Blowing up Aunt Marge was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. In hindsight, Harry supposed that was a bit ironic, since it was the one time he could remember actively striving to control his magic. He’d failed miserably, no doubt about it, and now he was being forced to pay.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, was currently stripped of everything but his shorts, laying on his stomach upon a disgusting excuse for a mattress, his hands and feet tied to the bed posts. He could feel the white hot strips of pain on his back from where his uncle had used first a belt, then an actual whip, insisting all the time that they would actually beat the magic out of him. Harry hadn’t been able to do a thing to defend himself from his current position, although his wrists and ankles were chafed raw from straining against the bonds, and his throat was hoarse from screaming. If only his infamous “fan club” could see him now.

He could hear his uncle’s heavy footsteps on the landing outside his bedroom and had just enough time to brace himself when the door was flung open with a resounding crash. Vernon Dursley stood framed in the doorway, the light from the hall illuminating him from behind and giving him an eerie glow. Not that he wasn’t eerie enough to begin with. Harry felt his breath catch in the back of his throat at the feral look in his uncle’s pudgy blue eyes.

Harry watched helplessly as his uncle strode into the room, carrying a trunk in his wake. Vernon was gathering up all of Harry’s things, throwing them haphazardly into the trunk. Harry wondered if he was going somewhere. Maybe his relatives had finally decided to get rid of him, to send him to an orphanage. Yeah, that must be it. There was no other reason for his uncle to gather up all of his possessions like that.

A part of Harry knew that his uncle wasn’t just packing for him, and when Vernon picked up Hedwig’s cage, a part of him knew that Vernon didn’t mean for Harry to see Hedwig ever again. Yes, inside, a part of Harry knew this, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Not until he saw the smoke drifting up from the yard outside, smelled the fire burning, and heard the mournful screech of his first pet and only ally. At that point, a lone tear dripped down his bruised and battered face, coming to a halt near his chin and drying up forevermore.

____

Outside, Vernon Dursley had lit Harry’s school things on fire. Watching all of his nephew’s magical possessions go up in flames was an extremely liberating feeling. It was like a symbol of what he was doing at the house, a symbol that the boy’s freakishness could be wiped away forever. Just a little longer, Vernon thought. The boy was close to breaking already. He looked at the cage that held the boy’s snowy owl. It was a despicable creature, a ruddy owl, but the freak was attached to it. If Vernon was lucky, this would be the thing to undo the boy. With that thought in mind, Vernon tossed the cage into the hot depths of the fire.

The latch of the cage hit the corner of Harry’s burning trunk and flew open. With a screech, Hedwig forced her body through the opening as quickly as possible and flew skyward, as far from the source of heat and pain as she could get. Vernon watched her go, disgusted. He should have brought a gun out, just in case. If Potter knew that his precious owl had escaped, he’d hold on that much longer. Then again, it wasn’t like the boy had to know. Vernon could let him believe the owl had burnt to cinders along with everything else. After all, the bird wouldn’t come back after having nearly been turned to ash. The freak would never know the difference.

With that thought firmly in his mind, Vernon went upstairs to see his nephew. A few carefully placed words and the boy would be wrapped around his finger. He marched up the stairs with the full intention of breaking it to the boy that he had no more magical possessions, but it turned out that he didn’t have to. If the tear drop on the freak’s face was any indication, he already knew. After all, Harry Potter was far too proud to cry with any regularity.

Vernon didn’t feel sorry for the boy. You couldn’t feel sorry for his kind or they’d have you wrapped around their freaky little fingers before long. No, you had to imbrue in them a sense of discipline and structure or they’d never be decent enough for civilized society. In fact, Vernon decided, it was time the boy stop lazing about upon his bed like an invalid. Lazy little freak, just like his parents. Never mind the fact that it had been Vernon who’d tied him to the bed in the first place. Vernon didn't care to think that he'd had a role in the boy's "laziness".

Pulling a penknife from the pocket of his work slacks, Vernon cut the ropes from his nephew’s arms. He took note of the fact that the skin had been chafed beyond raw, but that was hardly his fault. He didn’t force the boy to struggle against the added security measure. No, the brat deserved those marks.

“Listen here, boy!” Vernon snarled. “You’re not going back to that freaky little school of yours. You’re going to stay here this summer and learn the meaning of hard work and discipline, and next year, you will be going to St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys.”

Harry’s throat was so dry that he couldn’t force words forth. Even if he could have, he doubted he would be able to speak. He was too emotional to come up with a coherent thought. He registered his uncle’s gruff tones sure enough, though. No more Hogwarts. The thought alone was enough to tear at Harry’s insides. He couldn’t even write to Hogwarts to tell them he was being kidnapped, because Hedwig… They’d think he’d abandoned them. They’d think he didn’t want to be there, now that Voldemort was gone. And even if they didn’t think that. Well, what was the use? The Dursley’s were his legal guardians, and now that Voldemort was gone, there was no absolute necessity for him to learn magic. No, the magical world would do nothing to help him. He knew that, and as the thought hit home, Harry finally broke. His body shaking a little, he lowered his eyes from his uncle’s in a universal sign of defeat.

Satisfied, Vernon decided not to even cuff the boy for not answering him. Instead, he said simply, “There’s weeds to be taken care of.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry whispered softly, and without another word the thirteen year old slipped down the stairs and outside.

___

Hagrid was outside, enjoying the freedom and liberty that came with having free reign of Hogwarts. Not that he didn’t enjoy having the kids about, but sometimes it was nice to wander the grounds without having to worry that you might step on a youngster. Today he was alone outside Hogwarts castle, the very epitome of peacefulness. The only other person who had stayed on the school grounds for the summer was Severus Snape, and Hagrid had neither seen hide nor hair of him yet. The man was a virtual hermit.

Hagrid finished feeding his bow truckles and settled in a chair in his garden, feeling the heat of the summer washing over his great body. His long, shaggy hair, slightly damp from a shower half an hour prior, was beginning to dry in great frizzy waves, but Hagrid paid it no mind. It would do as it wished.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before his muse was interrupted by something colliding with his outstretched leg with a great deal of force. He sat up with a start and looked about for the source. It took him a moment to locate the owl, dazed as he was from being half asleep and opening his eyes in the brightness of the noon day. She was panting in a heap upon the ground, burnt from head to talons and barely conscious. Hagrid’s instincts took over from there. He picked her up more gently than should have been possible for someone his size and carried her into his hut. He already knew that it would be a long time before she was healed fully again.

___

Harry was a mass of sore muscles, his head a slew of soggy porridge. All day, all night, for three days running, he’d been going to and fro for his uncle, doing every horrible chore the man could think of, but Harry still wasn’t in the man’s good graces. Not that he’d ever been, particularly, but at least before he’d gotten food. Now he was just getting by on water.

By the time Uncle Vernon excused him for the day, Harry could hardly stand. He crawled up the stairs and into Dudley’s second bedroom, his pride forgotten entirely, and tried to pull himself onto the bed. Failing that, he dragged a pillow and blanket onto the floor with him and curled into a ball. It didn’t even matter. He was so tired and dizzy he could have slept on a bed of nails.

It seemed like only a moment later a firm hand was shaking him gruffly awake. Harry inadvertently let out a little moan as his injuries were irritated, and to his surprise the hand let go of him. Well, that was new. He opened his eyes, noting how dark it was. It must be very, very early in the morning. He wasn’t surprised that Uncle Vernon would have him getting up at such an ungodly hour.

Except when he put on his glasses and turned to look, it wasn’t his uncle he saw. Instead it was his cousin, wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants and carrying a tray of food. Harry’s brain was befuddled for a moment, and it took him longer than it should have to register the sight. But then Dudley was crouching down by the door and tentatively sliding the tray towards Harry as though he was some kind of rabid animal.

“Eat as much as you can,” Dudley whispered, “but don’t make yourself sick or Dad will have both our hides.”

Well, Harry registered that one well enough. Uncle Vernon didn’t know Dudley was feeding him. Harry was going to be in trouble when Uncle Vernon found out. No, that wasn’t good. He couldn’t get in trouble. With a quick shake of his head, Harry pushed the food back to Dudley. He was trying to be good!

Dudley slid it back just as insistently, “If you keep working like this you’re going to wind up in the hospital. You have to eat. Dad won’t find out, I promise. I’ll say I ate the food myself. I’ll even bring the tray into my room.”

Harry gave his cousin a skeptical look. In all the years he’d lived with the Dursleys, Harry’s cousin had never done a thing to help him out. Harry had no reason to trust Dudley now. No reason, except that the smell of the food was absolutely intoxicating, and Dudley was pushing it closer still, seeming to forget his initial fear of his cousin. It smelled like... Beef, that was it. And peas. Harry’s stomach gave a little growl of anticipation.

“That’s it,” Dudley encouraged quietly. “Go on, have a bite. Have a few. Mum and Dad are both asleep, they won’t know the difference.”

That was all it took, really. Before Dudley knew what was happening, Harry had pulled the tray towards him and ripped off the top. Not beef and peas, he realized with a bit of disappointment. Beef stew with peas in it. Still, it was warm, and he hadn’t eaten in days. And there was a dinner roll to go along with it, and an apple. Harry dug into the meal like some sort of savage beast, so that Dudley himself looked sickened by the display.

He was only halfway through the meal when Dudley pulled it away from him. Harry gave a little growl in the back of his throat, but, although he looked shaken, Dudley didn’t give the food back. He handed Harry a bottle of water instead. “If you eat too much after not eating for so long, you’ll get sick. And that’ll be even worse for your body than not eating. That’s why I just gave you soup. Drink some water to keep the roll down, but drink it slow.”

