The Wizard aimed his stick this way and that, the blue glow illuminating the sagging walls of the Hut. From his seated postion under the table, shielded in part from the bluish light by the heavy bench ranged along one side, Harry watched in open-mouthed wonder as the Wizard- a WIZARD!-carefully entered the Hut and knelt beside Hagrid's unconscious figure. The Wizard ran his stick-which Harry quickly deduced must be a "wand", just like in the fairy tales!- slowly over the fallen man's long form, head to toe and back again.

And then, the realization hit Harry-help had come at last! After days and days-and despite owls, owls, owls-help had arrived. Hagrid would be okay. And they'd both finally be rescued!

"Sir! Sir!"

The Wizard whirled in a defensive crouch, almost concealing the involuntary, startled movement he'd made at Harry's sudden shout.

Clutching the halves of his glasses in both hands, the boy scrambled out from under the far side of the table and rushed toward the Wizard draped so dramatically in black.

"Please help him! Please help Mr. Hagrid! My uncle shot him with a shotgun, and I'm afraid he'll die. He has an awful fever, and he's mostly unconscious. Please help him!"

Severus Snape stared at the boy, an impossibly-thin grubby urchin in oversized clothes, who regarded him with startlingly green eyes in Lily Evans' softly-oval face.

"Please, sir. Can you help him?"

The emerald eyes flickered from Snape's blurred features to Hagrid and back again. Snape felt shaken as those eyes stared at him so seriously. All these years... Somehow, he'd assumed that Potter's offspring would have hazel eyes, just like his despised sire... But... Hadn't Dumbledore said something? Many years ago? That baby Harry had his mother's eyes? And that drawing he'd found in the Cupboard-the one of a small, black-haired boy with blue tears falling from green eyes... Why had it taken him so long to realize?

"Sir?" asked Harry again, hesitantly now, since the Wizard had not yet spoken.

Snape mentally shook himself. "Yes," he replied, his smooth baritone a balm to the boy's taut nerves. "I shall send for help."

With that pronouncement, Snape gave a quick wave of his wand and an instant later, a silvery form shot forth and joined them in the room.

Harry jumped back, startled, then brought the halves of his glasses up before his eyes to see that it was a transparent, silvery doe!

"Wow!" he exclaimed admiringly, not really sure what it WAS, but he was convinced that the beautiful doe HAD to be Magic!

Before his jaw had finished dropping, the doe leapt forth through the open doorway of the Hut and flashed away over the moonlit sea.

"Sir! What was THAT?!" Harry continued staring after the doe, which had now disappeared.

Rather than answer immediately, Snape reached out and took the pieces of Harry's glasses from him. His long, pale finger probed at the bedraggled strip of tape attached to one nosepiece. "What have we here?"

"My glasses, sir," Harry replied, squinting a bit now as he gazed up at the Wizard. He wondered if Wizards didn't need to wear glasses. Perhaps they had perfect vision? But then, Hagrid had said that Harry was a Wizard himself, so maybe not? "They got broken. Again. It really wasn't Mr. Hagrid's fault-he was thrashing around and hit them by accident. I was just trying to fix them back when you came."

Snape frowned at the round frames, reminiscent of those worn by Harry's father. "Occulus Reparo," he murmured, pointing his wand at the worn pieces.

Even to Harry's blurry observation, the halves of his glasses seemed to jump together with a little snap. When the Wizard handed them back, Harry was delighted to see them whole once again. "Sir!" he blurted, "These are as good as new! Thanks!" And, more shyly, he asked, "Was that Magic? REAL Magic?"

"You are welcome," replied the Wizard after a moment. "And yes, that was Magic."

Harry put on the glasses and received another surprise as the Wizard's face came into clear focus for the first time.

"I-I KNOW you!" Harry stammered. "I know who you are! I've seen your picture in The Daily Prophet!" He ran to the table and snatched up his favorite page. "See?" He pointed at the photo. "You're HIM! You're Professor Severus Snape! You're the Potions MASTER!"

