Severus was sequestered in his office, composing his next letter in response to the Belgian potions master with whom he was involved in an extended correspondence. Though Severus much preferred to work alone, this particular potions master possessed knowledge that rivaled Severus’ own, so the man was too beneficial a resource to discount. Even if the views of this particular potions master did tend to be rather… innovative¸ for lack of a better word.

To Sir Arnaud de Clercq, Severus wrote,

I wish to express my appreciation for your timely response concerning my query in regards to the improvement of the Adrenaline Draught. The contents of your previous missive have been most illuminating, particularly the information provided on the myriad beneficial effects of foxglove roots used in absorbable potions. Might I suggest, however, that although foxglove roots added in modest amount to this particular draught would indeed increase the potion’s longevity as well improve its consistency, it is likely that, due to its alkaline quality…

To his annoyance, Severus found that his thoughts persisted in wandering toward other matters; namely, the boy. It had been quite surprising to find that the boy possessed an aptitude for brewing. The child had a degree of patience and an eye for detail that few in his age group could rival.

The boy is quite intelligent. I never imagined I would think as much of a Potter.

But Severus had not been thinking of the child as his father for quite a while. Loath as he was to admit it, the child’s company was not wholly unwelcome. In fact, Severus did enjoy the verbal sparring he and the boy engaged in; it was interesting to contemplate the extent of the child’s ingenuity.

But it was not just the boy’s intelligence that had Severus wondering.

What has that boy seen in his short life?

Indeed, the child was proving to be considerably more complicated than he ever would have foreseen.

Nightmares? Flashbacks? The boy is had clearly been traumatized. Abuse, unfortunately, is all too probable.

It had been a few days since the boy’s episode in the potions laboratory, but Severus could not put it out of his mind. The sheer terror he’d seen on the child’s face was not easily forgotten. It was not ordinary childhood fear. It was the horror that had claimed the visages of the Dark Lord’s countless victims. It was the fear of a grown man who had long despaired of any hope of salvation.

The child needs more- deserves more- than I can provide for him. I am not equipped to deal with a young trauma victim. My mere presence bears the capacity to terrify adolescents into submission. How can I provide such a child with the safe environment he so desperately requires?

Severus had endeavored to draw the boy out on many occasions, in attempt to gain an inkling of what the boy had gone through, but the child was, quite understandably, resistant to his overtures.

I am not the person for this job. But who is the right person? The wizarding world is woefully ignorant of the psychological ramifications of… most anything.  

Severus was pulled out of his thoughts when a Patronus in the form of a phoenix appeared before him.

“Would you be so kind as to avail your home to my presence at eight o’clock this evening? I wish to discuss with you some matters regarding your uocoming NEWT level class,” Dumbledore’s voice spoke from the Patronus. Sighing, Severus gave his consent, and the Patronus vanished.

Coming NEWT classes, my foot. He wishes to ascertain that I’ve not yet throttled the boy.

Severus rolled his eyes as he bottled the completed potion. He climbed up the stairs to the kitchen, finding the prepared lunch from the elves arranged on the table as usual. He sat, and, like clockwork, the boy entered the kitchen and sat in his usual place, avoiding Severus’ eyes. For a few moments, all that could be heard was the clinking of silverware.

Severus cleared his throat. The child looked up warily, and Severus could just detect the anxiety hidden beneath the his blank mask.

“Professor Dumbledore will be paying a visit at eight o’clock this evening. I felt it prudent that you be forewarned, as I’ve no doubt he’d like to speak with you.”

Severus saw the boy’s face turn stony upon his mention of Dumbledore. Severus narrowed his eyes.

“Do you find that objectionable, Mr. Potter?”

The boy looked up, his face perfectly blank, save his eyes, which were smoldering.

“No, sir. May I go?” the boy asked in a flat tone.

Severus frowned. “You’ve eaten very little.”

The boy’s face tightened. “I’m done.”

Severus paused a moment. Clearly, the boy was nearing the end of his rope, however masterfully he was hiding it.

“Very well.”

The boy left the room as quickly as he could without running, and, by the sound of it, went outside.

The boy did not appear to be particularly uninclined toward Albus’ presence when he first arrived. He has more reason to dislike me than the headmaster. What has changed?

Harry tried to push back the anger burning inside of him as he sat on the branch of his tree, upright this time. The nerve Dumbledore had, showing up. Harry doubted he’d be able to remain civil toward the man when he arrived.