Harry would never know where his cousin had learned about stuff like that. He’d always had the impression that Dudley was rather thickheaded. He wasn’t about to question it, though. After all, he wouldn’t much like to sick up at this point in time, and at least Dudley had fed him something. He drank the water slowly, as instructed, so it wouldn’t get taken away from him. Dudley let him have the whole bottle.

“Alright,” Dudley whispered. “Let’s get you in bed properly now.”

As he stepped closer to Harry, beads of sweat formed at Dudley’s temples. He rubbed at it nervously with one pudgy hand, the other moving up to muss his bleach blond hair. Still, there was a determined glint in his pale blue eyes that Harry hardly recognized. He didn’t even flinch when he finally reached Harry and had to physically lift him onto the old mattress, although he paled quite a bit.

“Get some sleep,” Dudley said hoarsely, putting a pillow beneath his cousin’s head and blankets over his body.

Harry needed no more encouragement. He didn’t see the worried look in his cousin’s eyes as he shut the lights off in the bedroom and set off down the hall, the tray of food and water bottle held in his beefy arms.

___

Vernon was quite pleased with the progress he was making with his nephew. The boy seemed to have become much more respectful in the past week. Obviously the lack of food was encouraging the boy, as well as the extinction of… undue distractions. Yes, Vernon was pleasantly surprised at how well the freak was doing. He could almost pass for normal, now.

Vernon decided to see how well the boy did with food. He wanted to see if progress would be lost with the addition of food to the daily routine, or if the Potter boy would manage to continue as he had been. It would be an important test. If the freak was able to remain polite even when fed, Vernon would make a point of giving him three square meals a day. If not…

He called the freak in around suppertime and sat him in a corner of the kitchen with a plate of leftover chicken wings. Potter looked almost as though he didn’t know what to do with the food. That was annoying. It wasn’t as though he never fed the boy! Yet there he went, glancing from the pile of food to his uncle and back again.

“Eat it, boy!” Vernon growled, a dangerous look in his eyes.

The boy set in, then, pulling the bones apart with his grubby hands and yanking great chunks of meat off with his teeth. Vernon turned away in disgust. Well, maybe not three square meals a day. The child’s manners were atrocious. Obviously a side effect of going to that freak school- he and Petunia had certainly never taught him to behave like that. Oh, well. He’d fix it soon enough.

___

Hagrid was having one hell of a time with the owl he had adopted. Now that she had been fed and had slept a few days, she seemed anxious to be leaving. Hagrid could hardly allow it, seeing how she was still covered from head to foot in those terrible black burns. He couldn’t even tell what kind of owl she was beneath all that scar tissue.

He wondered if she was anxious to be getting back to her master. Probably. Hagrid didn’t know if he thought very highly of the master, allowing the owl to be treated like that. Of course, it might not have been his or her fault. It might have happened on her way here, or something to that effect. Still, he didn’t want her to go back until he was quite sure of where she belonged and what might have happened to her. In the interim, he was stuck with a less than cheerful companion. It wasn’t exactly what he’d dreamed would become of his summer.

___

Dudley had never seen his father treat his cousin quite so brutally before. It was a bit sick, really. Even if Harry was a total freak, he was just a kid, wasn’t he? He was only thirteen, same age as Dudley. Dudley couldn’t imagine going for days on end without food, or having to do chores all the time, and that was nothing in comparison to the beatings he’d see his father giving Harry.

Well, Dudley could hardly stand by and let his parents get away with treating Harry like that. Anyone could see that the freak was breaking under the pressure. Dudley had learned how dangerous stress was in Health class, and Harry was definitely stressed. Dudley didn’t think he could stand it if Harry wound up in some mental ward. Or, worse, if he didn’t, because he’d died first from malnourishment or something. It seemed likely at this point.

Could freaks die from malnourishment? It seemed like if they could pop themselves from one place to another when they were scared enough, or vanish glass from a python’s cage when they were annoyed enough, they ought to be able to make food appear if they were hungry enough. He supposed he must be wrong, though, because Harry definitely wasn’t eating. Half the time he couldn’t even get into bed without assistance, even with Dudley sneaking him food whenever it was possible to do so.

Something had to give. Dudley didn’t know what it was, but something had to change. Harry couldn’t continue carrying on like this. Dudley just wished he knew how to make his father stop… Why weren’t there other freaks around checking on Harry?

___

Today, Hagrid would know what kind of owl had been brought under his wing, so to speak. He had been healing her for almost two weeks now, and was making a great deal of progress. She was now breathing properly, at a normal weight for owls, and free of broken bones. Last night, her body had finally been healthy enough to stand a strong healing potion within, and the amount he’d given her should have been enough to get rid of all those nasty burns.

Hagrid got out of bed and went to the perch he’d set up for her in the kitchen window and was surprised to note that she wasn’t there. In fact, she wasn’t anywhere within the cabin. There was a nasty sinking sensation in his stomach as he realized that she had escaped his cabin. There was a likelihood that she’d be going back to the same place that had abused her in the first place. Owls were notoriously loyal to their masters. It made him sick to think that he’d allowed her to fly to her death.

___

All Dudley knew was that his cousin was no longer responding to him. Oh, he’d do something if Dudley gave him a direct order, but he was no longer thinking for himself. The thought made Dudley sick. Had his parents done this? Was this the result of their alleged discipline?

Dudley was getting desperate. He was pretty close to calling the police on his own parents. He no longer cared what kind of trouble his parents got into, and he certainly wasn’t worried about what the neighbors thought. No, his fear was what would happen to Harry. No foster families could be expected to deal with his freakishness. And what would happen if Harry was put in a loony bin? Someone had to be there to look after Harry.

So far, that someone was Dudley. Midnight found Dudley once again in his cousin’s room, spoon feeding him left over mashed potatoes. It was the best Dudley could do, feeding his cousin, dressing his wounds, and putting him to bed every night, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was ever enough.

Something was tapping on the window. Dudley looked up sharply, afraid that the noise would awaken his parents, but to his relief he could still hear his father’s deep, thundering snores, followed by his mother’s high pitched ones. Safe, for now, but he still had to figure out the source of the tapping.

Harry was hardly going to protest if Dudley left him alone in the bed for a few minutes. Harry wasn’t even speaking anymore. Dudley slowly unfurled himself from the wicker backed chair he had been sitting in and strode across to the window. What he saw took him by complete surprise. An owl! Not just any owl, either. Harry’s owl. Harry’s owl whom they had been told had died.

Dudley Dursley was scared to death of birds, and even if he hadn’t been, he would have been scared of this one. She had a sharp looking beak and talons and fierce amber eyes. He’d heard Harry talking to her, before everything had gone awry, and had to assume that she had some sort of magical-induced near-human intelligence. She was also, Dudley knew, fiercely loyal to his cousin.

To this end, Dudley pushed away his fear of birds and opened the window a crack so he could speak with her. It seemed as though his opportunity to do more had finally come, and he was hardly going to give it up because he had slight misgivings about the package it came in. So, he’d have to do this the freaky way. He’d have to write a letter to the people in Harry’s world, and sent it with the owl. The idea made him sick for a second, but when he looked over to see Harry’s battered form upon the bed, he didn’t worry about it any more. Time to talk to the bird.

“Um, Owl,” he whispered through the crack in the window. “Sorry, I can’t remember if you have a name… Anyway, Harry’s really hurt. My Dad did it. I need to write to people in your world to get him help, I think… I need your help… And, look, I know I was never very nice to you before, but I need you to help me out for Harry’s sake. So, I’m gonna let you in now, and I’m gonna hope you don’t eat my face off, and I’m gonna hope you don’t make noise, either, because my parents are sleeping and Dad really will kill you if he finds you here… And Harry too.”

Dudley felt like an idiot talking to an owl, and even more so expecting the owl to understand, but there was nothing for it. This was the only chance he had of saving his cousin. Regardless of the fact that he and Harry had never got on in the past, he wasn’t about to let the kid die. He opened the window all the way and allowed the bird to fly into the room.

He had to go back to his own room to get a sheet of notebook paper and a pen. It was nerve-wracking to walk up and down the hall like that, his muscles tensed as he listened for any sign of his parents waking up. He made it, though, and sat down at Harry’s desk to write.

Dear Wizarding People-
Hi. My name’s Dudley Dursley. I’m Harry Potter’s cousin. I thought you ought to know that he’s being beaten up and starved by my father.

Well, that sounded absolutely idiotic. Not to mention blunt. With a little sigh, Dudley crunched the note up in his hand and chucked it on the floor. On second thought, he picked it up and tucked it into his pocket.

To Whom It May Concern-
My cousin’s getting beat up. His name’s Harry Potter. He lives at 4 Privet Drive.

Well, at least the entry sounded okay this time. The rest of it, however… Dudley crumpled that paper as well and tried one last time.

To Whom It May Concern-
Harry Potter is having difficulties at home. His guardians aren’t guarding him. Please send help.
-Dudley Dursley

Dudley looked at the note skeptically. Well, no one had ever said he should be a writer. Still, it would have to do. At least it got the point across. Now the only problem was getting it to some place beneficial to his cousin. He never had asked how owl mail worked, but he supposed you needed an address of some kind. He didn’t know of one.

Then again, if the owl really was smart, she might be able to figure it out for herself. He approached her with a great deal of apprehension, holding the letter out in front of him like a peace offering.

“It’s a letter saying that Harry needs help,” Dudley explained, “I don’t know who the right person to send it to is. A teacher, maybe? Somebody who can help. Can you take it for me?”

The owl didn’t answer, of course. She did, however, swoop down from her perch on Harry’s bed and pluck the letter gracefully from between Dudley’s fingers. Without so much as a sound, she was gone into the night.

