A special school. That giant-man, no, half-giant, Harry corrected himself, told him he was going to a special school.

Another special school. For witchcraft and wizardry. He had asked Hagrid if that meant there were other freaks different people, like his tutor taught him to say. It hadn't been taken well, that much he could tell from the shouting; so loud, disjointed and garbled he fled to the safety of his cupboard, rocking and humming a wordless, odd tune. His tune.

Then there was the fire. In the fireplace. People didn't belong in the fireplace. Nor did they get spat out in strange offices. With a green fire. Fire wasn't green! It wasn't! Unless Uncle Vernon was burning wrapping paper in it again. But he didn't think Uncle Vernon had anything to do with this. Uncle Vernon wouldn't tolerate a green fire. It wasn't normal, like Harry.

"Harry," The quiet voice drew Harry out of his rocking in the corner. It wasn't even the fact the strange man used his name - only a doctor or a teacher ever would - it was the firm, yet gentle tone. "Please, do not hurt yourself so."

Hurting himself. He was hurting himself. He looked down to his hands, the palms held crescent-shaped nail marks, while the underside was a throbbing red.

Oh. He must have had another meltdown; as his aunt would say, a tantrum. He daren't think of what Uncle Vernon would say. His hands flapped agitatedly as the strange man with the beard reminiscent of Gandalf slowly came over and knelt in front of him.

Harry giggled. Logically, he knew it couldn't be Gandalf, but he was at a school for wizards, as the man was saying. Wait, the man was talking to him.

"-shall call for my colleague, Professor Snape. He knows more about muggles than us. Is that alright, child?" Albus waited patiently, watching as Harry averted his gaze to Albus' nose. It seemed the boy couldn't meet a person's eyes.

Harry wrung his hands. He hadn't been listening again. His tutor had told him to ask if he had 'tuned out', but maybe the rules were different here? But it was a school for special people, but so was Rosemary's Academy, maybe the rules could be the same?

"I'm sorry sir, could you please repeat what you said?"

"You musn't have caught my words; my name is Albus Dumbledore, I am the headmaster of Hogwarts. I'm going to ask my colleague Professor Snape to join us. He will know more about the non-magical word - the world you've grown up in." Albus explained, deciding to spare his knees and sit cross-legged opposite Harry.

Harry nodded, brows furrowed. Caught his words, he thought. How could someone catch words?

"Sir," Harry said, eyes drifting from the unnaturally green fire to the man in front of him. "Fire isn't green! That isn't normal! It's-!" He blurted out, stopping only when Albus interrupted him.

"Magic, child." Albus smiled softly. Perhaps placing young Harry with Petunia had been a mistake. "That is called a floo, Harry. It is a way that wizards and witches travel, from one fireplace to another, using floo powder. It cannot harm you if used correctly." He explained.

"B-but," Harry stuttered, wringing his hands again, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. "It's green!"

"Magic can be a wonderful thing. It can both cause, but cure impossible ailments. It can help you do the most magnificent things, and take you to worlds you could have only dreamed of."

Harry smiled. They said he was a wizard; he had magic. The Dursley's had told him he would never amount to anything, but they weren't wizards! They didn't have magic, could they have been even a little bit wrong?

"Do you like the colour green, Harry?" Albus didn't regret the question, seeing Harry's face light up.

"I do, it's my favourite colour! It's the colour of my eyes and broccoli, and a lot of insects like caterpillars." Harry relaxed and felt comfortable in the quiet descending upon them, the pair sitting silently until a looming shadow and a smooth voice announced itself.

"You asked to see me, Headmaster?" The man purred, raising a brow at the two on the floor. The child had a rats nest upon his head. Had the boy never heard of a comb? Unless...

"Not him, Albus, surely?" He complained, sweeping past them, robes swirling behind him. He settled himself in a chair in front of Albus' desk. "What's so different about Mr. Potter that he is allowed entry to Hogwarts early."

"A good question, Severus," Albus smiled, almost certain he felt the bones in his knees crunch as he got up off the floor. "Come Harry, take a seat next to Professor Snape."

Harry scrambled up, running to the unoccupied seat as fast as his tiny feet could carry him. As he sat on the chair, he stared at Severus unblinkingly. "You're p'r'fessor Snape." He stated, narrowing his eyes in thought.

"Harry," Albus began, pulling his attention away from the raven-haired man. "Why, in your opinion, are you different, child?"

Different. He knew that word. Oh, he loathed that word. It was another way of saying special. A polite way of calling him a retard that seemed socially acceptable. Harry, however, did not think it was. A scowl twisted his face. "Aspergers, the doctor said." He answered, deciding to watch Severus out of the corner of his eye. Why was the man's mouth doing an upside-down smile?

Severus knew that word. Years of dealing with young Slytherins had taken him to camping in muggle libraries once in a blue moon. He was damn sure he almost had a degree in psychology now. "Autism, Mr. Potter?" He clarified, exhaling upon Harry's nod.

"But Harry," Albus reiterated his question. "What do you think, makes you different?"

This was a special school, he thought. I can't be the only one different. "I like writing and science. Mrs Greenwood said I was good at them, she did."

"Science." Albus repeated, smiling at Severus. "Well then, Severus, I think the pair of you should get along splendidly."

. . .

"It's five o'clock, p'r'fessor Snape." Harry announced, wringing his hands uncertainly.

"So it is, Harry." Severus replied, waiting for the child to speak his mind. After ten minutes of endless questions whilst walking to his quarters, he was glad he'd had the sense to avoid the moving staircases for now. Albus' quiet explanation of the boy's aversion to the floo had left him wary of upsetting Harry any further.

"At five o'clock I clean for Auntie, so I can have some dinner." Harry explained. maybe the professor didn't know. "I used to hafta make the Dursley's dinner too, but I couldn't use the knife properly so she'd send me to my cupboard and-"

Severus held his hand up, stopping Harry. His head spun, and he didn't know where to start.

I clean for Auntie, so I can have dinner.

I had to make the Dursley's dinner too.

She'd send me to my cupboard.

Something was wrong with the boy, and it wasn't autism. Petunia, Severus seethed. Of course it was Petunia. Before he went off on a rampage befitting a Gryffindor, he had to get to the bottom of this.

"Your cupboard, Harry?" He asked, mind whirling.

"The room Auntie and Uncle Vernon gave me." Harry smiled. Nobody talked about him unless he was in trouble. He couldn't be in trouble though, could he? The professor had told him to sit on the sofa next to him and he had, so he'd been a good boy. Wait, he still had cleaning to do.

"P'r'fessor, it's five o'clock." He repeated anxiously.

"Well," Severus paused. He wasn't going to have the boy clean just to earn food. "You've been a good boy today Harry. So you can eat now, and later we'll discuss rules and a routine for you. Is that all right, child?"

Harry bit his lip, thinking. Maybe the professor wanted to tell him what to clean later. Auntie had always written it down for him. After a moment, he nodded to Severus. "Yes, p'r'fessor."