“The Petersens will be here soon so you get in there, boy,” Uncle Vernon said, roughly shoving Harry into the cupboard under the stairs. Harry stumbled into his cupboard, falling onto his camp bed in the cramped space. He turned bright but resigned green eyes onto his uncle, twisting around on the bed.

“I don’t want to hear a peep from you, boy, you hear me? The Petersens are a wealthy potential client who don’t know that you exist, and I want to keep it that way! If I hear so much as a sound from in here…” Uncle Vernon trailed off threateningly, then slammed the door shut, slid the bolt home, and closed the small grate.

Harry heard his uncle’s heavy footfalls march away and pulled his knees into the chest, trying to ignore the darkness pressing on his eyes. He felt around above his head for the small chain he knew was there and gave it a tug when he located it, filling the tiny space with the harsh light from the bare bulb. He sighed quietly in relief as the darkness was banished back to the shadows in the corners. He did not like the dark. He knew that it was silly and childish, but he did not like it. Dudley liked to tell him stories about the monsters that live under the stairs and wait for the cover of darkness to come out and eat the bad little boys. He knew that it was not true, but he could not help but wish that he could sleep upstairs where he would be closer to the Dursleys. Even if they probably would not rescue him, he thought that if any monsters did exist, they would most likely eat Dudley before him; there was quite a bit more meat on his cousin.

He sighed again and listened as the Petersen’s arrived to simpering introductions and pleasantries. He had to suppress a snort when he heard Mrs. Petersen (he assumed) compliment Dudley on his outfit. Eventually he grew bored of straining to hear them in the parlor and he pulled out his battered army men and began playing with them.

Harry had begun a couple of years ago to systematically rescue (when no one was looking)  Dudley’s broken toys from the garbage and squirrel them away in his cupboard. Many of them were broken beyond repair, but some of them were still usable if a bit misshapen, and some of them simply needed a little fixing. Harry’s big find had been when he discovered the mostly-intact workman’s tool kit in the garbage; the little tools from the small chest had allowed him to tinker with some of the electronic or mechanical gadgets Dudley threw out. He had not been able to fix that many, but his biggest success so far had been fixing the little battery-operated digital alarm clock that now sat in a corner of his cupboard. He knew the batteries would not last forever, but he enjoyed the sense of stability and connection to the outside world during the long hours when he was locked in his cupboard.

Sometime after the Dursleys had led the Petersens into the dining room, Harry started noticing that his light was growing dim. He thought at first that maybe his eyes were just growing tired and rubbed at them, but after several minutes he realized that the light bulb was dying. He stopped playing and stared up at it, horrified that it might go out. Who knew when the Dursleys would give him another one? He shivered at the thought of long hours locked up in the dark, and started whispering a quiet plea, almost a prayer.

“Please don’t go out, please don’t go out, please don’t go out,” he chanted under his breath, staring determinedly at the fading light, trying to will it to stay on, to brighten, to revive…

And suddenly, just as the bulb looked like it might flicker out, it brightened and filled the small space with a light that was warmer and more cheerful than Harry thought the bulb had been before it started dying. Forgetting himself in his relief, Harry clapped his hands and exclaimed, “Yes!”

The conversation in the dining room suddenly stopped, and he slapped a hand over his mouth, horrified at his outburst. The light bulb flickered out completely, but he was too afraid of his uncle’s reaction to be scared of the dark at the moment. Oh no, I’m done for, he thought, looking in the direction of the cupboard door warily.

“Hm, sounds like someone got excited about something outside, must have been one of the neighbors, taking a walk…” Uncle Vernon trailed off, trying to explain away the noise. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, what was I saying? Ah yes!”

Harry quietly brew out the breath he had not realized he had been holding. But his relief only lasted a moment as he considered what Uncle Vernon would do once the Petersen’s left.

Harry eventually slipped into an uneasy sleep, but was awoken later that night by the light shining into his eyes when Uncle Vernon opened his cupboard door and dragged him out. He received a couple of cuffs to the head that made him stagger a bit, then Uncle Vernon gripped his shoulders and shook him as he angrily yelled, “What were you doing?! I told you not to make a sound! Could have ruined the whole night! No food for a week!” Then he was shoved back into his cupboard and the door locked.

