Harry woke instantly, not by the usual squawking of his infernal aunt, but by his overly-large cousin jumping on the stairs above his cupboard. Harry considered this for a moment but dismissed it as being due to his still sore bum. Aunt Petunia doesn’t want me to cook breakfast today, which might mean I’m not going to school.

Yesterday at school, Dudley and his gang had been trying to catch Harry during another one of their games of “Harry hunting.” Being chased around the playground during their break, Harry had become trapped behind the kitchens near the dumpsters. Having nowhere else to run and being quite scared of being hurt and left there behind the kitchens for no one to ever find him, Harry had tried to jump onto one of the dumpsters. Next thing he knew, he was looking down on a most interesting scene. Dudley and his gang were looking around stupidly, trying to complete their game. That is, until Harry let out a giggle at their foolishness, catching the attention of Piers Polkiss, who looked up to find Harry on the roof of the kitchens.

Unfortunately for Harry, Dudley went and told a teacher that Harry had climbed to the roof of the school and returned with said teacher, Mrs. Mason, before Harry could find a way down. Mrs. Mason never liked Harry and absolutely adored Dudley, as she was frequently asked over for tea during Aunt Petunia’s monthly book club meetings, more like gossip sessions, though. They were the ones during which Aunt Petunia told Mrs. Mason that Harry was a gigantic liar and made up excuses for everything they did, every bruise he had. Not that Mrs. Mason paid any attention to Harry anyway, but that Thursday evening, she had no choice. And, she called Aunt Petunia to tell her what mischief Harry had gotten into, “climbing the school walls, that’s not normal, Petunia.” But Aunt Petunia had simply assured her that he would be “dealt with” once he returned home and indeed Harry had; his aching bum a constant, painful reminder of what he had done.

But just what had he done? Uncle Vernon always said “no funny business” but Harry didn’t exactly know what that had meant to the man. After a right smart smacking, leaving his thighs a painful reddish hue as well as his bum, Harry was denied any meals until his uncle determined him worthy enough to eat. Well, if I hadn’t jumped up onto the roof, then I wouldn’t be here now. But the thing is that Harry had no idea how he was doing these freakish things. He didn’t want to be a freak, but that seemed all he was good for. If I would just stop doing these things, then the Dursleys would love me, act as though I was apart of their family. But, I’m nothing but a freak and a burden and all they want me to do is stop. So, I’ve just got to stop. Harry decided after Dudley banged on his cupboard while he passed it on his way to the kitchen that it would be best to stay and wait for either uncle or aunt to allow him to come out.

He sighed at the new layer of dust that was stomped out of the carpet above his head and began to wipe some of it away with the flannel he kept for washing. I wonder if I’ll get to go to school today. But Harry quickly decided that was a firm no. The Dursleys didn’t like it when Harry did better than their precious Dinky Duddydums on tests and homework. They even had a test today in math, which decreased Harry’s chances of going to school even more.

He lay back down to sleep; Aunt Petunia wouldn’t want him dozing off while tending to the windows or other nonsense he was required to do.

*~*~*~*

Harry awoke with a start, his voice already hoarse from screaming. He tried to stop the sound from coming, but the dream was just too vivid, too frightening, and too real. Before he knew it, the door to his cupboard was thrown open with so much force that the door bounced off the outside of the cupboard with a sharp bang and was promptly grabbed. Uncle Vernon wasted no time in dragging Harry out of the cupboard, knocking Harry’s head on the door frame as he did so, and hastily throwing him on the ground just inside the kitchen. Uncle Vernon’s face was an ugly eggplant color and he was only half dressed for work.

“You boy, are going to be weeding the garden today,” Uncle Vernon said in a deathly quiet whisper and Harry knew he was being let off easy.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied without moving his eyes from his holey socks and starting on his way through the kitchen towards the garden behind the house, stopping only to slip on his too-big tattered trainers.

The garden really didn’t need weeding Harry realized as he positioned himself in between the rows of large fragrant flowers. More time to think of that dream, then, Harry thought as he began the mundane task of pulling the prickly weeds.

It seemed like I was flying…I can remember the stars; they were really bright. And there was something above me. Like, wiry thread, or a birds nest. Harry giggled as he remembered the dream further; it was a man, and his beard! It tickled when he leaned forward over me. But what was he driving? Before Harry could continue this train of thought, his Aunt Petunia leaned out the kitchen door and yelled at him to stay put and finish in the garden.

Like I have anywhere to go. But the more Harry thought about it, as he saw the Dursley’s car drive away with all three of his relatives in it, he could use some food in his aching stomach. So he made his way carefully to the kitchen door, which was left unlocked. Seeing a loaf of bread on the counter with a knife lying next to it on a cutting board Harry sliced off a piece. He promptly ripped it in half, placing one piece in his trouser’s pocket and the other in a hole in his cupboard. He then used a dirty glass from breakfast to pour himself some milk. Breakfast complete, Harry quickly made sure he didn’t leave any footprints in the house and that everything remained in place for his aunt’s arrival.

That done, Harry ventured back out into the sunlight to continue weeding the garden, all the while thinking about his dream. But it was silently drifting away along with the clouds that could have breached the continuous stream of harsh sunlight that was streaming down upon the yard. There was something about my parents…and a green flash. Unable to supply his imagination with any hint of truth as to what the dream could mean, Harry contented himself pulling weeds once again.

At least I won’t have Mrs. Mason asking why I do good on the homework and not on the tests. That thought cheered Harry up little, as the sun was directly overhead and he was overheated. But he had to keep weeding, as he’d only finished three-quarters of the over-large garden. So Harry turned his attention back to the weeds, attempting to ignore the bugs buzzing around his head and his sticky neck and back.

By the time Harry had finished the garden, the sun had barely begun its decent across the sky. Not wanting to get caught without doing work, Harry found a pair of garden shears and began to trim the hedges. I’ll show them I can earn my keep, that I’m not a burden, I’m not. I’ll even stop doing the freakish things. By the time the sun was shining directly into Harry’s eyes, he had finished weeding the garden, trimming the hedges, along with the tall grass growing between them and picked up all the clippings and weeds and put them into a pile behind the shed in the back corner of the yard. And after all that, Aunt Petunia was still not back. I should be able to get some leftovers from yesterday and hear her coming with enough time to get back outside. I’ll just sneak quietly.

With bare feet, unwilling to risk his now even dirtier trainers, Harry made his way stealthily into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he selected several containers of semi-old food that Aunt Petunia would probably throw away once she combed the fridge during her weekly-clean. With a paper towel placed on the counter, Harry began to scoop and pour tiny portions of each of the dishes with his fingers. Closing each container and shaking them a bit to re-settle its contents, Harry placed them back precisely where they were previously located.

Taking his paper towel of food back behind the shed to see and hear when his relatives returned home, Harry began to eat in the shade. It was a small meal, but he just couldn’t risk Aunt Petunia realizing that he’d snuck inside to eat. Finishing much too soon as there wasn’t really that much food, Harry placed the paper towel deep in the clipping pile and went to pick up the hedge clippers from where he previously left it lay. Just as Harry was wondering what else he could do outside before the Dursleys returned, he heard a car in the driveway and Dudley’s incessant whine. He was going on about the new motor bike that a boy down the road had just gotten, for it was Dudley’s birthday in a few weeks and that thought made Harry groan.

Each year, Dudley received far too many gifts and nearly half of them were broken within forty-eight hours of their unwrapping. But the ways in which they were broken were almost always due to Harry’s stealing it, touching it, or looking at it. For Dudley knew that Harry could do freakish things, they happened quite often in his presence. However, Harry’s aunt and uncle never believed him when he explained that he never went into Dudley’s room and certainly never touched any of his toys. But they never believed Harry’s story over their precious Ickle Dudleykins’. Harry knew he did freakish things, but he never broke any of Dudley’s toys, purposely or otherwise.

Harry took his time putting away the hedge clippers in the shed until Aunt Petunia called him inside and ordered him to put away the bags from the car. Harry hurried to comply, dodging Dudley’s elbow as he walked past. After successfully placing all the groceries away and correctly stowing the bags, Aunt Petunia ordered Harry to his cupboard. He stood awkwardly, staring at his slightly dirty feet, wondering if he should just go to bed. But no, this was an emergency.

“May I use the loo, Aunt Petunia?” At her incredulous look, Harry hastily added, “I’ve been outside all day and I weeded the garden, trimmed the hedges and placed all the clippings in the pile behind the shed, I’ve only just come in as you called me.”

Harry kept his gaze firmly planted on the floor now as he could feel his aunt glaring at him down her pointed nose, her lips an almost invisible line. Finally she relented, saying, “You’ve got five minutes.”

That was all Harry needed to make his way hurriedly to the bathroom where he used the loo, drank water with his hand from the faucet as cold as it could go, and wet a flannel to take off some of the grime that had accumulated since his last proper washing. Not wanting to erase any good thoughts Aunt Petunia might have had of him at taking too long in the loo, Harry was soon walking down the stairs to his cupboard to get some much needed sleep. His arms were especially tired from all the pulling and cutting he had done today. And it felt good to lie down for the night. Maybe I’ll dream of the flying man and my mum and dad again.

*~*~*~*

“You boy! Come here!”

Great, he’s been drinking again and I’m certainly not going to go anywhere near him in that mood.

But, before he could move, a large man with slightly glazed eyes and a face too flushed to be normal came lumbering around the corner into the sitting room where the boy was currently trying to decide where best to hide. Unfortunately for him, the man was quick to notice the small bundle of clothes that contained the boy who was sitting in the corner with his head bent, black hair obscuring his face.

Don’t see me, don’t see me, you’re drunk and hallucinating, you don’t see me.

But all the boy’s wishing did nothing as the man trudged through the room, running into all the furniture, causing a lamp to fall to the ground with a crash from the sitting table it was currently perched on. The sudden change in noise caused the boy to look up with round eyes at the too-large man coming towards him. There was no kindness in those eyes; there never really was.

“What have you been doing in my house? Any more of that stuff and you’ll find yourself living outside!”

The boy’s eyes grew larger and tears started to form as he absorbed the finality of the threat. He’d heard it many times before, to be true, but there was something different at the man’s tone this time…this time, he really meant it.

Damn, he knows I’m scared. But I shouldn’t be; what’s he going to do to me that he’s not already done before? This thought gave him some courage and the child brought his head up farther and started to stand and face the man.

“Oh, so now you think I’m lying? Let’s see about that…” The man struck out with his left hand, missing his target a little as the boy shifted his weight to his left foot. He struck out again with his right, “…how long will it take you to realize…” Again with his right, “…to understand, that I mean every word…” The boy wasn’t fast enough this time and his head rebounded into the wall behind him as the man’s fist made contact with his nose. “That I’ve ever said…” His left hand made contact and now the boy was sitting on the ground, holding his head in both hands. “EVER!!” The man yelled, continuing with a swift kick to the boy’s ribs.

His punches aren’t as hard as they have been, good thing I know how to fake unconsciousness pretty well. That might stop him this time.

But the man made no attempt to hit the boy’s head any more, instead choosing the larger target of his torso.

“You think you’re soo smart, don’t you! You and your little spells that you cast to make me look like a fool!” Another kick to the ribs. “Well, I’ve had enough of you and your mother! This is the last I want to see of the both of you!”

“Don’t talk about mum like that! She never wanted to stay here anyway!”

His words were greeted by a new onslaught of punches and kicks; this time to his legs as well, as the boy became stretched out against the wall on the floor.

“I’ll say whatever I want! She was a good for nothing burden, same as you!” More kicks, now to the boy’s head. “All I wanted was a normal family, not a bunch of freaks like you!”

*~*~*~*

Harry woke with a scream dying on his lips. Please, please don’t wake up; he prayed silently, ears staining for any sound that his relatives had heard. Harry waited on bated breath for Uncle Vernon to come crashing down the stairs and interject a spit parade onto Harry, then send him off to do some mundane task for the entire day.

But the stomping sound never came. Uncle Vernon never stirred in his sleep, ever present with snores. Harry finally lay down, relieved beyond measure, only to see a spider spinning a web directly above his messy black head of hair.

“Hello, there,” Harry sighed as the spider continued to crawl above his head. He was used to spiders; they lived in the cupboard that he slept in. And he’d been living in this cupboard for as long as he could remember.

I just wish you could say hello back. Why won’t you say hello? I’ll be your friend and won’t let that mean lump of a cousin hurt you, I promise.

The truth is, Harry didn’t have any friends. His cousin Dudley saw to that at school and the teachers never did anything about it. Dudley would threaten to punch anyone who even talked to Harry on the playground during their break before lunch. Harry tried to remind himself that he didn’t mind.

I don’t need any friends, if they’re all like Dudley’s gang. They’re only friends with him because he keeps them out of trouble. And that’s only because everyone’s too afraid of them to say anything. I wouldn’t be like that, if only they’d see…no, it doesn’t work to think like that. Think about something else.

As Harry strained to remember the dream that had awoken him he heard some soft noises coming from above him, too soft to be Uncle Vernon or Dudley, it had to be Aunt Petunia. And too soon she was unlocking and opening the door to Harry’s cupboard only to be slightly surprised to see two wide green eyes looking back at her.

Harry knew his confusion showed on his face, why are you here, what do you want this early in the morning, before Uncle Vernon and Dudley are up? But he didn’t dare to ask the questions that were forming in his mind. Rule number one at the Dursley’s was no questions. He stared unblinking at his aunt from his cot. Her face quickly shifted her expression to one of contempt and extreme dislike, mouth forming that ever-present thin line whenever she looked in her nephew’s general direction.

“You’re to shower today; I’ll be in to check the water. Five minutes and don’t dally. I want you outside before Vernon or Dudley get up,” she said, turning away from the cupboard towards the kitchen.

Harry sighed, but too softly for his aunt to hear, “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

He hated only washing properly once a week, if that. Some nights, Harry snuck out and washed in the kitchen with a bucket of water previously filled and stored in his cupboard. If the Dursley’s knew how much it bothered Harry to be called names, normally instigated by Dudley himself, they did nothing to stop it. Harry was usually quite mindful of his hygiene. He hated the name calling, but more than that, Harry hated feeling different, useless, a burden. That’s all he ever was and at one time Harry believed he would be able to fit in at school, that it would be different and balance out what was happening at home. But that dream was soon shattered as Dudley took his role as bully seriously, and so it was with elation that Harry made his way to the bathroom after collecting the cleanest clothing in his cupboard, taking another spider off and placing it on the shelf above his head. The only thing about these showers was that Harry was not allowed hot or even warm water. That right was available only to those who deserved it, which did not include freaks like Harry. But a cold shower was not going to stop Harry from feeling clean once again, if only for a little while.

As he passed the mirror while making his way to the toilet, Harry noticed his reflection. His hair was a little flatter this morning, not a customary occurrence with his messy locks. His complexion also seemed a bit lighter, paler. But that could just be the lights, Harry determined as he looked at the lighted mirror more closely. But then that didn’t seem to be enough of an explanation, I was outside all day yesterday, and usually am at least a little tan. But it seemed that the sun had the opposite effect on his skin that day.

Realizing that Harry only had a few more minutes to shower and use the toilet, he quickly undressed and stepped into the shower, risking room temperature water. Uncle Vernon says that it costs too much money to have heated water for freak’s showers, but doesn’t cold water cost to cool? Harry figured that this argument was a fairly good one if he was reprimanded by Aunt Petunia, not that she ever really hit him. And neither did Uncle Vernon, except for the occasional smacks to his bum, he had only taken a belt to Harry’s bum once after turning his teacher’s hair green. Harry still had marks on his back where Uncle Vernon missed his target in his heightened sense of rage. But that wasn’t usually what Aunt Petunia did, anyway. She was a bit more forgiving than Harry’s uncle when it came to punishments, usually making him work outside or around the house.

It was with these thoughts that Harry was interrupted as his aunt opened the door, and thrust her hand through the shower curtain, placing it under the semi-cold stream of water. Seemingly satisfied, she took out her hand and said sourly, “Turn off the water, you’re done. Come straight down to the kitchen when you’re dressed. Three minutes.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia” was Harry’s standard reply, distorted by the emptiness of the bathroom and running water. He waited until he heard the door close to turn off the water, carefully wrapping his bar of soap up in a flannel and donning his change of clothes. Harry only paused in front of the mirror on his way out, his mind brought back to why his skin wasn’t tan, his hair not sticking up as much.

“Paint the shed using the paint outside the door,” was the only thing his aunt gave Harry as he entered the kitchen, delivering the terse command without turning her head towards her nephew.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.” At least I can spend another day outside, that’s better than getting stuck dusting and cleaning the loo. But this did little to cheer Harry up; he was still tired from not sleeping well the last few days and it was hot out today. But he realized as he walked with the paint cans and rollers that the sun probably wouldn’t be up for another hour and it wasn’t hot now. If I paint the side facing the road first, then I can paint the back when the sun is up and be shaded by the hedge. With this thought, he began working.

