They landed in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, Snape's hand firm under Harry's bony elbow.

"Whoa!" shouted the boy, his emerald eyes wide with shock. "What just HAPPENED?!"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "That, my boy, was your first experience of travel by Portkey. It is a means by which wizards travel quickly over distance."

"WOW!" Harry looked himself over, but he couldn't see any visible difference in his appearance, although his blood continued to tingle, sort of like a sleeping foot awaking from numbness to awareness. Even as his mind came up with the comparison, the tingle had already begun to dissipate.

Madam Pomfrey enlarged one of the beds lining the left half of the infirmary. In fact, she turned the bed at right angles to all of the others so that Hagrid's length would not protrude into the walkway extending down the middle of the ward. After levitating Hagrid into the bed, she quickly curtained off her new patient's area for privacy prior to treating him.

Before Harry could ask how long it would take for Hagrid to recover, Dumbledore had waved his wand and something silvery flashed from its tip-some sort of exotic bird, Harry thought. It reminded him of the silvery doe which Snape had produced in the Hut. The Headmaster's bird soared away through the double doors into what looked like a dark corridor, and Harry could see ancient stonework reflecting the light of the bird's passage before it disappeared.

"Sir? What was that?" Harry asked Dumbledore. "Professor Snape made a silver doe in the Hut, before you came."

"That was my Patronus, Harry," the elderly wizard answered as he put a wrinkled hand on the boy's shoulder to guide him to a bed opposite Hagrid's curtains. "A Patronus serves various functions. Sometimes it can actively protect one from harm. Other times, it can carry messages. Professor Snape used his Patronus to summon assistance. I just used mine-a phoenix, by the way-to let the remaining Heads of House know that you have arrived. They shall be here directly to witness your Sorting."

"Sorting?"

"Yes. New First Year students traditionally get Sorted prior to the Welcoming Feast, just after their arrival at Hogwarts. However, since you were stranded in the Hut on the Rock, you missed the Sorting in the Great Hall, so we shall do it here in the Hospital Wing."

"Great Hall?" Harry's mind was having trouble absorbing all of the informaton. Or, maybe, fatigue was finally catching up to him.

Dumbledore smiled. "The Great Hall is where the hundreds of students and the staff members gather for meals, festivities, and other necessary assemblies."

"Oh."

"There you are, Albus!" A new voice caused Harry to twist on the bed to peer over his shoulder at the stern-looking witch whose Prophet photo he'd seen labeled as "Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall". Her bottle-green robes swept regally across the stones of the infirmary floor as she approached. And then she caught sight of the boy.

"And Harry Potter... You're here at last! We were so worried..." Her voice trailed off as she got a close-up view of Harry's soiled, unkempt appearance. "But-what has happened? Albus? Severus?"

Dumbledore raised a placating hand. "Why don't we wait for Filius and Pomona to arrive? That way, we need tell the story only once."

McGonagall wasn't placated in the slightest. "It was those Muggles, wasn't it?" she hissed, the sound causing Harry's black hair to want to stand on end for some reason. "Didn't I tell you, Albus? ALL those years ago? They were the WORST sort of Muggles! Didn't I TELL you?" she spat furiously, glaring daggers at Dumbledore.

Harry couldn't define the chastened expression which crept over the Headmaster's wizened visage at the witch's accusations, but he responded to it without meaning to. He giggled.

"What's a Muggle?" he asked when the adults all looked at him. "I mean, I saw the word ‘Muggle' in Mr. Hagrid's newspapers, but I didn't really know what it meant." He looked from one person to another, waiting for an answer.

Snape responded, with a smirk directed toward Dumbledore's discomfiture. "A Muggle, Mr. Potter, is a person born without Magic. One does not come to Hogwarts to learn to become magical. You are either born with the gift, or you are not. Those born with are witches and wizards from birth. Those born without Magic are Muggles for life."

"Nicely put, Severus," said a squeaky voice from somewhere behind Dumbledore's robes. The Headmaster stepped aside to reveal the shortest man Harry had ever seen. The top of his head

barely came up to the level of the mattress that Harry was sitting upon. The tiny wizard looked cheerful enough, with a friendly smile and warm eyes. "Harry Potter! Welcome to Hogwarts!"

"Er-Thank you, sir."

"Harry, this is Filius Flitwick, Hogwarts' Charms Professor," Dumbledore said, using the introduction as a way to avoid McGonagall's continuing glare. "Professor Flitwick is Head of Ravenclaw."

