In retrospect, Harry supposed that he shouldn't have doubted Uncle Vernon's word. When had the man lied to him before? He always followed through on a punishment, no matter how harsh it was. Aunt Petunia always let it happen, too. Sometimes a smug look would cross her pinched, horsey features and Harry always had to bite his lip until it bled to avoid yelling at her. It wouldn't have done any good.

Jay disagreed, but Jay was headstrong and foolhardy. And he wanted to get Harry in trouble. Sometimes Harry could hear him laughing inside when Uncle Vernon was yelling at him, or grabbing his arm so tightly, bruises were imprinted into his skin, purple shadows like feathers. Then he'd usually blank out, and when he'd return, his body would ache, and he'd have new bruises and welts to add to his pitiful collection.

So when Uncle Vernon told Harry that he would leave him at the supermarket if he didn't hurry up, Harry knew he should have listened. He tried his best, he really did, but he just felt so tired. He couldn't seem to move properly anymore, especially with the throbbing in his temples that intensified at every step. Was it any wonder his family decided to leave him there, squealing off in a cloud of blue smoke? Of course not.

Granted, even Tom had thought that they would come back for him. It was an effective scare tactic, but surely that was all it was meant to be? But by the time another hour had passed (and passersby were starting to give them quite concerned looks), Tom had to admit that this time, it seemed the Dursleys had decided to abandon them.

"What are we going to do?" Harry whispered to himself. The wind had kicked up, making him shiver. He was only dressed in Dudley's old jeans and a very worn sweatshirt. He hadn't expected to be out long. Then again, he usually didn't come along on supermarket trips. Had Uncle Vernon been planning to leave him here all along? The sick feeling in his stomach told him it was more than plausible.

First things first, though. They had to get away from the supermarket. The Dursleys' home was fifteen miles away, so that was out, but if they didn't leave the vicinity of the store soon, someone was sure to ring the police out of concern for the "lost little boy." Uncle Vernon had drilled it into his head. Never go to the authorities.

Jay may have been a right bullying git, but he knew how to act to deflect suspicion. He strolled down the road with his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like a boy on his way straight home. A woman driving past glanced briefly at him, but he smiled crookedly at her, and she went on.

Nothing to it, Jay smirked to himself. Despite the bravado, however, he was bitterly aware of how unlikely they were to end up anywhere good. The body was eight years old. They had nothing to their name but a very old wrist-watch, a handful of change they'd scrounged from gutters, and a piece of gum some lady in the parking lot had given them. And they had absolutely nowhere to go.

A shelter, maybe? Blue suggested tentatively. If it had been anyone else, Jay would have immediately put down the suggestion as stupid. Since it was his twin, though, all he said was a gentle, 'I don't think that's a good idea.' Blue had been yelled at far too much already. Usually by Vernon, although Petunia occasionally got into the act, as well.

Why not? Tom had to butt in. Jay rolled his eyes, crossing the next street at an easy jog, despite how winded it made them. Their back kept twinging too, in a very sharp, painful way that concerned them all.

Really? You wanna go to a shelter? They'll call the cops, and we'll end up right back where we started, that's why! Jay said fiercely. You really wanna go back to them? Get beat to shit some more? Get fu-

Shut up, Jay, Tom said icily. There were a few moments of chilly silence in their head. Jay bit his lip. He hadn't meant to go quite that far. He knew what a sore subject anything the Dursleys had done was. But it was so frustrating.

He looked around. He'd kept walking, mindless, while carrying on their internal turmoil, and now he hadn't the faintest where they were.

The only sign on the bedraggled street, hanging crookedly from a broken post, read Spinner's End.

As they stared at the broken-down sign, a harsher wind sprouted, rippling their clothes and making them shiver even harder. Spinner's End. Not even Tom knew where that was. They could have been to Wales by now, for all they knew. Blue kept making choked whimpering sounds inside that made Tom want to smack her. He restrained himself, though. That wouldn't help anything.

There was a rundown old park at the far end of the street, and so Jay made his way carefully towards it. Perhaps they could huddle in a bush or a tree for the night, keeping out of sight, and in the morning, they might have a better idea of what to do.

Or at least, that was the plan until a sallow-faced man wearing some sort of fanciful dark cloak around his shoulders (like it was even close to Halloween!) materialized out of the shadows and inquired in the coldest voice any of them had ever heard, where they thought they were going.

"Home," Jay lied, bolstering his show of bravado with a hesitant sneer. It shattered to pieces at their feet when the man only snorted in laughter.

"I know everyone who lives on this street," the man replied with a sneer that put Jay's to shame. "And you, little boy, are not one of them."

"I don't live on this street," Jay said with exaggerated patience. Apprehension clutched his spine with icy fingers. What if this man was one of the perverts Aunt Petunia was always warning him about? The grabby-handed men who would take you away and you'd never be seen again, save in the newspapers as a missing person, or perhaps your mutilated corpse? "Just trying a new shortcut, that's all."

"Oh? Then what street do you live on?" the man inquired. Jay's mind went blank. It didn't help that Blue and Freak were nearly incoherent in fear inside. Even Tom was at a loss.

"I don't tell that to strangers," Jay finally settled on. He felt overly hyped up, like he'd been injected somehow with a shot of pure adrenaline. He didn't like this man at all, this strange man with greasy black hair, who wore a cape like it was normal. It was freaky, that's what it was, and they knew freaky.

"Of course," the man just barely refrained from rolling his eyes. "Don't let me hinder you. This street is dangerous at night, though. If you happen to...lose your way, my home is that on the corner," he pointed at the most dilapidated-looking of the lot, a shabby two-story with peeling dark paint and a broken shutter in the front window. And with that, he was gone.

"The fuck, man," Jay whispered to himself, increasing his stride. That had been too close, and he could feel the effects in the quick thumping of his heart, not to mention the clammy feel of cold sweat sliding down between his shoulder blades. It felt like the man had to still be there, watching him, and he did not want him to see where they were going.

For once, I agree with you, Tom said, almost somberly, in his head. He hadn't seemed bad precisely. But still not a man they wished to have more than a moment's acquaintance with. Plus, he'd seemed strangely familiar to Tom, and he needed a private place to mull that over. Had he known him from before? When he was still part of Lord Voldemort?

Jay cut straight through the park and then circled back to an extra-large cluster of bushes. They looked half-dead in the steadily darkening twilight, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He pulled the hood of their sweatshirt up over his head and scooted right into the middle, holding his breath when a particularly pointy branch stabbed him briskly in the thigh.

"Fuck," he hissed aloud, glaring at the branch as if his anger was enough to light it on fire. Thankfully, it wasn't, or else they would have gone up in an almost cheery blaze of red and orange flames.

Outside their little hidey hole, they could now hear the night denizens of Spinner's End, and even Harry understood why the dark man had warned them. It sounded like it was a street full of sots. Violent sots. Like Uncle Vernon at his worst. Harry curled up extra tightly amongst the bushes, feeling fear and the cold wrack his body in a series of expanded shivers. This was not at all what he'd expected when he'd awoken that morning to Aunt Petunia's loud rap on the door. It felt almost like a dream.

Maybe...maybe it was a dream? Or, well, a nightmare? Harry could only hope it was and that when next he opened his eyes, he'd find himself on the bare cot that dwarfed the cupboard beneath the stairs, and that Aunt Petunia would be calling for him to get breakfast on and make it quick.

But of course, it couldn't be that easy. Nothing ever was, for Harry.

Harry managed to fall asleep, but it was a thin, uneasy doze, easily broken by the slightest noise, of which there were plenty. This park seemed to be where every drunk in England gravitated, judging from the hoarse shouts and stertorous breaths that emanated from the wretched denizens that roamed just outside their cluster of bushes. At least everyone seemed to avoid this bush, likely from the thorns. Jay had already had more than one run-in with the wickedly sharp points, and blood stained their shirt in several rusty spots.

Still, it made for a spectacularly unrestful night, and Tom was about ready to give up and take them to the strange man's house when a man with a very tattered overcoat and wild greying hair nearly fell on top of them. A shriek tore free from Harry's throat before anyone could stifle it, and the man looked right at them through the thorny cluster of branches, an odd look coming into red-threaded eyes.

It was a look that Tom remembered from both his Voldemort days and from telly, and it was a look that told him they needed to get the fuck out of there.

Jay, he whispered harshly inside. The man had stumbled to his feet, trying to maintain balance and brush away the thorns that had broken away and embedded themselves in his clothes, but he wouldn't stay there long. Jay, we have no other choice.

Fine, Jay grumbled, pressing his heels into the dirt, ready to scoot out as fast as the body could move. But when it turns out we've gone out of the frying pan into the fire, it's your bloody fault.

Acceptable, Tom murmured, and Jay shoved them out of the bushes, ignoring the little stinging bursts of pain that came from the thorns raking across their skin. One scratched dangerously close to his eye and he winced, biting his lip hard.

"Hey, don't run off!" the man shouted after him, lurching toward him until Jay fancied he could catch a whiff of the man's sour breath. But Jay was already gone, sprinting across the foggy, dark-shrouded park, toward the house on the corner.

There was a sort of porch in front, cluttered with god knew what, and Jay crashed right into a heavy, musty-smelling box, bouncing off it and landing hard on his arse. He muttered several harsh and rather inventive curses as he saw a light click on upstairs, muted amber through the window.

Shit, Jay thought. If he'd not made a racket enough to wake the entire neighbourhood, he might have been able to stay crouched in a corner of the porch until daylight. Now, of course, that was entirely out of the question.

Sure enough, only a few moments later, the front door creaked open and the same greasy-haired man stood there. He had a slightly amused smirk on his face as he took in the trembling eight-year-old.

"Lost?" the man murmured sardonically. Jay bit his lip harder, willing himself not to tell the man to shove it where the sun didn't shine. In a blink, Tom forced his way back out, trying to look as old as possible.

"You could say that, sir," he said in a slightly deprecating tone. "If I could stay here for the rest of the night, it would be greatly appreciated."

"I wouldn't have made the offer earlier if I didn't intend to fulfill it if necessary," the man retorted, holding the door open wider. "In. You can clean up just at the end of the hallway there."

Tom nodded gratefully and ducked past the man. This close, he smelled like several intriguing spices and that same musty smell that had invaded the porch. It was like even the man himself had been packed away for ages.

The hallway had only a bare lightbulb to light it, so Tom nearly stumbled multiple times as he made his way into the bathroom at the end, examining his face in the cracked mirror. They looked terrible. Hair mussed and full of leaves and other detritus, eyes wild and puffy with sleep deprivation and tears, thorn scratches puffed, red, and still oozing blood. It was a miracle the man had decided not to renege on his offer!

This needs a woman's touch, Kitten said and delicately pushed her way out, surveying their appearance with mute distaste and setting it to rights as quickly as she could with a washcloth, liberal amounts of soap, and a heavy use of the faucet. It took several minutes, but finally, they were roughly presentable. She'd even managed to dab at their shirt and get some of the worst stains out, although she had no chance at all of fixing the tear in the hem.

"Thank you," Tom murmured aloud as he took over hosting. Kitten nodded and flounced back to her corner inside. Tom sighed. She was such a touchy girl...

The man was waiting at the end of the hallway. He'd apparently only moved to close the door and now leaned against it, stern and austere-looking in black pyjamas and robe.

"Better," the man nodded in approval. "Now. My name is Severus Snape. What might yours be?"

Tom froze, the name setting off bright alarm bells in his head. Severus Snape...Snape...where had he heard the name before? He knew he had.

Death Eater.

"Tom, sir," he blurted out. He thought he saw a muscle twitch in the man's forehead, but Tom was a common enough name, after all. It couldn't possibly be connected to the Dark Lord. "Rather not tell you my last, if it's all right with you."

Snape's mouth twisted, but in humour or anger, Tom could not quite tell.

"All right, Tom," he acknowledged. "There's a guest room across from the loo. The kitchen is to my left. I request that if you are hungry, you make yourself only a sandwich or something of the like. Kindly do not make off with anything you deem valuable, you will not be pleased with my response. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to bed."

And with that, Severus Snape stalked back up the stairs, leaving a thoroughly dumbfounded boy standing in his foyer.

After a few moments, they all heard a door upstairs click shut. It seemed Snape was true to his word.

Did he just leave a strange kid in his house all alone? Jay asked, dumbfounded by what seemed to him to be blatant stupidity.

Yes, Tom answered. But think about it. What exactly are we going to do? We can't go back outside. That man's out there. We can't steal things. He's a wizard. I know. I...remember. So he'd find out. Logically, there's no reason for us to do anything but what he suggested.

Wait, a wizard? What the fuck's a wizard?! Jay demanded. He looked angry inside, eyebrows scrunched tightly, but Tom knew it was only another facade for fear.

A person who can do magic, Tom explained patiently. Harry's one. Essentially, we are one. Although I don't know if everyone is capable of tapping into it. The Dursleys knew, it's why Vernon always called us a freak. We're not, though. People who can do magic are pretty damn special. There aren't a lot of them in the world.

Oh. Jay paused, digesting this information, then nodding. Well, in that case, if you're done standing in the hall like a gawp, can we go and get something to eat? I'm starving.