He stared up at Snape, his emerald eyes alight with undeniable admiration. "It's an honor to meet you, sir!" When Snape did not immediately take the hand which Harry had extended to shake, as Uncle Vernon had instructed Dudley was the polite thing to do during introductions, Harry figured he must be doing something wrong-perhaps Wizards didn't shake hands? Quickly, he tucked his hand behind his back and added, "I'm Harry, sir. Harry Potter."

"Mr. Potter." Gravely, Snape inclined his head to acknowledge the remainder of the introduction.

Harry pointed at the newspapers on the table. "The owls kept bringing them, but Mr. Hagrid couldn't read them. I was hoping he wouldn't mind if I did?" That came out as a bit of a question, since Harry really didn't know what Hagrid's response would be if the question were actually put to him. "I used his coins to pay the owls, since I hadn't any money of my own."

Fumbling somewhat with the large handful of coins, Harry pulled all of Hagrid's remaining change from his pocket. "See?" He looked searchingly up at Snape. "I wasn't going to keep his money. I was just keeping it safe after the second owl knocked one of the gold coins through a crack in the floor. I didn't want Mr. Hagrid to lose any more money."

Snape's lips twitched involuntarily at the boy's earnest confession. "I am certain that Hagrid will grateful for your help."

Harry stared down at the handful of coins. "What should I do with these now, sir?"

"Keep them safe, Potter. You may return them to Hagrid when he has recovered."

Harry beamed. "Yes, sir! I'll do that!" He carefully tucked the coins back into his pocket, and when he looked up again, he realized that two other people had joined them in the Hut.

"Good evening, Severus," said the Man-Who-Looked-Like-Merlin, except he was wearing half- moon spectacles, which settled Harry's earlier wondering about whether Wizards ever wore glasses.

"Headmaster."

"Good evening, Harry."

Harry gaped at the elderly Wizard in flowing teal robes. "How-how do you know who I am, sir?"

"I am Albus Dumbledore, Harry, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And, to answer your question, it was I who sent both Hagrid and Professor Snape to find you."

"Oh." Harry digested that kernel of information. Then he looked into Dumbledore's kindly,

twinkling blue eyes and said sadly, "Mr. Hagrid is hurt, sir. My uncle shot him."

Dumbledore nodded. "I shall let you tell me all about it in a moment, Harry." He turned to the second new arrival, saying, "Harry, this is Madam Pomfrey, a Medi-witch who is our school nurse at Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes popped slightly-a Medi-witch? The woman was busily running her own wand hither and thither over Hagrid's large form, frowning in professional concentration as glowing numbers and polysyllabic words materialized in thin air over Hagrid.

"Ma'am," Harry murmured politely, not quite sure that he should interrupt her care of poor Hagrid for something as mundane as an introduction.

Without turning her head, Madam Pomfrey acknowledged Harry's presence by saying, "I shall tend to you in a moment, Mr. Potter."

"Er..." Harry hadn't realized that he needed tending to at all. "No hurry, ma'am. I'm quite all right."

"We'll see about that," the Medi-witch replied, and the boy couldn't tell whether he should take that as a promise or a threat.

Dumbledore chuckled and Professor Snape smirked, Harry noticed, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"Poppy, do you need anything?" Dumbledore asked.

The woman straightened, shaking out the folds of her plum-colored skirts. "Actually, it would help if we could levitate him onto the table."

Before Harry could protest that Hagrid was almost twice as long as the table top, Dumbledore had waved his wand, sending the Prophets sailing neatly onto the sofa, elongating the table, and adding magical support to the underside to uphold Hagrid's substantial weight. Then, with another wave, Dumbledore levitated the injured man and hovered him over to the waiting table.

Harry gawped shamelessly.

"More Magic, Potter," said Snape, looking sideways down at the boy, who was so different from what he had expected.

After groping for words, Harry finally got a few out. "Can I learn to do that? Could you teach me? Please, Professor Snape?"

"I hate to disappoint you, Potter, but I only teach Potions. Professor Flitwick will teach you the Levitation Charm and the Hover Charm, among many others."

"Charms? So, Charms are Magic spells? I thought it might be lessons on how to be charming in Wizard society."

Snape snorted and almost made a scathing remark-until he saw the boy's serious expression. Potter ... really WASN'T joking, he realized.