Harry was could be pretty clever once he put his mind to finding a way around a particular complication. He happened to be right about staying out of direct view of the sun for the first part of the morning, but his relatives had other ideas. Just as Harry was finishing with the back side of the shed, Uncle Vernon came out to inform Harry that he would be mowing the lawn once he finished, “and be quick about it.” Harry only nodded and mumbled a quick reply.

After finishing with the lawn, washing all the outside windows, sweeping the drive, and weeding the front gardens, Harry was exhausted. He had worked through the entire day and was allowed inside only as the sky began to redden, the sun shrinking behind the horizon. As Harry entered through the kitchen, his aunt shoved a large piece of bread along with some cheese and a piece of salami into his hands. Before he could mumble his thanks, she proceeded to hand him a plastic cup filled almost to the brim of ice cold milk. Without waiting for Harry to properly thank her, Aunt Petunia gave him a little shove towards the hall and his cupboard. Just as Harry reached the door, he turned and looked back at his aunt, already back to cleaning her spotless kitchen. Thank you, Aunt Petunia.

Deciding to save the bread as Harry was already full with eating only the cheese and salami and drinking the milk, he lay down for bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

A boy with messy black hair was playing with some colorful blocks that changed between displaying a letter and an animal whose name started with that letter. After stacking the blocks and knocking down the towers, the boy caught sight of his mum. She had long red hair tied back in pony tail and had just walked into the room with another man, who also had black hair that stood up at all angles. They parted ways after a long look at the entrance of the house, the door just closing.

The red-haired lady walked over to the boy, picked him up from the floor and sat with him on her lap in a rocking chair. But just as the tall, dark haired man started to sit down in a large over-stuffed chair, there was a loud bang at the door. The two adults were just able to exchange glances before a man walked through the doorway, wearing a large black cloak and hood that covered his face. The man from the chair stood and whipped out his wand from his cloak and stood defensively between the intruder and the woman and child.

“Lily, take Harry and go upstairs! I’ll hold him off as long as I can.”

Harry felt the fear grip him as tightly as his mum currently was, making her way up the stairs and closing the door on the scream that followed them up. She set Harry in his crib, a frantic look on her face which grew more prominent when the door slowly opened to reveal a horribly ugly man. His eyes were red and slanted, where a nose should have been, there was only a slit, and his skin was an unearthly white color, his head bearing not one hair.

“Please, please no,” Harry’s mum pleaded with the stranger.

“Step aside you silly girl.” The man’s voice was even more unnatural than his appearance.

“No, not Harry. Please, take me instead. Kill me instead.” But the man made no move to accept her offer.

“I think I’ll kill the both of you. Avada Kedavra.”

Harry gave out a startled cry as the room filled with a contrived green light, causing the small boy to close his eyes against its brightness.

“Now, Harry.” The deplorable monster turned his full attention to the boy in his crib, who recoiled as far as possible into the corner.

“Avada Kedavra” was said with as much contempt as anyone could imagine and Harry felt as though his head would split open, the pain radiating from his scar.

~*~*~*~

Severus Snape woke with a start, immediately regretting the sharp movements as his head began to throb with a new headache. In fact, his back and neck all began to throb and his legs were aching painfully. Damn. I need to stop marking essays so late in the evening. That was the reason for his headache at least. Each year, Severus was forced to teach a new bunch of dunderheads and each year, they never got any better. First years were always the worst and Severus would be senseless to expect anything more, but he remained optimistic, hoping that the third year’s final essays would yield more promising results than the constant whiny drabble likely of an eleven year old. However, it was not so as he foolishly decided to procrastinate correcting their essays until the last possible minute. And damn you, Albus for keeping me from finishing with your inane chatter that lasted too long without accomplishing anything. It felt good to blame someone else for his shortcomings, Severus decided as he began to stretch out his back and neck.

Severus glanced at the clock hanging beside the doorway to the den from where he was seated behind a hickory desk, the color of the wood matching his mood. Severus was not in a good mood, for he had only three hours of class before the weekend, the last of term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But in twenty minutes he had to teach his last class of the year- second year Gryffindors and Slytherins.

Usually these two houses wouldn’t be much of a problem, especially with Severus’ various reputations of being a vampire or bat Animagus and other such nonsense that increased the incredible amount of fear that he distilled within his students. That was the only way to get them to pay attention to the potions they were brewing as the majority of the students and many of the professors didn’t understand how volatile the ingredients were. If mixed properly, dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, stewed horned slugs and porcupine quills could create a cure for boils but if not, it could be an extremely unstable potion and cause boils if the porcupine quills were not added at the correct time. Severus knew this; he wasn’t Potions Master for nothing, and felt that the utmost level of discipline possible in his classroom was a must. However, in their ignorance, other professors continued to pester Severus about his teaching methods, mainly Minerva McGonagall.

With today being the last class of term and it being with the year that included the Weasley twins, Severus was not particularly looking forward to it. The twins were really quite good at potions but with their constant talking, and pranks against the Slytherins, Severus really had no choice but to persistently take points from Gryffindor.

It was with a heavy sigh that Severus made his way to the Potions classroom, Occluding his mind further to block the memories of the dream. The perfect beginning to an already perfect day.

~*~*~*~

The rest of the weekend passed without complaint from any of the residents of number four, Privet Drive. At least, not from someone who existed. For Harry did not exist to his relatives, not that he would voice his complaints about them anyway for fear of their swift and dire retribution. But it was not really the work that Harry minded; it was the manner in which he was ordered to work. However unlikely it would be that Harry could gain their approval, he nevertheless continued to try. And so it was without complaint that Harry worked outside all day once more.

Sunday night Harry was too tired to dream, although he did wake with a strange feeling. It was as though he did dream and was yet unable to remember anything about it, being left simply with a peculiar feeling. But even as Harry thought more on it, he could come to no conclusion.

Monday left Harry inside all day, dusting, shining, and polishing everything in sight for Aunt Petunia’s book club meeting on Wednesday. She was so particular that she hardly left Harry alone in a room to work in peace for more than five minutes. This was extremely frustrating for Harry who was trying to sort out the weird-dream feeling he experienced upon waking again that morning. Dudley was at school, the last week before the summer holidays began. This fact scarcely cheered Harry up, he was sad he was unable to attend school, yet still glad he wouldn’t see Dudley until after dinner. But staying home meant that Aunt Petunia had more time to keep him working, more time for Harry to wish someone would rescue him. But there is no other person, so just face the facts; you’re stuck here, alone…forever.

And so Tuesday came, but when Aunt Petunia went to wake Harry up, he was still gripped tightly within a dream. Just as she was going to reach out and shake him awake, Harry screamed, sitting upright a second later. With a hand pressed over her racing heart, Harry’s aunt informed him he would be mowing the lawn again today along with more jobs inside, so he’d better get a move on.

But Harry couldn’t concentrate on his work, causing the jobs to be done sloppily and with a third scolding from his Aunt Petunia, Harry was sent back outside to re-trim the hedge, “And make sure you do it properly.”

As he began to absentmindedly snip at the errant branches Harry’s mind wandered. He’d had that dream again, the one that left him with a funny feeling…a bad feeling. But Harry was more confused than anything. He remembered his mum holding him, being afraid of the fear that radiated from her, hitting him like a rogue wave in the sea. Harry just couldn’t understand; the next thing he remembered was being in a crib, looking through the bars, and seeing a blinding flash of green light that faded with the increasing pain in his head, right where his scar was.

But as hard as he tried, Harry was unable to come up with of an explanation and still the feeling of utter dread that had accompanied him since his waking would not leave.

~*~*~*~

Finally, I am able to have some time to myself, Severus sighed as he lowered himself into an over-large black leather chair in his quarters in front of a roaring fire. His last Potions class had passed quite normally or as normally as can be expected with the Weasley twins. There had been no major explosions and only one Gryffindor’s Potion had resulted in a zero for the day. But that did not mean that Professor Snape went easy on them by any means. Gryffindor suffered a loss of one hundred and twenty points and Severus was seriously considering taking points from Slytherin just to get them to pay attention. But, that would have resulted in the loss of the House Cup, which was currently displayed on a ledge behind Severus’ desk in his office, right next to the Quidditch Cup.

The end of the year feast was the same as always with Severus being forced into conversations with various other professors he did not like. However the evening was made considerably more tolerable by the decorum surrounding the students and staff. Slytherin green and silver banners hung from the ceiling and behind the staff table along with the general air of dejection that filled the Great Hall, kept Severus’ smirk in place throughout the entire night. However gloomy the other houses and professors may have felt, his Slytherins made up for it, being almost callous in their celebrations.

Severus did notice that one person did not seem overly bothered by the festivities as she sat through the evening with a polite smile on her usually cold face. While speaking to Professor Sinistra and desperately needing a way out of the conversation, Professor McGonagall thankfully intervened. With a gracious “thank you” spoken from his eyes, Severus gladly picked up the threads of a new conversation. She is too good at this…I must remind her of her decidedly Slytherin traits later. Minerva seemed pleasantly surprised at her house’s low ranking at the close of the year, but Severus figured that her smile was also due to his conduct today. No doubt she would boast about the number of points she “justifiably” took from Slytherin only to have them “unjustifiably” given back by Severus. He would then speak of how thick her precious lions were and how they unquestionably deserved every point they lost.

However, much to Severus’ surprise, that particular conversation never came. Instead, the entire staff became enthralled with the topic of Harry Potter, brought on by Severus’ supposed savior with one little question.

“Harry Potter is said to come to Hogwarts next term; I wonder if he’ll tryout for Quidditch in his second year?” Minerva asked casually.

Severus mentally cursed the Gryffindor Head of House. That is why she was smirking earlier…I defiantly do need to remind her of her pathetically obvious Slytherin traits soon.

“What kind of mischief do you think Harry Potter will get into this coming year?” Poppy Pomfrey asked from the other side of Severus.

“Oh, I can only imagine!” exclaimed Pomona Sprout with a plump hand placed on her chest and a chuckle escaping her mouth. Severus attempted not to imagine what mischief the little Potter brat would get into. No doubt he’d be exactly like his father, strutting around the castle like he owned the place, including the plate I’m eating off of, hexing into oblivion all those supposedly “below” him, demanding every one of us bend to his every will. Severus could see that Potter would likely be the biggest dunderhead of all. No information would be able to penetrate that thick skull of his, besides Quidditch, Severus supposed, scoffing. As if the bloody Boy-Who-Lived would need another reason to be the center of attention.

Severus could barely suppress a groan as the conversation continued on with the rather trivial subject of Harry Bloody Potter, as if the last five minutes of discussion did not cover enough of the little horror. Why even speculate about the trouble that the brat might cause? Havoc caused by that child was certainly inevitable; for he will be running amuck about the castle no doubt. But he can be sure that I will not let his unruliness stand, he will be disciplined and receive the consequences of his actions from me, unlike the rest of the staff, I’m sure.

Yet the conversation dragged on, changing slightly to the various aspects that accompany an eleven year old, but always surrounding Harry Potter.

As if I wanted to hear more about the insufferable brat. But there was no opportunity for Severus to escape the Great Hall to the peace and quiet of his quarters. And so he sat, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the festering talk surrounding the Bloody-Boy-Who-Was-Coming-To-Hogwarts next term. Although the end of the feast did not come soon enough, it did come, much to Severus’ relief with a final speech from the Headmaster. After which, he finally dismissed the students to their respective common rooms. Severus could not leave the Great Hall fast enough.

His long legs and larger stride allowed Severus to arrive in the dungeons at a considerably faster rate than any other in the castle. It wasn’t the first time that he was thankful for his height, allowing him to tower over students and professors alike as well as to move swiftly through the corridors. But Severus stood after sinking gratefully into the sofa in his quarters when he saw Dumbledore’s head floating in a sea of green flame in the fireplace.

“May I come through Severus?”

With a hesitated “Yes, sir,” mumbled through clenched teeth, Severus sank back into the comfortable cushions of the sofa.

Dumbledore did not waste any time in getting to the point, as he usually did, for the Headmaster knew that Severus despised small talk.

“What are your thoughts on Harry arriving at Hogwarts at the beginning of term?” Dumbledore was not totally able to suppress the look of amusement that crossed his wizened face at Severus’ equally shocked expression. It took a few more seconds than he would have liked to respond, but Severus was finally able to respond.

“And why does the arrival of one Mr. Potter take precedence over my thoughts, Albus?”

“I simply believed that due to your knowledge of Harry’s mother that you would be able and willing to introduce young Mr. Potter to the wizarding world in earnest.”

“Have his relatives not explained these things to him already?” Seriously, there is no way they couldn’t, really.

Dumbledore leaned forward, a saddened expression on his face, “Being Muggles, I don’t suspect his relatives fully understand our world either. It would be better coming from a wizard, who is able then to answer the questions Harry will undoubtedly have.”

Severus schooled his face into a scowl and sneered, “And why, pray tell, do you wish me to travel to the brat’s house. Surely you or Minerva would be better suited to deal with the insufferable being.”

At this, Dumbledore sat back into his chair with a heavy sigh. “Alas, I am detained on important business elsewhere as is Minerva. Therefore you are the most likely candidate due to your relationship with him.”

Shock and disgust flitted across Severus’ cold expression, taking up residence within the depths of his eyes, “I have no relation to that boy.”

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed, his reply setting Severus’ body on edge. “Have you read Lily’s journal, Severus?”

“How could I? Those were her private thoughts; I’ll not violate her memory in that way!” Severus all but yelled, fists clenched, attempting to control his rage. How dare he even suggest it!

“I believe it to be for the best if you-”

“You always believe things to be for the best, but they do not always turn out that way. Do they, Dumbledore?”

Giving the Headmaster a hard glare, the best he could summon in conjunction with attempting to contain his fury, Severus then continued in Dumbledore’s shocked silence, “And yet you remain optimistic that somehow the past will cease to have meaning and that the future can change so easily. I however refuse to believe that. The past remains and it does not change on a whim.”

Severus stiffly stood, looking down at Dumbledore’s still shocked face, his mouth beginning to curve downward into a frown. Standing, Dumbledore’s blue eyes began to twinkle again, shining with concern and understanding. Severus motioned towards the fireplace, intending for the Headmaster to floo back up to his quarters.

Dumbledore took one step and turned to face Severus, placing a weathered hand on his arm. “Think on my words, Severus. I do not doubt your memory will be swayed from its current perspective if you do indeed read Lily’s journal. But it will be better for all those concerned, my boy.”

Turning away after his words, with Severus’ fists relaxing and his knees buckling, Dumbledore made for the fireplace. Severus didn’t hear the rush of the Floo, or even see the blast of green flame. He simply sat, knees finally giving out, falling back into an over stuffed chair. Finally, I am able to have some time to myself. But not for long if what Albus says is true…but it can’t be true. Lily told me herself what had happened. Is he suggesting she lied?

~*~*~*~

Harry woke to the sound of a frying pan being slammed down onto the stove. He’d had the dream again, waking in the early morning to a silent scream and being unable to sleep in anything but the lightest sense of the term, he dozed into the later morning.

It was Wednesday which meant Aunt Petunia’s Book Club was meeting here later. Harry sighed, he hated these “Book Club Meetings,” Aunt Petunia invited all her friends over for dinner and tea to gossip. They never talked about books and Harry seriously doubted that any of them had even read a book in their lives. During the meetings, Harry was expected to stay in his cupboard, not make a sound, and pretend he didn’t exist. All things considered, it wasn’t too bad. It was the morning before of the meeting that was the worst.

As if on cue, Aunt Petunia knocked on Harry’s cupboard door, telling him to mind the breakfast. Harry could hear her footsteps on the stairs above her head, most likely to wake Uncle Vernon and Dudley. So Harry made his way into the kitchen, turning over the bacon and pulling out another frying pan and cracking open several eggs. Then he went to the counter and put two slices of bread into the toaster, moving past the refrigerator, Harry grabbed the butter, jam, milk, and orange juice and placed them on the table. By this time the eggs needed to be flipped so Harry returned to the stove. After Harry finished setting the table, the Dursleys arrived and sat down. Harry moved to serve them, setting the pan on the table with what was leftover.

Once Harry finished cleaning up what little mess he made from cooking, his relatives had finished stuffing their faces with breakfast. There was a little left that Aunt Petunia said none too nicely that Harry could eat if he finished cleaning the kitchen.

“Once you’re done in here clean the upstairs bathroom. It’s absolutely filthy and needs to be clean for my meeting tonight.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia” came Harry’s reply, delivered to the gleaming white floor. Because we don’t have another bathroom downstairs, so everyone is going to use the upstairs one. Why don’t you just tell me the truth…that you hate me because I’m a freak and want me to clean your bathroom. There’s no way you would let even one of your “friends” go upstairs without inviting them.

Half an hour later when Harry made his way upstairs to the bathroom, leaving a spotless kitchen behind him, he didn’t even look into the sitting room to see his aunt watching the telly, reading a magazine or spying on the neighbors. When he got there, Harry did have to agree with his aunt, the bathroom was really messy. Maybe I can spend all morning and afternoon here instead of doing something worse all day.

