Harry Potter was stressed.

He had managed to get from King's Cross station to Hogwarts without a meltdown, but just barely.

The news of being "sorted" had pushed him to a breaking point.

He eyed the hat warily.

He did not like new. He did not like experiencing the unknown, at least not when he couldn't learn about it first. He did not like change. He did not like crowds. He did not like it when they jostled him, poked him, touched him. He had tried to stay on the outside of the group, but he kept being pulled back into the middle by Ron. He didn't want to complain. It was nice to have a friend, but he wished Ron had taken him more seriously when he said he didn't like being touched.

His nerves were making him hypersensitive to the noise in the room, and his ears were starting to ring with all of the shouting going on.

"Why is everyone shouting?" he asked Ron, who just gave him a weird look.

"No one is shouting, Harry," Ron whispered. "It's just people whispering. You alright, mate?"

Harry shrugged and nodded, which seemed to satisfy Ron.

At that moment, the hat started to sing. Loudly. Off key.

It was too much for Harry to handle and his hands flew up to cover his ears. He sighed with relief as they dampened the noise. He closed his eyes, relaxing a bit more. The room was awfully bright, after all, and there was so much to look at all at once.

He started to hum under his breath, willing the sorting ceremony to get over faster. The humming helped cancel out even more of the noise, and helped sooth his overtaxed nerves. Without realizing it, he started to rock back and forth on his toes, the gentle motion calming him even further, lulling him into a safe place.

He was vaguely aware of names being called, and he felt the crowd around him thinning out, but it was still too much noise, too much new, too much change for Harry to stop the self-comforting behavior.

Suddenly, he was aware of two things: the noise had stopped completely, and strong hands were grasping his shoulders.

His eyes flew open in shock.

Oh no.

Everyone was staring at him.

He heard snickering, and his face colored slightly. His eyes immediately sought the floor.

Great, he thought, wringing his hands in a desperate bid to relieve the anxiety. His first few minutes at a new school and he had already painted a target on himself.

A hand lifted his chin, and he found himself looking at a severe-looking man dressed all in black.

Severus Snape had watched the boy from the moment the group of first years stepped into the Great Hall. He had seen the boy's face go from uncertain to anxious to overwhelmed, and had watched with quiet curiosity as Harry struggled to handle the massive amount of sensory overload.

Upon learning that The Boy Who Lived had accepted his place at Hogwarts, Snape had, like all Hogwart's faculty, been made aware that Harry Potter was a bit different than the other students. The boy, his primary school records said, was Autistic. Unfamiliar with the term and dissatisfied with the dry clinical language in the boy's file (what on earth was a 32 on the CAR Scale?), Snape had planted himself in a muggle library for a week to learn about these "differences." If he was going to protect the boy, he was going to know exactly what to expect. He now considered himself somewhat of an expert on the subject, but still found himself lost when it came to knowing how to help Harry integrate into his new world.

What he did know was that whatever difficulties the boy had in other areas of his life, Harry had a prodigious aptitude for chemistry, a skill set that Snape was sure to carry over into a love for potion making. At only 11, the boy was, according to his school records, preparing to take the A-Level chemistry course. He also knew Harry was, based on a read-between-the-lines look over the incident reports included by the school, bullied relentlessly and mercilessly, and as such was very withdrawn and unsure of himself.

Snape saw a bit of himself in the boy, despite Harry's strong resemblance to his bastard of a father, and took a sort of perverse pleasure in the irony: the son of a bully was the target of bullies. For all his rabid animosity towards that man, however, Snape knew that he could never-and would never-let Harry come to harm, and had promised as much to Dumbledore.

Remembering those words, Snape watched as Harry was no longer able to handle the newness, the changes, the noise, the unknown. When Harry started rocking back and forth, Snape sighed. They should have known this would happen. That the boy had managed to get to Hogwarts without incident was impressive.

He glared at the back of Professor's MacGonagall's head. She had completely ignored the boy's distress, and only seemed to realize something was wrong when he failed to respond to his name being called. The longer Harry failed to make his way to the sorting hat, the more people began to realize something was wrong. He watched as the kids around Harry stepped back and stared at him, uncertain as to what was going on.

Snape was certain not one of them had any experience with Autism, and he could see the uncertainty turn to fear. Before the fear could be acted upon by some of the more cruel members of the student body, Snape found himself walking across the floor, stopping in front of Harry.

The boy startled when Snape grabbed his shoulders. A few students dared snicker, and Snape could see the shame and resignation in Harry's eyes. He knew Harry wouldn't maintain eye contact, and he wasn't about to force it.

"Harry," he started in a calm, low voice only Harry could hear. "Harry, it is okay. It's loud in here, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, his eyes downcast.

"It's your turn to be sorted now, do you know what that means?" Snape asked.

Harry shook his head.

"It means you are going to sit on this stool," Snape said in that same low voice as he led Harry to the front of the room.

"And Professor McGonagall will place the sorting hat upon your head like this."

Giggles and snickers erupted from the room as Snape had Professor McGonagall place the hat on his head, to show Harry what would happen.

Snape shot a scathing glare at the student body, who immediately shut up.