Harry rubbed at the side of his head where he could feel a bruise forming, but he looked gratefully at the small bars of light filtering through the open grate. No food for a week was a harsh punishment, but at least school was not out for a few more days; he would likely be able to get lunch, and possibly even a snack.

xxXxx

A couple of weeks later, Harry overheard Uncle Vernon telling his Aunt Petunia that he had invited another potential client over for dinner. Apparently, Mr. Petersen and Mr. Brown were golfing buddies, and Mr. Petersen had told Mr. Brown (who was also the owner of a small company) all about Grunnings and had referred him to Uncle Vernon. Naively, Harry thought that perhaps since the last dinner had gone so well, his own mistake might have been forgotten.

Harry realized how wrong he was when Uncle Vernon came home late Friday afternoon. Harry was just finishing dusting in the foyer, and saw that his uncle was holding a small bag from a pet supply store. He thought idly that perhaps Dudley had convinced them to give a dog another go as he tried to shrink back into the shadows, hoping to go unnoticed.

Uncle Vernon, however, seemed to have other ideas. He looked straight at Harry and gave him a feral grin as he pulled out what looked like a dog collar with an odd box on it from inside the bag.

“Come over here,” he ordered, still grinning.

Unsure what Uncle Vernon had in mind, but still uneasy, Harry slowly walked over, ready to bolt if necessary. He stopped just out of his uncle’s reach, but Vernon took a surprisingly swift step towards him and grabbed him by the back of his neck, dragging him closer.

“Hold still,” Uncle Vernon commanded, and the frightened Harry complied. He stiffly stood his ground until his uncle held the black collar up to his throat and began reaching around to fasten the strap. Startled at the realization of what was happening, Harry tried to jerk away, but his uncle was too strong.

“I said hold still, or this will be much worse for you,” his uncle warned, practically snarling. Harry obeyed, and felt Uncle Vernon press the box of the collar up against his throat, with two little metal stubs going on either side of his voice box. Then his uncle moved around to behind Harry’s back and began fastening the collar, and Harry closed his eyes in humiliation as he saw Dudley peering out from the family room with a wicked grin on his face.

Once Vernon finished fiddling with the clasp, adjusting it so that there was no room for the collar to slide around, he gripped Harry's shoulder and spun him around to face him, causing Harry to open his eyes again in surprise. He saw his uncle beckon Dudley over so that the two leered at him with matching ugly smirks.

"Watch this, Dudders," Vernon said excitedly. He pulled a small remote out of his bag and flicked a red switch, and Harry heard a small beep come from the little box at his throat.

“What’s--” Harry began to say, his nerves and mounting tension finally growing to be too much for him, but he gasped and jumped violently when a jolt went through him, briefly shocking his whole body. He reached up and touched the box, eyes widening in understanding.

Dudley was now guffawing heartily, and Vernon’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “I wouldn’t try speaking, if I were you,” he warned. “It’s bound to be unpleasant. I originally thought I might be able to find a muzzle to keep you quiet, but then I found this at the pet store. It’s supposed to train dogs not to bark. Seems fitting, doesn’t it?” Vernon gave a small chuckle, then pointed to the cupboard door. “In,” he ordered. “And I know you won’t be making a peep.”

Harry climbed in resignedly, hearing the lock click and the grate close behind him, plunging him into darkness. He just sat for a few moments, stunned at the turn of events, but eventually came out of his stupor. He explored the collar with his fingers, and realized that he probably could work out how to undo the fastener himself if he needed to, but he knew the punishment would only be worse if he defied his uncle that way. He supposed Uncle Vernon had just found a new, rather creative, method of punishment, but his punishments always ended eventually. With this small reassurance, he felt around under his bed until he located the small torch that he had stolen and stowed under there. Flicking it on, he shone its beam over his collection of odds and ends, eventually lighting on a small electronic toy that Dudley had broken just a few days before. He grabbed it and began tinkering with it by torchlight, absorbing himself in the task in order to forget the uncomfortable collar around his neck.