With this thought set firmly in place, Harry began to meticulously clean all the grime and hair away from the sink. Lifting a hand to swipe at his fringe covering his eyes, Harry looked into the mirror. Wow. His face had changed.

He was still pale, maybe even paler than the last time he looked at his reflection. His hair was longer, or perhaps just less messy. Upon further inspection, all the hair that would stick up at the back was lying flat on his head, black and silky soft. His nose had changed shape too, albeit not a lot. It was a tad smaller and thinner as well as his face, his cheeks angling sharply from his temples.

Harry didn’t realize how long he had been staring at his reflection when he heard someone on the steps. Scrambling to gather cleaning supplies, Harry attempted to look like he had been working the whole time. It was his Aunt Petunia, but rather than comment on the bit of progress Harry made or send him off on another job or even yell at him to speed up, she simply looked in, raised her eyebrows, and sniffed the cleaners. A few seconds later she turned from the doorway and went back downstairs.

Harry let out a rush of air from a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Wonder why she even came up here, if not to yell. Maybe she likes the smell of cleaner too much. I’ll bet that’s why she cleans the kitchen almost every day.

Laughing quietly at his joke, Harry got back to work in earnest. Finishing close to an hour later, he made his way quickly downstairs and locked the door to his cupboard quietly behind him. Soon Aunt Petunia’s friends would be arriving and Harry didn’t want to be in plain sight. So he lay down thinking about the dream. It was always the same dream, or parts of a dream that he could remember. Without acquiring any new insight to what it could mean, Harry began to puzzle over his appearance.

It must be because I’m a freak. But why am I changing now? What does it mean? What if I’m changing to look like my family? What if they couldn’t find me before because I looked different?...But that’s stupid. You’re a freak, Harry. A good for nothing freak, no one would want you to be in their family.

Harry then curled up on his side, trying to stop the sobs from coming. He never cried when Uncle Vernon hit him or when Dudley’s gang caught up with him, so why was he crying now? Harry swiped at the traitor tears that showed just how much he wanted to belong, not be a freak, and be loved as the door bell rang and his aunt’s first guest arrived.

~*~*~*~

Severus rubbed his potion-stained hands over his face, attempting to dispel the sleepiness from his eyes. It was Tuesday and he had successfully locked himself away in his potions lab, purposefully ignoring the knocks on his door and calls through the Floo. Severus simply needed time to think about the meaning behind Dumbledore’s words. How can I simply throw out everything I’ve come to know about Lily and Potter, though? It’s not that easy, Albus.

Sighing through his now-steepled fingers, Severus came to a decision; he would read Lily’s journal, read but not act on anything yet. He stood and walked through a short hall to his bedroom. Settling himself on the edge of his bed, Severus reached into the nightstand and pulled out a slightly worn light honey-colored leather bound book. Holding back another sigh, Severus rubbed his hand over the cover with gentle fingers.

Many nights after being driven out of sleep from nightmares, Severus would reach down and extract this journal and stroke it just as he was. But, he never opened the cover. He simply couldn’t. I don’t want to change the way I think about you. But there was no way the Headmaster would stop beleaguering him and there was no way around this particular situation.

Hesitantly, with careful fingers, Severus opened the cover and began to read the first entry.

October 13, 1981

Finally, I’ve got a new journal to write down my thoughts! Took you long enough, Severus, I only asked you to pick me up one a week and a half ago! I guess I can’t be too harsh, not much has happened in the month since my last entry. I’ve secured a job at the Ministry as an alchemist and part time brewer at St. Mungos. Sev too has been accepted to teach at Hogwarts as Potions Professor. I’m really proud of him; he’s doing wonderful things in our lab here at home and I can’t wait to see his name in a potions journal again! I just know he can do it, especially since he’ll want to escape Dumbledore from time to time and will likely lock himself in his lab for days at a time. I just hope that someone reminds him to eat!

October 22, 1981

Dumbledore visited today. He said that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was gathering supporters with increased fervor. He wouldn’t say why but he said that he would be back in a few days to speak more. Hopefully then some of my questions will be answered.

October 23, 1981

Severus never returned last night. He left with Dumbledore. I don’t know where he is. Harry’s speaking really well now and keeps asking for “Daddy.” I can’t tell him I don’t know where he is and James is beginning to look worried. I wonder what’s keeping Severus.

October 24, 1981

Dumbledore returned today, but Severus wasn’t with him. He thinks You-Know-Who is going to try and fulfill the prophecy made about Harry. Sirius came over after James Floo-called him. We want him to be our Secret Keeper. Dumbledore thinks that’s the only way we can protect Harry. It’s very advanced magic and I’m glad we’ve got Dumbledore here to help us. I just hope it’s enough.

October 25, 1981

Severus came to visit today. I should have noticed right away that something was…off with him. He walked and moved with more purpose than usual…than necessary. He seemed in pain, but not a new pain. I doubt that James could tell, Severus was hiding it extremely well…but it took forever to get him alone. Even then he would refuse to talk about it…some accident…nothing to worry about… But I did worry…worried too much. I was holding his arm as he talked to me, convinced me that Albus was right; having the protection of the Fidelius Charm was the only option to protect Harry, protect me. But I was so scared, I was holding onto his arm, his left arm, too hard…saw him wince. An accident…bumped into the table at Spinner’s End…used a bruise salve this morning…not completely healed yet…nothing to worry about. But his expression was off, he looked frightened. Severus never had “accidents” he never bumped into things. But then it all made sense…he was branded with the Dark Mark…Severus was a Death Eater. He didn’t deny it of course, instead he tried to convince me of why he did it…to save Harry…to protect me…Albus needed someone on the other side…to spy…it was the only way. Lies, all of his excuses are lies. Or he would have told me it before. Why didn’t he tell me? I thought he loved, trusted me? But of course he didn’t tell me.

I bet he relishes his role as spy, able to keep all his secrets to himself. He’s been lying to all of us for an entire year…about everything. It hurt more than I would have expected, the wounds are still fresh even as I write this tonight. I was so angry, so furious with him for doing this to us! I wanted him to feel some of my pain, to know what he’s done to me. How could he do this? And, how could I let him stay with us, with Harry? He’s put in greater danger with his lies. So I spewed my own lies to him…Harry isn’t your son…we never used a glamour…he just looks like James. I wanted him to leave, needed him to leave, otherwise none of us would be safe. I have to keep Harry safe.

...how could Severus do this to us?

October 27, 1981

Dumbledore visited again today. He tried to convince me that Severus was telling the truth, that he became a Death Eater to help the Order. I don’t know if I believe him or ever will, not yet.

October 30, 1981

Sirius came by the house early this morning. He’s worried that he won’t be able to protect us as Secret Keeper. James agrees with me that he is the best one…but Sirius was adamant. He wants us to change Secret Keepers to Peter, to make him the one. We said we’d think about it.

October 31, 1981

I really do wish that Severus would come by Godric’s Hallow. I miss him. It’s impossible to think that he would have actually agreed to become a Death Eater, but if he truly did love me and Harry, then I guess it’s possible…it might be possible. I still don’t know, but I do know that I miss him. Harry’s still not the same without him here and James is becoming suspicious about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named showing up at any second. Albus keeps reminding us how important it is to stay in the house, wands close by. He keeps trying to talk to me about Severus, but what does it really matter? It’s not like he’s going to try and convince me of anything himself.

I just don’t know what to expect from anyone anymore, friend or foe…or an unidentified mixture of both.

Harry was unceremoniously awoken by his horrid aunt soon after her last guest left. From what Harry could tell, it was very late; the street was dark and he could hardly see the hedge from the kitchen door.

“Clean up in the sitting room. I’ll check on it in the morning, so you’d better do it properly,” Aunt Petunia sneered down to Harry, her lip curled in an unpleasant manner. “And don’t make any noise; I don’t want to be woken up in two hours.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

Harry walked across the hall to the sitting room to the sound of his aunt’s footsteps going up the stairs.

At least I can clean without her looking over my shoulder the whole time. This was the only comforting thought that occupied Harry’s mind as he began the mundane task of tidying the sitting room, washing the used tea cups, and restoring order to the furniture. As he was repositioning a sitting chair, Harry realized that he wasn’t strong enough to actually move it the way he was currently trying, that is if he didn’t want it to take all night. So, moving to the other side of the chair, Harry began to push, digging his feet into the carpet, trying to gain as much traction as possible. He was able to move it much more easily than he was expecting, the extra force applied causing the chair to launch forward and into the end table, jiggling the ornaments on its surface.

The breath Harry was currently attempting to dispel from his lungs hitched in his throat. It wasn’t that loud; surely Aunt Petunia won’t wake up from that, or Uncle Vernon. Indeed, the initial rattle from the table wasn’t very loud. However, the clatter and crash that accompanied the glass adorned lamp falling to the floor was.

Oh, no. Please, please still be sleeping. But as soon as Harry thought this hope he realized how futile a hope it was. For not two seconds later, Uncle Vernon could be heard stampeding down the stairs.

Harry sucked in a quick breath after releasing the last one with a giant whoosh. His heart began to beat in his throat, and his palms began to sweat. Frantically looking around, Harry found there was nowhere to hide and hiding would only increase his uncle’s temper. There also was no way he could make it to the relative safety of his cupboard. And so, Harry stood next to the chair, beside which the broken lamp lay as evidence to his transgression.

In the impending doom, Harry was unable to move and even if he had wanted to, the face of his uncle as he rounded the corner into the sitting room would have stopped Harry in his tracks. Harry cringed involuntarily as Uncle Vernon’s purple face emitted a loud growl, complete with spittle flying from his teeth. In three large steps, he was across the room and looming over Harry’s trembling frame.

Harry knew he was going to be hurt. There was no way that he would be let off to work outside without meals for the day. They’ve been too generous lately. I deserved worse than I got, what I’m about to get.

Harry tried not to cry out as Uncle Vernon’s meaty hand came down on top of his head, splashing stars across his vision.

“Two bloody hours of sleep? I can’t sleep while you’re breaking things and I can’t work with only two bloody hours of sleep!”

This made sense to Harry as Uncle Vernon’s hand grabbed Harry’s small arm, gripping it so tightly Harry had to concentrate to hold in his gasp. This was only made harder as his uncle grabbed Harry’s other arm, just as hard, bringing Harry’s face mere inches from his own. But he did not lower the volume of his voice as he yelled at the still trembling child, “I thought we’d gotten rid of your freakishness, boy. I’ll simply have to try harder this time.”

At this, a grotesque grin spread across Uncle Vernon’s now wine-colored face. Harry’s stomach plummeted and he could not withhold the gasp that came this time.

“Please, Uncle Vernon, please, I’ll never do it again.”

As a response, Uncle Vernon released Harry, pushing him slightly backwards, while reaching his hand into the right pocket of his bathrobe. Harry didn’t know his stomach could fall any farther, as his heart began to beat in his ears.

“Please, no. Uncle Vernon, please.”

But the grin never faltered on his uncle’s face and the crazed spark never left his eyes. Harry tried to back away as his uncle began to move towards him, successfully trapping him in the corner. With nowhere to escape to and his words falling into nothingness, Harry’s eyes began to water. He wanted to cry, but crying never made anything any better. It never did anything for Harry except cause more hurt, so he stopped the tears before they fell.

The huge man continued his descent on the boy, face contorted in rage. He reached out, grasping a still aching arm and twisted the boy to face the wall. Next he released the belt from its pocket in his bathrobe, with the other hand he reached out and grabbed a handful of clothing that was hanging off the boy’s small frame like a curtain. Yanking down hard enough to set the boy off balance, he succeeded in exposing his backside.

Uncle Vernon let out a low chuckle, rearing back his arm to strike his nephew. Harry leaned up against the wall; fists clenched white with fingernails digging into his palms. It took all the control he had to keep from screaming after the belt fell, but he managed to clamp his mouth shut, attempting to not count the strikes as they made contact with his bare skin.

~*~*~*~

A thin leather-bound book fell to the ground with an almost inaudible thump, slipping from long thin fingers. But Severus didn’t hear the book fall, didn’t hear the Floo flair to life, didn’t see the light blue robes enter the room. He did, however feel the slight pressure of a hand on his shoulder, did hear the tell-tale intake of breath.

“Severus.”

He couldn’t take it anymore, as his temper flared to life within him, Severus stood to face the elder wizard.

“Why do you torment me this way, Albus?” he asked, hands balled into fists at his side.

The pain was clear in the Headmaster’s eyes as he replied, “I thought you knew all these years, Severus.”

“And yet you never simply asked if I knew, surely you suspected that I did not know the truth?”

Dumbledore sighed, “It is true. I simply thought that you did not wish to claim the boy, choosing to leave him within the relative safety of his aunt and uncle.”

“And why would I wish such a thing for my son? To not grow up with a father?”

“We both know that your childhood was less than satisfactory. I believed you thought you would become your father.”

Through hard obsidian eyes, Severus stared at the Headmaster. It is true that when Lily first told me she was pregnant I believed that, but she was confidant that I would not become my father. Do you have such little faith in me, Albus?

“Why have you never suspected over the years that I did not know? My aversion to the subject of Harry Potter was well known. Why did you never question it?” he asked, his voice a dangerous whisper.

At this, the Headmaster’s shoulders slumped, his face showing more age as his eyes began to shine.

“I once again believed that you knew and did not wish to keep Harry. That perhaps the grief was still too near in those first months. But when I began to talk more about Harry and his situation, you simply would not have it. I took that as your decision.” Dumbledore turned his face towards the ground, rather than continuing to look into the eyes of the man he had wounded so deeply, finding only pain. “I must admit that I’ve been attempting to make you think of Harry for the past several months with my casual conversations. I hoped that you would reconsider your decision of leaving him with his relatives and become a family before he came to Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore then turned his gaze back upon the Potions Professor, blue eyes meeting black. He moved forward towards the man who had once been his student, attempting to comfort the hurt that he had unwittingly caused. But Severus met his step with one of his own, maintaining the space between them.

“I believe you have overstayed you welcome, Albus.” Rage was clearly evident in his voice as Severus tried to quell his shaking limbs.

Without moving towards the door, the somber Headmaster sighed, saying, “I’m sorry Severus, I never intended it to happen this wa-.”

“Of course, Albus; but what can the chess pawns do but follow the direction they’re given?”

“Severus…”

“Get Out.”

But Dumbledore hesitated, “Severus, please I-.”

“No, Albus. Get out.” His voice was deathly calm, finally able to conceal the raging inferno his anger had become. But the control would not last long and luckily Dumbledore realized this, leaving with one final sigh and a whispered, “I am truly sorry, my boy.” Severus could hardly contain his rage for the few seconds it took for the Headmaster to leave the room and Floo out of Severus’ quarters. Once the flames died down again, Severus let out a long, hoarse bellow, releasing some of the frustration he felt at Dumbledore. But mostly, what he felt was anger at himself. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, running his hands through his hair with his elbows on his knees. It was too much to consider. Lily had lied, Albus knew all along, and even Severus possessed evidence to the truth the whole time. Now what to do with it?

Lily would want me to walk into that house and take Harry away to live with me, where he belongs. But can I really deny him the company of his aunt and uncle? What if I do become my father and he’s worse off living with me than them? To Severus, this was a real possibility. It was really Lily who changed me, balanced my temper with her own, being just as stubborn as me…how can I assure myself that I’m even able to attempt such a thing as raising a son? Severus could not reassure himself, and he was deathly afraid of turning into his father, but was also unsure that Harry would even want to leave the familiarity of his relatives and home to live with him. They’ve probably spoiled their precious Golden Boy with the subsidies they receive each month, rather than providing him with the necessities. Why would he willingly leave that household for one he knows nothing about to live with a man claiming to be his father, and attend a school he’s never seen in favor of leaving his family and all the friends he has. Severus actually didn’t even know if Harry wanted to come to Hogwarts. I don’t even know what he looks like.

Still not understanding the position he found himself in, Severus stood, running his fingers through black hair one last time and made his way out of Hogwarts. As soon as he felt the tingle of the anti-Apparation wards surrounding the castle, Severus cast a disillusionment charm, making himself invisible. Apparating to the end of Privet Drive, Severus was mildly surprised to find the street lined with a few cars. But he wasn’t here to crash a party so he began walking, looking for number four. Finding the correct house among the duplicates that made up Privet Drive, Severus settled himself onto the low wall that surrounded the house, facing the front window with its curtains slightly drawn.

Severus watched with mild interest as the festivities heightened, adding a cushioning charm to the wall as the moon, almost full, began its journey across the night sky. During the wait, for what Severus did not know, he was attempting to convince himself to get up, walk the short distance to the front door and knock. That was all he had to do, then once someone answered the door, he simply needed to ask after Harry Potter. Easy. It’s not that simple… Severus sat watching the party dwindle and conclude in the late night and only after the last guest left did he stand. But he couldn’t draw the courage from some unknown depth within himself, so he left, Apparating to the gates of Hogwarts.