"Okay," Harry said, gritting himself for the hat's unpleasant voice to accost his ears.

He felt the hat placed on his head and-yep, there was the voice. Harry was surprised to note that the hat was no longer screaming off-key.

Thank goodness for that, he thought.

You're very welcome, Mr. Potter.

Hmm, difficult. VERY difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?

Harry thought desperately of the colors he had spied on the wall: green, red, yellow, blue. He was sure no one would understand, that he would be laughed at, the same as always, but he just could not be green. Not green. Not green. Not green. I can't wear green. Green hurts. Green is a hateful color. Not green.

Not Green, eh? Are you sure? That rules out Slytherin. You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that. No?

Please, please. Anything but green, anything but green. Harry knew he was being irrational, but he just could not stand the color green.

Well if you're sure, better be... GRYFFINDOR!

The Great Hall erupted in a cacophony of noise, and Harry, badly startled by the outburst, bolted from the stool to the corner of the room behind the faculty table. He stood there, rocking back and forth on his toes again, humming, hands wringing themselves into and out of different patterns.

The school gawked.

Snape sighed again, and then made his way to the frightened boy.

Behind him, he heard Professor McGonagall call out another name for sorting as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Snape ignored the eyes boring into the back of his head. He had made sure to step between the stares and the boy, and was calmly waiting for Harry to calm himself down to the point where Snape would not be viewed as a threat.

Snape was beginning to think he was the only person on staff who read anything about Autism and Harry outside of what was presented from the boy's primary school. If the others had, they either didn't appreciate that the difficulties were "invisible" or they misjudged Harry's coping skills. If Snape had been allowed his way, the boy would have been allowed to visit the school before term started in order to acclimate himself to the new environment-and to the magical world in general.

Snape cringed when he recalled Hagrid's tale of Harry's visit to Diagon Alley. Not that he blamed Harry for "acting out," as Dumbledore had called it. If he had been dragged from a neat, controlled, explainable world into a place like Diagon Alley without any warning, he would have "acted out," too. In Snape's opinion, Hagrid had been the wrong person to send in the first place. Well, what was done, was done, and it served everyone better to focus on how to prevent issues in the future.

Snape realized Potter had stopped his humming and was now looking around the hall with interest. His hands were still, though he was slightly rocking.

"Sorry," Harry muttered as he registered Snape's presence.

"You need not apologize for something that isn't your fault." said Snape. "It's time for supper. Let's go sit down."

The boy balked and Snape caught a plaintive look towards the door.

"On second thought, let's take a walk and go over a few things, shall we, Mr. Potter?" Snape said as he gestured towards to the door.

He would take advantage of the empty halls and quiet corridors while had them, and now was a better time than later to introduce Harry to some of the more obnoxious quirks of living in an enchanted castle. It would also give him the needed privacy to talk about some of the accommodations the staff was making so that the boy would be on more equal footing with his-he paused as he searched for the word the Muggles used-neurotypical classmates.

Harry grinned. He decided he liked magic after all. This teacher is a mind-reader, he thought, not realizing that Snape was, after years of teaching and spying, incredibly astute at reading body language.

As they made their way past the house tables, Snape could hear the whisperings and muted giggles. And then he heard the word. He hoped Harry hadn't heard it, but the way the boy's shoulders dropped and hunched inward told him otherwise.

"Retard."

It had come, not from the Gryffindor ilk as he had expected, but from Slytherin.

Snape glared.

"10 points from Slytherin," he snarled at the Slytherin table, "and if I hear that word used in that context again, it will be another 10 points. Per syllable."

His house gaped at him. The offending student started to speak again, but was cut off.

"Not. Another. Word." He spat out before turning smartly on his heels and stalking out of the Great Hall with Harry in tow.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Harry struggling a bit to keep up until Snape shortened his stride.

"I'm not, you know," Harry said finally.

They stopped.

"Not what, Mr. Potter?" Snape inquired, although he suspected he knew already.

"What they said, what they called me. I am not retarded." Harry's voice trailed off to a whisper, as though he didn't really believe those words himself. "Before-before I found chemistry, they thought I was. Finding Dudley's book was the best thing that happened to me. Now they know I am not."

"Well, the best thing until Hogwarts," he amended, and glanced up at Snape.

"Potter, I am aware, as are all the teachers and staff at this school, that you are not, as you say, 'retarded.'" Severus looked down at the boy, who seemed to brighten a bit at that pronouncement.

"Tell me about this 'chemistry' that you love so much," Snape said as he started walking again.

An hour later, he regretted that statement. The boy had chattered non-stop about biochemistry and organic chemistry and atoms, elements, molecules, compounds, bases, acids, and energy. Snape was lost fairly quickly, his crash course of the subject via a textbook purchased at Muggle bookstore rendered quite useless after a few minutes of the boy's lecture.

No, Snape mused. More like the boy's monologue. He never stopped to ask Snape if he understood, or to see if he needed clarification. He was sure that Harry wasn't even aware that Severus had stopped following along over half an hour ago. Not that Snape minded. He and the Hogwarts staff would work with Harry on conversation skills later. Right now, Snape just wanted the boy to feel comfortable.

