Harry shook out his hand, it was cramped from holding a quill for two hours while he struggled to write his detention essay for Professor Snape.  Before that, Severus had made him chop up some lizard livers, used in certain potions of alteration and changing.  That had been gross, but he could bear it.  The essay was something else again.  Snape had required him to write two feet of parchment on how he should have handled the altercation with Malfoy, or anyone who attempted to harm him physically or magically.  The problem wasn’t listing or writing the content, Snape had given him the answers he expected last night.  The problem was that he had terrible penmanship and he kept getting distracted thinking about the way people had reacted to that blasted tell-all article in the Prophet.

Neville half-fainting in shock had been the least of it.

Most of his yearmates had looked at him as if he’d gone insane, and one tall lanky fifth year had asked when Harry was going to start eating at the Slytherin table, since he seemed to fancy serpents so much? Harry had ignored that taunt, but others in his House cast him looks of disapproval and shock and anger, making him feel sick to his stomach.  He had tried to eat some more, but the food stuck in his throat, and he finally set down his fork and said, “What does it matter to all of you who my guardian is?”

“Because you’re a Gryffindor and he’s the Head of Slytherin,” murmured several.

Harry had looked at them quizzically.  “And that matters how? If he’s willing to take me in and I’m willing, why should it matter?”

“Well, because it’s Snape!”

“How could you let the greasy git have authority over you like that?”

“All Slytherins are followers of  You-Know-Who.”

“Does this mean you’re gonna be friends with Malfoy next?”

“No, of course not!” Harry had gasped.  “I can’t stand him. He’s a stuck up prat!” He stood up then to help Neville because no one else seemed like they were going to, and he wanted to avoid all the stares and so forth he was getting from everyone, but especially from his own Housemates.  “Neville, are you okay?”

Neville nodded sheepishly.  “I’m always tripping and falling, Harry. Don’t worry, I’m not hurt.” He took the hand Harry held out to him, then asked softly, “But Harry . . . you’re not afraid with Snape as your guardian?”

“No.  He saved my life, Neville. With the troll and the storm spirits.”

“Oh, well, he seems so . . .err . . . strict and everything . . .”

“Maybe, but just between you and me, Longbottom, my relatives were worse.”

Neville looked dumbfounded.  “They . . . were?”

“Yeah.  They hate magic and wizards.  I never really belonged there.  But with Snape it’s different.  He came to me and chose me.  So at least I know one thing—that he wants me.”

Neville nodded. “I guess that’s good, Harry. But he scares me to pieces when he glares at me.”

“Wanna know another secret?” Harry asked. “His bark’s worse than his bite.”  He then resumed his place and tried to ignore the mutterings of his Housemates.   Poor timid Neville! Yes, Snape could be intimidating, but Neville must be really sheltered if he thought Snape was the worst that was out there, Harry thought.  Neville wouldn’t have lasted a week with Vernon, Petunia, or Dudley.   Especially Dudley.  Harry reached into his pocket and clasped his watch, then tried to force down another mouthful of food.

He had been hungry before, but now his appetite had waned, as the atmosphere around him changed from shock and disbelief to something more hostile. 

“If you have Snape as a guardian, why aren’t you a Slytherin?” demanded the obnoxious boy who had spoken before.  “Because only another viper would choose him.”

Harry glared at the other boy, whose name he didn’t remember.  “The Hat chose to put me in Gryffindor.” Because I asked it to. Maybe I shouldn’t have.

“Oh, Potter.” An older girl sighed dramatically. “Slytherin and Gryffindor . . . it’s just not done.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at that. “Apparently it is, Lara. Because they’ve just done it.”

“Maybe that’s how he survived the Killing Curse as a baby,” remarked the obnoxious fifth year again. “Because he made a deal with You-Know-Who!”