Severus walked slowly back to the dungeons, thinking of a solution while constantly berating himself for not taking any action. How could I not walk ten feet to the front door? I guess Lily’s Gryffindor courage never rubbed off on me…but I am a Slytherin, Severus considered. He began plucking at the threads of a plan, attempting to weave them together into a single, cohesive plot.

~*~*~*~

Harry was still sleeping when the sun came up over the horizon on Thursday, but his aunt was not and she soon rectified the situation with an angry pound at Harry’s cupboard door. Trying to keep his breathing steady so he wouldn’t give himself a headache, Harry slowly stood in the tiny room. Everything hurt. He shuffled the short distance to the kitchen, taking up the spatula Aunt Petunia set on the counter next to the stove.

Uncle Vernon had thrashed Harry into the early morning, adding in a few more blows to the head when Harry would cry out. When Uncle Vernon had finally stopped his beating, Harry simply lay where he was, shaking from the strain on his body, trying to stop any tears that threatened to fall. Uncle Vernon left then, saying in a deadly voice, just above a whisper and pointing a meaty finger down at Harry’s still-shaking body, “You’d better clean up this mess. If I see anything out of place, you will be gone tomorrow.” Harry didn’t know what that meant and tried not to think about it as he cleaned up the lamp and slowly coaxed the droplets of blood from the carpet and walls.

He fell asleep instantly as he laid his head on his pillow. Before sleep overtook his mind, floating him off to wondrous worlds of his parents and flying motorbikes, Harry was bombarded with feelings of hurt. I’m trying to not do these freakish things, but something always goes wrong and I have to be punished. While he was able to keep the tears and sobs that wanted to escape him locked deep within himself, Harry was unprepared for the next thought that flitted across his mind. I’ll wake up and tomorrow will be better, it just has to be. Tomorrow will be better.

But then the sun rose and Harry was once again in the kitchen, tending to breakfast for his aunt, uncle, and cousin. After they had all eaten, Harry was told to clean up. He did without uttering a word and with as few movements as possible. Aunt Petunia came into the kitchen once as he was drying the last glass.

“I’m going into London to buy a new lamp.” Harry’s face burned red.

“Go outside and entertain yourself, I don’t need you here alone, breaking everything.”

Harry complied, putting down the glass and began moving to his cupboard to put on his trainers. He really didn’t mind being left outside all day. It was better than being stuck in the house, even when he had to do the yard work. But Aunt Petunia just said to go outside. Maybe I’ll go to the park. As Harry was walking down Privet Drive, he saw his aunt drive by, the park wasn’t too far away from the house on Privet Drive but with his injuries, it would take Harry much longer to get there. It was with trepidation that Harry then considered sitting on the swings. They were his favorite part of the park, being so small, Harry was able to swing higher and he enjoyed the wind in his hair, the feeling of flight.

But Harry knew the gentle throb coming from his bum, thighs, and back would become a roaring fire of pain if he sat on the swing and used his legs to propel him upwards. So he contented himself with lying in the grass on his stomach. It was a fairly warm morning but Harry was comfortable in the shade of a large elm. Resting his head on his tiny arms, Harry became aware of just how sleepy he was and decided to close his eyes for a few minutes.

And what is thiss laying in the grass of my tree? Harry felt a tiny tickle on the knuckle of his hand. What iss thiss human doing? No respect for the grass, lazing around.

Harry blinked his eyes, I’m not lazing around. I just dozed off for a minute.

Harry sat up to see who talked to him, to whom he just spoke. But there was no one around him. Shrugging off the strange occurrence, Harry put his head back down on his arms, keeping his eyes open. Then he felt that weird tickle on his hand. Turning his head to look at his hand, Harry came face-to-face with a bright green and black snake. Scared out of his wits, Harry began to scramble backwards, forgetting his injuries for a minute as the adrenaline coursed through his small body.

Yesss, pleasse run away, big scary ssnake here wantss to eat you…although a mouse would be nice.

Harry blinked; the rest of his body was frozen. This snake could talk.

Well, perhapss there’ss a bird in thiss tree… The snake remarked, making its way silently towards the tree.

I can actually understand what its saying…

Yess, just ssit there, staring at me while I find mysself some dinner.

How can I undersstand what you’re ssaying?

The snake stopped all forward movement and craned its little head around from where it was perched on a root of the elm tree. There are storiess of those who can sspeak.

Who are they, thosse who can sspeak? Harry asked curiously.

The snake began to move back towards Harry, coiling itself up a few feet in front of him, keeping his head about eye-level with Harry. They are many thingss. But I have never sseen one mysself. There never were many, according to the legendss.

Harry thought about this but didn’t come to any alarming conclusions. As long as the Dursley’s never found out, they wouldn’t think him any more of a freak. But he also couldn’t reason why he had this rare ability. It must be because I’m such a freak. Talking to snakes was not normal and Harry didn’t want to become even more of a freak but this snake was simply interesting…

Do you have a name? Ssomething your family or other snakess call you? he elaborated at the snake’s look of confusion.

Yess, they call me siless. What are you called, boy?

“Harry” he said, puzzled by Siles’ response.

I do not undersstand that word. Harry thought about that for a minute and guessed that he was speaking a different language, not simply that this snake could understand English. He didn’t know which was more disturbing, that he could speak a language he’d never heard of without knowing or that a snake could speak English.

It was while Harry was thinking this, with his head turned off to the side that he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. Dudley’s back from school. This did not mean anything good for Harry who stood and almost walked right over Siles.

Ssorry, ssiles, but I need to get back home now. The snake seemed to understand this and uncurled itself, moving back towards the roots of the tree.

Perhapss we will meet again ssometime boy.

Yeah, maybe. Just be ssure to watch out for those kidss that are walking over here. They might hurt you just for the fun of it. Siles seemed to understand that and hastened his trip up the elm tree.

Harry made his way carefully around the playground towards the houses that surrounded it. He didn’t want to be seen by Dudley and his gang if he could help it, walking quickly and in the shade of the trees, praying he wasn’t seen making his escape.

But he found himself back on Privet Drive soon enough and began to make his way to number four. As his mind was consumed with the thought of being able to speak in a different language, Harry didn’t notice the black car that was parked in the driveway of the house. He simply walked right past it, eyes on the ground as he went to the front door. Opening said door slowly and quietly to keep his aunt and uncle oblivious to his presence, Harry then headed towards his cupboard.

Just as his hand touched the little knob on the door, the kitchen door flew open displaying a flustered-looking Aunt Petunia, holding a tea tray laden with her second finest set of china. Shooting a glower in Harry’s direction, she continued on her way to the sitting room. Harry heard the clank of china-on-china as she set the tray down and politely excused herself from the room. Entering moments later back into the hallway, Aunt Petunia made a shooing motion towards Harry in the direction of the stairs. Harry complied and began to climb.

Harry got to the top of the stairs before Aunt Petunia said anything to him. “Take a shower, three minutes then stay in there. Make sure you’re all cleaned up.”

Unwilling to risk asking why, Harry went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It had been awhile since he got a good look at his reflection. He’d changed. His eyes seemed an even brighter, vibrant green due to the absolute lack of color in his skin, which had taken on a slightly sallow tint. His hair was still the same raven black but now held a slight sheen from the lights. From what Harry could tell that was it. His nose hadn’t changed anymore and neither did the overall shape of his face. Wow. I look really different. Not that it was really all that easy to tell just how much he had changed as there was not a single picture of Harry in the Dursley’s house. But Harry needed to wash, not stare at himself in the mirror; he could think about his change in appearance later.

Turning off the water just as he heard the door to the bathroom open, Harry stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his small frame. “Put these on, comb your hair and behave yourself when you come down. No talking about where you sleep, that you haven’t attended school in awhile or any of that. This is very important to your Uncle Vernon and I and we’ll not have you mucking it up. Understood?”

Harry understood perfectly. “Yes Aunt Petunia.” With that, she turned and left the bathroom vacant but for one little boy and a pile of clothes.

Harry descended the stairs feeling the worst he had in a long time. The clothes that Aunt Petunia left for him to wear were some of Dudley’s, but they were relatively nice. They didn’t have any holes, tears, stains, or frays on them from what Harry could tell. Harry knew that he had to try extra hard to not do any freakish things tonight. If he did, the consequences would be dire…and Harry didn’t like dire. And he would have to try even harder than that because someone else was here. I hope it’s not Aunt Marge. I hate Aunt Marge.

But Harry didn’t have to worry long who it was for Aunt Petunia came bustling from the sitting room and set her lips into a fine line upon spotting her nephew. “Now, remember what I told you? This is extremely important. No funny business tonight.” As if Harry really needed the reminder.

With that, she made the shooing gesture again and Harry walked into the sitting room, letting out a rush of air. No Aunt Marge.

Not again, the thought came unbidden as a small boy with black hair, sitting on his bed, heard the recognizable crash that announced his father had arrived home. Drawing himself up as he barley stopped himself from wincing, the boy moved his tiny body towards the bathroom that was connected to his bedroom. Best stay out of his way tonight.

But Tobias had other thoughts as he made his way up the stairs to his son’s bedroom, knocking some of the pictures off the wall as he went along.

Severus could hear his father rampaging on the other side of the bathroom door. Hopefully mum can fix anything that he breaks. Reaching into the medicine cabinet above the sink to get a bruise salve, Severus heard a distinct crash. Probably my lamp…you’d better not lose any of the pieces this time. Severus opened the tin of bruise salve and began to apply it onto his arms and legs, finishing with a liberal layer to his stomach and chest. The abrasions were already healing nicely enough and so he didn’t worry about them. After placing the tin back into the medicine cabinet, Severus sat on the toilet seat, waiting for his father to finish his tirade.

Severus didn’t have to wait long, not for an end to the yelling but for a dramatic increase in the amount and level of shouting and swearing. His mother had entered his room. And that fact made Severus’ stomach drop to the ground. Mum.

Severus stood faster than he should have, and made it to the door in two seconds, leaving his stomach on the floor at the foot of the toilet. The door, as it wrenched open caught Tobias’ attention; he turned from the woman standing in the door of the bedroom.

“Severus, what are you doing? I’ve been calling for you for the past hour and a half,” he snarled through clenched teeth set in a flushed face.

“That’s not likely. You’ve only been in my room for five minutes.”

Tobias began to move towards the smaller boy saying, “I’ll say whatever I damn well please and you’ll learn to hold your tongue.”

A movement to Severus’ left drew his eyes to his mother as she was making her way towards her son. She got to Severus’ side faster than Tobias and placed herself protectively in front of her son despite his protests and half-hearted shoving to get her to move.

“No, Severus,” she said over her shoulder and continued towards her husband, “Haven’t you done enough, Tobias? Leave the boy be,” leveling a glare towards his reddened face.

“Apparently not, as he continues to defy me in this way. Now move out of the way, Eileen and allow me to rectify the situation.”

She squared her shoulders and stood facing her husband, not fully prepared for the hand that struck out at her. Unable to move out of the way fast enough, Tobias’ open hand connected with the side of his wife’s head, causing her to fall out of the way.

“Mum!”

Severus sat up so suddenly in bed that he saw stars. Damn. Rubbing his temple and standing slowly as to not give himself an even greater headache, he made his way to his private lab in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

Brewing always helped Severus Snape relax. It was one of the few things that did and he really needed to relax now. A quick tempus charm revealed the time to be 2:53 am. Damn, he muttered under his breath again, and these dreams continue to grow worse. Loath as he was to admit it, Severus was having nightmares every night.

They usually weren’t that bad, as far as nightmares go. One or two a month was a small price to pay as a double-agent for a sadistic killer and a benevolent wizard, one being the complete opposite of the other. This was his normal circumstance, but a nightmare every time his eyes closed was a problem. It wasn’t Severus’ Occlumency, he was certain his shields never slipped. It wasn’t that the Dark Lord was putting these thoughts into his head, although Severus didn’t know where he was and knew he was not dead, however he was certain the Dark Lord incapable of planting memories into the forefront of his mind. It wasn’t that he was insane, or Severus hoped not.

Ever since he had read Lily’s diary, ever since he had talked to Dumbledore, ever since he’d visited Privet Drive, Severus Snape could not thinking about Harry Potter…his son. There was no way around it. Every waking thought was consumed by the child, soon to be ten years old. With trepidation, Severus realized too that every sleeping moment could be related back to the child as well.

The dream that seemed to be the start of it all starred Severus’ father, Tobias. It was a drastically realistic representation of the nights that his father had returned home from a bar or friend’s house drunk in those weeks after Severus’ mother died. Tobias never appreciated his son and that feeling of discord was only strengthened after a few stiff hard drinks. It seemed that Severus was never in the correct place at the correct time for when his father came home, he was always a sitting duck for the anger and pain that emanated from Tobias. It wasn’t often that Tobias extracted his revenge on his son, but nevertheless, Severus became extremely practiced in brewing healing potions.

Severus had dreamt several variations of this dream, all displaying to him what he could become. And it worried him to no end. How could he be sure that he wouldn’t become his father since Lily was no longer there to prevent it? Severus really did believe it was Lily that kept him tolerable to others, her kindness and enthusiasm balancing out his own constrained emotions.

But I will not convince myself that I can care for a child alone now. What am I talking about? Harry Potter the Blessed Boy-Who-Lived most likely will not even wish to reside with me. I certainly will not be following him around day and night ready to adhere to his every whim. Who would willingly enter into a situation where you are no longer worshiped? He will choose to stay with his relatives. But at least I can offer, albeit make a fool of myself.

But what Severus really needed was to see Harry. The previous night’s surveillance revealed nothing of importance, save that the Dursleys were hospitable people. This only deepened Severus’ feelings of regret, that he had not been there from the start, that he would not be able to live up to Harry’s expectations, that he would not be good enough. So it was with a general air of dejection that Severus returned to his brewing, attempting to finalize his plan, which was proving difficult.

Glancing at the clock on his wall, Severus muttered a curse. It was 5:29 am and he had yet to complete a potion, and was still not fully prepared for his next visit to the Dursley’s residence. His mind was so muddled that he didn’t even realize when he put in three drops of pomegranate juice rather than the five drops of salamander blood that the Strengthening Solution called for. Cursing once more, Severus began to clean up his potions lab, Vanishing the ruined contents of his cauldron. It seemed as though the mundane task of cleaning was just what he needed to organize his thoughts. For in those few minutes of straightening and returning ingredients to their rightful places, Severus realized that the simplest answer could be the best.

With that thought and a strategy to discover if Harry Potter would come live with him or simply attend Hogwarts, Severus left the relative safety and security of his lab once again to the unpredictable realm of sleep.

~*~*~*~

Harry was so relieved that the visitor wasn’t his Aunt Marge that he didn’t realize that the man who was sitting on the couch next to Uncle Vernon kept his hard gaze trained on him as he went to sit on the chair that Aunt Petunia guided him towards. Harry maintained his staring contest with the floor, trying to reduce the number of times he blinked.

This was a customary activity that Harry often partook of to pass the time when his presence was required by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. They didn’t appreciate eye contact from Harry and so he simply stared down at the floor or his too-large trainers. Finding a small faded red-stained patch of carpet, Harry paled. From my thrashing, what if this man is from the orphanage? What if Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon really are giving me away this time?

Panicking, Harry could hardly sit still. His eyes began to water, his palms became sticky with sweat, and his bum burned with renewed fervor. Attempting to still his now shaking hands, Harry was overcome with an urge to look up. He did, meeting the eyes of the man sitting next to Uncle Vernon. His eyes were as black as the darkest night and filled with hate, disgust, and something else Harry didn’t recognize. It was some deeper feeling that Harry didn’t understand as he sat staring into the man’s eyes.

~*~*~*~

“Boy!” Not again.

“Boy, where are you? Where’s my keys?” Silence.

“You will answer me!” Wanna bet?

“Boy! You wait until I get back, and you’ll be in for it, unless you tell me where my keys are!”

The small raven-haired child looked down into his hand, the shiny aluminum of the car keys reflecting slightly from the lights in the kitchen. His hand snapped shut over the evidence as his head moved up at the sound of foot falls coming from the hard wood floors. Oh, shit.

“Good evening Severus.” The thing that stepped around the counter island in the kitchen had red eyes, slits for nostrils, and skin so pale it was bordering on translucent.

“How did you find me?” the boy asked in a shaky voice, attempting to still his trembling body.

“I do believe the question is how will I find your son?”

Severus’ breathing stopped as a small figure moved from behind the numerous folds of black wispy fabric wearing large round black-rimmed glasses set in front of brightly shining emerald eyes. Harry.

“No” Severus moaned, clenching his hand around a wand where the keys were previously hidden.

The smaller boy morphed into Severus’ attacker, just as Severus’ spell hit him directly in the chest. Angry red slashes through a black cloak began to seep blood, mingling with the murder in his emerald eyes.