Dudley breathed a little sigh. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Hedwig flew to North Scotland, where Hogwarts was located. There was a big difference between Hogwarts in the summer and Hogwarts in the winter. In the summer, there were no children wandered leisurely throughout the grounds, talking and laughing as they did. No professors kept watch to ascertain the safety of the school. The grounds were absolutely still and silent, Hedwig’s shadow the only thing moving upon the shaded green grass.

Even to the owl, used as she was to the dark, the looming silence of Hogwarts castle seemed ominous. She wondered I she was perhaps mistaken in coming here for help for her human. Sure, it was where she had found safety and security whilst injured, but who was to say that it would be the same for her human? Even she knew that it would not be wise to bring him to the giant man, whose judgment was lacking even if his heart was in the right place, and the other resident at Hogwarts made her uncertain. His aura was hard to read. She thought that it was a light aura, but there were shadows clouding it that made her feathers stand on end.

There was no time to find a more suitable savior for her human. The boy who’d sent her had told her to find a teacher, and this was the nearest one. All the others were not residing at the school this time of year, and now that she was here, they were all at least another day’s flight away. She’d have to trust that the clouded man would have enough light in him to help Harry.

Severus couldn’t believe that Dumbledore would have the audacity to send an owl at this time of night. His one condition when he had spied for the man was that when it was all over, he would be allowed to be on a typical seven to eleven schedule. No longer would he allow “masters” to interfere with his sleep schedule. He was done with that.

He had thought Dumbledore understood this, but from the sound of the owl tapping outside his door, he had been mistaken. Severus couldn’t even think that it was an emergency, for if it were Dumbledore would have sent a patronus. No, this was just the old man testing his boundaries, and damned if Severus was going to let him do so. They had a deal.

Severus cast a silencing spell on the door to his rooms and rolled back over, his eyes closing instantly. No doubt the owl would be perturbed, but it would stick around nonetheless. Severus could read whatever Dumbledore had sent for him in the morning like a normal person. The thought had him drifting into a deep, even slumber.

Dudley had thought that everything would be better if he sent that letter to Harry’s fellow freaks, but he had clearly been mistaken. As the first pink blush tinged the Eastern sky, he wondered why there’d been no response, nor even the slightest sign that the freaks had gotten his message. Perhaps he had been wrong about how owl mail worked. Maybe the owl wasn’t as smart as he’d allowed, and had gotten confused with the letter. It was, after all, just a bird. How could it be expected to know what Dudley had said to it?

Dudley groaned and buried his face in his arms, stunned at his own stupidity. Here his cousin was suffering at the hands of his parents and he’d placed Harry's fate on a ruddy bird. Soon his father would be in to awaken Harry for his morning duties, but Dudley was sure that his cousin would no longer be capable of even the simplest of tasks. Harry was barely hanging on as it was, and if he got another beating it was sure to be the proverbial straw that broke the camels back.

Dudley could call the police, of course, but he doubted even they would get here before his father had a chance to do serious harm. He was afraid to leave Harry alone, even for a second, sure that if he did he would never see his cousin again. Even now Harry's pale, unconscious form shuddered with every shallow breath he took. Dudley couldn’t think that Harry had much time left.

When the sun had fully risen in the East, thundering footsteps felt like an earthquake rattling through the floorboards. Dudley took in a deep, shaking breath and moved to stand in front of his cousin. His father would not harm Harry, not while Dudley was around to stop it. How exactly he would stop it, he was still uncertain, but somehow he would manage it.

The door creaked slowly open, allowing a small, diamond shaped patch of light to seep in from the hall outside, the shadows around it appearing gaunt and unnatural. A moment later Vernon Dursley stepped into the room, one hand tightening the gray tie around his neck, the other smoothing his thick brown mustache. It took a moment for him to notice his son in the room, and even when he did he only gave a slightly puzzled frown.

“Did you get hungry early, Dudders?”

“No.”

Vernon frowned again, still fumbling with his tie. Dudley found that his nerves were pulled taut as guitar strings, ready to snap. He knew that once his father found out why he was here, the man would be livid. It was like watching a hurricane coming for him and having no place to hide.

Vernon finally finished with his tie and gave his son his full attention. “Did you want something, Dudley?”

“No.”

“Well, then,” the man said slowly, his blue eyes narrowing a bit. “Why are you in here?”

Dudley closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again. “I was taking care of Harry.”

“You- what?”

“I was taking care of Harry,” Dudley repeated, more sure of himself this time. “He was pretty hurt last night. I gave him some food, put him to bed, and stayed with him in case his fever broke.”

He actually didn’t know if Harry had a fever or not. Harry’s head felt warm, but how warm Dudley wasn’t certain. He’d never checked anyone’s temperature before, and he definitely didn’t know where the thermometer was. Still, saying that he was waiting for Harry’s fever to break sounded less dangerous than saying that he was waiting for Harry’s freaky friends to show up. He was pretty sure he’d be inviting trouble if he mentioned that.

Even without saying as much, Vernon was floundering, staring fixedly at his son as though he had contracted a fatal disease. At long last he managed to sputter, “You don’t take care of a freak like him, Dudders. He’s not like us.”

“No?” Dudley asked, staring. “Does he not breathe the same as we do? Does he not eat the same as we do? Does he not bleed the same as we do?”

Vernon had turned red in the face. “You don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Dudley. He’s a freak. His parents went and got killed because they were freaks, and he’s heading on the same path.”

“His parents were murdered, Dad! You don’t travel on a path to get murdered. Piers’ mum’s cousin was murdered three years ago, and she’s not anything like Harry. It has nothing to do with lineage. It just is.”

Dudley didn’t know where the words were coming from. He’d never felt so passionately right before in his life. All his questions about his parents, all his concerns were coming out in a great pile of word vomit before he could stop them. It was almost as though he had no control, as if he were watching the scene on the television. He was screaming, and his father was turning violet with anger, and then, before Dudley could even interoperate it, his father’s beefy hand had raised up and slapped him across the face.

Dudley stumbled backward, one hand reaching up to touch the tender spot where his father’s hand had met his cheek. Never before had Vernon raised a hand against Dudley. The shock of it was enough to ward of the pain, though how that worked Dudley wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it was that moment that changed him completely. He didn’t know how, exactly. Before he had been feeling sympathy towards Harry, and had felt a need to stand up for him, but it was only after his father slapped him that he realized that none of it was even Harry’s fault. Oh, he had sputtered on about how they all bled the same, but it was in that one moment that he actually felt it within him. He and Harry were no different. Their situations could have very easily been reversed. And his father… His father was a coward.

“I think you’d better leave now,” Dudley said to his father, his voice more calm than it had ever been in his life.

“I’d better leave,” Vernon repeated furiously. “Who the devil do you think you are?”

He raised his hand in the air once more as though to slap Dudley once more, and then he froze in midair. A startled expression crossed his pudgy face before he fell backwards, stiff as a board. Dudley stared transfixed at his immobile form before slowly scanning his eyes upward to the dark cloaked figure in the doorframe. So a freak had come after Harry after all.

Severus was up, dressed, and breakfasted by six thirty in the morning, but he still refused to check on Dumbledore’s owl. Of course, at this point it wasn’t actually because the owl would inconvenience him. It was more the principle of the thing. Now that the war was over, Severus shouldn’t be expected to be at Albus’s beck and call on a whim, and it was time that he taught the man as much.

Still, at seven o’clock on the dot he strode across his quarters and opened the door to his chambers. There was no reason to push the point, after all. He had wholly expected to find an irritated owl waiting for him, but the one he saw was positively irate. She nipped at him angrily, her amber eyes absolutely deadly. Severus frowned. It was unusual for Albus to get such a poor tempered pet. Perhaps it was a loaned owl.

Severus supposed it didn’t matter. She made no attempt to keep him from reading the letter, and that was the important thing. Of course, Severus noticed right away that there was something off about the letter. The fact that it wasn’t even in an envelope would have been a tip off even without his years of spying sharpening his observations. Of more interest than that, however, was that the letter was written upon regular muggle paper rather than parchment.

Severus quickly unfolded the thing, taking in that it was not Albus’s handwriting on the little scrap of paper. As his eyes scanned the brief note, his heart sank inside his thin chest. If the note was to be believed- and Severus could see no reason why it shouldn’t be- then Harry Potter was in trouble. And here he’d been worried about proving a point about his sleeping schedule to Albus.

Severus sprinted out of the castle toward the edge of the anti-apparation boundaries, his stomach feeling as though a thousand animals were burrowing into it. Aloud he cursed at Potter for being enough of an imbecile to need saving, but his heart wasn’t in it. It was his own stupidity that had him arriving so much later than he should have. If something had happened to the boy he would never forgive himself.

He apparated as soon as it was possible to do so, soon finding himself in the meticulous, still sleeping neighborhood of Little Whinging, Surrey. It all seemed so quiet and peaceful that Severus almost allowed himself to calm down… But if the Potter brat was being abused, it would not affect the neighborhood as a whole. Severus knew only too well that abuse could be kept behind closed doors, hidden so well the secrets might never be uncovered. Not until it was too late.

Locating Potter’s house was a nightmare. Every house on the street was identical, and his only clue as to which one was Potter’s was the miniscule numbers upon the doors. He sped down the street, his eyes scanning each number as quickly as he could. Ten... Eight... Six... There! Four! He skidded to a halt in front of the door and pivoted so that he could face the house.

Why was he running? Running would not really make much of a difference. He would only appear hysterical as he burst through the door at top speeds. Better to do things a little more slowly, make less noise, and observe a bit before acting. He stepped up the front steps and cast a quiet Alohamora, but he needn’t have bothered with the quiet. Nobody would have heard him over the yelling going on upstairs anyway.

He headed toward the source of the noise, using his powerful deduction skills to figure out that whomever made the noise was the one endangering Potter. He thought about that ever so briefly. Why was it that he was always the one saving Potter’s skin? How had that happened? The elder Potter would be rolling in his grave to see it.