The light flickered in the kitchen when Tom flipped it on. The bulb was starting to die. No matter, they could find a sandwich (or two) and then go to bed. The body was absolutely exhausted, and so were most of the people living in it.

"Be careful now," Tom whispered to himself as he made a thick ham and cheese sandwich, pouring a glass of milk to go with it. Harry was a child, he needed his milk. Besides, Snape only had milk or water at the moment. Or firewhiskey, but that was clearly out of the picture, no matter how Jay scowled. It was likely one of those things Snape would deem valuable (or inappropriate for children). Tom had no desire to bring an angry Snape down on their necks.

Tom sat down on the floor, feeling the chill of the cracked tiles seep through their clothes, as he ate the sandwich he'd made. He hoped the spare room would be warmer. They needed to conserve warmth, and spending the rest of the night shivering didn't sound like a pleasant prospect.

Duh, Jay remarked. In that case, can we set fire to the bloody bed and use it to keep warm?

Tom didn't bother to favour this with a response as he got up, carefully brushed off the crumbs into the bin next to the counter, and set his glass inside the sink. He felt like he should wash it, but the exhaustion was crashing over him in dizzy-feeling waves, making him sway on the spot. Definitely time for bed.

The spare room was bigger than he'd expected and clearly kept clean and tidied. Contrary to his dismal expectations, the bed was heaped with green and silver blankets. It made Tom feel rather at home, remembering Slytherin House. Toeing off his overly worn shoes, he crawled into bed and was asleep in moments.

Their dreams were chaotic. Tom supposed he had expected it, but at the moment, he was naught but a bystander in a dream that was barely more than a re-enactment of a memory.

Harry was six years old. Six and he really, really wanted the shiny red car in the store display window. His bottom lip trembled without his control as he looked at it, hands pressed against the thick window glass. Dudley had already gotten six presents. All he had to do was point a chubby finger and whine, and Aunt Tunia or Uncle Vernon were right there, getting it for him with loving reassurances. Harry got none of that. He didn't expect it, really, but oh, how he wanted that red car! It was small and shiny and painted apple-red. The kind of car Dudley would never be interested in and thus, never break, never be lost in the depths of either of Dudley's crowded bedrooms.

But a hand curled around his painfully thin elbow and jerked him away, nearly yanking him off his feet, and he trotted after Uncle Vernon with a barely stifled sigh. The car would not be his. The car would sit in the window, in the childishly painted display, until some other child came along and picked it out, pointing at its smooth contours for a parent to notice and admire. The car was for other children, not freaks like him.

"Come along!" Uncle Vernon growled, and directed a swift cuff at the back of his head. He nodded and winced and carried on, and by dinnertime, he'd forgotten entirely about the candy-apple-red car in the store window.

Seven, seven, Harry was seven, or was it eight, or was it six, he couldn't remember anymore because it felt like his head was tearing apart at the seams, like his head was breaking, and it hurt so much, he nearly cried. He couldn't cry, though, crying was for babies, Uncle Vernon would give him something to cry about if he cried. Six, six, Harry was six, sex, do you know what sex is, Harry, do you know what this is, and then pain, so much pain, blinding him, making him nearly bite his lip through, and somehow, someone else was there, a pretty, pouty girl, Kitten, I like that sir, don't stop sir, oh yes, Uncle, yes, yes! and Harry subsided gratefully into the darkness, choked whimpers spilling from his lips, his head, his everything burning with sick, unquenched pain. And then Kitten was there, and no one talked about it. You couldn't talk about it. She was just there, and that was that, and when she slid out in the musty darkness of the basement or the cupboard, no one asked any questions.

At this last snippet of dream-memory, Harry jerked up awake, his hands flailing at the darkness around them, as if to ward off blows from a now imagined source. Nothing. His breathing sounded like the chuffed straining of a locomotive, and his heart felt like it would beat out of his shirt at any moment.

Six, sex, Harry like THIS, a phantom voice whispered in his head, and Harry pressed his hands tightly against his ears. No. That was enough. That was more than enough. He wasn't going to remember, no matter how much his mind wanted him to. He didn't want to, damn it, and nothing could make him.

After a few minutes, it subsided, as did the roaring in his ears. Harry leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp. It flickered to life, a meager warm light against the shadows that clustered round his bed. It wasn't a lot of light, but it was enough. He settled back under the thick mound of covers and closed his eyes, but it felt like hours before they fell asleep again.

It was only when his alarm went off with its customary strident blare that Severus realised last night had probably not been his brightest moment. He raised his head blearily, then let it fall back to the pillow with a thump. Most likely, the street rat he'd invited into his home had cleaned him out and was even now miles away, laughing at Sev's ill fortune. Wizard he may be, he'd only placed alarm spells on a few of his belongings. Anything that would cause Muggles problems, essentially. He had no wish to get in trouble with the Ministry should some of his magical effects make their way into more mundane circulation. Not to mention the disappointed reaction of Albus Dumbledore, his erstwhile employer.

Still. The child had looked so damned scared last night, Severus had felt like he had no other choice. The nearest children's home was ten miles away and he knew if he'd suggested there, the boy would have bolted like a rabbit. Besides, he'd had a niggling feeling that "Tom," as he'd styled himself, had magic. There was a nearly indefinable spark around the child's skin that he only ever felt around other witches and wizards. Wizards did not tend to fare well in orphanages.

Severus struggled out of bed finally and hit the loo, yawning his way through a lukewarm shower and dressing in his customary sober garb. He dressed like a Muggle for the benefit of his guest, should Tom still actually be there, not having robbed him blind. To his surprise, everything appeared to be still in its place. The guest room door was closed tight. After a moment's deliberation, Severus eased it open.

Tom lay sprawled under all the blankets. His hair was a messy shock across the pillows, his glasses carelessly tossed on the bedside table. The lamp flickered beside him. He'd fallen asleep with it on, most likely.

"Tom?" Severus called softly. He didn't wish to frighten the boy, but the desire was futile as the boy immediately startled awake, his hands flying into a semi-defensive posture over his face. After a moment, the hands lowered, and Severus could see the flush of embarrassment stain the child's face.

"I apologise for waking you," Severus said softly. "It is only that I have many errands I need to do today, and I did not wish you to wake and discover no one home."

"You want me to clear out then?" Tom asked, his voice brusque. There was a half-hopeful, half-hurt look in the boy's vivid green eyes.

"No," Severus said. "Unless you wish to go...?"

"Not...really," Tom cleared his throat and picked at a loose thread on the top blanket. Now even his ears had coloured red.

"Very well," Severus moved on, not wishing to dwell on his newfound ward's discomfort. "In that case, you may stay here today. If you wish, you may leave the house, but considering the adventures of last night, I doubt you shall wish to. The park isn't much better during the day. You may eat anything you find within reach in the kitchen, but kindly do not go clambering about on the counters. Likewise, anything found at eye-level or below in the bookshelves in the sitting room are fit for your consumption, but do not try to reach the higher shelves, please. I shall endeavour to be back by six p.m. but I may be later. At that time, we can talk about what you wish to do from now, and what would be best for you. Any questions?"

Mute, the boy shook his head.

"In that case, I shall see you tonight," Severus nodded awkwardly and shut the door, snatching up his cloak from the hall closet and his wand, which he tucked up his sleeve. Within minutes, he was locking the front door and striding down the road to the nearest apparition point. He had a long day ahead of him and in the brisk, early-morning walk, he could nearly forget about the strange boy that had fetched up on his doorstep the night before.

Harry looked at the closed bedroom door for a moment, utterly bewildered. He'd heard the front door click shut a few minutes earlier, so he knew the strange man, Severus Snape, had left. He had no idea what to do. At the moment, he just wanted to curl up in bed, pull the covers over his head, and try to forget that he was now an abandoned child. Aunt Petunia had always been quite grim in detailing what happened to children who had no place to call home, no family to call their own. A life on the streets was the best a child like that could hope for, and he already knew that he never deserved the best. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised to find out that Severus Snape was one of those child killers. Or the ones who liked to sell children. Harry might fetch a good price. He was pretty scrawny, but he was strong, too. He'd done everything Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had wanted, to the best of his abilities. And he'd developed a pretty good ability to dodge Dudley's blows. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Tom snapped. He sounded irritable. He's not going to sell you. He's not going to kill you, either. He's going to help you.

"How do you know, though?" Harry asked aloud. He'd never quite developed the knack of internal communication. "You don't know him."

Not...exactly, no, Tom answered evasively. Still. If he wanted to hurt you, he already would have. Now get out of bed, take a shower, and let's find something for breakfast.

It wasn't until Harry stepped into the bathroom, tousle-haired and still blinking sleep from his eyes, that they discovered Snape's last kindness. A set of play clothes, old and well-patched, but clean, lay folded on the edge of the sink.

And despite being eight years old and despite having it beaten into him that boys don't cry, that you don't cry unless you're given something to cry about, Harry burst into noisy tears.

Perhaps it was the novelty of having nothing to clean and no one to breathe down their neck, regularly belittle, and occasionally chase them with the cast-iron frying pan, but Harry and the system thoroughly enjoyed their morning alone in Severus Snape's house. The shower (warm and longer than the customary three minutes) had invigorated them, and the new clothes made Harry feel properly clean for the first time in almost a year. With the Dursleys', he'd been lucky to get "new" clothes once every few months, and it was always Dudley's cast-offs. He swam in them, and once they were grimed with the dirt and dust of his plentitude of chores, he wasn't allowed to wash them except once every Saturday. Even then, his clothing went in a separate wash, and it never seemed to work very well by then. The dirt was too well ingrained.

These new play clothes, however, were like heaven. Mended and slightly tatty, yes, but they actually fit him, much better than anything else he'd ever worn. And they smelled clean, with a hint of wildflowers. Even Kitten was pleased with them, and the accompanying striped socks. No shoes, but they hadn't planned on leaving anyway. Tom had taken Snape's warning to heart. Besides, even if they left, where would they go? It's not like the Dursleys wanted them back. Nor did they even know how to get there from here. They were utterly lost, and here was as good a place as any. Tom was confident that if Snape proved dangerous, at the least, he could knock the man out and run. It might not be easy, but he could manage. No one expected a scrawny eight-year-old boy to even know he had magic, much less be able to wield it like a weapon.

But there was time enough for that later, and for now, Tom was more than content to let Raven trail into the erstwhile library, running her small fingers over the rows of books and pulling out old favourites with a happy sigh. She always put them back, however, and finally rested in the overstuffed armchair with a new one entitled The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring. It sounded interesting, and Raven had always liked fantasy tales.

She was so engrossed in it that Tom had to practically yank her attention away to remind her that it was time to eat again. She scampered into the kitchen and made another sandwich, eating it in quick, neat bites, eager to return to her book.

One moment, Tom cautioned. He'd realised they had only a few hours until Snape returned, and they hadn't the faintest what they would tell the man. What are we going to tell him?

We ran away to join the circus? Jay suggested sarcastically, slouching against the wall in their internal sanctum, a smirk tugging at his mouth. Tom merely rolled his eyes.

We ran away at all? Blue spoke up, hesitant, twisting her hair around one finger.

As much as that approach would sound nicer than the truth, I'm not sure that's a good idea, Tom said as they climbed back up into the slouchy armchair, book resting on the side table for now. If we ran away, he would assume our family was looking for us and try to return us. We've got to find a way to dissuade that, yet not let on who our supposed family is.

Nothing came to them, and in the end, Tom supposed they would simply have to wing it and judge their replies by Snape's questions. By mutual agreement, Tom was elected spokesperson for when Severus Snape returned.

Raven had nearly finished her book when the front door clicked open. Tom immediately switched out, fumbling to place the book again on the side table and wait, his hands folded in his lap. There was a loud crash, a muffled curse, and finally, Severus appeared in the doorway, looking exhausted.

"Ah," Snape said, almost pleasant. "You're still here."

"Yes, sir," Tom replied, ever alert, though Snape appeared far too worn out to accomplish much, either magically or physically.

"What did you do all day?" Snape inquired as he made his way to the couch and flopped down, pushing a throw pillow out of his way.

"Read mostly, sir," Tom said, holding up the fantasy book as evidence.

"Ah, that's a good one," Snape nodded, massaging his temples with his thumbs. "Now. The time has to come to talk."

"Yes, sir," Tom said, sitting up just that bit straighter. Anxiety thrummed through all of them.

"I want to know-and please don't try and lie to me, I'll know if you lie-I want to know why you were on the streets last night," Snape said, quite seriously, and fixed them with that infamous dark gaze.

Tom took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the best lie he could come up with on the spot, and scratched at his fringe, dislodging the wayward strands just long enough for the vivid, lightning-bolt scar to be revealed.

The effect on Snape was galvanic. He sat upright faster than Tom would have believed possible, tension screaming from every pore. Tom jerked back, nearly upsetting the armchair, as he prepared his magical stores. Stunning or petrification, either would work in this instance, wouldn't it? Or perhaps some sort of physical attack?

But instead of attacking, Snape merely stood up. His eyes now resembled chips of black ice as he paced closer, and that pleasant look had utterly vanished from his face.

"What are you doing in my house, Harry Potter?"