Harry nodded an acknowledgment, although he had no idea what Ravenclaw was. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

And then they were joined by another woman-a witch, Harry reminded himself, staring at her rather grubby, patched pointed hat and only slightly-less-grubby robes. He smiled suddenly, glad that there was at least one other person in this castle who looked as dirty as he did. He'd been feeling rather guilty about sitting on the infirmary's pristine white sheets in Dudley's soiled hand-me-downs.

"Hello, Harry!" the woman greeted him with a warm smile. "I'm Professor Sprout."

"You teach Herbs!" Harry blurted out. "It said so in The Daily Prophet!" Although, he couldn't help noting, in her photograph she'd appeared markedly cleaner.

"Herbology, yes," Sprout nodded. "The study of Magical plants as well as ordinary useful plants and herbs."

"Magical plants?" Harry's eyes saucered. "Wow!" There was so MUCH he had never imagined...

Behind him, Professor Snape cleared his throat. "Shall we get on with the Sorting?"

McGonagall suddenly whipped a rather ragged pointed hat from somewhere behind her robes. "This is the Sorting Hat, Mr. Potter," she informed him, cutting off Dumbledore's attempt to get a word in edgewise. "The Hat will Sort you into the House for which you are most suited, and you shall remain a member of the House for all of your years here at Hogwarts. The other members of your House will be like your family, and your behavior will affect not only yourself, but also the other members of your House. Good performance earns points for your House, while poor performance or rule breaking will lose points."

Harry nodded his understanding.

"Professor Flitwick, as you know, is Head of Ravenclaw House, which values intellect and studiousness," McGonagall continued. "Professor Sprout is Head of Hufflepuff, which values the qualities of teamwork and loyalty. Professor Snape is Head of Slytherin, which places an inordinately high value on-"

"Survival skills," inserted the Potions Master, "such as strategy, a cunning mind, self- preservation, and the like."

McGonagall sniffed rather obviously. "I would hardly describe-"

"Which is precisely why I did," Snape interrupted sardonically, flicking his wand so that one of the curtained privacy screens scooted between Harry and the Deputy Headmistress. "Pay no attention to that woman behind the curtain, Potter."

Harry laughed aloud, recognizing the altered line from ‘The Wizard of Oz' video, which Dudley had borrowed from his friend Piers because Aunt Petunia had refused to buy it for him. It was, in fact, the only thing Harry could ever remember her refusing to get for her precious Diddykins, and Dudley'd had to wait until she'd left the house before sneaking the tape into the VCR. Harry had sat on the hall floor to watch the movie from a distance.

"Really, Severus!" McGonagall exclaimed in irritation, abruptly moving the concealing screen back to its original position.

"Professors," admonished Dumbledore, although his tone was gentle and the blue eyes twinkled merrily above his half-moon spectacles. "Everyone at Hogwarts is welcome to his or her own opinion, but this is hardly the time or place to engage in a debate. Young Harry still needs to be Sorted." He smiled at the boy, who grinned brightly back, caught up in the spirit of the interchange among the colleagues. "Professor McGonagall is Head of Gryffindor, which values courage-"

("Sheer recklessness," Harry heard Snape mutter under his breath.)

"-among other fine qualities."

(Snape snorted.)

"Do you have any questions, Harry, before Professor McGonagall places the Sorting Hat upon your head?"

Harry stared up at Dumbledore. "Um..." He almost said ‘no', but then something occurred to him. "Sir? My parents-Mr. Hagrid said my parents were students here?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course they were, Harry."

Harry bit his lip. "What house-or houses-were they in, sir?"

Snape sighed audibly before Dumbledore shot him a quelling glance.

"Both of your parents were Gryffindors, Harry."

"Oh." Harry smiled in relief. "Well, that's it, then. That's where I want to be-in Gryffindor."

But McGonagall was shaking her graying head, even as she smiled kindly at him. "I understand your sentiments, Mr. Potter, but that's not how it works. We don't get to pick our Houses. We allow the Sorting Hat to do that for us. The Hat has been guiding our footsteps for the past ten centuries." She held up the Hat, holding it over Harry's head. "Sit up straight, now."

Harry sighed, sat up straight, and the Hospital Wing disappeared as the too-large hat drooped over his eyes. Ten centuries, huh? How, he wondered morosely, was a HAT supposed to determine his fate?

