Ron was woken by a rough shaking of his arm. His arm was being pitched to and fro by the feeble force while his brain slowly came to the world of the living. The world was tilted. A soft groan rose in his throat before his clearing mind realized who must be shaking him. He quickly swallowed it down with his drowsiness. It would not be good to make any alerting noise. He had learned this over the years of her waking him up.

Damn her.

Dismissively Ron waved off the expectant hands as he sat up groggily. As he yawned with slit eyes curse words danced through the lethargic mind. They'd just done this last night. But he knew she wanted to get in as much of it before the Holiday break. Once back at the Headquarters they might not get a chance. So, shelving his profanities for another time, he opened his eyes to the expectant emerald before him. A smile graced her lips and she bounded off to her bed. Ron wanted to question her about being too awake at two o'clock in the morning. A question he'd learned the answer to over the years but still liked to humor in his head. She hated sleep, he knew. She felt like she was caged in her nightmares. And, if anything, she preferred to be free.

After he committed the warmth of his bed to memory, Ron slipped his feet out of the four poster bed. Merlin, he just wanted to sleep. The red and gold of the dorm reminded the teen he was part of the house of the brave, resilient, and daring. This was just another adventure. Leaving his bed's comfort was momentous. At least, that's what Hermione would say. But she didn't know about her. Only Ron knew about her (at Hogwarts) and right now she looked expectant and borderline impatient.

Sliding on a threadbare maroon robe and worn down slippers Ron opens his arms in a mocking manner to her. She rolls her eye at his dramatics as he says "happy" with the action. She curtsies in response before grabbing his wrist. Ron allows the girl to pull him out of the dorm room. Ron silently bedamned his sleeping roommates. They get to stay in the bliss of slumber. They get to stay ignorant. But this was his duty. He was her confidant, her friend, her only witness. She needed him. He had agreed to be her friend through thick and thin years ago. Merlin knows he messed up last year and now he wasn't going to abandon her. Yet again, he found himself crouching under the familiar cloth exiting the common room while she held the Marauder's map.

No one hindered their adventure. The flames flickered and most paintings were either sleeping or too busy to notice any slight noise. Years ago late night wanderings meant discovering secret rooms with three-headed dogs and fighting danger. After they learned of the Room of Requirement it had meant her transformation. They used to hide in the bathroom, constantly looking out for midnight intruders. Luckily the ROR could keep anyone out. No one would disturb them. No one would see her. She could be free. Anticipation radiated off her as they continued on. It meant so much to her. Hogwarts was the only place she could escape her mask.

Softly the duo shuffled along the floor until they reached the wall by the dancing trolls tapestry. Ron walked alongside his friend as she paced three times. She had mastered her specifications. A large door slowly emerged into being and a small hand grasped the handle. Ron stuck like glue to her as they entered. Inside was an average sized room with cream walls with the exception of one which was a hot pink. Paintings with swirling pinks, purples, and browns were sprinkled along the walls with the occasional poster. Against one wall was a full-length mirror. A large queen bed with a crown shaped headboard was decorated with white, purple, pink, and brown sheets, pillows, and blankets. A shag rug covered most of the ground and soft ottoman seats were clustered near a vanity. Hundreds of make-up products and wigs lined the white wood. A dresser made with similar wood was against the opposite wall with a fuzz shaded lamp. A dressing shade was near the dresser. A small door led to a meager walk-in closet. It was her fantasy room. The room she'd have if she could. The room she'd have if she could tell anyone. The room she'd have if anyone cared enough for her to make it.

Finally, letting the cloak drop, she nearly squealed as she ran to the dresser. Ron removed the cloak from himself smirking. She sustained the habit of acting innocent, because Ron knew she had never had the opportunity to truthfully be innocent. She'd seen too much to be. Ron fiddled with the cloak as he sat in one of the plush seats. He watched as she withdrew feminine underwear. Then, she disappeared into the closet. He could hear her rummaging. Softy music began to play. This was her paradise. A place she could finally be who she was born as. Ron watched as she emerged from the closet with clothing strewn over her arm. She changed behind the screen while humming to the tune playing. Ron guessed it was another Shania Twain song. He let out a whispered chuckle. After all the years he knew her better than anyone.

With a bursting aura of joy she appeared from behind the screen. A fifties style polka dot dress was matched with black stockings and a pair of black Mary Jane's. A tiny giggle escaped her lips as she looked down at her dress. But she didn't look in the full-length mirror yet. No, not until she was fully transformed. Ron knew mirrors were her sworn enemy. She sat in one of the colorful seats as she masterfully applied make-up. A brunette short wig was placed over her concealed hair and she styled it with curled ends. A headband finalized the image. Ron observed her walking to the large mirror. Her normal hesitant, shy gait became confident, quick, and fluid; the shined shoes gliding across the rug. Her arms slightly swung at her side. An overjoyed smile grew on her lips. Once she reached the mirror her whole face lit up. Ron had to acknowledge she could make herself beautiful. He harbored no crush for her as she was in line with Ginny, a sister, but he treated her elation with grand emotion. His happiness for her only increased hers. This time though, he kept any compliment silent as she observed herself in the same volume. A thin hand ghosted over the dress skirt. A dreamy look reminiscent of Luna Lovegood appeared in her sparkling eyes. It was the purest form of delight Ron Weasley could witness. And, though he missed sleep and would be grouchy in the morning, he knew he could sacrifice it to see her look so happy.

"Shilo" she whispered admiring her appearance, oblivious to the world. She looked so happy. She always looked so happy during their escapes, when she didn't have to hide. There were no expectations. There were no burdens or sorrow. At night, in her true form, she was free. And, even though it would affect him in the morning, Ron knew he could never ruin it for her. He couldn't crush the dreams of his best mate.

"Honestly, Ronald, couldn't you eat more civilized like Harry." Hermione reprimanded Ron in an unhelpful manner. Ron swallowed his food intake to glance at his companion. Harry offered an easy expression. His face was smooth and clear while his dark hair was a bit long. There was the smallest hint of residue on his cuticles. The fork rested eloquently in his hand after taking a small bite of food. He was still morphing into his boy-role since the late night excursion. It really wasn't fair being compared to Harry.

Hermione had already turned back to her book, a concealed book on defense to prepare for tonight's meeting. Her hair was a frizzy mess, but better than previous years. Her lack of buck teeth was a nice improvement. No make-up adorned her face to enhance her beauty. Her nails were trimmed but naked. She was natural. Hermione was a product of Mother Nature. Ron had learned to ignore the thoughts. So what if Harry was born male? Harry was a girl. And, Ron had to wholeheartedly believe that because she needed him. The female Harry really was needed him.

"Sorry" Ron mumbled his reply. Hermione's eyes briefly met his over her book. They were piercing and critical. Hermione was logic. Science, reason, truth defined her life. She wasn't cold, Ron recognized, but her understanding of abnormality and things only feeling explained was limited past magic. He loved her, truly. But love wasn't enough to betray Harry. His best friend, first friend, brother in everything but blood had his trust and loyalty. Well, sister really.

Breakfast came to an end announcing it was time for the trio to head to their Wednesday classes. Ron was glad they didn't have Defense or Potions today. The only person Ron had met that was worse than Snape to Harry was Umbridge. The woman's word venom and medieval detention methods had a deeper penetration than Snape's practices. Harry had enough to deal with. Luckily the entire school was no longer against him. Guilt settled in the pit of Ron's stomach. He had turned against Harry the previous year. After the heartbreaking display that followed his betrayal he promised both Harry and himself to never leave. Deep down he knew eventually he'd break it, but at least he was trying not to hurt Harry.

Together Ron and Harry rose to follow Hermione. She had just started off towards the doors. The Hall was relatively empty as class was to start soon. A few students loitered with friends and some seventh year with free periods lagged. No teachers remained. Part of Ron wished the hall was always this vacant. It was nice; the muted racket and basic atmosphere. The Hall was simpler this way, less occupied. Too much of anything was always noisy and complicated. Ron knew this too well. Maybe, if he'd have been an only child, life would have been like this--simple. But this was the life he had. He only wished Harry had it easier. And, maybe he could get more sleep.

Harry Potter walked the Hogwarts hallways lost in thought. The route to the ROR room was beyond memorized. He could likely walk it in his sleep. It was the last meeting before the break for the DA. Soon it would be the holidays. Sadly, that meant he still had half a year to go. But, the other day Ron had told him that he was invited to the Burrow for the holidays. It was the brightest notion in his bleak life--presently. After the Quidditch ban, Umbridge's detentions, and the whole world against him a break from it all sounded nice. And, he'd get to spend time with his surrogate family. Maybe he'd also get to visit Sirius.

The possibility of having a family with Sirius around had eased going back to the Dursleys' since third year. Sirius meant escape. Sirius was his key to escaping the monsters that held him prisoner at Privet Drive. With Sirius he could live a free life. He could sleep at night without fear of the next day. He could eat regularly. Someone would be there to off-handedly offer comfort. Someone would be there to say they were proud of him. Life with Sirius would be perfect.

It was all a fantasy, though. Sirius wouldn't come swooping in and save Harry. He was trapped as much as Harry was. The blood-wards meant Harry was stuck at Privet Drive. With Voldemort on the rise the only safe place during the summer was that wretched house alluding to perfection. Plus, Sirius was so proud of James' son. What would Sirius think of James' daughter? Would, could Sirius accept him? Could Sirius accept her, Shilo? What if, after everything, Sirius couldn't stand the thought of a trans godchild?

He was well aware of many muggles opinions on whom he was. Over the years a few brave transgender souls had dared enter into the community of Little Winging. The tales his aunt told her gossip group had never left Harry. He knew if his aunt ever found out about Shilo she'd likely throw a fit. Harry already had it rough at Privet Drive as it was. But, what about Wizards' opinions? Were they the same? Ron had accepted Shilo, but Ron had been a child with developing viewpoints. Surely, a grown man who was known for blatantly opposing the rigid social structure of such a traditional society would accept Shilo? He had to. None of Shilo's fantasies included masquerading as Harry. Then again, she never fantasized as Harry.

 The tapestry Harry knew too well drew closer. The familiar hallway called to him. He loved Hogwarts. Never in his life had a place felt so much like home. Recently, the homey feeling had deteriorated. It was still his home, but things were different. With the war casting a shadow over everyone aware there was less light in the Wizarding world. Victims had already piled up. Harry just wasn't sure if he was a victim of the Second war or still a casualty of the first.

Cho was among those haunted. He rarely saw her without tear streaks. During his fourth year it had been so easy to claim her as a crush. She was only the object of his attentions because of a comment Ron had made during their spat. He pointed out Harry had yet to have a crush and it could only put things into question. Ron had deeply apologized after they made up, but Harry enlisted his help in creating the illusion. Ron was truly a master strategist, if not motivated in the slightest to actually work. The duo had easily come up with an elaborate hoax involving an oblivious Cho. She was the perfect crush. She was a Quidditch seeker, older, pretty enough, and devoted to Cedric.  The plan backfired during the DA meetings. Cho was no longer unavailable and she had set her sights on Harry unawares Harry was not interested. The worst part was Hermione had taken notice.

Hermione, dear Hermione, an amazing friend Harry doubted he could ever trust with Shilo. Feelings didn't live in a book. Could he trust her to look past her logic cloud mind and her muggle upbringing to accept Shilo? One of the main things the Dursleys instilled within Harry was the views muggles held against transgender people. Hermione...he didn't think he could survive without her. She never left his side except to visit the library. She saw the world differently than him. With Ron's wizard experience and Hermione's book knowledge coupled with Harry's common sense they made the perfect trio. He didn't dare ruin it for either Ron or him by telling Hermione.