For a moment, Severus could hear nothing but the harsh, frenetic buzzing of pure anger in his ears as he leaped up, leaning over this boy-this bloody Potter brat-having the gall to cower away from him in his armchair, that damnable scar still visible through the messy fringe. Potter. Of course it was Potter. He should have seen it at once, the boy had his father's untidy hair, angular features, and arrogant set to his shoulders. The only thing he seemed to have claimed of Lily's was those vivid green eyes, yet even those were shadowed with the ghost of James Potter.

The boy hadn't answered his question, his mouth gawping open like some sort of idiot-brained nit. His hands had automatically flown up in a defensive posture, and Severus finally realised he was looming over the brat like he was ready to stuff him in the nearest trash bin. Dumbledore would have his head if he harmed a hair on the precious Boy Who Lived's head. Severus reluctantly sat back down, fingering his wand up his sleeve, still stiff with anger.

"Talk, boy," he finally growled. "Why have you run away from your relatives? Did they not pamper you enough?"

"Sir, I-" the boy started to speak, but Severus couldn't stop himself from continuing, venting his spleen on the progeny of his childhood bully. Spit flecked his lips, and he had to consciously relax his grip on his sleeve, or he might have ripped it.

"You've probably caused them a great deal of trouble looking for you, but of course, you couldn't be bothered to think about that, now could you? How long have you been grubbing about the countryside like that? Days? Weeks? No, it couldn't be weeks, you wouldn't survive out there for weeks," he rolled his eyes, carelessly waving one hand. The boy still sat there, seemingly frozen by Severus's vitriol, but Severus ignored it. "Not a little brat like you. Roll around in the mud then perhaps? Your family must be worried sick and yet here you are, gallivanting about as you please! Well, Mister Potter, that ends now. You will be going home and you will tell me the name and address of your guardians, and this will end tonight. D'you hear me? Tonight, Mister Potter."

Now, he stood up again and grabbed the boy by the arm, pulling him up out of the armchair with a swift, decisive jerk, and yanking him toward the front door. The brat went docilely enough until Severus's hand was on the doorknob, and then he turned into a wildcat.

Before Severus could get a firmer grasp on the child's arm, he'd pulled free and was scrambling backwards. The expression on his face was the most terrified that Severus had ever seen on a human face, even while in the service of You Know Who, and it stopped him cold. Even when the boy fell over and landed hard on one ankle, snapping the bone with a sound like a branch breaking, he didn't stop his mumbling, scooting even farther back into the narrow confines of the house. Tears slid down the boy's cheeks, but he seemed utterly unaware of his ankle breaking.

"Potter?" Severus asked gently. His anger had evaporated, replaced entirely by bewilderment. He'd expected the child to pule and moan about going back. To throw a tantrum, even. But not this. Nothing could have prepared him for this. The boy was utterly terrified, and had now resorted to banging his head back against the corner of the wall.

"No no no no no no no no no, don't send me back don't send me back no no no no no," the boy babbled in a never-ending stream, his eyes wide as saucers, his face deathly pale.

"Potter? Potter! Harry! It's okay, I won't send you back!" Severus finally resorted to nearly yelling. "I won't send you back," he repeated, in a slightly calmer tone.

The boy finally stopped and looked up, as if comprehending Severus was there for the first time.

"They left me," he said, in a voice that sounded perpetually choked on a sob. "They took me to the store and they left me."

"I'm...I'm sorry, Po-Harry," Severus said gently, feeling like he'd been thrown in a situation so far over his head, he needed a life preserver and a snorkel. He had no experience with this! But the child seemed calmer now, and he'd stopped that horrible mumble. Severus squatted down, closer to Potter's level. "Why did they leave you?"

"Dunno," he mumbled. His face had gone even whiter as the pain of the broken bone in his ankle pierced past the overwhelming panic. "I don't feel so good."

And with that, the Boy Who Lived to Shock The Daylights Out of Him slid to the floor in a boneless, crumpled heap. He'd fainted.

First things first. Severus gently levitated Potter over to the sofa, where he splinted the child's broken ankle and healed it as best as he could. Despite being brilliant at Potions, he was not the best Healer, not by a long shot. The ankle would need a more professional going-over, but at least this would enable him to walk with relatively slight pain. After that, it was a waiting game, waiting for Potter to wake back up, waiting for him to explain what on earth he meant by "they left me" and why he'd been so petrified at the thought of going back, he'd had a full-blown panic attack and broken his ankle.

The boy started shivering in his sleep and Severus Summoned a quilt from the guest room, smoothing the hopefully familiar green fabric over the slight body and returning to his vigil in the armchair. Now that he was alone and the child was unconscious, his recriminations could smash into him full force, and so they did, bowing his head and shoulders under their weight.

He should have thought. He should have reacted calmly, more appropriately. But instead, he'd seen that damned lightning bolt, known what it meant, who it meant, and had gone off like a badly-timed rocket. All he could see in that moment was James, even knowing the child acted nothing like his father. He hadn't even given Potter two seconds to answer his questions before haring off again on his own fury-laced tirade. Small wonder the eight-year-old had had a panic attack and fainted. He'd acted like a bloody monster.

Severus sat there, regarding his hands, for what felt like ages before Potter finally stirred. Those vivid green eyes blinked owlishly before the boy was looking up at him through a watchful, guarded expression.

"Potter, I'm sorry," Severus finally managed to croak out, the words sticking painfully in his throat. "I had no right to treat you the way that I did, and no right to assume the things that I did. I didn't listen to you, I merely reacted, based on my own prejudice, and it was wrong of me."

Harry nodded once, still mistrustful-looking. He picked at a loose thread on the quilt, slowly unraveling it.

"Now, I would like to hear-and actually listen-to why it is not possible for you to go back. Please," Severus added. There. You couldn't get much more polite than that, could you? And he did need to know.

"Not much to tell," Harry finally said. His voice was rougher than before, but perhaps that was due to the fact he was not currently shaking in a corner. "They left me in a supermarket parking lot. They didn't come back."

Severus's eyes widened at hearing it stated so baldly.

"Not like I mind," Potter continued. "They were shit guardians, to be frank with you, sir." He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal yellowing bruises in the shape of fingers on his upper arm.

And now Severus was certain either he was dreaming or the world had just imploded or something. Surely Dumbledore would not have placed the Boy Who Lived with abusive guardians. Surely.

But the circlet of finger-shaped bruises on the child's arm said otherwise.

Which meant Severus had a lot more to deal with than he'd previously thought.

Tom was the one who'd ended up out to answer the git's questions. Of course. Freak was too exhausted from his earlier panic attack to do more than pant weakly in a corner, covered by a stray tatty blanket Blue had draped over him. She was the only one who could get near him when he was like that. Their ankle throbbed, but it was manageable enough that Tom could ignore it. For the most part.

They'd originally planned to not tell Snape much of anything, but after Freak had ended up out and Snape had almost dragged them out the door, Tom saw no point in sugar-coating anymore. The Dursleys were abusive arses and it was time someone knew that. So he had no problem telling Snape they left him at the supermarket and no problem lifting up his shirt to show the bruises left over from the last time Uncle Vernon had grabbed them a bit too hard.

But when it came down to telling Snape who it was that had maintained supposed custody of the Boy Who Lived, the words stuck in his throat. It was embarrassing putting a name to the people who had shoved him around, had hit him, starved him, locked him in a cupboard, done other things under the blessed cover of darkness. Humiliating to acknowledge those people even existed.

And so he couldn't. Not yet. He tried to tell Snape that, but it didn't work. The wizard still wanted to know. Still kept pushing. Prodding. It's important to know. It will help you if you tell. On and on, until Jay grew sick of it, pushed his way out, and told Snape to fuck off.

...Well, that was one way to end a conversation.

At first Severus was angry. How dare the brat tell him to fuck off? How did he even know such language? But when he leaned closer to give the boy a proper telling-off, he noticed the slight flinch Harry couldn't quite hide, and the spark of fear in the bright green eyes, and his anger drained away as if through a sieve.

"All right," he sighed and leaned back. "You don't want to tell me right now, and that's fine. I'm sorry for pushing. But I hope you understand that at some point-and it will have to be sooner, rather than later-you are going to have to tell." He thought it prudent for the moment not to mention Dumbledore already knew. The child would panic again, and then where would they be? Besides, he was feeling a bit uneasy about actually telling his employer and erstwhile 'mentor' that he currently had custody of the Boy Who Lived.

Harry nodded curtly, the fear gone entirely from his eyes, which had gone harder than Severus had previously thought a child's could go.

"Now, I think it's time for supper and bed," Severus said, as kindly as he could manage. "Tomorrow, I know someone who can properly treat your ankle. You can walk on it tonight if you're careful, but please put as little weight as you can on it."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded and moved to get off the sofa. Severus quickly put out a hand to forestall the boy.

"I will make you supper and bring it to you here," he elaborated. "How do you feel about soup?"

"It's fine, sir," Harry acknowledged and slumped back against the couch cushions, picking again at a loose thread in the blanket that covered him from chest to toes. Severus opened his mouth to admonish him, then abruptly closed it. Ah, well. It's not like it really mattered, did it? A loose thread in the scheme of things was nothing. He had much more important things on his mind, like what he was going to do with the Boy Who Lived.

Harry watched him disappear into the kitchen with wide, nearly panicked eyes. He couldn't believe Jay had actually told the man to fuck off. You don't do that to adults! Backtalking adults gets you hurt! But Mister Snape hadn't done anything. He'd gotten closer for a moment and looked really angry, but it actually seemed like he'd noticed how scared they were getting and backed off. But that made no sense. Adults didn't do that! Did they? Harry scrunched his shoulders and wriggled deeper under the blanket, deciding firmly that adults were confusing and more trouble than they were worth.

It was Tom again who ate the soup (chicken noodle), brushed off the man's assurances of assistance in getting to the guest room, and carefully limped down the hallway to bed. Snape actually kept them company on the way and made sure they got into bed safely, a realisation that actually made them get a bit sniffly and red-eyed as a whole. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wouldn't have been caught dead ensuring Harry got into bed all right, broken ankle or not. More than likely, Uncle Vernon would have kicked his legs out from under him and he would have been forced to crawl into his cupboard, helped along by Dudley's jeers and occasional blows, while Aunt Petunia sniffed disapprovingly in the background.

He hated them all and he sent up a fervent wish as he crawled under the thick covers that he'd never have to see them again. Of course, life is rarely that accommodating...

The next morning was bitterly cold, even inside, and Harry found himself in a constant state of shivering when he woke up and awkwardly hobbled into the restroom. A night's sleep might have made him feel better, but it had made his ankle stiffen up in a quite painful sort of way. He nearly tipped right over when he got out of bed, although Jay managed to take over quickly enough that the body merely stumbled a bit.

Idiot, Jay muttered scathingly in Harry's direction, who flushed to the tips of his ears. How was he to know their ankle would feel this badly off? Jay hadn't known either!

It still stung though and Harry willingly submerged back inside, letting Tom deal with the bother of their ankle and breakfast and Snape. He didn't want to anymore.

Great going, Jay, Tom glared at him as he dressed the body in the same play clothes they'd worn the day before, drawing their sock carefully over the slightly swollen ankle. None of us were aware of how painful our ankle has become. Our host is not an idiot.

Jay went red at the reprimand and scowled right back.

Not that hard to guess, he drawled back. Besides, we almost fell. Wouldn't that have been a pretty picture for Snape?

...I should have known this led back to Snape, Tom sighed as he finger-combed their hair into some semblance of order.

We know fucking nothing about him, okay? Nothing. All right, so he probably ain't in league with the Dursleys or anything. But who says he doesn't wanna hurt us?

Honestly? Nothing, Tom admitted. But look at it this way. When Freak had a panic attack and broke our ankle, he fixed it. When you told him to fuck off, he didn't even yell at us, much less beat the shit out of us. He looked horrified when he heard what Vernon did, and saw the bruises. People who want to hurt kids don't have those reactions. So at the very least? He's better than the Dursleys.

...Okay, fine, you have a point, Jay sighed, looking sulky as he retreated back into his internal room. Tom mentally heard the door slam and sighed. They may have been more physically safe than they had been at the Dursleys', but mentally, they were turning into a real mess, and he hadn't the slightest how to deal with it.

Snape was up when Tom finally hobbled down the hallway into the kitchen. He merely raised an eyebrow at Tom's limping status, but Tom saw the chair subtly pulled out by a quick wave of the man's wand, before it was once again hidden up his sleeve. Again, kind.

"Today before anything else, you will be seeing Madam Pomfrey," Snape said shortly, brooking no argument. "She will be able to fix your ankle better than I. And afterward..." Snape paused. "You will be speaking with me more about your home life and your guardians."

Tom's face shuttered as he nodded. Of course. He knew they had to, but gods, how he wished they didn't. He'd much prefer to think of the Dursleys as simply a nasty dream, something that lingers in the back of your mind and coats the edges of your thoughts with their poison, but who is, at the end, harmless.

After a very hasty breakfast of porridge (that was much too bland and left Tom pushing it about his bowl with the edge of his spoon), Snape made what was probably one of the stupidest decisions he'd ever made.

