The trip home was completed in silence. Seeing how withdrawn and worried Harry looked made Erin realise that she may truly have caused problems for him with his relatives. She sighed quietly. When was she ever going to learn to curb her impulsiveness. She had just wanted to let Petunia Dursley know that she knew that Harry was being ill-treated and that she was going to be his new champion.

Harry knew that he was on a count down until Uncle Vernon got home from work. As much as he knew that he would be in trouble once his uncle stepped through the door of Number four, he found it impossible to be upset with Erin. He could not help but be grateful for his new neighbour's faith in him and her stoic defence of him, despite his family's unwavering determination to prove his worthlessness.

After Harry helped carry Erin's groceries into her home, he refused refreshments. She walked him to the door and placed her hand on his arm before he could leave. She was worried. "Harry, if things get too heavy at home, promise me that you'll come to me. You don't have to put up with any of their rubbish."

Harry's lips quirked into a smile that looked more like a grimace. She had no idea just how sadistic Uncle Vernon could be. The only way he was going to escape a good hiding was by not going home at all. But then where could he go and what would happen to the blood protection if he voluntarily forfeited his home. If it came down to it, his chances of survival were greater with Uncle Vernon than they were with Lord Voldemort.

"Thanks Erin, but I'll be fine." As Harry turned to walk away, Hedwig, his beautiful snowy owl flew down and landed on his shoulder. Although her appearance was unexpected, Harry was too used to these silent arrivals to be shocked, but Erin let out a gasp of surprise.

"Oh my God, Harry. Is that an owl?" Her voice was more than a little awe struck.

Harry scratched Hedwig's head and she hooted serenely. She usually knew to be more discreet about allowing herself to be seen by unknown Muggles, but Hedwig was always very in tune with Harry and she must have intuited that her master trusted Erin.

"Yeah, this is Hedwig. I...I've had her since she was a fledgling. She fell out of her nest and I found her and nursed her back to health." Harry was inventing wildly but he thought his explanation sounded feasible. Unless Erin was an expert on birds, then she shouldn't know that Snowy Owls were not native to Britain. "Now she won't leave me," he added, hoping he sounded convincing.

Erin reached over hesitantly and carefully stroked the snowy plumage. As beautiful as the owl was, her size and piercing amber eyes made her a rather intimidating sight. Erin's hand shook slightly as Hedwig's unblinking gaze rested on her but she continued to stroke the owl as Harry was doing.

"Aren't owls nocturnal?"

"Most are, yeah, but Snowy Owls are diurnal."

Erin's nervousness dissipated when it became obvious that Hedwig was quite happy with the extra attention. "Well she is certainly an unusual and magnificent pet, Harry. I'm glad you have one ally in that house."

"They hate her as much as they hate me," Harry stated idly, his focus on his owl. Erin's heart twisted inside her chest and she raised her hand to stroke the boy's messy black hair instead of Hedwig's plumage.

At that moment, a car turned into Number four, and Harry's heart sank. Uncle Vernon's beady eyes drilled into the dark haired boy with the owl on his shoulder, and the attractive woman standing next to him. Even from this distance, Erin could see the unpleasant colour suffuse the man's face.

"I'd better go." Harry raised his arm and Hedwig hopped onto his forearm. "Off you go girl." And the owl hooted and took off, her large wings making not a single sound as they beat the air.

Uncle Vernon had pried himself out of the car, and after dragging his briefcase out, he turned to face Harry and Erin. He gave a curt nod to Erin but spoke to Harry in as pleasant a voice as he could muster.

"Isn't it about time you were home, Harry? I'm sure your aunt could do with some help getting dinner started."

"See you," said Harry resignedly and Erin watched with worried eyes as he walked to the end of the drive and crossed to Number four. She glared at Vernon's back as he followed his nephew into the house.

Harry would have disappeared straight up to his bedroom but Vernon clamped a massive hand around the nape of his neck to prevent him ascending the stairs and guided him forcefully down the hall and into the kitchen instead. When he released his hold, he gave Harry a swift hard smack to the back of his head before the boy had a chance to duck away from his reach. Harry gritted his teeth to prevent himself from hurling a mouthful of abuse at the great bullying git. He settled instead for directing a withering glare at him whilst he straightened his glasses which had been knocked askew. Hurling the abuse would have made him feel a lot better though.