“How dare you treat me in this way!” was yelled at Severus, the voice so inhuman it chilled him to the bone. “I only ever wanted to please you,” came a whisper so soft, filled with child-like innocence, and remorse that Severus could almost hear his own heart stop. His breathing hitched as his son raised the sleeve of his robes, to display a pale arm laden with scars and bruises. He’d done this to his own child.

But then the face that was once filled with ruination and despair melted into one of such malice and disgust Severus was unable to comprehend it. The arm attached to that hateful face brought up a slick reddish-tinted wand, speaking as was raised a deadly incantation. Severus cast his own curse, just before the spell could make contact with its intended target; the figure disappeared in a wisp of smoke. The curse continued on through the remaining vapor to the kitchen wall, removing a large chunk of it. Severus felt such severe pain as he had never experienced before as the spell hit him directly in the middle of his chest…

Severus jerked awake, the dream burning painfully in his mind. Sitting up slowly, he brought the light forward from the walls, creating a soft glow. Glancing at the clock, 7:13 am, he sighed, stood and began to get ready for the day to come. After showering, dressing, and brewing a few much needed potions for Poppy in the infirmary, Severus made his way towards the end of the wards surrounding the castle. Apparating to a medium-sized two story house near the end of a dreary-looking street, Severus made his way slowly up the walk.

Welcome home. Although he never considered this particular house his home when he was a child, as an adult Severus could understand the benefits of having a house in the Muggle world. Many of his fellow Death Eaters were notorious for their hatred of Muggles. Severus appeared to them the same way and loath as he was to admit, he had put on an excited and pleased front during the times he had been made to participate in raids within the Muggle community. This was all in the past, however, and now houses in Muggle cities were high commodities for the Potions Master. It provided the retreat he desired from his colleagues in the castle and a most certain seclusion from all followers of the Dark Lord.

But this information did not make the return to the reasonable house that fit into the Muggle landscape and surrounding houses perfectly, any easier. For every year previous to his first at Hogwarts, Severus wished to escape that seemingly normal home. But it was anything but normal. Severus’ mother, Eileen, was a witch and while Tobias didn’t approve of her using magic around the house, Severus had seen enough of it when he was a child to know he was a wizard. In the few years before his Hogwarts letter arrived, Severus had acquired the skill and control that allowed him to levitate objects, turn on and off electrical appliances, open windows and doors, and the like with his magic. His mother was extremely proud at his new found abilities, his father, not nearly as much. Tobias had found his son’s development as a wizard insulting and embarrassing and did everything in his power to prevent Severus from performing any magical feats in his presence. The dissonance that existed between his parents over his being a wizard put Severus at odds and he usually found himself out of doors, tending the herb garden behind the house, climbing trees, or playing in the park with the Muggles that lived nearby.

This was not Severus’ first visit to his house since his father’s death, but neither did that fact reduce the pain of the past for him. Every time he stayed there, the memories bombarded his every thought and they were currently battling for control over the part of his brain which was continually concerned with Harry. These two psyches seemed to be at odds with each other, unwilling to coexist. But was he being unreasonable? How could Severus expect to raise his son in the very house he himself grew up in?

Severus pushed these thoughts aside as he physically pushed in the front door. Moments later, he found himself gazing about the sitting room. Five years had passed since his last visit and nothing seemed out of place. Making his way first to his potions lab and then to the kitchen, proved this to be true. There was a small colony of Doxies that had taken up residence in one of the smaller quarters and luckily Severus had a plentiful store of Doxicide on hand to rid the house of the pests. Although he did so only after collecting some venom as well as a few livers and their wings, which could all be useful in potion making. That room being cleared meant only two bedrooms remained.

Severus’ own bedroom only needed a simple banishing of dust to declare it a livable space again. The other bedroom he had decided would be Harry’s, if he so wishes it to be. With that, Severus set to work, creating a room he would have enjoyed if he were an almost ten year old and hoped it would be adequate.

With the house on Spinner’s End in as good a condition as Severus would ever get it, he made his way to the garage. He had spent the remainder of the morning and beginning of the evening ensuring the house would be livable and first made his way to Surrey with the sun half way through its descent across the western sky.

After debating for several days about how to approach Harry Potter in his home, Severus realized that although he was dead, Friar William of Ockham had made some sense. With that conclusion firmly in place and his wand tucked up his sleeve, Severus parked his black Volvo in the drive at number four.

The walk to the door was a short one, gaining no new insight but rather an extreme nervousness for what Severus would find inside these walls. He had no idea what to expect, but he did have a fair idea about what he wanted to see once the door was opened. So with trepidation and a slightly shaking arm, Severus lifted his damp hand to the knocker.

It took only a minute for the door to be opened to reveal an overly obese man whom Severus recognized immediately as Vernon Dursley. He wasn’t unkind as he asked, “Who are you?” taking one look over Severus.

“My name is Severus Snape and you must be Vernon Dursley.”

Standing up a bit straighter, which inevitably caused his huge bulk to shoot out a foot, Vernon replied with an air of arrogance, “Yes, I am. What is your business here?”

“Your nephew, Harry Potter.” A few seconds later, after Severus had finished his smooth oration, Vernon’s face became quite red and he opened his eyes as wide as possible, searching behind Severus for onlookers.

Finding the area quite empty, he hissed through clenched teeth, barely above a whisper, “There is no Harry Potter that lives here. You must be mistaken.”

Severus was taken aback by the drastic change in countenance of the fat lump and said in his own deadly voice, “Is this not number four, Privet Drive?”

Dursley turned around to look at the brass number screwed onto the front of the door, as if he was unsure as to what the number of the house was in which he resided. But when he turned back around to face Severus, his face was a sickly wine color. Severus was alarmed by the change in the fat man again, as Dursley all but spit at him, “And what are you to us?”

“I am the Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry” Severus responded, the irritation evident in his voice.

“We don’t need your freakishness in our home!” came the frantic reply from Dursley.

Placing his firmest glare on his face, Severus replied in a deadly whisper, “I assure you, you will allow me entrance and the chance to speak to Mr. Potter.”

Without waiting for him to answer, Severus asked, “And where is you nephew at this hour?”

Recognizing the look of panic that took precedence over the twin expressions of disgust and anger that previously occupied his face, Severus waited patiently for a reply, glare still set firmly in place.

It took only a few more seconds for Dursley’s face to turn yet a darker shade of red. With an ungracious humph, he heaved his giant bulk from the doorway, allowing Severus to just skirt around him with one eyebrow raised.

After firmly slamming the door, Vernon turned to Severus, and it was as though he felt he was no match for Severus’ height, for he began to yell. Severus half expecting this simply looked down coolly at the man, eyebrow still raised.

“So what is it that you want? We don’t go parading that boy’s freakishness around the city and won’t have you doing the same! We never wanted a…a…one of your kind here!”

This information startled Severus, why wouldn’t they want to take care of the Boy-Who-Lived? Any magical family would have jumped at the chance…as many did, including Minerva herself, and she is not one for young children. Unless…unless the child is as horrid as I have previously speculated. But, Severus would need to find out the real cause for the man’s animosity.

“And why is that?” Severus asked in his offhanded drawl, a scowl turning the corners of his mouth down.

The sputtering stopped immediately, and all was quiet for a second or two. “Because! What are we to do; raising another child after his parents had gotten themselves blown up!? We were perfectly happy with ourselves before he showed up at our doorstep! And him being a…a…it’s not natural what he is! We tried to rid him of it, but nothing we ever worked.”

At this point, Severus’ hand was itching for his wand; a simple Silencing Spell would be all he needed. But no, he needed to talk to Harry, not this lousy excuse of a relative.

So, he asked once more, the tone of his voice clearly displaying his irritation and the not-so hidden message that this was the last time he would be asking, “Where is your nephew?”

“I-…outside. Playing. With Dudley at the playground, I imagine,” he said, oblivious to the waver in his voice. The constant movement of his head in the form of a nod made Severus sick to his stomach.

“And when is he expected to return?” Severus was really through playing these games.

But this simple question caused a bout of stuttering from the obese man, who was finally able to make words in the form of a sentence, “Well, I suppose by tea time.”

“You suppose?” Severus drawled. “Perhaps, then it would be best for me to wait for his return.” He then made his way smoothly into the sitting room, placing himself on the edge of the couch despite the protests from Dursley.

But after he was seated and placed his right hand inconspicuously on his left wrist, right by the cuff of his shirt, Severus could feel his heart slow. So far, Dursley had not been what he was expecting, but no longer would Severus put up with his idiocy. At the first sign of a lie, Severus would pull out his wand and hex the thing into oblivion. Unfortunately, Severus had yet to meet Petunia Dursley.

And she tried his patience greatly. She left just in time to fetch tea. One more second and Severus was sure she would not have been able to leave under her own power. But he held in his sigh as the fat man was speaking to him again.

“What is it you want with the boy?”

Severus considered this question for a moment and decided honesty would be the best approach. “He is my son and I wish to see him,” he said easily.

The reaction was one Severus was hoping for and he was barely able to stop himself from smirking. But then something came over his face that made Severus scowl; Dursley was smiling, all traces of shock gone from his fatty features.

“Well, then I assure you he will be here and you will see him at his best.” The sickly grin that spread across Dursley’s face made Severus’ stomach clench.

Petunia came back into the sitting room, only to excuse herself after setting down the tea tray. Severus heard her speaking outside the room, sparing a thought as to who it could be. Perhaps she is conversing with Harry. This caused a noticeable jump in Severus’ heart rate as he contemplated the words that were being said, apprehension coursing through his veins with each heart beat. What was she saying? How was Harry reacting? Maybe he wouldn’t even need to see Harry before being rejected. What if Harry simply refused to meet him, come to the sitting room to inquire to the strange man who wished to see him? But he shook his head a small amount to dispel the thoughts that were being collected there. Perhaps she is merely speaking to her son, Severus was reasoning, just as Dursley began pouring the tea, attempting to make light conversation.

“So, what is it you do at that school again, Mr. Snape?” he asked, handing Severus a teacup.

“I teach Potions to the students,” Severus replied, taking a sip.

Dursley actually seemed to be demonstrating a general curiosity as he asked, “What grade levels?”

“All years,” he said, taking yet another sip of tea.

Petunia entered back into the room, poured herself a cup of tea, and took a sip in silence. She finally broke it, asking Severus, with numerous glances towards her husband, “What is it you would like to do with the boy?”

Severus cleared his throat and leveled his gaze at the bony frame of a woman, “If he so wishes, I would like for him to come live with me until he is to attend Hogwarts.”

The utter look of glee, as though Christmas had come early, Severus saw on the woman’s face before she tilted her head down to her lap unsettled him. These people were supposed to be Harry’s family, they were supposed to love and care for him. I can not believe that Lily’s sister is this callous. But then again, he had never met Petunia before, save when they were both children. Severus searched his memory for a time when she came up in conversation, but no memories were to be found, except a general distaste that could be seen from Lily at the mention of her sister in pleasant conversation.

“If you wish to see, I have his-” Severus began, but was interrupted by an enthusiastic wave from both Dursleys, accompanied by numerous assurances of, “That’s not necessary,” “Of course you’re his father,” and “Why would we doubt you?” Severus let the hand that was half way to his pocket drop gracefully back to his lap, bewildered. Why would they not question the boy’s heritage?

Determined not to let the matter drop that easily, Severus continued, “Wouldn’t you like to see-”

Cut off yet again by the Dursley’s excited nodding and renewed exclamations of, “We assure you, that’s not necessary.” “No need, no need,” and “Who else would be the boy’s father?” unsettled Severus even more.

Another two minutes passed with only the sound of tea being sipped silently when Petunia set down her cup, still half full, to “check up on him in the bathroom.”

Severus found this a tad odd. Why would the boy need to be “checked on?” Was he really such a nuisance that he could not be left alone for any matter of time? Severus didn’t know how he would be able to handle that in his son. But the Dursleys seem agreeable enough, he supposed. Although the Dursleys haven’t been exactly pleasant, they weren’t openly hostile to Severus like some Muggles and Squibs could be, and they were certainly Harry’s family, which reestablished the thought that Harry might not even want to leave. However if that is the case, I will of course make no objection. I still am unsure as to how I will even raise the boy much less make up for his Aunt and Uncle’s quirkiness in everyday life.

Severus paused in his considerations with his teacup half way to his mouth, as Harry walked into the sitting room, his hair still damp. Severus was amazed at what effect the mere sight of this one boy could have on him. His hands became damp with moisture again, his heart was beating double time, and his throat clogged up. He looks almost exactly with me. There was no denying that Harry was…is my…my son. Severus had not realized how easily he had thrown the term around over the past few days, thinking of Harry Potter as his son was easily done. But now that he was sitting in front of him, looking decidedly like a perfect mixture of himself and Lily, there was no denying it.

Now to tell Harry that same thing which had taken Severus days to accept and finally act upon. He set his cup down quietly on the saucer in his hand and looked over the boy. He was entirely too small to be almost ten, with glasses that seemed too big for his narrow face, which was extremely pale.

The longer Severus looked at him, the more nervous he seemed. The boy was staring dejectedly at the floor, his hands grasped tightly on his lap, and he was blinking furiously; as though to drive away tears. Severus wanted the black haired boy to look up at him. And somehow, as he continued to stare at the boy, Harry’s head slowly moved up as though compelled by an invisible hand; it took only a few seconds to see into his eyes the depth of hurt and sorrow that existed within this boy.

Severus took a hesitant breath. “Do you know who I am, Harry?”

~*~*~*~

Harry? No one calls me Harry. Not knowing what to say in response, Harry simply sat, now wringing his hands, looking into the eyes of this stranger.

“I am a professor at a school.” Harry let out a shaky breath, not the orphanage man.

“Hogwarts is its name.” The man cleared his throat, removing his intense gaze from Harry. But Harry was confused, what does that mean, what are you doing here, what do you want with me? he asked to the top of the stranger’s head.

Only when the man looked up again, did Harry notice just how much this man looked like himself. His heart now beating faster from excitement instead of fear, Harry asked, sounding braver than he felt, “Am I to go to school there? With you sir?”

The man licked his lips and took another deep breath. “If you so wish, yes.”

Harry’s face lit up in a smile and he glanced around the room at his uncle and aunt who were sitting, unmoving, staring at the peculiar exchange that was occurring between this man and himself. “Is Dudley to go there as well?”

The look of utter horror that graced his aunt’s face unsettled Harry, but she replied in her normal voice, “No, he’ll be attending Smeltings.” Harry could barely contain his excitement.

“Harry, there’s something else I need to inform you of.” The strange man was looking intensely at him again, so he moved his hands under his legs to stop from clapping them, he was so happy. But the gaze he received from the man did the trick better than merely sitting on his hands as it was so forceful at demanding his complete attention, that Harry felt his eyebrows stitch together in confusion as his smile fell.

“You know your parents James and Lily Potter were killed by a dark wizar-”

“NO! No!” Uncle Vernon’s hasty movements to stand startled Harry and apparently this strange Professor as well. “I’ll not have you spouting this freakishness in my home! If you want to take him, take him! We don’t want him here anymore, get rid of him!” He then turned to Aunt Petunia, saying in a low whisper, “Get all his things together, he and Mr. Snape are leaving immediately.”

Harry couldn’t comprehend all that was going on…he was leaving? Why? Where was he going? He turned his confused gaze to the professor who was looking just as shocked as Harry felt.

“Um, sir?” came out barely above a whisper. Harry cleared his throat and tried again, “Sir?”

This time he got the man’s attention, and with a curious look pulling his eyebrows together, the man leaned in towards Harry. “Yes, child?”

“Um, what did you say happened to my parents?” Harry was afraid he would have to repeat himself again as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were making a lot of noise in their retreat from the sitting room.

But the man’s look of curiosity turned into one of confusion, “They were killed by a dark wizard.”

Harry’s heart started to beat even faster. Was this a joke? Could he be serious? Wizards?

“Um, sir?” The man made a soft grunt in reply, “Are you a wizard too?”

The man nodded, saying, “Yes, Harry, I am.”

Harry took in a deep breath, trying to still his nerves, “And, am…am I a wizard?”

~*~*~*~

Severus’ stomach plummeted to somewhere around his ankles as he stood, and taking in full advantage of his height, said in his most menacing voice, “You have neglected to tell him that his parents were wizards? That he himself is a wizard?!”

The twin looks of horror that greeted his questions were answers enough. “Leave us.” It seemed as though the Dursleys couldn’t get out of the room fast enough, making it even harder for the scene to not be comical in their hastiness. But Severus had no need to suppress a smile or a laugh for the boy sitting in front of him was anything but a funny scene.

He sat back down hesitantly, placing his elbows on his knees to make himself more eye-level with Harry. “Yes, Harry, you are a wizard.”

“Is that how I do all those things without meaning to?” he asked, eyes hopeful.

“Yes, it is.” But Severus was expecting Harry’s expression to change, become excited at the prospect of being able to do magic. But his features merely stiffened in response, his eyes taking on a far-away look.

