Snape had been concerned he wouldn’t be able to find the room, but the door was there on the seventh floor as though the castle knew he needed to find it as much as Harry had earlier. He supposed that wasn’t too far from the truth, actually. Once he’d found the room, he had been concerned about how to approach what he was assuming would be a distraught little boy in the middle of a meltdown, but had been pleasantly surprised and relieved to find the boy asleep. A quick scan with his wand showed no life-threatening injuries, just bruises and exhaustion. Not wanting to wake Harry, he instead pulled a rocking chair beside the hammock and sat there thinking while he listened to the boy’s soft breathing.

He wordlessly summoned the strewn clothing, including a mass of black and red cloth that at one point had been school robes. His fists tightened on the torn and filthy robes as he reigned in his anger and frustration. None of the boys had been very forthcoming about what they had done to Harry, but he had caught flashes of it in their eyes as he questioned them in his office. He was sickened by the emotions coursing through him, and he was having a difficult time separating this event with the flashbacks from his own childhood and years at Hogwarts. At least he had been able to give as good as he got and had usually been able to defend himself. He wondered what James was doing now, if he was able to see what had happened to his son. He winced. If James were able to see Harry, that meant Lily could, too. He swore he could hear her crying.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Shaking his head to clear the unpleasant memories, he forced himself to think only of Harry. He would have to make a room like this for Harry to access whenever he needed without resorting to running up to the seventh floor. He had been meaning to approach the headmaster about such a thing since the boy’s detention, but the idea had gotten lost in the shuffle of his extra tutoring sessions and how well he seemed to be adjusting to the school and the magical world in general. In hindsight, Severus realized that Harry’s improved classroom behavior and the disappearance of overt bullying had led them to believe Harry was fitting in and enjoying the challenges Hogwarts presented him.

They were wrong.

Severus pulled a sheaf of papers from his pocket and leafed through them. He had found them while looking through Harry’s desk and trunk in an effort to get an idea of where the boy might have run off to. Severus had found the pictures next to a worn, obviously often-read Muggle children’s book titled “How Kids Make Friends.” It appeared to have been a gift to Harry from one of his primary school teachers, as she had written a message inside the cover telling him to never give up, that he was an amazing and intelligent young man who would accomplish great things, and that when things got too overwhelming for him to speak that he was to remember to draw his feelings rather than lash out. She was sure he would find a friend, and if people made him feel bad about himself that he was not to believe them.

They were simple pencil drawings, but the emotions Harry could not express verbally were expressed here far more eloquently and effectively. They were all pictures of Harry in some form or another. The latest showed a small figure hunched in on himself, head buried in his knees and hands hugging his shins. Surrounding the forlorn boy were speech bubbles filled with all the snide and inconsiderate comments he must hear on a daily basis.

Try harder.

Retard.

Don’t be stupid.

Freak.

It’s simple. You aren’t even trying.

Loser.

No one wants to be your friend.

Ungrateful freak.

Look me in the eyes, idiot.

Waste of time, you are.

Sod off, I don’t want to be your friend.

Lazy boy.

The rest of the paper was filled with scribbles of what Severus hoped was Harry’s own voice telling him not to believe those hateful words: No. No. No. No.

Over and over and over.

Not all the pictures were so disturbing. Harry had drawn himself next to a few smiling figures labeled “friends,” and another featured a smiling Harry figure flying on a broom. Severus had been startled to find a likeness of himself in one of the drawings. He was standing next to Harry who was happily exclaiming to the world that he had learned to tie his own tie, finally. Severus smiled. He remembered the first time Harry had managed to tie his school tie on his own after hours of practice in the safety of Severus’s office. It wasn’t the most perfect of knots by any stretch of the imagination, but Harry had been beside himself with excitement and Snape refrained from pointing out that the fabric was twisted and the thin end extended several inches past where it should have been. The school jumper would hide the evidence anyway. Better to let Harry have this victory, however small it might appear to everyone else.