Aunt Petunia was at the kitchen sink peeling some potatoes. She did not even turn her head when her husband and nephew appeared so abruptly in her kitchen, but it was quite obvious by the stiff set of her back and her jerky, almost violent action with the potato peeler, that she thought that Harry deserved any punishment her husband deemed fit to hand out after her humiliation earlier that afternoon.

"Remind me boy, but weren't you told to stay away from that woman?" said Vernon, through clenched teeth.

"Why should I?" Harry shot back angrily. He knew it was unwise to goad his uncle, because he could see that Aunt Petunia would not be inclined to curb her husband's violent tendencies after that afternoon's happenings. "I'm not telling her anything about what goes on in this house." And then, unable to help himself as hate and resentment welled up inside, he added the explosive comment- "But if I was, you could be sure the authorities would be on the doorstep pretty damn quick!"

He was ready when Vernon lunged at him and managed to put the kitchen bench between them. The rapid sideways movement caused his painful ribs to catch. Harry wrapped one arm around his chest and held onto the bench for support.

"Are you threatening me, boy?" spat Vernon, slamming his huge clenched fists down onto the bench, causing the bowl of fruit to jump.

"No!" yelled Harry, deciding too late that prudence should have been the order of the day. He winced again as he shuffled further away from his livid uncle. "I wasn't threatening you," he added quietly, furious with himself for being such a coward and backing down.

His backward motion caused him to bump into his furious aunt. She threw the half peeled potato and the peeler into the bowl of water before grasping the edge of the sink so hard, her knuckles turned white. Her head was tucked into her shoulders and she hissed viciously.

"Get him out of here, Vernon!" Vernon lunged and grabbed Harry by the front of his loose hoody and hauled him up to within an inch of his apoplectic face.

Petunia continued to glare at her white knuckles. "Deal with him where I don't have to hear anything." Then she picked up her peeler and calmly continued on with her task while Vernon pulled Harry through the laundry into the back yard, then into the garage.

Harry fought but Vernon was way too strong, and weakened by his previous injuries and lack of food, Harry's struggles were ineffectual. He tried to summon some of the wild magic that he seemed able to conjure during times of extreme stress but nothing happened. Now, when his lunatic uncle was probably going to kill him, he could not summon any magic.

On the short journey between the house and garage, he tried to yell for help, hoping Erin would hear him, but Vernon was ready and he clamped a massive paw over Harry's lower face, not only cutting off his cry but also his air supply.

Harry scrabbled at the hand, but to no effect, and when Vernon threw him across the concrete floor so that he slammed into the rough brick wall he ended up in a gasping heap on the floor. He was on the verge of passing out from the combination of near asphyxia and pain and was unable to move out of the way when Vernon started his vicious assault with a kick to his already injured ribs.

Harry felt something tear inside him. Through agonising tears and broken glasses and battling for every breath, he watched, terrified as his uncle unbuckled his belt.

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Petunia stared, horrified, at Harry. Vernon, with Dudley's help had carried him like a sack of potatoes, back into the house and up to his bedroom. Dudley's small eyes had shone with malicious glee as he catalogued his unconscious cousin's visible injuries. After staring his full, he eventually became bored because Harry was out of it and was no longer screaming in pain and fear. He left his parents to their discussion and went to watch television.

Harry's bare torso was covered with welts and gouges from Vernon's belt and buckle. He had removed Harry's top, he explained to Petunia, so that ‘the hiding would impact more on the little whelp'. Several large areas of pale flesh were darkening into ugly purple bruises. His face was similarly bruised and a wicked, deep welt snaked from his left ear lobe which looked as though it had been half ripped off, down the angle of his jaw and across his throat.

It seemed that blood was oozing from every cell of Harry's skin. His breathing was choppy and irregular. Blood was also oozing from a badly broken nose and the unnatural angle of his right arm clearly showed that it was also broken.

Petunia turned her back on Harry, closing her eyes to the likelihood of even worse injuries than were immediately evident. Too late, she realised that she should have made sure that Vernon did not get too carried away, but she had been so angry with the boy herself that she had wanted to see him punished. However, the maternal part of her recoiled at the sight of her battered nephew, and when she turned reproachful eyes on her husband, he had the grace to look ashamed.

"I may have gotten a little carried away," he mumbled, slightly shamefaced.

"You are a fool, Vernon," hissed Petunia. "He needs medical treatment. How are we going to explain these injuries? The police will be called..."