It was not until Uncle Vernon was leading the Browns into the parlor for after-dinner drinks and Aunt Petunia was ushering Dudley up the stairs for bed that Harry finally made some obvious headway on the toy. Unfortunately, his clue that he had done so was that it began repeatedly giving off a loud, tinny-sounding fanfare. Startled, he dropped the toy, and then frantically began scrambling about in the narrow space between his bed and the floor, trying to locate it and stop the noise. He finally found it and then, after a moment of fruitless scrabbling at wires, was forced to smash it against the ground to silence it. He held his breath once it was quiet, silently pleading for no one to have noticed, though he knew it was pointless.

“Dudley must have left the TV on earlier, little tyke,” Uncle Vernon finally said after what seemed like an interminable wait. Harry began trembling once he heard activity resume outside his door, terrified of what his next punishment would be.

He could not fall asleep this time, and instead occupied himself trying to hide the evidence of his scavenged toys, knowing that the Dursleys would be furious when they found the source of the noise. After he had hidden everything though, he realized that his aunt and uncle would never believe that he did not have some toy, because what else could have caused that sound? So he nervously brought the broken electronic back out and left it openly on his bed, hoping that they would not search beyond the obvious and so he would only be called a thief of the one toy.

That night when the cupboard door opened, Uncle Vernon did see the toy, and he did take it from him and call him an ungrateful thief. And the collar was the left on and the cupboard door re-locked, after a hefty backhand. But three days later, after he had been forced to relieve himself in a corner several times (Aunt Petunia had only deigned to toss a couple of water bottles in at him, but had not let him out to use the toilet), Harry heard his aunt complaining of the stench coming from somewhere near the foyer.

Harry trembled as he waited for them to track the smell down to his cupboard, and did not struggle when he was tossed out into the backyard and told he could not be trusted inside the house. Shivering mildly in the cool night air, he walked to the shed but found the door locked, so he circled around behind it to the corner of the yard that was somewhat hidden behind the garage. There he discovered the old doghouse, a relic from a few years back when Dudley had demanded that he wanted a dog but bored of it within the month. Tired, he crawled inside and curled up, hoping that he might be let back inside in the morning, or at least have the dog collar taken off.

xxXxx

Harry woke the next morning to see Uncle Vernon standing by the entrance to the doghouse, peering in at him. He crawled out hopefully, attempting to look contrite, but his uncle only smiled coldly at him.

“I was trying to decide what to do with you,” Vernon began. “Your aunt and I have obviously decided you can’t be trusted in the house any longer, but we couldn’t come up with where else to put you. I thought of the shed, but I don’t want you near my power tools. This, however,” he pointed at the doghouse, “is the perfect solution.”

Harry’s heart began to thump, and he pointed at his throat, trying to plead with his eyes, but his uncle only shook his head at him. Vernon looked up at the tall, close-boarded wooden fence, then looked back at Harry. “Don’t leave the yard,” he ordered, then turned and walked back around the garage and the shed.

Harry was left outside for the rest of the week. He drank from the spigot by the house when no one was looking, and retrieved some scraps from the garbage each night after the Dursleys had gone to sleep. The collar was tight enough that it was uncomfortable to swallow around, but he eventually grew accustomed to the sensation. He found that the doghouse was surprisingly warm and cozy -- even too warm, on some nights -- and was grateful for once that the Dursleys only bought the best for Dudley. For the first couple of days, he relieved himself in the corner of the yard farthest from the doghouse, but when Dudley complained that it was gross, Aunt Petunia gave him a bucket and told him to dump it into the trash after he went.

The following Friday afternoon, Harry was about to sneak a drink from the spigot when he heard his uncle and aunt’s voices filtering through the kitchen window. He began quietly tiptoeing back away, but stopped and listened when he heard them referring to him.

“…with the boy during the cookout tomorrow? I don’t trust him in the house, Vernon, but we can’t leave him out there for anybody to see. What if we lock him in the shed?”

“The shed has my power tools! And besides, it’s got a window in front, faces right towards the patio.” There was a pause, then Vernon said, “I’ll come up with something, don’t worry, Pet.”