Harry stood up, his fists clenched. “That’s ridiculous! I could barely talk back then, you stupid—”

Percy cut in.  “Potter, sit down.  Craven, you’re out of line.  In case you’ve forgotten, Potter survived the Killing Curse, if You-Know-Who was going to subvert him, he would have taken him away, not tried to kill him.  Don’t be more of an ass than you already are.  The Hat doesn’t make mistakes, Harry belongs in Gryffindor, like his parents.  Having Professor Snape as his guardian changes none of that.  We all know Snape looks out for him.  This is just more of the same, and a good thing too, else Potter wouldn’t be here right now being forced to listen to idiots like you.  Furthermore, I don’t see why it’s any of your business what goes on in Potter’s personal life.  Unless you’re his biographer?” That got snickers from some of the Gryffindors.  “Now, everyone shut your mouth and eat, the subject is closed.”

It wasn’t, but the muttering did subside and now some of them were giving Percy nasty glares too and more than a few were growling that Weasley was becoming too high-and-mighty, but not even Craven dared cross Percy. 

Harry was shocked, but grateful for his prefect’s intervention. He had always assumed Percy didn’t care all that much for him.  “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Percy answered, then went calmly back to eating.

Ron was looking at Percy as if at a stranger.  “Wow! First time he’s ever done that!”

The twins snorted.  “He just likes to have the last word.” Fred remarked. 

Harry eyed them warily, wondering if they were going to turn on him too.  But George gave him a quirky grin and said, “Old Snape’s okay.  If you’re fine with it, Harry, than that’s all right by us.”

Harry smiled.  At least the Weasleys were supporting him. He managed to eat a forkful of his supper.

“So, what happened at the meeting, Harry?” Hermione asked then.

“Yeah. Did Malfoy get his wand snapped?” Ron asked.

“No.  But he did get put on probation and he has to pay me back for breaking the watch and his mum was really steamed at him,” Harry told them.  “And so was Professor Snape. McGongall took points and gave him detention too.”

“Good! For once the prat gets what he deserves.” Ron said with a satisfied smirk.

Harry nodded.  “But I have detention too, for punching Malfoy out, tomorrow night.”

“With who?” Ron muttered.

“My new guardian.”

Ron winced. “Oh. Sucks for you then.”

In more ways than one, Harry sighed, pushing the food about on his plate and praying Snape wasn’t watching him right then. . . .

Harry jerked out of his reverie with a start and came back to himself, as Severus’s hand closed over his shoulder.  He looked up.

The Potions Master was frowning, clearly displeased.  “Daydreaming, Mr. Potter? That won’t help you write any faster.”

Harry dropped his eyes. “No, sir. Sorry. I . . . got distracted.”

“I could tell.  Keep writing, or else you’ll be here all night,” was all Snape said, then he withdrew to his desk to finish marking homework.

Harry groaned to himself and picked up his quill.

When he finally stumbled out of Snape’s classroom it was half-past nine, and he was tired, but didn’t feel like asking if he could stay with his guardian.  He figured if he went and slept upstairs with the other Gryffindors, it would show them that he was still one of them, despite the Head of Slytherin being his guardian. 

When he arrived in the Gryffindor common room, Ron was playing chess with Dean, and decimating him, and Hermione was studying, as usual. Both of them greeted Harry with friendly smiles, though a few others glanced up and then looked away, and Harry heard at least one muttered, “Traitor!”

Flushing, he started to make his way upstairs, when he heard Oliver Wood call, “Practice at 3 on Thursday, Potter!”

“I’ll be there, Wood,” Harry answered, and was thankful that Snape had his Nimbus in his quarters, Harry didn’t trust someone not to try something with his broom, given the way people were reacting to the guardianship.  Why can’t they just bloody leave me alone? He wondered irritably.  Funny, how no had a problem back on Halloween when Snape saved him from the troll, but suddenly Harry was betraying Gryffindor by allowing Snape to be his guardian.  People were so dumb sometimes! He stalked upstairs and entered his dormitory, which he shared with the four other first year boys—Ron, Dean, Neville, and Seamus. 

He stopped dead and stared.

His bed hangings were shredded and torn and a large sign still dripping a viscous green paint had been hung across what remained of them.  Paint the color of swamp foliage was sloshed all over his bed, coating the sheets, pillows, and duvet.

The sign read: Slytherin Lover Go Home!

His trunk had been battered and a crude representation of a snake painted all over it. They couldn’t get into it because he had Severus show him a strong Locking Charm, and it repelled the standard Unlocking Charms.

