It was late, almost curfew.

Severus Snape walked briskly to his classroom. He had left Potter scrubbing the room from floor to ceiling while he went to take care of a few pressing matters. Ordinarily, he didn't leave students unsupervised in his classroom during detentions, particularly Gryffindors, but Potter was a diligent worker and (loathe though he was to admit it) didn't exhibit the tendency towards pulling pranks which had characterized his father. Oh, the boy got into plenty of trouble, but it was seldom entirely his fault.

Not that Snape would ever admit that aloud.

The fact of the matter was that the Potions Master had needed to complete a few tasks before curfew so that he could leave as soon as he sent Potter back to Gryffindor tower. That night would be his last opportunity to collect a rare moonflower for his stores and he wanted to be able to get as many as he could.

The man allowed his gaze to sweep across the Potions classroom as he entered, noting that all visible surfaces were impeccably clean. Probably the cleanest this room has been in months, Snape thought ironically. He also didn't fail to notice that Potter was nowhere to be seen, having no doubt excused himself the moment he thought he was finished.

Deciding that another detention would be in order for the delinquent Gryffindor, Snape waved his wand towards the open door to the cleaning closet, closing and locking it with a single motion. Quickly crossing the room, he entered his office to make sure everything there was in its proper place before setting off.

Harry stretched upward, trying to return the mop bucket to its designated hook. Somehow, it had been easier getting it down. Granted, he hadn't been stiff from scrubbing for nearly three hours when he'd retrieved it from the cramped supply closet. He had nearly succeeded in replacing it when the door shut with a click of finality, leaving him standing on his tiptoes in pitch blackness.

Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no... Heart lodging itself in his throat, the boy slowly lowered himself back down so he was standing flatfooted in the cramped space, bucket still in hand. Turning, he took the half-step to the door and tried the handle.

It was locked. He was locked in with the cleaning supplies. His breathing started to become a little shaky. There had just been some sort of mistake. A draft, perhaps, had blown the door shut. Professor Snape would come back to check on his progress and find him. The man always checked his work – the man usually had something to criticize. Of course, he would be back to check his work. Any moment, his teacher would come back and find him and let him out...

He wasn't in a cupboard! This was bigger than his cupboard. No. No, it wasn't bigger than his cupboard. The ceiling was a lot higher, but the space wasn't any bigger, at all. In fact, it might even be smaller...

He was in his cupboard. He'd been locked in. Again. Why, of why, did he have to open his mouth? That was usually what did it – his cheek. Uncle Vernon hated it when he got mouthy. Aunt Petunia didn't put up with any of his sass, either. That had to be why he'd been locked in again... why they had taken his light bulb. He'd finished his chores – he knew he had finished his chores!

Dropping the bucket, the clatter echoing deafeningly in the small space, Harry grabbed for the knob and began desperately twisting at it, even as he began to pound against the door with his other hand. He didn't care if he was hit for making such a racket – he didn't want to be shut in that cramped little room in the dark.

Severus' head snapped up as a sudden racket came from his classroom. Closing and warding the drawer he kept his grading in, the Potions Master cautiously approached the door leading from his office, peering into the seemingly lifeless chamber beyond. The rattling of a locked doorknob being repetitively and ineffectually twisted, accompanied by a steady banging, came from the cleaning closet.

Suddenly, the handle grew silent. A few more thumps were issued before the banging also ceased.

Warily, Snape approached the narrow door. He paused to listen, baffled by the ragged breathing coming from its other side. What in Merlin's name..? Murmuring an unlocking spell, he cautiously turned the knob, nearly finding himself with arms full of second-year Gryffindor as the door swung open.

“Potter -” he began, but before he could continue, he was interrupted by what he abruptly realized was a very distraught twelve-year-old.

“I'm sorry, sir!” Harry exclaimed tearfully. “I'm sorry! I didn't mean t-to be cheeky – honest. Please, sir, I'll be good. I promise. Please... I'll be good!”

“Potter, what -”

“Please, uncle, I'm sorry. Can't I at least have my l-light?” the boy implored.

Snape took the boy by the shoulders, his own stomach churning at the violent flinch which coursed through the thin frame. “Potter,” he said firmly, “look at me.”

Fearful green eyes snapped up to meet his gaze, though, he suspected the teen wasn't really seeing much of what was around him.

“Who am I?”

Potter stared at him, some of the clarity seeming to return to his eyes. Snape watched as the boy's lips silently moved around what appeared to be the word 'uncle' before he blinked, confusion overtaking his features. “P-professor?”

“Do you remember where you are?” Snape asked.

Another pause before answering, as the boy's gaze flitted about the room. “Hogwarts,” he murmured quietly.

“Potter,” the man wanted to know, “what were you doing in the cupboard?”

“You locked me in!” Harry exclaimed in sudden realization. Snape wondered if the boy knew how hurt he sounded. The boy shrugged to dislodge the hands still holding his shoulders and the man obligingly released him. Pushing past the older wizard, Harry quickly put distance between himself and his recent prison.

“I did not know you were still here,” Snape told him. “I thought you had already left.”

“You hadn't excused me, yet,” the boy returned accusingly. “I was trying to put the bucket back!” He gestured to said bucket, which still lay on the floor of the closet.

“I admit... that I hadn't thought to look there.”

“Well, you should have! Sir!” Harry quickly diverted his gaze, frantically picking at his fingers, though the action was unconscious. Clearly, he had still not recovered from his little... episode.

Snape stared at the boy's bowed head for a moment. “I wish to speak about your reaction.”

Potter tensed, his hands' movements halting, but he made no move to answer.

“It seems apparent that you were suffering some sort of flashback,” the man continued. “Potter, does your uncle – or aunt – lock you in a cupboard at home?”

The boy shook his head sharply, clearly more in refusal than actual response.

“Potter...”

“Sir, it's past curfew,” Harry blurted, still refusing to look back at him.

Snape suppressed a sigh. “Quite right,” he conceded. “You're dismissed, Mr. Potter.”

