the boy never looked up, or demonstrated any curiosity about their destination. Even when they entered Mrs. Figg's house, Harry expressed no surprise at finding himself in his old babysitter's home - though Severus knew the boy hadn't been aware that the woman was a squib. Harry ignored Arabella's worried queries and exclamations of dismay, blindly following his Potions Professor into the kitchen. His expression was vacant, as if he had passed beyond any capacity to respond.

"Have you ever flooed before, Harry?" Severus asked, grabbing a handful of floo powder from the mantle. The boy stared off into space. "Right, then. We'll go together," Severus decided. When he ducked into the fireplace and drew Harry in beside him, the boy merely laid his head on Severus' chest with a weary sigh and closed his eyes. Severus pulled him closer and wrapped him in a firm embrace. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Harry," he murmured. "Everything is going to be all right now." He tossed down the floo powder and held tight to the small boy, declaring their destination clearly.

"Hogwarts Infirmary."