As they walked the castle, Snape interrupted Harry to point out his classrooms, the entrance to his house's common room, the moving staircases-oh, the boy hated those! Snape had to hold Harry in a bear hug to keep him from bolting and hurting himself. "Will they always do that?" Harry had asked tearfully once he had stopped fighting Snape and calmed down.

"Yes."

He half expected Harry to melt down right there, but the boy just sat there for a few minutes. "Is there anything that isn't magic like that at this school?"

Snape was delighted to answer this question.

"Potions."

"Potions?" Harry echoed.

"Chemistry."

At that, the boy completely forgot about the staircase.

"Science," he stated matter-of-factly, "is the best kind of magic because it isn't magic at all if you understand it." Harry's eyes grew huge and his hands flew to his mouth, covering it as though he had said something terrible.

Snape grinned in spite of himself and stood up, dusting off his knees. "I happen to agree with you."

And suddenly the hallway was filled with loud voices. Dinner was over. As they were right next to the Gryffindor common room, Snape decided to just wait for McGonagall and her lion pride to appear.

Then out of curiosity, as much to pass the time, he asked "Harry, why do you not like the color green?" He immediately regretted it, as the boy started rocking back forth on his toes, clearly agitated.

"Oh, I hate green. Loathe green. Detest, abhore, despise, and dislike green. No green. Mustn't wear green. Cannot eat green." Harry said in a monotone. "Green hurts. Green is hateful. Green is bad. Green kills."

Snape placed his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Green kills?' he questioned, slightly reticent to push the subject, not wanting to upset the boy to a repeat performance of his behavior during the Sorting.

"Green kills. Yes, green kills." Harry was rocking faster now, shaking his head and wringing his hands. "Flash of green. Always a flash of green. And then dead. Do not like green. Will not wear green. Cannot eat green. No green. No green. No-"

Harry stopped the mantra as Snape enveloped him in another bear hug. Harry seemed to like the deep pressure of a bear hug and did not fight it or shy away from it like he did with less deliberate touches, like being brushed up against in a crowd.

"No green," Snape stated and let go. He could hear the tramping of feet coming their way. He thought it best for Harry to meet his housemates as normally as possible, and being seen wrapped in a bear hug by the school's most feared professor would certainly not be considered normal. Snape hoped that Harry's behavior in the Great Hall would be brushed aside or forgotten by his housemates, or, if it wasn't, that Snape's behavior towards Harry and those who chose to tease or torment him would be remembered.

"Thank you," Harry said, "for telling that boy not to call me that. It won't do anything, though. People will still call me that."

He glanced at Snape and quickly looked away.

"They always do. Worse things, even. Words hurt, you know. Worse than being hit."

Snape sighed. He did know, more than the boy realized.

"I know a bit what it is like to be bullied, Potter," Severus said quietly.

Harry looked shocked. Before Snape could explain, the boisterous group of Gryffindors rounded the corner and Professor McGonagall made her way to where Harry and Snape were waiting.

Snape and Harry stood off to the side as McGonagall ushered her house into their common room, issuing instructions for the prefects to get everyone settled. A small red-headed boy-probably a Weasley, he thought.-and a bushy-haired girl tried to linger in the hallway, but Professor McGonagall was having none of it.

"But we're Harry's friends!" the Weasley boy protested as Professor McGonagall pushed him into the room.

"Night, Harry! See you-"

The portrait swung closed, muting the girl's voice.

Severus still had his hand on Harry's shoulder, and felt the boy tense up as Professor McGonagall turned her attention to them. He was pleased, however, to note that Harry's face had brightened considerably at the Weasley boy's words. He suspected that friendship was something Harry hadn't experienced much of in his life, and as much as he loathed teaching the Weasley brats, he knew that they were a very loyal, friendly bunch. And the girl-Granger, he remembered, from the few sortings he had paid attention to before focusing on Harry-she was a Muggle, so she probably had more of an inkling of Harry's uniqueness than any other student in the school.

It was a good thing. It meant Harry wasn't going to be alone.

"Professor Snape." said Professor McGonagall.

"Good evening, Professor," Snape said.

"Hello, Harry," said McGongall, bending down into the boy's line of sight.

Harry immediately turned his head to end the eye contact.

"Hello. My name is Harry. What is your name?" Harry asked.

Professor McGonagall stood up, a faint smile on her face.

"Harry, my name is Professor McGonagall, and I am your head of house."

The boy just stared somewhat blankly past her shoulder, resolutely avoiding all attempts on McGonagall's part to force eye contact.

"That means, Harry," she began, "that I am in charge of your well-being while you are here at school. Now, before I send you into Gryffindor Tower, I'd like to go over what we are going to be doing to make the transition from your old school to Hogwarts as painless as possible. Would that be okay?"

Harry nodded.

"Good. Follow me. Severus, you may come, too, if you wish." And she started walking briskly down the hall towards what Snape could only assume was her office.

Snape smirked as Harry practically had to run to keep up, stumbling slightly as his feet caught on his robes as he went. He wondered if the boy would trip and fall, but he needn't have worried. By the time they reach McGonagall's office, Harry had seemingly mastered the fine art of running in wizard robes.