Harry's face reddened and he stared down at his tattered trainers. "I'm sorry, sir. I guess that did sound pretty stupid." He chanced a glance back up at Snape. "I didn't even know I was a wizard, sir. Not until Mr. Hagrid told me. And he couldn't tell me much more because he was so hurt. Really, everything else I know about wizards I learned form reading those." He pointed at the neat pile of Prophets now stacked on the arm of the sofa.

"I didn't even know that wizards were REAL," he added. "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always told me there was no such thing as Magic."

Harry saw Snape and Dumbledore exchange glances.

"Why don't you sit down and tell us about it, Harry," Dumbledore invited, waving his wand to transfigure the lumpy old sofa into a cushy, floral chintz version. Gingerly, Harry sat down, and when the sofa proved to be quite comfortable, he gave a slight bounce of pleasure.

"Severus?"

"I shall stand, thank you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled. "Now, Harry, why don't you start at the beginning and tell us how you ended up here."

"In the Hut of No Return?" It just popped out before Harry even knew he'd spoken.

"The Hut..." Dumbledore's voice trailed off, his silvery eyebrows rising as he regarded the boy.

"Well, the Hut on the Rock," Harry giggled. "But I was thinking we'd never get rescued, though Hagrid said someone WOULD come, and all of you DID, but I began thinking of this as the Hut of No Return. It's what it felt like."

Snape smirked again, and it caused Harry to grin up at him.

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "Start at the beginning."

"Okay," agreed Harry. "It started the day after my eleventh birthday. The morning that the first

owl arrived."

He told of his relatives' apparent fear of the mysterious letters, how they'd finally fled the house to outwit the owls, and had fled cross-country only to find more letters waiting for them at every hotel or B&B they'd begun to check in to. How Uncle Vernon had finally rented the Hut on the Rock, and how he'd spent the week shooting at owls to prevent their delivering "those ruddy letters". How Hagrid had been shot when he arrived to hand-deliver the letter which Harry had later discovered in his pocket. How the Dursleys had left Harry and Hagrid abandoned without food or much water four days ago. How the newspaper owls-

"No food or water for four days, Harry?" Dumbledore interrupted. "Here..." He waved his wand, and a bowl of steaming chicken broth appeared, which he set on a quickly conjured table, followed by a heavy goblet of water.

Harry gaped at the steaming broth, and he jumped slightly as a spoon popped into existence upon the table. "Really, sir..."

"Eat, Potter," said Snape in a no-nonsense tone. "Your story will keep until you've eaten."

Harry looked back and forth at the older wizards. "Well, thank you. Both of you. This smells delicious." He dipped the spoon into the rich, golden broth and sipped... Oh, it was like tasting ambrosia! Busily, Harry spooned broth into his mouth, savoring every portion before he swallowed.

"Albus, could you come here, please?" called Madam Pomfrey.

Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry's shoulder as he rose. "I shall return," he promised. "Be sure to drink some water," he advised before joining the Medi-witch.

Harry obediently took a tiny sip of water, but he was far more interested in the chicken broth.

"You should drink more water," Snape urged quietly. "You may not realize how dehydrated you've become."

"But I'm not," Harry protested, diverted momentarily from the broth. "I MADE water for Mr. Hagrid and me."

Snape stared at him.

"What do you mean, you ‘made' water? Aguamenti? With wandless magic? You do not yet have a wand, do you?"

Harry stared back. "Agua-what?"

In response, Snape incanted, "Aguamenti," and a stream of clear water spouted from the tip of his wand.

"Wicked!" exclaimed Harry.

Snape was looking at him expectantly.

"Er-no, sir," Harry denied, shaking his head. "I don't have a wand, and I don't know how to make water like that. I had to do it the hard way."

"The ‘hard' way, Potter?" Snape frowned. "Expain."

Harry pointed toward the fireplace. "See? It's all there. I poured seawater into the kettle, and when it heated up, the steam made fresh water that filled up the bottles." He pointed again toward a neat row of filled water bottles stored on the floor in the corner by the fireplace-"his" corner, as he thought of it. "Mr. Hagrid drinks a lot of water when he's awake. I had to keep the fire going day and night to keep making fresh water for the both of us." Harry smiled up at the tall, dark man, his eyes alight with his success.