"FATE, is it?"

Harry jumped reflexively at the voice that suddenly went off in his head. "You-you can hear me think?" he whispered in his mind. "You can read my mind? But you're a HAT!"

"And you're a Slytherin," the Hat replied snidely.

"NO! NO, I'm NOT! I'm a Gryffindor! Like my parents! I'm not-not cunning or-or deviant or ANYTHING Slytherins value. I'm NOT!"

"I believe the word you're looking for is ‘devious'," the Hat smirked.

"Well-whatever. I want to be in Gryffindor, like my parents."

"Hmphh," the Sorting Hat scoffed. "You're far more Slytherin than either of them could ever have dreamed of being."

"But I'm NOT Slytherin," moaned Harry. "I'm NOT! I know I'm not a Ravenclaw-I'm not intellectual. But I could be a Hufflepuff. I've always worked hard, and if I had friends, I could be loyal to them and be a good team player. But I'd rather be in Gryffindor. I'm brave, you know. I just spent the past four days surviving on a Rock in the Sea-taking care of Mr. Hagrid, too. My relatives just dumped me there with no food and hardly any water, and I had to be brave to survive. Doesn't that count as courage? Doesn't that qualify me for Gryffindor?" pleaded Harry, still thrown off balance by the idea that he was pleading with a HAT. "Please, ANYTHING but Slytherin. I don't want people to think I'm ... dishonest."

The Hat seemed to consider his last statement more than those which had preceded it. "Dishonest? Is that what you think of Slytherins?"

"Um... It's what ‘cunning' means, isn't it? Or what it implies? A form of dishonesty, like how someone tricks others?"

"Tell me, Harry Potter," said the Hat in a gentler tone, "What are you really afraid of?"

The boy heaved a sigh of despair, blinking back tears. "I've always..." His breath hitched. "I've always wanted to have a different, better life. I wished for it on my birthday candles. Well, they weren't REALLY birthday candles-just the dinner candles, and I had to pretend. But I wanted so badly to start over and have a new life. Where people would like me, ‘cause nobody ever has. Where other people would respect me-or, at least, give me a chance to earn their respect, ‘cause nobody ever has. Everyone always writes me off as a loser, even my teachers, ‘cause I have to wear Dudley's horrible huge castoffs. I just want to be-NORMAL, okay? I just want people to see ME as NORMAL, like they would have done if my parents hadn't been killed in the car crash. Like if I had a real family and real friends, instead of always being alone, just struggling along on my own the way I've always had to do at the Dursleys'. I just really want to BELONG. Can you understand? And I just KNOW I'd still always be an outcast if you Sort me into Slytherin. If I ... If I saw a Slytherin," Harry's mental voice faltered, "I don't know if I could trust someone who was in a House that valued ... cunning. I'd always be afraid that the person was trying to trick me. Or hurt me somehow. I've had too much of that already at the Dursleys' and at my old school. Now that I'm at Hogwarts, I just want to have a NORMAL life. I want other people to see ME-HARRY-as NORMAL ... not ... a freak. I've always been treated like a freak..." his mental voice trailed off sadly.

Unbidden, the tears came, rolling silently down Harry's cheeks to trickle out beneath the Sorting Hat's floppy brim and drip off his chin onto Dudley's grubby, oversized T-shirt.

"Please don't put me in Slytherin! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!" he begged in his mind, concentrating with all of his might to communicate his desperation to the Sorting Hat.

The Hat heaved an uncharacteristic sigh, causing the watching professors to glance at each other questioningly.

"In that case, Mr. Potter," said the Sorting Hat aloud at last, "Better be-GRYFFINDOR!"

"Oh, THANK YOU!" Harry sobbed aloud before McGonagall could even life the Hat from his head. "Thank you thank you THANK YOU!"

Professor Sprout conjured a large, soft handkerchief, which Harry gratefully used to scrub the tears from his face. The white fabric came away grimy, and Harry realized how dirty his face must be. He'd often splashed seawater on it while filling bottles, but the Hut was so dirty...

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, uncertain whether she would want such a grubby handkerchief back. He held it out to her, rather tentatively, but she waved it back to Harry.

"It's yours to keep, Potter. Don't worry-a little dirt never hurt anyone!" The Herbology Professor waved her wand, and suddenly, the handkerchief was snowy white again. "I'll see you

in class. Good night."