Harry arrived at the ROR. The transition between asking for Shilo's room and the DA's room was surprisingly easy. Duty always came first. The DA needed someone of such valor. Harry knew how far an act of kindness could go. Putting others first was second nature. Hermione called it his ‘saving people thing'. He just felt others' lives meant more. Maybe it was a tad melodramatic. Other people had parents, like Cedric, or family like Ginny, or responsibility like Remus.  And it was the right thing to do, helping others first. The Dursleys instilled such a horrible sense of right and wrong in Dudley that Harry's had suffered an opposite effect.

The meeting went by in a blur after Harry rid the room of Dobby's decorations. He noticed Cho was watching him a lot. And, that Hermione was watching Cho watching him. He played his part well until the end. He barely comprehended what happened, but he was left alone with Cho. He'd tried to comfort her after she cried, but he couldn't offer her the comfort she wished. He didn't know what to do.

Harry arrived at the Gryffindor common room shortly after, still dazed. He numbly sat in front of the fire. Hermione was writing a letter and Ron was working on homework. His red-haired friend noticed him first. He felt the intense stare of the boy. Hermione broke the silence.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, worried. Harry blinked up at her. He felt a mixture of nausea and bitterness. What could he say? Hermione's eyes held a mischievous glitter that spoke volumes. Hermione wanted a tale of how she'd been right, Cho liked him, and something had happened. He couldn't give her one. He couldn't tell Hermione she was right because she wasn't. Hermione, for one of the few notable times, was wrong about something. What could he say?

If he told the truth Hermione would get suspicious and he didn't need the bookworm on his case. If he told her nothing at all had happened she'd still be suspicious. He could only lie and give Hermione the answer she desired, as bad as the taste was in his mouth. He would have to betray Cho.

"Nothing, she just wanted to talk." Harry said nonchalantly. If he wasn't entire disgusted with the thought of pretending to be someone else any more than he had to, he fancied himself a rather brilliant actor.

Hermione took the bait. "What happened, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath before he misled his friend. It hurt, keeping the truth from Hermione. In the end Hermione was satisfied and blissfully ignorant. And, Harry retired with Ron to the boys' dormitory. The bitter taste of his lies still lingering. Ron did whisper before they entered the dorm that they both needed to sleep to mean that there was no adventure tonight. Harry was greatly against the prospect of sleep, but agreed.

He crawled into his sheets wearing his loose, hand-me-down pajamas. He had Ron's growing body and Ginny preference for girl clothing to thank for them. They weren't his favorite, but he did appreciate them.

He fell into an uneasy sleep. Odd dreams plagued him with Cho accusing him of weird things and Hermione backing her up. The sensation of his secret almost falling into the hands of two judgmental people led him into an even weirder dream. He was slithering along a cold floor. His stomach slid across the stone until he came upon a sleeping man. Instinct took over when he noticed the man stir. He reeled back and attacked. Multiple times he sank his teeth into the man.

"Harry! HARRY!" Ron's voice abruptly stopped the dream and Harry bolted upright. He was drenched in sweat that dripped into his searing scar. The bed covers and his clothing were tangled tightly. His breathing was uneven and strained. He barely noticed Ron was still calling him and that others were talking as he was lost in the pain. The increasing agony caused him to vomit over the side of the bed. The cries around him were still muffled, but he could tell Ron was close. Opening his eyes against the burn in his scar he reached out to grab Ron's hand. He used it to pull himself up and then drew Ron in.

"Your dad!" Harry then tried to explain his nightmare to his nearly equally frightened friend. At some point someone had left and returned with Professor McGonagall. Harry quickly explained to her about his dream, thankful she was an Order member. He vehemently argued with her until she admitted that she believed him. Hope flared in his heart. He complied when she took him to Dumbledore's office.

He was half relieved half hating the circumstances that Dumbledore finally seemed to take notice of him. It had stung the whole term that the man he'd looked up to had ignored him so. When he had to admit he was the snake in the dream he noticed Ron blanch. He hoped Ron would forgive him. He never wanted others to hurt for him. He never wanted to hurt others. The ill treatment Harry felt he was receiving with Dumbledore's slow movement to believe him was near boiling point as anger surfaced. It was the same as the summer, when no one told him anything. No one thought him capable of understanding. Everyone assumed he was too young. Youth had since passed for Harry.

Ron wasn't looking at Harry. It bruised him. The only ally he really had decided to treat him like everyone else. Harry watched as the portraits communicated with Dumbledore. Fury like no other was still building within him. He watched distantly as Dumbledore asked for the other Weasleys, as he created a Portkey, and as the others filled in. Pain, betrayal, and rage danced a deathly waltz at the front of his tongue and mind. He ignored the other's questions. He ignored Dumbledore tell the Weasley's they're going to Grimmauld place. He ignored them as they gathered around the Portkey. But he couldn't ignore Ginny's query.

"Professor, where will Harry go?" Harry's eyes snapped into focus as hope yet again flared within him. He turned expectant eyes to Dumbledore, who didn't meet them.

"For Harry's and other's safety he will be staying at his relatives until the end of the term. I will then find him other arrangements." the headmaster's voice shock Harry to the core. Instantly his indignation dissipated to be replaced with a feeling of hollowness. No. He couldn't go back. Not after Vernon's threat. Cold encompassed his whole being as his ear rung. Dumbledore was sending him back. After abandoning him there last summer, he planned to drop him off at his tormentors' doorstep, quite literally. He was going to deliberately isolate Harry once again. But maybe he needed it.

Had he not just seen himself attack his best mate's father? Didn't he just harm someone else? Didn't he endanger his friend's father just like he had endangered his friend's sister three years before? Could he honestly be around others who mattered to him right now? A large part of him knew danger followed him everywhere he went and now it was only proven. He couldn't risk the lives of the Weasley's or Sirius at the moment.

But he really didn't want to risk his own at the Dursleys. But it wasn't his choice. That was ripped away from him. The choice was always ripped from him. He couldn't choose between having fame or parents. He couldn't choose between abusive relatives or an unstable godfather. He couldn't choose between being born a boy or a girl. And, that righteous indignation quickly grew within the girl trapped in a male body. Every injustice ever brought upon the girl created a storm of uncontrollable emotion.

She wanted to scream, to lash out, to strike, to bite ... to sink fangs into the man who caused all her pain. To attack the man responsible for her hellish childhood. The man who abandoned her to a life of strife, confusion, and fear. She wanted revenge. And, in that moment she was fully ready and willing to slaughter the man who dared ignore her after everything he put her through then ship her off back to people who couldn't care less about her.

"Mr. Potter." Professor McGonagall's voice broke through Harry's reverie. He forced down the raging emotions. He looked up to see Ron give an apologetic expression. He offered a weak smile. Ron needed to be with his father right now. With a sinking feeling in his gut he watched as the Weasley's disappeared into nothing. Numbly he noted that Dumbledore had made a second Portkey.

"As you will be coming back in only a few days, Harry, we'll simply leave your possessions here. Please grab hold of the Portkey. You should arrive near your relatives' house." The way Dumbledore seemed to look past him was starting to unnerve Harry. What was so wrong with him? That someone wouldn't look him in the eye? "Freak" flashed in his mind. He quickly expelled the word. Years ago he would have believed it, but now ... he didn't know what to believe. Maybe he was? After all, normal people didn't dream of themselves as snakes attacking people only to wake up to find it wasn't their imagination.

Swallowing his trepidation Harry took hold of the random, shiny object Dumbledore held out for him. The following stomach clenching sensation only reminded him of that day, the graveyard, Cedric ... before he landed on the heavy, chilled concrete. As he dizzily stumbled upright he noticed the light above him. It flickered and buzzed with an ominous warning. Underneath it was a nailed street sign. Privet Drive. Home sweet home.

Severus Snape knew being summoned by Dumbledore was never produced a good result. Nevertheless, he dutifully went to the man's office. He instantly knew something was wrong.  The formalities of a typical meeting with Albus were absent. There was no twinkle in the man's eye. Snape didn't even bother to sit.

"I am now sure there is a connection between the two." Of course, the blasted Potter boy. He'd be the demise of the Light. "His mind must be protected, for the safety of everyone near him. After the term ends, please retrieve him from his relatives. It's far too dangerous for me to teach him. I know this is asking much of you, but we cannot lose this war. And, if you cannot do this for us, my boy, do it for her." How dare the man!

Severus Snape allowed the door to slam shut behind him as he left Dumbledore's office. He would do it. But he would do it his way.

The walk wasn't long, Dumbledore had made sure. Yet, each step towards the looming house of Number Four Privet Drive seemed to only lengthen the distance. Harry wished it had. He wished he'd never arrive at the neatly trimmed lawn covered in white frost, never cross the border of the wards, and never have to surrender himself to the pain that will soon rain down. He felt like a chastised child having to walk towards his disciplinarian to receive due punishment. Was this a choice? Or another decision made for him? He could enter the dark house, submit himself to Vernon's fury, and try to survive two days. Or he could pass the illusion of perfection. He could walk along the sidewalk until his ratty shoes finally give up. He could live in alleys and hunt in trash bins. He could find some ragtag gang and withstand the days until his majority. He could take his chances in winter London. He could do a lot of things.

It was only two days though. Surely he wouldn't be too damaged by then. He survived nearly fourteen years at the Dursley's. Facing Voldemort and his deathly sycophants would likely end with him in a worse condition. Two evils, that was his choice. He could go with the monster he's known since he was barely two or the one that he's only met three times with once being only an incorporeal form. The devil that you know...

Steps trained in secrecy brought him to the backyard fence. Summoning all the fear, worry, and anxiety eating at his nerves Harry expelled them with a deep exhale timed perfectly with him easing the fence gate open. Thankfully it didn't creak. He carefully reached the back door, his worn-shoes-made-slippers protecting him from the thin layer of snow along the ground. He really didn't want to follow through with his orders. But he didn't have a choice.

Harry eased open the back door, glad the Dursleys weren't cautious people. He crept inside the silent home.  Despite him being gone for months the place still smelt strongly of disinfectant and bleach. The linoleum was nearly sparkling. It was only after a decade and a half of training that Harry avoided dripping melted snow on the ground. His footfalls mimicked a small rodent; they were mute. He wound his way through the ground floor to the stairs. A sudden snore stopped Harry in his tracks. Fear gripped his rapidly panicking heart. Merlin, please let them keep sleeping, Harry wished. He stealthily maneuvered up the staircase, through the hallway, and to the door lined with locks. Briefly he wondered what the Dursleys told guests what the door was when he isn't there. 

He softly turned his door handle ... to find it wouldn't budge. He tried again, turning the metal knob to no avail. The simmering panic grew tenfold. No. He needed to get inside his room. They couldn't find him vulnerable in the hallway. He just wanted to get through the next two days relatively unscathed and out of his relatives' way. But it didn't look like it would go that way.

Professor Snape rose for his Thursday classes. His routine was practiced and trite as he followed it once again. He was smiling though, as he got ready. The Potter boy would be gone for the last two days of term. He would see neither hair nor hide of the arrogant prince until he'd have to retrieve him on Saturday. Potter was probably going to whine and moan about being torn from his dotting relatives. But he'd ensure the brat knew discipline and humility before term resumed come January.

Harry watched in horror as his Uncle advanced. He knew he should have hidden in his old cupboard.