He looked around, hurt and angry.  But no one else’s bed had been touched, only his.  I don’t believe this! Who the hell could have done this?  He had been the victim of cruelty like this before, Dudley had ripped apart his bed once at home, after the letters came and he had been moved upstairs to the second bedroom.  Dudley and his friend Piers had slashed his sagging mattress and tied his sheets together and thrown water all over it.  And Harry couldn’t even complain to Aunt Petunia, because he knew Dudley would lie and say he didn’t do anything and Harry was just a lazy slob.  He had thought he was free of that sort of persecution at Hogwarts. 

A vein in his temple started to throb and he suddenly had a headache.  His grasp on his bookbag slipped and it hit the floor with a thud beside him.  He didn’t know how he was going to clean up the paint, he didn’t know any spells that removed it from cloth.  So he simply stood there, staring at his wrecked bed, his green eyes burning with the injustice of it all.

Until he heard Ron say from behind him, “Harry? Why are you just standing in the middle of the floor like—bloody hell! Who did that to your bed?”

Harry turned.  “I don’t know. When I came up here, I found it like this.”

“Aww, Merlin!” Ron shook his head.  “Whoever did it is a real git! Look, let me get Percy.  He’ll know how to get the paint off and everything.”  He quickly ran down the stairs to find his brother.

Percy was livid when he saw what had been done.  “All right, now I’ve had enough! I’m going to call a meeting tonight, speaking to everyone except you, Harry, and we’re going to get this nonsense stopped for good and all.  Otherwise I’m informing McGonagall about this, and she’ll put the whole House on restriction until the culprit comes forward.”  He cast a few Cleaning charms and soon Harry’s bed and trunk looked normal again.  He removed the sign from the bed and tore it in two, shaking his head in disgust.  “All right, Potter, you can go to sleep.”

Harry got undressed and into bed, carefully examining the bed and beneath it before he got into it.  Ron told him good night before heading back downstairs for the meeting.  Harry tossed and turned, he fancied he could still smell the wet paint even though it was vanished from the bed.  He was tired, but on edge, and he couldn’t sleep. He felt uneasy and uncomfortable, his private space had been violated and he no longer felt safe in his room.  He tried to fall asleep, but every time he dozed off, he would hear a scuffle or a thump and wake up, fearing some new mischief was about to be played on him.

An hour passed, and finally he heard Ron and the other boys coming up the stairs. 

“Harry? You still awake?” Ron hissed.

Harry sat up. “Hey. Did they find out who did it?”

“Afraid not.  No one would admit it, but Percy told everyone off and said that if anything like this happens again, we’re all on suspension from McGonagall. He said you were to be left alone or else. And I think he put charms on our door so only we can go in and out. Well, besides him and McGonagall.”

“Oh. I guess that’s good,” Harry murmured, though he still didn’t feel safe. 

“I’ll bet it was that arse Craven, but without proof, Percy can’t do anything to him,” Ron sighed, yawning.  “Well, I’m going to bed.  See you in the morning.”

Soon the room was filled with the soft snores and breathing of his dorm mates, and Harry flopped over on his stomach and tried to sleep.  But sleep wouldn’t come and finally he gave up trying.  He knew he needed sleep, otherwise he would be a zombie during tomorrow’s classes, one of which was potions, and he didn’t dare risk that.  There was no help for it.  He knew of only one place where he felt safe and protected, and that was Snape’s quarters.  He grabbed his pillow and his bookbag, which he had placed by his bed, lit up his wand and took a uniform and clean robe out of his trunk, and stuffed them in his bag.  Then he tied the laces of his shoes together, slung them about his neck, and crept like a ghost out of Gryffindor Tower.

It was almost eleven o’clock, way past curfew for first years, but Harry didn’t care.  He made his way quietly down the staircases to the dungeons, where he paused for breath beside the potions classroom.  The halls were dim and dark, with only single lamps on either side to light his way. 

As he leaned against the cool stone wall, panting slightly from his mad dash down from Gryffindor Tower, he heard voices coming from the potions classroom.  Puzzled, he didn’t think Snape was still up brewing, Harry peeked about the door frame.