"He'll be all right," blustered Vernon. "He's tough. He'll heal. He always does because of his mag..." Vernon's voice trailed off. He could not, or would not allow the word ‘magic' to pass his lips. "...because of his abnormality. And besides, now the boy might just learn to behave himself and do as he's told."

Petunia bit her lip. The boy did look very badly injured. But as a child, even though he had always been pale and scrawny, Harry had eventually recovered from illness and injury without medical intervention. On the two occasions she had taken him to the doctors, the visits had been unmitigated disasters.

In fact, after his first lot of vaccinations, he had become so desperately ill, she had thought he would die. But he had eventually recovered with virtually no intervention on her part. She had learned very quickly to keep the boy away from doctors for normal people.

Lily had been the same. Their parents had quickly learned that Lily did not react well to normal medicines. Yes, Vernon was right. You would not believe it to look at him; even at nearly sixteen, the boy was much smaller than their own darling Dudley. But he did seem to be resilient.

"I know," said Vernon in a forced, jovial voice. "After supper, let's go to the pictures." He crossed to the window and slammed it shut. Even though it wouldn't open more than six inches (enough to let that ruddy bird squeeze through) if the boy woke up, he might, conceivably call for help and that little trollop next door might just hear him.

He ushered his worried wife from the small bedroom and locked each of the three deadlocks behind him. "Get your mind off the boy for a couple of hours. I guarantee that by the time we get home, he'll be up and about again, none the worse for wear."

Petunia did not take much convincing and was happy to do something as normal as go to the movies with her husband and son without having to worry about what Harry was going to get up to whilst they were out. After all, he was not going to be doing anything he shouldn't for a while. And she had to believe that he would recover as he had done on numerous other occasions. She refused to add ‘too' to her mental assessment.

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Harry was fighting for breath. He needed to sit up-needed more oxygen-but when he tried to move, pain overwhelmed his senses. He began to panic which made the breathlessness and pain ten times worse. He thankfully slipped back into unconsciousness. His last hazy thought was that perhaps, if he was lucky, he might just not wake up again.

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When Severus Snape entered the headmaster's office, the old wizard was standing behind his magnificent desk and leaning forwards, his hands pressed flat against the desk top. There were several blueprints and documents littering the surface but the old wizard was not studying them intently as Severus had so often seen him do to the exclusion of all outside stimuli-instead, he was gazing at a delicate, finely crafted instrument that usually stood upon one of the many spindle-legged tables dotted around the room but was now on the desk. It was emitting tiny puffs of smoke and making tinkling sounds that somehow sounded urgent to Severus' untrained ear. Severus shook his head and rolled his eyes at his own fanciful thought.

"Albus?"

Dumbledore's eyes remained riveted on the device which was now definitely becoming agitated. Snape's own, obsidian eyes were fixed firmly on the display of storm grey clouds that rose into the air about two feet before dissipating. The madly tinkling device had many delicate arms with metal cups of varying sizes affixed sideways; they rotated rapidly around a central pivot. Suddenly the noise and movement stopped. The silence was ominous.

With difficulty, Snape dragged his eyes away from the gadget and fixed them on the headmaster's worried countenance.

"Albus!" Severus raised his voice slightly and the headmaster's head finally snapped up. He stared at the young wizard for several seconds as though he had forgotten that he had summoned him only minutes before. Severus could see the extreme anxiety in the old man's eyes. It was a look he saw much more often of late and one that he found he did not like. His complicated feelings for his friend and mentor notwithstanding, he wished the old wizard did not have to carry the weight of the safety of the wizarding world on his elderly shoulders. When Albus finally moved around the desk, it was with a burst of urgent energy.

Without preamble, he said, "Severus, I need you to go to Privet Drive immediately."

"What!" Severus was horrified. All concern for the old man dissolved as his words penetrated. "Surely you jest?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed ominously. "There is no time for a debate, Professor!" he said in a voice as uncompromising as Severus had ever heard, and one he was not used to hearing directed at him. Their relationship was such-and had been for a long time-that his title of ‘Professor' was only used these days in front of students. So Albus must really be worried about something.

"Harry is in some sort of trouble."

Snape seethed inwardly as his infuriating boss turned his back and took up a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the grate; green flames immediately erupted into life with a loud whoosh. He watched as Dumbledore knelt and stuck his head into the flames. Severus' resentment built as Dumbledore's muffled voice floated back to him. He could not hear to whom he was speaking or precisely what he was saying, but he found out when the old man faced him again, his face set and determined. Obviously Severus' desire not to be within one hundred miles of Harry bloody Potter was going to be totally ignored.