During lunch Professor Snape observed the Granger girl sitting alone, reminiscent of her early days as a student. He was unsure what she possibly saw in Potter. The girl must know Potter is only pretending to be friends for her help. After all, that's what Potter Senior did with Lupin. Potter had allegiances and possibly the Weasley boy, but the true meaning of friendship was likely lost on the boy.

Harry carefully mopped the floor trying to irritate his wounds as little as possible. The work was hell on his pain-ridden body, but he couldn't stop; not with work still to be done.

Dinner was a terse affair with Umbridge's interrogative actions throughout the day weighing people down. She'd attack any Gryffindor she saw. Swooping down like a crazed vulture she'd peck at them with grating words. Snape witnessed Minerva McGonagall smile on the rare occasion if she saw Umbridge storm off fruitless. But, of course, this was all Potter's fault. His need for attention brought this upon all of them. If the boy would only keep his head down, then things wouldn't get so hectic. It was asking too much though for Potter to be dutiful, though. Like the brat could keep any secrets.

Harry slaved over the hot stove that was not a comfort within the Dursleys' 29 degree Celsius home. The night was almost upon him.

Silk sheets encased the dark-haired man. He peacefully slept away the worries that plagued his waking hours. The cold of the dungeons did not penetrate his wards that kept the room warm. Dreamless sleep filtered through his veins ensuring he got the sleep the troubled man deserved. He would need all the sleep he could get now, considering what lies ahead.

Harry shivered in his thin blanket while he lies awake in his dismal mattress. Nightmares, pain, and memories kept him from sleeping.

Friday went easily enough for Snape. Without any Weasleys, though the girl was bearable, or Potter his classes seemed subdued. The whole castle was, though. The weight of Umbridge's decrees and small actions happening throughout the Wizarding world without explanation was slowly putting students on edge. They weren't all stupid. By now doubt that the media's solid stance in Voldemort not being back was setting in. Snape may hate Potter, but the boy was right. Voldemort was back. And, he had the profound, black Dark Mark to prove it. Sadly, his day was close to an end. Tomorrow he'd have to retrieve the cause of his perpetual aggravation for the last four-almost-five years.

Harry could hardly move from pain and exhaustion. Tomorrow he'd be saved.

Snape decided to grade the end-of-term essays after he slept in on Saturday.

Harry kept glancing at the door after he started his five AM chores.

Snape felt a sense of elation as he organized his storeroom putting off picking up Potter.

Harry felt a sense of hopelessness as he served lunch with shaking hands.

Snape waited until it was after suppertime. Potter would likely be leisurely devouring his evening meal. He could imagine the shocked expression on the conceited brat's face. Snape reveled in the injustice and horror he could cause to appear on the Potter spawn's face. The spoiled child deserved everything he got. Some people weren't born into privilege. Some people didn't have enough money to buy out the Ministry's Department of Transportation. Some people didn't have a million fawning followers. Some people didn't have anyone.

Ignoring the detrimental path his thoughts were taking Snape found himself just outside the Hogwarts's gates. In one breath he'd be spinning and arrive at Potter's home. But surely it could wait? He may enjoy the brief moment of terror Potter'd experience at finding out his arrangement for the next three weeks, but it wasn't worth having to watch and teach the boy. Surely he could prolong this endeavor a few more hours ... or days. Voldemort won't wait that long, Snape knew. He has to teach the child soon lest Voldemort discovers the connection.

With his new resolve Snape disapparated on the spot to emerge on a snow covered street. The lawns were perfect, far as he could tell, under the white. The streetlights were flickering on and off, undecided in the twilight. Each car he passed seemed eerily similar to the next. Everything was eerily similar. Snape brushed aside the unsettling perfection. His mission was to grab Potter and leave. And, loath as he was to complete this mission, he knew he had to.

No one noticed the black clad man suddenly materialize into existence at the end of their street. No one noticed the dark figure pass their house. No one noticed the fearsome form approach number four. And, no one noticed the scene that unfolded after he knocked.

Shilo took a calming breath as she checked over herself. Within the confines of the small bathroom she could drop her boy role. She could drop the stoic face and hardened eyes. She could be herself and not worry about remembering to snort instead of giggle. She didn't have to remember to walk like a soldier instead of a swan. She didn't have to remember to number her smiles or hold her tears. Here, she could forget to remember.

Before the mirror she carefully cataloged the injuries, ignoring the bad taste in her mouth at seeing her male appearance. Her nimble hands drifted over her cheeks which were unharmed. Vernon hadn't aimed for them, or her head, after she managed to alert him to the fact that she was leaving in two days. But he wanted to ensure she remembered her place. The blows were not the most helpful in recovering her mental state. Her hand traveled downwards over her swollen lips and past the hollow of her throat to rest right at the collar of her overflowing shirt. Shilo didn't want to look. She knew if she pulled down the collar she'd see a mass of bruises and cuts. He loved to scar her chest, reveling in pointing out its level height. Because someone else did know about her.

She hadn't been careful and he found out. Vernon was the least likely of the Dursleys to accept abnormality. And, Shilo embodied it. The punishment for being caught hadn't been pretty. It hadn't left her pretty. But a deal had been made: Shilo could dress as herself, be herself, at night if Vernon could visit her. Well, like many things in her life, Shilo wasn't allowed to make the decision. It wasn't her choice. It was never her choice. The life that followed that fateful 1989 day resulted in her current predicament. Returning to Privet Drive meant indulging Vernon's sick, twisted side that enjoyed mocking Shilo in the cruelest fashion he could find. As much as Shilo wanted to be a girl in more than just mind and soul she was glad she couldn't fully change her body until she was past her majority. She didn't want to consider what Vernon would do if she was a girl utterly.

Deciding to ignore her chest for now Shilo moved on to inspect her shoulders. There were no marks past her sleeves. Her stomach was bad shape, but nothing she couldn't stand. It was only two-almost-three day damage. She had experienced a month of non-stop abuse only this past summer. Part of her really wished she didn't know the kind of pain that entitled. The other had learned to accept that this was her life. And so, she continued her scrutiny. She knew to avoid her groin; she did it regularly, and focused on her legs. There were bruises and welts that likely matched her back. It must be a horrible sight to see, her back. A cluster of concentrated fury right over ... oh, no, she wouldn't think about that. Not now. She couldn't afford to.

Shilo quickly washed her wounds as best she could. With trained practice she puts her mask back in place. She reconstructed Harry Potter in the mirror. Molding her face back into an indifferent, cold mask that would hide her pain and replacing dismay with anger seemed almost unjust. Injustice was a defining factor in her life, though. Fairness and justice have never been her friends. Not when they replaced estrogen with testosterone in the womb; not when they killed her parents before she could properly walk and talk; not when they turned the world and the only people expected to lover her against her; and they were especially not fair when they decided to bring back a man hell-bent on killing her while she was trying to figure her life out. No, life would never be fair or just for Shilo Potter. Or, rather, Harry Potter, as he was so perfectly in place before the mirror.

"Get out! Your time is up!" Aunt Petunia screeched through the bathroom door. Harry turned away from his reflection. He hated looking into a mirror as himself and not Shilo. The hope that he'd be able to visit the ROR when he got back to Hogwarts was dwindling. Dumbledore told him he'd be collected on Saturday, which was today (he'd checked multiple times). So far, no one showed. Doubt of ever being collected had settled throughout the day as Vernon got testy. Each hour that passed without anyone showing meant a new set of abrasions to Harry's body. He really hoped someone would show soon, before night fell.

Luck seemed to finally be on the teen's side as there was a knock on the door right as he reached the bottom step. The entire household went on edge at the noise. Harry tried to straighten his shirt, which was a challenge to do when it was nearly falling off him. A wonderful perk of being sent to the Dursley's without any of his personal items. Thankfully Petunia had yet to get rid of some of Dudley's old shirts. Harry hoped his luck would actually last and someone he knew would pick him up, like Lupin, and ignore the clothing he wore.

That luck quickly ran out as Harry opened the door. A sneering, sallow, spiteful face was what Harry found. One of the last men on the entire planet Harry wanted to encounter stood before him. Shit.

"Potter! We're leaving." Snape near growled as he did the opposite of what he commanded and entered the home. Harry sidestepped just in time to avoid the daunting man stalk through the threshold. Something began eating at his nerves as he noticed the man observing the living room where the Dursleys sat. It might have been consternation if outrage wasn't the predominant emotion taking over. Harry glared at the back of Snape's head as the man stood not far-off examining with stilted eyes. Of all the people who would pick him up it had to be Snape. Fairness didn't even know Harry existed.

"Sir?" Harry said trying to control the bitterness rising in his voice. He may hate Snape, but he'd rather leave the residence before nightfall. He'd rather not be in Vernon's presence while darkness takes over.

Snape turned to glare at Harry. His lanky hair flipped in an almost feminine manner. Though it might have been Harry's imagination as he wished his hair could flow. Maybe Snape was like him; a her. A giggle almost passed Harry's lips, but he choked it down. Like Snape could ever be anything but a menacing model of masculinity. He received a raised eyebrow for his slip up. Harry schooled his features back into an unreadable mask.

"My, my, Potter, I didn't know you had it in you to be civil and polite." Snape mock-praised with a smirk. Fury was not an emotion Harry knew he could afford right now. Snape might just up and leave abandoning Harry to three weeks of torture courtesy of the Dursleys. 

"Do you have everything, Potter?" Snape inquired. The slight smirk that followed really set Harry's teeth on edge. Of course he didn't, he didn't have anything right now. Bastard.

"Yes, sir." Can we go now, Harry mentally screamed at him. Snape gave Harry a rather harsh glare, despite how polite Harry kept his response.

"Impatience, Potter, leads to nothing good. Let us depart." Snape fully turned towards the door and swept past Harry, robes billowing. Harry didn't have time to mock Snape internally as he rushed out after the man. The cold assaulted him instantly. The last time he had traveled the yard before him he'd been in such a state of shock the cold hadn't fully registered. But he now felt it in his loose, thin shirt. A modest breeze roamed through the openings in Harry's shirt. The first time was a blessing as the cold felt nice against his scorching wounds. After a few moments, the bliss quickly turned to misery as he began to shiver.

Harry was tempted to ask how they'd be getting to Hogwarts, but his teeth were clattering too hard. Just as other questions formed in his mind Snape stopped walking and stuck out his arm. What struck Harry as odd was that he didn't hold out a wand to call the Knight bus.

"Come now, Potter. We don't have all night." Snape glanced back at Harry. At Harry's confused expression he sighed heavily. "Surely you are not that incompetent, Potter. Grab my arm." Snape barked the order.  Harry didn't hesitate to comply lest the man leave without him. He took hold of the man's arm to suddenly feel sick. He was being pressed along each side, like the walls closing in on a room. His body was being squeezed through some small, black tube system. It was unending.

Finally, Harry's feet met solid, icy ground. He nearly collapsed. His stomach took a few moments to return to him while he gulped down air. The ground below him came into focus once he was stabilized. The sound of footsteps reached his ears. Weary eyes noticed Snape walking ahead. All around him were identical brick houses. The stone was dull with a black hue matching the sky. Harry quickly covered his nose to the chemical dust that faintly lingered. The broken lamp just above him barely reached him in its dull radius. And, he thought Privet Drive was an indistinguishable street.

"Hurry up, Potter, I will not wait hand and foot for the Gryffindor prince!" Snape said harshly from the doorway of the nearest building. Harry sped over to the man, not at all liking his surroundings. There were two steps up to a black door that melted into the wall. Snape opened the door and entered the dark home. Harry reluctantly followed.

