Harry and Snape were at the breakfast table when their companionable silence was broken by a loud pop. Harry jumped wildly when a large, tawny owl suddenly materialized, a letter tied to its leg.

“What…?”

“Ah, that must be your Hogwarts acceptance letter,” said Snape, setting down his fork. He reached out to untie the letter from the owl’s leg, which then promptly vanished with another pop.

Harry felt a jolt of excitement. He was really going to Hogwarts! At first, it had seemed like a fantastical sort of dream, and later on, when he’d decided to…  Well, he’d convinced himself that he didn’t want to go, anyway. But now he did.

 I didn’t know owls acted like that...

 “Why did the owl appear like that?” Harry asked, reaching for the letter from Snape's proferred hand.

“The warding surrounding the property prevent owls from flying in. Professor Dumbledore is aware of that, so it seems he made other arrangements.”

Harry nodded his understanding as he carefully opened the envelope, feeling a brief jolt of anger at the mention of Dumbledore. He shoved the feeling aside as he eagerly unfolded the letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress  

Harry scanned the supply list with wide eyes. Robes, cauldron, wand, books… This was insane. And completely amazing. He read through the acceptance letter again, turning the thick, yellowish parchment in his hands.

Parchment… what century are these people living in…?

A thought suddenly occurred to Harry, and it felt as though a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped on his head, washing away his excitement.

How was he supposed to pay for all of this?

That's it, then. I can’t go. I can’t pay for supplies, not to mention tuition, which is probably a small fortune.

Harry swallowed. “I don’t have any money, sir,” he said quietly.

There was a slight pause.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry looked up to see Snape peering at him oddly.

“Surely, you…” Snape’s voice trailed off. Harry waited patiently for Snape to continue, confusion temporarily overcoming the bitter disappointment that he couldn't quite shove away.

Snape cleared his throat. “Harry, you have inherited quite a vast fortune from your father, who was descended from a long line of very wealthy wizards.”

Harry stared.

“That can’t be, sir,” he said flatly.

“I assure you, Harry, I am not mistaken.”

Something in Snape’s voice convinced Harry that it was true. He stared at a discolored spot on the wall, his lips pressed together firmly.

He had money. He was actually rich. And all this time, he’d been begging and stealing to stay alive. And he’d been passed around like an unwanted package, while he’d had piles of money waiting for him somewhere.

I could’ve bought my own house. I could’ve done anything. Gone anywhere. I could’ve gotten Jade and me out of hell. All of that… for nothing.

“Harry?” Snape cut in to Harry’s internal diatribe, eyebrows raised in askance.

“It’s nothing, sir,” Harry muttered. “I just… I never knew I had money.”

Snape nodded in understanding. “Yes, I imagine it must be something of a shock.”

Snape's matter-of-fact tone set Harry at ease. 

Fine. So you were rich all this time and you didn’t know. Get over it, at least you have a way to pay for school, not to mention the security. It’s a good thing.

“Do wizards have banks, sir?” Harry asked quickly.

Snape nodded. “Indeed, there is but one in Britain, known as Gringott’s.”

“One? In the whole country?” Harry asked incredulously.

No competition. They can get away with anything-

“They are run by goblins, who do not think in quite the same way that wizards do,” Snape said smoothly.

Harry stared. Goblins?

What in the…?

“I gather that you are surprised to learn of that?” Snape said, looking amused.

“Quite,” Harry responded, lips quirking.

Snape studied him for a moment. “If you are amenable, I will escort you to Diagon Alley, the nearest wizarding… shopping area, as muggles would refer to it, later this week.”

Harry nodded quickly. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“It is no trouble,” said Snape, waving a dismissive hand as he cleared the table with his other.

“Now, go fetch the broomstick.”

Harry’s eyes widened, momentarily forgetting his upset. “R- really, sir?”

“Did I not tell you that you may fly again?” said Snape, exasperated.

“Y- yes, sir. I just didn’t…” Harry trailed off.

Snape closed his eyes briefly. “You did not believe me.”

Snape rose briskly, brushing some imaginary crumbs from his robes as he strode towards the door.

“For Merlin’s sake, don’t dawdle.”