Severus decided it was time then to take Harry away from this wretched house. It was evident that Harry was not overly happy to be living here and his sad excuse of a family was more than happy to see him away.

But now was the time to see if Harry would want to leave, to come live with Severus away from all he knows. Severus took another steadying breath, “My name is Severus Snape, Harry.”

The boy’s green eyes locked themselves with Severus’ onyx ones as he continued, “I knew your mother when we were both students at Hogwarts.”

Severus could see the questions burning in Harry’s eyes and it only grew more intense as he continued, lacing his fingers together over the ground, “We were great friends during our time there and afterwards we were married.”

The mixture of confusion and hope evident in Harry’s eyes was gripping at Severus’ heart. “Your mother did die that night, as well as James Potter. But I am your father, Harry.”

Severus could hear the shaky intake of breath coming from the small boy who was sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs in the sitting room of number four Privet Drive, but could not anticipate the boy jumping to his feet and throwing his tiny arms around Severus’ neck. Shocked into silence and unable to move, Severus sat there for a few seconds until his arms loosened and made their way around Harry’s small torso. My son.

Severus’ mind was still reeling when he finally released his hold on the small boy who had latched his arms around his neck. Harry also began to back away then, his head down and his eyes focused solely on his feet. Severus reached out a tentative hand and tilted Harry’s head up to look him in the eyes.

“Harry, would you like to come and live with me?” he questioned, emotion making his voice thick.

After the first few seconds, Severus let his hand fall from Harry’s chin, the boy’s eyes going once more to the floor, his face screwed up in deliberation. At least he’s taking this seriously. Although I wonder if I’m daft to even give him the option…how does he consider his life here and how can I assure him that it will be better with me?

But before Severus could form another question to help the boy in making his decision, Harry locked eyes with him once more.

“Yes sir.”

“Harry, would you like to come and live with me?” he questioned, emotion making his voice thick.

But before Severus could form another question to help the boy in making his decision, Harry locked eyes with him once more.

“Yes sir.”

Severus balked at this. Was the child serious? “You may not be returning for quite some time, Harry.”

Green eyes stayed locked with black, “I know, sir.”

“And you are content with that notion?” Severus asked, hesitating a bit.

Harry’s eyes then darted to the entryway to the sitting room and then to his hands in his lap, never returning to Severus’. His small, whispered reply came a few seconds later, after what seemed like careful deliberation, “Yes sir.”

Severus noted Harry took a small breath, as though he was going to continue speaking, but another sentence never came. Severus then waited a few more seconds to be sure the child had nothing to say before he stood, moving past the small boy to the arch that led into the hallway to find the Dursleys standing with gleeful faces close to the entrance. “Harry will be coming with me. Can he visit his room to pack his things?” he asked smoothly.

Petunia, elated, handed a small backpack to Harry who had moved into the doorway after his father. This was puzzling to Severus; surely the boy had more toys and clothes than that? “Is that all you wish to bring?”

Harry gave him a tiny nod without even looking inside.

Severus pressed, “You do not wish to bring anything else?” Surely the boy has more possessions than what can fit into that bag?

Again, Harry gave him the tiniest of nods, eyes peeking out from under his fringe to glance at his aunt and uncle. Severus found this extremely odd, but perhaps the Dursleys were worse to the boy than he had originally thought. “Do you not desire to check your room for any errant possessions?”

“No sir,” came the reply, so soft that Severus almost missed it. Deciding not to press Harry further at the moment, Severus let the matter drop.

“Alright then, say goodbye to your aunt and uncle.”

“Goodbye Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon,” came the small polite reply and the boy then looked back up at Severus.

Curious about Harry’s response, but eager to get out of the house, Severus directed an abrupt nod in the general direction of the Dursleys and moved toward the door. Once outside, Severus realized how short a time it had taken him to collect Harry, the sun was just sinking below the horizon. He went around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door for Harry before going to the driver’s side and getting in himself.

~*~*~*~

Harry sat in stunned silence as the professor, no his father, drove away from number four Privet Drive. I have a father. I’m going to live with him; I don’t have to live with the Dursleys anymore. It seemed almost too good to be true and Harry half expected to wake up any minute only to find himself back in his cupboard, his Aunt Petunia banging on the door, telling him to mind the bacon.

But Harry was shaken out of his thoughts as the car pulled into a house not unlike number four at the end of Privet Drive. Mrs. Figg’s house?

“Harry?” came the soft question from Harry’s right. “You are to stay inside the car for a few minutes. I will return shortly.”

“Yes sir,” he replied, keeping his feet in his line of vision where they were positioned by his backpack. Only when he heard the quiet noise of the door closing, did Harry look up. He could see the Professor walking toward the front door, knock, and a few seconds later, Mrs. Figg open the door. After the Professor disappeared behind the newly closed door, Harry looked around the front yard of his caretaker.

He remembered Mrs. Figg well from last summer when his Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and Dudley went to visit Aunt Marge for a week. Harry was made to stay with Mrs. Figg and although she wasn’t unpleasant, it could have been more enjoyable for sure. But then again, anything was better than the Dursleys. But is that true? Just because he’s my father doesn’t mean anything…the Dursleys are my family too and they don’t love me as much as they do Dudley. How can I be sure that he will even like me? He said that I do freakish things because I’m a wizard, but what if I’m not supposed to do them? What if he’s worse than Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon?

Harry was looking dejectedly out his window at the grass when it seemed to shimmer a bit. Curious, he rolled down the window and stuck his head outside to get a better look. At first, he couldn’t see anything but then the grass moved again, and a tiny green and black head stuck up above the foliage. Siles! What are you doing here away from your tree?

The little snake pushed himself up further from the ground, letting his tongue flicker in and out. I came to look for you…thosse boyss were not pleassant in the park.

Worried, Harry asked, Did they hurt you?

The snake shook his head hesitantly, Nothing that hasssn’t happened before, boy.

Glancing up at the door, Harry questioned Siles, Will you be okay or do you want to come with me?

The snake looked around and tilted his head back up to Harry. Taking a few more seconds seemingly to consider his options, before he answered, Yesss, I think I will go witth you.

Harry quickly opened the door to the car and unzipped his backpack a little, instructed Siles to hide in there until Harry had a chance to put him back outside, and to be quiet. Harry didn’t know how the Professor would react to having a snake in his car and hoped he didn’t find out.

Not two minutes later, the Professor came back out of Mrs. Figg’s house, leaving Mrs. Figg standing in the doorway with a happy smile on her face and began walking towards the car. Spying Harry in the passenger seat, Mrs. Figg gave him a little wave which he returned. Staying with Mrs. Figg had gotten easier with time, Harry realized, and she really was a nice old woman.

Realizing that he had only a few more seconds until the Professor made it to the car, got in, and drove Harry off to who knew where, Harry began to panic. He didn’t know this man. He didn’t know for sure that he was his father. He didn’t know where he lived, and he didn’t know that he would be better than the Dursleys. But after listening to his heart beat at three times its normal rate, the blood pounding in his ears, blocking out all other sound, Harry realized that it didn’t matter. No, he didn’t know who this man was, but he would find out. He didn’t know for sure that he was his father, but they looked a lot alike. He didn’t know where he lived, but presumably, that’s where they were going. And he didn’t know that he would be better than the Dursleys. But, Harry reasoned, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren’t that bad. I could deal with them no problem…and I won’t give him any reason to get mad at me.

With this thought still in the front of his mind, Harry kept his eyes to the floor, not looking up as Severus came and sat in the driver’s side of the car. Within a few seconds they were driving down the end of Privet Drive and through the city of Surrey, Harry fingering his beige trousers, keeping his eyes firmly on his hands as they twisted and untwisted the material as Severus cast periodic, cautious glances over to his son, who was attempting to calm his erratic heart, slow his rapid breathing.

Within a half hour, Harry was panicking again. They had been driving for quite a while in complete silence, Harry too afraid to ask the questions that were burning in his mind. How did the Professor know Mrs. Figg? How much longer were they going to be driving? Where did he live? He couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere other than at his hands, which had finally stopped their sporadic twisting of his trousers, but were left coiled in the fabric. Harry tried to make his hands loosen again, but couldn’t. And so he continued to stare at them as his thoughts ran away once more.

Why did Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia never tell me that I was a wizard? And why did they have to lie to me about how mum and dad died? Or, just mum, Harry thought, refusing to allow his eyes to travel to the Professor sitting next to him. And how did he know Mrs. Figg? Is she a wizard too? Then why didn’t she tell me I was one? I wouldn’t have let on to Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon or anyone. I wonder what they talked about. She did seem really happy to have him there.

As Harry was wondering about his caretaker, he heard a soft noise coming from somewhere around his feet. Attempting to keep as relaxed as possible, Harry simply stared at his backpack. It moved the smallest amount with another noise being issued forth from its depths. But after a few more terse minutes in which Harry was intently hoping that the Professor hadn’t noticed, the bag fell silent and still.

Harry leaned back into the seat of the car, letting out the breath he had unconsciously been holding, and moved his eyes up through the front window. The day had turned into dusk and the small houses the car was flying past with ease sat warm and inviting on lush green lawns. Harry turned his head as he let his eyes droop a tad, looking out the passenger window at the scenery.

~*~*~*~

Harry’s silence was both a blessing and an irritation to Severus as he steered the Volvo through the streets. Are little boys not supposed to be constantly fidgeting? Are they not extremely loud and rambunctious? Not that Severus really minded…it was more that he was worried. He had never come into contact with a child, especially a boy of ten, who was as withdrawn and secluded as this one was. His mind running wildly, Severus thought of the possibilities. Perhaps he is simply wary of me. I do after all, seem to have that effect on students…and occasionally other professors, he added as an afterthought, a smirk of delight present on his face.

He schooled his features as he cast yet another glance towards the small boy seated in the passenger’s seat. Perhaps he feels as though he must behave extremely well in order to gain my favor. Severus thought about this. He did seem tremendously well behaved at his relative’s residence and they seemed eager to rid themselves of him. Is it possible that he is the worst behaved child in the history of the planet, so like James, and was simply tired of the discipline his relatives attempted to bestow upon him that he decided to come along with me, hopeful to gain his own way? Severus dreaded the change in personality that would transform this small, quiet, withdrawn boy into one of extreme craft and annoyance.

But that day was not today, or so he hoped, and cast another glance to the passenger seat. This glance made him wary of his son. The boy was sitting with his hands entangled in the material of his trousers, his gaze set on the knapsack at his feet. What would Severus do when that day did come, though? He shuddered to think about it, how would he be able to discipline this child? He had no formal training in the ways of children; he was almost constantly confused by them. Assuredly, punishing Harry at his home would not be as simple as giving him a detention, either. However, not wishing to dwell on the fears of the future anymore, Severus instead turned his thoughts to the reaction of one Albus Dumbledore.

The wizened old wizard would certainly be furious with Severus for taking Harry without first discussing the situation with him, but Severus really didn’t give a damn. What did it matter what Dumbledore thought? Harry is my son and I’ll not let the Headmaster have any influence over him…unless he sorely needs it. Severus almost groaned at the thought. What would he do if he couldn’t take care of the boy? What if Harry is just like James Potter? How would he handle it? What if he couldn’t handle it? Stop getting ahead of yourself, there is nothing to be concerned about, not now. I will simply deal with it as it develops.

But these thoughts gave him little comfort as he took a fleeting look at Harry again, now seemingly relaxed, looking out the passenger window of the car. They were still a good half hour away from Spinner’s End and Severus was growing disgruntled with the continued silence. Clearing his throat ever so slightly, Severus turned his head towards Harry.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his voice level.

The fleeting look of panic unsettled Severus as Harry looked quickly at his face and then stared at his hands on the steering wheel. In a few moments Harry’s face lost its slightly scrunched look behind his overly-large glasses and shook his head, only then returning his gaze through the window.

Severus nodded in return. “We are about thirty minutes to my home in Spinner’s End,” and returned his full attention to the road.

Lost in his own thoughts, Severus almost forgot that Harry was in the car. That is, until they rounded a corner, causing Harry’s sleeping form to tilt and fall into Severus’ shoulder. The sudden contact startled Severus more than he would have expected and broke Harry from his slumber. He began muttering apologies to his hands in his lap while Severus was attempting to determine an appropriate response. But the moment passed where it would have been fitting to supply a reply, so Severus merely nodded his head, hopeful that Harry at least noticed the movement with his head bowed as it was.

Not too much later and Severus was parking the Volvo on the side of the street near the driveway to his home on Spinner’s End. Out of the side of his vision, he could see Harry glancing cautiously about at the surrounding houses. Quietly letting out a small sigh, Severus asked him, “Are you ready?”

Again the look of panic flashed across Harry’s face, but this time it lingered for a few seconds. Severus kept his face impassive, saying, “I would prefer to sit inside the house, rather than in the car, and I am certain you feel the same. It was a long trip,” he added with quick movements to open the door. It wasn’t that he disliked sitting in cars when there was no need; he simply wanted to get Harry inside as quickly as possible.

The sooner they were inside, the quicker they would be within the protection of the wards. The closer Harry would be to being asleep in his room. The quicker Severus would be able to brew some potions and empty his mind.

~*~*~*~

As soon as Severus started unbuckling his seatbelt, Harry scrambled to do the same with his. He didn’t quite have it apart when the Professor was standing on his side of the car, and so Harry felt bad that he had to wait for him, as it was clear that the Professor wanted to get inside.

The Professor was walking really fast, too fast for Harry to keep up without jogging after him, on his way up to the front door of the house. It was a good thing Harry thought to put his arms through his backpack because he didn’t make it ten feet jogging in his too-large trainers before he fell to the ground. The stones that made up the walkway to the front door were small and uneven, with corners sticking up out of the ground.

As soon as he went down, Harry let out a little gasp. He’d scraped his knees pretty badly and the palms of his hands began to burn as well from when he’d tried to break his fall. Before he could really try to stand up, though, the Professor was grabbing his tiny bicep and pulling him to his feet. Harry kept the second gasp in. His arms were still bruised from his last encounter with Uncle Vernon and Severus’ long fingers gripped around it easily. After he began to walk towards the house again, Harry tried to still his hands which were itching to rub his arm; surely the bruises would be a darker color tonight.

Severus opened the door just as Harry was coming to stand on the top step, ushering him in with a hand as he held the door open. Harry stepped in cautiously, not knowing what to expect. But the house seemed well put together, granted it wasn’t as spotlessly clean as Aunt Petunia’s was, especially the kitchen which depicted worn cupboards and an older-style stove. Harry wondered if he were going to be required to clean, although he couldn’t find anything blaringly out of place. Granted that never stopped Aunt Petunia from shoving cleaners and flannels into his hands to scrub uselessly at something for hours.

Harry was startled out of his thoughts as he gave a little jump at the sound of the door closing behind him. So he was really here, then.

The Professor moved in front of him then, speaking as he continued to walk through the small living area to the kitchen, “This is where we will be living until the new term begins at Hogwarts.” There was that word again.

“This is the kitchen, where you will be expected to attend meals each day. Would you like to eat something now or wait until after I show you the rest of the house?” Severus asked from behind an island countertop to Harry, who was still standing in the middle of the sitting room.

Harry began to panic, wondering which answer was the right one. Sometimes when he said he wasn’t hungry, the Dursleys would withhold food, and him being hungry never bothered them anyway. How would the Professor react to an answer? Instead of chancing it, Harry simply shrugged with a little nod of his head, his eyes on the dingy carpet. Let him decide what he wants to do.

Harry only looked up when he heard movement in front of him, “Upstairs is your room, along with a bathroom.” He had to move fairly quickly to follow the Professor through the house on his make shift tour, but not as fast as when they were outside. When Harry reached “his” bedroom, he was unsure what he was going to find. But without hesitating, the Professor opened the door and stepped inside, gesturing for Harry to enter, just as he had done before.

Harry stepped in tentatively, his eyes traveling throughout the space. It certainly wasn’t a cupboard. A chest of drawers stood in one corner. There was one window with a fairly wide ledge to sit on, a desk and drawers down its sides and a chair. All the furniture, along with the headboard to the bed was done in a rosy redwood; the cushions and bedding were a deep burgundy with silver embroidery. Harry stared in wonder at the room, no, my room. But why would he do this? The Dursleys never would give me my own room, that is until I no longer fit into my cupboard, I suppose. Maybe he’s just being nice to me at first. When he finds out I’m a freak he’ll make me stay in another room, or in the basement or garage.

“The bathroom is through that door” Severus added, pointing. “You may place your things in this bureau. Come back downstairs in fifteen minutes for dinner.” With a nod, the Professor then made his way past Harry, pulling the door behind him, leaving it ajar a few inches.

Harry let out a big gust of breath. He didn’t want to do anything wrong, so he started right towards the highboy to put away his things. Unzipping the knapsack revealed a small green and black head. Harry had forgotten all about Siles.

Siles! I’m sorry you had to stay in there for so long, you can come out now.