Inside was a cramped living area with bookshelves lining each wall. Rows of leather bound tomes encased the already small space. A musty stench of age and disuse permeated the stale air. A fireplace with an eloquent mirror hanging over was to the left. Harry avoided looking at it. A small archway past the fireplace led to a run-down kitchen. There was a threadbare couch and chair, each of a different make and pattern suggesting they weren't a set, next to a rickety looking side table. The room screamed ancient and unused.

"Professor, why are we here?" Harry asked while he went deeper into the room. Snape didn't respond immediately. He flicked his wand at the door to close it. He then seemed to take a moment to ... collect himself?

"Potter," Snape started and the venom behind the word answered Harry's question. He was trying not to let his anger get the best of him. Well, that was a possible bright side. But why was he with Snape in this ratty house? "As you should know, lest your minuscule mind has already forgotten, Professor Dumbledore had plans for the remainder of the vacation for you." Snape continued.

No. Harry's mind nearly blanked. No way was he going to be stuck with Snape. But the man kept talking, so Harry held on to his dim flame of hope.

"I shall explain everything tomorrow, but know you will be residing with me in this house until term resumes. And, let me warn you now, Potter," Snape no longer glared at Harry but bore into his soul with the death look he was giving the teen. Loathing isn't even a strong enough word to describe the emotion swirling in the onyx eyes. "If you so much as step a foot out of line, no, if I hear you breathe wrong, Potter, I will make your life a living hell. Do not. Disobey me. Do not. Go gallivanting. Do not. Go anywhere you do not belong. And, do not. Touch anything." Snape leaned a bit closer with each rule. Harry involuntarily leaned back.

Snape straightened. "Suffer under no illusion, Potter, that I will cater to you like every other man, woman, and child in this world who worships you." The professor turned sharply and stalked off towards a bookshelf. Harry hesitantly followed, blood-curling scenarios flashing through his mind. Snape stopped before a small door and traveled up the winding staircase. Harry felt he might appreciate the house if it wasn't so dusty ... and he wasn't scared shitless. The duo reached the top. It was a small hallway with a collection of small doors. Snape walked past the first to the second door. He motioned to it. "This is the lavatory." was the curt explanation Harry received. Snape then moved back to the first door. He opened it to a narrow, near empty room. With a flick of a switch the room was aglow with yellow light. There was a twin bed against the wall with a dresser right next to it and moth-eaten curtains covering the grimy window.  A desk was situated by the opposite wall. The room was a little smaller than his one at Privet Drive. The roof was low creating an even darker feel. Harry kept up his mask as his face metaphorically fell. Maybe, just maybe, some irrational part of his mind hoped to see something reminiscent of Shilo's ROR room.

"Go to sleep, Potter, though I doubt you need it after likely sleeping in until noon. Rest assured, Potter, that you will rise early tomorrow. I will not let you laze around for this entire break." With that threat hanging in the air Snape turned to leave, but Harry stopped him.

"Sir?" Many questions whirled through Harry's mind. Why did Snape take him to the sad excuse for a house? Why had Snape even picked him up? What was Dumbledore playing at? Would he ever get to make a choice in his life? But he knew he'd get time tomorrow to ask them. He'd have to wait. Tomorrow everything would be fixed. Right now he had to stay on Snape's good-side, as if he ever could, and stick it out. Professor's had limitations for punishment, but at this house? Could Snape follow through with his threat? There weren't many things Snape could do to make Harry's life more Hell than it already was. Well, there was one thing, but Snape wouldn't. Right?

"May I still use the bathroom to prepare for bed?" Harry said in his most confident voice that betrayed no fear or anger. He received a sneered nod in reply as well as a slammed door. Harry had to restrain himself from jumping at the noise.

As Harry prepared to sleep he noted that a part, albeit small, of him wished to be back at Privet Drive. At least he knew what he'd be doing right now, and what he'd be doing the next morning, and the ones to follow. The devil that you know ... is better than the one you don't.

Darkness slithered around the weak candle burning slowly. Occasionally the darkness breached the flame's shell of light causing it to flicker. The two continued their dance in the background of Severus Snape's reflections. He sat mutely in his worn chair. It had been hours since he told the insolent child to sleep, yet the wards he had placed told him the brat disobeyed. Snape was torn between taking the opportunity to punish the child so openly given to him or to let the Potter boy stay up and revel in waking the brat at six AM. Maybe he'd let Potter wallow for the night. Or maybe he'd grab the boy and make him start the chores Snape had planned for the next day. No part of him would feel sorry for doing so. But then he'd be forced to stay awake and watch the child. He'd rather avoid Potter until the morning.

Ah, the morning, he wouldn't get a Potter-less one any time soon. The moment the Potter spawn opened his family's door he knew it would not be an enjoyable holiday. The rags literally hanging on the boy had mocked him. Potter, the pompous, spoiled boy, had looked at him with wide, emerald eyes so akin to his mother's. Fate was cruel to him.

He had been intrigued, though, the moment he saw the clothing. The preposterous notion that Potter possibly lived in poverty had briefly flashed through his mind until he moved inside. The house was immaculate, furnished with the finest furniture and knickknacks. It was almost disgusting. The family was staring at him with a mixture of hatred, fury, and terror. And, that was without him sneering, snapping, or snarking yet. Potter must have them docile. How the family could be lackadaisical in their care of the errant boy was beyond his comprehension. He thought they spoiled him, but to be his total slaves was infuriating. If Potter thought he'd roll over for the boy's whims, then he had another thing coming.

The cheeky brat had acted meek. His fear-filled posture was well acted.  Though, if he really did frighten him to such an extent then maybe he'd have more fun this holiday. Almost five long years of the boy and he'd managed to have cowed him. But it was obvious by the quick glances the green eyes made towards the living room that Potter was merely pretending in front of his admiring family. Yes, Potter had put up a civil facade to fool the poor muggles. Snape made sure the family knew that their golden boy was a tad tarnished. Attacking Potter's sore spots was quite an enjoyable game. Why the child refused to put on a coat when he made the suggestion irked him. Well, he hadn't made it sound like a suggestion, or in reference to bringing a coat, but the boy was simply too defiant.

Potter had acted so impatient, but before Snape could brush too much into the boy's mind he'd found a thought on the forefront. The boy's inability to think for others irked Snape to no end. For three weeks he'd ensure the brat knew his place.

Now, the child was up in the room Snape once called his own and was likely running amok. The mirror image of his father, complete with brash personality and all. How any of Lily's blood could flow through the child's veins was inconceivable. After the display Snape witnessed at Privet Drive, though, he felt even more justified in his actions. Do unto others as they've done unto you ... and Potters have always treated him like dirt.

It's stupid, Shilo kept telling herself. It's absolutely ridiculous. Get yourself together. Her internal berating had gone on for hours, yet she couldn't sleep. No, she couldn't let herself sleep. Despite the exhaustion that constantly threatened to overtake her, Shilo remained alert. Her body had quickly adapted to Dursley-time within the few days she was among them.  The result was adrenaline pumping through her veins like battery acids setting every nerve alight. Her teeth were clenched in preparation to keep silent. Her short nails dug into her palms, which were damp with sweat and shaking. Her whole body was on edge--waiting.

Every time her eyes would close she felt a hand on her ankle, felt him grab her, and she'd jerk awake. The first night away from the monsters that stalked the night was always the hardest. Nights in general these days were, though. It seemed she couldn't sleep without seeing Cedric, or Voldemort, or her uncle. She couldn't sleep without somehow causing pain to either herself or others. She couldn't lie awake without feeling ghosts crawl up her skin. She couldn't escape the demons of her past at night. It seemed her life was defined by monsters.

Now, as she hide underneath the small cot Snape had so graciously allowed her to use, she felt it was stupid to cling to the familiarity of her life at Privet Drive. Shilo, somehow, could never escape it. She couldn't love big spaces like others. For the first few years of her life she hated the open sky. It was far too daunting when all she'd grown to know was her cupboard and the darkness that inhabited it. Many people feared darkness, but Shilo feared light within darkness. When light entered a pitch black room it only meant something bad was going to happen. It was childish to take some nonsensical form of comfort in concealing oneself underneath the very object that involved so many horrible incidents. But wasn't that the way to survive, hide under the beast and maybe he won't see you?

The dust clinging to her skin went unnoticed as she shallowly breathed the stale air. She focused on staying awake, so she'd be ready when He came. Because he always did. The spider that had danced in the corner was motionless now; its web an intricate work of art that Shilo knew too well. The floorboards were hard and hurt her palms. One rusty nail poked out near her stomach digging into her flesh. Her stomach was in pain already from nearly three days without food. Part of her hated the necessity of food, it made her weak. Needs made her a pathetic creature. "Pathetic" defined Shilo. And, it was positively pathetic to be hiding under a bed in her Professor's house afraid to sleep in case monsters visited her. It was...stupid.

The hollow, bleached walls of the hallway echoed the quiet footsteps of a contemplative boy. Echoing rings left the boy only to return as the white offered no ear. The emptiness only reflected the vacant insides that were a white mass within the boy. He paced mindlessly to the timbre of his body. Guilt raged with worry and concern. It was nearly Christmas and Ron Weasley wasn't very joyful.

Regret was slowly eating away at him the more he thought. It had seemed so right at the time. But Harry's eyes haunted him. The emerald had been so full of emotion when they met his deep blue. There was fear, confusion, anger, and above all resignation. He hated to see that emotion in his friend's eyes. Resignation shouldn't have looked so fitting in a teenager's eyes. The smile was what was also feasting upon his conscience. The infamous Potter ease. Harry always made sure everyone else was placated before he showed any real concern. But Ron knew it was there. And, that, above all, was what was festering inside him. That smile meant Harry was beyond terrified of going back to the Dursleys.

But Harry had seen Ron's father be attacked. Harry had seen through the eyes of the attacker. At the moment it had seemed right to leave. Harry was dangerous, everyone knew that. Trouble followed the teen wherever he went. That meant trouble trailed Ron in a similar fashion as he rarely left Harry's side; except the one instance during their fourth year. The remorse he'd felt after abandoning Harry was nothing compared to how he felt now. In fourth year Harry had people and was semi-safe at school. At the Dursleys' Harry was alone and at the mercy of those monster's cruel intentions. He only hoped whoever had saved Harry would take care of him. And, he begged Merlin if they found out about her that they didn't add to any of the damage the Dursleys likely inflicted on her.

"Hey, it's going to be okay, alright, love?" a soft voice said as Ron passed an open door. He'd never be able to admit why he did what he did, even years later, but for some reason Ron stopped. He leaned against the wall and silently watched the scene play out inside the room. A girl not far-off from his age was lying in the starch sheeted bed. Her raven hair was splattered against the white contrasting the bed. Her skin was ashen with dark spots resting under her sunken eyes. There were purple and black spots marring her arms and neck. Pockets of red adored her face.  She looked like death warmed over. A faint sense of nausea settled in Ron's stomach.

"Just, please, let the Healer check your wounds, sweetie. He won't hurt you, I promise." The nurse clad in a pink uniform that nearly reminding Ron of the Toad spoke calmly to the girl. Ron noticed the girl was shaking. Her nimble fingers gripped the white cloth in a death grip while her dull eyes darted around the room. "If we can't physically see the extent, then we can't be entirely sure of what potions are necessary," the woman continued.