He’s really coming to see if his plan is working. And when he finds out it’s not, he’ll take me away. Unless Snape really is part of the plot…

But the longer Harry was around the man, the less likely it seemed. Snape really did seem to, dare he say it, care, at least sometimes.

Maybe he won’t let Dumbledore take me away…Yeah, right. You’re an idiot. Of course he will. He might be a decent guy, but he doesn’t want me here. He’ll be glad to get rid of me.

And it came to Harry, just then, that he didn’t want to go. He liked living here. He liked the food, the books, and brewing potions. He even liked the fact that Snape helped him with his nightmares, loath as he was to admit it. And even when the man was angry, he had never hurt Harry, aside from that time in the library. And even then, he hadn’t really done it deliberately.

Just let Dumbledore try to take me…

But Harry knew, despite his abilities, that Dumbledore was far more powerful than he, and if Dumbledore wanted something, he would get it, no matter what Harry had to say about the matter.

In the end, I’m powerless. Dumbledore controls everything. He’s got the entire magical population of Britain in his pocket, according to the books, anyway. Next to him, I haven’t got a snowball’s chance in hell.

In a moment of defiance, Harry jumped down from the branch, but he landed correctly, this time, avoiding an injury.

Read books. Now. Must stop thinking.

Harry hastened to the library, grabbing hold of the book he was in middle of, almost frantically.

Hmm… The five exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration… Limits. That’s what hopped-up, oh so powerful, conceited bastards who don’t know how to mind their own effing business need.

Harry read on, the topic providing a brief distraction.

Exceptions of transfiguration…

Food can’t be created from nothing or transfigured from any random object. Guess that makes sense, it would be too easy otherwise. Though it would’ve been helpful…  Good thing money can’t be transfigured or created, or anything of value really. The economy would completely fall apart. The wizarding world would turn into some sort of anarchy. I guess nothing of real substance can be created with magic. So even if someone did create food, it wouldn’t really sustain them. Water can be conjured, but water is really part of the atmosphere, so the magic just changes the state of it. So you can basically transfigure something into something else of equal value or substance, but that’s about it. So here’s more proof that magic works with physics; nothing is created or destroyed, just altered. Even when things are conjured, it looks like molecules are brought together, not created it out of nothing.

This stuff really was fascinating.

Better get a wand before I test it out. Who knows what might happen, otherwise. How will I get a wand, anyway? Maybe Snape will take me to get it. I swear, I’m not going anywhere with Dumbledore.

The anger was back, now.

The boy showed up for dinner, promptly as always, but, again, picked at his food. Severus watched out of the corner of his eye, somewhat distastefully, as the boy pushed his food around his plate.

“As you ate little at lunch, surely you have regained some appetite, Mr. Potter?” Severus asked the boy after a few moments of witnessing the mutilation of perfectly good food.

The boy finally looked up then, and Severus was almost startled- no, perturbed the see the sheer anger on his face before the expression cleared into a mask of cool indifference.

“I suppose I haven’t, sir,” the boy answered, the very picture of politeness.

I cannot overlook this any longer. But I cannot force him to eat, either. Most likely, he will fail to understand why it is of my concern.

Severus sighed. “Nonetheless, Mr. Potter, food is a requirement, and I will ask that you simply attempt to consume an acceptable portion.”

The boy looked at him again, a hard expression on his face. “I prefer not to, sir.”

How dare the boy defy me-! Do not lose your calm. The child does not respond positively to anger, as you well know.

Severus took a moment to regain control, then spoke again.

“That was not a request, Mr. Potter,” he said smoothly.

The child’s teeth were clenched.

“It sounded like one, sir,” the boy replied in a clipped tone.

Severus clenched a fist, but his expression remained much the same.

“Allow me to rephrase it. You will consume adequate serving of the meal set before you.”

The boy was now unsuccessfully attempting to hide his anger.

“And if I refuse?” he bit out.

Damn, I was hoping it would not come to this. What am I to do? Sweet Merlin, I am not qualified to care for children in this capacity, especially not traumatized, underweight children who cannot do with another missed meal.

Severus took several deep breaths.

“What is troubling you, Mr. Potter?’

The boy looked momentarily unsettled, as Severus knew he would, before schooling his expression.

“Nothing, sir.” The boy replied flatly.

Severus raised his eyebrows.