Harry jumped slightly, then hurriedly fetched the broom and followed Snape outdoors.

---

It’s strange how differently I feel while I’m flying, Harry thought, curled up in the library later. And as soon as I land, it’s back to normal. The bad normal. If I could just live my whole life flying, I would be fine. But no, I have to stay down here and put up with everything.

Harry groaned in agitation as he closed his book. He couldn’t sit here anymore. He didn’t want to do anything, really, except fly. But Snape had made it quite clear that he wasn’t allowed to fly without supervision, and the man was obviously too busy to supervise him.

If I could just grab the broom and… No way. He’d kill me. Or, at least, never let me fly again.

Harry rose abruptly and walked swiftly out of the room. He couldn’t stay in the library any longer.

I’ll go outside, anyway. He never said I couldn’t.

But, of course, as soon as he reached the doorway, he heard footsteps. Harry turned quickly to see Snape striding toward him.

Harry tensed, looking up nervously.

Is he angry? How did he even know… The stupid monitors, that’s how. Why isn’t he saying anything?

“I just wanted to go outside, sir,” Harry said carefully, uncomfortable with the silence.

Snape tilted his head, studying Harry’s face carefully. Harry stared back, refusing to look away.

“Perhaps you’d like to join me for a stroll, Mr. Potter?” Snape finally said.

Join you for a stroll?

“Er...alright, sir.”

“Good,” Snape nodded, opening the door. Harry followed him, a bit bemusedly.

The air had cooled significantly since Harry’s flying session earlier in the day, and a breeze tousled Harry’s hair, a sensation that felt oddly soothing. Harry walked alongside Snape in silence for several moments, allowing the fresh air to calm him. It wasn’t like flying, but it was definitely preferable to being shut inside.

I’m taking a stroll with Snape. That’s weird. Since when is he the sort to ‘take strolls’? Surely he has better things to do…

“Harry?” said Snape, pausing where he stood.

Harry looked up warily. “Yes, sir?”

Snape inhaled, brushing a few strands of wayward hair of his eyes. “I do understand that it is very difficult for you to speak with me topics concerning your history.”

Harry clenched his fists, staring at the ground. This was why they were taking a so-called stroll, so Snape could question him more.

“Therefore,” Snape continued, tapping Harry’s shoulder to make him look up. “I propose to offer you an incentive, so to speak.”

An incentive?

“I will make time in my schedule to supervise your flying more frequently, should you make a reasonable effort to answer my questions.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “How frequently, sir?”

Snape’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “That would depend on how many questions are answered.”

Harry thought carefully.

This could be worth it. I’m losing it, staying inside. But…

“And if I cannot answer certain questions, sir?”

“Then I will attempt to steer the topic in a direction which you feel more comfortable,” Snape replied smoothly. “I will still allow you flying time even if you cannot answer any, as I said I would do originally. Yet if you do answer my questions, you will simply have more flying time.”

“And if I decline the deal, sir, and refuse to answer any questions?” Harry asked daringly. He needed to know all sides of this negotiation.

Snape’s lips twitched.

“I would not force you to do so. However, I would be unable to allow you your independence for an extended period of time, as I would have no way of knowing how you are faring.”

This isn’t really a deal. It’s more of a reward system. If I agree, I get more flying time. If I don’t, I won’t be allowed anywhere alone, which would not be preferable in the least. I suppose he doesn’t have to offer a reward, but he’s trying to make it easier for me. Nice of him, I suppose.

“I’ll accept, sir,” Harry said finally.

Snape nodded. “Very well, thank you.” He drew in a breath. “Now, if you make an effort now, I will supervise your flying after dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, chewing on his lip.

Just deal with it. It’s just questions, it’s just talking. It can’t hurt me.

Yet he could not prevent the cold fear gripping at his chest.

It’ll go away when I fly. It’s fine.

Harry squared his shoulders. He wasn’t a kid, he could handle it. He wasn’t scared.

Harry looked up when Snape cleared his throat.

“I will reiterate; this is not an interrogation. If you feel uncomfortable, I will not push you.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry muttered.

He walked alongside Snape reluctantly for several moments more, bracing himself for the coming onslaught.

“Can you describe for me your relationship with your late aunt?” Snape asked in a low voice, slowing his pace slightly.