Intermixed with the drawings of people were sheets of paper filled front and back with row after row of small squares. He recognized this as a coping mechanism Harry employed when he needed to regain some control of his environment. He had noticed it during the lecture part of his own classes, and had let it continue as it was harming no one. Flitwick and Sinestra complained about the habit during a staff meeting, and Severus just asked if Harry had been turning in his work and passing his tests. When they answered in the the affirmative, Severus had sneered at them and suggested that perhaps they ought to put more effort into making lectures interesting than in making up problems.

He smiled sadly at the memory and put the drawings away. He would speak to Harry about them later. Sighing, he folded up the boy’s discarded clothing, torn robes and all. He doubted Harry would be willing to put any of it back on. No matter. The room had thought of this quirk of Harry’s as well, and had provided sweat pants and t-shirt along with a pair of socks and some new underwear. Severus wondered what had driven Harry to strip to nothing, but assumed it had been done with good reason.

Snape looked over to the hammock to see if the boy was awake, and was surprised to see a pair of green eyes staring at him.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hello, Professor Snape,” Harry quietly replied.

“I understand you had a bit of trouble this morning,” began Snape.

“Uh oh. Trouble,” interrupted Harry.
“Yes, ‘uh oh. Trouble,’ indeed, Harry,” Snape agreed. “Are you able to tell me what happened?”

“This is my Mary Poppins room, Professor Snape.”

Severus blinked.

“Pardon?”

“My Mary Poppins room,” Harry repeated, a little more insistently.

“I don’t understand, Harry.”

“It’s my Mary Poppins room because it’s practically perfect in every way.”

Severus grasped this was a Muggle reference but wasn’t about to risk Harry launching into an explanation that would, if patterns held true, last at least ten minutes. He just nodded.

“It is perfect,” he agreed, and held out the fresh clothing. “You need to put these on, Harry.”

Severus turned his back to allow the boy some privacy, but continued to talk.

“I will have your robes mended and washed. Their current state is more conducive to cleaning rags than clothing, but that will be fixed. I have some salve for those bruises that should numb the pain and speed up the healing process. Aside from the bloody nose that you took care of with the sleeve of your jumper, you seem physically none the worse for the wear. Was any magic used on you, Harry? I can’t test for that.”

No response.

Severus turned around. Harry was standing stock still in just his grey sweat pants, hands clinched in fists at his sides. The boy was breathing rapidly, on the verge of a panic attack. He was going into some sort of shock. Lovely. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He guided Harry to the rocking chair he had just abandoned and started talking in what he hoped was a low, soothing voice.

“It’s ok, Harry. Sit down on this chair. Yes, just like that. Good boy. Let me help you put your socks on. Look, I am putting them on inside out so the seam doesn’t bother you, just as you like them.”

He had never imagined himself as a man with the ability to be gentle, but here he was, kneeling on the floor, gently pulling inside out socks onto the feet of a frightened eleven year old.

“Excellent. I’m going to put your shoes on now. See. Left foot in. Good. Right foot. Well done. Can you fasten them or would you like me to do the honors, Harry?”

No response.

“Alright, that’s not a problem. I’ll do them up myself. There. All done. Would you like to get some supper now, Harry? I know you missed lunch. I bet the headmaster could get some of those sandwiches made just how you like them if you were to ask him. Does that sound like something you can do?”

Still no response, not even a nod or shake of the head. Severus was at a loss. Harry had never shut down this much before. Not sure what else to do, Severus shifted to a more comfortable sitting position and began rocking the chair back and forth.

“Alright, it’s alright,” he continued in the low voice. “We will just sit here for a while, you and I, until you feel safe. I am here now. I won’t let anyone hurt you if I can help it. Did you know about the magic of this room, Harry? Everyone who finds it calls it something of their own. I call it the Come and Go Room because sometimes it is here and most of the time it isn’t. The headmaster calls it the Room of Requirement. I suppose that is its proper name. Now you call it the Mary Poppins Room.”

He glanced at Harry, and was pleased to see his breathing had slowed down.

“The room is special in that it only appears if you really need it. Do you know what that means? It means that not everyone who ventures up to the seventh floor sees that door. It also means that not everyone sees the same thing inside the room. The room makes itself into what you need to be at the time. Would you believe that the headmaster once found this room full of toilets? I imagine that all you were thinking of was a safe place. Is that what you needed from this room, Harry? A safe place?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Severus caught Harry nodding.