"Have a seat, Harry," she said, pointing towards one of two chairs in front of the desk. Snape wondered if she was going to sit behind the desk, but was surprised to see her instead take the seat opposite Harry. For his part, Snape sank into a small couch in the corner where he could observe the boy's face freely.

Professor McGonagall pointed to a plate of sandwiches sitting within arm's reach of Harry, and made sure he knew he was allowed to eat them. Snape lazily summoned a sandwich as well, amused at the look of awe Harry gave him.

Uncharacteristically, and he would never be sure quite why he did it afterwards, Snape winked at the boy, who smiled a shy smile before happily tearing into the pile of food.

He listened and watched as Harry struggled to take in all the information Minerva was throwing at him, but was pleased to see that McGonagall had a firm grasp on Harry, his differences, and the challenges he and the school would face together. He knew that the inattentiveness during the Sorting Ceremony would never happen again, and that Harry Potter would be protected and defended by his new housemates. It might take them a bit of getting used to Harry, but Snape knew the Gryffindor Head of House would swiftly and ferociously nip any negative behavior in the bud.

For his part, Snape knew he would be having a meeting with his House, as their behavior at the feast demonstrated an appalling lack of civility. He wouldn't demand they befriend the Gryffindor, but he would be damned if he would allow his house to torment the boy for being a bit different.

He was also curious to see the affect Harry Potter's rigid attention to rules would have on the normally unruly Gryffindor House. He could hardly see Harry willingly sneaking around the corridors after hours. He knew that the boy was obsessive about keeping time, too, and had the hardest time tolerating lateness or earliness or anything but exactness when it came being where he was supposed to be.

He watched as Harry absentmindedly played with the pocket watch Minerva had presented him. It was charmed to tell not only what time it was, but when and where his next destination was. If he was in the Gryffindor common room at 7AM, it would show Harry that he needed to be at the Great Hall for breakfast at 8AM. It was a simple way to easy Harry's anxiety about time as well as provide him with a constantly-updated look at his schedule-a schedule that would be changed only by his head of house herself.

"Now, in regards to classes-" Professor McGonagall trailed off as she realized Harry was not paying attention.

"Mr. Potter!" she snapped, causing the boy to startle and nearly drop his precious pocket watch. He shrank back in his chair.

"Sorry, Professor. You were getting boring is all, and I am rather tired." Harry said.

Snape allowed an eyebrow to raise at the boy's statement.

"Mr. Potter, it is not polite to tell someone they are boring you, and it is especially not acceptable to talk to a teacher in such a fashion," huffed McGongall.

Snape smirked. He liked the boy's bluntness, preferred it, actually. No guesswork to figure out where you stood in Potter's eyes.

"In which fashion, Professor?" Harry asked timidly, obviously aware he had done something wrong but wasn't quite sure what it was. "And can I go to bed, please? I normally go to bed at 9PM but it is 10PM already and I am tired."

His voice was now petulant, and Snape could tell he was nearing the end of whatever self-control he had left after such a trying day. Thankfully, McGonagall picked up on that as well.

What I meant, Harry," she said a bit more softly, "was that you need to be more respectful when talking to your teachers."

The boy looked confused.

"But I wasn't rude. I didn't call you old, even though you have grey hair," Harry said, clearly certain he was pleading his case well, not making it harder on himself. "It is rude to call people with grey hair old people, so I didn't. But you were boring. And I am tired. That is the truth."

Severus wanted to laugh at the look of shock and uncertainty on McGonagall's face. She sighed, and flicked her wand.

"I am sorry you are tired, Harry. I did not realize what time it was. Thank you for being patient."

Harry flashed her a brilliant smile.

"You are welcome, Professor," he said. "Can I go now?"

A knock on the door interrupted whatever Professor McGonagall had been about to say.

"Yes. You may go with Mr. Weasley. He is a prefect and you are to listen to what he tells you to do. Do you understand that, Mr. Potter?" asked McGonagal.

Harry nodded. He paused at the doorway, looking in Severus's direction.

Severus just watched the boy, not sure what was going on.

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Harry said, again not quite making eye contact. And before waiting for a response, he scampered off to the door where he followed his house prefect down the hall. Snape listened as the boy's voice carried through the corridor. "Hi! My name is Harry. What is your name?"

The door closed and Minerva turned to him.

"He's taken to you, you know," she started.

Snape cut her off, suddenly impatient and ready for bed himself.

"I am aware. It is hardly surprising given what happened in the hall and during our walk in the halls."

He stared pointedly at McGonagall, who at least had the decency to look a bit ashamed.

"I can only hope that tomorrow everyone is ready for what will happen. We can plan ahead all we like, but children-" he snarled, remembering his own years at Hogwarts- "but children are unpredictable little monsters, and you and I both know that tonight was just a small taste of what will happen."

And with that, he stalked out of her office and down to his own, missing the understanding look that crossed McGonagall's face.