“Oh? I beg to differ, Mr. Potter. It is quite clear to me that Professor Dumbledore’s coming visit has upset you in some way.”

To his credit, the child did not attempt to deny it; it seemed he knew when he had been cornered. He shifted his eyes away from Severus, not speaking.

“Would you care to expound upon your apparent aversion toward the headmaster?” Severus asked.

The boy was silent for a moment.

“No, sir.”

“That is not an acceptable answer, Mr. Potter.”

“Then I don't have one, sir.”

I cannot win, Severus realized. Short of Legilimency, which is certainly not an option here, I cannot insist he enlighten me, nor can I force-feed the boy.

“I will not insist you provide me with an explanation. However, you will not leave this table until you have eaten. The choice is yours.”

Severus watched the boy carefully. The child was clearly experiencing more difficulty than usual in concealing his emotions. The boy’s teeth were clenched, his muscles taut, and his eyes wide. After a moment, the boy lifted his fork and, with a sullen air, shoved a few bites of food in his mouth. Severus did not comment on the boy’s lack of manners. At least he had obeyed.

In truth, his defiant attitude is not a bad thing. It shows that he does not fear me quite so much. Perhaps I have done something right.

One the boy had consumed about half of the food on his plate, he set down his fork.

“May I be excused, sir?’ the boy asked monotonously. Severus nodded his acquiescence. “You may, though I will expect your presence in the sitting room at eight.”

The boy nodded, then hurried off in the direction of the library.

At eight o’clock on the dot, Albus emerged from the fireplace, dusting ash from his mercifully navy robes.

“Ah, Severus, how good of you to have me,” said Albus, in far too cheerful a tone.

“Do have a seat, Albus,” said Severus stiffly.

This will not go well.

He tried to warn Albus with his eyes, and the irritating twinkle in Albus’ eyes appeared to dim ever so slightly. Other than that, however, he gave no indication that he had understood.

The boy entered the room just then, and Severus pointed toward the seat opposite the couch on which Albus was seated. The boy kept his head down, but sat, his hands in fists.

There was a long moment of silence.

You have been warned, Albus. On your own head be it.

“Harry, it is good to see you again,” said Albus amicably. The boy jerked his head slightly, but did not respond. Albus chose not take the hint.

“How have you and Severus been faring, Harry?”

The boy still refused to speak; the expression on his face was stony, and his eyes appeared almost glacial.

I would have to intervene. Of course.

“Mr. Potter, it is customary to treat guests with a modicum of courtesy. Do provide Professor Dumbledore with a response,” Severus said sharply.

The boy’s eyes glanced toward him for a moment, then he looked at Albus.

“Adequately, sir,” the boy said shortly.

“Good to hear, good to hear,” said Albus, paying no heed to the boy’s rudeness. He seemed to understand that the child would not be saying anymore, however, and he rose.  

“Severus, I would like to discuss your coming NEWT class, as I mentioned…”

Severus inclined his head, and rose as well. He looked down at the boy, who remained seated in the same rigid position.

“We will return shortly, Mr. Potter, so it is best you remain here. You may peruse the books you find on the shelves if you wish.”

The boy nodded, and Severus left the room with Albus and they entered Severus’ office.

“How has Harry been doing, Severus?”

At least he’s no longer hiding behind the pretext of discussing my NEWT classes. That is something.

“Quite adequately, to quote the boy,” replied Severus dryly.

“The two of you have been getting along, I trust?” Albus’ eyes twinkled.

“Well enough, I suppose,” Severus admitted grudgingly. “The boy is most unlike his father”

Instead of twinkling, Albus looked suddenly serious. “Have you drawn any conclusions as to explain the boy’s behavior?”

“The boy is reticent,” Severus said slowly. “He says very little, and any conclusions I may have drawn have been gleaned primarily from what he hasn’t said.”

Albus tilted his head slightly, raising his sliver eyebrows.

“The boy suffers from recurring nightmares. Rather intense ones, I might add.”

Albus sighed. “Have you…?”

“I have provided the boy with instructions of the rudimentary aspects of Occlumency. It is not just his nightmares, however… The boy had clearly been traumatized in some manner, though I cannot be certain as to how.”

Dumbledore closed his eyes, looking defeated. “I must say, I suspected as much when I first met the boy. He is not a child, really. It is clear that he has seen far too much. The look in his eyes…”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “It is clear that the muggles, at the very least, were not fit guardians for the boy.”