He took gentle but firm hold of Tom's arm and Apparated.

Chaos. Pure, mind-numbing chaos. The world's edges melted and flowed around them, and they couldn't keep hold of anything, couldn't center, couldn't anything. Everyone fronted and no one fronted, and when the world finally solidified, in the form of a grassy verge in front of what looked like a massive castle, Harry's stomach emptied itself noisily on his shoes. He didn't even notice until Snape pulled him up and scourgified him and wiped the tear-tracks off his face with a slightly yellowed handkerchief.

"Potter? Potter! Are you all right?" Snape's voice finally pierced the dissociative haze that had settled over the system. Tom managed to force himself out and give the firmest nod he could manage, although the effort made him sway on his feet. He felt utterly sick, their stomach refusing to properly settle.

"I suppose it's a good thing we're going to the infirmary already," Snape muttered to himself. "Can you walk, Potter?" he addressed Tom again. Tom bit his lip, uncomfortably aware of the sour taste of sickness in his mouth. His pride wanted him to say yes, but honesty forced out a reluctant no.

Tom expected Snape to perhaps levitate him or even place him on a magical stretcher, as ignominous as it would have been. It was to his eternal shock that the man looked around once and then scooped him up in his arms, settling him firmly against one shoulder and striding toward Hogwarts in the distance.

No one had ever really carried them before. Not like this. Not like that person cared about their well-being, wanted to keep them safe. Oh, Aunt Petunia had carried them a few times when they were younger, but it was only because Harry was learning to walk still, and it had been easier for everyone for her to simply hoist him up and set him down where she pleased. She had more emotion in toting a sack of groceries.

But Snape? While his grip was slightly awkward, probably due to not doing this often, it was secure. It made them feel...safe.

Snape carried them through the wide, ornate double doors and up several flights of stairs, encountering nobody on the way. Tom was grateful. His nerves felt raw from the harrowing Apparition and the unsettling feeling of safety. Meeting someone else would have been too much. He didn't even want to meet the mediwitch who was currently bustling her way toward them, wiping her hands off on a blindingly white towel, but they didn't have a choice in this one, did they? No, they did not.

Snape set them down on a hospital bed while the mediwitch introduced herself and for a moment, Tom wished that they could return to his arms. Then he chided himself for being a silly little boy. That wasn't needed. It wasn't the point. He'd only carried 'Harry' to save time, anyway. Nothing to get too excited about.

Madam Pomfrey waved her wand about them, performing a multitude of diagnostic spells, and as the result of each spell printed itself in mid air around her, her frown grew deeper and deeper. Tom could make heads nor tails of it (he'd never been all that good at Healing), but he could tell the woman was unhappy. With them or their erstwhile guardians, he couldn't quite figure out. Snape was scowling more fiercely than he'd ever seen the man and it was a damn good thing Blue and Raven were comforting Freak over the Apparition incident somewhere deep inside, or they'd be in the jittery throes of another panic attack.

Finally, Madam Pomfrey drew a curtain around the bed where Tom perched, and withdrew with Snape. Tom could hear them conferring in low tones, but couldn't make out any of the words.

You know, it's not nice to talk about someone right in front of them, Jay scowled, his hands clenched. The anger sparking in his eyes worried Tom. Jay tended to act before he thought and the angrier he was, the more likely he was to do something rash.

No, but sometimes it is necessary, Tom calmly interjected, despite the flare of anger licking down his own body. He hated being discussed behind his back. In any situation, never mind their own particularly delicate one. But there was nothing they could do.

That's what you think, Jay smirked and grabbed control of hosting before Tom could so much as blink.

Jay pushed the curtain aside with one hand as he kicked his heels against the bed. Snape turned around and before the lecture could so much as begin, Jay threw a cheeky grin on his face and asked, "So am I that fucked up you can't even talk about it in front of me, or are you just doing that grown-up shit again? Because I gotta tell ya, I don't play well with that."

And Tom sagged against the wall inside in frustrated despair as Madam Pomfrey's eyes grew wide in surprise and Snape looked murderous.

Jay really needed to learn to think before he spoke.

For a moment, Jay thought that despite everything, Snape was going to reach forward and throttle them. His breath caught and he wondered if he'd perhaps gone just a bit too far as he scooted backwards as fast as he could, nearly falling off the opposite edge of the bed. Freak hovered perilously close to the front, his panic tearing up their eyes and making their body tremble.

For once, another adult saved the day.

"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey snapped, her hands planted firmly on her hips, as she glared the taller wizard down. "Would you stop that at once, can't you see you're terrifying the poor child?"

Poor child? I am not a poor child! Jay thought indignantly as he straightened from his instinctively defensive crouch, trying to act like it was a natural movement.

No, but shall we go with it? Since it's saving our arse from your stupidity? Tom inquired acidly, and Jay flushed.

"He may have been more profane than you are accustomed to, but he has a right to know what's going on, and I'm not surprised that Harry doesn't like people muttering behind his back about him. There is no need for you to act like he's committed a heinous crime and there's certainly no need for you to threaten the boy! Particularly after what the medical scans showed, what were you thinking?"

At the end of this rather inspired tirade, Jay was interested and slightly pleased to note that Severus's face had returned to its normal colour and he actually looked a bit cowed under the mediwitch's wrath. That was new. Normally anyone who was invested in yelling at them or even hitting them round a bit was encouraged and shown how to do it better. For someone to defend them was unheard of.

Of course, what happened next was even more unheard of.

"You...are right, Poppy," Severus said as though he had to force every word out. He turned to Jay and actually stooped down a little, trying to stay unthreatening. "Potter-Harry, I am sorry. I should not have reacted the way I did-again! I do not approve of bad language, but Madam Pomfrey is right, I apologise for talking about you for so long behind your back."

Jay's mouth gaped open in shock. For once, he had nothing smart to say. His heels beat an impatient tattoo against the bed rail as the system as a whole tried to comprehend the apology they'd just been given.

It was one thing for Snape to have apologised last night when Freak had a massive panic attack. This time, his anger had been entirely precipitated by Jay's smart mouth, and should have resulted in a quick beating. Freak had been preparing himself for it, Blue had readied herself for it, the whole system had been convinced they were about to be cuffed in the head and perhaps even given a swift pummeling with a belt, like Uncle Vernon was wont to do.

"Thank you," Jay finally managed to squeak out. "Sorry for swearing...sir," he added hastily at Tom's internal glare.

"Now," Madam Pomfrey interjected, plumping herself down into a fairly cozy-looking cushioned chair. "About those diagnostic results..."

Jay squirmed under her intent gaze. Sympathetic though it was, her eyes seemed to burn a hole through him.

"Honestly, Harry, by all rights, you should be dead," she stated bluntly. Inside, Harry paled. They had known it objectively (how could they not, living as they did?) but to hear it so baldly put was unsettling. "The amount of broken bones and bruised internal organs you have received in the past six years is startling and more than a bit worrying. There are several bones, mainly in your right arm and your ankle, that need to be re-broken and set properly. You're also horribly malnourished, and your bones are weak from lack of essential vitamins and minerals, which is what's been contributing to how easily your bones break, I imagine.

"All in all, your scans show a deplorable amount of abuse and neglect, and before you try to come up with some kind of convincing story to deny it, Professor Snape has already told me the events of last night, and how you pleaded not to go back to your guardians. And the fact that they abandoned you in a parking lot. Does that about sum it up?"

Dazed, Jay nodded. This woman was good. Too good, he scowled. He would have had no trouble fooling her on the outside, but then again, regular doctors couldn't wave a stick and find out everything that had ever happened to you!

"Now, you're going to stay here in the Hospital Wing today and tomorrow, so that I can mend those bones and we can start trying to fix your malnutrition. It will be perfectly safe. No one will know that you are here..." she darted a quick, unreadable glance at Snape. "Not even the Headmaster."

"Thank you," Tom smoothly slid out, inclining his head respectfully. She stared at him for a moment, and then nodded once to herself, struggling up from her chair.

"Well then, lie back, go on, go," she said, pushing and prodding until Tom was safely ensconced beneath the crisp white sheets. "Might as well get started now, eh? Now, this will hurt a bit, but it shouldn't hurt for more than a moment, okay? If it does, tell me."

She pointed her wand at their right arm and murmured a few words under her breath. Red light lanced out of it, spiraling tightly around their arm before vanishing with a barely perceptible pop.

Then all was pain.

Poppy Pomfrey had seen a lot of patients. A lot of children. Even many abused children (although none with quite so extensive a list of past traumas as Harry, thank Merlin). But this was the first time she'd ever seen someone react so badly to a bone-mending spell. The child writhed on the bed, mouth locked open in a rictus of pain. For a moment, she froze, unable to comprehend what was going on, until Severus pushed her aside, bending over the boy and muttering something. She couldn't hear it properly, but noticed the child's countenance smooth out, the harsh lines of agony subsiding into a slightly fretful yet calm repose.

"What on earth?" she murmured, half in a daze. She felt Severus's hand on her elbow, guiding her into a chair, and let herself sag into it.

"No idea, honestly," Severus said quite bluntly as he Summoned his own chair. Harry was now sleeping, a soft red glow around his arm the only indication the spell was still working. "You did it properly. There's no reason it should have caused that much pain."

"I feel dreadful," Poppy said, taking in every detail of the boy's face again. What a marvel he was, she thought, faintly awed. How he'd lived through his guardians' abuse, she could scarcely fathom, and yet here he was, defiant back-talk, scruffy hair, and all.

"Don't," Severus's voice gentled as he took one of her hands in his own, warming it. "No one could have known Potter's reaction. You have nothing to blame yourself for."

"Well," Poppy sighed. "I guess now would be a good time to talk about what's going to happen after all this, then, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" Severus sat back, his expression more guarded than Poppy had seen it in a long while.

"You know exactly what I mean," she retorted. "You don't want Albus to know he's here. You're inquiring after his guardians. Taking proper care of him. What's next, Severus? Guardianship? Formal adoption? I have the necessary paperwork somewhere in here..."

"What?" Severus said, blankly. He looked stunned, utterly gobsmacked, and Poppy had to stifle a laugh.

"Well, you are planning on retaining custody of Harry, aren't you?" she asked. Severus just sat there, blinking like an owl. Poppy couldn't help but feel internal amusement. Apparently the Potions Master hadn't thought this through at all, and the natural consequences of taking in the Boy Who Lived.

"I...yes?"

"Is that a question or are you telling me?" Poppy said sternly. "It's a big deal, Severus. Becoming a child's guardian isn't an easy task and if you don't feel up to it, I'd rather you didn't."

Severus nodded and sat there, feeling like he'd just been thwacked in the head with a very large, unwieldy brick. Guardianship? Adoption? Of Harry Potter? James would roll over in his grave. Then again, he couldn't be a worse choice than Harry's present guardians, could he? Albus had never stated who they were, citing safety reasons. Ironic, wasn't it, that the greatest enemy Potter had to fear wasn't the Dark Lord's stray followers but his own caretakers?

Obviously they were grossly unfit, and if he had his way, they'd meet a very unpleasant Cerberus. But could he take care of an eight-year-old boy? He wasn't very...fatherly. Impatient, short-tempered-look at how many times he'd already frightened the child! And yet...

Potter certainly seemed to trust him. Severus hadn't the faintest why. He knew he wasn't a pleasant sort of man. He even looked foreboding. Yet Potter had even let him carry him up to the castle. A gesture he doubted Harry would allow anyone else to make. He hated to admit it, but the brat was growing on him.

"Yes," he finally told Poppy, more firmly, and nodded. "Yes, I want to retain custody of Potter-Harry." After all, if he was going to be the child's guardian, he'd have to call him by his first name sooner or later, now wouldn't he.

"In that case.." Poppy waved her wand in a complex privacy spell, cloaking the two of them from both casual prying eyes and more dedicated interlopers. Severus watched her with interest. He hadn't seen this side of her in quite a while. She always played up the slightly plump, overly cheerful nurse, and he sometimes forgot that she'd been in Slytherin House for a reason.

"You've got to do something about Albus," she stated. "I know there's a reason you don't want him told about Harry being here. He's not going to stand idly by and let you take custody of the Boy Who Lived."

"I know," Severus sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Honestly, I can't put my finger on why. But something's got my back up. The fact that he's told no one at all who Harry's staying with-well, supposed to be staying with. Some of the things he's said over the years. I don't know for sure, but I have suspicions that he knew something was off at Harry's house and never did anything."

Poppy's mouth dropped open.

"Well," she managed. "I can see why you wouldn't want him to know. I'll do my best to keep him hidden while he's here, but you're still going to have to come up with something for guardianship, Severus," she warned as she checked on her patient, smoothing the sweat-slimed hair back from his forehead and monitoring his temperature.

Severus knew. Unfortunately, he hadn't the faintest.

When Harry woke up again, it was evening. He struggled to sit up on his elbows and noticed he appeared to have been moved-instead of being out in the main area of the infirmary, he was off in a secluded corner, surrounded by screens that glowed with an ethereal blue light. His bed sat right by a high, arched window and looking out, he could see the sun setting over the forest.