Snape examined Harry's eager face, seeing the pride of accomplishment suffusing his wan features.

"You ... set this up?"

Harry nodded, swallowing another spoonful of broth.

"Did Hagrid help you by telling you what to do?" Snape asked, knowing from having scanned Hagrid's injuries that the man could have done none of the actual physical labor.

"Nope," Harry replied, lifting the bowl to drink the last little bit of delicious broth. "I did it all myself."

Snape studied the makeshift setup-the kettle, the foil tube, the plastic bottle that continued to fill as he observed it, the supporting structure of wood and stone. "Where did you learn to distill water?" he asked at length, surprised and impressed that a mere child could successfully implement such an operation.

Harry left the sofa to kneel down in the warmth of the fire, peering up earnestly into the obsidian eyes that he'd studied so often in the newspaper photo. He couldn't believe he was actually speaking to Severus Snape, Potions MASTER, right here in the Hut of No Return!

"It was Mrs. Hedgepath, my teacher in Little Whinging. Her hair turned blue one day when she was shouting at me for something Dudley had done behind her back-Dudley's my cousin- and her hair turned blue and Dudley told Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and they blamed

ME for her hair, but I didn't see how I could have done THAT, but Mr. Hagrid explained about accidental magic-Dudley's a lout AND a prat-and anyway, Mrs. Hedgepath brought a chemistry set to class one day-not the day her hair turned blue-and she showed us how to boil salty water to turn the steam into fresh water, that's all."

Both of Snape's eyebrows had risen during Harry's near-breathless recitation. He looked again at the boy's "still".

"I'm sorry," said Harry, shrugging apologetically. "I know it doesn't look like a real chemistry set. But I had to figure it out all by myself from the trash that the Dursleys left behind-it's a good thing the kettle was too hot to take with them-and it DOES work!" He pointed to the nearly full bottle. "Just a second, sir."

Harry scrambled up, feeling energized by having ingested the broth, and he selected an empty plastic bottle from his supply. After carefully removing the filled bottle, the boy slipped the empty into its place, scarcely losing more than a few drops to the dusty floor in the process, Snape noted with bemusement. Harry screwed the lid onto the full bottle and was ready to stash it in his corner when he suddenly thought of something.

"Sir? Would you like to try it?" Harry asked shyly, holding out the bottle toward the black-robed professor. "It's not cold, but it really is fresh water."

Snape nearly refused-having inspected the "still", he had no doubts as to its efficiency, however crude its construction may have been. Yet, he relented after a moment's hesitation, accepting the plastic bottle from the shyly eager child. He realized that Potter meant the offer sincerely, not just to offer him a drink of water, but to seek the approval of an adult, a teacher, for a process which he had learned in school, even if it was a Muggle school. Perhaps especially because it was a Muggle school and Snape was a Wizard.

The dark-eyed wizard inclined his head and unscrewed the bottle top. He took a sip, then a larger swallow before reclosing the bottle. "Quite fresh, indeed, Potter. Well done."

Harry grinned in delight, practically wriggling with excitement. "Thank you, sir! I KNEW you'd understand! You're the Potions MASTER, and Potions must be something like chemistry, right, sir?"

"An excellent comparison, Potter," Snape agreed.

"I knew it! I just knew it!" Harry virtually crowed. "I've always wanted to learn chemistry, especially after Mrs. Hedgepath demonstrated for us, and when I saw your picture in the paper, I just KNEW that Potions would be my very favorite class, because it must be like chemistry. That's why there's a cauldron on my list, right, sir?" Harry's face suddenly fell. "Only-I don't have a cauldron. Or any schoolbooks or other supplies. Or even a uniform. And I don't even know where to get a wand-the letter Mr. Hagrid brought didn't even say."

Harry's green eyes stared into Snape's black ones. "Where DOES one go to buy a magic wand, sir? And all of the other stuff on that list?"

Snape finally sat down on the chintz sofa, his hands folded calmly in his lap, but he could feel his blood racing throughout his veins.