Harry slunk back to what he had begun thinking of as ‘his’ section of the yard, mulling over what he had heard. The cookout could either be good news or bad news, depending on what they decided to do with him. Maybe they would leave him with Mrs. Figg again? If they did that, they would surely have to take the collar off. It was starting to chafe at his neck a little, and being silent was becoming quite tiresome. Even though he did not usually have much of anyone to talk to during the summers anyways, he usually would at least talk to himself when he made up games, or hum (which he had discovered also caused a shock) while he did his chores.

As he sat thinking, he considered just taking the blasted collar off and running away. But he shivered thinking of the tales Dudley had told him about orphanages. Surely his aunt and uncle would not leave him like this for too much longer?

A couple of hours later, Uncle Vernon came around to his section of the yard with a measuring tape in his hands. Curious, Harry watched from where he sat in the shade as his uncle measured the distance from the corner where the garage met the fence to some point a bit beyond where the garage ended. He made no response when his uncle met his eyes and smirked at him, but a cold feeling settled into his stomach at what new torture Uncle Vernon’s twisted mind might have come up with.

Thirty minutes later, as the evening was growing cool, Vernon again appeared around the corner of the garage, this time carrying a bag from some hardware store. He pulled out a metal stake with a loop on one end and drilled it into the side of the garage by the fence, somewhere high above where Harry could reach. Then he pulled out a chain and a padlock and attached the chain to the loop in the stake, the lock giving off a faint click. When he began heading towards his nephew, Harry scrambled to his feet and started backing away, but Uncle Vernon grabbed him by his shirt collar and spun him around.

“Hold still,” he commanded him, then added, “You might have forgotten, but today is July 31st. Nine years old, I believe? So I brought you a birthday present.”

Harry could feel his uncle messing with the fastener of the black collar, and for a moment hoped that perhaps the collar was coming off. But then Harry heard the the click of what sounded like a slightly smaller lock. When his uncle let go, Harry spun around hurriedly. His hand trembling, he reached up to the back of his neck and his fingers brushed against a small padlock, fastened to his collar. He wouldn’t be able to take the collar off if he chose anymore.

Preoccupied with his collar, he did not notice what his uncle was doing until he felt something cold against his ankle. He looked down and saw that Uncle Vernon had just fastened one end of some sturdy-looking handcuffs around his right ankle and was currently checking the fit. Apparently satisfied that the cuffs would not be able to come off his foot, he grabbed up the free end of the chain from the ground, looped it through the open cuff, and clicked the mechanism closed. Dumbfounded, Harry stared at his ankle and the attached chain, refusing to process what had just happened.

By the time he looked up, tears of frustration welling in his eyes, Vernon had already turned around and was heading back around the corner of the garage. He followed him angrily, debating the merits of yelling after him, but was brought up short by the pulling of the chain just a bit beyond the garage. Looking back behind him, he saw that the chain was almost taut. Grabbing a hold of it, he yanked sharply, but the chain only clinked against the stake without budging an inch. Keeping a hold of the chain with one hand to prevent it from clotheslining him when he reached the end, he explored how much room he had, and found that he could only reach about a yard beyond the corner of the garage. Although he could see the small gap between the shed and the back fence, he knew that no one would be able to see him unless they came right up to the back corner of the shed. And even now he watched his uncle begin piling shovels and other lawn tools into the gap, blocking the path presumably to discourage any guests from wandering over.

At the end of his rope, quite literally, he groaned (and then winced at the painful shock) in frustration at his impossible predicament. Angry and feeling powerless, he kicked the side of the garage, but only received a sore toe for his efforts. Eventually, he went back to his doghouse, curled up, and went to sleep.

xxXxx

So the next day, Harry sat in his corner of the yard and listened to the kids playing and the adults talking. His mouth watered as he smelled the burgers Uncle Vernon was grilling, and he wished that he could at least reach the spigot to have some water, but it was all the way on the other side of the garage. Angry and restless, he began pacing the perimeter of where he was confined.

Suddenly, though, he was brought up short by an angry voice.

“Watch where you’re sssstepping,” it shot at him, clearly annoyed.