Harry stared at the pristine handkerchief. "Good night, ma'am. Thank you!" With a little giggle he added, "I love Magic!"

Professor Flitwick also bid Harry a cheery good night and followed Sprout out the door.

"So, Harry, you got your wish," Dumbledore said quietly. "I hope you'll be very happy in Gryffindor."

"Oh, I will, sir!" Harry beamed at the Headmaster. Both the elderly wizard and his new Head of House were smiling at him. When he turned to look eagerly up at Snape, however... Somehow, the Potions Master seemed ... distant. Before Harry could question it, the Sorting Hat spoke up.

"Headmaster, Mr. Potter is under the impression that his parents died in a car crash."

The Hospital Wing went suddenly silent, save for an muffled incantation emanating from behind Hagrid's curtains.

"But," said Harry, "they did. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon said so." His fingertip automatically rubbed that particular spot on his forehead. "They said that's how I got my scar-that I was in the car when they crashed." He stared down at the holes in the knees of Dudley's floppy jeans. "Aunt Marge said they were driving drunk," he whispered, his cheeks flaming, "and they got no better than they deserved." He paused, not registering the shock on the adults' faces. "They never wanted me, the Dursleys. I think they always wished that I'd died, too, with my parents, so they wouldn't have been stuck with me."

Dumbledore finally spoke up. "Harry, that simply isn't true."

"Yes, it IS!" Harry burst out. "They did so hate me! That's why they treated me like-" He couldn't bring himself to put it into words, not specific words, anyway, so he ended lamely, "- like they did. Like they always did."

The Headmaster looked at McGonagall and saw the fire flashing again in her eyes. Then he looked hastily away to Snape, only to see a similar fury burning in the obsidian depths of the younger man's eyes. Dumbledore suddenly realized that Flitwick and Sprout had left before hearing the story of Harry's ... misadventures.

"Harry," said Dumbledore, "Your parents did NOT die in a car crash."

"Albus, I really don't think this is the appropriate time," McGonagall attempted to quell him.

"When, then?" The Headmaster looked at her severely, his eyes having gone a hard blue. "There are hundreds of people in this castle, and apparently Harry is the ONLY person

who does not know the truth about his parents."

"What truth?" Harry demanded, his eyes flashing green fire. "If they didn't die in the car crash-are they-are they ALIVE? Is that what you mean? Is that the truth I'm not supposed to know? Where are they? Why did they leave me at the Dursleys'? Why didn't they COME?" He leapt off the bed, his small fists clenched. "Where ARE they? I have the right to know!"

Suddenly, he felt the familiar warmth of the Potions Master's hand grasping his shoulder, and he turned away from Dumbledore to look up at the dark man's serious face. "Where are they, sir?" Harry whispered, certain that Snape, at least, would not keep the truth from him. He could trust Snape, he was sure of it, even if the man was the Head of Slytherin. Snape had come for him, even if his parents hadn't...

The Potions Master's face seemed to have gone a shade paler than usual, and his dark eyes looked sad, although the rest of his expression remained carefully neutral. "I'm very sorry, Harry," he said softly, "but both of your parents are dead. They simply didn't die in a car crash. Your relatives lied to you about that."

"Severus..." McGonagall said warningly.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke quietly, "please sit down, and I'll tell you about your parents."

The boy sat, his empty stomach twisting, knowing - just knowing-this was going to be something far worse than a car crash. He even felt like he should already know... The Potions Master's warm hand remained on his left shoulder, like some sort of anchor.

"Harry," said Dumbledore, "James and Lily Potter did not die in a Muggle car crash. Instead, they were killed by an evil wizard. A Dark wizard known as Voldemort. Voldemort murdered your parents when you were little more than a baby."

The words washed over Harry, and he could almost ... almost...

"Voldemort also tried to murder you," Dumbledore continued quietly. "But we believe that the Killing Curse rebounded off your forehead, striking Voldemort. You were left with a mere scar, and Voldemort ... left."

Harry rubbed at his scar, frowning.

A Killing Curse. He'd been hit by a Killing Curse. And all he'd gotten was a scar? "Is that normal?" he asked, curious. "To not get killed if you get hit by a Killing Curse?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, Harry. It is impossible to survive the Avada Kedavra. But somehow, you DID. You are the ONLY person ever known to have survived the Killing Curse. That's why the Wizarding world refers to you as the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry gaped at him, still feeling Snape's warm grasp on his shoulder. "The Wizarding ... WORLD?"