Who would have thought?

Just this afternoon, he had been prepared to despise the son of James Potter. Potter's brat, as he'd always thought of the boy ... ever since he'd learned of the child's birth.

But how MUCH life could change in just a matter of hours. How much his PERCEPTION could change... He sighed, staring into the fireplace flames, considering everything that he'd learned since Dumbledore had sent him off to find Potter. To find Harry...

Those hideous Dursleys, that dismal Cupboard Under the Stairs, The Smallest Bedroom, the young boy's revealing artwork-none of this had he yet even had the opportunity to discuss with Dumbledore...

MERLIN!

Those horrible Muggles had left the child-a Magical child-alone on this Rock to starve to death! Abandoned by the same people who had openly attempted to murder Hagrid. But this child-the son of his old enemy-was also the son of Lily, his onetime best friend. And this child had managed to survive ... somehow ... in spite of the Dursleys' abuse, their neglect, and their utter abandonment. By his wits, Harry had survived-by his quick intelligence, and by his ability to extrapolate from a sterile classroom demonstration into crude, makeshift reality. Harry Potter... the Boy-Who-Lived ... had survived.

Harry Potter was smiling at him in eager expectation.

"Where, sir, if you don't mind my asking? Where should I buy things for Hogwarts?" And then his face crumpled. "I could never buy them ayway," he said sadly, his chin drooping towards his chest. "I haven't any money. The Dursleys never gave me an allowance the way they did Dudley. They always said I cost too much to keep as it was."

"Potter-"

"Severus, could you join us, please?"

Snape stood in response to Dumbledore's request, almost reaching out to place a hand on the boy's painfully thin shoulder. And then, he did.

Harry smiled at the warmth emanating from the strong, yet gentle grip.

"We shall continue our discussion, Potter. But first..."

Snape swept his robes over to the elongated table, raising a small cloud of dust from the grimy floorboards.

"Yes, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore was holding the palm of his hand just above Hagrid's torso where the shot pellets had struck. "Tell me, Severus, do you detect anything out of the ordinary?"

Snape used both his hands and his wand, feeling, feeling, sensing ... and his startled gaze met Dumbledore's. "But how...?"

Dumbledore looked over Snape's black-clad shoulder. "Harry, would you mind joining us?" he asked the boy, who was standing by the chintz sofa.

"Yes, sir?" said Harry, slowly approaching the wizards and Medi-witch surrounding Hagrid. He felt like such an outsider amongst the Magical grownups, although he could feel an undeniable yearning to be one of them. Someday. Somehow.

Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. "Harry, could you describe in detail how you cared for Hagrid after he was shot?"

Harry stared at the imposing elderly Wizard, sidling closer to Snape's black robes. "Am I in trouble?" he asked anxiously, wondering-if he had done something wrong, would they take Hagrid away and leave him here alone after all?

"Not at all, Harry, my boy. We're just interested in hearing about how you managed to save Hagrid's life."

"Oh!" Harry heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, he was bleeding pretty badly from the gunshot. While Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and Dudley kept packing everything up to take away, I tried to keep pressure on the wounds to stop their bleeding. I knew about pressure working on the surface, unless it was a really, really deep cut, but I didn't know if it would work on his stomach and chest being shot."

"And why was that?" Dumbledore inquired, smiling.

Harry tried to explain his reasoning. "I thought if the shotgun pellets had gone deep inside, he might have internal injuries. Like organs and veins and internal bleeding."

"Quite right, Harry," asserted Dumbledore encouragingly. "Did you do anything beside applying

pressure?"

The boy shook his tousled black head. "No, not really. I just kept leaning my weight on the T- shirt, trying to put as much pressure on the bleeding holes as possible." He paused. "Oh, and I kept thinking, ‘Don't die, please don't die. Heal! Please heal! Please stop bleeding! Please stop bleeding!' And stuff like that."

He looked at the grownups. "It was sort of like a prayer, I guess. I really didn't want him to die."

Dumbledore, Snape, and Pomfrey all looked at each other.

"That would likely explain it," the Medi-witch said, approaching Harry with her wand.

Reflexively, he stepped back, concealing himself behind Snape's voluminous robes.