Severus swore under his breath. It took ten minutes, a bear hug, and some softly spoken words of encouragement in Harry's ear before Snape deemed him calm enough to leave the safety of the potions classroom. He had escorted Harry to his next class, and stayed to observe from the shadows. If it had been any other student, Snape swore he wouldn't have cared, but the moment he realized the boy was going to his flying lessons, he couldn't help but worry. Madam Hooch, excellent coach though she was, could hardly be expected to adequately supervise a class full of rambunctious brats, let alone a class with Harry Potter and the same group of miscreants that had been up to no good in his potions class.

No, Snape decided. He would wait and watch. If anything, it would hopefully give him more reason to hand out detentions.

Harry had found his way to a spot between his two friends, Weasley and Granger, and Snape could tell he was nervous. Harry's hands were back to weaving their intricate patterns as he looked around the field. Snape found himself relaxing as Potter appeared to be one of only a few students able to call the broom to them. Perhaps his fears were ungrounded. Perhaps flying, like chemistry, was an innate skill of Harry's. Severus was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a crash and turned to see Madam Hooch pulling a student towards the infirmary.

Not Harry, thankfully, but the idiot Gryffindor Longbottom who had also managed to explode his cauldron. No surprise, really. Longbottom was a menace. Snape's eyes wandered back to the students on the field, and narrowed at the sight of a four or five boys surrounding Harry Potter. Quelling the urge to immediately run out there, Severus watched to see how the boy would defend himself. He didn't condone bullying, but at the same time, it wouldn't do anyone-especially Harry-any good to coddle the boy and leap to his defense at every perceived threat or insult. After all, despite the boy's differences, he was still The Boy Who Lived and needed to be prepared for a world that was out to get him.

The scuffle went airborne, and Snape swore his heart stopped as he watched Harry practically brain himself on the castle wall. Yes, Snape thought drily, it seemed that not only was Harry a natural flyer, he was a gifted Seeker in the rough. It meant the Slytherin Quidditch team would have a hard time of it once Potter was on the Gryffindor squad, but it also meant that Harry would be able to fit in just a bit more.

He stepped out of the shadows. Enough was enough.

"Well, well, well," Snape said, his voice silky and dangerous. Most of the students jumped at his voice. "I was under the impression that you were not to fly unsupervised. Was this not the case?"

Silence.

"Mr. Malfoy, is it true that you were instructed to remain on the ground until Madam Hooch returned?"

Snape glared at Malfoy until the blond nodded.

"Mr. Potter?" Snape asked.

"Hello. I am Harry," said the boy. "How are you?"

Snape allowed his confusion to show on his face for a split second before realizing the boy was not being deliberately obtuse or cheeky.

"Hello, Harry. I am fine. You, however, need to answer my questions, okay?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded, allowing his hands to start flitting about. "I can answer questions," he said.

Snape nodded. "Were you instructed to remain on the ground until Madam Hooch returned?"

"No"

"No?" Snape asked, surprise clearly evident in his voice. Was Harry going to start lying to him? Over flying?

"She said to leave the brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch." Harry recited.

"Did she now?" Snape asked.

Harry nodded.

"Then why were you flying, Mr. Potter?"

"My broom was in my hand, Professor Snape." Harry said. "It didn't move and it stayed where it was, which was in my hand."

Snape heard several students gasp, although he was certain the boy was not being the smart-aleck his classmates thought he was.

"Mr. Potter," he started. "Why were you flying?"

"Because that boy stole my friend's ball and was going to break it." Harry said, pointing at Malfoy. Malfoy simply sneered.

"Harry, that is not an excuse to ignore a teacher." Snape's headache was returning.

"I didn't ignore a teacher. She said to leave the brooms where they were!" Harry shouted.

"5 points from Gryffindor for shouting, Mr. Potter."

He was loathe to do it, loathe to give the boy's housemate's cause to turn against him, but Harry could not be subjected to a different set of rules than the rest of his classmates, either. Snape could see that Harry followed the letter of the law and missed the spirit of it, but that was hardly his fault. Snape would be following up with Madam Hooch to explain how to give directions to Harry, but for right now, he needed the boy to understand that rules had been broken. And if he played it just right, Harry's fellow Gryffindor's would turn their anger on Evil Professor Snape for picking on Harry rather than on Harry himself.

"I wasn't shouting! And she said to leave them where they were. And he was going to steal my friend's ball! Steal it! Stealing is wrong! W-R-O-N-G. Wrong!'

Snape nodded, noting nasty looks being shot his direction from a few of the more obnoxious Gryffindors. Good, they were focusing on him, not Harry.

"Stealing is wrong. 5 points from Slytherin for stealing, Mr. Malfoy."

Snape smirked as Malfoy's housemates turned murderous, not at him, their Head of House, but at Malfoy.

"And detention, Mr. Potter, for continuing to shout at your teacher."

Harry quit speaking all at once. His face crumpled and he turned and ran to the castle. He didn't get very far, Snape noticed. He practically ran into Professor McGonagall. Snape matched the glare she shot his direction and simply nodded. He knew Minerva would come speak to him later, especially about the detention. She would need to know when and where so as to change Harry's watch. He waited until McGonagall walked into the castle with Harry and then turned on the class.