“Thank you, sir,” the faint whisper was strained and carefully controlled. Spinning about, Harry quickly made his escape.

The Potions Master frowned. The trembling bundle of nerves and trepidation that had just departed his classroom was nothing like the boy he had known or imagined. Finding himself deeply unsettled by this new Potter, he strode straight for the floo in his office. He would be speaking to the headmaster.

Immediately.

Not that the brat had actually said anything. Potter seemed to view their weekly appointments as detentions of sorts, even though he was free to read or do schoolwork if he didn't wish to talk. And the boy never wished to talk, it would seem. Not to him, in any case. He had told Albus it wouldn't work. The boy didn't trust him and him being a witness to his panic after the closet incident hadn't helped matters.

Neither did the fact that one of the boy's friends lay petrified in the hospital wing.

Snape would continue in the endeavor, however, in the hope that Potter would corroborate their suspicions concerning his relatives' treatment of him so that he could be removed from their 'care'. Failing that, the Potions Master planned on paying Petunia and her family a surprise visit to observe the situation himself. Either way, Lily's child would not be spending another summer in that home.

His first thought upon finding the corridor outside his office vacant was that the boy had left when he didn't show up on time. Upon seeing that the door was slightly ajar, however, Snape recalled that he had left the door unlocked. Quietly pushing it further open, he stepped inside.

"Potter," Snape began, intent on apologizing for his tardiness. The boy startled at his voice, flinching violently. That, in itself, wasn't new. Potter had been much jumpier since the professor had unintentionally locked him the small cleaning supply closet, so much so that his other teachers had begun to comment on it. This time, however, the boy had been holding the trinket that had been sitting on Snape's desk and it slipped from his hand when he jerked in surprise.

The Potions Master pinched the bridge of his nose as the delicate glass smashed against the flagstone floor. It had belonged to his mother and he'd only just brought it from his home the previous day. He'd meant to put it on a high shelf out of the reach of children who felt the need to 'look' with their fingers.

He was about to give the boy a mild reprimand for touching things that didn't belong to him, when Potter let an unmistakeably terrified whimper. Snape's eyes immediately opened to find the boy kneeling on the floor, slicing his fingers as he hurriedly attempted to pick up the shards.

"Potter!" the man snapped. Instead of halting the boy's actions, however, the sharp tone succeeded only in launching him into a string of profuse apologies.

"I-I'm sorry," Potter babbled, "it was an accident – I didn't mean it, honest! Sorry... I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I promise! I'll be good. I'm sorry, I -"

"Potter!" Snape repeated more quietly, taking the boy by the wrists to keep him from cutting himself further. The boy's tone raised a panicked decibel at the contact. "Harry."

Instantly, the boy stopped, green eyes focusing on the man for the first time since he'd entered the room.

"Who am I?" he prompted.

"P-Professor Snape," Potter whispered immediately.

"Do you remember where you are?"

"Hogwarts."

Snape lifted the boy to his feet, setting him back down in the guest chair a moment later. Summoning a bowl of warm water, a towel and some antiseptic, he gently set to cleaning the cuts and making sure there was no glass embedded in the boy's flesh.

"What happened?" he asked, his tone unusually soft. The man could feel the boy's eyes on his face, but he kept his gaze focused on his task.

"Sir?"

"In your flashback – the memory you were caught up in. What happened?"

There was long hesitation in which Snape was certain that Potter would refuse to answer, so he was surprised when the boy quietly murmured, "I dropped Aunt Petunia's antique vase."

The professor nodded solemnly. "And after that?"

This time, the boy really did make no move to respond, choosing to stare down at the broken knickknack, instead.

"Mr. Potter?" Snape reached out a hand and raised Potter's chin until he was forced to meet his gaze. There were tears in the boy's eyes. "Harry, did they hurt you?"

"I can't tell you," Harry choked out.

"Why can't you tell me?"

"You won't believe me," the boy murmured thickly.

"And why is that?" Snape inquired.

The tears brimmed over and began to trail down Harry's face. "No one ever believes me."

Snape gently brushed the tears from the boy's cheeks. "I believe you," he said seriously.

"You do?" Harry whispered.

"I do. And do you know what else?"

Harry shook his head jerkily.

"The headmaster would believe you, also."

The boy gazed at him uncertainly and Snape took a moment to seal the cuts on the boy's fingers, leaving a patchwork of newly-healed pink lines. Then, murmuring a quick reparo, Snape directed his mother's knickknack to a shelf behind his desk before turning back to the twelve-year-old.

"Harry," the professor used the boy's given name, as doing so seemed to calm him, "if you will tell me and the headmaster about your relatives -" At this, Harry opened his mouth to protest. "Or just me, and I can tell the headmaster for you," he quickly amended. "I promise that you will never have to go back there."

"Never?" the boy queried.

"Never," Snape vowed.

Potter stared down at his hands for several moments. "W-where would I go?"

"Of that, I am uncertain," the man answered frankly.

"Could I stay with you?"

As sudden and unexpected as the request had been, it was nowhere near as shocking to the man as his own response: "If that is what you wish."

Green eyes met obsidian, and after a tense pause, Potter gave a minute nod. "Okay," he finally agreed. "I-I'll tell you."

Harry made his way through the corridors. He was just coming in from spending some time outside with Hedwig. It was exam week, but as all tests had been canceled to celebrate the recovery of those who had been petrified and the destruction of the creature that had cause their condition in the first place, he was largely free to do as he pleased, so long as he turned in his homework on time.

The boy briefly allowed his mind to wander back to his foray into the Chamber of Secrets. He wondered how it was that he could venture into the den of a basilisk and yet being stuck in a closet sent him into a panic. Perhaps, he would ask Snape about it. After the Potions Master calmed down, that is. Snape had not been happy with him. In fact, the man had been quite livid...

"Once again," the professor had berated him fiercely, "you have rushed recklessly into a deadly situation without so much as a thought for your own safety. Are you trying to get yourself killed, Mr. Potter? Because you very nearly succeeded!"