"It will be quickest to floo to Arabella's. I fear time is of the essence," said Dumbledore.

"What is going on?" Snape demanded through gritted teeth. "Has the Dark Lord breached the wards? Where is Potter's guard? Surely he or she would know if there was something wrong?"

"I do not know what the problem is," admitted Dumbledore, his voice as dead as Severus had ever heard it. "I just know something serious has occurred. Mundungus is on guard duty and we have not heard from him. However, I do not think it is Voldemort or any of his Death Eaters. And I hope I am wrong, but Harry may need the help of someone with healing skills. And just in case Dark Wizards are involved, your knowledge of both healing and the Dark Arts make you the only choice."

If Snape had been thirty years younger, he would have stamped his foot. As that was not an option, he settled for raising his voice, the increased volume a combination of anger and exasperation.

"For Merlin's sake Albus, if I show up at Potter's home, he is just as likely to hex me into the middle of next week and ask questions later. His detestation of me is only equal to mine for him. And what if I am seen by any of my-for want of a better word-colleagues?"

"Time is of the essence, Severus." Dumbledore's voice was that of the uncompromising, powerful wizard that he only rarely chose to present to the world. "And I know your Disillusionment Charm is extremely effective, so use it. You have five minutes to get the supplies you deem necessary for any contingency."

 Allowing himself three seconds to deliver his own Basilisk's glare before he swung away, and with resentment eating away at him like a malignancy, Severus crossed to the fireplace and flooed to his quarters where he filled the  capacious pockets of his robes with some basic supplies. It was just as well that he always spelled all his phials with unbreakable charms because he was so angry at the moment, he could have chewed glass.

The old fool was becoming paranoid about the Golden Boy. There would be nothing wrong with him, nothing that a swift kick up the arse wouldn't cure anyway. If Death Eaters were not swooping upon Privet Drive-and Severus had no doubt that Dumbledore would know if they were practically as soon as the Dark Lord gave the order, even if he himself was not summoned-then what else could be wrong with the pestilential Gryffindor.

When he stepped onto the rug in front of the magically enlarged fireplace in Arabella Figg's living room, Severus had to reign in his anger so that he could make a passable attempt at civility towards the elderly squib who had kept a surreptitious eye on Potter throughout his Muggle childhood.

"Professor Snape. It's lovely to see you." Arabella's hand had automatically risen to brush at a smudge of ash on his robes, but when she saw the glare in his dark eyes, she desisted.

"Arabella." Snape's terse greeting was accompanied by  the barest nod of his head. "Have you any idea as to why this rescue mission has been launched?"

Arabella shook her head of whispy, fly away hair. "No. All I know is that Dumbledore told me not ten minutes ago that you would be Flooing through. Everything seems fine at Number Four. I saw the Dursley's drive off about an hour ago. Harry wasn't in the car though."

"Why wouldn't Potter have been with them?"

"They rarely take Harry anywhere with them if they can avoid it."

"Perhaps he refuses to go. Knowing Potter as I do, he would put on a turn and dig his heels in just to cause discord. Perhaps he wants to have a friend over so that they can get up to no good."

Arabella's friendly demeanour cooled considerably. "I suggest that perhaps you don't know Harry as well as you think you do, Professor Snape. Harry is not the trouble maker in that family, I assure you. The Dursley's do not take Harry with them because they do not wish to be seen with the boy. Nor do they want to take the chance that he might enjoy himself on an outing."

Severus black eyes narrowed as he stared at the frowsy woman in front of him. A large grey cat winding around his ankles and leaving a liberal amount of its fur behind on his robes and black trouser legs, brought him back to the present. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and nudged the cat away with his booted foot.

"Can you see Potter's house from here?" he asked, taking out his wand and muttering a charm that banished the fur.

Arabella crossed to her front window and pointed into the advancing dark. Her house was directly opposite Privet Drive, in Wisteria Walk which formed the crosspiece of a ‘T' intersection. The elderly squib had a perfect view of the front of Number Four. The Dursley house was in total darkness, at least at the front. Snape wrapped his cloak around himself, nodded to Arabella and Disapparated, appearing almost instantaneously under a large tree on the nature strip in front of the Dursley house.