The girl looked like a beaten animal ready to flee should the opportunity arise. A similar image of an equally distraught girl entered Ron's mind. He could see her, short hair, messed up make-up, ruined clothes, and a wild expression. Shilo had lived in the skin he was witnessing. And, she was probably living in it at the very moment; bruised, battered, and weak. A worn down teen who knew only how to survive in pain. Miles away she was likely taking whatever hell thrown at her stoically. She was likely suffering in silence believing no one was worried about her. But Ron was worried for her. And, it was his fault she was where she was. It was his entire fault. He should have let go of the Portkey the moment Dumbledore said Harry couldn't come. He should have defended his best mate. He should have latched onto Harry's arm and refuse to let go. He should have done a lot of things.

"Dear, I'm sorry, but you must continue down the hall." Ron snapped out of his thoughts to see the nurse standing before him. She looked haggard. He'd probably worn the same expression before. He knew what it was like to tread so carefully around someone. Part of him resented Shilo for it. He hated how she could be so sensitive to certain things. How she could have outlandish outbursts simply because she felt an emotion too strongly. Both of them had bad qualities, Ron acknowledged in his head.

"What happened to her?" He asked with a morbid curiosity. Maybe there were people worse than the Dursleys.

"Monsters." Was the only reply he got before he was shooed out of the door-frame. He caught a final glimpse of the girl. A shaking, skeletal, multi-stripped in reds, yellows, purples, and blacks mess that gave him a look full of primal fear and terror. A look bred from constant abandonment, mistreatment, and neglect. Monsters, indeed.

"Potter, get up this instant! You will not be a nuisance while residing within my home! And, if you so much as yawn in my presence your duties will sorely regret it!" Snape's voice rang from outside the peeling white door. Harry groggily looked up at the door. His eyes only observing a white rectangular mass. His mind was foggy. He couldn't recollect falling asleep, but he must have at some point during the morning hours. The dark wood beneath him was as fuzzy as the thoughts in his head. He couldn't recall where he was or why he was there. It felt as though every muscle in his body had been pounded a thousand times. Everything felt weighted, yet painfully numb. He clenched his teeth to stop the groan threatening to escape.

"Potter!" the word reverberated in his throbbing head. Harry slowly crawled out from underneath the cot while his memory returned. He was in Snape's house and would be for three weeks. His felt and nearly was one giant bruise. He was also the cause of his best friend's family emergency. He was utterly alone for three weeks and likely more. He doubted Ron would ever forgive him. Ron was short-tempered already and quick to shift perceptions. Was witnessing Mr. Weasley's near homicide the straw to break the camel's back of their relationship? Would Ron ever speak to him again?

The thoughts that had plagued Harry's subconscious since he woke up from his nightmare three days ago rushed back with his memories. The ugly, twisting feeling that accompanied the guilt and confusion around what had happened rested, once again, in his gut. He felt sick.

"POTTER!" Snape nearly yelled out Harry's name from behind the door. He sounded distinctly ticked off. This was not a good way to start the day.

Harry quickly grabbed a long-sleeved shirt to replace the brown spotted one he currently wore.  He really hoped he could clean his clothes at some point to wash out the blood. Luckily his pants were dark enough. He cautiously slipped it on while avoiding disturbing too many wounds. Sleeping on the floor hadn't helped them heal. Each injury had an unmistakable ache to it. It felt as though his body was a symphony, different abrasions pulsing in an agonizing beat. Harry took a sick comfort in the music he'd grown to live with.  It was a steadfast sensation. The oak lid of his trunk shut a bit too loudly for his taste waking him up a bit more. Survival instinct cataloged his surroundings. There was no light from the window except a dim hue. For some reason the room seemed more bare than it had been before. Or maybe he was just seeing it differently. On the floor, next to the antique bed, lay his glasses. As he slipped on his wire frames he padded to the door.

"Yes, sir?" Harry offered hoping to placate the furious man as he opened the door.  His voice sounded scratchy and dry. 

Snape stood before him in all his dark dignity with sweeping robe and lanky hair. The ire blazing in the coal eyes forced Harry to shrink away slightly.

"Finally, the prince is gracing me with his presence. As it is now 6:08, three minutes past the breakfast I allotted, you will go without. Follow me." Snape spat out the order with unnecessary venom. He turned, robes billowing, and continued down the hall and steps.

Harry stood there dazed. It was six AM! No, correction, apparently it was 6:08 AM. He watched as the trail of the black cloth disappeared down the steps. His barely awoken mind registered fury. The man allotted a breakfast time he didn't inform Harry about then decided he wouldn't allow Harry to eat after he woke Harry up late? After not getting food for the last three days, and then Snape refusing him breakfast seemed very counterproductive for his body. Knowing if he didn't follow orders he'd likely get punished Harry ran on instinct as he too descended the staircase.

He took note of the disheveled appearance of the interior house as he went. There were visible strips of wood and the white walls were stained with dirt. There were no photographs along the walls, but there were spots that were discolored suggesting there used to be some in place. The wood of the railing was worn down. But the darkness of the stairway was the most notable. Harry wished it was later in the day. The sun might have helped drive away the anxiety slowly building in his stomach. Each event from the past few days were stacking on top of itself in his gut. He pushed down the fear and worry. It wouldn't help him now.

"For being the youngest seeker in a century you possess a rather sluggish gate, Potter." Snape quipped with a smirk. Harry bit his lip to avoid responding with something that would yield a noisome response.

The living room looked as dispirited as when he entered it the night before. Snape progressed into the small kitchen area, which confused Harry. He followed the man into the repugnant space. The tiled walls had caked on grim, the old-fashioned stove was as black as its owner's heart, and the floor was scattered with scuff marks and dead bugs. From what he could tell the counters were a faded blue color with beige cabinets. The horrific wallpaper that ran in a foot strip around the room matched a floral pattern out-dating the ancient books stacked on the rickety table. Two white chairs reminiscent of the walls on the second story had cushioned seats with rips. How could Snape allow his kitchen to befall such a state?

"I believe, Mr. Potter," Snape began as he turned to Harry. There was a disturbing malice within the man's eyes that sent off warning bells in Harry's head. "That since you have a half-hour to spare you can get started on your chores immediately." Snape paused and looked around feigning innocence as if he only just noticed the state of his kitchen. "I suppose you can begin here."

Harry wanted to slap the man.

"There are supplies in the cupboard to your left. Lunch will be served at noon. Do not be late again, Potter," Snape said threateningly. The man's shifts in mood were rather frightening to Harry. He thrived off reading people and predicting when someone was going to suddenly snap. He was very good at reading his uncle. But Snape's constant indifference-turn-anger was like a book in a foreign language. And, there were no words he recognized.

Snape straightened and disappeared behind Harry without another word. Fear and the still muddled state of his brain forced him to remain still as the man passed. The slight breeze sent a shiver down his spine. He was still waiting for the impending ambush to happen. The sudden switch from living in fear of attack to simply living in fear was not going smoothly. There was an unknown, and that was Snape. The man was an enigma away from Hogwarts. Surely, if he ever got Harry alone, away from Dumbledore, he wouldn't hesitate to take his revenge, as ill-placed it may be. Here, Snape was in control. Didn't the man say it was his house?

Harry paused in his thoughts to consider the evening before. Snape said Harry would be staying with him all through the holiday break. For three weeks he'd have to watch every move he'd make. For three weeks he'd be on constant alert. For three weeks he'd have to hide. At least at the Dursleys' Shilo could breathe. But here, with Snape and his hawk-like perceptions and ability to know things, Harry might not make it out alive.

Snapping out of his speculations Harry moved over to the cupboard. He removed the muggle cleaning supplies while relishing in the familiarity of it all. Some things just never change.

Snape cautiously added the ground Sparrow's Tongue to his simmering potion. He was forcing himself to focus on the calming draught he was preparing. The pressure of the O.W.L.s was already hitting some of the fifth year students and Snape doubted either he or Madame Pomfrey would have time in the coming months to make enough calming draughts. He truly despised the over-reacting brats. A good dose of stress and worry could lead to success, but when the children let it all get to their heads it only ends in disarray. Leaving him to help Madame Pomfrey to pick them up and put them back together. Typically, with a calming draught.

As the potions slowly turned a deeper shade Snape turned down the heat. There was familiarity in the motions of potions. He had found, over the years, that what was familiar was safe. He'd abandoned the safety net of his work on the rare occasion only to have the repercussions be disastrous. What you know can't hurt you.

Unless, of course, that thing you knew was one Harry Potter. The boy was a walking Expulso causing everything in his wake to blow up. Nothing with the child was safe. The trail of bodies and school money spent on property damage was enough to prove that Potter radiated trouble. Just above him the boy was likely slacking off in his chores, probably searching for food. He wouldn't find any, though. The charms on the old refrigerator and the two cabinets he stored food in were impenetrable. Hard labor never harmed a soul and a missed meal might teach the brat something. After all, he was a teacher.

Three weeks under Snape's...tutelage he was sure Potter would gain some respect. A strict schedule, harsh punishment, and grueling work would turn any bad child into a good one. There was truth in his philosophy. Many of his students became better people, especially his Slytherins. The ones he could save became people worthy of his esteem. He was, dare he say it, proud of them. Braving the world was a difficult task. By the end of the holidays Potter would either be worthy or he wouldn't. Snape doubted Potter had the capability to be anything other than the headache he was.

At that moment the calming draught turned its finalized shade. Taking off the cauldron Snape readied himself for the next potion. By the time he was finished he'd have a few minutes until lunch so he could prepare it. He wished Potter was capable of cooking, but he'd rather not eat something akin to his potions ingredients.

Snape opened the jar of Hare's Beard mindlessly. What awaited him after lunch was another problem. He'd have to explain everything to the brat. Snape was well aware why Dumbledore, the old coot, couldn't teach Potter Occlumency as well as why it was imperative Potter learn it, but there was a great injustice in taking away from his precious holiday for him to teach the obstinate child. Potter likely didn't understand the ramifications of his vision. Snape hoped to Merlin it was singular. It would be like the boy to experience something and only tell his adherents. That would come to an end very soon, though. Soon Snape would have access to Potter's mind. He'd finally have his own justification for his beliefs. There'd be solid proof of the Boy Wonder's folly and spoils.

But that would have to wait, Snape supposed, as he went to work on his potion. Lunch was still hours away.

Lunch was still hours away and Harry had already cleaned the floor and table. The motions of scrubbing back and forth were muscle memory at this point. His arms were on auto-pilot. Gargled sounds of hunger were the tempo he worked to. There was dirt mixing with the blood on his clothes. He felt the grim sticking to his already filthy body. His bladder was starting to protest rather loudly that it needed release, shouting along with his dry throat for water. As well-known as cleaning was, the lack of sleep was greatly slowing him down. It was only half-past eight and he'd managed to rid the floor of the dust and bugs. There was no real shine quality to it, but he was sure every corner he could reach was clean. The flimsy table was deprived of stains.  He was making headway on the countertops. There was worse he could be doing and in worse conditions.

Harry continued to scrub away as he got lost in his thoughts. Snape had simply left him in his kitchen trusting that Harry would obey his orders and not steal food. Then again Harry had been left alone during detentions before. It wasn't new. The fact that this was Snape's house, though, was what confused Harry. Snape left Harry alone in his house. For the nth time Harry asked himself why he was doing the chores Snape had assigned. There was nothing stopping him from running out the front door, except maybe the damage to his legs. In all truth, he could leave and never come back. He knew how to take care of himself. His childhood prepared him for survival.