The warm fingers tightened slightly.

"You're famous," said Snape. But he kept his tone deliberately neutral. "Everyone in our world knows the name of Harry Potter."

Harry's shoulders sagged as he realized the import of Snape's words.

"And here at Hogwarts, I'd thought I could finally be NORMAL," he sighed.

Snape smirked, Dumbledore chuckled, and McGonagall rolled her eyes.

"You ARE normal, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You're also famous. Just don't let it go to your head."

Harry gave a wry grin at Snape's unmistakable snort. "I'll try, sir." And then he remembered something that Dumbledore had stated earlier. "You said that Voldemort got struck by the Killing Curse when it ... rebounded ... off of me? And that he ‘left'? Does that mean he died instead of me? Or did he just, you know, up and leave?"

Dumbledore smiled broadly. "Another long story for another day, Harry, my boy. I shall tell you, I promise. But the night is getting on, and you'll need to be examined by Madam Pomfrey before you go to bed. Suffice to say, Voldemort vanished ten years ago, and the Wizarding world believes that you vanquished him. We'll talk more about it later."

Harry stared at him. "They think that I-I vanquished Voldemort? ME?"

"Later," Dumbledore repeated firmly. "And here is Madam Pomfrey."

Frowning, Harry protested, "But she already examined me-in the Hut. Remember?"

"That was merely a preliminary, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey informed him briskly as she bustled over from Hagrid's curtained-off bed to his own. "Now we're going to do the full exam."

"But..." Harry's emerald eyes darted from one adult to the next. "But it's late. Headmaster Dumbledore just said so, didn't you, sir?" Harry appealed to the most likely source of intervention.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I never argue with Madam Pomfrey, Harry. She is the Medi- witch, not I. You should trust her judgment."

The boy's shoulders slumped. "I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" he grumbled, eyeing the Medi-witch's wand warily.

"We'll leave you to it, then." Dumbledore moved away from Harry's bed, followed by the two Heads of House.

"You're LEAVING?" the young voice shrilled in panic. Harry didn't want to be alone-not in this huge room with its vaulted ceiling, tall windows black with night, and a strange woman- witch-with a wand. Never mind that he'd just been Sorted into Gryffindor ... his courage seemed to have reached the end of its rope!

Dumbledore shook his head. "We'll be right here, Harry. We're just stepping aside to give you some privacy during the exam."

Harry looked toward Snape, who met his panicked gaze with a reassuring nod. Not that Harry FELT reassured, but at least they weren't leaving altogether.

"Okay," he mumbled, and the Medi-witch whisked the curtains closed.

After Harry had emptied Hagrid's coins from his pocket, Madam Pomfrey made short work of Harry's dirty clothing, having him hold up a sheet in front of himself as she Vanished first Dudley's hideous castoffs, then the layer of grit on the boy's slight body. He suddenly felt wonderfully refreshed, and he'd done nothing but hold up a sheet!

"Tomorrow morning, you may take a shower," she promised him. "In the meantime..." She waved her wand again, and Harry found that he was now attired in a hospital exam gown-he'd seen those on the telly. "Okay, Mr. Potter, if you would lie down on your back, please."

Harry obediently wriggled up onto the bed and stretched out.

As the Medi-witch ran her wand above his body this way and that, numbers and words glowed in mid-air once again, only this time they seemed to transfer to a floating length of parchment after Madam Pomfrey had studied them. The illuminated figures glowed briefly upon making contact with the parchment, then darkened to black. Over her muttered incantations in what Harry thought might have been Latin, he could hear snatches of low conversation between Snape, Dumbledore, and McGonagall from beyond the concealing curtains.

"... seen the Cupboard, Headmaster. There was irrefutable evidence ... long occupancy ... artwork ... record of neglect and abuse ... see for yourself..."

A rustling of papers being turned, slowly, one after the other.

A heavy masculine sigh.

A shocked feminine gasp.

"Didn't I TELL you, Albus..."

"Would you roll over, please, Mr. Potter? I shall need to examine your spine."

"My SPINE?"

"Just roll over please," and Harry rolled over, trying not to think about the gown's being open all the way down the back.

"... far too thin to have gone without food for just four days..." Snape continued.