There stood Marcus Flint, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and prefect, and four other tall Slytherin boys, looking to be about fifth or sixth year, surrounding Malfoy, who was giving them a look of pure bravado and defiance.  Flint glared at the blond boy angrily.

“You just had to go and nick Potter’s watch, didn’t you, Malfoy?” the prefect growled.  “Now look what your bloody sticky fingers have cost us. Seventy-five points, plus another black mark against the House! Now we have thievery added to our reputation.  Didn’t I tell you last time to leave bloody Potter alone? Seems like you have a short memory, Malfoy.”

“What’s it matter to you, Flint, if I’m mean to Potter?”

“It matters because your actions reflect on all of us Slytherins,” answered one of the others.

“And now Potter’s off limits because he’s Snape’s ward,” added a dark-hair boy with blue eyes.

“We don’t like thieves either,” sneered a blond with spiky hair.

“’Specially thieves stupid enough to get caught and cost us points and make us lose face.  Bad form, Malfoy!” snapped the tallest of them, he was even taller than Flint, but not as broad.

“Very bad form,” Flint agreed.  “I warned you what would happen if you kept on making us look bad.”

Malfoy looked uneasy.  “You . . . you can’t do anything to me . . . Dumbledore’s already put me on probation . . .”

Flint snorted.  “Ha! Like that’ll teach you anything. Dumbledore’s a pansy when it comes to dishing out real punishments.  Me, on the other hand, know just what a snot like you needs. Hold out your hands.”

“No!” Draco started to back away.

But the tall boy and the blue-eyed one grabbed him and held him fast, spread-eagling Malfoy.

“Get off me!” Malfoy shrieked.

“Silencio!” cried the third one and suddenly Malfoy’s voice was gone.

Harry watched, trembling, as Flint proceeded to cast a spell that enlarged Malfoy’s hands till they were the size of a gorilla’s.  Then he hung a wooden placard about Malfoy’s neck that read I am a thief and a disgrace! Lastly, he looped a large length of cord about the other boy’s wrists, tying them together so Draco’s hands were palms up and in front of him. 

Silent tears were running down Malfoy’s face and one of the other boys cuffed him on the back of the head.

“Stop sniveling, you mama’s boy!”

“Let’s go, Malfoy. You can stand on the Platform of Shame for half-an-hour tonight and tomorrow night, so everyone in the House can see you. Maybe that'll teach you how to behave like a Slytherin.” Flint said coldly.  He took the other end of the rope and prepared to march Draco from the classroom.

Abruptly, Harry ducked out of sight.  He scurried past the classroom and around the corner to Snape’s door and tapped on it, praying that the professor wasn’t asleep yet.   He wasn’t sure if he felt sorry for Malfoy or not, seeing how the Slytherins treated him.  Plainly they were very upset at the way the blond had been acting and were not hesitant about making an example of the arrogant youngling.

Harry had his hand raised to knock again when the door was yanked open, and a rather annoyed professor stood scowling down at him, in his night robe and leather slippers.  Skull was perched on his shoulder. “This had better be an emergency—Harry, what are you doing down here at this hour? Why aren’t you asleep in your bed?” He raised an eyebrow at his ward’s appearance—Harry looked like a refugee, with his hair all mussed, his bulging bag slung over his shoulder, pillow rolled up under his arm,  and his shoes hanging about his neck. 

“Sir . . . can I sleep down here?” asked Harry in a very soft voice.  “Please?”

“For the love of Merlin, boy!” the exasperated professor snapped. “Come in then.” He was not in a very good mood, mainly because he kept getting interrupted by owls bearing various complaints and hate mail over his decision to make Harry his ward.  Clearly, there were some in the wizarding world that did not think a Slytherin former suspected Death Eater should have custody over the Boy Who Lived.

Just as Harry stepped forward, a large barred owl flew into the room, holding an ominous red envelope in its beak. 

Skullduggery squawked and attacked the other bird. “Out! Out, you harbinger of bad news! How dare you bring my master a Howler?” He began to peck the owl about the shoulders and head.

“Skullduggery, don’t kill the messenger!” yelled Snape. “Just let him deliver the bloody thing!” He snatched the Howler from the harried owl.