“A safe place of your own?”

More nodding.

“Are you hungry, Harry? I didn’t get an answer from you earlier, but the offer still stands. I am sure the headmaster would be delighted to see you. We were all rather worried you had gotten lost.”

“I wasn’t lost, Professor Snape. I was right here!”

“As always, your logic is impeccable, Mr. Potter,” Snape replied, aware that the sarcasm went right over the boy’s head. “Regardless, we were all very concerned about your safety.”

Harry grew quiet once more, but did not withdraw into himself. Severus watched as he steeled himself for whatever he was trying to say. He kept rocking the chair, knowing that on some level Harry appreciated the movement.

“They lied,” Harry murmured so quietly that Severus had to strain to hear. “Not friends. They hurt me.”

“What happened, Harry?”

Harry practically flew from the chair. Before Severus even realized what was happening, Harry was hurling his stacking blocks across the room. When he discovered the baskets holding the blocks weren’t secured to the floor, he started throwing those, screaming incoherently all the while. Severus barely had time to process what was going on before Harry threw himself on the floor and began smacking his hands against his head, his body taut and writhing against the carpet as if in great pain. Perhaps he was, thought Severus as he shrugged out of his robe. Harry was having a meltdown, and the extra cloth would just get in Severus’s way.

He crouched down beside Harry and awkwardly wrestled the boy into a sitting position on his lap. He winced as one of Harry’s flailing arms connected with his chin. Looping both his arms around Harry’s chest and securing the kicking legs underneath his own ankles, Severus effectively ensured the boy would no longer be able to physically harm himself. For ten minutes they just sat there, Harry struggling against Severus’s grip, and Severus talking calmly as though he wasn’t on the floor bodily restraining a screaming eleven year old boy.

“Harry, you need to settle down. I understand you are upset but you need to stop hurting yourself. Just focus on my voice, can you do that for me, Harry? I know you are frightened. I know you must be hurting. I cannot help you if I do not know what is wrong. You need to tell me, Harry. Will you tell me? Are the words stuck in your head, Harry? Is it too much to explain right now?”

He paused, wanting to see if Harry would respond. The boy just continued to cry although his screaming stopped. Severus slightly loosened his grip as Harry went limp. A few minutes passed. The sobbing dwindled to sniffles and hiccups as Harry regained control.

“Very good, Harry. You did nothing wrong. We are not angry with you. Let’s try something, you and I, shall we? Will you nod if you understand what I am saying?”

He felt Harry nod.

“Good. You do not need to speak, just nod your head for ‘yes’ or shake it for ‘no.’ Is it hard to explain what you are feeling right now?”

A nod.

“Alright. I can understand that. Do you remember the first day that we met, when I told you that I understood what it was like to be bullied?”

Another nod.

“I was bullied in school, routinely picked on by a group of boys who seemed to derive a great deal of joy from my misery. I wasn’t sure why I was their target, just that I was. Does that sound familiar, Harry?”

Nod.

“I felt angry because no one was stopping them. Do you feel angry?”

Nod.

“I was also angry at myself for not being able to stop them. That sort of self-directed anger is actually called ‘shame.’ When a person is ashamed, they feel guilty and embarrassed.”

He felt Harry stiffen in his arms.

“You feel ashamed about what happened, Harry? No one blames you for anything that happened---”

“Uncle Vernon said I shamed him and that I ought to be ashamed of myself.”

Well, that was entirely unexpected, thought Severus. It seemed the meltdown was tied to something deeper than just being picked on at school.

“He did, did he? And why, pray tell, would he say something like that?”

“I ran away from Dudley like a sissy boy. And then I was on the roof and Uncle Vernon had to come to the school for a meeting. Freaks like me are sissy boys who run away. Only a sissy boy runs away.”