As blistering as the rebuke had been, Harry couldn't help but feel a warm glow because of it. After all, the man hadn't been angry at him strictly for acting like a "foolish Gryffindor", but for putting himself in danger. While it was true that the professor wasn't exactly the nicest person Harry knew, he had never done anything to actually harm him, either. And when he realized how he was treated at his relative's house, he worked really hard to get Harry to tell Dumbledore so he wouldn't have to go back there. That Snape was angry for Harry nearly getting killed strengthened the boy's conviction that he was right to trust the man.

"Well, look who we have here," a voice drawled, breaking Harry from his musing. "If it isn't Potter."

Harry sighed, turning to face Malfoy. The blond stood a short distance away, flanked on either side by his frequent companions. "Malfoy," he returned, his voice a bit heavy on the sarcasm. Sometimes, the Slytherin really got on his nerves.

"Wandering about by yourself, Potter? That's not very smart of you," Malfoy sneered, his expression remarkably like Dudley's.

And that seemingly innocent observation was all it took for the scene in front of Harry to suddenly change.

Malfoy's pale hair darkened to a dirty blond color, even as the boy himself expanded, bloating until he had morphed into a boy thrice his size. The opposite was happening to Crabbe, as the shortest of the three Slytherins thinned until he become a waifish, rat-faced boy. And Goyle... well, Goyle kind of looked like one of the others from Dudley's gang, anyway, so he didn't change all that much.

No... Harry tried to tell himself, vainly shaking his head to dislodge the image before him. It's Malfoy. It's...

"Got something to say, freak?" the other boy taunted.

His instincts promptly taking over, Harry turned to flee, having learned long ago that discretion was the better part of valor. In the case of Dudley and his gang, that meant running at the first sign of trouble. Unfortunately, Harry found that he was already backed into a corner.

"What? Can't find any nine-year-olds to beat up?" Harry snarled at his pursuers, his tone much braver than he felt. The Dursleys might not say anything about their son beating the tar out of him, and Uncle Vernon would have certainly smacked him around for his 'cheek', but he'd be damned if he cowered in front of his brutish cousin. Even if he was scared.

Draco looked at his companions, who appeared to be just as nonplussed as he felt. "What are you on about, Potter?" he demanded, eying Harry, who was standing with his back in the corner between the wall and one of the archways.

"Better that, than a brainless lard-buck -" Harry broke off as the first of the blows landed, and soon he was curled up on the ground, one arm up to protect his head as the other hand scrambled for purchase against the flagstones in an attempt to move himself into a less vulnerable position.

Wait – flagstones? That's right... he was at Hogwarts, part of his mind insisted. He wasn't back in Little Whinging being physically assaulted by his cousin. He was stuck in another memory.

But as soon as those thoughts surfaced, the terrified portion of his mind screeched that, of course, it wasn't flagstones he was laying upon, but the cement of the playground where he had attended primary school. It was the perfect place for Dudley and his band of bullies to waylay him as there were few people there over the summer.

So it was that Harry continued to flinch and jerk, biting his lip to keep from crying out as the remembered kicks and blows rained upon him.

By now, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were exchanging horrified looks as the Gryffindor writhed in the corner as though he were being attacked by invisible assailants.

"Get the professor," Draco commanded, his pitch a little high. The other two promptly obeyed, moving as fast as they were able. "Potter!" the blond shouted at the other boy, wary of moving too close. "Hey, Potter!"

Hurrying footsteps echoed up the corridor behind him. "What are you doing to him?" Granger shrieked, even as Weasley shouted, "Leave him alone!"

"Does it look like I have my wand drawn?" Malfoy hissed at them. "I'm not doing anything to him." Understanding dawned on both of their faces as they looked at their friend and the Slytherin knew that they'd just realized what he and his friends had: Potter was having some sort of flashback.

Harry stilled as the attack finally ended, struggling to fight back the sobs that threatened. His fingers scrabbled against the cement. No, flagstones... or was it cement? He didn't know where he was, anymore. And did he hurt or didn't he?

"Move," Snape ordered brusquely as he swept towards the cowering form, Crabbe and Goyle almost running to keep up with him. He crouched down beside the boy, whose eyes were shut against the world around him. "Harry?" he spoke quietly, cautiously reaching out a hand.

Cool fingers brushed against Harry's cheek. Cool, not warm like Uncle Vernon's large, sweaty paws. Turning his head towards the tentative contact, the boy drew in a deep breath. Stale potions. Not the sickeningly sweet perfume of Aunt Petunia's hand lotion. It was Snape. Snape had come to save him, just as Harry knew he would – the man had promised to protect him.

The Potions Master was startled when Harry suddenly levered himself up off the floor and wrapped his arms around his neck. It was without conscious thought that he folded his own arms around the small frame, even as the boy pressed his face into his shoulder.

"Potter," he began.

"Pr'fessor Snape. Hogwarts." Harry responded automatically, voice muffled by the fabric of Snape's robes. The boy was trembling, his breath hitching despite the fact that he wasn't actually crying.

Snape rose to his feet, Potter still in his arms, turning back to the watching students. "Go back to your common rooms," he told them. His tone brooked no argument. His Slytherins, still a little wide-eyed, complied immediately. The two Gryffindors obeyed more slowly, obviously hesitant to leave their friend with the Potions professor. Oddly enough, it was Weasley who finally prodded the Granger girl into motion.

The man made his way back towards his office, pausing outside it before continuing on to his quarters. After lighting a fire with a quietly murmured spell, he settled on the end of his sofa, Harry still tucked against him as he rubbed soothing circles into the boy's back.

"What happened?" Snape asked the familiar question once Harry's breathing had calmed.

"Harry hunting," the boy answered, shifting so that his face was no longer hidden but he was still seated in the man's lap.

Dear Merlin, the man thought as the new term was introduced. What else did they make this boy go through? "Please explain," he requested, though, his tone made it clear that compliance was optional.