Moving onto the windows Harry carefully wiped the window above the stove. He caught a glimpse of the outside before the water faded way to the streaked dirt. Outside was a mass of cracked cobblestone, graffiti-ed bricks and street light poles, and a few shrewd looking people milling around. Despite his appearance as a street rat, Harry knew he wouldn't last long out there. Plus, he had no idea where exactly he was. Harry wasn't keen on traversing through the maze of houses blindly searching for nothing. Snape wasn't so bad. Two denied meals, a few chores, and no physical threats were rather an improvement from life at Privet Drive. The lack of meals for three days already was a tad detrimental. Harry ignored the spots in the back of his vision. If he'd learned anything over the years at the Dursleys was that you completed your chores, no matter what.

Harry brushed the distracting musings away just like the dust from the window. He forced himself to work harder. Only one thought remaining on his mind. If he didn't finish before lunch, would Snape allow him any?

The hours ticked by as Harry worked. The sun slowly rose and bled through the finally clear window. Pain motivated Harry to keep in motion. Stopping gave the agony a chance to slip through into his considerations. Every time his sleeve got caught his heart would stop. He was hypersensitive to the space around him. Snape had a way of suddenly appearing. If his sleeve rolled up to reveal the myriad of bruises and cuts and Snape saw he would be in a mighty fine predicament. Not only would it lead to more questions, but Snape would have ammunition against Harry. The easiest way to get through life unharmed by the majority was to hide away what could get you bullied for. Hide your bruises. Hide your freakishness. Hide your true gender. Harry knew how to clean as well as he knew how to keep his secrets. It was muscle memory to cover up who he was. Harry Potter was an adored, average, easy-going guy who has a lot on his plate. Shilo, now she was someone entirely different. She was abused, sharp, fragile, and atypical. She was locked away securely within the castle of Harry Potter. Loaded cannons, fire-breathing dragons, and armed soldiers guard the gates of Harry Potter. He could and would do and say anything to keep Shilo a secret. Harry Potter was the well-rehearsed act that had kept the girl of moonlight hidden. He was her protector, her perfected boy-role.

"Potter!" Harry nearly jumped. He'd been so lost in his activities he hadn't heard the man sneak up. Damn him.

"Yes, sir?" Harry worked hard to keep his tone even. The man stood behind him ominously with his perpetual sneer unnerving the already skittish teen. Part of Harry wanted to yell at the man while the other was hesitant to be anywhere near a possible attacker. He was not overly fond of the phrase keep your enemies closer.

Snape glanced around the room. His calculating eyes took note of the near pristine state. Harry subconsciously worried his lip as he waited for the verdict. The room was clean enough for what it had once been. Some spots were too far gone to clean. Nonetheless, anxiety was taking root in Harry's veins. Trepidation crawled along his skin making it itch. Each ticking second was marked by a cluster of rapid heartbeats. Harry wasn't sure why he was so nervous. Maybe it was the uncertainty of the entire situation. After he decided that outside was not a good place, could he risk being thrown out into it? Snape said Dumbledore ordered for Harry to stay with Snape, but was Snape entirely loyal to Dumbledore? It still baffled Harry as to why Snape was part of the Order, anyway. What reasons did Dumbledore have for trusting Snape?

The reclusive Headmaster likely had ulterior motives. Harry, under pressure of punishment, quickly shifted the gears of his thoughts. Maybe Dumbledore didn't have a reason to trust Snape at all. Maybe the old wizard simply wanted Harry out of the picture. Maybe it was all a test to see how much Harry could take before he broke. Maybe Dumbledore only trusted Snape not to kill Harry leaving the rest up in the air. Maybe Dumbledore wanted Harry punished.

"Deplorable, as always, Potter." Snape finally said startling Harry. Deplorable? An intellectual synonym for horrible, for something unsatisfactory.  Oh, no. This wasn't going to end well.

"But, sir-" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. Years of talking back to the man had loosened his self-control before the authority figure. A rule childhood had instilled in him had become lax over the years with the safety of detentions and points versus beatings and starvation. But now, that safety was gone. Snape could do anything to him.

"Yes, Potter? Do you have something you would like to say?" Snape feigned interest while he lifted an immaculate brow. Harry was torn between being embarrassed and being upset. His body settled with turning a faint shade of red.

"No. Sir." Harry ground out his response. The man truly set his teeth on edge.

Snape's eyes narrowed. His perfect picture of intimidation loomed over the barely put together child before him.

"Indeed." Snape sneered. He briskly strode past Harry towards the refrigerator. Harry let out a puff of breath he didn't realize he had held. "After lunch you will clean this eyesore properly, Potter." Snape intoned as he gathered a jumble of food products. He laid them on the recently washed countertop. Harry numbly watched the man continue to prepare a simple lunch of sandwiches. 'After lunch'? Would he be subject to watching someone eat while he stood by ravenous? Harry collected his Gryffindor courage.

"Professor?...er..." Harry didn't know how to word his question. His courage was promptly depleting.

Snape sighed. "Potter, I'm aware you lack any trace of skill in conversing accurately, but do think before you open what you dare to call a mouth." The cutting jibe shattered any bravery Harry'd managed to summon, despite the persistent dread that had settled into his bones since he'd opened the front door of Privet Drive to see Snape.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" Harry offered hoping the response would answer his unspoken question. He was only mildly disappointed.

"I'd rather not take the risk of allowing you to handle my food, Potter." Snape remarked scornfully. He continued before Harry could fully deflate, his back still to Harry. "With that in mind, go freshen up before we dine. I would hope you remember the way to the water-closet, but I don't encumber myself with having faith in--"

"I remember the way, Professor. Thank you." Harry could reprimand himself later for interrupting, but his body protested loudly to waiting any longer for release. The reminder pushed away other thoughts. He quickly scuttled out of the kitchen and to the stairs. He ascended wondering why he thanked the man. Maybe it was the assertion that he would be allowed to eat lunch. His stomach gave an elated gurgle at the prospect of finally eating something. Harry never felt the need to acknowledge that lunch wasn't something normally to get excited about receiving because to him, it wasn't.

Snape thoughtfully crafted the sandwiches the duo would eat. He was trying to keep the enigma of Harry Potter at bay in his mind. The kitchen was decent, more than, really. He was shocked at how well the brat had done in six hours. He had expected to come back to a sloppy job with the child complaining about the workload. He had actually expected the boy to voice concerns earlier, but had been on the receiving end of none. There were sites that held belligerent stains and scuffs, but overall the place was clean. This didn't fit into Snape's plans. Though other parts of the house were definitely overdue for a cleaning they held books and objects he did not wish the Golden Boy to encounter. He didn't need Dumbledore on his back because he let the celebrity get injured under his watch.

Still, he wasn't going to let the Potter spawn roam freely through his house doing nothing. The child was far too dangerous to be left without work as his school record indicated. A few more hours of work and then the boy would need to start his school assignments. 'Free time' was not a concept he'd allow the boy to know.

The threat of the coming conversation still hung over the dour man. He finished the meager meal and set the table. Potter had yet to return. It was only a minute until noon. Snape toyed with the idea of denying yet another meal, but he didn't want Potter fainting from two missed meals. The boy was likely already feeling like he was dying due to the lack of nutrients. Prince Potter didn't get to eat his extravagant breakfast he was used to. Snape hoped the boy would learn some people went longer without. Some people had to forage for food.

It was only his experienced senses that warned him of another presence. His eyes meet Potter's from the table. The boy was loitering by the threshold. Fear was written into his stance. He at least looked more presentable. There was less dirt attached to the child like a second skin. The boy looked less like a vagabond and more like... his father. Snape didn't hinder the glare that escaped his Occlumency shields. When it came to Potter he often lost his grip on his emotions and let anger slip through. Instantly he was reminded who exactly was staying with him.  Potter wasn't a child, he was something else. Concern and good intentions had better places to be put towards.

"If you don't move in five seconds, Mr. Potter, you will not be eating lunch as well." Snape bit out with plain loathing. He watched as the boy snapped to attention and scurried over to the opposite seat. He hesitantly sat down eyeing the food like an insatiable predator. Snape was amazed the child didn't lunge for the plate of sandwiches before him. Honestly, one missed meal and the brat acted as if he'd hadn't eaten in days.

Snape tried to ignore the child as he took a ham sandwich for himself. He observed the boy in his peripheral vision. A grubby hand grabbed one of the sandwiches and didn't even have the decency to place it on the plate before it raised the sandwich into an awaiting mouth. Really, Potter wasn't a child. He was truly akin to an animal. Snape delicately ate two sandwiches while avoiding whenever he could see Potter devour the same amount. But then the boy stopped. He had two sandwiches and seemed to deny himself more. Snape found this odd as he'd seen on numerous occasions how much a teenaged boy could eat. But Potter merely sipped his water after clearing out only two sandwiches. There were longing glances at the remaining food, but he did not move to take more. Snape internally shock his head. Potters could never be fully understood. Maybe, despite his best efforts, Potter had managed to find food and was already full. Though the notion was rocky, Snape stuck to it, ignoring the annoying, small impression that his belief wasn't plausible.

"Potter," Snape started unable, and uncaring, to keep the irritation out of his voice, "as I disclosed last night, you are to remain here for the remainder of the holiday. My home has rules, unlike your previous housing." Snape icily intoned. Potter shifted in his seat. It was all the acknowledgement Snape needed to prove his statement correct. "Listen closely, now, Potter. My rules are not to be broken lest you wish to suffer whatever punishment I deem appropriate for the crime. I can be quite inventive." Snape added for affect. He smirked slightly at seeing the boy's eyes widen.

"First, Mr. Potter, is that you obey what I say. If I tell you to do something you are to do it promptly, efficiently, and correctly. There are no detours. You are not to stop until the task is complete. Secondly, you will not lie to me. Trust me, Potter, I can tell if you are. Dishonesty will not be tolerated here. Thirdly, I will not have you running around this house as if you own it. This is my home, Potter, and you best to remember it. You are not to open any door I have not allowed you to open. There will be no midnight exploring. In fact, I will be searching you trunk for your cloak and anything that is hazardous." Snape stipulated.

Potter seemed to freeze for a moment. Every muscle in his body stiffened and the only emotion he radiated was pure terror as his face blanched. It only lasted a few seconds before Potter appeared to force himself to talk.

"Professor, couldn't I just bring you the cloak?" Potter managed to get out. The desperation in the boy's voice was delicious. Perhaps the brat had a store of prank items he didn't wish the 'Dungeon Bat' to seize. Oh, it would be fun to rid the trunk of its devious possessions.

"No, Potter, I will personally ensure you do not possess anything that is comprised of potentially lethal items against my person. Of course, if you had tried you would have greatly regretted it." Snape hissed. He enjoyed watching Potter pale further.

"But," Snape continued as he straightened himself already regretting what he had to explain. "There is another matter we must discuss, besides your boorish tendency to interrupt." He met the boy's gaze to see a tinge of color appear on the pale cheeks.  "The reason you are here." Potter suddenly lost all fear and embarrassment. His face morphed into a mask of indifference and focus. His eyes sharpened. Potter gained an air that Snape only heard of the boy taking. Potter was dutifully listening.

"What you experienced a few nights ago was a form of mental attack. Dumbledore believes the Dark Lord penetrated your mind," Snape said dauntingly. Potter looked a mix of confused and frightened.

"Voldemort-" Potter started annoyingly. For years Death Eaters lived in fear of the name of their master. It didn't resonate well since if anyone except the man himself said his name it never ended nicely.