Looking around, Harry eventually spotted a small, dark green snake in the grass near his feet. Surprised, he forgot himself for a moment and said, “You can talk?” He clapped his hand over his mouth as soon as he had said it, but then relaxed when he realized he had felt no shock.

“You can talk?” the snake retorted back, clearly just as surprised as Harry.

Wary now, but heartened by the lack of response by his collar so far, Harry hesitantly answered, “All humans speak, I think, but I didn’t know that snakes could. How can you understand me?”

The snake made a strange noise that Harry thought might have been a snort. “Of course snakes speak. But it is not I who understands you, but rather you that understands me. You are speaking the language of the snakes, of course. Do humans have a language too?”

Harry thought for a moment about this revelation. How could he be speaking another language and not know it? “Yes, humans have many languages,” he answered the snake, but this time he listened carefully as he spoke and realized that it sounded as though he were hissing. “What’s your name?” he asked the snake, touching his throat curiously as he did so and wondering if perhaps the collar had broken or run out of battery. Experimentally, he tried humming, but winced and stopped immediately when he was shocked once again. But with his hands still on his neck, he realized that he had felt his throat vibrate when he hummed, but not when he had spoken to the snake. Perhaps that was the difference?

“Sihatha,” the snake answered him. “And yours, little one?”

“Harry,” he tried to say, but broke off when the collar shocked him again. Apparently, names did not really translate into snake-language.

“What is wrong, little one, why do you look as though pained?” Sihatha asked him, sounding concerned.

Harry smiled a bit at the snake. “I have this thing on my neck that keeps me from speaking the language of humans, so I guess I can’t say my name. But you can call me Hiss, I guess.”

“Hissss,” the snake repeated, then queried, “Why do you have this thing? I thought humans only put these circles on their animals. You are not an animal.”

Harry sighed. “My family doesn’t like me very much. But I think they’ll let me back inside, eventually. My uncle is just mad right now.”

Sihatha seemed to harumph slightly, then told him, “Well, I will come back and visit you until they do. If you need, I can bring you some nice toads, are you hungry?”

“Er… I think I’m ok for now, but I’ll let you know if I need any, thanks.”

With a final bobbing-nod, the snake slithered off into the grass and under the fence.

But the Dursley’s did not, eventually, let Harry come back inside, nor did they take his collar off. Aunt Petunia would come every evening (with some exceptions) to give him some water and a little food, obviously table scraps. She also came once a week to hose him off, wrinkling her nose as she did so at his (apparently) offensive smell. And Uncle Vernon came once a week just before trash day to empty his waste bucket, which Harry usually left at the corner of the garage near the shed. Dudley came to taunt him on occasion the first couple of weeks, but he soon either grew bored or was warned off by his parents, and so Harry stopped seeing him.

When the end of the summer drew near, Vernon and Petunia debated what to do about Harry. Should they consider him warned, let him back inside, and let him go to school? But no, it was too risky that he would tell someone about his summer. And at this point, they knew, there would be no excusing or explaining away their behavior. Never mind that the child was impossible, and always doing freaky things -- no one would understand, or believe, their desperation. And so they told all of the neighbors that their nephew was now attending St. Brutus’ Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, year-round, and told Harry’s former school that they would be sending him to an alternate school to deal with the behavior issues he was exhibiting at home.

And when word reached Arabella Figg, the kind and somewhat forgetful old cat lady, she smiled and thought to herself that Minerva had finally convinced Albus and Harry had been taken away from his relatives, ‘the worst kind of muggles.’ He most likely had taken him to Hogwarts to start some early training. And so she thought little of it, or of the fact that she had never been told such a thing by Dumbledore (he was always so secretive), and instead occupied her time with her cats.

As the weather grew colder, the Dursleys (rather kindly, they thought) left Harry some warmer sweatpants and a winter coat with a hood, and Vernon was so considerate as to briefly unchain Harry to allow him to put the pants on (after a couple of days had gone by and he thought of it). They even threw a wool blanket into his doghouse, and ignored the grass that he had pulled up and stuffed inside of the doghouse for further insulation.