Fortunately, Harry did explain, his voice quiet and halting as he told of the abuse he had to take not only from his cousin, but his cousin's friends, as well.

Snape pressed the boy closer (he was not hugging him). "You did not deserve that sort of treatment, Harry," he told him.

Emerald eyes met his, disbelief and hope mingling in their depths. "But I didn't try s-stop it, either," Harry murmured. "My magic could have protected me, couldn't it? But I never used it, 'cept maybe the once."

"You're not entirely to blame for that, either."

The boy opened his mouth to disagree.

"What would your aunt and uncle have done if you'd used magic to protect yourself from your cousin?" Snape asked. The boy diverted his gaze and the man lifted his chin back up, again. "It's not your fault. And the fact that you didn't stand up to them doesn't make you weak. You are a child. You're relatives should have taken care of you and protected you – even from your cousin."

Harry let his head rest against Snape's shoulder once more, giving no indication as to whether or not he accepted what the man had just said. Snape was certain he would have to repeat himself several more times before the boy believed him.

They sat there, the crackling of the fire the only sound. After a while, Harry drifted to sleep. Snape told himself that the reason he didn't get up and lay the boy on the couch was that he didn't want to risk waking him. Instead, he remained where he was, allowing his mind to wander. The boy had suffered so many grievances, and yet, apart from the moments in which he was trapped in his own memories, he had not cried.

Severus Snape allowed himself a small sigh. Healing for his ward was still a long time coming...

The Gryffindor common room was quiet and resting peacefully. The fire had gone out and only one small torch lit the maroon and gold walls. Normally alive with children of varying ages, the room was enjoying its respite. There was no groaning over teachers or homework, no melodramatic lamenting about puppy loves, no laughter or pranks coming from identical redheads. Nothing was being bounced off the picture-filled walls – the pictures themselves were quiet – and no practice snitches were zooming around, upsetting various familiars. Even the house elves were asleep after cleaning up after the children.

If a person listened carefully, they could almost hear the walls sigh in relief the way a parent would after putting a beloved but overexcited child to bed.

Until a loud scream came echoing through from the boys' dormitory.

Minerva McGonagall was unable to hear the scream, however, as she was resting peacefully herself in her private rooms down the hall from the Gryffindor Dorms. She was exhausted after a long day of teaching and practically running the school on her own. Albus Dumbledore may have been the Headmaster, but most of the school's administrative duties fell on her shoulders since Dumbledore, it seemed, was always busy with Ministry related duties. She sincerely hoped that a raise was in the budget this year.

The deputy headmistress' sleep was cut short however by a frantic banging on her door. Sitting up in bed, she immediately reached for her glasses on the bedside table.

"What in the world…" she said to herself as her feet slid out of bed and her toes pushed against the thick green rug lying smartly on her bedroom floor.

Hurriedly, she grabbed her emerald robe from the back of the chair, paying no heed as she knocked the book that was resting on top of it to the floor. Making her way to the door, she shoved first her right arm, then her left, through the sleeves of the robe before tying the belt around her waist. She was just giving the belt one finial tug as she opened the door.

Seamus Finnigan nearly fell through the doorway and into her arms. How the boy was able to steady himself with the door frame left Minerva wishing she were a young girl again.

"Mr. Finnigan, what is the meaning of this?" Minerva demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at the panting boy, who was clutching his side while trying to catch his breath.

"Harry… it's Harry, Ma'am!" Seamus blurted out between gasps.

Minerva felt her pulse quicken and placing a hand on Seamus' shoulder to steady him she spoke urgently, "What's wrong with Mr. Potter?"

"Don't know." Seamus was getting his breathing under control, but still had a panicked look on his face. "He screamed – I think he had a nightmare – but then he..."

The teen paused for a moment trying to find the words to describe what happened next. "He just sorta started freaking out. Ron tried to wake him up, but Harry just curled up and started mumbling. You've got to hurry, Professor!"

"Alright, Mr. Finnigan," Minerva said in a firm but gentle tone. "Let's go."

Minerva led the way to the Gryffindor dorms; with sure but urgent steps her bare feet slapped almost painfully against the stone floor. A part of her brain said she should summon Severus to deal with this problem. He was Mr. Potter's chosen protector, the man who had first recognized the signs of abuse in the young wizard and succeeded in getting the boy to open up about his relatives' treatment. It was no secret amongst the staff that Snape cared for the boy and even intended on taking him in for the summer, if not permanently.

Before Minerva could come to a decision in regards to her colleague, her feet found the plush carpet in the Gryffindor Common Room and she hurriedly walked up the stairs to the second-year boys' dormitory. The room was dimly lit, so she couldn't immediately see Harry or the other boys. Apparently, none of them had bothered to light the torches in their rush to help their roommate.

"Lumos." she said in a whisper, causing the lighting to increase only slightly.

"Professor!" Dean Thomas called from a corner near Harry's bed.

"Shh!" was the immediate response that Minerva heard coming from where Dean was standing.

"Sorry," the boy whispered in return.

Minerva cautiously walked to where the boy was standing, an uneasy feeling in her gut. Once there she saw Harry pressed against the corner of the wall and his bed. His knees were pulled tight against his chest and he was rocking very gently. Ron and Neville were on either side of him, sitting close, but not touching the distraught boy.

"Mr. Potter," began Minerva in a firm voice that she hoped would bring the boy out of whatever trance he had worked himself into. Not getting a response, she knelt down in front of him. "Mr. Potter, what is the meaning of this?"

For a moment Minerva thought she was going to have to repeat herself; however, just as she opened her mouth to speak, Harry's quiet, shaky prepubescent voice reached her ears.

"Snape… Pr'fessor Snape."

"He's been asking for him ever since he woke up, Professor," Ron felt the need to inform her. "Should we go get him?"

Minerva thought for a moment. She was fairly certain that Severus was not any more capable than she was at comforting a child after a terrifying dream. "Not just yet, Mr. Weasley. There's no need to wake up the entire castle."