Ah, the accidental apparition incident. Severus frowned at the casual self-deprecation that flowed from Harry as though it was truth. It left a sour taste in his mouth. He made a mental note to quietly investigate Harry’s guardians on his own. Albus may insist that a blood relative’s home was the safest place for the boy, but Severus was beginning to think things weren’t nearly as safe or wonderful as the headmaster was making them out to be. Childrearing was difficult even with so-called normal children, but raising a child like Harry, a prodigiously intelligent special needs boy who also happened to be a gifted and powerful wizard was a challenge that Severus doubted most people capable of, least of all Lily’s horribly petty and jealous sister, Petunia.

“Running away from danger does not make you a coward, Harry, just as accepting a beating without trying to fight back or escape does not make you courageous. There are times when you must stand your ground, but a fight against six boys in a school corridor is not one of those times.”

Harry didn’t respond, but Severus wasn’t expecting him to. It would take more than a few words from a teacher to begin to untangle the boy’s perspective on what or was not considered foolish and cowardly.

“Do you know who are cowards, Harry?”

A shake of the boy’s head against his chest signaled Severus to continue.

“Mr. Malfoy is a coward. Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle are cowards. Mr. Thomas, Mr. Finnigan, and Mr. Nott are cowards. Do you know why those boys are cowards, Harry?”

Another shake of the head. Severus sighed.

“They ganged up on you, six against one. They chose you because they perceive you as less of a threat than other boys in your class.”

He paused as he felt the boy start to curl up on himself.

“No, stop that, Harry. You are not a coward, but you are different and you are currently less able to defend yourself, especially when it is six against one. The only ones who should be ashamed are those boys. Not you. They are cowards because they picked on someone who could not cause them harm. Bullies are the worst sort of cowards. Not one of those boys picks on anyone who is truly capable of giving them what for. You don’t see any of them confronting a seventh year, do you?”

Harry shook his head.

“I thought not. Bullying is a coward’s way of trying to make himself feel bigger than he thinks himself to be. Nothing angers and frustrates a bully more than having his pride wounded, Harry, which is exactly what would happen if they picked a fight with someone else.”

Severus wasn’t about to let Harry know that Draco Malfoy actually did attempt to assert himself as the leader of Slytherin house due to his pureblood lineage and some misguided belief in the power of his family name. He made himself the laughing stock of the entire house and found himself on the receiving end of some creative, albeit relatively harmless, hexes and jinxes. The Malfoy spawn then dared to seek redress from his Head of House, citing the fact that his father was one of the school governors and could make or break Severus’s career. Snape smirked at the memory. As though he were worried about the pitiful manipulations of a first year student.

“Shall we get up now, Harry?”

Harry didn’t say anything, but he scrambled to his feet soon after Severus released him. Joints creaking, Severus got up and pulled on his robe.

“Will Ron and Hermione be my friends still, do you think?”

Severus looked down at Harry, puzzled.

“I imagine they will be ecstatic to see you again, Harry. Mr. Longbottom as well. They were quite concerned when they could not find you.”

“Oh. Okay. Good. Maybe it won’t be like before.”

“Before what, Harry?”

“Before Hogwarts, Professor. No one would be my friend because they weren’t allowed. Dudley said ‘no one wants to be friends with stupid head Potter, right?‘ and everyone agreed.”

Severus ground his teeth. He would start making inquiries about the Dursleys immediately.

“It will not be like before, I assure you. Your friends are waiting for you.”

That triggered a response from the boy. Harry to begin rapidly pacing, hands flitting about as he began to speak.

“They told me they were sorry. They said ‘Hey, want to be friends?‘ They wanted to show me something cool---not cold like ice but cold like awesome---but I had to go with them because it was secret. You don’t go to secret places with strangers, but you can go to secret places with friends. That is the rule. Only with friends. And they said we were friends so I went.”

Severus began to grow a bit more concerned. What exactly transpired in the corridor between Harry and these boys?

“That is a good rule, Harry. It wasn’t your fault they lied to you. You could not have known. There wasn’t anything to see, was there? That was the trick?”

Harry just ignored Severus and kept speaking, pacing, and flapping his hands in agitation.