He stood totally still, listening and watching intently. His excellent hearing and sight had served him well as a spy for many years and now he quickly located Potter's current guard, Mundungus Fletcher. Because Snape knew what he was looking for, he could quickly made out the shimmering presence of the miserable excuse of a wizard who was more or less concealed under the influence of a less than spectacular Disillusionment Charm. Snape pointed his wand at the nearest street light and with a soft pop, it went out.

Fletcher was sitting propped against the base of a tree directly across the road. He did not even seem to notice the light go out. Keeping to the shadows as much as possible, Snape moved like a wraith and was across the road and behind the tree within seconds. This close to, it was all too obvious that Fletcher was asleep on the job, a conclusion easily reached when a soft snore reached Snape's ears. And it did not need the superior olfactory abilities of a man used to discerning the merest trace of the scent of an unknown ingredient in a new potion for Severus to recognize the reek of fire whiskey and strong, foul tobacco.

The anger he had barely been able to tamp down suddenly pulsed through Snape again and without any compunction, he drew back his booted  foot and kicked the filthy SOB none too gently in the thigh. What in the hell was Dumbledore thinking, putting this useless sack of bat droppings on duty to guard the Golden Boy again? Hadn't the fiasco last summer with the Dementors been the result of Fletcher's dereliction of duties?

Prepared for the loud yell of pain and the litany of curse words, Snape had cast a perfectly timed Silencing Charm. With his mouth moving non-stop, Fletcher was searching for his wand amidst his filthy robes and trying to gain his feet at the same time. Snape grabbed a handful of the distasteful garment and hauled the shocked man upwards, slamming him back against the tree trunk before he found the wand. Knowing Fletcher's penchant for quick escapes, Snape also cast a silent anti-Disapparation ward around his prisoner.

Fletcher's eyes were wide with fear, his mouth stretched in a silent scream. His frantic struggles to dislodge the constricting arm across his throat escalated until he recognised the sibilant hiss delivered close to one filthy ear.

"You can be thankful that though I am a Death Eater, Fletcher, I am not faithful to the Dark Lord. If I were, you would have been dead fifteen seconds ago." Snape released the drunk, who slumped to the ground in a quivering heap. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Dumbledore will not be pleased, Mundungus. Potter might not be important to you but he is important to our leader and many other members of the Order."

Fletcher tried to talk and when he realised that he made no noise, he gestured for Snape to lift the Silencing Charm. Snape complied-reluctantly.

"What're ya doin' ‘ere, Snape? And why did ya have to be so bloody rough?" The whisky and tobacco roughened voice was hoarse, and Mundungus massaged his throat with heavily tobacco stained fingers.

"I am here because Dumbledore sent me. And you were lucky that I did not do worse to you. This is the second time you have been caught slacking off when you were supposed to watching Potter."

"There's nufin' ta watch at the mo," growled the belligerent Order member. He indicated the darkened Dursley house with a jerk of his thumb. "They've gorn out for the evenin' and Potter must have gorn to bed early."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure Potter was not with them? Arabella thinks not."

"Na. Just the fat Muggle and his scrawny wife and fat kid got in the car."

Snape gazed at the darkened façade of the house across the road. His voice was thoughtful when he asked, "You don't think that nine pm is a little early for a fifteen year old boy to be in bed, Fletcher?"

Fletcher stared into the Stygian darkness of Snape's fathomless eyes before looking away with a shiver. This bloke scared the crap out of him. He hunched one shoulder and rubbed his ear lobe against it. He mumbled something unintelligible and Snape raised his eyebrows and placed his hand behind his ear in an exaggerated way.

"Pardon."

"He might ‘ave been tired," repeated Fletcher belligerently. And then in an attempt to shift attention from this statement he quickly asked, "And why did Dumbledore send you ‘ere anyways, Snape? Doesn't ‘e know how much you ‘ate Potter?"

Snape glared menacingly. "My feelings for Potter notwithstanding, Fletcher, I am here following orders, which is more than I can say for you." He stepped closer to the sneak thief, making him press back against the bole of the tree. Snape determinedly ignored the foul reek of Fletcher's breath when he pushed his face intimidatingly close again. "And regardless of whether Potter has gone to bed whilst he relatives have gone out-and personally I'm surprised you were compos enough to realise they had left at all-your job is to remain alert to the possible appearance of Dark Wizards." He stepped back.