For a moment she thought that Ron would argue with her. The youngest Weasley boy's eyebrows furrowed and he glanced nervously between his friend and back. He was clearly debating if it was worth leaving his friend and disobeying his Head of House to fetch the Potions Master.

"Mr. Potter," Minerva turned back to the boy on the floor.

"Please..?" Harry seemed to make a great effort to say this clearly. "Please, can you get Professor Snape for me, please?"

"Mr. Potter," Minerva began again, reaching out a hand to brush the hair back from his face. This time, Minerva was able to hear the scream coming form the boy as he flinched away violently from her touch, hitting his head against the wall.

"No! I'm sorry!…" the boy started rambling in a terrified voice as his eyes replayed a scene that had taken place long ago. "Please, Aunt Petunia…"

Minerva's eyes widened and she snatched her hand back, horrified.

"Loppy!" she called loudly and firmly.

Almost immediately, an unusually large house elf appeared. "Yes, Deputy Headmis…"

Minerva didn't give the elf time to finish her title. "Loppy, fetch Professor Snape, immediately. Tell him he's needed in the Gryffindor Boys' dorms at once."

The house elf hesitated, his unusually large eyes tearing up.

"Now Loppy!" Minerva practically shouted at the poor creature, not concerned with the fact that Snape disliked having strange house elves in his quarters.

With a surprised squeak, the elf was gone and Minerva hoped that Severus would hurry.

0o0o0

Minerva had never felt so helpless. She had made one other attempt to touch Harry, simply to place her hand on his. His reaction was a whimper and more mumbling that she was glad she couldn't decipher. After that, she had settled for simply calling his name upon occasion and trying to calm the other four boys in the dorm. Dean and Seamus had returned to their beds but sat watching Harry with both fear and curiosity. Ron and Neville stubbornly refused to move from Harry's side. Minerva had an uncomfortable and heart-wrenching feeling that the two boys believed they were protecting Harry from her.

She let out a sigh of relief when moments (that seemed more like hours) after she had sent Loppy to fetch Severus, she heard the door of the boys' dormitory open. Immediately, she stood to make room for her colleague.

The woman watched as Severus slowly but confidently approached the scared child and knelt before him. Ron was the first to stand up and move away from his friend, obviously trusting the Potions Master to take care of hi,. Neville soon followed Ron's lead with a bit more hesitation. The Weasley boy, it was obvious to Minerva, was a born leader, though she doubted the boy realized his true potential. He obviously believed Severus was more capable of taking care of Harry than she was. Based on the helplessness she was currently experiencing, she was likely to agree with him.

"Harry," she heard Severus say softly. She was surprised when the boy didn't flinch away from the man's fingers as they brushed lightly against his cheek.

Harry's eyes seemed to focus on Severus face as he responded softly, his voice scratchy. "I asked for you."

"And I came," was Severus' simple reply.

Minerva watched Severus hesitantly stretch out an arm, obviously inviting the child closer to him. The Potions Master never failed to surprise her. He could terrify an entire class of thirteen-year-olds into behaving, and face the horrors of Azkaban and Voldemort, but he was so uncertain when it came to offering comfort to another or accepting it from someone else.

Not that Harry seemed to notice. Without hesitation, he accepted the invitation and moved towards Severus, quickly wrapping his arms around the man's neck and burying his face in his shoulder. Severus closed his arms around the small boy and stood up, seemingly more sure of himself now that Harry was in his arms.

Severus made eye contact with her when he turned in her direction. Minerva didn't know if he was seeking permission or looking for some reassurance himself. Either way, she nodded to him and he left the second-year boys' room.

"Alright, gentlemen," Minerva said, once again in control of the situation. "Back to bed."

Minerva quickly coerced the boys back into bed, fully intending on returning to her own. She walked down the stairs, taking controlled breaths and trying to erase the image of a terrified child from her mind. She was not expecting to see Severus still holding Harry in the Gryffindor Common room.

"I asked for you," Harry was saying again. "I asked for you just like you said I could."

"Very good, Harry," Severus responded, patiently rubbing the child's back reassuringly. "I will always come if you ask for me."

It was silent for a moment and Minerva was about to make her presence known when Harry spoke again.

"I had a bad dream."

"Oh?" Snape said curiously.

"Will you…" Harry hesitated and Minerva was sure he was going to ask Snape to stay with him for the night. However, those where not the words that came from Harry's mouth a moment later. "I don't want to go back to sleep."

Minerva decided to help both young men. Clearing her throat, she stepped fully into the common room. Severus turned in her direction and she saw Harry tense in his arms until the Potions Master patted his back lightly.

"Severus? I'm surprised to find you down here. I figured you'd have the boy tucked into the spare bed in your quarters by now," Minerva said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Is there something you need from me?"

Severus gazed at her appraisingly for a brief moment before deciding take advantage of the situation just as Minerva knew he would. "Yes, I just wanted to inform you of Mr. Potter's whereabouts."

"Considered me informed, Severus," Minerva replied dryly. She almost smiled as the right corner of Snape's mouth lifted just slightly.

"Good night, Madame." Snape inclined his head slightly before turning and exiting the Common Room, presumably on the way to his quarters in the dungeons.

"Good night, my boys," Minerva murmured to the empty room. "Take care of each other."

Harry pressed himself into Snape's side again as the two of them emerged from the floo. The room they had entered was dark and musty, a layer dust covering everything from the books on their shelves to the furniture. It was not a welcoming room, by anyone's standards, but it was also not the reason the boy was leaning against him, either.

No, that behavior had started two days before – the day the students left Hogwarts on the Express, to be precise. It also happened to be the day that the whole story of Harry's abuse and the reason he'd been placed under Snape's guardianship was splashed across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Harry had initially responded by fleeing the Great Hall and stationing himself between the dresser and bed in the spare room of Snape's quarters. It was a location the boy often liked to sequester himself as he was not immediately visible from the door, but he was only closed in on three sides, preventing him from feeling trapped.