"... amazing resilience..." murmured Dumbledore.

"That's as may be, Albus, but it doesn't excuse..."

"... I'm aware, Minerva..."

"... cannot return to those Muggles, Headmaster ... performed Legilimency ... all three have abused..."

"... not something that needs to be solved tonight, Severus ... an entire school year..."

"Well, Mr. Potter, your exam is finished. You may put on these pajamas and hop back into bed."

Harry looked questioningly at the Medi-witch as she rolled up the length of parchment, now filled top-to-bottom with ominous dark writing. "Here? I'm to sleep here?" At her nod, he asked, "But where do the other students sleep?"

"They sleep in dormitories in their Houses, Mr. Potter. You shall soon be sleeping in Gryffindor Tower with your classmates."

"A TOWER!" His eyes brightened at the thought. "Are there windows? Is there a view?"

Madam Pomfrey's eyes softened at the boy's hopeful expression. "Yes, you'll have a lovely view of the Black Lake, with the mountains beyond."

"A lake! And mountains!" Harry beamed. "That will be great after..." He paused. "That'll be great! Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. But how's Mr. Hagrid doing?"

She smiled. "Hagrid will be just fine, thanks to you. Now-pajamas!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

As soon as the nurse had vacated his space, he pulled on the striped pajamas, marveling at the perfect fit. Which reminded him... He really didn't have any other clothes. Would they allow him to wear these pajamas to class? Harry tried to imagine himself brewing The-Magic-Potion- That-Saved-The-World while wearing striped pajamas in Professor Snape's brightly-lit science laboratory. He sighed. Well, it wouldn't be the first time that other students had laughed at him for his attire.

"... various broken bones ... not properly healed ... obviously not treated by Muggle Healers ... chronic malnutrition ... physical exhaustion ... should remain in bed at least a week-"

At which words, Harry flung the curtains aside.

"Oh, PLEASE don't make me stay in bed for a WEEK! I'll miss classes! I'll be so far behind that I'll NEVER catch up! Please let me go to class! PLEASE!" He wondered if real witches and wizards would be as easily swayed by his desperate pleas as the Sorting Hat had been. For good measure, he opened his emerald eyes as wide as possible as he stared pleadingly up at the Medi-witch and the professors.

McGonagall's lips twitched. "Poppy, is there any reason why bed rest would be imperative in Mr. Potter's case?" Stressful rest isn't restful, you know. And Potter looks as if he'd stress instead of rest for the entire week."

"Minerva-"

"Why not allow Potter to attend his classes," Snape cut in, and Harry gave him a grateful smile. "Nutritive potions, supplemental food, and a positive environment will help with some of his issues. Pepper-Up Potion will give him a boost during the day if necessary, and I would recommend a dose of Dreamless Sleep tonight. A light meal before bed. A bowl of custard, perhaps?"

The other three adults stared at Severus Snape in amazement. They had all been subjected to his constant grumbling over the past week about the advent of the Boy-Who-Lived; now, he inexplicably seemed to have taken Harry Potter-a Gryffindor, no less!-under his billowing black wing.

"Severus? Are you serious? You heard what Poppy said."

The Potions Master nodded once. "I heard. But I agree with Professor McGonagall that settling into a routine would benefit Potter more than his lying restlessly in bed. However, all of his teachers should keep a close eye on him, and if he seems to be suffering ill effects from overdoing at any time, he would still have the option of bed rest."

The adults fell silent, considering Snape's recommendation.

Harry held his breath, his fingers crossed tightly behind his back.

"Very well," Madam Pomfrey finally relented. "But I want Mr. Potter to check in with me every day, immediately following lunch. If his daily scans do not indicate steady physical improvement, then I shall ORDER him to remain in bed until he has fully recovered."

Harry nearly jumped up and down in celebration, but he managed to restrain himself to a small bounce of joy. "I'll be good, Madam Pomfrey. And I promise to be here every day after lunch."

"Furthermore," the Medi-witch continued, "in addition to three meals a day, you shall have an energy bar mid-morning, another one mid-afternoon, and an evening snack before bed. You will not skip meals or snacks, Mr. Potter. If you do, I shall know, and you WILL be confined to bed. Understood?"

Harry nodded vigorously.

"Well," said Dumbledore, "that sounds satisfactory. Do you have any questions, Harry?"

"Yes, sir. About my clothes-well, I really haven't any. And I don't have schoolbooks or a cauldron or a wand."