"Ah, you're awake!" Madam Pomfrey's voice intruded before he could properly appreciate the twilight, and one of the screens shimmered for a moment before the slightly plump mediwitch stepped through. Harry gaped at her in shock. How had she done that? She noticed his awestruck gaze and smiled.

"Magic, Mister Potter," she reminded him gently and waved her wand in another complicated curlicue. "Ah. You're healing nicely," she nodded in satisfaction. "Your arm shouldn't hurt anymore. Correct?" Harry nodded, slightly dazed when he realised that was indeed the truth. He'd been inside when she cast the spell, but the shock of that agony had radiated through the entire system. Now, there was nary a twinge.

"We'll do your ankle tomorrow afternoon, that won't be as complicated," she explained. "Ah! Harry, we won't be using the same spell," she tacked on hastily at his panic-stricken expression. "I'm still not entirely sure what went wrong this morning, but I suspect some type of allergic reaction, almost. It isn't called an allergy when it comes to spells, but some people have bad reactions to particular spells. I don't know why that happened, but rest assured, it is not supposed to hurt that much! We'll try a more old-fashioned spell and take it slower." She smiled reassuringly at Harry, who couldn't help but smile back. He liked this nurse. She was kind to him and didn't look at him like he was something nasty found on the bottom of her shoe, like he was accustomed to by medical professionals. Then again, this medical professional hadn't had her ears pumped full of Aunt Petunia's nasty-voiced poison about what a wretched child he was, and how he always picked fights with Dudley, and she tried her best, she really did, but it wouldn't surprise her to find the boy was slow as well, never doing his chores or his homework, always claiming to have this earache or that sore knee, what was a parent to do?

This nurse knew what the Dursleys had done, and it both delighted and terrified Harry. She believed him (and boy, wasn't that new!), she'd seen what they did, but still...he belonged with them, didn't he? Even if they had abandoned him at a supermarket. Maybe it was just a joke. A stupid prank, that's all, and he'd fallen for it and gone off and left. Of course they must have come back, and he'd not been there. He really was an awful child.

They left for hours, Jay reminded him acidly, but Harry didn't listen, too preoccupied with his own gloomy thoughts as Madam Pomfrey bustled around him, checking his arm carefully by both magical and mundane means.

"Okay, Harry," she finally said, catching his attention and holding up a beaker of what looked like thick sludge. His nose crinkled. "I need you to drink this. I know it looks nasty! But it's a very important nutritional potion, and it's going to help you with your malnutrition. Also-it doesn't taste nearly as badly as it looks." Her wink encouraged him and he slowly took the glass and drained the contents. To his surprise, it tasted like hot peppermint with a hint of citrus.

"It's made to taste as nice as possible because of what it is," she explained to him. "Children-and adults, for that matter!-have a hard time with nutritional potions if they taste bad. Well, with all potions, really, but unfortunately, most can't be made to taste better. This one can."

Harry smiled hesitantly at her, and handed the empty beaker back. His hand shook for a moment and he regarded it with distaste, hating to show even the tiniest bit of weakness to anyone, even a nurse.

"I'll bring you dinner in a few minutes," she continued, seemingly ignoring the tremor in his hand. "Professor Snape will be by after that to speak with you, and I'll also bring you a few things to keep yourself amused. Don't worry, Harry. Things will be all right." She ruffled his hair, an action that left him blinking in shock, and left, melting through the same hospital screen like some sort of apparition. Only that hadn't been a ghost!

Well, I suppose things are looking up now, Tom commented dryly. Granted-we're still going to have to tell Snape who our guardians are.

Shit. Harry had forgotten all about that!

It was a slightly wary and hesitant Potions Professor who made his way up to the Hospital Wing that evening. He'd spent most of his day dodging Dumbledore and researching guardianships. It seemed like a relatively simple process, particularly in a case where the previous guardians had been abusive or neglectful. With Poppy's testimony and Harry's new medical charts, proving that was a shoo-in. The only potential fly in the ointment was, as always, Albus.

Severus liked to think that his employer would never toss a child to the proverbial wolves, but the man had proven himself, time and time again, to have his head in the calculating clouds of 'the greater good.' If he deemed it for the greater good that the Boy Who Lived grow up beaten down and defeated by his guardians, Albus wouldn't even blink. It's necessary, dear boy, he would twinkle at Severus behind his half-moon spectacles and pop a lemon drop in his mouth, and as far as he was concerned, that would be the end of it. The man carried a terrifying amount of clout within the Ministry and even the Wizengamot. If he was firmly opposed to Harry being taken away from his prior guardians (and given to a former Death Eater, no less), the process would complicate itself more than the most tangled ball of yarn.

He couldn't let Harry go back there. The child had been terrified, cowering away from him at the thought of returning, to the point he'd snapped his ankle like a winter twig and not even noticed, so great was his panic. The amount of ill treatment the boy had gone through was nothing short of appalling. If Dumbledore wasn't careful, his hidden saviour would be dead within a few years.

Granted, Severus had no idea if Harry would even want him as guardian. The boy had taken to him, true, but who's to say it wasn't simply an after-effect of trauma? The simple fact that Severus had been the one whose doorstep he'd fetched up on-literally? The thought made him feel a bit sick, but he had to face the fact that perhaps Potter wouldn't even want to go near him, particularly after his explosive outburst of temper...again.

The sad thing was, Severus was more than used to abused children. Slytherin House was chock full of them. He'd spent more than one night staying up to soothe a child's nightmare that was more flashback than dream, of discreetly sending a first year here and a fourth year there to the Hospital Wing to repair the damages the summer had wrought. He'd dealt with countless tantrums, weeping fits, and more bursts of explosive rage than he could count. The gamut of reactions that traumatised children possessed was large, and yet he was familiar with all of it.

So why he'd reacted like an angry bear at Harry mouthing off, he hadn't a clue. He'd moved past the boy's parentage, hadn't he? Harry was nothing like his father. Sure, he had a tendency to back-talk and more than a small streak of defiance, but he was an eight-year-old. What did Severus expect? Perhaps he simply wasn't used to dealing with children as young as Harry. He was awkward around the first years, and they were eleven. How could he deal with an eight-year-old boy who belonged in primary, not Hogwarts?

His steps slowed as he approached the warded corner where Madam Pomfrey had deposited Harry. Not even Dumbledore could access it, only the people keyed into it could, and at the moment, said people were Poppy and himself.

He may not know how to deal with Harry, but he was going to have to find out. For the boy's sake, if no one else's. Steeling himself, he took a deep breath and entered Harry's erstwhile room. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation, but for Harry, he would manage it.

Tom looked up with watchful eyes as Severus Snape melted through the softly-glowing hospital screen. The man looked more ill at ease than he'd ever seen him, and a prickle of wariness ran down Tom's spine.

"Hello, Harry," Snape mustered a smile and summoned a chair to sit down on. He looked tired, and almost old. "Madam Pomfrey tells me that you're healing well."

Tom nodded once, not speaking. What did the man want? To talk more of their guardians? He'd been the one pushed out to deal with that, as the most logical choice. Freak wouldn't even be able to think of them without panicking and shoving himself in a corner. Jay would bluster and rage and call them all fuckheads. Tom at least could stay relatively calm when speaking of the Dursleys.

But if it were solely about their guardians, would Snape look so uncomfortable? Perhaps he was going to return them to the Dursleys after all. Tom didn't think Pomfrey would accept that decision, but then, she wasn't here right now, was she. Only he was. And while his previous actions appeared at least slightly trustworthy, they knew better than most how appearances could be deceiving.

"I know this is a difficult conversation," Snape finally began, leaning forward a bit. "But I'm afraid that it must be discussed. Madam Pomfrey and I need to know the identity and location of your guardians."

"Why?" Tom asked. Snape blinked, looking surprised at the question. Freak constantly mumbled in their head, rocking back and forth and gasping in panic-stricken sobs about going back, having to go back.

"So that charges can be brought, and you can have a new guardian, of course," Snape replied, as if it were the simplest answer in the world. Tom blinked at him, their head going utterly silent for a moment.

"A new guardian?" Tom inquired, his voice tentative despite his best efforts for it not to be. Damn it! He was not a child! Well, he was, technically, but not in maturity.

"Yes," Snape's mouth quirked upward at one corner. "In fact, Harry, I was actually hoping you might consider me for your guardian."

And for what seemed like the millionth time in the past two days, Harry's world rocked on its foundations.

Before Tom even realised what he was doing, his mouth had opened and carefully spit out the required information: "Vernon and Petunia Dursley, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey."

What are you doing, we'll be sent back, they'll get us, they'll catch us, they'll hurt us! Freak wailed in the silence of their head. It was only through sheer force of will that Tom maintained fronting, and even he resorted to rocking back and forth in the bed, although he studiously kept his thumb from slipping in his mouth. That was an indignity that, while cheerfully allowed to Freak, he refused to even consider for himself.

"Thank you, Harry," Snape said, calm, the light in his eyes oddly reassuring. "Thank you. I know that was very difficult for you, and I am very happy that you could tell me that. May I call in Madam Pomfrey?"

Tom gave a short nod, his body trembling all over. There was a brief, murmured conversation through the screens, and in moments, the mediwitch stepped through, her wand up and immediately sending a reassuring burst of blue light to settle over Tom. He instantly calmed, and even felt Freak retreat a bit, thumb corked in his mouth. Good to know that you're a decent nurse, Jay said, without his customary bite. Despite the calming spell, their body still felt quite weak and shivery, and Tom was glad he was propped up in bed.

"Thank you for telling Professor Snape, Harry," Pomfrey said gently. "It is greatly appreciated and will help enormously in getting you away from those...those people," she spat out the word like an epithet.

"Yes, I was hoping to talk about that more with you here, Poppy," Snape interjected, looking discomfited. "Once you are removed from the care of the Dursleys, you will be in need of new guardianship. I hoped," and here he cleared his throat, "you might consider me for your choice of guardian."

Tom settled back in the bed a little, thinking about it. Snape? As a guardian? He'd certainly be better than the Dursleys. He might have been a Death Eater, but if he was going to hurt Harry, he would have done so already, even by Tom's way of thinking. No one had known that Snape had Harry yesterday. No one. He could have tortured him, murdered him, sold him to other Voldy supporters or...worse. And yet he hadn't. He'd comforted him after his panic attack, treated his ankle, fed him properly, brought him here to be treated even better! He had a bit of a temper, but then again, so did they. And he hadn't hit them, had he. Not even when again, he was alone and no one would have known.

Besides, who else would take him in? A sullen, defiant boy with far too many people crowded in his head and a lifetime of prior abuse? People didn't want to deal with abused children. With the effects of trauma. "Not in my backyard" as the truism went. Snape was at least willing to try.

"All right," Tom finally spoke up, his voice raspy.

"What do you mean?" Snape looked confused, a bit of distrust creeping into his expression.

"All right," Tom repeated. "You as my guardian. Yes. I want you to take over guardianship."

And for a moment, he wondered if the man would faint, he paled so quickly.

"Severus!" Madam Pomfrey shook his shoulder hard. "For goodness sake," she clicked her tongue. "It can't be that unexpected."

Apparently it is, Jay smirked inside. Greasy-haired bat.

Greasy-haired bat who's willing to take us in and keep us away from the Dursleys, Tom retorted, with as much patience as he could muster. Ergo, worth it.

"Well, then, it's settled," Madam Pomfrey finally said, when it looked like Snape would be incapable of responding for a few minutes yet. "Professor Snape will apply to be your official guardian on the basis that your previous guardians were abusive and neglectful, endangering a child."

"Yes," Snape finally spoke up, his voice sounding slightly rusty, and looking as though he'd taken a baseball between the eyes. It made Blue giggle inside. "I shall warn you now, Harry. I can be a very unpleasant man. You already know I have a temper. But I swear to you, I will never starve you or hit you or abandon you or abuse you in any way. I shall never deny you proper medical care or schooling. I will do the best that I can to be a proper guardian and in time, perhaps even officially adopt you-if you'd like me to," he added hastily. "You will never have to return to the Dursleys again."

Despite himself, Tom felt his jaw creak open in shock. It was laid out so matter-of-factly. And Pomfrey was nodding along with the man, looking quite satisfied with herself.

"All right," was all he could think to say. After all, what else could he? Their world had just turned neatly on its head. He could only hope it would be a change for the best.

One hurdle down, a million to go, Severus thought wryly as he climbed the steps to the Headmaster's office, the guardianship papers clutched tightly in one hand. He'd taken the precaution of already filling them out, enlisting Poppy's help for the evidence of child abuse and neglect. The file was packed full of medical results, and one Harry James Potter's sprawling, childish signature. Poppy held a copy of all of these in her office, under magical lock and key. No one but her could access them, just in case.

But he's Dumbledore! one corner of his mind wailed. He firmly ignored it. Everyone had a dark side, a skeleton in the closet. Dumbledore would have to prove himself. Again.

Severus knocked on the door and heard a cheery "come in!" Stepping through, he was confronted by the sight of Dumbledore seated behind his overly large, cluttered desk, beaming at him around yet another lemon sherbert.

"Want one?" Albus asked a bit stickily, proffering the tin. Sneering, Severus shook his head. Damned things. Would the Headmaster ever lose his sweet tooth? Not likely.