Snape always knew when to find him there, however, for Harry always left the bedroom door open. In fact, his ward didn't seem to be a fan of closed doors in the least.

The boy had refused to leave his hiding place until long after the other students were gone and when he did emerge, it was only to tangle his fingers in the professor's robes and bury himself in the man's side whenever anyone else was around. Snape had made no comment on the matter, choosing to let the boy indulge in the childish behavior. He had the whole summer to help Harry overcome the clinginess born of his exposed privacy.

Presently, Harry had pulled away from him a bit to better gaze about his new surroundings. He looked up at the Potions Master. "You... live here?"

"Only in the summertime," Snape answered.

The boy studied his expression for a moment, before uttering a soft, "oh," and turning his gaze back to the room.

"We shall put off cleaning until tomorrow," the professor said. "For today, I'll show you around and you can unpack your belongings while I set up my lab for the summer." Harry's grip on his robes tightened momentarily, but the boy didn't voice his protest at the pending separation. Snape almost wished that he would.

They had made their way around the back of the house and through the kitchen, Snape pointing out the staircase down to his lab and the bathroom as they passed. He had just pointed out the small, oddly-shaped door to the broom closet and was continuing towards the stairway when his ward abruptly stopped following him. The Potions Master looked back to find an all too familiar expression spreading across the boy's face as he stared at the door. It was same look of burgeoning panic which he always got before becoming entangled in one of his memories.

"Harry?"

Harry's attention snapped over to him with a speed akin to a hunted animal hearing a twig snap. Green eyes growing bright with unshed tears, the twelve-year-old drew a shuddering breath. "It looks just like my cupboard."

Snape regarded the door solemnly. The boy had been extremely reticent in speaking about 'his cupboard', as he called it. In fact, he hadn't mentioned it once since the discussion with the headmaster, during which he had admitted that his relatives had locked him in the cupboard under the stairs. But even then, he had relayed as few details as possible.

"How often did your relatives keep you in there?" Part of him nearly hoped the boy would refuse to answer – he had a difficult enough time keeping himself from going after the Dursleys as it was – but he knew he had to give the child the opportunity to speak about it. Still, he didn't expect the response he received.

"All the time," Harry choked out.

"What?" Snape demanded quietly, his mind stuttering over this new bit of information. When asked, the boy had clearly stated that he had had a room, so why...

"Whenever I wasn't d-doing chores, or if they just didn't want to look at me, anymore, they kept me in there," Harry continued, taking the man's brief outburst as a prompt to do so, "I lived there – all the way until I g-got my Hogwart's letter and they were afraid someone was watching." He paused to swallow and try to get his voice under control, but his tone only became shriller with the depth of his hurt. "W-why would they do that? Why would they lock me away like some... some fr-eak?"

Snape felt a mixture of surprise and horror as the tears in Harry's eyes actually began to slide down his face. He had never seen the boy cry outside one of his flashbacks before and the sight distressed him more that he would have imagined possible. Tentatively, he reached out a hand, not entirely aware of why he did so, except that it seemed the right thing to do. He thought perhaps he might lay it on the child's shoulder or brush the moisture from his cheeks. Instead, he ended up with arms full of weeping twelve-year-old leaking bodily fluids on his coarse, black robes.

Initially, the dour professor was at a loss for what to say, simply holding the boy and rubbing circles into his back. As Harry continued to cry, however, venting his grief and pain for what might have been the first time ever, he found the words came to him as naturally as the actions.

"That's right," Snape murmured, his own voice a bit rough. "You just cry; let it all out and cry. That's it... Never again, Harry – I'm never letting those Muggles hurt you again, do you hear? Just cry, Harry. That's it... that's my boy..."

And Harry did cry. He cried until he finally fell into an exhausted slumber in the professor's embrace.

Snape carried him upstairs to the small guest room that was to now belong to his ward. With a care that anyone else would have called tender, even paternal, he tugged off the boy's shoes and tucked him under the covers. He paused to brush Harry's hair back from his face and set his glasses upon the side table. As relieved as he was that Harry had finally allowed himself to cry, the man knew the boy's healing was still only just begun.

A fact that was further substantiated when he was later woken by a terrified scream in the dead of night.

Snape's eyes snapped open seconds before he heard the scream. It was almost as if something in his subconscious knew what was going on before his conscious self did. Pushing the heavy, faded blue blanket aside, he swung his legs off the side of the bed and rose to his feet in one smooth movement. The rough wooden floorboards were hard and slightly curved from much use as his feet moved silently over them. He had no need to bother with a light, knowing every crevice of the house by heart.

Opening his door, he crossed the narrow hall in a single stride and entered the room from which the scream had emerged. Two more steps and he stood over the bed, one hand each on a thin, pajama-clad shoulder.

"Harry!" He had meant for his tone to be firm, yet not overly loud, but it came out cracking and painful from several hours of disuse. "Harry, wake up! It's only a dream."

Harry shuddered against the hands on his shoulders, whimpering in protest of the demons haunting his dreams. He wanted to be free of them, but he just couldn't escape. Jerking his head to one side, he sucked in a breath. A familiar odor caused him to still, his mind struggling to identify it.

"Harry," the voice called again.

Snape. It was Snape.

The boy opened his eyes, a momentary rushing sound filling his ears as his heart hammered against his ribcage. He wanted to cry.

Snape sighed in both relief and frustration. Harry's nightmares had woken them every night for the past month. He wasn't getting the proper amount of uninterrupted rest and it was doubtful Harry was truly resting at all. They could not keep this up.

"Move over." The words left the man's mouth without his permission, but once said, could not be taken back. Harry shot him a confused look, but obeyed nonetheless, his small limbs shaky and clumsy, his feet becoming tangled in the bedclothes. Snape lifted the covers, allowing the boy to scoot over unhindered before laying back on the closer half of the bed. He then pulled the blanket up until it draped across his own chest and the boy's shoulder. Curious green eyes rested upon him, causing him to wonder how much his ward could see without his glasses in the dark.