"Now it is my unpleasant duty to check out that house and determine whether Potter is in there or not. So you will remain alert to any other intrusions." Snape wrapped his cloak tightly around himself again and stepped off the curb. Before crossing the road he said softly, without turning around, "And rest assured, Fletcher, Dumbledore will hear of your sloppiness on the job-again." He then crossed the road swiftly and silently, fully aware of the extremely rude hand gesture Mundungus made behind his back, but totally indifferent to the sentiment.

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Erin switched off the television in disgust. "Well Pumpkin, as there's nothing on TV, I think I'll retire to bed and read. What do you think?" The black cat blinked her beautiful orange eyes and opened her pink mouth in a wide yawn, her front paws stretching wide to expose needle sharp claws which she carefully dug once into the fabric covering the arm of the chair where she was sitting before retracting them again without doing any damage.

When Erin switched off the lamp, the cat jumped lightly to the floor and padded up the stairs ahead of her mistress. Without putting on the light Erin crossed to the bedroom window to shut the drapes. Looking out, she noticed that the nearest street light was out. As she was fumbling for the cord, she saw a tall, slim dark figure step off the curb on the other side of the road. She watched as the person stood for several seconds before walking swiftly across the road.

Erin could not tell whether the person was male or female-the height suggested male-but she could tell when someone was being furtive, and when the figure did not turn to walk along the footpath, but hurried across the Dursley's front lawn, all of her senses went on high alert.

The Dursleys had gone out earlier; she had seen them drive off. Harry had not been in the car. Now when angling her face closer to the window did not improve her field of vision enough, Erin didn't hesitate. Harry was in that house alone. Disregarding the niggling little voice in the back of her mind that sounded remarkably like her mother telling her that she was far too impulsive, she raced out of her room and down the stairs.

In the hallway, that strident voice of reason finally slowed her impetuous flight and Erin spent many agonising seconds trying to find something that would make a suitable weapon. Her selection was extremely limited and in the end she armed herself with her old hockey stick that her mum must have kept, and was in the cupboard under the stairs. She hefted the old stick in her hands and raced for the front door. 

She was frantic with worry for the young boy whom she had become very fond of in an extremely short space of time. When she stepped onto her porch she forced herself to slow down again, deciding that a little stealth would most definitely serve her better. 

Her bare feet made little noise on the concrete driveway and when, bent double, she reached the lower section of fence dividing her property from the Dursley's, she cautiously stuck her head around. There was no sign of anyone in the front of the house and there was no way to get around the back without going through the garage, which, she knew was kept locked. The intruder must already be in the house.

Her bare feet padding on the cool concrete, Erin hurried around the bottom of the fence, up the Dursley's driveway and across to the front door. The door was closed and there was no sign from what she could see in the dark of damage to the lock. She reached out and closed her hand around the brass door handle. It turned easily within her sweaty grasp.

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A short time beforehand, Severus had tried the front door on the off chance that the Muggles may have left it unlocked. He thought that not having to use a spell to unlock the door would be one less bit of magic performed in a Muggle neighbourhood, and one less thing to stress the weak bladders of those fools at the Ministry of Magic.

Damn, but the door was locked. Severus pulled his wand and tapped the lock, mentally incanted Alohomora and carefully pushed the door open. He found himself in a small entrance hall with stairs on his right and a narrow hallway stretching ahead of him with a doorway on the left halfway along opening into an over furnished living room.

Lumos. A rapid search by the light of his wand showed Severus that Potter was nowhere downstairs. The house was unnaturally quiet. And it was so sterile. But despite this unnatural cleanliness, Severus was a little shocked to feel an all pervading "darkness" suffusing the building. He had always been very attuned to atmosphere, which was why he tended to spend most of his time at Hogwarts; it was his preferred place of residence even during the holidays. To him, the castle seemed to be perpetually bathed in a golden aura of tranquillity and light, and whenever he came back after having  attended an audience with the Dark Lord-or worse-a dark revel, the castle seemed to reach out and embrace him, and it always made him feel grounded. The castle was strongly attuned to the current headmaster's magic and the ancient edifice must know that Dumbledore trusted him and that he now worked for the side of the light.

Severus felt much the same now that he was thirty-six years old as he had when he had first entered the castle when he had been a sad, angry and lonely eleven year old. The stone walls had always seemed to resonate with understanding and approval for the miserable child he had been and the angry and bitter man that he had become.