The Potions Master cleared his throat. "Come forward, Potter. Madam Pomfrey merely wishes to scan you. It will not hurt."

Harry hesitated, then took a timid step forward and stopped, staring in trepidation at the Wand, not at all sure that he wanted it pointing at HIM. However, he forced himself to stand stock still as the wand passed up, down, and all around him.

"Hey!" he said, surprised. "It really DOESN'T hurt!"

Snape snorted. "I did say as much, Potter."

"It's definitely Mr. Potter's magical signature all over Hagrid, Albus," Madam Pomfrey declared. "Through sheer will, the boy managed to work some powerful healing magic and, without a doubt, he saved Hagrid from bleeding out. In addition, the internal damage was allayed by his healing magic, and Hagrid is already on the mend."

"How badly is he injured, Poppy?" Dumbledore inquired at last, since the Medi-witch had remained uncharacteristically quiet during Hagrid's prolonged examination.

She sighed. "There is infection, of course, and extensive damage from the gunshot penetration, but I will be able to heal him completely, once we get him back to Hogwarts. Young Mr. Potter managed to keep his finger in the dike, as it were, and Hagrid will pull through. His fever is already coming down, thanks to the Fever Reducing Potion."

"Potion?" Harry's eyes brightened. "Can you teach me to make THAT, sir?"

Snape's lips twitched again, a glint of humor touching his dark eyes. "That IS on my syllabus, Potter. For your Fourth Year at Hogwarts."

Harry's shoulders slumped in disappointment. Just when WOULD he learn to do any proper Magic, he wondered. Suddenly, he felt exhausted. Having run for so long on nothing more than water and nervous energy, the accumulated stress of the past couple of weeks since the Dursleys had dragged him away from Little Whinging seemed to have finally caught up to him.

Apparently, Dumbledore picked up on Harry's state and clapped his hands together. "Very well, then. Time that we get everyone back to the school."

"Sir?" Harry was afraid to get his hopes up, but he had to ask. "I-I don't have my books or a wand or anything, but might I still come to Hogwarts? Please?" His question was directed to Dumbledore, but his emerald eyes kept darting hopefully toward Snape.

"Of course you're coming with us, Harry!" exclaimed the Headmaster. "We'd hardly leave you here."

"THEY did," muttered the boy, so quietly that only Snape heard him. Once again, Harry felt the warm fingers gently grip his shoulder.

"Poppy, can Hagrid Portkey?"

"I don't see why not," she replied. "Thanks to Mr. Potter's timely intervention, Hagrid can withstand the rigors of Portkeying."

"Severus?"

"One moment, Headmaster." Snape had walked back to the fireplace. "Potter, would you care for a keepsake?" He pointed at the steaming kettle.

Harry balked. A keepsake? Of the WORST experience of his entire life?

"A keepsake of your first scientific success?" Snape added, almost as if he knew he needed to counter Harry's thoughts.

"Oh!" No question, then. "Yes, I would, please! And the Prophets, too? I can keep them for Hagrid, since his money already paid for them."

"Anything else?"

"Mm... Maybe one bottle of fresh water?"

Snape smirked lightly and Harry grinned in response. He was getting used to the way the Potions Master expressed emotions, sort of showing the opposite of what he was really feeling sometimes.

Snape collected two bottles-one for his private collection of curios. After using his wand to dismantle and cool the kettle, empty it, and extinguish the fire, he then shrank all of the items and tucked them into his pocket under Harry's popping eyes.

"You can SHRINK things?" Harry squeaked in astonishment.

Dumbledore tapped him on the shoulder. "Take hold, Harry," he instructed, holding out a brass letter-opener. Bemused, Harry pinched the piece of gleaming metal between his thumb and index finger, as he observed the others doing.

Dumbledore waved his wand, Vanishing the soup bowl, spoon, and water goblet, and suddenly the lumpy sofa reappeared in place of the chintz.

"Hold tight, Harry," the elderly wizard said, his blue eyes twinkling.

Harry felt a sudden jerk behind his navel, and the Hut on the Rock disappeared in a kaleidoscope of rushing color and sound.