"Do. Not. Say. His. Name." Snape snarled. Potter took a moment to acknowledge the ferocity of the statement. The air around the previously frightened child was now more serious; a childlike business aura that was likely the somber version of Potter that his colleagues raved about. Snape wasn't so easily fooled. Potters were not formal creatures.

"He...is in my head?" He tentatively asked.

"No." Snape replied. "The Dark Lord breached your mind through a mental attack called Legilimency. He gained access to your dreams. Routinely, Legilimency requires eye-contact. But, of course, what is commonplace doesn't seem to apply to you, Potter. We are assuming at this point the Dark Lord is unaware of the connection or that he is entering your mind. We can only hope it remains this way." Snape slipped easily into his lecturing mode. Potter sat there stunned. "There exists a means to conceal oneself from such an intrusion. It is called Occlumency," Snape said in a dramatic manner. Potter gaped at him. "Occlumancy can place a protection over your emotions and mind shielding Legilimens. Done well it can even be manipulated to help force trivial memories to the surface and trick Legilimens."

"What does this have to do with staying with you," Potter rudely cut in. "Sir?" the boy added after Snape glared. The sudden shifts from defiant teen to cowed child were truly impressive. But it only showed Potter lacked sufficient control and would prove a difficult student for Occlumency. Not that he already wasn't.

"Because, Potter, there are only three known masters of Legilimens, out of those three one is a psychopath hell-bent on killing you," Snape ignored the shocked expression he received. "Only two of those Legilimens are skilled Occlumens. One is the Headmaster, the other is me." Snape concluded. He waited for the explosion. He wasn't disappointed.

"Then why can't Dumbledore teach me? Why do you have to teach me?" Potter raged. Red stained his cheeks. A light was aglow in his eyes. Something else lingered in them. It looked like betrayal. Snape didn't dwell on it as it wasn't his concern.

"Professor Dumbledore is a very busy man, Potter. He cannot afford to take the time out of his schedule to teach you," Snape said in explanation. Potter still looked furious.

"Aren't you busy too?" Potter continued on. Snape felt there was more meaning to the question than just the words. But the boy's voice was starting to grow wearisome.

"So kind of you to notice, Potter." Snape drawled. "The situation still stands. I will be teaching you to block your mind from attack."

"How?" The boy inquired. Emotions still swirled in the emerald eyes, but genuine curiosity had joined them. So much like Lily to be curious.

This was Potter, though. This was his childhood rival's son. Proof Severus Snape had truly lost everything.

"Legilimency, of course." Snape replied simply relishing in the horror-stricken expression across the child's face. "Tonight at 7:30 on the dot. Trust me, Potter, these lessons are not something you will wish to be tardy to." Snape growled leaning in, hands flat against the table. Potter seemed to truly live in his terror filled mindset. Snape smirked at how intimidating he appeared to the boy.

"Dinner is at 6:30. As I instructed before you are to fix this sloppy work," Snape didn't need to specify, "afterwards you will start on your holiday assignments. I'm aware it's customary for you to procrastinate, but you will not return to Hogwarts with mediocre work. Right now, you are to accompany me to your trunk." Snape stood with the final word and began his long stride towards the stairs.

Harry snapped out of his fear-filled haze. He blinked once to try to regain comprehension. It was never good to show how afraid someone made you feel. He had slipped...significantly. Snape likely thought him a rattled coward. Maybe he was.

Right now Snape was heading towards the stairs. If Harry didn't move he wouldn't be there when Snape would raid his trunk. He didn't like the feeling of constant fear. For ten years he'd lived by the crutch of unease. He learned that fear keeps you alive. When Hogwarts came around the only theory he had on living was torn down. There is a life where you can live unafraid. For four years he thought Hogwarts, despite its evil professors and beasts and tournaments, was safe. Now, he was stuck residing in the house of the man who'd rather see Harry brutally tortured. Funny how he is placed in similar surroundings no matter where he goes. Nowhere could ever be 'safe'.

Harry quickly left his seat. He moved as fast as his injured body would allow. Snape was still on the steps. Harry caught up while nursing his side. Luckily he appeared to be holding a stitch when he was, in fact, not. Snape gave no hint of noticing Harry. Harry followed Snape up the rest of the stairs, his mental demons having a frenzy over what was to come. Snape was going to tear apart the only sanctum Harry possessed. Nothing had ever been his but the trunk initialed with 'HP'. Five years ago he'd finally had a place the Dursleys couldn't tarnish. And now, Snape was going to do just that.

Each footfall was reverberating through the near-hyperventilating child. The perfect leather of well-made shoes created an ominous rhythm. Gryffindor bravery was not going to help its young pupil. The running monologue of concerns that had started the moment Snape said he would raid Harry's trunk was spouting his worries at rapid fire pace. 'No' was a prominent word coming up every few words; because this was bad.

No, no, no. This is so very bad, Harry thought. Snape couldn't search his trunk for his cloak. His cloak was hidden within a well-protected box along with Shilo's clothes. The defenses were impressive for a 5th year, but Snape could likely rip through the wards like a dragon through a wooden wall. He'd see. He'd know.

The mantra repeated in his head as Snape opened the poorly hinged door. He'd know. He'd know. He'd know. Snape held far too much acerbic cheer in his eyes as he neared Harry's trunk. The mantra grew faster. He'd know. He'd know. He'd know. The man drew his wand and cut through the air. Harry tried to suppress the shaking. If only he could do something. If only he could stop this man from discovering the secret he had kept safe for fifteen years. But there was nothing he could do. He was, once again, powerless to stop the forces in his life. Harry held his breath as he watched Snape's silent spell open his trunk. He could see in his mind's eye the shards of wood splintering and torpedoing off into the room. The dragon that was Snape was ruthless.

Harry hated being helpless. He could only watch as Snape started rifling through his trunk making offhand criticisms as he went.  None of the harsh tones meet his ears as actual words. A buzz of animosity accompanied his mantra. He's going to know. He's going to know. He's going to know. Shilo would no longer be the well-kept secret of Harry Potter. Snape would have enough ammunition to ensure he never lived a day without ridicule for being The-Girl-Who-Was-Born-A-Boy. Or worse, The-Boy-Who-Thinks-He's-A-Girl.

"--rest assured, Potter, I will not be pleased if that cloak isn't in my hands by dinnertime. Do you understand?" Snape's tone had changed from mocking to threatening mid-sentence. Harry's fear-clouded mind had only caught the part that wasn't part of the white-noise background. Snape was standing before him, the trunk wide open, with the box containing everything Shilo and dear resting on the floor, unopened.

Uncertainty replaced the fear in Harry's mind. Had Snape opened it? Was its current state the one it had been in since Snape noticed it? Had Snape taunted him over his secret while he had disassociated? Did Snape know? Did Snape know? Did Snape know?

"I'd prefer a response, Potter. In spite of the my knowledge concerning what teenaged boys hide in boxes I will not hesitate to invade your privacy to acquire that cloak should it come to that. Again, Mr. Potter. Do. You. Understand?" Snape said with patience appearing to be nonexistent in his current mood. Harry grew angry at the notion that Snape felt only opening his box would be an invasion of privacy seeing as the man had rummaged through his trunk already. Then, the implication Snape was getting at dawned on Harry. A blush rose to his cheeks. His face a bit strained from losing and gaining blood at an awkward rate. Snape though Harry had ... in his box. Embarrassment wasn't a word descriptive enough to match the emotion quickly running through Harry's body. Snape thought ...

"No, Sir-I mean, Yes. Yes, Sir, I understand. Cloak to you by dinner." Harry managed to get out without stuttering. Snape sneered at him from his towering position.

"Very well, Potter. I'll leave you to your duties. But this time, do not slack. I do not appreciate poorly done jobs," Snape said. He then swept out of the room leaving a stunned, confused, and scatterbrained Harry in his wake.

Harry, for his part, was holding up rather well after the near reveal of his second life, his first life, the life he was supposed to live. Shilo had almost been discovered. Harry clutched his chest lightly as he looked down at his box. It lied there innocently, as though it didn't hold the greatest untold truth of the Boy-Who-Lived within. Snape was under the impression the box held carnal content, and for one of the few times in his life Harry was overjoyed to be a boy. Snape thought ... he believed ... Snape assumed Harry was a normal boy. Since when had Harry Potter been normal? Harry let out a snort followed by a few chuckles until he was laughing outright. The pressure that had built up, the defenses that had gone on alert, and the arsenal of excuses melted away as he laughed. With the moment over and done with no consequence Harry finally allowed himself to crack. Snape had been so close. He'd been a latch and lift away from discovering The-Brat-Who-Annoyed-His-Life's innermost feeling. Snape had been so close to finding Shilo. But he hadn't. For now, Shilo was safe.

The bliss of laughter didn't last long as Harry forced himself to place his box back into his trunk and close it. He'd re-ward it later. Harry had to clean the kitchen again. This time he wouldn't be slowed by his hunger pangs. Harry savored the feeling of being full. Away from Hogwarts the feeling was a rarity. The teen gathered his supplies to begin redoing the kitchen. His first job was to remove the plates from lunch. Harry started cleaning again considering his discussion with Snape. 

The man had given him food. It was stupidly simple, but he had. When Harry had left to finally use the facilities the thought of food finally filling his stomach spurred him on. After he got through his natural inclinations, Harry had looked around. The bathroom was small, but large enough to accommodate an old clawfoot bathtub, an old-style toilet, and a deep sink with four-point knobs. The place was overall fairly clean, just ill-kept. The tile was reminiscent of the kitchen and was cracked in many places. If Harry hadn't been exposed to worse places to pee he might have found the room positively distasteful.

The worst thing had been the mirror, though. While washing his hands he had made the mistake of looking up. Emerald meet emerald before the rest of him came into focus in the black spotted glass. His reflection didn't match his self-perception. Wasn't that what every teen dealt with? Girls saw fat where there wasn't any. Guys didn't see enough muscle. But Harry saw something different. Harry saw... Harry. It was so very surreal sometimes, when Shilo looked in a mirror knowing what her body was but expecting to see something else. Because to her, she was a girl. But every time she looked in a mirror she saw 'Harry'. She saw an angular face, with messy hair, thin lips, and low cheekbones. She saw squared shoulders and a flat chest. She saw a boy. She saw a boy's body where a girl's should be. Shilo saw Harry. She had always seen Harry. She could see what the world saw. A thin, defined, short boy who was starting to look more like a man each day. And it was wrong. It was all wrong. It was always wrong. She shouldn't look like that. She should have hips, and bust, and delicate hands. She should have a soft face with full lips and defined cheekbones. She should look every bit the girl she felt she was.

But she wasn't, bodily, that. She wasn't in a girl's body. She was stuck in a male one. Funny, how the first thing Shilo noticed in a mirror was Harry. She didn't catalog the scars or count the bruises. She didn't focus on the bags under her eyes or the way her cheeks were sunken in due to malnutrition. No, the first thing she ever saw was Harry. For the fifteen years she'd been alive she'd never truly seen herself. Putting on make-up and filling in bras wasn't the equivalent, it was the setback. She shouldn't have to make herself look like a girl. She wasn't a drawing model doll to be painted a million different ways depending on whom she was trying to please. She shouldn't have to paint on bruises to please her uncle, or paint over them to please her friends. She shouldn't have to stitch male clothing and intricately design the perfect picture of masculinity. She shouldn't only be able to paint on her true image at night, even though it isn't her true image. Because she was simply something created from a drawing board with the ingrained image of a boy. Who she really looks like is only artfully done lines of color to a base of machismo. Shilo Potter was, is, and always will be the added thread to a pre-made quilt. Because underneath all the clothing, make-up, and well-practiced mannerisms would always be Harry.

