Hogwarts fare was generally of the ‘meat and two veg’ variety; children rarely chose food of a piscine nature- not without a wand against their little necks- so the house-elves tended to buy in very little fish. It was a waste of galleons and effort.

However, towards the second week of term, Severus noticed a marked increase of fishy fare. For example, at breakfast one morning there were not just kippers but also kedgeree at the Teachers’ Table. Kippers! A big steaming plate of them right by his place! Severus levitated the obnoxious things to the other end of the table and poured himself a large cup of strong coffee, all appetite gone.

Then, at lunch a day later, there was a big, steaming vat of bouillabaisse. Again right by his plate. And a large side of salmon appeared that night at supper.

Every day it got worse and worse, with more and more meals being infiltrated by fish pies, fish tacos, fish sticks, fish and chips… even lobsters, crabs and calamari made their way onto the Teachers’ Table.

The sushi was the final straw; Severus had a firm word with the Headmaster and told him that, if he wanted Severus to keep an eye on Quirell during mealtimes, then he’d ensure that no more fish dishes arrived on the Top Table.

OoOoO

And then, in week four, the whistling began.

“Gonna hava fishie onya little dishie, gonna hava fishie, when the boat comes in.”

Where in blue blazes had the students picked that one up? There were very few children from sea-side towns and, therefore, nautical airs were as uncommon as diplomatic Gryffindors in the corridors of Hogwarts.

However, once someone, some soon-to-be very unlucky student, had whistled the shanty, it seemed to pass from mind to mind, like a contagious disease.

It soon reached the stage where a single hour couldn’t pass without someone whistling, humming or tapping it out within hearing distance. Even the Staff Room wasn’t safe: Hagrid, Vector and- worse- Quirell- seemed to be unable to breathe without whistling it!

oOoOo

Harry was not having a much easier time of things either. Hogwarts was still great. His new friends were the best: Draco looked out for him and gave him advice, Theo and Hermione were wonderful study-buddies and Blaise was just generally a great mate- he had even managed to tame Harry’s wild hair with some special magical serum.

Classes were interesting and Harry was progressing so well in Potions that Snape barely had much to say to him other than ‘Well done’ or ‘Good work’.

And Harry hadn’t even had a cross word from a teacher: as a conscientious student, Harry always completed his assignments on time and to a good standard. He had little chance otherwise to get into trouble: the Gryffs had decided that discretion was the better part of valour, having been treated to one of Professor McGonagalls' ‘special lectures’, a remonstrance from the Headmaster, a letter home to their parents (which had invoked a number of furious howlers) and, last but not least, a couple of weeks of ‘nasty Snape’. Neville Longbottom was the exception but, since he was nice to Harry and Hermione and cautiously courteous to their fellow Slyths, that was a more of a benefit than a hindrance.

And yet, Harry found himself thinking more and more on bad things. He knew- in his head- that Draco, Blaise, Theo and Hermione really cared about him and he was popular enough amongst the other Slytherin First Years; no one ever had an unfriendly word. But, in his heart, Harry felt that he wasn’t really a good sort of person. His Aunt had to have had a reason to hate him so much. Otherwise, she'd have loved Harry as she did Dudley. Or at least liked him. One of the reasons might be that Harry’d survived when her sister had died. And he’d never been a pretty, happy child, now, had he? He'd been difficult and a burden. It really wasn’t Aunt Petunia’s fault if she couldn’t love him and now, because of him, she’d lost Dudley, who she did love. Surely he should have felt more guilt about that, shouldn’t he? It didn’t say much about Harry as a person, did it?

And, even though Professor Snape had done all those things to help Harry, he’d never even thanked him. He just took it all as if it was his right. Maybe that’s why Professor Snape didn’t speak much to him now. Maybe he thought Harry was ungrateful? Harry had tried to say ‘thanks’ to Professor Snape once or twice but it was dead awkward and, the longer he left it, the more awkward it became. And it was definitely too late now.

Professor Quirell, too, seemed to think that there was something ‘off’ about Harry. From the very beginning, he had looked at Harry funny, like he was a bit of dog shit which the Professor was seriously considering scooping up and dumping outside- if he could bring himself to bear to touch it. It kinda made sense, in a way. Professor Quirell was ‘Defence Against the Dark Arts’ and Harry. Well, how could a mere baby murder a full-grown wizard like Voldemort if he wasn’t also dark?