Professor McGonagall smiled. "You'll have a Gryffindor uniform waiting for you by tomorrow morning, and all teachers have extra textbooks they can loan you until you obtain your own. Severus has spare cauldrons and potions ingredients, I'm sure-"

Snape nodded.

"-and I shall personally escort you to Diagon Alley to see Mr. Ollivander about your wand this weekend."

Harry smiled. "Thank you so much, Professor McGonagall. I really appreciate your help. But I don't know how I can repay you."

"Don't worry, Potter. We'll stop first at Gringotts so you can visit your vault."

Harry's jaw dropped. "Gringotts? The Wizard bank? The one that almost got robbed? I have a VAULT? With real money? WIZARD money? REALLY?"

Madam Pomfrey interrupted when McGonagall would have responded. "Save this discussion for the weekend, please. Or else my patient will be overtired in the morning, and I'll have to keep him in the Hospital Wing after all."

Dumbledore waved his wand, and a tray appeared, hovering above Harry's bed. "I believe

Severus recommended custard? But first, I've no doubt that Madam Pomfrey is ready to ply you with potions."

"Absolutely," the nurse agreed. "Into bed, Mr. Potter." She waited until he'd clambered into bed, careful not to jostle the tray, then handed him a slender vial. "Nutritive Potion. You'll take a vial with every meal."

POTION!

Harry eagerly gulped the contents, only to shudder in disgust. "That's-AWFUL!"

Snape smirked. "I can teach you how to make it, Potter. Nutritive Potion is on the Third Year syllabus."

"No hurry," Harry muttered, wiping his lips with the napkin on the tray. "That one can wait!"

"Blood Replenisher," said the nurse, handing him another vial.

Harry sniffed cautiously at the open end of the vial. "This smells even worse than the first. What does it do?"

"Normally, Blood Replenisher is given to people who have lost large amounts of blood through injury," Snape informed him, slipping into class lecture mode. "But it is also useful in treating anemia, which you are suffering from. It will aid in quickly building up your red blood cell count."

"Oh. Okay." Harry held his breath while he gulped down the Blood Replenisher. He handed Madam Pomfrey the empty vial in exchange for a stoppered one. "And this is...?"

"Wait until you've finished your custard before taking the Dreamless Sleep," Snape advised. "Otherwise, you may fall asleep with your face in the bowl. This potion will help you achieve deep, restful, dreamless sleep."

"Right," said Harry, setting the vial down on his bedside table. As he began spooning up the delicious custard-wondering how much Magic he'd need to learn before he could wave a wand and make food appear, and oh, wouldn't Dudley just DIE to be able to do THAT!-Snape removed Harry's meager collection of belongings from his pocket. He set the kettle and bottle and Hagrid's Prophets on the bedside table and enlarged them back to their original size. To Harry's surprise, Snape also produced a pile of artwork which Harry had done in Little Whinging, various small items that Harry recognized as having been in his desk drawer in The Smallest Bedroom, and a further wave of Snape's wand enlarged a collection of ... books?

Harry swallowed hard when he realized by the familiar gift wrap adorning several of them whose books those were. Not to mention, he easily recognized the worn, well-read few from

his cupboard. How could Snape have gotten them from the Cupboard? And the last he knew, those newer volumes had been hidden under the bed in The Smallest Bedroom...

"Sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Um... Where did... How did..."

Snape's dark gaze met the boy's troubled green eyes. "I paid a visit to your relatives earlier this evening, Potter. When I went looking to find you."

Harry gulped a bit. "Oh," he said, in a very small voice, staring down at his hands.

The dark man gestured toward the books. "I found these under your bed while I was collecting your belongings. I did not think you would wish to return to the Dursleys' house, and I tried to bring everything which I believed you would value with me."

"Oh," Harry said again, his thin cheeks flushing. "I-I-"

"Just spit it out, Potter."

The boy bit his lip uncertainly. "I guess you noticed the tags?"

Snape nodded. "It would seem that these books were originally intended for your cousin. I admit that I am curious as to how they ended up under your bed."

Harry twisted his fingers in the upper hem of the white sheet, crinkling the crisp fabric. "Well... That bedroom used to be Dudley's second bedroom."

"Second bedroom?"