The Potions Master felt as though he should say something; something comforting and soothing, but the words wouldn't come. It was as though the piece of his brain that despite all his objections had forced him into this position had decided to abandon him. He lay there stiffly for several moments, uncertain as to what he should do, then, at the beckoning of another strange compulsion, he hesitantly reached out and pulled the child to his side.

Harry had tensed at first, still unaccustomed to a benign touch, before laying his head against the place where Snape's arm met his chest. He breathed in deeply, unsurprised that even the man's nightclothes carried the smell of stale potions that seemed to define him.

Of its own accord, Snape's hand began to softly run through the mop of hair resting on his shoulder. The man could tell that the boy hadn't fallen back to sleep, despite how quiet and still he had become. Eventually, he heard a sniffle then, just before an arm tightened around his middle, a sob. Somewhere in Snape's mind, he didn't think this was quite right. He had gotten into this bed in order to comfort the boy, not cause hysterics. Granted, this child didn't seem to do anything as he should. Most twelve-year-olds would have run from an Acromantula, not sought it out. (Oh, yes. Snape had learned of that little adventure.) Most would have allowed their teachers to rescue a classmate trapped with a Basilisk beneath the school. Most would have gone to an adult for help.

But then, when had this child been given the chance to learn that adults would do anything but fail or mistreat him?

"Calm down, child," Snape murmured.

Harry made an effort to comply, his fingers twining themselves in the fabric of Snape's nightshirt. Pressing his face into the professor's chest, he breathed deeply of the scent which he was coming to identify more and more with a sense of security. "A-aunt P'tunia put my h-hand on the st-stove," he mumbled, tone hitching. "She t-told Uncle V-Vernon that I cried, so he b-beat me when he got home."

Snape protectively drew the boy closer, even as his mind promised violent retribution upon Petunia and her husband should they ever have the misfortune of crossing his path. How dare they. How dare they harm Lily's child!

"That's what I d-dreamed about last night," the boy told him quietly. "Some of the others, too."

Harry hadn't spoken about his nightmares, except for one in which he'd been chased by his aunt's (or rather, his cousin's aunt's) dog. Now, not only had the boy confided one of his other nightmares, but it sounded as though it wasn't even the same one which had woken them.

"That is not what you dreamt about tonight?" Snape asked to be certain. He felt Harry shake his head. "Might I ask what you did dream about?"

"They took me away from you," Harry admitted, his voice a strained whisper. "I didn't want to go... They were going to send me back."

"That will never happen," Snape asserted. "I would never allow you to return to your relatives."

The boy took this in silently, then gave a tiny nod. "... Professor Dumbledore said the Minister didn't want me to stay with you," he ventured. "He thought I'd be better off with someone else."

"The headmaster ought to keep such things to himself," the professor muttered, then added darkly, "and the Minister can go crucio himself."

Harry levered himself up to stare at him, his expression equal parts surprise and questioning.

"It's a curse," the man felt compelled to explain. "A very painful one."

"Oh," said Harry. He laid his head back on Snape's shoulder, but the professor thought he saw a small smile grace the boy's lips as he did so.

The room had fallen quiet again, when Harry once more broke the stillness, his voice far too young for a child of twelve.

"Please don't send me away."

Where had that come from? "I am quite certain I just finished telling you that I will not see you go to your relatives."

"Or anyone else?"

The plaintive tone wrenched at the heart many accused Snape of not having. "Harry," he spoke firmly, "I will not leave you, nor will I ever send you away so long as it is your desire to remain with the Greasy Git of the Dungeons."

Harry started to lift his head again, no doubt to goggle at him in shock that he knew what students called him behind his back, but Snape pressed it back down on his shoulder.

"To sleep, Mr. Potter," he said, his own tone not nearly as sharp as the words implied, "unless you wish to scrub cauldrons for me tomorrow."

The boy giggled and Snape decided that it was a sound that he wished for his ward to make more often. Children should be... happy. Moreover, Harry deserved to be.

"Good night, professor," Harry murmured softly.

"Good night, Harry," Snape returned, and before he'd had a chance to think about it, he had placed a kiss atop the boy's head. No matter, he sighed internally as Harry snuggled against him. His reputation was already spoiled with Potter, anyway. Might as well go all paternal while he was at it.

Five years later...

Severus Snape had to take a moment to quell the anxiety which immediately gripped him upon waking. The feat took scarcely a second, accomplished in the time it took to fully open his dark eyes. It had been the same every morning for the past year – for the majority of the past four years, were he honest with himself. He would awaken to wonder where one Harry Potter was at that moment and what evil would befall him that day.

Such worries should have been behind him, of course. After all, Voldemort was dead and Harry was home, safe, where he belonged. Nevertheless, Severus doubted if he would ever cease to fear for the well-being of the boy he'd come to think of as his own. He did not consider this a bad thing.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he shook his hands in an attempt to rid them of the tingling which always resulted when he had been still for too long. When only his fingertips remained numb, he stood and went about getting ready for the day.

The hall light was on when he emerged from his room, which didn't really surprise him any more than the fact that none of the doors were actually shut. There had been a time when he was always the first one up, but now it was the other way around. Loosely gripping the banister with one hand, he made his way down the stairs.

Harry looked up from gazing out the window as Severus entered the small kitchen. Green eyes remained fixed on the man, watching him closely, so that he felt compelled to scowl at the boy. A small grin overtook the younger wizard's face. It was not half as bright as it had once been.

"You had all the doors closed," Harry said.

"I knew you would open them again after you returned home," Severus responded simply, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Again, Harry's gaze followed him as he moved to the table to sit down. Were it anyone else, he probably would have snapped at them. As it was, he took a sip from his cup, pointedly ignoring the unwanted attention.

"What if..." Harry began, breaking off when the man glanced up sharply from his mug. "What if I didn't open them?" he asked instead.

"Then, it would be the first time since you came here that you left them shut," Severus replied evenly.