As the days passed, the despair ate away at Harry’s soul. The nights were worst. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, brooding over his faults and shortcomings and the devastating effects they’d have once Draco, Blaise, Theo and Hermione discovered what Professor Snape had; that Harry was a thoughtless, unfeeling, ungrateful little bastard. They wouldn’t want to know him. Harry could almost hear the ticking of the time-bomb.

One day, Harry noticed that Draco and Blaise had started whispering together, stopping whenever Harry approached. They’d force smiles and ask him how he was doing. Harry, anxious not to force his presence where it was not wanted, began working in unused classrooms at breaks and lunch-times and until curfew in the evenings. He didn’t mind missing meals, he had little appetite these days.

And, slowly, Harry noticed Professor Snape getting more and more short with him. He no longer smiled at Harry when he came into class, merely nodded with a strained look on his face. There were no more ‘Well dones’ or ‘Good Jobs’ either and the notes on his essays were blunt and to the point. Professor Snape, who was so good at spotting liars, must have seen behind Harry’s mask to the black, shrivelled soul. Harry couldn’t blame him for being disgusted.

Then, the rest of the teachers started looking at him strangely, their eyes following him as he walked around. They must know.

By the time that they were six weeks into the Autumn term, all the Slytherin First Years were whispering about him as he passed. Even Crabbe and Goyle. What he was must be really obvious. It was only a matter of time before Professor Snape told him that he had to leave, that they couldn't let someone like Harry be around respectable folk.

Harry didn’t know what he’d do when the bomb went off.

OoOoO

“Sev’rus?”

A warm hand on his shoulder and the scent of Old Spice “Hmm… Da?”

“No, Sev’rus, it me, Hagrid.” Severus cracked open an eye and groaned. He had fallen asleep in a staff-room armchair. Where everyone could see him!

Since the dreams started, the ones about his father, Severus Snape hadn’t been sleeping too well. Having to be around at all hours to keep an eye on blasted Quirrel didn’t help either.

Hagrid sat down next to him “Ah’m a little worried ‘bout the Potter boy, Sev’rus. Hap’s we could talk in your study?”

“Very well” Severus sighed, rubbing his eyes. Not only was it Halloween- day of the ‘don’t worry about curfew kids; your bastard of a Headmaster has arranged for this to drag on until Midnight’ feast- but it now seemed that Harry had got himself into a fix. And if Harry- who was such an obedient, sweet natured boy- had managed to ruffle Hagrid’s feathers… Well, it wasn’t a good omen, now, was it.

OoOoO

“Ee’s not bin eatin’, Sev. I asked the ‘ouse- elves; one sammich a day from the kitchens an’ he’s never seen at meals. An’ his poor li-il face, ee looks right sad all the time; shoulders hunched and head down. Allus on his lonesome, too. An’ he seemed right popular at the start of term.”

Severus’s brows creased. Had he been so distracted by Quirell- not to mention his own, more personal problems- that he had failed to see Harry’s decline?

“Thank you, Rubeus. I’ll make enquiries directly.”

OoOoO

Blaise’s brow was wrinkled, Theo twisted his hands, Hermione bit her lip and Draco actually had tears in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” said Severus, in a carefully neutral voice.

Hermione rubbed her wrist “I wanted to but… Harry’s such a private person. It felt intrusive.”

“I didn’t want to muck things up. Whenever I try to talk about… stuff I always make things worse.” muttered Theo.

Blaise sighed “I hoped that, eventually, Harry would talk it through with me or Draco.”

Draco looked down “My father… he said I should just try to support Harry and, if I told, Harry might think he couldn’t trust me anymore.”

Severus shook his head “It’s not your fault, children. You cannot be expected to monitor and ensure the welfare of your year-mates.”

“But Harry’s our friend!” cried Draco, tears over-spilling and trailing down his cheeks.

“And I am his Head of House. It is my duty to look after Harry and, it appears, that I have overlooked a number of signs that Harry is unhappy. I will see to the situation.”