Sighing, Severus pushed such thoughts from his mind. They were not conducive to his current recon mission. He almost snorted at that. He’d been around teenagers far too long if he was beginning to look at his life like a James Bond film. At the top of the stairs, he found himself facing a door with at least twelve different types of locks on it. It was from there that the shouting was coming. Surprise, surprise.

He turned in just in time to see the largest man he’d ever had the misfortune of casting his eyes upon striking the flat of his hand across the face of an equally large blond boy. Severus frowned. He hadn’t caught sight of Potter yet, but if his intuition was correct it was Potter that the two were fighting about. Typical. He couldn’t even fight his own fights, but had to send some fat kid to do it for him. Pompous brat.

Now the whale boy was instructing the man to leave. Odd, that. Severus wasn’t surprised when the man didn’t take to it too kindly. Who would? Severus was still watching the scene play, watching the man raise his hand at the boy, when he saw the deathly pale figure lying upon the bed in the back. Potter.

Before he knew what was happening Severus had stunned the fat man and stepped out of the shadows. The element of surprise was completely gone now, but he supposed it didn’t matter. Even if the boy chose to fight him, he would be competing against an incredibly unhealthy fourteen year old. Not particularly challenging.

“Are you one of Potter’s freaky friends?” the boy asked, cocking his head to the side as though sizing him up.

Severus sneered at him. What kind of question was that? The strangest thing was that the boy didn’t even seem to notice how rude the inquiry was. Well, no explaining the manners muggles were brought up with. It was almost no wonder Potter was the way he was, with his father’s genes and the muggles raising him. “I am neither Potter’s friend nor am I freaky.”

The fat boy rolled his eyes. “You’re a… a wizard, though, right?”

Severus sneered again. “Correct. One out of three.”

The boy didn’t even seem to hear him. He was fuming again, and his voice rose an octave when he next spoke. An entire family of people who couldn’t control their emotions. How grand. “What the hell took you so long?”

“Pardon?”

“I sent Hodfog with that letter ages ago. You should have been here already!”

Inside, Severus winced slightly, but outside he kept his usual cool demeanor. “I came from Scotland. What did you expect?”

The boy seemed to deflate slightly. “Sorry. I just… He’s in really bad shape. Potter, I mean. I dunno, I’m worried. I think he’s gonna die.”

Severus stepped past the whale boy to investigate Potter. He really was in bad shape. In fact, pug-head’s assessment of his nearing death really wasn’t so far fetched. If Severus had to guess, he would say that it was only Potter’s magical core that was sustaining him now. It wouldn’t last much longer. He needed to fix this, and fast.

Severus placed a hand on Potter’s heart, closing his eyes and concentrating on matching the boy’s heartbeat to his own. Meanwhile, his other hand was running his wand up and down the boy’s body, running diagnostics. He frowned when he saw them. Malnourishment and dehydration would have kept the boy ill, even if he hadn’t broken the majority of his bones. It was lucky that his broken ribs hadn’t pierced his lungs, though how that had been managed Severus wasn’t sure. Magical core again? Perhaps.

“Boy!” he snapped, turning to the fat one. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Dudley. I’m Harry’s cousin,” the beach ball muttered nervously.

“Dudley,” Snape repeated dispassionately. He hated using peoples first names. “Get some bandages, hot water, and antiseptic. Don't dawdle. You’re in charge of taking care of his minor injuries.”

Dudley’s eyes widened to the size of golf balls as he ran to do Severus’s bidding, but Severus didn’t bother to watch after him. He had to take care of the Potter brat, had to make sure he didn’t die. He sighed. He’d hardly trained in first aid, and although he knew the basics from assisting Pomfrey over the years, he didn’t really know enough to take care of injuries of this magnitude. He would be better suited, he knew, to get Potter stable and then bring him to an actual healer. Even doing that much was beyond his expertise, but he’d have to try.

Alright, he thought to himself, he’d gotten the boy’s heartbeat to a regular- or near regular- pulse. Malnutrition and dehydration… He’d have to wake Potter to get anything into him, and he didn’t want to even try that right now. What else? He sighed, trying to gather his thoughts. Severus Snape prided himself on being able to cope in serious situations, but he found himself at a loss…

The fat boy- Dudley- came in with the required materials, his piggy eyes shining worriedly as he took in the sight of his cousin. With a sigh, Dudley approached and began to cleanse his various abrasions with a little water and disinfectant. As he worked, he spoke in a worried voice, “He’s lost a ton of blood… And it’s hard for him to make up for it because he doesn’t have enough water in his system…”

“Hush, boy, I’m taking care of it!” Snape snapped at Potter’s cousin. Inwardly, though, he was thanking the boy for his train of thought. Blood replenisher potion, right. That was important… He would need to wake Potter up after all… Well, might as well kill two birds with one stone, then.

“Dudley!” he barked, the extra snarl in his tone making up for the fact that he was using the boy’s first name.

Dudley gave no verbal response, which would normally have had Snape ripping him a new rear end, but the haunted look in the boy’s eyes made Snape stop short. Dudley had been waiting all night for him to show up… He was clearly worried sick over his cousin. There was no need for Snape to impress the seriousness of the situation upon him, no need for him to use military like discipline. The boy would be helpful because of Potter, not because of Snape.

“Go get your cousin a bowl of broth,” Snape said, and this time, though his voice was by no means kind, it lacked its usual sting, “and some water. Lukewarm, both of them. Harsh temperatures either way could send him into shock.”

Dudley nodded, setting aside the cloth he had been using to wipe the blood from Potter’s brow, and got shakily to his feet. A moment later, he had left the room. Snape ran a hand through his lank hair before rummaging through his cloak, pulling out the potions that he kept with him most times in case someone wanted to sample his work. He quickly cast aside the more showy materials- Potter hardly needed Wolfsbane or- Severus made a face- a love potion… Ah, there… Blood replenisher… Bruise balm… Antibiotic balm… Bone Mending draught.

There was a light cough behind him, and Snape turned to see that Dudley had returned with the required food articles. He nodded an acknowledgement at the boy and motioned for Dudley to hand the food to him. Dudley did so with a slight frown, his eyes shaded and his concentration on his cousin.

“Here,” Snape said, thrusting the balms at the boy. “Finish cleaning him up, and then use the bruise balm- the purple one- on his bruises, and the antibiotic balm- the green one- on his cuts. And don’t put bandages on him after. The balms work best with exposure to the air.”

Dudley nodded that he understood and got to work. Snape knew that the small cuts and bruises were hardly his most important concern, but he figured that every little bit helped. Besides, he was sure it would be better for Potter’s cousin to feel like he was doing something than to stand on the sidelines, helplessly.

Meanwhile, Snape was sitting Potter up a little, leaning Potter against his chest to keep him upright and speaking in a far softer tone than would be expected. “Come on, Potter. I need you to wake up for me and take some medicine.”

Potter blinked weakly before closing his eyes again, leaning more heavily against Snape, but he had more patience than he let on, and didn’t even mutter at the behavior. It was as to be expected, really. Not bad for a first effort on the boy’s part, in any case.

“Come on, P-Harry,” Snape forced the word out, knowing that distancing himself from the boy at this point in time would be a mistake not worth making. “Come on, Harry, wake up for me, that’s it…”

­­­___

Harry opened his eyes, feeling as though they were crusted to his cheeks. He blinked, slowly, once… twice… three times… He hurt everywhere, he noted dully. That was no surprise, really. Actually, compared to what it had been, the pain was quite tolerable. He vaguely noticed that Dudley was nearby him, trying to clean him up a bit, but that was hardly new. Dudley seemed to have changed this summer. He was like Harry’s guardian angel…

No, the thing Harry noticed was weird was that he was leaning against something solid… Something that felt strangely like the frame of a thin, fit man. It made no sense. His thoughts were confirmed when a soft, soothing voice spoke to him, telling him to stay awake, matching perfectly with a little bit of vibrating behind him as the voice coursed through the body.

“M’wake,” he murmured blearily. How long had he been asleep for? Was it morning? Uncle Vernon was going to be mad when he came in and saw what a lazy ass Harry was being. At that thought, Harry tried desperately to get up. He wasn’t lazy… Wasn’t bad… He was good…

“Stop that!” the voice commanded sharply, and Harry recoiled as though struck. The voice continued on, softer now. “You’re going to hurt yourself. I need you to stay still, and try to drink some things for me.”

Harry felt himself begin to shake… His uncle played this game with him sometimes, when he’d been very bad. His throat was still raw from the last time they played this game, when he’d been told to drink Drain-O. And he had to sit still, no matter what. No matter how much it hurt. That was the worst part.

“None of that, now,” the voice reprimanded gently. “I promise you, it’s nothing bad. Just some medicine; it might taste funny but it won’t hurt you.”

Harry wasn’t supposed to question things. He knew better. He was supposed to take what he got and be thankful it wasn’t worse. Thus, he felt betrayed by himself when he said, in a small, weak voice, “Promise?” He cringed, waiting for the blow he knew was to come.

Instead, he heard the same baritone reply firmly, “I promise.”

His uncle had promised him many things in the past, and none of them meant a thing. Not one damned thing. Harry still didn’t know why he had risked a beating to ask for something as childish and meaningless as a promise… But, loathe as he was to admit it, hearing the promise made him feel safe. Even though he knew that promises only went as far as you could throw them… He opened his mouth obediently, allowing the person behind him to coax something into his mouth. It tasted like chicken broth…

__

Snape had finally managed to get the potions, and the food, into the boy. It was the most difficult thing he’d done in months, he mused, but he found that he was fairly proud of the way he’d dealt with Potter. He’d used more patience in dealing with the emotionally unstable child than he even knew he had. Of course, it was less difficult to show compassion towards the boy when he was looking so decrepit.