Harry felt his breath catch in his chest. The last time he’d seen her…

Don’t think about it. Whatever she did or said then, it doesn’t change anything. She never wanted you, and she never stopped Vernon or anyone.

“Nonexistent,” replied Harry stiffly.

“How so?”

“We ignored each other, unless she was giving me an order.”

‘Such as…?”

“Chores.”

“What sort of chores did she have you do?”

“Cooking, cleaning, garden work. Stuff like that.”

“How much time was your day spent on performing chores, on average?”

“Dunno. A while.”

Snape paused in his questioning for a moment, while Harry exhaled slowly, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. His muscles immediately tensed again when Snape spoke again.

“What of… recreation? Did you spend time with other children of your age?”

Harry was eternally grateful that he was walking beside Snape instead of sitting across him This way, the man could not see his expression.

I’m not talking about Jade.

“I didn’t get on with the kids at school.”

“No? Why is that?”

“They thought I was strange, and I thought they were stupid.”

And Dudley scared them all off before that, anyway.

“Why do you feel that they thought you strange?”

“Because I wasn’t like them.”

“How so?”

“Dunno. I didn’t talk much in school.”

“Your linguistic abilities were too vast for them to comprehend, perhaps?” said Snape smoothly.

Harry sort of smiled. “Something like that.”

“Is that all?”

“They didn’t like brainy kids.”

Snape nodded. “That is a common dynamic amongst school children.”

Harry shrugged listlessly. “I didn’t care. And I still don’t.”

“You had a cousin your age, did you not?”

Harry nodded jerkily.  “We didn’t get on either, sir.”

There was a momentary pause, where Snape seemed to be weighing his words. Harry walked on in silence, kicking stones that came across his path.

“Was your cousin given chores as well?” Snape asked, smoothing the front of his cloak, which had been blown astray by the breeze.

Harry snorted.

Dudley, chores? That’s a good one.

“No,” he replied in a hard voice, masking the odd feeling that was rising up in his chest.

Dudley’s dead. He was ten, and he died. He didn’t deserve to die. But I don’t feel particularly bad, either. Does that make me a bad person, for not caring?

“Harry?” Snape prompted.

“He’s dead,” Harry whispered, without meaning to.

Snape sighed, then made a stifled movement, as though he was going to grasp Harry’s shoulder but thought better of it. Good. He didn’t deserve comfort, not when he didn’t even care that a kid he’d known had died.

“He’s dead, and I don’t even care,” he bit out, his voice purposefully cold, but not quite hiding the tremor beneath it. Harry forced himself to look up. Snape’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes were focused upon Harry’s steadily, not seeming disgusted by Harry’s revelation.

Snape stopped where he stood, reaching out slowly to grip Harry’s shoulder, keeping him in place. Harry didn’t resist.

“You did not have a positive relationship with him, nor with any of your relatives. Your response is in no way unusual,” he said firmly.

Harry shrugged, looking away.

“Are we done?” he whispered, feeling spent.

“Certainly,” Snape replied smoothly, beginning to walk towards the house. Harry followed, relieved.

“Dinner is in an hour. I will supervise your flying after.”

“Yes, sir.”

---

Harry sat in the library, attempting to piece together his feelings.

Do I care at all that he died? If I didn’t, I wouldn’t even be thinking about it. Proof is, I’m not thinking about Vernon, ‘cause I’m glad he’s dead. That way, I’m safe.  From him, at least. Petunia… I don’t know. She probably wouldn’t have cared if I died. But Dudley was just a kid, even if he was an enormous prat. He didn’t really do anything to me.

Harry rubbed his eyes, worn out. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

He was my age and he died. I was supposed to die. He had everything he wanted. Parents who loved him. Money, toys. Friends. It would have been worth it for him to live. Not me, though. So why did I live, while he died?

But had Dudley really had everything he wanted?

Harry thought back…

***

Harry was nine.

It was another hot afternoon, and Harry had been ordered to paint the garden fence, never mind that he’d done it just four days ago. He figured Petunia just wanted him out of the house. He didn’t mind. It was always better to be outside, even in the heat of the day.