Severus watched the upset children traipse out of his study, guilt nibbling keenly at his gut: although the Potions Master had, initially, kept a close eye on the boy, Harry had seemed so contented that Severus had allowed himself to feel complascent. He had not been alert, he had not followed up, he had practically ignored Harry and, thereby, Severus had missed the signs- which were right under his nose- that one of his charges was deeply unhappy. 

Severus could only hope that he wasn’t too late.

OoOoO

However, Severus had a full schedule of lessons that afternoon, culminating in a practical in which one Seventh year created a potion which was Outstanding- in terms of noxious gasses and explosive force!

Therefore, until eight o’ clock, when the Halloween Feast began, Severus was scraping corrosive, poisonous slime off the benches, walls and, indeed, ceiling. And the foul muck even had the audacity to smell like fish!

oOoOo

Severus arrived at the Great Hall just in time to see Quirell’s little performance. The man was such a ham actor that it would be laughable if the situation wasn’t so deadly serious.

Severus made his way to the Teacher’s Table through the pressing, surging crowd of children.

“Hagrid? The Potion’s Master snapped, grabbing the large man’s arm. “Was Harry at the feast tonight? Did you see him?”

“No, Sev’rus. Ee must be out in the castle.” The bit of the half-giant’s face not covered by hair, eyebrows, moustache or beard paled. “Ere, yeh don’t think.”

But Severus was already rushing away.

oOoOo

“Albus!” Severus yelled at the Headmaster’s departing back.

“Yes, dear boy?” asked the old Wizard politely, when he turned and saw Severus’ chalk white face.

“Third floor. This is a diversion. Get up to the third floor and head off Quirell! Harry’s somewhere in the castle. He doesn’t know about the troll!”

Severus ran towards the dungeons, jumping a flight of stairs as he went. He had a horrible, horrible feeling about this.

oOoOo

The best thing about the dungeons, Harry thought, was that, apart from Professor Snape, none of the teachers wanted to work down here and the Hufflepuff and Slytherin quarters didn’t take up a great proportion of the available space.

So there were lots of little nooks, like this one, where Harry could sit and read and eat his sandwiches without having to worry about meeting another person. This little corridor, for instance, was really rather snug: it had tiny windows, looking out into the lake, and someone had thought to carve window seats into the walls underneath. They were upholstered soft, padded leather and the stone of the walls was warm. It was really quite a nice spot; too good for the likes of him but, as no one else seemed to want it…

As Harry turned to the chapter on the Goblin Rebellion, he heard slow, heavy footsteps. Tensing, the boy buried his head in his text book; if he ignored them, they might just ignore him too. It sometimes worked with Aunt Petunia.

To Harry’s horror, a huge, ugly creature stomped around the corner. It’s little red eyes scanned the room myopically and it sniffed. The troll’s gimlet gaze fell on the young boy.

Harry screamed.

OoOoO

The high pitched scream of terror almost stopped Severus’ heart. It sounded as if it came from the south-west, the opposite corner of the castle to the Slytherin Common Room. In the Potion Master’s minds eye, he saw a tiny corridor with leather-padded window seats, the one where he had often hidden out from the Marauders. It was about 30 seconds away, as the Snape runs.

Severus bolted.

OoOoO

The Potion’s Master skidded ‘round the corner as the Troll raised his club. Harry was huddled in the window-seat, wide eyed and terrified. Like a rabbit in the headlights.

A jet of green light surged from Severus’ wand and threw the Troll across the room, away from the petrified child.

Severus’ heart was still pounding, sending fear and horror coursing through his body. He wanted to yell at the foolish, thoughtless boy for being so damn silly as to venture, alone, into such a remote and unfrequented part of the castle.

Severus’ mind was whirling. Should he take Harry to the infirmary? Should he try to talk with him now? Leave it until the morning? Take him to his office where he could assess the boy? Take him to the Serpents’ Nest, where his friends could support him? What was for the best?

But, whilst the Potion Master’s mind and heart were in turmoil, his body had decided to take matters into its own hands- quite literally- and wrapped the quaking boy in his arms.

“I’m here, Harry. You’re safe. I’m here.”