Severus had finally managed to stabilize the boy. It was time to get him to the hospital… and after that, he’d have to find a way to get hold of Albus. Until then, it would fall to him to take care of Harry. And after? Snape didn’t fool himself. It would likely fall upon his shoulders then, too. His home would be the only safe one at this point in time, until the Death Eaters were finally rounded up.

Snape stood, gathering Harry into his hands. He would have apparated on the spot, but he felt that he owed Harry’s cousin at least a word or two before he went. After all, it was only due to Dudley that Harry was even still alive, really.

“Thank you for your assistance, Dudley,” Severus said. “Harry and I are leaving now.”

“Wait!” Dudley cried out, slightly panicked. “You can’t leave me here!”

Snape raised an eyebrow at the boy, “Pray tell, why not?”

Dudley pointed at Harry’s still form. “If you leave me here, that’ll be me inside of a month. I sided with him. As far as Dad’s concerned, that will make me as bad as he is.”

Surely not? It had to be an exaggeration at the very least, Snape told himself… Truly, though, he didn’t believe it. The boy’s panicky voice said far more than his words ever could. Besides, hadn’t Snape seen Dudley’s father raise a hand to him earlier?

“What of your mother?” Snape asked suddenly. “I haven’t heard from her at all. What will she think of you?”

Dudley made a face. “She always sides with Dad. Always. And you didn’t hear from her because she’s not around right now. She’s helping Aunt Marge out- she isn’t thinking so well since your folk obliffidated her. And before you get any ideas, no, Aunt Marge wouldn’t be any better than Dad.”

Snape sighed. This was getting to be more complicated than he had hoped for. Still, he was hardly about to leave Potter’s cousin behind to suffer. It wasn’t right for any child to go through… And Dudley had been helpful when it came to his cousin.

“Grab my arm, then,” Snape said at last, wearily. “It seems I shall have two new wards for the summer.”

Bright lights greeted Harry when he opened his eyes. He moaned, rolling away from them, and tried to go back to sleep. However, now that he was awake he was all too aware of an ache that seemed to encompass the entirety of his body, and attempts to sleep were futile at best. Eventually, he opened his eyes again, more cautiously, and gazed around the room. The fact that the room was almost completely white would have told him it was a hospital ward, even if he hadn’t smelled the unique blend of potions and disinfectants that all wizard hospitals had.

Harry sighed. Uncle Vernon was going to be so mad that he’d had to be brought to a hospital… So, so mad… His brain, muddled as it was at the moment, didn't seem to comprehend the fact that the smell of potions meant that he wasn't in a muggle hospital. Such logic at this point escaped him. He worried his lip a bit before pushing himself to a sitting position, fighting the wave of dizziness that passed over him as he did so. It was bad enough that he’d been brought to the hospital without spending an undue amount of time there. That thought in mind, Harry cast about for his clothes…

____

Severus was awakened by an annoying buzzing sound right in his ears. He groaned, trying dully to hit whatever it was. His hand collided with something round and cool. An alarm ball? He frowned. What was he monitoring?

He woke with a start when he remembered the previous day’s events. So, Potter was conscious. Great. He looked about for his robes, dreading the confrontation that he knew was coming. Despite having rescued the boy from his relatives, Severus knew not to expect him to be pleased at becoming Snape’s ward. Truth be told, Severus wasn’t very happy with the arrangement, either. He wished he was delusional enough to believe that it would only be temporary, but he knew better. His home was safe, the safest if Potter couldn’t depend on his blood wards. Dumbledore would insist the boy stay with Severus, at least until the Death Eater activity ceased. And, loathe as he was to admit it, Snape knew it was the most logical arrangement.

“Dursley!” he snapped, glad to have learned the oaf’s last name. “Up!”

The boy was mercifully quick in rising. Snape had been very adamant on that point last night. Their main concern was Potter because he was sick, and if the Dursley boy insisted on being rescued, he had better cooperate. Not that Severus would ever send him back to his parents, in truth, but he wasn’t above making empty threats.

“Sir?”

“Your cousin is awake,” Snape sneered. “So we are going to visit him.”

“Alright.”

­­___

Harry had just finished getting dressed when the door to his room creaked open. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he’d woken up when he did. Uncle Vernon would have been twice as mad to come in and find Harry still asleep. He’d have accused Harry of lazing about.

To Harry’s surprise, it wasn’t his uncle who stepped into the room first, but his cousin. Why had Dudley come along? He figured that Uncle Vernon would have thought it enough of a hassle to make the trip by himself, without bringing the family along. Before he could get too much farther into that train of thought, however, a voice interrupted him.

“Mr. Potter,” an icy voice greeted him from the darkness. “What do you think you’re doing out of bed?”

Harry swallowed rather painfully. He knew that voice only too well. What was Snape doing here? He rubbed tiredly at his scar, trying to piece things together, to no avail. Oh, well, he thought to himself. He’d have to play it by ear.

“I’m getting ready to go home,” he said, his voice portraying a confidence he did not feel. He’d been taught from an early age not to display any untoward signs of cowardice. It made his relatives look suspect, which did not make for a healthy Harry.

“You are doing no such thing,” Snape replied, now stepping into Harry’s line of sight. “You’ll be staying in this ward for several more days.”

Harry opened his mouth to complain about that, knowing that his uncle would be furious if Harry wasn’t ready to go when he got here. Still, he found himself scared by the murderous look in Snape’s eyes, and struggled to find something to rescue him. His eyes landed on Dudley.

“I’m going home, aren’t I, Dudley?” he asked. “Uncle Vernon sent you to fetch me, right?”

Dudley swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thick throat, before quietly saying, “No. You’re here for a bit more, I guess, Harry.”

Harry frowned. He wasn’t going back right away? He found himself shaking at the thought of how much a several day’s stay in a hospital would cost. Uncle Vernon was going to have a cow… When he glanced up, it was to notice Snape’s eyes glued on him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, glaring at the man.

“If you’re quite through with your drama…” Snape said. Harry vaguely noticed that his tone lacked its usual bite.

Sighing, Harry kicked off his shoes and pulled off his shirt before crawling back into bed. He refused to shard more clothes in front of Dudley and Snape. Why were they here, anyway? They still hadn’t explained it. And Snape… Snape definitely should have explained it.

“Where’s Uncle Vernon?” Harry asked, his voice shaking.

Snape snorted. “Surely you aren’t missing the oaf.”

Dudley gave Snape a murderous look, which was curious in itself, before turning to Harry. “He’s not around, Harry… Professor, er… Snake… brought you here. I asked him to.”

Harry reeled at this news before beginning to back-peddle into the wall, his eyes wide. All he could think was that his uncle was going to blame him for this, blame him because a freaky man was involved in his personal life. They had just made things so much worse, he realized. Perhaps he could remedy it, he thought desperately, if he was good now.

“You had a freak kidnap me?” he spat at Dudley. “Are you daft? Your father’s going to be beside himself. Call him up so I can go home. And let him know that I had nothing to do with this.”

“That’s enough!” Snape shouted. “Watch your mouth around me or I’ll have you scrubbing cauldrons for a month. Just because you’re in a hospital doesn’t mean you can say anything you like about me. And treating your cousin like dirt? Honestly. I knew you were presumptuous, Potter, but ordering Dursley around like a house elf when you should be thanking him on bent knee for what he’s done for you…”

“Shut up!” Dudley said to Snape, his eyes flashing angrily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Snape’s voice was dangerously soft. “What don’t I know? What is it, exactly, that I have overlooked in my naivety?”

“Harry still thinks he’s going back to live with Dad!”

“Excuse me?”

“Harry still thinks he’s going back to live with Mum and Dad. That’s why he’s acting the way he is.”

“I don’t see how living with your father gives Potter the right to act like an insolent child. I hardly think he, of all people, would condone such insolence.”

Harry shuddered at the thought of what Uncle Vernon would ever do if he thought Harry was being insolent. Was Snape going to tell him? Harry would rather scrub cauldrons… Somehow the meaning behind his cousin’s words hadn’t yet registered in his brain.

“He’s trying to do what Dad would want,” Dudley was saying. “Don’t you see? Calling you a freak, asking to go home. He’s trying to make sure everyone knows this wasn’t his idea. Trying to stay out of trouble.”

Snape felt himself pale slightly at those words. Foolish, really. He should have seen as much himself. Certainly the Dursley boy wasn’t on the high end of the wits scale. Snape knew that he was a bit blind when it came to Potter, but even he should have known to be paying attention to the subliminal messages in Potter’s words before jumping to conclusions.

He crossed the space between him and Potter in a matter of seconds, noting with no level of satisfaction Potter’s involuntary flinch when he was standing above him. With a sigh, Snape crouched on the floor beside Potter’s bed so he was eye level with the boy and therefore less intimidating.

“You’re not going to live with the muggles again, Potter,” he said, his voice crystal clear. “When you are well again, you and your cousin will come to stay with me. I will personally ensure that you never see the man who has the audacity to call himself your uncle again. Understand?”

Harry nodded his head, a barely perceptible movement, but enough to tell Snape that he’d gotten his message across. Snape frowned at the lack of argument about living with him, but for all his bravado, Snape realized that Potter was quite beyond arguing at this point. Defiance was expected of him. Confidence was expected of him… But for all that, Potter was really just going through the motions. Just trying to survive.

“I need you to rest some more,” Severus told Harry, not altogether unkindly. “Your body has taken some pretty harsh treatment these past couple of weeks. You need to recuperate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your cousin will stay with you for a little bit while I go and get you some lunch. You are not to leave your bed. If you do, the consequences will be… unpleasant.”