"5 points from Gryffindor for not keeping a classmate on the ground," Snape spat, his sneer in full force.

"Hey! It's not our fault that re-" the Gryffindor snapped his mouth shut but the damage had been done. Snape slowly turned to face the boy, amused to see how quickly the other students moved away.

"50 points from Gryffindor!" snarled Snape, as he grabbed the offending student by the shoulder. "The rest of you, go to your common rooms. Class is over!" Snape leaned down close to the student trying to wrench himself from his grasp.

"Mr. Thomas," he hissed. "I believe the Headmaster is going to need to see you."

The boy's face went ashen and Snape was disgusted to see tears start flowing.

"Sniveling makes you look weak, Mr. Thomas. Are you weak? Is that why you pick on those who can't defend themselves? You disgust me."

He dragged the boy into the castle, ignoring his pleas for forgiveness until they reached the Headmaster's office.

"Shut up," he snapped in final warning as he knocked on the Headmaster's door. Finally, the whining excuse for a student shut his mouth and appeared to resign himself to the horrible fate that awaited him. Snape rolled his eyes at the thought, and smirked at the frightened eleven year old rubbing the tears from his eyes.

Harry ran his hand along the wall of the dungeon corridors, enjoying the feel of cold stone brushing across his fingers as he made his way down to Professor Snape's classroom. It was for detention, as Professor McGonagall had explained to him as she adjusted his pocket watch earlier that afternoon. For shouting at a teacher. He hadn't meant to shout, but nobody was listening to him! The blond boy had stolen his friend's ball and was going to break it. And Professor Snape had said untrue things. Harry paused. That wasn't quite true. He remembered that Professor McGonagall had explained what Madame Hooch meant by her instructions, instructions Harry had misunderstood because of how his brain worked. Professor McGonagall had made sure he knew that he wasn't getting in trouble for that, though. Professor Snape had given him detention for shouting at a teacher, something he could control, not misinterpreting poorly worded instructions.

He sulked as he continued walking down the corridor, the rough stone soothing his fingertips as he went. It was a rather pleasant sensation, almost as nice as running his hand along chain link fencing. He had hoped that coming to a magic world would make him less of a freak, less of a target, but it just seemed to make things worse. Finding out he was a wizard had explained some of the stranger things he'd been able to do, but it didn't make him normal. The only thing magic had changed was where he lived and went to school. He was still different, still broken, still "Handicapped Harry" or "Har-tard" like his cousin and the kids at school always called him. Magic didn't make it easier for him to understand people. He still couldn't tell figurative from literal. His socks still had to be worn inside out because the seam still itched his toes.

Magic didn't make it so he was able to tie his shoes instead of wearing velcro like a baby, he finished in the voice Dudley and his gang used. He couldn't even move his wand the way his books showed him, so magic didn't fix whatever made it hard for him to write or use scissors or button up buttons. Magic didn't make it so he could tie his tie. He had to have a Prefect help him with that and his buttons. Harry flushed as he remembered Dean and Seamus from his dorm room laughing at him after they saw Percy help him with his shirt and tie. Percy had made them shut up and had even taken points, but once Percy had gone, they had started up again. Harry didn't like it, but accepted it. Professor McGonagall told him that Gryffindor House was his family while he was at school. The Dursleys always made fun of him instead of being nice like families on the television or movies, so it made sense that his Hogwarts family would be that same way. He still liked it when Ron or Hermione made people stop being mean to him, though. In that respect, he had a family like on the television.

It seemed to Harry that the magic people even seemed to blame him for being so weird. His Hogwarts teachers didn't seem to understand why he was having such trouble using a wand. They kept saying he just wasn't trying hard enough because surely The Boy Who Lived wouldn't have any sort of issue with magic. Harry hated it when people called him that. He didn't understand it, for one, and for two, it was like they were seeing a fake Harry, not the real Harry. The fake Harry was the one they had made up in their minds, so when he couldn't get his wand to swish the right way it was that the real Harry was just being a spoiled lazy brat who wasn't trying hard enough.

It wasn't fair.

He was trying. He was trying hard. Harry figured that the only teacher at the school who didn't see Fake Harry was Professor Snape, and Harry was ashamed that he had shouted at him. Maybe now Professor Snape was going to see Fake Harry, too, even though Harry had no trouble at all with potions. Potions didn't need him to move his wand a certain way. Potions wasn't exactly like chemistry, but it was close enough. Harry read his entire textbook before potions class because he had wanted Professor Snape to see that Real Harry wasn't as big of a freak as the rest of the school seemed to think. He had wanted Professor Snape to keep being the calm understanding teacher who helped him get Sorted, and showed him around school, and who listened to Harry talk about chemistry for over an hour without getting annoyed.

It just simply wasn't fair.

"What isn't fair, Mr. Potter?" a silky voice asked, startling him.

Harry looked up from his feet and found himself staring at Professor Snape. He felt his cheeks flush when he realized he had said that out loud. He waited for Professor Snape to shout "look at me!" and grab his chin to force eye contact like his other teachers, but it never happened. His professor seemed to know that when people asked Harry to look at their eyes that he couldn't do anything else, not think, not talk, not anything but get frightened. But his Professor Snape did not force him to look at him, he just stood there, patiently waiting for Harry to speak. Harry smiled. Now he knew his Professor Snape would always see Real Harry even if there was shouting or crying or needing help with buttons and ties and wands.