The snake slowly made his way out through the hole in the zipper, his tongue flicking in and out rapidly. What is this place?

This is where I live now, Harry answered smoothly, more smoothly than he would have thought possible.

Siles’ eyes grazed the room, Do you have anything to eat?

Harry shook his head no, but made his way over to the window. We’re on the second floor, but there’s a tree right here. I could hold you out to it and you could find your own food outside if you want.

Siles seemed to shrug and made his way over to where Harry stood, now attempting to open the window as silently as he could. In just a few minutes, he had the window open far enough that he could lean out while sitting on the windowsill. After sitting down, he reached for Siles who, understanding, moved closer to Harry’s hands, gliding his smooth body through his fingers. Harry straightened up easily and began to lean out the window. But he had misjudged the distance of the tree from the house. Just a little bit further, he leaned a little more and felt his center of gravity begin to plummet out the window. Grabbing the window with his left hand, Harry found he could steady himself enough to keep his right hand semi-steady. Once he had found his balance again, he urged Siles to move off his hand to the branch closest to them.

Siles did so without any hesitation, apparently uncomfortable with the height of the window. Only once he was safely on the branch with his body wrapped around several times, did he turn back towards Harry who was still half-hanging out the window to deliver his appreciation, Thankss boy.

No problem, siless. Sstay nearby, ok? Harry concluded nervously. Siles was his only friend here and he didn’t want to lose him.

Yess, I will, boy. Time for a nice juicy mouse…

Harry climbed back into the bedroom, and closed it again as quietly as he could. He then placed the clothes Aunt Petunia had packed in his backpack into the dresser. There were two other nice shirts with collars, one other pair of pants that didn’t have any holes in them and Harry’s other clothing that he always wore at the Dursleys. He sighed; at least he had more than just the nice clothes that he was wearing now. All his clothes fit into the bottom drawer of the bureau, and since he didn’t have a closet, Harry moved to put his knapsack into the middle drawer. He pushed aside an extra pillow and blanket, wondering if it was ok for him to use the drawer. Glancing at the clock on the wall above his head, Harry figured he still had ten or so minutes until he was expected to be downstairs for dinner.

The Professor seems nice enough so far, hopefully I can stop anything freaky from happening. Harry plopped himself onto the bed, leaning back into the softness of the comforter. He thought that he probably shouldn’t be up here; surely the bed wasn’t for him to sleep on. After dinner, the Professor would give him a cot to set up in the room; beds weren’t for freaks like Harry. But still he laid there, his arms stretched out from his sides; his feet dangling off the edge. Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the way his body dissolved into the bed.

Harry knew he shouldn’t be on the bed. He’d been told as much from his aunt and uncle; that’s why he slept in the cupboard under the stairs. But there were days when the Dursleys went out and Harry snuck into Dudley’s second bedroom to play his videogames, and once Harry even went into Dudley’s real bedroom and accidentally fell asleep on his bed. That was the first time he ever got a lashing from Uncle Vernon, or at least the first time Harry could remember.

Seconds ticked by…I should get up and go to dinner…if I’m late, the Professor will get mad…he’ll surely punish me. It was this last thought that forced Harry to move, he didn’t need to be punished the first day he arrived. The Professor would send him back to the Dursleys, or worse, an orphanage. Harry’s blood ran cold through his veins, making him shiver and jump to his feet and scramble out the door. He almost tripped at the top of the stairs at the end of the hallway. Only the thought of being left at the bottom of the stairs, his body broken after a fall, made Harry slow his steps.

He turned into the kitchen, glancing at the clock hanging above one of the cupboards by the window, good, I’m early. Harry moved towards the Professor who was stirring something in a pot on the stove, to stand nearly beside him, waiting to be told what to do.

~*~*~*~

Severus was surprised to find Harry standing beside him, facing the pots and pans on the stove. Realizing he needed to say something to the boy, he said, not looking away from the vegetables he was stirring in one of the medium-sized pots on the stove, “Fetch two plates from the cupboard just to your right,” giving a slight nod in that direction.

Feeling satisfied with dinner, Severus took the plates from the boy’s slightly grubby hands and set them on the counter next to the stove. “Wash your hands in the sink here.”

Harry moved quickly to comply, reaching over the side of the countertop to turn on the water, subsequently grabbing the soap from beside the sink. Severus watched from the corner of his eye with little interest, but these subtle requests showed that the boy was eagerly sucking up to him…and he didn’t know how to properly wash his hands. Inwardly, Severus sighed. This was going to be a long night.

After Harry had partially dried his hands on a towel hanging near the sink, Severus pointed towards a drawer on the other side of the kitchen, “Retrieve silverware from that drawer and set the table.”

Once Harry had returned to his side, Severus handed him two glasses from a top cupboard near his head and motioned to the fridge, “There is a pitcher of milk on the bottom shelf.” Assured by the boy’s hard grip on the pitcher, Severus knew he wouldn’t drop it and moved back towards the stove to serve up their plates. Harry returned to his side after a few seconds, and Severus handed him the plate to place on the table. The boy returned dutifully for the second plate which contained a smaller amount of food for him. Severus turned and made his way towards the table where he sat, pouring two glasses of milk.

After Harry had not returned to the table, Severus twisted in his chair to find him crouched on the floor, the plate held in one hand with the other systematically and quickly picking off pieces of food to be popped in his mouth.

What is wrong with the boy? Surely he has better manners than those? Crouched in the corner like a rabid beast? He obviously has no respect for propriety, and cringed at needing to instruct Harry in the most basic of table manners.

His irritation at a maximum as Harry continued to eat in the corner, Severus snapped, “What are you doing?”

Harry’s head shot up, his eyes connecting with Severus’ for a fleeting moment, then returned back to his plate. His hand was currently poised over the remnants of his dinner, covered in the sticky sauce Severus had poured over the chicken, his mouth hanging slightly open with partially chewed broccoli and cauliflower in plain sight through his lips which were also coated in the marinade sauce.

“Are you attempting to make me ill, digging into your food like some sort of wild animal?” Severus balked at the now cowering child in the corner of the kitchen. “What is wrong with you?” he continued, his voice gaining in volume, “Is this how you would act with your relatives?” Severus stared the little boy down, his face a stony mask of exasperation, the confusion hidden below its carefully constructed layers. Is he merely testing my patience? I am assured he knows how to behave, and thus it rests on me to straighten the boy out.

~*~*~*~

Wild animal? Is this how I act at my aunt and uncle’s house? What is he talking about? Harry was so confused. How am I supposed to act? Maybe it’s because he didn’t start eating yet. I was supposed to wait until he had started, or maybe even finished eating, Harry berated himself. That was stupid, why did you have to start eating so soon?

Harry was staring at his coated fingers as Severus spoke again, “Do you believe yourself too important to sit at the table with me?” Harry scrambled for a response.

“If you cannot act like a civilized being, you will remove yourself from the vicinity,” Severus continued in a near growl.

Harry looked dejectedly into his plate. After a few seconds, he heard the Professor heave an almost silent sigh followed closely by the scraping of his chair across the linoleum floor. Harry almost gasped in surprise as a big, pale hand grabbed his plate, setting it above his head on the counter. The hand came back with its pair and reached Harry under the armpits, standing him up on a stool in front of the kitchen sink.

~*~*~*~

Severus sighed; surely the boy could not be that thick. It was truly disgusting what he was being subjected to, and on Harry’s first night here. Oh, how I do look forward to tomorrow, he thought to himself as he stood up and moved his way towards Harry. Severus stooped and snatched the plate from sticky fingers, placing it on the counter. After conjuring a stool in front of the sink, Severus reached down to pluck the boy off the ground. He stopped himself after Harry noticeably flinched away from his hands, and scrambled further into the corner. What is wrong with the boy? He eats off on his own in the corner, without utensils and refuses to be touched? Sighing once again, and hopefully for the last time that night, Severus directed his pointed finger toward the stool, a slight glare set on his face.

Harry, apparently understanding, stood. He scooted around Severus, as though trying to ensure he stayed just out of arm's reach, finally making his way to stand on the stool. Severus first rolled up his own white sleeves of Muggle attire he had been wearing since this morning and then moved to do the same with Harry’s. But he must have sensed what was to come, for Harry rolled up his own sleeves, using his sides, as to not get any sauce on them. On his own, Harry then turned on the faucet, subsequently reaching for the soap and began washing his hands.

Hmm…perhaps he is not as dense as I previously imagined. Just as Harry was turning off the water, Severus brought the towel to his small hands. While Harry was drying them, Severus wet a flannel and handed it to him next. He then wiped his face clean of the sticky marinade, and placed the flannel in the sink.

Satisfied, Severus moved back towards the table, gesturing towards Harry’s own plate. “Retrieve what remains of your dinner,” he ordered tersely. “I expect you to behave as you would with your aunt and uncle in your presence. I will accept no less,” he said, his voice less harsh now as he sat down.

Once Severus realized that only silence met his request, he shifted in his seat once again to find Harry staring at his plate, his face scrunched up in deep contemplation.

~*~*~*~

What did the Professor mean? “Behave as if you were at your aunt and uncle’s?” What did he think he was doing? What did he want him to do? Harry didn’t realize how long he was standing in the corner of the kitchen, staring dejectedly at his plate until Severus cleared his throat.

With a slight glare set on his stoic face, Severus gestured towards Harry and then to the chair on the adjacent side of the table. He wants me to sit at the table? Harry just stood, dumbfounded at the chair as though it were the most perplexing thing he had ever seen. Why? Why would he want me to sit at the table?

Harry’s eyes snapped to Severus’ face when he began speaking. “Bring your plate to the table and sit.” His voice was enough to make Harry want to hurry. He practically threw his plate onto the table and scrambled onto the chair as fast as he could. Severus reached over and moved the plate to where Harry could reach it, as well as his glass half-filled with milk. Harry stared up at his guardian with expectant eyes.

~*~*~*~

Severus looked into those green eyes. So green. He blinked rapidly a few times, trying to dispel the memories that were threatening to surface, and looked down at his own plate.

“Eat,” he said simply, reaching for his own utensils that were set out by Harry earlier. Harry complied, clumsily taking his fork into his hand, carefully stabbing a piece of cauliflower and just as carefully, placing it into his mouth. Perhaps there is hope for the boy after all, Severus reflected, still baffled at the boy’s earlier behavior. But this he shrugged off as he continued to eat his dinner, carefully watching Harry out of the corner of his eyes.

They sat in silence, contemplating their futures as well as their pasts, but choosing to focus on the hope of tomorrow.

As Harry sat waiting for the professor to finish his meal, he realized that his bum was itching, painfully. Harry, surprised he didn’t notice the dull throb that accompanied the itch earlier, attempted to occupy his hands within the folds of his trousers. And so he sat, twisting and untwisting the soft material, trying not to think about the aches and pains his body was experiencing.

But his mind had other ideas. Not only does my bum hurt something fierce, my arm is pulsing from where the Professor grabbed me…and my knees and hands from when I fell. Harry sighed, still staring at his hands; the skin was pink from scrubbing, I wonder if I’ll get to go to sleep soon, or if he plans for me to clean up first. The thought of washing his hands one more time almost made Harry giggle. But then he remembered just why he needed to wash his hands. The Professor was not very happy earlier. I hope he’s not angry at me. Can’t I do anything right? Just when I started to fit in at Aunt and Uncle’s house, I’m taken here. Suddenly, his pink fingers weren’t as funny anymore. How many more times will I screw up tonight, before the Professor sends me to an orphanage, or he starts to thrash me like Uncle Vernon?

Sensing movement at his side, Harry kept his eyes averted from the professor, but stopped his uncomfortable fidgeting. “Bring your plate and glass to the sink please, Harry,” was said to the top of the boy’s messy head.

Harry complied, feeling his legs stiffen from the short sit. Before he could reach the tap to wash the dishes under, the professor placed his hands on Harry’s tiny shoulders and moved him to his right, saying, “I will wash and rinse the dishes if you would be willing to dry them and place them in a stack on the counter top.”

Is this a test? Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia liked to ask me if I would do something for them and make me do it anyway, even if I said no. But sometimes, when I said yes, they would give me even more work to do. It has to be a test. Harry felt his head throb with each heart beat as he tried to generate an appropriate answer that would get him in the least bit of trouble. Not really knowing what to say, Harry nodded and mumbled into his chest, “Yes, sir.” He accepted the fluffy white towel the professor offered; their fingers brushed together.

~*~*~*~

What was wrong with this child? Severus had really yet to ask a question in which he received a straight answer from Harry. And yet the night drags on.

All Severus really wanted to do was clean and place the plates, silverware, and glasses with a wave of his wand. But he decided early on that he would attempt to keep everything as Muggle as possible. It would do no good to scare the boy with magical displays, especially since Severus didn’t even know if Harry had shown any accidental magic to his relatives. It was also known to Severus that some wizarding children, after discovering they had the same abilities as their parents to do magic, would run rampant throughout the house and grounds wreaking havoc. That was not something that Severus would like to see within this child, and scaring the child into greater submission would be just as horrendous.

Severus received just a few owl posts of how Draco Malfoy, so like his esteemed father, was already accomplished in quite a few spells, charms, and even curses. No doubt it was something that Lucius wished to brag about to his friends, not that Severus was truly what someone would call a friend to Lucius. Severus found it necessary, however, to keep up appearances as long as the Dark Lord was only rumored to be dead.

Besides, washing a few dishes was not something that would be the end of the world for the Potions Professor. Many times, caldrons were resistant to magical cleanings, or the students had botched their potions so badly that whatever concoction remained was something Severus did not want to risk exposing to magic.

And like potion making, Severus found that the methodical dunking, wiping, rinsing and drying of dishes was soothing. It certainly was akin to brewing, where one’s hands were kept occupied, allowing the mind to wander to other matters.

Harry Potter, how is it that you have remained so quiet these past few hours since I took you from your much beloved family home? Why is it that you only answer the questions with as few words as possible without raising your chin from your chest? You certainly are one of a kind, Severus marveled at the small child. It was difficult to believe that he was truly his own. And yet, that was the one thing that seemed to link the two of them together, their peace in solitude and speaking only when it was completely necessary. But that was the interesting part, children are generally talkative, hyperactive little cretins, not even moving away from their families and attending Hogwarts classes for years can manage to calm some of them down. The Weasley twins came to mind…no, one can never even bribe Draco enough to make him silent for as short a time as ten seconds. But still, Severus reasoned, a quiet boy was better than a rambunctious and rude one.

When his hands found nothing to occupy themselves, Severus quietly said to Harry, “I believe you have had a trying day and if you can rediscover the location of your bedroom, you may retire for the night.”

“Yes sir, I remember where it is,” came Harry’s reply, just as softly. But his face was slightly scrunched, as it was so often already, as he contemplated adding to his simple sentence.

Moments later, Severus saw that the unobtrusive side of the boy won out, and nodding himself, conveyed, “I will wake you in the morning for breakfast” as a dismissal.

As the boy made his way to the stairs, Severus turned around in the small kitchen, waving his wand and muttering Reveritae, and watched as the now clean dishes placed themselves into their respected cupboards and drawers. After making sure that Harry was truly going to his room, Severus sat in front of the empty fireplace, trying to remember just how long ago it was that there had been a true fire blazing from its depths.

~*~*~*~

Harry went up to the room that the professor had said was his earlier that evening. Harry was still confused by what that meant, but reasoned if he wasn’t supposed to use the loo that the professor would have said something earlier. So after locating the clothing he used as pajamas Harry made his way to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, Harry returned to his room, feeling more refreshed than he had in awhile, but he was still quite sore. While standing in front of the mirror of his bathroom, Harry surveyed his body for the signs of the pain he felt. Indeed, his back was one large bruise with tiny scabs just starting to form. His bum was another large bruise which extended some into his thighs. When Harry was examining his arms, he realized just how much he did hurt, and how tired he was. His eyes were drooping by the time he walked to the dresser, and he fell asleep just as he stretched out on his blankets with a pillow under his head.

~*~*~*~

Just as Severus decided he should go up to his bed to sleep, a green fire blazed to life in the hearth. Cursing himself for being startled, Severus sat up straighter as Albus Dumbledore’s head appeared within the depths of the fire. Severus sat and waited for the old man to speak without feeling keen to conversation.

Albus, apparently sensing this, started, “Severus, how are you this fine-”

“Please don’t waste my time with mindless conversation, Albus,” Severus cut him off with a smirk.

After a pause, Albus continued, “Of course, my boy. How is Harry doing?”

Severus’ smirk became more pronounced, “And just why did you take your time—almost a full evening—to respond to the message I left your Deputy Headmistress?” Severus raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. “Surely your precious Golden Boy is more important than whatever business you had to attend at Hogwarts?”

“Ah. You see, Severus, I was at Number Four, Privet Drive for most of the evening, and then at Mrs. Figg’s residence explaining the strange anomaly that you seem to have refused to explain yourself.”

I refuse to rise to your cajoling, Albus, Severus thought as he relaxed further into the chair.