Harry gave an involuntary shudder. He didn’t know what constituted as ‘unpleasant’ in Snape’s book, but it sure as hell wasn’t anything good. Sighing, he used a sheet to cover himself as he stripped down to his briefs before pushing the blankets aside, his face red in shame. Still, there was no point in dirtying in the sheets with his freakishness. He curled into a ball to stave off the cool air, but it wasn’t so bad… Warmer than the cupboard had ever been, in any case.

“Uh, Harry?” Dudley’s voice was soft and uncertain.

Harry turned to him, a little confused. His memories of the past few weeks were hazy at best, but he did remember that Dudley had at least attempted to tend to him. It didn’t escape Harry that without the food and small comforts Dudley had brought him, he might not still be alive. And yet… This was Dudley, his cousin Dudley, the same boy who had mercilessly tortured and beaten him when they were children. People could change, he knew, but he wondered if it might be too little, too late… That’s when he saw the shadows under Dudley’s eyes, telling the tale of the many restless nights he’d kept careful vigil of Harry, and the mottled bruise of a handprint across his face… Too small to be Snape’s, could only be Vernon’s… Harry found the thought nearly incomprehensible. He realized that Dudley had been a victim, just as he had. Of course he would have tortured Harry, as a child. In truth, they had been struggling for the same thing all those years; love and acceptance. Dudley had gained his at Harry’s detriment, but Harry knew that he couldn’t be angry with him. He hadn’t known better, and now that he did, he was trying to make things better.

“Thanks, Dud,” he said, his voice scratchy. “For the food and stuff. I appreciate it.”

Dudley swallowed, suddenly nervous. Harry noticed then that he was a bit thinner than he had been at the beginning of summer. He wondered, suddenly, how Dudley had gotten the food. His parents had allowed him to indulge himself, food-wise, but they surely would have noticed if he was eating enough for a whole other person. Vernon and Petunia had never even suspected that Harry was getting more food. It could only mean that Dudley was cutting back on what he actually ate, at least this summer. The thought made Harry feel a bit guilty.

“Dad shouldn’t have starved you,” Dudley whispered. “And Mum shouldn’t have allowed him to… I just realized I didn’t want to be like Dad. If I let him treat you like that, and didn’t interfere where I could, then I was as bad as he was.”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t sure if he agreed with that or not. He doubted he’d have had enough courage to stand up to Vernon like that. Then again, neighbors and everyone had always cooed over Dudley, calling him brave and intelligent and decent hearted. Perhaps it wasn’t all as construed as Harry told himself it was. Thinking back, Dudley didn’t seem so bad towards other people. Just towards Harry, and lately, that wasn’t even true.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door opened again and Snape strode in carrying a tray of food. The man’s face was, for the most part, impassive, but when he saw Harry, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Further proof that even in the wizarding world, there was something wrong with Harry. Snape usually had enough decorum not to let a mere boy break past his defenses.

When the man spoke, though, it was not to ridicule Harry. He said merely, “You’ll catch your cold if you carry on like that, Potter.”

Before Harry could work out what that meant, Snape had set the food on an end table and pulled the sheets and comforter up over Harry’s thin body. Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, and Snape rolled his eyes, brushing the fringe off of Harry’s forehead. Snape almost immediately straightened up, as though embarrassed.

“You needn’t play the martyr all the time, Potter,” he muttered, but his voice was not, Harry thought, as acerbic as it might have been.

The awkwardness was fixed a moment later by Dudley, who, having been forgotten momentarily by both of them, chose that moment to make his presence known. “He won’t be able to eat all that, professor.”

Snape merely raised a brow at the tray Dudley was pointing to, which was laden with food. “Well, he’ll eat what he can and you may have the rest, then.”

Dudley seemed content with that, but Harry paled. No. No way in hell he was going to allow Snape to force him to do that. For years he had grown up eating nothing but Dudley’s leftovers. He wasn’t going to do the same thing to Dudley. When Snape put the food in front of him, he shook his head and pushed it away. He wouldn’t have anything to do with it.

Snape frowned at him. “Eat up, Potter. You need the nourishment.”

Harry shook his head again, mutely.

“Don’t tell me you’re picky about food,” Snape snarled.

Harry spoke this time, though his voice was quiet. “No, sir. Not picky.”

He couldn’t afford to be. He had to eat whatever was available, whether or not it tasted good. It was a survival skill, and one Harry had learned very early on. This wasn’t about the food, though. It was the principal of the whole thing that had Harry’s stomach churning. He cast a pleading look at Dudley.

Dudley frowned a little, unable to interpret his cousin’s expression. He stepped forward, looking at the food. It was all fairly bland, he thought. Nothing that should hurt Harry’s stomach, nothing more solid than what he had given Harry these past couple of weeks. He doubted Harry would be able to eat everything on the tray, but he didn’t see why Harry was refusing it altogether with.

“Look, Harry, peanut butter and jelly,” he said, holding out a little triangle of a sandwich. “When we were younger, I’d always make you one on your birthday… It was the only thing I knew how to prepare, really. I always told you Mum made me bring it out, but that wasn’t really true. I just didn’t want you to know I was being nice.”

He smiled lightly at the memory. Harry looked a bit uncertain, but held a hand out and took the peanut butter and jelly into his hand. He frowned at it, his eyes darting nervously from Dudley to Snape.

“I’ll eat half if you eat half, Dud,” Harry said.

“Oh for heaven’s sakes, Potter!” Snape growled. “I haven’t poisoned it… And if you thought I had, you shouldn’t be asking your cousin to sample it with you. What would that accomplish? Some thanks!”

Harry looked stricken at the words, and dropped the sandwich back onto the tray, almost without noticing. “I didn’t think of you poisoning it!” His voice was quiet and shaky.

Snape groaned. Merlin’s beard! He hadn’t mean to put ideas in the boys head. Frowning, he reached forward and snagged an apple of the tray, biting into it, chewing, and swallowing so the boy could see. “See? Not poisoned. Now why on earth won’t you eat your food?”

Harry backed up a little bit, curling up in a defensive position, but his eyes were determined and his voice solid for the first time all morning. “I don’t think it’s right that Dudley eats my leftovers. They… Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia… They never gave me anything but leftovers, and if Dudley was really hungry, I didn’t get hardly anything. Sometimes… I’d blame him for it, even though it wasn’t really his fault. If he was hungry, he should be able to eat without worrying about me. They should have fed me my own food. That’s the same here. If I’m going to eat, I won’t be worried about Dudley all the time. If he’s not getting his own food, I won’t either.”

Snape groaned. Merlin save him from self righteous Gryffindors. The boy would be the death of him. As though he had intended the leftovers to be Dursley’s only food. It was a despicable thought, even if the boy could afford to lose a few pounds… Telling, too, if Harry could feel so adamantly about it. He couldn’t believe that the boy’s “guardians” had been starving him for that long.

“Your cousin is getting his own food,” Snape said. “I had thought he might like to go down there on his own. The comment on what you didn’t eat was merely so it would not go to waste; there’s not point in him getting the same food downstairs that you’re going to waste up here. Had I known of the reaction it would cause, I would not have suggested it.”

Harry still looked uncertain. This time Dudley chimed in. “He hasn’t kept any meals from me so far, Harry. He’s loads nicer to me than Dad was to you, anyway. I’ll be fine.”

At that, Harry once more took the peanut butter into his hand and bit into it. It was quite possibly the best thing he had eaten since Hogwarts, for he knew that it was freshly made and he wouldn’t get in trouble if he was caught eating it. He savored every bite, and managed to eat more in that meal than he had in weeks; half a sandwich, a cup of soup, and a little bit of salad, as well as a glass of milk. Wonderful.

The rest of the morning passed quietly for Harry, although that might have been because he spent most of his time sleeping. For all that his breakfast hadn’t been poisoned, he would have sworn Snape laced it with a sleeping draught when he wasn’t looking, because he was conked out soon after, and didn’t wake again until Snape shook him lightly to rouse him for lunch. He hopped up at that point, sliding as far away from the unfamiliar touch as possible before realizing where he was. He glared at Snape challengingly, but the man didn’t take the bait.

“You need to take some potions with your lunch,” the man said.

Harry noticed that another tray had been brought up for him, filled to the brim, and on the side about a half dozen vials of disgusting looking brews were lined up in neat little rows. He choked back his groan of dismay. “I just ate.”

“Breakfast was several hours ago, Potter.”

Harry sighed. He knew that- Snape wouldn’t have fed him twice in a row- but he felt like he’d just eaten. His stomach didn’t feel like it could handle any more, and the thought of downing those unknown potions made him feel slightly ill. He gave his professor a pleading look, despite knowing that it wouldn’t work- Uncle Vernon would have clouted him for denying good food.

Snape sighed and took a seat in the hard, wooden chair across from Harry’s bed, scooting forward a bit so that he was at eye level with the boy. To his embarrassment, he had seen himself taking notes on how the Dursley boy interacted with his cousin at breakfast that morning, and had actually picked up on a few tricks that he thought to try out now. Anything to put Harry more at ease was a good thing, he had decided.

“Here, this one is a nutrient potion,” he told the boy, holding out a vial that was a murky grey-brown color. “I assure you, it tastes better than it looks.”

Harry looked doubtful, but he did take the vial, and, tipping his head back, down the potion. It had the taste of black licorice, of which Harry was no fan, but it was certainly better than some of the things he’d been forced to drink over the years.

“Very well done, Potter. Now, grab a couple of grapes to rid the taste, that’s it…”

By alternating between potions and lunch, Harry managed to get through nutrition potion, blood replenisher, painkiller, infection prevention, hydration potion, and, to Harry’s surprise, a potion to keep him awake. When he raised an eyebrow at that, Snape said that he didn’t want Harry sleeping the day awake less it keep him up at night.