"Yeah," said Harry, biting his lip again. "He had one bedroom to sleep in, and a second bedroom for all of his toys." He sighed, causing his thin chest to heave. "When I was told to leave my- my cupboard and move into his second bedroom, Dudley threw a fit because he didn't want me living in the same room with his toys. It didn't matter that most of them were already broken, one way or another. He still didn't want me playing with them. So Aunt Petunia told me to carry everything that Dudley wanted to keep into his main bedroom, and the stuff he didn't want was to be thrown into the rubbish bin."

"I see."

Harry looked up at Snape again, wondering what the Potions Master thought of his relatives and the cupboard and...

"So, I take it your cousin did not wish to keep the books?"

Harry shook his head. Maybe the tall man would understand. He didn't appear angry, not like Uncle Vernon got angry at everything involving Dudley. Angry at Harry, that was.

"I asked Dudley if he wanted the books-they were all new. Some hadn't even been opened. But he said no, just throw them in the bin." He paused, then added. "I don't think Dudley could read all that well. He never seemed to get decent marks in his schoolwork, and I never saw him pick up a book unless it was to throw it at me."

"Hmm."

Harry met Snape's eyes once more. "I couldn't-I just COULDN'T throw away perfectly good books, sir! I LOVE to read! It's my favorite thing, really. Something I could do when they-when they locked me in. Usually, I read library books. I had to hide them so Dudley wouldn't ruin them to get me blamed. And when he told me to throw those books away, I just couldn't do it. So I hid them way back under my bed-he was too big to crawl under there, and I was really hoping he'd never even look. I just figured... Well, somebody had spent money on them, and it would be a waste if nobody ever read them... Did I do wrong, sir?"

Snape shook his head slowly. "No, Potter. I believe you did exactly right. If your cousin told you that he did not care to keep the books, I don't see why you should not have them for yourself. I will have a house elf put the books in your dormitory, along with your other belongings. You'll find them there when you move into Gryffindor Tower."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" Harry exclaimed, gratitude shining in his eyes. Then, a thought struck him. "Did you say a ‘house elf', sir? What's a house elf?"

Snape nearly smiled. "Hogwarts has over four hundred house elves who care for the castle and its occupants. Normally, you'll never see one, but you will see the results of their devoted service every time you put on a clean uniform, visit a clean bathroom, and eat in the Great Hall. They are also responsible for cooking and feeding the hundreds of people within the castle walls. You, however, will have the responsibility for keeping your own dormitory neat. The house elves are not personal servants to the students, Potter."

"Oh," grinned Harry, "That's okay, then. I'm used to cleaning up after myself. And after the Dursleys, too. I'm quite good at it."

Snape did not dispute the boy's claim, as he'd seen how neatly the boy's personal items had been organized in both the Cupboard and The Smallest Bedroom. He did have a question for Harry, however. Something had been absolutely plaguing him since he'd first discovered it. Curiosity piqued, he had to ask.

"Just out of curiosity, Potter, who is this supposed to be?" asked the Potions Master, holding out one of Harry's crayon drawings and pointing to a person who appeared to be wearing both a dress and a moustache.

Having resumed spooning up his nutritious treat, Harry nearly snorted custard out his nose.

"That's Aunt Marge," he said darkly. "She's not related to me, not really-she's Uncle Vernon's sister-but I have to call her ‘Aunt Marge' anyway. She has this horrible dog named Ripper. That's him, there. That's a picture of the day he chased me up the tree. I was so afraid he'd bite me again. And Aunt Marge wouldn't call him off. They all stood in the back garden and laughed for hours while Ripper had me treed. She finally took Ripper and went home when it started getting dark. Then I could come down."

"And her ... moustache?"

Harry scraped his spoon around the bottom of the emptied custard bowl, wishing there had been just a bit more. "Oh, yes. She's got a big one. Just like Uncle Vernon's. It must run in the family."

Snape smirked, causing Harry to grin before his pink tongue came out to lick away a smidge of custard clinging to the corner of his mouth.

"And now, the Dreamless Sleep." He handed the vial to Harry, who sniffed the contents carefully.

"Hey, this one doesn't smell too bad." He sipped it, smiled, and downed the contents in two gulps. Almost immediately, he felt lightheaded and carefree. "That works fast..." he murmured, easing his tousled black head down against the pillow. "Thanks ... for everything ... Professor..."

And Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, and Poppy Pomfrey watched bemusedly as Severus Snape gently tucked the covers around Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Slept.