“As you well know, she was in an uproar, as were Harry’s relatives. They had not expected the boy to be taken so soon.”

“And do not tell me they were glad of the exchange, Albus, I could tell.”

Albus’ eyes closed in resignation, “Yes, you are quite accomplished in reading people, it is true. But I had reason to believe you had no idea of their lack of alarm in Harry leaving the protective wards of their home.”

“They were not distressed by this fact?” Severus asked as he leaned forward in his chair.

“No, in fact, they seemed at total ease during my whole exchange with them. With the exception of bringing, what was it now? Yes, “My filth” into their perfectly spotless home” Albus expressed with a touch of confusion.

But Severus was deep in thought, what would that boy have done to make them so ready to give him up in the first place and then be so callous with the removal of a great deal of protection? His eyes strayed upward, where on the second story, the boy who was the cause of these anomalies, his son, was sleeping. Returning his eyes back to the Headmaster, Severus asked in a voice that betrayed his curiosity, “And you explained to them full well the amount of protection Harry received while he called their house home and just why the blood wards were placed there in the first place?”

“Yes, of course.”

The furrow in Severus’ brow that was just a small line before, deepened. “And still they showed no remorse that the boy would be leaving the protection of their home?”

Albus’ face took on many of the same characteristics as Severus’. “No, none.” At the sigh that escaped from his once-student, Albus pressed further, “Why, why does this news have you so worried, Severus?”

Before he verbalized his thoughts, Severus stood, saying to the head in the fire, “You may come through the remainder of the way, Albus. I am merely going to check that the boy is sleeping before we continue our conversation.”

With that, Severus made his way up to the second story bedroom that now belonged to his son.

~*~*~*~

Harry woke with a start the next morning, just as the door creaked open a little. Harry could imagine the professor’s head sticking in, angry lines set in place on his face. But all Harry could see were his shiny black boots, a little scuffed, from his position on the floor and far side of the bed. In a panic, and not wanting the professor to see that he had slept in so late, as the sun was already streaming in the window, Harry scrambled to stand.

The professor’s face went from one of curiosity to amusement to confusion and finally to impassiveness as Harry made his appearance behind the bed. “Come down for breakfast after you have washed up,” was delivered without emotion to the small, messy-haired boy who was still bleary-eyed.

“Yes sir,” Harry croaked out, before rubbing his eyes of some of their sleepiness. The professor nodded once and left the room, leaving the door open a hair. Harry could hear his heavy boots making a soft clump, clump on the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief. After retrieving some of the nicer clothes Aunt Petunia gave him, Harry went to the bathroom to wash his hands and face. He thought it strange seeing this boy staring back at him from the mirror, his appearance hadn’t changed much from last week. His nose was still the same size, his eyes still a piercing green set in pale skin, his hair still soft, silky black, although it was even less unruly than before. Wherever Harry put a piece of hair, it stayed. That was never possible before…then my hair did whatever it wanted, without listening to anyone, he giggled to himself.

Deeming himself ready for breakfast, Harry reclaimed his glasses from the desk and went downstairs to the kitchen. The professor wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but there was a pan of bacon frying on the range. Sensing that it was about time to turn the bacon over, Harry went to the stove, grabbing a spatula on the way. But he was only half way through when he heard something being set not to carefully on the table and the heavy boots of the professor rushing over.

“Get away from the range, you foolish child!” was all Harry heard before he was yanked off his feet and picked up, coming in extremely close proximity to the professor’s blazing eyes.

~*~*~*~

What the hell is wrong with this child?! Severus thought furiously as he descended upon the ten year old. He had crossed the room in three gigantic steps and pulled Harry out from his way with an arm around his abdomen. Surely Harry doesn’t think he must prepare breakfast. He was simply hungry…and feeling particularly foolish. But closer inspection of his son’s face revealed stark surprise and extreme confusion with a touch of sadness which contorted the boy’s features in such a way that gripped at Severus’ heart…something he’d never admit to.

Placing Harry securely on his chair, a safe distance from the stove, Severus returned to tend the breakfast.

After double checking that the bacon was fully cooked and not too crispy, the eggs were not runny, and the coffee steaming hot, Severus lifted two plates from the cupboard and made his way to the table. “Harry, would you retrieve two sets of silverware from the drawer as well as a glass for yourself?”

Severus could see the tiny boy comply to his request from the corner of his eye, the small bit of movement still not quite a comfort rather than a threat. He was not used to having visitors at Spinner’s End, much less having visitors stay for a meal. However, it was strangely comforting to know that he did not have to be as guarded with his son as Severus would be with his other visitors.

Shaking away such feelings, Severus continued on his task of issuing breakfast, the table now set and ready. As they were eating, Severus, however unwilling, was attempting to find a topic of conversation that the boy would partake in. And as he was not trying all that hard, he was unable to come up with one. The boy probably would simply ask questions non stop if I stated something about magic or Hogwarts. That would certainly ruin my day…although silence certainly is not as comfortable with two as it is with one. But there is simply nothing to speak of! I do not wish to know about his home life, how he was pampered, to hear how badly he likes it here, with me. I do not need to hear him say he wishes to return to the Muggle household of his aunt and uncle, however beastly they may be…and then I would have to listen to their whining about having the nuisance returned to their care. No, he reasoned, that simply will not do. I am grateful for his silence, however odd it is.

It was an interesting phenomenon to ponder though, and kept his mind busy through washing the dishes from breakfast. In the short time it took to clean their plates, Severus’ mind had actually shifted to another topic of interest. Why had Harry been on the floor of his room that morning? I thought he was sleeping on his bed…although it is quite large for a child of his age and stature. Perhaps I should have looked closer last night, but with Albus downstairs, I did not wish to waste time. I suppose he simply is not used to such a high bed and probably fell off during his sleep and simply had no desire to crawl back up to the covers. But while his mind was running through possible ways to satisfy his curiosity, Severus didn’t talk to Harry at all, he didn’t learn anything definitive about Harry’s quality of sleep nor about the boy’s past, but for now, Severus could live with the little information he had.

“Harry, it looks as though it will be a wonderful day outside. I need to tend to the gardens, and I would rather you be near me.” Harry’s blank and confused look aimed towards Severus’ hands did nothing to his nerves. “You could play in the lot behind the house while I tend the gardens,” he said to the last piece of silverware in the sudsy sink.

“Yes sir.”

~*~*~*~

After helping dry the dishes from breakfast as with those from dinner the previous night, Harry found himself outside. The Professor wants me to…play. I only watched Dudley play, Harry thought as he slowly walked around the yard in back of the house, kicking a pebble on his way. I wonder if he was angry with me at sleeping in the room. Maybe he expects me to offer the room back. Maybe he wants me to do something else outside. He was talking to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon before I got there, what would they want me to do? Harry wondered as he walked slowly away from the back of the house, looking for work to occupy his time with.

But as many times as he walked through the gardens, he didn’t recognize any of the plants, save for one, and didn’t think the professor would appreciate his pulling out plants that were important in some strange way. What if wizards—Harry still couldn’t consider himself one in his own mind—use different plants than normal people as a part of their magic? I don’t want to go back to the Dursleys yet, the Professor didn’t say anything to me about being a wizard, and he hasn’t hurt me for not doing anything right. But the more Harry tried to figure out the professor, the more his head began to hurt. As he was going over his last day in Privet Drive, Harry remembered a very special friend he made, and began searching the grass for Siles. Unable to see him slithering through the grass at his feet, and with renewed energy, Harry walked faster towards the tree near his window.

Upon circling the tree three times and not seeing the snake anywhere in sight, Harry continued his walk around the lot. But as soon as he neared a larger clump of trees near the corner of the yard, Harry heard the voice that he’d been hoping for.

Boy, what are you doing outside today?

I’m looking for you! Where are you, Siles? What have you been doing? Do you like it here? Are there any mice for you to eat?, Harry asked all in a rush, eager to talk to his friend.

First, come around the other side of this tree, so I can see your face. And then I will answer your questions, you silly child, Siles replied with a slight lilt of humor in his voice.

~*~*~*~

Severus let Harry exit the kitchens early, unlocking the door to the backyard for his son. This gave Severus enough time to set the dishes back to their proper places, take his outer robes to the wardrobe in his room upstairs, apply a few good Resistant Charms to his clothing, and conjure a few tools for his upcoming task in the sun.

Keeping all his senses trained on Harry but sight, for which he used to find the weeds that had overrun the garden nearest the house, Severus settled into his work. But it wasn’t long until he was distracted by a strange sound, one he couldn’t place and yet placed a fear into the depth of his stomach which he had not experienced in nine years. It sent his head spinning around looking for the source of the noise. Eyes snapping from one movement in the large yard to the next until his eyes and ears, and wand, were trained on Harry, who was standing by a tree in the far corner of the yard, his mouth moving. But Severus was too far away from his son to hear the words he was speaking…but not only his mouth was moving, he noticed. Harry’s eyes seemed large, intent on something a little above eye-level, his hands moving with wild motions, his face lit up in the rays of a full smile.

Severus marveled at the child. What the hell is he doing now? Damn, how many times have I said that in the last twenty-four hours? Too many, it seems…this boy is too much for my nerves it seems. Why is he speaking to a tree? This child is too odd for his own good. Perhaps taking him to a wizarding city and teaching him about his magic will be beneficial to his mental health. But any other ponderings left Severus just at the same dead end. He would have to speak to the boy in order to gain a more conclusive decision.

It wasn’t until after Severus had moved onto weeding the second garden that Harry appeared by his side, looking uncomfortable.

“Yes, Harry?” Severus asked, stilling his hands for his son’s response.

“Um…I was—do you, do you want me to help with the weeding?”

What? You’re actually volunteering to help me? “Of course.”

Harry settled down next to a kneeling Severus, and studied the weeds that were pulled from the earth and placed in a basket. Severus watched as Harry then moved in to grasp and pull out what he suspected was a weed, and decided to delve into the mind that was Harry Potter’s.

“That is a valerian plant. You don’t want to pull that out,” he said with a slight smile as Harry’s hand froze in mid-grab.

“Oh. Sorry, sir,” Harry said, seemingly embarrassed that he didn’t know.

Severus sighed, saying, “There is no way you would have known. This plant is used in potion making. In fact, most of these plants in the gardens I do use in my potions, they have not grown over much since my last visit here.” He grabbed at another stray weed.

“So…” Harry began, and then looked quickly away towards his hands in his lap.

“What is it, Harry?” Why are you so reluctant to speak and ask questions, child? Perhaps more prodding is needed. “You can ask me any question, if I do not wish to answer, I will simply say so.” But Harry was still unwilling to express his curiosity, and refused to look Severus in the eyes, choosing instead to study his dirty fingernails.

“Harry. Harry, look at me.” The small head of his son turned reluctantly towards his guardian, “Harry, I will not be angry at you for asking questions.” I seriously hope I won’t regret this later… Severus took another breath and continued, “If I wish for peace and quiet, I will say so, otherwise…please, ask your questions.”

“So, what is the velabrian plant for?” Harry asked, surprising Severus by keeping his vibrant green eyes locked on his face.

“The val-er-ian plant,” Severus took time to sound it out, “or just its roots, is most commonly used in the Draught of Living Death, which places its taker into a deep sleep, making them appear as though dead.” Tearing another plant from the earth, Severus instructed, “This is asphodel which is also used in the Draught of Living Death, but is in the wrong place here.” Harry nodded.

“You see, these plants are quite common throughout their various parts of the world and many Muggles would simply throw them out, but when prepared in the correct way with other ingredients, one can concoct a powerful potion,” Severus said, tossing the plant in the bin.

“Yes sir…and what is this plant for?” Harry asked, pointing to a clump of wormwood.

“This is wormwood. You may have seen it growing on the edge of a field or footpath?” Harry nodded again, evidently engrossed in the impromptu lesson taking place.

“Yes, it grows around the park on the end of Privet Drive.”

Studying the boy who was again studying the plants, and was, by the look on his face, trying to engrave their shapes and uses in his mind, Severus said, “Perhaps it would be easiest if you find all the plants that look like this?” he asked, holding out a weed that was scattered throughout the garden. “These you can pull out and discard in the basket.”

~*~*~*~

Soon enough, Harry found himself enjoying the work with the professor. Usually, Harry would have to hurry through the gardens and pull out the weeds as fast as he could, by himself without talking. But the professor almost seemed to enjoy the company. So Harry continued to ask his questions, trying his hardest to remember everything the professor said in response.

And indeed Harry was enjoying himself towards midday; this is just as fun as talking to Siles…I didn’t really think that the Professor would keep picking weeds with me. And he really doesn’t mind me asking so many questions! Aunt Petunia would have a fit! And he doesn’t seem to care that we’re taking a really long time to get through all the plants, making sure they’re in the right rows and not too crowded.

With each garden, Harry learned more and more about potions and their botanical ingredients. But it wasn’t until they reached the final garden that needed weeding that Harry realized there was one plant that was flowering and in every patch of earth, “What is this flower for? Aunt Petunia had a lot of them in the front yard between hydrangeas. Aunt Petunia’s were yellow and orange…lilies, right? Yours are white though. Are they the same plant?”

Harry was concentrating on getting a particularly entrenched ginger root that he broke the top off of earlier out of the ground. But once he fully removed the plant and filled in the hole he created, the professor still hadn’t answered his question. Did I ask too many questions? Harry turned his attention to hooded eyes and hands splayed outward in the ground, long white fingers tense in the dirt.

“Yes” was the professor’s soft, terse reply. “They are the same plant. These in front of you are lilies.”

Harry, not wanting to ask but wanting to know if the professor was telling the truth about letting him ask questions, began again, “What are they f--?”

But he was cut off by the professor, “They keep the worst of the sadness away.”

Harry sat staring at the man who was his guardian, his father. He had seen many sides of the man before this moment, but never sadness as deep as this…Harry had never seen sadness that ran this deep in anyone.

Except, he considered, in me.

~*~*~*~

They’re lilies…Lily’s… I knew I would regret letting you ask your questions, boy. I don’t know how to answer, “Yes, they’re Lily’s lilies. She dug some out of her gardens at Godric’s Hollow for me to plant here after it was no longer safe for her to be associated with me, well, it was never safe for her to be with me. But she was anyway. And they were the best two years of my life…even towards the end…” As his thoughts escaped him, Severus soon became aware that he had yet to say anything out loud. He turned to Harry, where he met vivid emerald eyes. Lily’s eyes. “Yes, they are the same plant. These in front of you are Lily’s.”

“What are they f--?”

“They keep the worst of the sadness away.” And ease my aching heart when it is worst.

Severus was contemplating how to start telling the story of Lily and himself for the next few seconds, completely lost in the green eyes of his son who sat before him. How does one begin such a tale as this with such a horrendous ending?

“And keeps memories sweet.” Both faces turned towards the wizard in powder-blue robes and half-moon spectacles, popping a lemon drop in his mouth.

“What is it you are here for, Albus?” Severus asked in a severe tone, causing Harry’s head to whip back around to face him and his morose look to deepen.

With eyes twinkling at such a rate that made Severus want to yell in his face, Albus replied easily, “I wish to talk to Harry, Severus. His situation has changed quite dramatically in such a short time and I simply seek to be reassured.”

Matching the Headmaster’s intensity within his own eyes, Severus growled out, “Not now.”

Moving closer and conjuring a stool, Albus calmly pointed out, “Now, Severus, this is as good a time as any!” He settled himself on the stool’s squishy cushion. “Would you be so kind as to whip up a batch of Pepper-Up Potion for Poppy? I do believe that is what her stores are lacking the most.”

A benevolent smile took over Dumbledore’s face in such a way that made Severus curse, Damn you, Albus. I have a few words for you myself after you’re done interrogating my son. But all he said was, “Of course.” He turned to Harry only to find him looking terrified with his hands clasped tightly around a weed, wringing it in his hands, and his eyes pinned fiercely on the lilies in the garden.

~*~*~*~

“I will be just inside, Harry.” The words floated through the haze that had formed over Harry’s senses. He hated it when people were fighting, when anger rolled off people, so much that he could taste it in his mouth. That never meant anything good for Harry…and he knew it.

His fear was so great that he couldn’t help but flinch at the hand that grasped his shoulder. But it did break the haze. Looking up at the hand, Harry met the face of the professor. It was covered in surprise, confusion, and hurt. I’m sorry…I just don’t know what you want from me.

But soon the professor left and Harry looked to the stranger that was standing next to him, watching the professor close the door to the house. His face was full of concern, and Harry could see the twinkle dim in his vivid blue eyes. After Harry heard the quiet snap that was the door closing fully, the stranger turned to face him and his face was filled with a big smile.

“Hello, Harry. We’ve never been properly introduced. My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I am Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where you will attend the upcoming term. I have known your father and mother since they were your age, when they first came to Hogwarts. Why don’t you sit on the stool? I imagine the ground is not overly comfortable,” he said, patting a stool with its own squishy cushion that was not next to him a second ago.