Realising he was putting off the inevitable, Severus strode briskly to the visitor's chair and sat in it, his posture rigid.

"What brings you here tonight, Severus?" Albus asked, his eyes twinkling with curiousity as he leaned back a bit in his chair, folding his arms over his stomach.

"I am here to inform you of my desire to officially apply for the guardianship of Harry James Potter," Severus said in clipped, formal tones, and had the sneaking satisfaction of watching Albus's mouth drop open like he'd just been bludgeoned with a steam-roller.

"What?" Albus gasped, his lemon drop nearly falling into the messy beard that covered half his chest. "You-what?" Severus's smirk increased.

"On the basis of his previous guardians being unfit for taking care of a gnat, never mind a child," he clarified. "Extreme neglect and abuse, all documented by Poppy's scans," he waved the hand that held the guardianship papers elegantly.

"Let me see those!" Albus snatched the folder out of his hands and skimmed through it as fast as he could, reading the pertinent bits of info over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "Oh my," he whispered, seeming to age twenty years before Snape's surprised eyes. "I have made a horrible mistake." He looked up and Snape noticed that his eyes, notably absent of their twinkle, were brimming over with tears.

"What do you mean?" Severus snapped, acutely aware of his wand pressing against his arm. If he had to go for it...

"Placing Harry with the Dursleys, of course, what did you think I meant?" Albus snapped back. "I knew that it would not be the most...caring of environments for him. Petunia can be quite...well, you know," he sighed. "But the blood wards were more important. He could be safe from Voldemort there. And if he was not as loved and spoilt as perhaps he should have been, well, trade-offs must be made. The good of all must be considered. But this?" Albus sadly shook his head. "I should have paid more attention to the boy and his upbringing. I gave them money for his upkeep every month, you know. Obviously, that will be ceased immediately. But..." Albus leaned forward, his eyes curiously penetrating, bringing Severus's Occlumency shields up to full strength.

"Yes?" Severus said stiffly.

"I am curious as to how you come to be the one applying for guardianship," Albus responded, allowing his bafflement to show. "Severus, you are a great man, with many strengths, but I know well your failings regarding children. Can you take care of this one? Particularly when he has been so badly damaged?"

"Of course I can!" Severus hissed, stung at his mentor's lack of trust in him. "He came to my doorstep, may I remind you. He chose me as guardian. I shall not argue with his choice."

"Nor was I, dear boy," Albus blinked. "I'm merely surprised, as you've never shown a liking for child-rearing before. Be that as it may..." He handed the guardianship papers back to Severus. "I shall support you in this against the Ministry. I'm sure some petty bureaucrat will assume you can't possibly be a fit guardian, with your past. I can smooth the way there. But the rest of it, Severus, well. The rest of it shall fall to you."

"Understood," Severus said shortly, standing up and taking the file with him. "I shall not fail you. Or the boy," he clarified, his tone turning steely.

"Thank you," Dumbledore whispered, looking again far too old. "Perhaps you can make up for my mistakes," he murmured, mostly to himself, but Severus's sharp ears managed to pick up the wistful tones.

"Good night, Headmaster," Severus said when it looked like Albus was lost again in his own memories. Albus nodded, giving a distracted wave, and Severus left, nearly running in his haste to get back to the Hospital Wing. That had gone much better than he expected. In a way, he was relieved.

...In another, he was more suspicious than ever.

In the tower guarded by a set of gargoyles, amidst more whirling gadgets and trinkets than one could count, the Headmaster of Hogwarts laid his head down on his desk and cried.

The next morning dawned pleasant, though a bit blustery, on 4 Privet Drive. Petunia Dursley saw her husband off early that morning, kissing his overly-whiskered cheek. Dudders was packed off to a friend's house for the day, an expedition he'd been looking forward to for weeks. By eleven o'clock, Petunia was resting on the sofa with her feet up, sipping a cup of tea and relishing the quiet.

At first, she'd felt guilty about leaving the freak in a parking lot. She'd actually gone back the next morning, stealthily, when Vernon had already left. But the boy was gone, and she convinced herself it was for the best. Sure, she had to do her own cleaning and cooking again, but it was worth the peace of mind with that brat gone. Wretched child. She'd never understood why those freaks had left her sister's brat on her doorstep. Whining at her, those overly large green eyes scrunched up, waving his chubby fists. For just a moment, she'd felt her heart soften at the realisation that this little child was an orphan now, who must be lonely for his mum and dad.

And then her eyes had wandered to the livid lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead and before she knew it, her lip had curled and she'd slapped the baby across the face, yelling at him to stop that stupid bawling this instant, or she'd give him something to cry about. Everyone knew that freaks were different than regular children, anyway. He needed a stern hand. Vernon provided most of the discipline, she supplied the rest. And she made good and certain that Dudders knew that 'Harry Potter' was below him in every way. Just a freak, that's all, not like normal people, not like decent people.

Sometimes she felt guilty, remembering her dead sister, thinking of how Lily would react to her now. What would have happened if Lily had gained custody of Dudley? Would she have treated the boy like she treated Lily's son? But then the boy would muck up again, and those thoughts would be pushed firmly to the back of her mind. They didn't matter, that was all.

Vernon had been the one to come up with the abandonment plan. Tired of dealing with the brat, he had put forth the idea of simply...leaving him somewhere. They'd instilled him with a deep mistrust of strangers and authority figures in particular. It's not like the boy would go to the police. Perhaps he could just vanish, and then they would be rid of the freaky boy with the freaky scar and freaky powers that plagued their every moment. If they were lucky, those wretched other freaks wouldn't even notice the brat had gone, and they could continue to receive payments for his upkeep. Petunia smiled and took another sip of tea. That would be lovely.

It wasn't until a loud, insistent knock sounded on the door and Petunia found her house filled with wizards and child protection services that she realised the freak could have found someone worse.

He could have found his own kind.

At the sight of Petunia's bewildered, horsey face, Severus Snape found himself hard pressed not to deck the woman. She professed confused innocence at why they were there at all and had the gall to claim that Harry was merely off at a friend's house for the week.

"It's hard being away from him," Petunia claimed, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. "But we'll manage."

"Really?" Severus sneered, his dislike of her growing exponentially. He'd never liked her when they were children, but he'd never realised the depths of cruelty she could sink to, either. "That's why he's at my house? Funny, I hadn't met him before the other night."

"You!" Petunia gasped, only now properly seeing him. Her chin firmed and she looked at him with the most open hatred he'd ever seen on a person's face. She could rival the Dark Lord. "I should have known," she spit. "Slimy Severus, back again for another gloat. Maybe you took him."

"Spare me the histrionics, Petunia, you and I both know you've always failed as an actress," Severus said dryly, still resisting the urge to curse her into next month. "This nice woman has something to say to you," he smirked as he stepped back and allowed Amelia Bones to approach. They'd already been all over the house and discovered there were no pictures of Harry anywhere, no mention at all that he even lived in the house, save the cupboard beneath the stairs. The smell of blood and sickness was so strong, Amelia had nearly retched when the door was pried open.

Most damning of all was the crayoned inscription on the back of the door. "Harrys Room."

"You're under arrest for the endangerment, neglect, and abuse of Harry James Potter," Amelia said, fastening magical handcuffs around the woman's wrists. Petunia stood there, dazed-looking, until finally, she erupted in surprising fury, trying her damnedest to strike at Severus. Her foot grazed him before Shacklebolt tackled her, rapping her head against the coffee table and knocking her into unconsciousness.

"Really, was that necessary, Kingsley?" Amelia reproved. A slightly shamed grin appeared on the man's face.

"Yes," he said, and Amelia couldn't help but grin back. One of the worst cases of child abuse she'd seen in years, anything to crack a smile.

"Thank you, Severus," Amelia finally said, turning to him. "We'll wait here until Dudley comes home, and then the muggles can take care of him. When Dursley gets home, he'll also be charged."

Severus nodded, sparing a final disdainful glance for the unconscious, trussed-up woman on the floor. Her cup of tea lay on the table, and he hoped she never got to finish it.

"I'll be off then," he said. "I've got a child to attend to." He turned on his heel and was gone.

At the moment Severus was having a well-deserved gloat over the success of the Dursleys' arrest, Harry was hobbling pell-mell down the halls of Hogwarts, breath sobbing in and out of his lungs as images cascaded through his mind in horrifying snapshots. It was a miracle that he had retained front. As it was, they kept switching for a few moments at a time, and he couldn't control it anymore than he could stop a rollercoaster.

It had been Madam Pomfrey who had set it off, entirely unwittingly, of course. She'd been ready to fix their ankle that morning and had made a chance comment about 'being a good boy' and before anyone knew it, Freak was out, off the bed, and halfway down the corridor. Harry had tried to regain control and well...

He had no idea where they were. Somewhere in the dungeons was his best guess, but honestly, it wouldn't have surprised him to look out a window and discover they were floors above the ground. They had lost Madam Pomfrey ages ago, but couldn't stop running. Well-doing their best attempt at a run, which was a sad cross between a limp and a fast walk. Their ankle sent out random bursts of pain, throbbing up through their whole leg, but they ignored it. It didn't matter right now. Nothing mattered but safety and safe, but there was nowhere safe. That was the problem.

Snape? Was Snape safe? But he wasn't here, he'd told them he had business at the Ministry and left them right before Madam Pomfrey had decided it was time to fix their ankle. They were alone, Harry was alone, and the panic kept rising up and up, threatening to overwhelm him completely.

He finally stopped, sobbing and wedging himself into a corner behind a slightly rusted suit of armour. Aside from the ragged sounds of his hysteria, the corridor was utterly silent, and its almost tranquil calm seeped into the system until finally, Harry uncurled slightly and let Blue come out.

For a moment, she expected Uncle Vernon to charge around the nearest corner, bellowing for his "boy!" and swinging the leather belt with the blood-stained buckle. She squashed herself more deeply into the rough stone corner, feeling it scrape her back through the thin hospital gown and not caring one whit. They were still barefoot as well, and her feet were freezing, her ankle a dusky purplish shade that told her that it was still injured.

The torches flared brightly, but Blue almost wished that it was pitch black down here. She had no idea what time it was, or how long they'd been fleeing Madam Pomfrey. She must be so mad. A whimper choked in Blue's throat, and she tucked her feet up under her, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. She didn't think Madam Pomfrey would hit them like Uncle Vernon did. Or use a belt. Or kick them. But then again, they'd run away from her. She was only trying to help and they'd just rejected that help. Professor Snape would probably be mad at them, too. She began to shiver as she imagined his fury. If he got angry at her twin Jay simply mouthing off like he always did, what would he do to her?

"I don't know where he is, Severus!" Poppy exclaimed for the nth time. Severus paced the length of the Hospital Wing, his face so forbidding-looking that if Blue had seen it in that instant, she would have burst into terrified tears.

"How could you lose him?" he demanded, knowing his anger at her was irrational and embracing it anyway. No matter how satisfying it had been to put Petunia in her place, seeing Harry's cupboard had left him badly shaken, out of sorts, and furious at the type of people who could do that to any child, never mind their orphaned nephew. Clearly, the 'freakiness' drove any sort of family charity out of Petunia's head.

"I don't know!" Poppy shouted back. She looked near tears and utterly frazzled, and Severus felt a moment's sting of shame. "I was fixing his ankle and before I knew it, he'd panicked and run out. I tried to follow, but I lost him. None of the other staff who are still here, or the ghosts, have seen the boy." She sighed and sat down on the edge of a slightly rumpled bed, dragging her hands through her hair.

"You don't think he's run out of the castle, do you?" Severus voiced the worry that had been plaguing him. Concern sharp in her face, Poppy thought, then slowly shook her head.

"No, an alarm would have sounded if he'd made it to the doors," she stated. "I cast those as soon as I lost sight of him. He's in the castle, it's just where."

Severus sighed glumly. Great. Hogwarts was huge and full of hiding places for a scared and lost eight-year-old boy.

"Has anyone searched the dungeons?" he asked, struck by a sudden thought. Poppy shook her head.

"You don't think he's really down there, do you, Severus?" Poppy asked, doubtful. "It's a scary place to be when you're eight. Particularly when you're already scared."

"It's worth a shot," Severus said. With a swirl of his robes, he was gone.

At first he thought Poppy had been right, that there was no way Harry would have come down here, in a blind panic or not. Then his well-trained eyes noticed traces of disarray, and the torn-off corner of a blue-patterned hospital gown.

"Harry?" he called softly down each flickering corridor, trying to seem as unthreatening as possible. "Are you here? It's all right. No one's angry with you. You can come out."

A stifled whimper echoed from a corner, and Severus's ears perked, leading him to...a suit of armour? His brow crinkled in confusion. Then he noticed the bare feet slightly peeking out, white with cold.

Moving the suit of armour aside with a slight wave of his wand, Severus beheld Harry Potter, wet-eyed and scrunched into a corner, looking more terrified than when he'd had his panic attack at Spinner's End. His ankle looked swollen again, and the child was shivering like mad. Severus crouched down to the boy's level, careful to stay back far enough that the child didn't feel cornered or trapped.

"Harry?" he asked carefully. "What's wrong?"

Sniffling, the boy shook his head.