"Harry," Shilo had spit at her, or rather, Harry's reflection. It was like a swear word. A name she despised more than Voldemort, or Snape, or Umbridge. But then she'd sobered up. Snape might have not let her eat again. With practiced ease she had washed her face of dirt and grim, cleaned her arms and neck. She'd have preferred a real shower, but she knew how to work with a sink and a bar of soap.

Harry dutifully washed the plates and cutting board from lunch. He tried not to think about the mirror. Mirrors were his perpetual enemies. In a perfect world they wouldn't be so easy to look into. Shifting his thoughts as he finished up the dishes Harry considered how he'd been afraid Snape would once again deny him food. The malice in the man's eyes and the threat to follow showed Snape would likely not hesitate to restrict a meal again. Harry knew to curb his food intake. Three days were still three days and he wasn't going to risk sicking-up on the floor he'd just cleaned. But then Snape had talked. The outlandish claim that the Dursleys didn't have rules was almost humorous, because in a way they didn't. Rules were typically set with the possibility of being followed, but theirs were not. Luckily Snape's rules seemed easy enough to follow. The punishments still concerned Harry. He knew the man was as twisted as Filch. He could see himself strung up by his toes now. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. Only three weeks and he'd be free. But those three weeks apparently included him learning how to keep Voldemort out of his head. Despite the childlike aspect of it, Harry tried not to think about it in-case it suddenly alerted Voldemort to the fact Harry's mind was open to him. Merlin forbid if Voldemort found out about Shilo.

Now, here he was, yet again cleaning the kitchen until it was immaculate and then he'd have to do his school work. Only a few more hours until diner, and then Snape would invade his head. He pushed out his anger at the Headmaster for ignoring him. His previous theory was likely correct. Dumbledore didn't give a damn and was happy to abandon Harry to the cruelest tormentor that wasn't a ‘loyal' Death Eater. Harry worked quickly and efficiently to ensure he'd have enough time to scourer Snape's stacks of books for one on Occlumency.  Maybe, if he prepared himself, Snape wouldn't be able to breach his mind.

Unfortunately Harry could not find a single book focusing on Occlumency. He'd found a reference in one tome that mentioned thinking of nothing; to clear your mind and not think or feel. It sounded damn near impossible, but Harry had departed to his room to try and ready himself for this lesson. He'd been extra attentive to his surroundings when he was looking through the books. Everything was placed right back where he'd found it. He hoped Snape wouldn't notice any shifts in his book piles.

Harry set his watch for 6:25 and sat on the floor. The only things he knew about meditation were the few bits and pieces of stereotype he'd seen on the television or in Dudley's games. He sat cross-legged on the ground, trying to empty his mind. It proved as arduous as he predicted. Too many emotions swirled in his head. When everything turned silent he'd think about how quiet it was, relate it to the halls of Hogwarts during the breaks, and start to consider all the recent events in his life. He'd manage to gain control. Then, the cycle would begin again. Harry worked on his meditation until his cheap watch beeped.

Harry readied himself for diner and Snape's final verdict on the kitchen. His winter assignments lied untouched. 

Savory smells drifted through the spotless kitchen. A succulent Shepard's Pie was on the counter. Snape had just cleaned his hands when Potter appeared. If it wasn't for his keen senses he might have been startled. Potter walked over to the table and placed the cloak on it. The boy silently sat down. Snape joined him for an uneventful meal after putting the cloak in a sealed cabinet. He'd move it later. They ate in silence, the boy once again stopping after a child's portion. Afterwards, he ordered Potter to clean up. Snape left into the living area. The increasingly agitated man tried to restore his own Occlumency shields. Even the brat's presence disturbed his mentality. As he heard water running he prepared himself. He'd see inside the child's mind. He would brutally invade the mind of his rival's spawn. And, just in case the boy somehow had a knack (which Snape highly doubted) for the mental art, his more...confidential memories were locked away in his pensive. It would still be a grueling task. Despite how simple the Dark Lord made it look Legilimency demanded a large amount of one's magical energy. Thankfully, it would be put to good use. Snape smirked. Yes, good use indeed.

Potter joined Snape in the drab room. He carefully sat himself on the non-occupied chair. The boy was sitting almost awkwardly. Snape brushed away his thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. He had to actually teach Potter something. He had to teach Potter something that was likely far too advanced.

"Now then, Potter." Snape began. "Occlumency is first and foremost an art form. A very advanced art form. I don't suspect you will comprehend it any time in the near future, but practice does, in fact, enrich skills, in spite of your obtuse conviction things come naturally to the Grand Potter." Snape planned to take any opportunity to dig at the brat.  Here he couldn't run to Albus or Minerva. The boy would finally be brought down to size. "The laymen terminology would be Occlumency is a mental blockage; a vast space of nothingness that reveals nothing to the Legilimens. They cannot detect any emotions or memories."

"What can they detect?" Potter interrupted. Snape scowled at him.

"If you are inquiring about what exactly a Legilimens can access in your mind-"

"Can Voldemort read my mind?" Potter impatiently cut in. They boy looked concerned. Maybe he was finally grasping the intensity of the situation.

"No, Potter, that muggle drivel is fantasy. The mind is an intricate, ever-changing, multifaceted force. Well," Snape smirked, "most are." He began again before Potter could speak again. "Legilimency is not 'reading' the mind, for the mind is not a book stained with carefully crafted words. Legilimency is the entry of one's consciousness into another. A minimal, less invasive form is when a Legilimens solely skims the surface of the other's mind. It's often used to ascertain liars." Snape gave a pointed look to Potter.

"You've...you've been in my mind?" Potter sputtered. The concern was amusing. The idiocy was not.

"Potter, regardless of how you view yourself, I have never ventured into the dark recess of your mind for sport." Snape drawled. He was already irritated at the state of affairs, but the brat was bothersome.

"But, you're going to now?" The brat asked with a good deal of unease. Snape only smirked in response.

"But, Sir, that's-"

"What?" Snape interrupted the youth. "What is it, Potter? Because the way this circumstance stands is that the Dark Lord could detect your connection any day and we will not have a spoiled, arrogant prince strutting around possessing detailed information the man can easily acquire. Any vulnerability on our side could ultimately lead to our loss in this war. And, I have not worked rigorously to ensure you survive your school years, which you have adamantly proved you have a death wish during, for you only to botch my sacrifices simply because you think my methods encroach on your privacy." Snape seethed. Potter looked ready to respond, but Snape refused to let him. "Do you think the Dark Lord will treat all this as a lesson? Do you think he will hesitate to impinge your mind, rifled through it, and use any memories and emotions he finds against you, Potter?" Snape heatedly said. The boy was truly intolerable.

Potter stood up, enraged. "And you won't do the same?" Potter nearly yelled. Snape joined the boy.

"How dare you suggest I would be anything but professional in my occupation!"

"Like you ever fucking are, Snape!" Potter shouted. Snape grabbed the boy's shoulder, his mind clouded by fury. How dare the child speak to him like that. Snape moved his arms without realizing it. How dare the child insinuate such a thing. How dare the boy talk back!

"Ahh!" the yelp brought Snape back to the present. He instantly dropped the child. Potter crumbled to the floor, pained. Snape took a step back. Had he? He'd just shook the boy. Never, in all his years as an educator, had he ever laid a hand on a child. But Potter, with all his arrogance and provoking, had gotten him to break his perfect streak. The brat was insufferable.

Potter quickly rose. His expression was a mixture of fear and fury. Snape straightened and brought out his wand. Dumbledore asked him to teach the brat, but he never specified how.

"I will attempt to penetrate your mind, you will attempt to resist." Snape instructed before he spoke the incantation and breached the unprepared mind. He saw flashes of images; a dog barking, a three slotted vent, trees passing in a blur, and a mirror. Suddenly he felt himself forced out of the boy's mind. He stumbled back to see the boy on his knees holding his head, eyes tightly closed. Snape composed his stature and readied himself.

"Pathetic, Potter." he spat. "You must repel me before I see anything. Stand up, let us try again." Snape watched the boy uncoil slowly and rise. The emerald eyes remained unseen. "Where is your Gryffindor courage, Potter?" Snape taunted. Just as he expected the boy's eyes snapped open with rage. Such poor control of emotion.

"Legilimens." Snape was met with fogged and distorted images. A frying pan, stairs, a tombstone, blood, bits of sound accompanied, a growl, more blood, and terror clouded the memory. Potter was subconsciously protecting the memories. Snape pushed farther, trying to gain access to the cluster of recollections. There were distant screams. Suddenly he was overpowered by a flash of green followed by a woman's scream. Snape retreated.

Potter slumped down into the chair. Snape ignored him. That scream, he knew it. Lily, Lily had screamed. And, the flash of green was the last thing she saw. She sacrificed herself for Potter's spawn. If she had only listened to him, if she had only stayed with him, if Lily had only forgiven him she wouldn't have ended up with Potter. Lily wouldn't have ended up dead. And, Potter was living proof of her unwillingness to forgive. She'd forgiven him a million times before, but one slip up and she abandons him. Potter was living proof Lily left him for good that fateful day. Potter's the only living connection he has to either of his tormentors. He promised to keep the boy alive for all the years Lily had kept him breathing, but never to be kind. A nagging part of his mind disputed the internal resolve. Snape was too far gone in his resentment to listen.

"Stand, boy." Snape hissed. Potter slowly rose, but had yet to get his grounding before Snape once again entered his mind. He was brutal in his search for the memories Potter was keeping hidden. He saw flickers of darkness, an obese boy, mud puddles, a pink crayon, a patterned skirt, and a tube of lipstick before he found himself unable to continue. He withdrew from the mind as forcefully as he could. Potter was once again on the floor. There was a trickle of blood running from the boy's nose. Potter wiped at it with his sleeve as he stood.

"You're not letting me prepare! This isn't fa-" Snape once again grabbed the boy, this time by his shirt collar. All he saw was red.

"Fair!" Snape countered. "Growing up on a silver platter, Potter, might not have informed you of the reality that life is, in fact, not fair."

Snape pushed Potter back. The boy stumbled, his arm flaying, trying to seek purchase, until it collided with the armrest of the chair. He fell back onto a pile of books, the tomes domino-ing the rest of the stacks. The books collapsed into an unorganized heap; Potter lying among them. Snape was beyond reason. Everywhere the brat went trouble followed. He grabbed the boy's arm tightly. He dragged the surprisingly light weight up and hauled the disoriented Potter up the spiral staircase. He threw the nuisance unceremoniously into the bathroom. He slammed the door and departed for the kitchen. Angrily he collected the cleaning supplies. He returned to the bathroom still seething. Potter always caused trouble. All Porters did. He tossed the bottles into the room and slammed the door once again. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a key. Potters can't cause trouble if they can't leave a room.

"You will clean that room spotless, Potter," Snape shouted as he locked the door, "and if I come back in the morning to see any speck of dust you will have wished you were never born!"

Harry heard Snape's heavy footfalls as they slowly faded away. He carefully rolled up his sleeve to see the added discoloration to his arm. Finger marks were a blazing red and throbbing. Monsters were always ready to leave their marks. Shilo rolled down the sleeve and raised her finger to her nose. It came back bloody. Monsters were always there. They always find a weakness and expose it. They always take any opportunity to get blood. They have never left her alone. Monsters defined her life.