But this house-this ordinary Muggle house-was mired in despair and suffering. Not the atmosphere he would have thought to encounter in an ordinary suburban house in stereotypical Mugglesville, if indeed he had ever thought about it at all. The question was, why did this house exude misery? From what he knew of Muggles, these...these Dursleys seemed to have everything that non-magical folk considered to be necessary to make their mundane lives comfortable and complete. Perhaps the presence of Potter in their lives was responsible for the desolation he could feel. God knew, the boy made him feel every negative emotion known to man and wizard kind. Just as his bloody father and Godfather had always done.

Making his black mood even blacker, these thoughts trickled through Severus' mind as he quickly but cautiously ascended the stairs, his booted feet totally silent. The light from his wand reflected off the glass of a series of  Muggle photographs that graced the wall along the length of the staircase. The subject of them all-and many others that Severus had seen dotted around the rest of the house-was an extremely unattractive boy.

The first photo at the bottom of the stairs was of a large blobby baby with small, pale blue eyes, a thatch of blonde hair and a thunderous expression. There were about eight photographs of this boy in all, seemingly taken at two or three year intervals. Neither his looks, nor his ill-natured expression had improved with age. He had not one redeeming feature. He had been unflatteringly large as a baby and in every subsequent photo, he had gained massive amounts of weight so that in the last photo-perhaps taken at about the age of fifteen or sixteen-he was grossly obese, and his small eyes had practically disappeared amongst the folds of fat that made up his face. Neville Longbottom was positively sylph-like compared to this creature.

Reason dictated that this blob must be Potter's cousin, but Severus could not see any resemblance whatsoever. Potter had been very small for his age when he had first come to Hogwarts and had remained that way until last year when he had begun to fill out a little and gain some much needed height and weight. He would be lucky to weigh much more than half of what his cousin weighed if the last photograph was current. And neither did the blob have Potter's striking green eyes-the eyes he had inherited from Lily. This unfortunate specimen probably took after his father as Severus could not see Petunia in the doughy face at all.

As much as Severus did not want to admit that Potter had anything going for him, he could not deny that the little mongrel had grown into quite a good looking boy...even more-so than his quidditch hero father had been. Though very like James, Harry's looks were much more refined-like his beautiful mothers'.

Severus had even heard more than one of his Slytherin girls giggling and talking in whispers about the young Gryffindor...another Quidditch superstar. The idiotic, hormone driven females did it in secret of course. It would not do for the likes of Draco Malfoy or other young ‘Death Eaters in waiting' to hear any such adolescent female fantasising about how dishy the supposed future saviour of the wizarding world was.

Severus' lip curled in disgust as he reached the top of the stairs and played his lighted wand along the upstairs hallway. All the doors to the rooms stood fully open...except one. His eyes widened when he saw the three no-nonsense deadlocks adorning the one closed door. What in the name of Merlin... He stared at the improbable security arrangement for a long time, his dark eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. He could not honestly think what the necessity for so many locks was. Even if Potter's habit of night time wandering extended to his time spent here, surely one lock would be sufficient to keep him confined as he was not allowed to perform magic. And what in the world was the flap in the base of the door all about?

But even one lock smacked of a prison cell, and as much as Potter might need more supervision than the average adolescent male, locking him in a room was definitely not acceptable practice. What if there was a fire whilst the boy was confined in such a manner? Severus conveniently forgot the many occasions when he would dearly have loved to incarcerate the troublesome Gryffindor, preferably where he would not have to see him or worry about him ever again.

There was no light to be seen in the gap under the door and Severus was becoming more and more uneasy. It was definitely not late. If Potter was at home, it was unlikely that he would be asleep at this relatively early hour. Severus knew for a fact that the foolish child usually kept very late hours. His unfortunate habit of wandering the corridors at Hogwarts was testimony to that fact. Even if he could not leave the room, the boy would surely be doing something that required light at this time. No light and total silence... something was definitely off.

Severus tried the doorknob and was not surprised to find that the door was indeed locked. He had just raised his wand to the first of the locks when a low groan reached his ears. This was immediately followed by the sound of harsh ragged breathing and the rustling of fabric on fabric. Severus stood uncharacteristically irresolute...was the boy ill?

These musings were cut off abruptly when a muted crash sounded from behind the door, followed immediately by an agonised yell.

Severus' wand was pointed at the door before the distressed sound had ended. His instincts had been right and there was now no time for subtlety. He stepped back and yelled, "Reducto!"