"Please tell me?" he tried again, unsure of what to do. He couldn't leave, Potter might take off again. He wasn't well suited to giving comfort, though.

"Got scared," finally came the halting, hesitant reply. The boy looked up at him with shimmering emerald eyes, so much like his mother's it was painful.

"Why did you get scared?" Severus asked, only to receive the shock of his life when Harry Potter launched himself out of the corner, hurtling toward him and wrapping his arms around Severus's middle, tears soaking his robes.

"You weren't there," came the sniffled admission, and Severus's mouth dropped open in shock.

Apparently, Potter more than meant it when he said he wanted Severus to be his guardian.

Anything beyond the most basic of comforts would have to wait, Severus decided as he carefully clambered to his feet, lifting the boy with him. The child was freezing, and his ankle looked alarmingly swollen. So much so, in fact, that for the moment, Severus decided to forego the Hospital Wing and instead took Harry to his own chambers in the dungeons, only a few corridors away.

Harry said nothing during the short trip, simply clinging to Severus's robes and sniffling every once in a while. Chancing a glance or two downward, he could tell the boy was still crying. The spreading dampness on his robes, for one, was a dead giveaway. He said nothing, however, letting his new ward compose himself as best as he could.

Finally, he reached his chambers, where unfortunately, arrangements had not yet been made for Harry. Still, the sofa was free, and he set the child down, gently prying him off his chest and wrapping him in the thickest blanket he owned. He did nothing for the ankle, knowing that he couldn't really heal it, and knowing that Poppy would be more than willing to come down to the dungeons and do it for him. In fact...Severus mused and then Floo-called the Hospital Wing.

"Poppy?" he called softly. She was there at once, kneeling and peering into the fireplace.

"Did you find him?" she asked, her eyes red-rimmed and her voice suspiciously raw.

"I did," he said, moving slightly to one side so she could see the huddled shape on the couch. "But his ankle still needs tending-even more so now. Could you?"

"Of course," she nodded. "Give me a few moments to gather my things." With that, the Floo call terminated and Severus moved to sit beside Harry, careful not to jar the bruised and painful-looking ankle. Harry latched back onto him with startling strength, fingers digging into his ribs.

"Harry, it's all right now," he said, as gently as he could. "I'm here, okay? It's all right."

The child looked up at him with startlingly green eyes, swimming in tears, and nodded, but didn't relinquish his grip. Not even when Poppy came through and tended properly to the much abused ankle, did Harry let go.

Severus didn't know what to think.

Blue felt like the biggest baby in the world (mixed with an enormous dose of awkwardness at being thought a boy), but she had to admit, she'd never felt safer, tucked against the Potions Master like this. Madam Pomfrey had come in and fixed her ankle, leaving it slightly sore but much more manageable, bandaging it up with a swift, sure hand, and tucking the blanket even more securely around her. No one had said a word to her about their panicked flight earlier, and she'd begun to believe that perhaps it wouldn't be brought up at all.

Of course, such dreams were meant to be broken.

"Harry?" Madam Pomfrey asked, conjuring a chair and sitting in front of her. She looked concerned, but determined. "I'd like you to tell me why you ran earlier. If you can," she amended with a glance at Professor Snape that Blue couldn't quite understand.

"I don't know," she whispered, staring down at her hands, hidden beneath the thick wool. The blanket was a muted green colour she found quite pretty. "Something you said."

"I'm very sorry that I scared you like that, Harry," the mediwitch said. Blue regarded her with wide, disbelieving eyes. "I didn't mean to. Can you try, next time, to tell me that something's wrong instead of running off? We were all very worried about you, and it must have been very scary for you, getting lost on top of everything else."

"I'll try, ma'am," Blue whispered. Her breath hitched in her lungs, a sure sign the panic was beginning to return, fluttering around the edges of her mind like the delicate brush of butterfly wings.

"Thank you, Harry," Madam Pomfrey said, patting Blue's shoulder briskly and ignoring the automatic cringe. "Well, Severus, I need to return to the Hospital Wing if there's nothing else."

"Yes, it's fine," Snape nodded. Despite her earlier clinginess, Blue felt a momentary stab of terror. Being left with Snape? Alone?

If he acts like an arse, I'll deck him, her twin reassured her, and she had to stifle an attack of the giggles, lest Snape think she'd gone round the bend. As it was, a muffled snort escaped and she could feel his eyes on her.

"Well, Harry," Severus said when the silence had gone on just that much too long. "I thought you'd like to know that I spoke with the Dursleys today."

Sheer terror flooded her senses. Blue stared up at him dumbly, trying to break the fear-borne paralysis, and having not the slightest bit of luck.

"They signed over your guardianship to me, and Vernon and Petunia were arrested," he continued. Her jaw dropped open and she felt so dizzy, she had to lean back against the comfortingly plush corner of the sofa.

"What?" she managed to say, her voice so weak, it was amazing that he even heard it.

"The Dursleys are now in Ministry custody," he confirmed. "They'll never be able to hurt you again."

In retrospect, he should have expected the tears that followed.

Dudley Dursley had never had such a rotten day in his life. Rotten week, his mind amended. His mum and dad had been taken away, locked up because of the freak, and the bloody child protection services had had the nerve to suggest they were abusive to him! As if, he snorted. But until Aunt Marge could straighten that mess out, he was stuck in the care of some family out in the middle of London. Both parents were dentists and had already made rather rude comments about the state of his teeth.

"Too many sweets," the woman had said with a decided nod of her head, and Dudley had longed to smack her. But he'd tried doing that to their daughter, a swot with very unruly brown hair, and had been sat down in a corner with a blistering lecture and a warning that he was lucky he hadn't gotten a smacking, too.

All in all, Dudley was very displeased with his rapid-fire placement with the Grangers.

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, was thrilled. An only child, the eight-year-old girl had never had someone so ready-made to be a playmate before. Granted, he had tried to hit her, and he kept calling her unflattering nicknames under his breath, but she was used to that. Her parents had explained that Dudley would be staying with them for a while, until the snafu with his own parents had been sorted. It might even, her father had said, looking serious, be a permanent stay. Was she okay with that?

Of course, she'd piped up, and grinned at him. Dudley had a funny name, but Hermione wouldn't dream of telling him that. She'd been teased enough about her own name, which sounded prim and old-fashioned. Not to mention no one could properly pronounce it. At least Dudley's was easy to pronounce.

Under the watchful eye of her parents, Hermione curled up on the window seat with a new book, The Secret Garden, as she stealthily watched Dudley across the room. The police had brought his own toys, a whole big boxful, but all he was doing was running a very shiny fire truck across the floor in a desultory sort of fashion and humming under his breath. He looked sad, and Hermione wondered with a pang what it must be like to be dumped in a new family, away from your parents.

"Want to play anything?" she called nervously across the expanse of the living room. Her mum nodded in approval at her, turning back to her newspaper.

"Like what?" Dudley looked up, face sullen.

"I don't know," Hermione shrugged. "Anything. What do you like to play?"

"Harry Hunting," Dudley's smile was unpleasant. "But I can't play that no more. The freak ran away."

"Ran away? What do you mean?" Hermione's mouth gaped open as her mind skimmed over the epithet. "Is he okay?"

"Who cares?" Dudley shrugged. "He was just a freak. My cousin," he elaborated. "That's why I'm here in the first bloody place."

"Language, Dudley," Hermione's mum reproved gently. His face turned bright red and he darted a look of almost fear at Mrs. Granger.

"Why would he run away?" Hermione returned to the conversation, book forgotten beside her.

"I dunno," Dudley mumbled. "Dad never said why. Just said the freak ran off. He was supposed to get in the car with us but he didn't."

"That's awful," Hermione gasped, brown eyes filling with ready tears.

"Nah, I got the back seat to myself that time," Dudley nodded with infuriating indifference.

"Don't matter though," he added, setting the truck aside with a noisy clang. "Aunt Marge won't let me stay here, wait and see. I bet she can get me outta here and get Mum and Dad free too. They didn't do nothing. The freak deserved it anyway."

Before Hermione or her mother could say anything, the phone rang in the front hallway. Mr. Granger sighed and stood from his desk, retrieving it and retreating where the others could hear nothing but a few murmured words. When the man returned, his eyes shone with such sympathy, Hermione's lip wobbled and new tears spilled down her face.

"I'm sorry, Dudley," Hermione's dad said, crossing the room and squatting down beside the overly large boy. "That was Marge Dursley's solicitor. I'm afraid that she's...well. I don't say this to be cruel, but I can't abide lying to children. Ask Hermione later, if you wish. Marge Dursley isn't going to attempt to gain custody of you. I'm afraid that for the time being, until after your parents' trial, you're stuck here with us."

Though he would deny it fiercely later, and even pinched her arm when she dared bring it up, Hermione saw fat tears glisten in the Dursley boy's eyes.

The next few weeks passed slowly for Harry and his system. Giving him time to adjust, he supposed. Madam Pomfrey brought up the subject of their prior abuse once or twice, but Tom always politely, though firmly, told her that they weren't ready yet, and the mediwitch would nod and let them be, a welcome relief.

She did tell them that their cousin, Dudley, had been placed in protective care. Why this was supposed to be good news, Jay didn't know, considering the boy had been a bullying bastard, but he smiled and nodded in the right places and fervently hoped "Duddykins" would fall off the face of the earth. Preferably into a black hole full of very sharp-toothed monsters. With poison. The smile that crossed his face when he thought of that was positively beatific, and Madam Pomfrey thought to herself what a well-mannered little boy Harry was, and so brave in the face of all his troubles.

But if Madam Pomfrey was willing to let them simply sit there and brood (or colour, she had a great many colouring pages stacked in her desk, and loads of crayons), Professor Snape was the opposite. He wanted them to talk, and to talk at great length about the subjects most disturbing to them. About the Dursleys. About their brief stint on the streets, abandoned in a parking lot. About what Uncle Vernon would do and what Aunt Petunia would say, and on and on until Blue would cry inside and Jay was ready to shove the man into the next century with frustration.

"Lay off," he'd snapped, more than once, and each time, the damnable man would nod and agree "for the moment," and later, he would be at it again, with his prying questions and the peculiar glint in his eyes like obsidian. Tom said the man was trying to read their mind, but that was impossible, wasn't it?

Either way, it made them feel quite prickly and defensive, and they'd end up either retreating to their room with the door closed (and actually hiding either underneath the bed or in the closet), or ever so casually wandering back up to the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey never questioned why they were there, but that acceptance made it all the easier to return.

Still. His prying might have made life intolerable at times, but it was loads better than at the Dursleys'. Their rules ranged from "don't breathe too loudly" to "you better have this entire house scrubbed top to bottom by the time your uncle comes home or so help you..." Snape's rules were more like "be in bed by ten o'clock," "drink all your nutritive potions," and "if you have a problem, come to me." It was baffling.

It wasn't until three weeks in, however, that they met one of the...nastier inhabitants of the castle. Argus Filch. The man hated children and seemed to have a particular loathing for Harry. Harry had been crossing the Entrance Hall, ready to find Snape's dungeon rooms once more after a surprisingly hearty romp outside (with a very bearded giant-like man named Rubeus Hagrid), when the man had appeared from nowhere, deep scowl twisting his face.

"You!" the man barked. Harry jumped, fear sliming his throat.

"Yes, sir?" he stammered out.

"Follow me," Filch demanded, his scowl turning even nastier, if that were possible. Harry hurried after him, feeling more and more frightened. Had Professor Snape grown tired of him? Was he to become the ward of this man instead? What was going on?

After a succession of twisting stairs and corridors (making Harry thoroughly lost), Filch stopped before a narrow broom cupboard. The sight of the cupboard brought Freak perilously close to the surface, and Harry found himself trembling, on the verge of a complete breakdown.

"In, boy," Filch said, with a nasty grin. "Clean that cupboard top to bottom."

A more confident boy would have told him to sod off. A more confident boy wouldn't have gone with the man in the first place, not trusting his intentions from his greasy hair down to his yellowed toenails.

But Harry wasn't a more confident boy, Harry was a deeply traumatised boy, and so with a gulp and a shaky nod of his head, Harry found himself locked into a very dim broom cupboard with only a bare lightbulb above his head, a dusty mop, and a bucket half-full of slightly rancid water.

Filch had intended to only lock the boy in for five minutes at most, to give him a scare, and to give himself a good laugh at the brat's expense. But the Headmaster called him away to deal with a twisty problem on the seventh floor and it wasn't until two hours later that the caretaker remembered he'd locked the brat in.

No matter, he thought to himself, sneering as he riffled through his key ring for the right key. Doubt he's done anything but mope and have a fit in there. Maybe wet himself? A particularly evil glint came to his eyes then. Oh, how he liked to make the first years that petrified...

Not even he was expecting the results when he finally swung open the creaky wooden door. The cupboard was sparkling clean, down to the floorboards, but the boy himself was nowhere to be found. Only when he fully stepped inside, peering around, did he spy him, crammed into the farthest corner, in the smallest ball he could make himself, staring into space.

Filch nervously cleared his throat to gain the brat's attention.

"Boy?" he asked. The child's head snapped up, brilliant green eyes catching his.