Harry smiled a little before wrapping his arms about himself in a self-hug, pressing his lips together slightly. "How's your leg?"

"It's fine."

"You were rubbing at it, just now."

"You do realize I am not an invalid. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."

A mixture of skepticism and concern was apparent on the teen's features. "Your knee isn't hurting you, then?"

Severus allowed himself a small sigh as he set down his coffee cup. "If you must know, I have an itch and it happens to be beneath the brace. You're worse than Poppy," he muttered.

"Slept with it on, again, didn't you?" A faintly amused light entered the boy's green eyes.

"I did not wish to be bothered with it." The man brought the mug back to his lips, only to curse as its hot contents sloshed over onto his trembling hand.

The teasing expression on Harry's face abruptly faded as he watched the older wizard ball his hand into a fist in an attempt to cease its sudden shaking. "She got off too easily," he murmured darkly.

There was no need for him to say who he meant. Severus knew he was speaking of Bellatrix Lestrange, the one responsible for the damage to his nerves and the fact that his right knee could no longer support itself. "The woman's dead, Harry," he stated. "She can no longer cause harm to anyone else."

"Still," the boy growled.

A tapping at the window drew their attention and the teen opened it to let in several post owls. After they'd left, he started to flip through the assortment of letters, pausing as he came to a coarse, brown envelope.

Severus watched as Harry's mind slipped momentarily elsewhere, vibrant eyes fixed upon something in the past. It was not an unusual occurrence, particularly during the past two months since Voldemort's demise. Something would trigger a memory and Harry would be there once more, briefly checking out of the present. He was just grateful that the boy had not begun to have flashbacks again.

The teen blinked, the time his mind had ventured into the past so short that most wouldn't even suspect he'd been gone. He handed half the letters to Severus before sitting in a chair and tearing into the envelope.

"Voldemort?" the man guessed, causing the boy to look up at him.

Harry gave a short laugh. "No," he replied. "The Dursleys, actually. I was remembering when I got my Hogwarts' letter."

"I see," Severus uttered quietly, his expression darkening as it always did at the mention of the muggle family.

"That was when they gave me Dudley's second bedroom, actually. They were afraid they were being watched."

"Obviously, such a concern failed to remain with them very long."

One shoulder shrugged indifferently. "I didn't have to live with them much longer after that," said Harry. "I ended staying with you."

"I never did understand why you asked to stay with me, of all people," the older wizard remarked.

"Actually..." the teen admitted wryly, "at the time, you were the scariest person I knew – especially when I thought you hated me. I knew my relatives would be terrified of you."

"That is the reason you requested to live with me? Because you believed me to be sufficiently intimidating?" Severus smirked, amused.

"Well, yeah, that was part of it, but it was also because you worked so hard to help me when you figured out something was wrong," Harry elaborated. "I mean, you didn't even really like me, yet, but you still wanted to help. And... you never hurt me. I mean, you thought I was a spoiled little prat and you'd said a lot of things that weren't nice, but you never hurt me, and you made it clear that you were upset that somebody else had." He shrugged again, this time self-consciously. "I felt safe with you."

The man reached over and gave one of the teen's hands a gentle squeeze. "What's in the letter?" he asked.

"Oh," Harry picked up the parchment and skimmed it as he spoke. "It's a formal invitation to join Aurors' training. I'm going to decline, though."

Severus raised a brow at this. "I thought you wanted to be an Auror?"

"I used to, but now... I think I've had enough of fighting dark wizards to fill anyone's lifetime."

"Unjustly so," the man agreed. "What are your plans, then? You are sorely mistaken if you believe I will continue to support you indefinitely."

Harry grinned appreciatively, sensing the humor laced with the truth of the statement. "I still want to get my NEWTs," he replied seriously. "Then, I thought I might accept Professor McGonagall's offer to teach."

"You want to be a teacher?"

"It's not so bad, and I've always been good at Defense."

"That is true."

"What about you?" Harry inquired uncertainly. "What are you going to do... now?"

"I will also be teaching," Severus answered, tone matter-of-fact. Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "Just because I can no longer work as a Potions Master, does not mean I cannot continue to teach."

"But what if the students need your help?" the teen asked. "I mean, what if you need to show them how to do something? Couldn't that be a bit... dangerous?"

"Were I do so, myself? Yes," the older wizard stated bluntly. "That is part of the reason I will have an apprentice."

"An apprentice?"

"I requested to be appointed one," said Severus, picking up one of his own letters. "A Miss Tiffany Brandt. She'll begin her apprenticeship with me just prior to the coming school year."

"Poor girl," said Harry, sotto voce.

Severus narrowed his eyes at him. "Cheeky brat."

Grinning unrepentantly, the boy rose from his chair. "I'm gonna go shower. I promised the Weasleys I'd pay them a visit after we were able to come home."

"Just don't run up the water bill." The Potions Master turned his attention to Tiffany Brandt's academic record from Beauxbatons.

"Dad?"

He looked up to find Harry still standing in the doorway. "Yes, Harry?"

"I missed you," Harry said, "while 'Mione, Ron and I were looking for the horcruxes. I... I was afraid I'd never see you again."

Severus pushed back from the table and moved to stand in front of the boy. "I missed you, too, Harry," he admitted. "There wasn't a day that passed where I didn't hope the best and fear the worst for you."

Harry threw his arms around him and the man tightly returned the embrace.

"It was wrong of you to go off without my permission," he admonished, his tone a bit rough.

"I know," the teen mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

They stood there like that for just a moment more before Severus pulled away. "Now, you'd best get ready and pay your visit, lest your friends think your grumpy git of a father won't allow you out of his sight."

"Yes, sir," Harry said with a grin, wiping a tear from one cheek.

Severus shuffled back to his place at the table to continue perusing his mail. He had just seated himself, when Harry's voice drifted quietly to him from the other room.

"Love you, Dad."

A fond smile softened the man's harsh features. "I love you, too, son," he replied.

And both of them knew it was true.