If he knew and did nothing…

Albus looked as pained as Severus had ever seen him. “I did not know, Severus. Undoubtedly, the child’s experiences resulted from extreme negligence on my part, I readily admit.”

Severus’ nostrils flared.

“I was trying to protect him.” Albus spoke in barely more than a whisper.

And that worked out admirably, did it not?

But he knew it was true. Dumbledore had been attempting to protect the boy, as badly as it had turned out. If Severus thought on it, he was just as much to blame as Dumbledore.

I knew the boy was being sent to the muggles. I also knew Petunia Evans, who clearly feared magic and despised those who practiced it. The jealousy, coupled with the fear, would not have endeared her to the boy. I should have known.

Harry sat stiffly on his chair, shredding a blank piece of parchment he’d procured from the library earlier. He didn’t bother to eavesdrop on Snape and Dumbledore this time. He knew what was going on.

Dumbledore’s taking me away. Right now, he’s giving Snape the whole rundown about why it’s necessary. Dunno if Snape knows the real truth or not.

Despite the fact that, in a few moments, it would no longer matter, Harry hoped that Snape did not.

I hate Dumbledore. I hate him worse than the Dursleys. I hate him more than Jade’s stepdad. I hate him more than… no, I hate that guy more. But still, Dumbledore comes close. When I know more magic, he’ll never know what hit him.

Harry shoved the handful of shredded parchment into his pocked. He really wanted to toss them on the floor, but that would be an idiotic move, as angry as he was. He kicked the leg of his chair, hard, but all that accomplished was to send a shooting pain up his foot. A few moments later, Snape and Dumbledore walked back in. Harry immediately stood; he wasn’t going to go without a fight.

Harry carefully tracked the movements of both men with his eyes, his body poised for flight. Dumbledore turned toward Harry, and he braced himself.

Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling, the surrounding wrinkled skin them narrowing them into slits. It was funny how benign those eyes had seemed when Harry had first met Dumbledore.

He’s evil.

“Harry, it is so good to see that you and Severus have been getting along.”

What?

Dumbledore walked closer, holding out a hand. Harry stumbled backward.

Yeah, right, he want to shake my hand. It’s just a ploy to drag me off somewhere. Oldest trick in the book.

Harry kept his eyes on Dumbledore, refusing to take the proffered hand. He could not read Dumbledore’s expression, but, surprisingly, Dumbledore dropped his hand and walked toward the fireplace.

“Thank you very much for you hospitality, Severus. I will be taking my leave now.”

He smiled at Harry again, and Harry glared back. Dumbledore scooped up handful of the powder by the fireplace, floo powder, as Harry recalled, tossed it into the fire, and vanished in a flash of green flame.

He left? That’s it? He’s not taking me? What’s his game?

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry turned quickly. Snape was still standing there, and he did not look pleased.

“Would you care to explain your behavior?” Snape asked sharply.

Harry did not pretend to misunderstand. But what could he say? He opened his mouth, then closed it again, shaking his head slightly.

Snape sighed, his expression softening minutely.

“Mr. Potter, I assure you, there is nothing to fear from Professor Dumbledore.”

Am I giving off that impression? Not good.

Harry straightened his shoulders.

“I don’t fear him, sir. I just don’t like him.”

Snape looked disbelieving, but he didn’t voice his sentiments.

“Whatever your feelings are, Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore is your elder, and your future headmaster. You are therefore obligated to be respectful.”

Harry nodded shortly. It wasn’t as though he could tell Snape the truth. And he was just confused, now. Had he miscalculated? Maybe Dumbledore had an entirely different plan, or maybe he was just luring Harry into a false sense of security. Or maybe…

Harry jumped slightly when Snape cleared his throat. Harry looked up to see Snape peering at him oddly.

“A verbal response, Mr. Potter.”

Oh, right. He has this thing about verbal answers…

“Yes, sir.”

Snape spoke again.

“When you begin your schooling, Mr. Potter, there may very well be professors with whom you feel you cannot contend. Nonetheless, if you wish to avoid loss of house points or detention, you will be required to show respect.”

I show teachers respect because I want to avoid unnecessary trouble. I don’t need to give adults a reason to be angry at me. But Dumbledore already has it out for me, so why should I bother?

“Yes, sir.”

The anger was gone now. Harry felt tired. Drained. Empty.

It was safer that way.