"Uncle?" the boy said, and Filch was stumped for words.

Severus was in his office, contently marking down lesson plans for the fifth-year Slytherins when he heard Argus nearly sprint inside, his elbow slamming against the door with a loud cracking noise that made even the Potions Master wince.

"Argus? What is it?" he asked, rising in concern, but Filch was already wheezing out the required information.

"Potter-broom closet-thought it'd be funny-called for his uncle..."

Severus was halfway down the hallway before Argus even finished speaking.

He was also very, very angry, but had to remind himself to not let the slightest bit of it show. He wasn't angry at the boy, he was angry at Filch, but if Harry was as badly off as the caretaker had insinuated he was, he would take the slightest bit of aggression as firmly directed at him.

Sure enough, when he found the correct broom cupboard (after making an arse of himself and searching four others), he saw the eight-year-old crammed in a corner, staring vacantly into space.

"Harry?" Severus asked as gently as he could, squatting down on his heels in the cramped doorway. The boy started, smacking his head back against the wall, before shaking his head.

"Not Harry," the boy said stubbornly.

"What do you mean?" Severus said, utterly perplexed. Of course it was Harry. The lightning bolt scar that slashed across his forehead, now a livid-looking red, was proof enough.

"Uncle said don't have a name," Potter said, returning to staring emptily at the wall.

"Your uncle's not here anymore," Severus pointed out.

"In my cupboard!" Harry nearly shouted, before turning dead white and scrambling farther away.

"Your..." Severus trailed off, until the realisation hit him, and he nearly turned on his heel and went to murder Filch. "This isn't your cupboard, Harry," he finally said, summoning all the patience he could. "This is a broom closet at Hogwarts. Remember? You live here now. At Hogwarts. The man who locked you in wasn't supposed to do that. It was wrong."

"Wrong?" the boy asked doubtfully, uncurling a bit.

"Wrong," Severus nodded. "No one is allowed to lock you in a cupboard again," he clarified. "Ever."

The boy rushed from his corner and yet again, Severus found himself with a lap-ful of sobbing child, a phenomenon he thought he would never get used to.

There was still the matter of what to do with Filch, however, and after Severus deposited a still teary-eyed and shaking Harry with Poppy, he marched right up to the Headmaster's office. The man deserved to be fired straight off, yet somehow Severus thought it wouldn't be that easy.

Of course it wasn't.

"He's been a staff member here for so long, though, Severus," Albus reproved gently as he sucked on another lemon drop. "What he did today was cruel, yes, but you heard him, he didn't mean to do such a thing for so long, he came straight to you when he realised the effect it had had on poor Harry, and after all, he didn't know it would have such a terrible, negative consequence."

"He's been a bloody menace to every student in this school and you and I both know it, Albus," Severus hissed, pushing the limits of his patience. "Locking an eight-year-old child in a broom cupboard for any length of time is inexcusable."

"But Severus," Albus began, but the Potions professor had had enough.

"Keep that man away from my son," Severus snarled, surprised at his words and his warning, but not enough to keep him from his dramatic exit, his cloak swirling around his ankles.

"How did it go?" Poppy asked sympathetically as she met him in the entrance of the Hospital Wing. Behind her, Severus could see Harry sleeping on the bed closest to her office, the shadows under his eyes standing out at this distance.

"About as well as you would expect," Severus said, his voice flat. "He won't deal with Filch. Nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Sound familiar?"

"Yes," Poppy sighed, thinking of a certain band of four overly mischievous Gryffindors. "Well, I'm sure after this, we can at least keep Harry away from Argus. Hopefully, Argus will want to stay away as well."

"He better," Severus growled, flushing when Poppy placed a finger to her lips with a meaningful glance over her shoulder. "Sorry," he amended more quietly. "He didn't even know his own name, Poppy. He said his uncle told him he didn't need one."

"His uncle is going to go to prison for a very long time," Poppy pointed out with grim satisfaction. "And that wretched aunt of his."

"Not very helpful right now," Severus sighed. Behind the mediwitch, he saw Harry stir, looking about drowsily with no small measure of fear. "And I do believe Harry is awake."

Poppy turned, and in that moment, Harry bolted up, nearly fell, and managed to hide under the bed.

Well, this wasn't very promising.

He cringed back, banging his head rather painfully on the underside of the bed, but not managing to make himself care when he felt his back fit snug against the wall. That was the important part. He was safe against a wall, and they couldn't fit under here. They were too big. Like Uncle Vernon, only Uncle Vernon always came up with a way to get him, anyway...

He didn't want to think about that, though, no, he didn't, so instead he stuck his index finger in his mouth and sucked furiously, teeth indenting the skin. It was weird and made him a freak, but he didn't care about being a freak. He just cared about getting away from the prickly-flea-bites of words, from the ever-thickening cloud of anger/fear/pain that always seemed to coalesce around him.

The scary man hadn't hit him yet, but he would. He could see it in the scary man's eyes. They weren't Uncle Vernon eyes, not quite, but they didn't look very nice, either. The nurse lady had nice eyes, but he didn't trust her either, because Aunt Petunia had nice eyes sometimes, too, but she wasn't nice at all.

"Harry?" He heard creaking, and the bed dipped down in front of him, then the nurse lady was there, peering under the bed. He shrank back, willing himself to disappear, to be not-there, to be unseen. It didn't work.

"I can see you, I'm afraid," the nurse lady informed him gently. He thought she would laugh at him, but there wasn't any sharp needle laughter in her voice.

"Not Harry," he insisted in a whisper around his finger. The nurse lady looked confused, her forehead wrinkling up, but she didn't call him Harry again, which was nice.

"Do you have a name?" she tried next. He shook his head, feeling the ends of dark untidy hair whip against his skin. He liked that feel, that soft yet harsh texture against his face, so he did it again.

"Will you come out?" the nurse lady asked. He hesitated. She sounded nice. But the scary man was out there, too. And he didn't look nice at all. Probably if he came out, the scary man would leap on him and hurt him like Uncle Vernon. The scary man had been nice getting him out of the cupboard, but it was probably a trick. If he let his guard down, then the scary man would turn bad.

Slowly, he shook his head.

"That's all right," the nurse lady said kindly. "Would you like a little more room under there? It doesn't look very nice. And perhaps you'd like this?" From thin air, she produced a very soft-looking blue teddy bear. His hand reached out for it before he even realised he'd moved, and he snatched himself back with a painful-sounding whimper.

"No, it's okay!" she reassured him, pushing the teddy bear closer. "He's yours. Does he have a name?"

"No," he said, muffled, as he pulled the soft toy against his chest, feeling the softness of its fur under his fingertips. "He don't need a name."

"No, he doesn't," she agreed easily enough. "And here you go." She waved a long, thin stick that made him jump in fright and bang his head against the wall again, and suddenly, the erstwhile ceiling was almost a foot taller, and the wall behind him felt a lot softer, too.

"Would you like anything else?" the nurse lady questioned him, but he stared down into the button eyes of his new teddy bear and shook his head again.

The nurse lady stood back up, and he could hear the creaking of her knees again, before her soft-soled shoes stepped away from his hiding place. The prickly feeling of words stung as she talked with the scary man, but he couldn't understand them this time.

His head felt very noisy all of a sudden, and he clutched at his ears in pain, doubling over and pressing his face against the soft blue fur of his teddy bear.

No, no, no, he thought fiercely, but it didn't matter.

You need to go back inside, a voice told him gently, but he shook his head. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave his new teddy bear. It was his and only his, the nurse lady had given it to him, and if he wasn't out here, what would happen to him?

I will take good care of your teddy bear, the voice said patiently. And you can have a...twin of your teddy bear inside. He will be fine.

You promise? he whispered in doubt, his eyes over-large and his bottom lip wobbling.

Yes, the voice said, soothing. I promise.

Okay, he finally agreed, petting his stuffed animal almost compulsively over and over until his body slumped a bit to one side.

Tom sat up, looked around, and cursed as quietly as he could. He had no idea how he was going to explain this one, and truthfully? He wasn't sure he even wanted to try. 

"Are you all right now?" she asked, her voice still gentle, almost coaxing. Tom scowled into the bear's blue fur for a moment, then nodded, the calm mask back in place.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

"Harry?" the nurse probed further.

You should just say yes, Blue spoke up fearfully inside. Don't tell!

She's gonna know anyway, I mean, we went kinda full-fledged bonkers, Jay replied in a rather acerbic tone. Might as fucking well.

Is it safe? Harry himself asked inside, almost as frightened as Tom.

I don't know, Tom answered internally, before finally, reluctantly, shaking his head.

"What do you mean?" Madam Pomfrey asked. He could feel her gaze strengthen, turn more inquisitive. It was maddening.

"I'm not Harry," Tom said, spacing the words out. He could feel Jay influencing him, but for once, he didn't care. If they had to spill out their most preciously guarded secret, he was going to make it as difficult as possible.

"Then who are you?" Professor Snape spoke up. He sounded more confused than anything, and Tom couldn't help but smirk.

"I'm not sure that it's wise to tell you," Tom said, with a slight sneer.

"And why would that be?" Snape asked, his scowl growing more pronounced. "Are you possessing Potter? Is that it?"

"Merlin's sake, of course not!" Tom burst out, uncomfortably aware that in some ways, for all intents and purposes, his presence in Harry's mind could, perhaps, in a way, be classified as possession. "It's complicated, all right?"

"Severus, calm down," Madam Pomfrey snapped, with a warning glare at her colleague. "You don't have to-to tell if you don't want to," she continued, gentler now. "But it would be very helpful if you did."

"I don't know what it's called," Tom finally said, easing his way to the subject of his name. "Or if I'm-we're-the only ones. There isn't just Harry in here. There's a lot of us."

"And your name?" Snape prompted again.

Realising what was probably going to happen, if Professor Snape knew how to put two and two together, that was (and if his own rather vague recollections of the man were accurate), Tom took a deep breath and simply said, "Like I told you before, sir. Tom."

The effect on the Potions professor was, once again, striking. Before Tom could so much as blink, the tip of the man's wand was right at his throat, and it was only the result of a fierce internal struggle that left him still in control at all

"How are you possessing the boy?" Snape demanded, his eyes burning into Tom's. "What are you doing to him? What Dark magic is this?"

Jay had had more than enough.

He threw himself to front, smashing past Tom like a cannon, and shoved Snape away with as hard a push as their eight-year-old arms could muster.

"Tom's not Dark, you fucking bastard!" Jay nearly yelled, his fingers tightening on the blue teddy bear until he realised what he was doing and hastily thrust the treasured object under his shirt, tucking the tails in for safekeeping, before his glare landed back on the rather surprised and still angry-looking Potions Master. "Fuck you, I'm tired of your fucking assumptions, do you ever try to think?! There's more than one person in Harry's head because of bloody abuse, you gobbed-off shite, and if you'd pull your head out of your arse and think for two bloody moments, maybe you would have realised that! And in case it wasn't bloody obvious, I'm not Harry fucking Potter, either!"

"Language," Poppy gently reproved, but Jay just shook his head, feeling hot and trembly all over with anger.

"My apologies," Professor Snape said rather stiffly, lowering his wand. The man's face was flushed, and all Jay could see was a weird mixture of anger, confusion, and...shame? in Snape's eyes.

"Tom ain't Dark," Jay repeated, sullen as he backed away and sat down on the edge of the nearest bed. All he could hear was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears. "None of us are."

"How many are you?" Madam Pomfrey pressed, but Jay shook his head.

"Don't wanna say," he told her. "Enough. Harry's in here, too, but he's got us to help him out."

"Thank you," Pomfrey said. "You know..." she trailed off, brow wrinkled in thought. "I don't think you are the only one with this-this condition at all, but I'm afraid I will have to do my research first..."

"Not the only one?" Jay and Snape echoed simultaneously in shock. Jay recovered first and glowered at the Potions professor, who had the grace to flush a little.

"Not by a long shot," Poppy said with a decisive shake of her head. "May I trust you, Harry who is not Harry, to stay in this room and amuse yourself quietly? I will not ask you to go with Professor Snape," she tacked on, watching his mutinous expression. "But I need to know that you are somewhere safe, for my own peace of mind, if nothing else."

"I guess," Jay finally, reluctantly said.

"Severus, I'd like you to leave for a while," Poppy continued. "It would be for the best right now, giving you both time to calm down."

Snape looked like he wanted to protest, but instead merely inclined his head a bit and nodded at Jay.

"I do my best, Potter," Snape said in a low voice, eyes pinning Jay to the bed. "But while I admit I over-stepped, the Dark Lord and his return is one of my primary concerns, and I cannot take things that may concern him lightly."

"Whatever," Jay shrugged, inwardly baffled.

I'll try to tell you later, Tom said inside, also sounding subdued.

With a nod at Madam Pomfrey, Professor Snape left the infirmary with his customary flourish.

"Sit there, would you?" Poppy smiled and motioned to the bed. "Or under, if you prefer, I did try to make it more comfortable for you. Or...whoever it was."

"Thanks," Jay mumbled, his ears burning as Poppy flicked her wand and a colouring book and box of crayons landed beside him on the sheets.

For the moment, they had a reprieve. But how long could that last?