The owl hooted in anger, but turned and fled, not wishing to fight the angry raven, whose beak was as sharp and lethal as a sword.

Snape slammed the door shut as soon as the owl flew out of it, almost catching his tail feathers.

Skull hissed and called insults at the closed door in about a dozen different languages.

Severus waved a hand and cast a Silencing charm over the room, so no one could hear the Howler, except for himself and Harry.

Harry had sat down on the sofa and was eying the red envelope uneasily. “Sir? What’s a Howler?”

“A bloody damn nuisance,” answered Severus, just before the Howler went off.

“SNAPE—

YOU PATHETIC GREASY EXCUSE FOR A WIZARD! I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT ANYONE WOULD GRANT YOU PERMISSION TO RAISE A CHILD, ESPECIALLY THE CHILD OF MY BEST FRIEND! YOU’RE A SLYTHERIN AND AS DARK AS THEY COME, YOU HAVEN’T ANY BUSINESS TRYING TO PRETEND YOU CARE ABOUT JAMES’ SON, EVERYONE KNOWS YOU HATED EACH OTHER IN SCHOOL! WHO DID YOU CON TO LET SUCH FILTH BECOME GUARDIAN OF HARRY POTTER? YOUR REPUTATION PRECEDES YOU, SNAPE! YOU MIGHT HAVE HOODWINKED DUMBLEDORE, BUT I KNOW YOU FOR WHAT YOU REALLY ARE—A DEVIOUS, CUNNING, HEARTLESS BASTARD WHOSE ONLY LOVE IS CAULDRONS AND THE DARK ARTS! LILY WAS RIGHT TO BREAK IT OFF WITH YOU, YOU ROTTEN—“

Harry winced, both at the sheer volume of the screaming letter and Snape’s obvious fury.

Snape aimed his wand at the screaming envelope.

“Reducto!”

The Howler exploded into confetti, drifting down to lie in a shredded heap on the carpet.

“Take that, you harridan!” Skull screeched and stuck out his tongue at the destroyed Howler.

Harry cautiously uncovered his ears, for the author of the letter had a voice like a banshee, shrill and penetrating, it had made his ears ring.  He whistled softly.  “Who was that from, Uncle Severus?”

Snape grimaced, and fed the remains of the Howler to the fire on the hearth.  “An old schoolmate of mine.  I believe that was Mary MacDonald, she was in Gryffindor and considered herself one of your mother’s best friends, though I don’t think Lily really cared all that much for her. Apparently she felt the need to tell me off as well for taking you as my ward.”

Harry winced.  “Uh . . . she sounded really peeved.  Have you been getting a lot of those, sir?”

“This is the first.  But I doubt it shall be the last.” Severus sat down on the sofa next to him, looking weary.  “I had expected some difference  of opinion from ignorant people, but plainly ignorance and stupidity reign supreme for now.”

“I’m sorry.  Maybe we should have kept it a secret.”

“Why? Are you ashamed to call me your guardian?” demanded Severus testily.

“Me? No, of course not!” Harry cried.  “It’s just that . . . look at all the trouble it’s caused . . . for both of us . . .”

“Both of us?” repeated the professor, eying Harry suspiciously.  “Am I to assume you’re down here to hide from popular opinion as well?”

“Err . . .” Harry dug his slipper into the carpet.  “Sort of.”

“Explain, please. But be brief.”

“Okay. You see . . .” Harry told him what had happened.  “ . . . and I just didn’t feel safe anymore, so I thought maybe I could sleep down here, just for tonight.”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, then said, “Harry, you may stay tonight, but bullies like this Craven fellow need to be faced, sooner or later.  I shall cast some protective charms over your belongings and your room, but unless it’s a weekend, you really should spend the nights in your room with your Housemates.  Running away solves nothing, except to convince whoever did this to you that he’s getting to you.  Have you told McGonagall what happened?”

“No. Percy was going to . . . I think.” Harry bit his lip.

“I see.  Then not all your Housemates agree that you’re a traitor?”

“No. Neville doesn’t, and neither do the Weasleys, Hermione, or the Quidditch team.  But they’re the only ones who don’t think I’m nuts or whatever.” Harry made a face.  “It’s not fair! Why are people so stupid?”