"It isn't fair that magic doesn't fix me, Professor Snape," he said. And waited. And waited. Harry looked at his pocket watch and started counting the seconds, growing more and more nervous as seconds turned into a whole minute.

"That is because you aren't broken, Harry."

Harry frowned and furrowed his brow, trying to puzzle out what Professor Snape meant. Of course he wasn't broken! He had broken his arm before, and he knew what that felt like. He didn't feel that sharp pain that made him sick up and see stars, so nothing was broken. He remembered what Professor McGonagall had instructed him to do when he was confused about something.

"I don't know what you mean, Professor."

Instead of an answer, he felt a hand on his shoulder and found himself being guided inside the potions classroom. He took a seat at the bench closest to the blackboard in case he needed to read it, and was surprised to see Professor Snape pull up a stool and sit facing him.

"Why do think you need to be fixed, Harry?" his professor asked in a soft voice.

Harry liked that voice. It was a calm voice that set him immediately at ease. Harry had never heard a voice quite like it. And so Harry found himself telling his professor about Fake Harry and Real Harry, and how his Gryffindor family was like his real family, but that Ron and Hermione made it like a television family. He explained about buttons and ties and "Har-tard" and "Handicapped Harry" and velcro and how he couldn't get his wand to swish and flick like his books said. And he kept waiting for Professor Snape to interrupt him, to make him do something unpleasant for detention like Ron had said he would, but it never happened. Professor Snape just let him talk.

He hadn't planned on acting as a counselor this evening. When he asked Harry what was unfair, he was expecting a whining complaint about the issuance of a detention, not the thoughts of a boy who had listened to a world that told him he wasn't good enough, wasn't normal enough, wasn't the same as everyone else. He thought back to the papers he read, the ones that said things about kids like Harry being locked in their own world, incapable of understanding what was going on around them, and he shook his head at how wrong they were. Harry could tell the world didn't want him to be himself. Harry picked up that he was viewed as something less than rather than equal to. And Harry had hoped, not unreasonably, that the magical world would be different than his Muggle experiences only to find himself in an even more confusing and hostile place.

A world where people were literally trying to kill him.

Perhaps if the boy had not been Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, things would be different and people would more accepting of his differences. Perhaps the boy would be met halfway rather than expected to match the expectations of those who wished to use him as a weapon in the war. Perhaps his teachers would be more willing to work with the boy's strengths rather than constantly point out his weaknesses. There was no doubt that Harry had the makings of a powerful wizard; Dumbledore's reports of the boy's accidental magic were astounding: apparating to the top of a school when in danger? Most adult wizards couldn't manage that without practice, not if they didn't want to get splinched. What was in doubt was the ability of his teachers to take that raw talent and help mold it into what they wanted, what the wizarding world needed.

Snape shook his head. It wouldn't do to get caught up in thinking of What-Ifs and Might-Have-Beens. It wouldn't help anyone, especially not Harry. Snape knew Harry was struggling because of how he was being taught, not because he was the lazy, sloppy student his other teachers seemed to see. The boy was perfectly capable of learning magic if the right methods were used. If the current ones that worked for most students weren't working, then they obviously needed to try different methods. Harry needed patience and understanding, not pity, and definitely not any more voices telling him he wasn't good enough. What was that Muggle saying? Something about fitting a square peg in a round hole?

And those boys, his housemates, already ganging up on him-it made Snape a bit nervous, if he were to be honest with himself. Nervous because those boys were plotting things with boys from Slytherin, with Malfoy. Nothing good would come from that particular alliance, even if it did look completely innocent at the moment.

Severus sighed as Harry stopped his explanation of the atrocious behavior he had experienced at the hands of his peers and teachers, both Muggle and magical. He might not know exactly how Harry was feeling, but he certainly understood what it meant to be ostracized, belittled, bullied, and not wanted by anyone at home.

"Sir, I don't understand why people see a Fake Harry. Why don't they see the Real Harry?"

Snape paused.

"Harry, what do you know of how your mother-your parents-died? Of how you came to live your with aunt and how you got that scar on your forehead?"

Harry's brow furrowed and he became noticeably agitated. Severus grabbed Harry's hands and held them in his own. Harry seemed to appreciate the gesture and relaxed again, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"Well, Aunt Petunia told me they died in a car crash, but Hagrid told me they were murdered by someone named Lord Vold-sorry, I forgot I am not supposed to say that name even though Dumbledore-"

"Professor Dumbledore, Harry" interjected Snape.

"Yeah, him. He said not saying the name gave it more power. I used to get awfully confused when people said 'You-Know-Who,' instead of the real name, but Professor Dumbledore explained it all. So Lord You-Know-Who killed my parents and tried to kill me."

Snape felt Harry's agitation and started tracing circles over the top of Harry's hands with his thumbs.

"But I didn't die. And Professor Dumbledore says it is because my mother loved me and that made it so I killed that bad man instead."