Harry shifted slightly when he heard the familiar shuffle of Dudley’s heavy tread. He braced himself for an onslaught of juvenile insults. But, instead, he heard a sniffle.

Dudley was crying. Real tears, this time, not one of the fake tantrums he threw almost daily. Harry shrugged to himself, and continued with his work. This Dudley was no threat, but somehow, he was more difficult to ignore.

“You’re lucky, you know.”

Harry turned his head quickly at that. Lucky? Him? That was rich, coming from Dudley.

“Have you been sniffing glue?” Harry asked, eyebrows raised.

Dudley raised his head, bloodshot eyes glistening with tears. Harry’s comment seemed to fly over his head.

“Dad doesn’t care what you do. For me, I have to… I dunno, do everything he does, or else he’ll hate me, too.”

“He wouldn’t do to you what he does to me,” Harry told him flatly.

Dudley squinted at him. “Maybe he would. He doesn’t like you, so he hits you, so if he didn’t like me, he’d hit me, too.”

Harry rolled his eyes inwardly at Dudley’s logic.

“But you’re his kid. It’s different,” Harry responded impatiently, turning back to the fence.

“That doesn’t matter. There’re already things he wouldn’t like about me, if he knew. And he’d try to squash it out of me, like he does you.”

Harry stared at Dudley. Trouble in paradise? Who knew?

“How does that make me lucky?” Harry asked, honestly wanting to know.

At that moment, Dudley’s small, blue eyes seemed to harden with a rarely seen spark of maturity.

“Because you know what to expect.”

As Harry mulled that over, the screen door banged open, and both he and Dudley jumped.

“Get back to that painting, boy!” bellowed Vernon. “If you don’t have that done in an hour… Dudley, what are you doing over there?”

Harry turned quickly back to the fence, and Dudley shoved him to the ground, paint splattering everywhere.

***

Harry closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about it. Eyes still squeezed shut, he grabbed blindly at the nearest book piled on the table, which turned out to be a volume on magical creatures. He flipped it open randomly, needing to focus his thoughts on something else. He skimmed through the pages quickly.

Boggarts. Odd creatures. How is it possible that they can detect what a person’s worst fear is?

What was the purpose of such a creature? Did it really do any good for anyone to face their worst fear if it wasn’t even real?

What would a boggart turn into for me? And how can it know what my worst fear is when I’m not even sure myself.

What was his worst fear? There were many things that could qualify, but did one stand out above the others?

Do I even want to know?

I wonder what it would have turned into for Dudley… Probably Vernon hating him like he did me… wanting to hurt him like… Stop. Just stop.

Harry shut the book with a loud snap, his mood rapidly plummeting.

I can’t do this. I can’t.

Harry curled up into a tight ball, palms pressed against his face. His heart beat sporadically as he rocked back and forth. He could feel himself shaking.

No. Just no. I need…

Clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, Harry stood up, slipping outdoors as silently as he could. It was drizzling lightly, and the damp grass flattened beneath his feet as he walked. Uncurling his fingers to collect the raindrops, Harry paused where he stood. 

He searched the ground for some small object, anything, and spotted a few stray rocks. He focused carefully on the smallest one, as though trying to physically shove his stress straight into it. Only intending to make it hover in the air, he jerked back in shock when the stone, after rising a few inches into the air, shattered entirely.

I just shattered a stone. I must’ve been more stressed than I thought. Okay. That works too, I guess. Now, let’s see if I can do that again.

Harry focused whatever energy he had remaining on another stone, but instead, send it flying into a nearby tree. He watched with interest as it bounced off the trunk and landed, partially concealed, into the wet grass.

Harry jumped and spun around when the door banged open. Snape exited the house, face tight, as though expecting the worst.

Monitors. Stupid things. What good are they if they can’t tell the difference between a dagger and a rock?

Harry watched warily as Snape took in the scene, eyes traveling from Harry, who was breathing hard, to the shattered bits of stone scattered across the grass. The lines on the man’s face loosened slightly.

Harry then noticed that Snape was clutching a cauldron stirrer, pale gray potion residue dripping from it.

Snape sighed with exasperation.

“Come with me, I need a good hour to complete this potion without the threat of my imminent demise by heart failure.”