It was only after the potions were gone that Harry realized Snape’s method had accomplished something else. Without really realizing it, Harry had eaten through a branch of grapes and a cup of potato soup. He glared at Snape when he realized he’d been tricked, but the man didn’t seem to notice.

“You’ve a choice of how to spend the afternoon, Potter,” he said, frowning slightly. “You can work on a bit of school work, or you can play a game of chess.”

“With Dudley?” Harry asked, looking around. He’d only just noticed that his cousin wasn’t in the room.

“I set your cousin to his own studies,” Snape replied. “I have him reading Hogwarts: A History so he’ll understand a bit better when we get to school.”

Harry nodded his understanding. “But then, chess…”

“I certainly know how to play,” Snape replied, raising an eyebrow.

Harry almost choked. Snape was offering to play chess with him? He half wanted to claim that he’d prefer to study, but two things stopped him. One, it wasn’t really true; he was bad at chess, but he enjoyed the game. Two, it didn’t sound very gracious of him. It wasn’t beyond him that Snape was offering it as a bit of an olive branch.

“Chess sounds pleasant, sir.”

Snape sneered a little at the pronouncement, but he pulled out a board and set it between the two of them. The match was by no means even; Harry might have suspected that Snape would be able to whip his ass in chess. After all, it was a game based on logic, and considering Snape’s contribution to the guarding of the Sorcerer’s Stone, it was clear that the man valued it. In fact, it was probably why he had offered this option alongside Harry’s schoolwork. Chess was fun, but it was by no means an idle game.

“Next time,” Snape said, after he had taken Harry’s king, “you need to think ahead. If you need to, do it in small steps- think one step ahead, and then two, and then three, and so forth. Each layer will show you improvement in your game.”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape nodded. “Homework now, I should think. If you work until supper, I might have something a bit more interesting for you afterwards.”

Harry’s eyes widened a bit at the pronouncement. Snape was offering him incentive for doing schoolwork? It was as though he had entered a twilight zone. He accepted the textbook, parchment, and quill Snape handed him without another word, and allowed himself a small smirk when he saw that it was his potions text. Go figure.

“Something amuse you, Potter?”

Harry sobered instantly. “No, sir.”

He dug into his schoolwork in a frenzy, scanning his eyes across the essay topic before flipping open the textbook. He had no doubt in his mind that Snape would be as meticulous as ever at ripping his essay to shreds, and part of him resented the idea of putting an effort into something that would be ridiculed regardless, but the past couple of weeks had, at least, had the desired effect; Harry was no longer stupid enough to voice objections to the expectations of his elders. It was too stupid.

Four hours. It was four hours between lunch and dinner, four long, grueling hours bent over a textbook or his parchment, alternately. He had rewritten the essay twice now, adding in more facts and better transitions each time, and fluffing up his concluding paragraph, determined that Snape would at least be forced to give him a passing grade on this assignment. It would be a nice way to start off the year, anyway.

By the time Snape left to get Harry’s dinner tray, Harry was so tired of studying he was actually excited, despite the fact that he was, once again, decidedly not hungry. Harry was surprised when Snape returned, not alone or even with Dudley, but with a Healer (recognized only from the sterile while robe the man wore). As far as Harry was aware, there hadn’t been any Healers in his room up until now, although it was quite possible- and even plausible- that they had come in and run diagnostics while he slept. Despite being in an infirmary, he had sort of forgotten that Healers were to be expected.

“Good evening, Harry,” the man said, hazel eyes flicking up from the file he was reading to rest on Harry, who was once again backed into the far corner of the wall. “I trust your time here thus far has been restful.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I know bed rest can be quite irritating for an active youth, but your professor informs me that you’re taking it rather well, all things considered. It really is the best thing for you, as weakened as your body is right now.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Healer nodded, satisfied, before running a few diagnostic charms on Harry. To Harry, it seemed to take forever, and when the Healer finally sheathed his want, Harry found himself releasing the breath that had gotten stuck somewhere between his lungs and his mouth.

“Much better than you were when you came in here,” the Healer affirmed. “You’re still far too underweight for my likings, and that broken rib will be a beast when your painkillers wear off, but other than that, you’re recovering nicely.”

Snape cleared his throat. “How much longer will it be before Mr. Potter can be released.”

The healer shrugged. “If he went home now, he would probably be fine; however, I’d rather keep him here another week to make sure he gets an adequate amount of sleep and gains a bit more weight.”

Snape nodded even as Harry bit back a groan. A week? Just being here a day was torture, and though he doubted Snape’s house would be much better, at least there was apt to be a color there other than white. Probably black, actually. Or green. Harry groaned again.

“Problem, Potter?”

“No offense, sir,” he said, scowling a little, “but I think I’d rather be back at Privet Drive than stuck in this bloody bed for a week.”

Snape had stood up almost before Harry finished his sentence, eye’s flashing dangerously at the proclamation, narrow face twisted into an ugly grimace. “Have you any idea how much work we put in just to keep you alive after that bastard had his hands on you? Or do you really have no care whatsoever for your own general wellbeing?”

He’s mad Harry thought, shuddering a little as he backed as far away from his angered teacher as possible. He felt himself begin to shake a little in fear, and willed himself to stop. Uncle Vernon was always worst when Harry acted like a little pansy girl. Harry wasn’t supposed to be scared, because, after all, he deserved whatever anger adults decided to throw in his direction.

Snape scowled as he saw Harry fighting to get himself under control. What in Merlin’s name had possessed him to try and parent an emotionally damaged teenager? After all, he was in the practice of sending even the toughest students from his office in tears without even thinking about it. It didn’t help assuage his guilt to see the Healer glaring at him ferociously. He glared back, but his heart wasn’t really in it.

“Po-Harry,” he said, dropping his voice to a lighter, less intimidating one as he crouched once more in front of the child. “I do not appreciate your apparent lack of concern for your own behalf; however, my anger was misplaced. I am truly furious with your uncle because of what he did to you. I haven’t any right to take that anger out on you. I apologize.”

Harry stared at him a long moment. “Sorry, Professor. I didn’t really mean it… It just came out.”

Snape forced himself to nod before patting Potter once on the knee. “I forget sometimes that you children are given to exaggeration. Do try not to be insufferable, though. I think the Healer has quite enough to be getting on with, without someone as old as you throwing a tantrum.”

Harry blushed. “Yes, sir.”

Harry let his breath come out in a little huff once the healer left.  Normally, he wouldn’t be at all glad to be alone in Snape’s presence, but things had become heated so quickly when the healer came that Harry was just glad for the man to be gone.  Snape was leaning back in his chair and Harry watched him warily. What now?

“I do believe,” Snape said slowly, “That I said I had a bit of a surprise for you if you managed to work diligently on your homework this afternoon.”

Harry swallowed. He had forgotten about that.  Well, not forgotten exactly.  He just hadn’t expected Snape to follow through on the promise.  He thought it more likely, even now, that Snape was mentioning it just so that he could sneer at Harry for ever believing that he might be worthy of any sort of surprise.  Harry shifted, reaching his shaking left hand across his chest and scratching wordlessly at his arm. 

Snape sighed.  “Let’s see what you managed to accomplish today, then.”  He held his hand out expectantly. 

Harry rolled onto his stomach and dragged out the parchment that he had stuffed beneath his bed, pressing it carefully into Snape’s hand.  Harry hugged his arms about his knees and watched Snape’s eyes rove across the parchment. It was a long moment later that Snape’s eyes flicked up to Harry’s. 

“Better than any previous efforts I’ve had from you,”  Snape said quietly,  “which goes to show that you are quite capable when you’re free of distractions.  We’ll work on your study habits a bit this summer.”

Harry nodded slowly.  He felt as though he’d been dunked in a tub of ice water.  Snape thought his essay was alright.  He hadn’t said it was good, sure, but he’d said that Harry was capable.  Quite capable.  Snape thought that Harry was quite capable.  Suddenly, he didn’t care if the so-called surprise Snape kept mentioning turned out to be a farce.  He couldn’t imagine Snape ever surprising him more than he just had. 

“So, your surprise,”  Snape said carefully.  Harry swallowed again, waiting for the sneer, the scorn, the disappointment.  It didn’t come.  Instead, Snape ran a tongue across his lower lip and then stood up with a certain level of determination.  “I’ll go get it for you.”

He left the room without another word.  Harry closed his eyes nervously.  What kind of horrible surprise could Snape have cooked up for him?  The last surprise Vernon had ever given him was a belt last Christmas.  Harry thought that Snape might have a bit more decorum than that, especially considering the fact that they were currently in an infirmary, but that didn’t mean that the surprise wouldn’t have some sort of negative meaning to Harry.  Something that the healers wouldn’t pick up on.  He squirmed as he tried to think what it could possibly be.

“Harry?”

He looked up.  Dudley was standing hesitantly in the doorway.  “May I come in?”

Harry bit the insides of his cheeks.  He didn’t want Dudley to see Snape embarrassing him, but he couldn’t very well send his cousin away, not when he was looking so uncertain.  Almost vulnerable.  Harry nodded slowly.  It wasn’t like Dudley wouldn’t see him getting shredded by Snape eventually, anyway, and the last thing that Harry wanted was to further the chasm between himself and his cousin.  He would need an ally in Snape’s abode, he was sure, and Dudley was the only chance he had. 

“Have you eaten yet?”  Harry asked.

Dudley nodded.  “Your teacher said I had to before I came to see you.  He was afraid that you wouldn’t eat your food unless I’d eaten mine.”

“He could have just told you to lie.”

“Nah.  My stomach would have growled.”

Harry smiled.  It was true that Dudley’s stomach was better than the best truth serum.  He wondered again how Dudley had managed to feed Harry for an entire summer without his parents noticing.  And then the infirmary door snapped open again and Harry didn’t have a chance to wonder about anything because he was being suffocated by an assembly of arms. 