“They said I could be part of their secret club. I like clubs, I think. Maybe. I dunno. Dudley was in all sorts of clubs but never me. But they said it was a secret club and I could be in it. So I said yes. The only way to see if you like something is to try it. But then they laughed and said ‘Why would we be friends with a retard?’ Uh oh, not good. Not good. Friends don’t call you names. They shoved me and I tripped. No, they tripped me. Magic words tripped me. Lots of different magic words. Every time I got up they shoved me and tripped me. I shouted but no sound came out. My throat hurts now. It’s very scratchy. My robes turned green. They made my robes turn green. I had to get them off, Professor Snape, I just had to!”

At this pronouncement, Harry’s pacing stopped and he starting rocking back and forth. Severus quickly gathered the boy in a bear hug, feeling Harry relax into the deep pressure after a few seconds.

“I understand, Harry, you did nothing wrong. You are not in trouble. We can fix your robes.” Severus’s calm voice belied his growing anger.

Harry nodded.

“Yes, fix my robes, please. Thank you.”

Severus was watching Harry carefully. There were other ways of finding out what happened, but he knew that having Harry work through the event would help alleviate some of the trauma.

“Is that all that happened, Harry?” he asked.

“Uh oh, trouble.”

“There was more trouble, or are you referring to the trouble you just described, Harry?”

“No more trouble, Professor Snape, just running and running and then safe. Like in baseball. ‘He’s safe!’”

Harry broke free from Snape’s arms, and imitated an umpire making the call.

“He’s safe!” Harry shouted again.

Severus just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, you’re safe. No need to shout about it. Now, we are going to stop by the infirmary to allow Madam Pompfrey to examine your throat.”

He stopped as Harry scrunched his face in disgust.

“Stop that, Harry, that isn’t polite. Madam Pompfrey will examine your throat, and then we shall see about getting you a bite or two to eat. I imagine you are quite hungry, what with this ordeal and subsequently missing lunch.”

Harry nodded.

“Yes, but I am hungry for lots of bites, Professor, not just one or two. May I have more than one or two bites of supper?”

Severus laughed.

“Of course you may, Harry. I misspoke. You may eat until you are no longer hungry, no matter how many bites that may take.”

“Professor, what will happen to those boys?”

Severus placed a hand firmly on Harry’s shoulder and caught the boy’s flitting hands with the other. Harry stilled immediately, and Severus knew he had his complete attention.

“I do not know what the headmaster decided, Harry. I left as soon as we found you.”

“Will they be able to hurt me again, Professor Snape?” Harry asked in a whisper so quiet Severus would have missed it had he not been so close to the boy.

“I will do my utmost to ensure your safety in this school, Harry.”

He knew Harry was looking for a promise, but it was a promise Severus was loathe to make considering how literal the boy was. Unless the boys were removed from school, the opportunity for harm existed no matter how closely Severus hovered. Harry didn’t need a hovering avenging angel, either, Severus told himself. He needed to feel empowered to take on on the challenges he faced every day.

“I am not a coward, Professor.”

“No, Harry, you are not. You are the bravest boy I know.”

And it was true, Severus thought, not just a meaningless platitude. It was beyond him how happy and willing Harry was to take on each day despite the constant uncertainty and confusion that permeated and defined his world. He had shut himself off from the world after being hurt and protected himself with anger and solitude. Harry woke up each morning to a world that was mostly unwilling to look past his weaknesses, and yet he greeted everyone he met with a blinding smile and cheerful enthusiasm. Severus shook his head. It took some work to get to know Harry, but if you were willing to put in that effort, you could not help but be changed. Harry forced you to change.

He lost himself in thought as they walked to the infirmary, Harry running his hand along the walls as he was wont to do. He would find out exactly how Harry was treated at home. He would not let anyone attempt to break the boy any more than had already been done. He would talk to Harry about the disturbing picture he had drawn. If the boy was depressed, it needed to be addressed, not forgotten. And he would ensure that Harry had a ‘Mary Poppins Room’ of his own that he could access whenever he wanted. Severus was not sure what he would do if the headmaster treated this incident as a harmless prank, but he didn’t think it would be brushed under the rug. Not when the victim was Harry Potter.