“Stupid is as stupid does,” Skull cawed, landing on Harry’s shoulder and preening his hair.  “Hello, bran-boy!”

Harry smiled at the raven and gently stroked his glossy feathers.  “Hi, Skull! How are you doing?”

“Fair to middling. Want to hear a lullaby?”

Harry blushed. “Umm . . . I’m a little old for that, Skull.”

“Are not!” argued the raven, then he began to sing, “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word—Uncle Sevvy’s gonna buy you a sweet blackbird—”

Harry gaped. “Uh, Skull—isn’t it a mockingbird?”

The raven turned and clicked his beak.  “Not in my version, bran-boy. Now hush!” He resumed singing. “If that lil’ blackbird don’t sing, Uncle Sevvy’s gonna buy you a diamond ring, if that diamond ring gets stole, Uncle Sevvy’s gonna give you a pot of gold . . .” The raven’s voice was low and soothing, and sang, much to Harry’s amusement, in Severus’ familiar haunting tones.  

“Incorrigible bird!” scolded Severus.  “By all rights I ought to pluck you and bake you in a pie.”

Skull eyed his wizard and crooned, “But you have the most be-yoo-tiful voice!”

“Skullduggery,” warned Snape.

Harry started laughing softly. 

“He has no appreciation for music!” huffed the raven, turning his back to the Potions Master.

“Now you’ve hurt his feelings,” Harry said.

“He’ll get over it.  He has an ego the size of a glacier,” snorted Severus.

“Why do people hate the fact that a Slytherin is my guardian? I mean, I know your House was where he came from, but still . . . why can’t people just forget about all that and judge you by your actions? I mean, you saved my life twice, why would you want to hurt me or make me into a dark wizard?”

“Because ignorance breeds fear and it is far easier for people to fear than to admit that they are wrong.  I have made mistakes in the past, but have done what I can to rectify them. But for some, like that hag MacDonald, nothing I do will ever be enough.  They will not forgive and they will never let anyone forget.”

“She sounded like a real b—”

“Mr. Potter, watch your language!”

“What? I didn’t say it.”

“It was on the tip of your tongue, you can’t deny it. And while it may be so, saying it changes nothing. There will always be people like her and Craven in the world and all you can do is ignore them.  Arguing only fuels their hatred and determination to tear you down.  People believe what they wish to believe, not the truth that stares them in the face. I could sacrifice myself for you today and still MacDonald would believe I had done so for my own selfish reasons.  It is a battle that I cannot win and so I choose not to fight it.  I know the truth and so do you.  If they cannot see it, they are fools.”

 “So what are you going to do about the letters?”

“Burn them or shred them. They make great kindling for a fire.”

“But don’t you care what they’re saying about you?” Harry asked indignantly.

“No. Not anymore.  I have heard worse, child.  Nothing they can say about me means any more than an infant babbling, it’s a lot of noise over nothing. Does it bother you?”

“Yes.” Harry admitted.

Severus put an arm about him.  “Try not to let it.  In a few weeks something else will grab people’s attention and they’ll forget all about us.  Are you going to let a few loud-mouthed ignoramuses tell you what to do?”

Harry shook his head, leaning into the other’s embrace. “Never, Uncle Severus. They can kiss my arse.”

“Harry.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s getting late. You need sleep, not enough of it breeds catastrophies, especially in potions.  We’ll continue this discussion later. But I wish you to remember two things—come to me if someone is harassing you and two, if you need to, I am always willing to lend an ear.” He shifted slightly, looking down at the dark head pillowed on his shoulder fondly.  “Or a shoulder.”

“Mmm . . .” Harry had his face buried in Snape’s robe, halfway into the realm of dreams. 

Skullduggery fluttered over to perch on the back of the sofa.

Severus remained there for awhile, until the boy’s breathing had evened out and only then did he gently place Harry on the sofa, put his pillow under his head, and cover him with a Slytherin blanket.  He rested one long-finger hand atop Harry’s head for a brief instant.  “Together, youngling, we shall get through this.  Even if I have to snap wands and take names.”

 “Right on, Sev!” croaked the raven, his beady eyes gleaming.