“Harry!  Oh my God, Harry, we’ve been so worried!”

“Blimey, mate, you look a right wreck!”

“You look even worse—“

“Than when you left the Chamber of secrets last year.”

“Or when you got chased by that Bludger.”

“Or when you came out of the third floor corridor two years ago.”

“Or when you—“

“That’s quite enough!”  Snape had entered the room again, and at the sound of his voice, Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione all jumped a step back from Harry’s bed.  “I let the four of you in here on the condition that you cheer Harry up.”  The words looked like they were painful coming from Snape’s mouth.  “I hardly think that reminding him of every difficult situation he’s been in during the past two years will accomplish that goal.”

“Sorry, sir,”  Fred muttered, looking down. 

“Yeah, sorry,”  George added.

Ron and Hermione didn’t apologize, perhaps because they hadn’t been the ones harping on about Harry’s past grievances, but they did look down in a rather sheepish manner.  Harry, on the other hand, was staring at Snape with a mixture of awe and happiness.  Sheer happiness. 

“Thank you, sir,”  Harry whispered. 

Snape looked right uncomfortable.  “You should have shut them up yourself, Potter.”

“No, I meant, thank you for—“

Snape waved his hand.  “Once the headmaster told them what had happened, they were hardly going to be held at bay for long.  I merely limited the number of Weasleys I allowed to see you at a time.”

Harry found that he was thankful for that as well, although he knew better than to say it again.  Snape was looking uncomfortable enough as it was.  Still, he found that the idea of the entire Weasley clan crowding around him at once, as well-intentioned as they might be, was a tad off-putting.  Overwhelming, even.

“Very well,”  Snape said.  “You have two hours before visiting hours are over.  I caution you to stay in bed and not over-exert yourself.  If I find that you have done otherwise, I will think very carefully before letting your friends visit you again.”

But Harry heard what Snape had not said.  “You mean you might let them come again?  If I’m good, I mean, and I stay in bed?”

Snape looked like he’d swallowed a bludger, but he nodded tightly.  “Provided that they do not prohibit your recovery, I see no reason to forbid your friends from checking in on you.  However, I will reconsider the arrangement if you exhibit any more of the infantile  behavior you showed the healer earlier today.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then.”  Snape turned back towards the hallway.  He was halfway out the door when he added over his shoulder, “Two hours.”

Harry grinned broadly at his professor’s retreating back.  He’d never thought that Snape, of all people, would arrange for his friends to come visit him.  Of course, he had mentioned Dumbledore’s influence, but it wasn’t lost on Harry that he’d yet to hear from the headmaster himself.  He doubted that Dumbledore was going to great lengths to help him out if he couldn’t even bother to visit. 

“Uh, maybe I should go, too,”  a voice near Harry’s elbow muttered.  He turned to see Dudley hovering uncertainly at Harry’s elbow, his eyes fixed on Harry’s friends.  He was surprised that he didn’t see disdain or even fear in Dudley’s eyes.  Instead, there was something akin to yearning there.  Of course.  Dudley had never had friends like this, at least not that Harry knew of.  His friends had mostly been kids like Piers, kids who liked to play Dudley’s video games and torment Dudley’s cousin. And it wasn’t lost on Harry that those same friends hadn’t really been around over this past summer. 

“No, Dud, that’s okay,”  Harry heard himself saying.  “Guys, this is my cousin, Dudley.  He, er…  He’s helped me out a bunch this summer.  Dudley, these are my friends, Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George.”

“Your cousin helped you this summer?”  Ron asked uncertainly. 

Dudley blushed furiously, and Harry felt like socking Ron in the shoulder.  To his surprise, George came to his defense.

“Of course he did, Ronniekins,”  George laughed.  “Snape’s a right git, but he hardly would have brought a muggle along otherwise.  He warned us about not heckling Harry, and we’re his friends, and wizards to boot.”

“Honestly!”  Hermione growled.  “What does us being wizards have to do with it.”

“George didn’t mean it mattered to us, Hermione.  Obviously,”  Fred said.  “But of course it matters to Snape.  If it didn’t, he wouldn’t have followed—“

“Fred!”  Harry hissed.  His cousin was looking a fair shade of grey by now, and the last thing that he needed was for Dudley to start feeling like a pig for the slaughter.  “I hardly think this is a conversation Professor Snape would approve of, considering, and it doesn’t matter anyway.  Dudley’s getting along with him as well as any non-Slytherin can get along with Snape.”

“What’s a Slytherin?”  Dudley asked carefully.  “Is that another name for wizards?”

Ron’s eyes went wide.  He coughed and spluttered, although Harry was hard pressed to figure out what his friend was choking on, unless it was possible to choke on one’s own saliva.  He grimaced at the very thought. 

“No,”  Harry said in answer to his cousin’s question, still rolling his eyes at Ron.  “It… Didn’t you read Hogwarts, a History earlier?”

“I read parts of it,”  Dudley said, nodding his head.  “Professor Snape marked certain sections.  Bits about moving staircases and enchanted ceilings and I dunno what else.  He said that some of the other sections might interest me, but he was concerned about me knowing how to get around and not being scared and stuff first.”

Harry nodded.  That made a bit of sense.  Unfortunately, it was pretty unhelpful.  Having not read the book himself, he had no idea what his cousin would and wouldn’t know at this point.  The book itself had been referred to by Hermione so many times that he was sure it contained every bit of useful information there was to know about Hogwarts, but that hardly mattered if Dudley hadn’t read the whole thing.

“When students go to Hogwarts, they get sorted into houses,”  Harry said instead.  “There’s four of them:  Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff.  Professor Snape’s head of Slytherin, so he’s naturally partial to kids from that house.”

“Oh.”  Dudley thought about that for a minute.  “Are any of you from Slytherin?”

Harry shook his head even as Ron spluttered for another minute.  “No.  We’re all Gryffindors.  Um, Gryffindors and Slytherins are rivals.  That’s why Ron’s impersonating the puffskein Fred and George used for beater practice.”

“I am not!”  Ron growled.

“What’s a puffskein?”

Harry laughed.  “Honestly?  I have no idea.”

“Oh,”  Dudley frowned for a moment.  “Well, what’s beater practice, then.”

All at once, the Weasley’s and Harry launched simultaneously into an explanation of the greatest sport of all times.  Hermione shook her head in a bemused sort of way and rested her rump lightly on the bed near Harry’s head, seeming content to allow the boys to educate Dudley.

---

Snape paused outside of the infirmary ward.  It was just about time for Harry’s friends to head back to their house, but he couldn’t resist the urge to eavesdrop for a moment.  He didn’t feel the least bit guilty about it, either—after all, it could only help him get along with his ward from now on if he knew what the boy talked about when he was at ease.  

“Of course,” he heard the youngest Weasley boy say, “Hermione thought that it was Snape who was cursing Harry’s broomstick.  She ran over and lit a fire on his robes!  Caused a real ruckus, and Harry’s broom slowed down enough for him to get back on it.  He even caught the snitch!  And we still thought that Snape was the one who had cursed him.  We didn’t even realize that she’d knocked Quirrel over in the process.”

He heard a great deal of laughter, although he himself couldn’t find a bit of humor in the situation.  Enlightenment, yes—he’d always wondered how his robes came to light on fire—but no humor.  It had been a reckless stunt, and Granger was rather lucky that she’d knocked Quirrel over or her friend would have come out the worse for the event.  

“Oh, don’t forget the time that Harry got chased by a rogue bludger,”  one of the twins was saying. 

“Oh, aye!  I musta hit that damn thing a ‘undred times alone an’ it still kept goin’ back to Harry.  Right annoying, that.”

Harry laughed.  “Mate, you might lay off the rum balls.  You’re starting to sound like Hagrid.”

Rum balls?  RUM balls?  Snape growled, throwing open the infirmary door, only to see… nothing.  Nor did anyone seem surprised to see him.  Indeed, that Granger girl seemed to be repressing a giggle.  

“Wondered when you’d come in, Professor,”  one of the twins said.  “The anti-eavesdropping charm told us you’d been there for ages.”

Snape refused to allow his irritation at being tricked by a couple of pre-pubescent whelps to show.  Instead, he worked his face into an expression of careful neutrality.  “And why, pray tell, would you need an anti-eavesdropping charm in the first place?”

“Well, it’s not like we were about to let the Head of Slytherin listening to us discussing Quidditch tactics, was it?”  the other twin asked sensibly.

Hah.  More likely, they didn’t want him to hear them calling him a greasy git—as if he didn’t already know what the majority of the student body thought of him.  “In the future, I would appreciate it if you did not attempt to try my patience.  Merlin knows I have little enough of it to begin with.”

Dursley was the only one stupid enough to laugh at that, as thought he couldn’t figure out that Snape was being perfectly serious.  Unfortunately, he probably couldn’t.  Snape sent him a glare that shut him up right quick.  

“In any case, your two hours are over and it’s high time Mr.  Potter got some sleep.  You may return tomorrow, if you wish.  Tell  your parents that they are perfectly welcome to pay Mr. Potter a visit, as well.”

Hah.  That ought to make them mind their manners!  Unfortunately, none of them seemed the least bit perturbed by the threat.  The Weasley’s merely nodded at him, clapped Harry on the back, waved to Dursley, and left the room.  Granger, mother-hen that she was, brushed Harry’s bangs out of his eyes and kissed him right on the scar.  Snape was pleased to note that Harry looked a bit uncomfortable with the process.  Serve him right for making Snape think that there were rum balls in the infirmary!

“Do try to stay out of trouble, Harry,”  she whispered.  “Nice meeting you, Dudley.”  She turned to Snape, her smile tight.  “Nice to see you again, Professor.” 

The audacity.