Snape waited to see if there was more, but the boy seemed done.

"Yes, the Dark Lord used the Killing Curse on you, but it rebounded and hit him instead. And you did the impossible that night, Harry. You are the only person who has survived the Killing Curse."

Harry giggled, and Snape raised his eyebrows. How was that funny?

"What is funny, Harry?" he asked.

"It shouldn't be called the Killing Curse then, should it, Professor Snape?" Harry asked. "Maybe it should be called the Usually Fatal Curse instead."

Snape swallowed the small smile that appeared, unbidden and unwelcome. He would allow that smile when Harry wasn't present, but for now, he was in Teacher Mode.

"Potter, you shouldn't laugh at death. It is uncouth, even if you have happened to achieve the impossible, or rather, given the outcome, the improbable."

Harry nodded, and Snape could almost see him filing that information away.

"It is because of those two events, your survival and your apparent defeat of the Dark Lord, that the wizarding world views you as a hero," continued Snape.

"The title they've bestowed upon you, and the resulting lens most have chosen to view you through rather than look at you as a normal boy, is how they recognize that act of ending the violence of the war. That scar on your forehead is the result of surviving the attack. That's the 'Fake Harry' you are referring to, is it not, Mr. Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"There are people who see past all that, you know," Snape continued after a few moments.

"Yeah, Ron and Hermione," whispered Harry.

"Yes. Your friends do not see you as a symbol, Harry."

"But most people just see my scar, huh?"

"It is unfortunate, but yes, most people choose to see who they want you to be and do not bother themselves with looking at who you actually are."

There was no response from the boy, but Severus could tell he was struggling to put his thoughts into words. Snape started tracing circles on the boy's hands again.

"Is the scar why I am such a freak, Professor Snape?" asked Harry after a few false starts.

Snape felt his heart constrict at the forlorn expression on the boy's face, in the boy's eyes. No, he corrected himself, in Lily's eyes.

"Harry, do not refer to yourself that way."

"But-"

"No, Harry, you will not refer to yourself as a 'freak.'" Snape found himself growing angry at the Muggles that had dared instill such low self-worth in the boy, in Lily's boy.

"You are not a freak, Harry."

"Fine. Not a 'freak' then."

Harry wrenched his hands from Severus's and began pacing in the aisle between the work benches. Snape just watched. It would do neither of them any good to force physical contact; he was too agitated at the boy's miserable relatives and the boy wanted space.

"Is the scar why I am so different?" Harry asked again after a few more minutes of silence.

Snape sighed again. He thought he knew what Harry was asking.

"You mean, is surviving the Killing Curse why you have what Muggles call Autism, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"I-I do not know."

"Oh."

Snape felt that unfamiliar ache in his chest again at the boy's dejected tone.

"Harry, you are unique in the wizarding world."

Harry snorted.

"'Unique' is the word people use when it isn't polite to say 'weird' or 'stupid' or 'special,' Professor."

Snape winced at the boy's sneering tone.

"Be that as it may, in this case, I am using it to define you as being the only person in the wizarding world to have Autism. We had not heard of it until you accepted your place at Hogwarts. From what I have read, it seems quite prevalent amongst Muggles. You even attended a school chartered specifically to teach those with Autism, not unlike Hogwarts was commissioned to teach magic to young witches and wizards."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Snape interrupted him.

"Let me finish, Harry. Do you know much about genetics and heritability?"

The boy nodded. Snape allowed himself a small smile. Of course Harry knew about genetics. He was bound to have come across it while satisfying his insatiable curiosity of all things relating to chemistry. Harry probably understood more about genetics than he did, not that it would be difficult.

"Muggles also think there is a genetic origin. If this is true, then perhaps magic is the reason there are no other known witches or wizards with Autism. Perhaps magic acts in such a way as to nullify the mutation. This is just a theory, mind you, not a fact."

Harry nodded again.

"It is possible, then, that when you were hit with the Killing Curse it disrupted and changed your magic in such a way as to render it unable to behave as it would normally."

Snape paused. He hadn't voiced that theory to anyone until just then. It seemed plausible, but he had no way of disproving it and therefore no way to test for its scientific accuracy.

"So that means I will always be this way, won't I?"

"If by 'this way' you mean intelligent, determined, courageous, and unflinchingly honest, then yes, Harry, you will always be that way."

Snape was rewarded for his uncharacteristic praise with a breathtaking grin. Oh yes, he could definitely get used to those. The boy lost almost all semblance to his blasted father when he smiled liked that.

Wanting to end the evening on a high note, he decided against having Harry scrub the cauldrons he had meant for him to do that evening. It was nearing the end of their scheduled detention anyway, and he had no desire to cause Harry to have a meltdown by forcing him to stay later than his pocket watch was telling him.

After sending Harry on his way, Snape sat there, wondering why he, the greasy git of the dungeons, was the one Harry felt most comfortable talking to, and why he, the feared potions master, was the one who was willing and able to provide counsel and comfort to the Chosen One of the wizarding world.

Perhaps the boy could tell that he was able to look past the scar and see the real Harry.