And Harry continued listening to the sounds and conversations around him, even if he could not partake in them. He sometimes heard the TV in the Dursleys’ house or in the neighbor’s if it was loud enough, and caught snatches of occasional conversations. By the time he realized that school had started and that the Dursleys were not letting him loose, he was too afraid of the shock to call for help, and too convinced that no adult would ever care for him enough to help him. He grew afraid of his uncle and aunt, shrinking as far away as possible when they entered his little section of the yard, although his green eyes remained defiant when he would occasionally meet theirs. His glasses broke at some point, and he wished he could at least ask for some tape to hold them together. But it had long since been ingrained in him not to speak, or to make a sound, other than the sibilant hiss of the snake language.

When it grew cold outside, Harry would will himself to stay warm as he slept, curling into a ball in his doghouse and imagining a fire building in his belly and spreading warmth out to his fingers and toes. And when the sun grew hot in the summer, he willed the shadows of the garage or the fence to stretch, so that even at noon he still had just enough shade to huddle in and keep cool. And on nights when there was no moon, when the dark seemed to press in on him, he found that a little light would appear in the ceiling of the doghouse, if he thought about it hard enough.

Sihatha kept her promise and did not abandon him, except for the cold months of the winter when she disappeared underground. But she came back to him in the spring after the first winter, and again after the second winter. And Harry decided that she must have told other snakes about him, for soon he was receiving more and more snakes who came to see the curious “Speaker Hiss,” as they called him. And they would hold meandering conversations with him that were frequently full of random pauses, interruptions, and tangents. Although he wished for a human to speak to, aside from the couple of words his aunt or uncle would occasionally say to him, the snakes staved off his loneliness some. Yet each time he watched them slither away under the fence, he would yearn to follow them, and he would get up and pace around the perimeter of his little section of the yard, bored and restless and frustrated.

xxXxx

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore called cheerily as a tall and thin man in black robes entered his office.

"You had something you wished to speak to me about, Headmaster?" Severus Snape asked smoothly, his hands clasped loosely before him and his face impassive.

"Yes, yes." Dumbledore said, sitting behind his desk and gesturing for Severus to seat himself. "Tea? Or perhaps a lemon drop?" he offered.

Severus' lip curled. "No, thank you. What is this about?"

"Ah, to business then." Dumbledore steepled his fingers. "Minerva has brought it to my attention that Harry Potter has evidently not received his letter, and it has already been sent twice. When I flooed Arabella Figg to ask her if she knew of anything amiss, I found her… well, she did not seem to be quite all there.”

Severus crossed his arms over his chest, hoping that he was misreading where the Headmaster seemed to be headed. “And what does this have to do with me?” he asked.

“I need you to check on Harry and deliver his letter to him. It may be that nothing is wrong at all, but I would be remiss if I did not make sure. As it is, I am already concerned about the veracity of the reports I have been receiving lately from Arabella.” Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes met Severus’ obsidian ones, and they were devoid of their usual twinkle.

“Headmaster, surely Minerva would be better suited, I am not the sort of person to roll out the welcome wagon,” Severus argued, though he knew it was a losing battle.

“Welcome wagon?” Dumbledore asked, clearly amused.

“Muggle saying,” Severus grumbled, annoyed.

“I see. Well, as much as Minerva would likely love to go, she already has her hands full with the acceptance letters and with the expected visits to muggleborn children. We did not expect to need to make this particular visit. And before you can suggest it, you know that both Filius and Pomona are currently out of the country.”

Severus ground his teeth in frustration, but he knew that there would be no dissuading Dumbledore now that he had decided on this path. “Fine. I will go tomorrow morning. Should I retrieve the letter from Minerva?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again. “Yes, that would be fine. Report back if there are any issues. Oh, and if you would be so kind as to take him to Diagon Alley while you are at it, I am sure his relatives would appreciate it.”

Severus jerked his head angrily, then stood up and swept out of the room.

xxXxx

The next morning, the residents of Privet Drive looked out their windows to see a tall figure in a billowing black… was that a cape?… striding down the street. His black hair hung in curtains to his shoulders, and if they had looked closely they would have seen that his nose was long and hooked, his skin sallow, and his eyes dark and serious. Overall, he looked a bit like a large, ominous bat, and mothers drew their children back from the windows, away from ‘that strange man out there'.

Severus Snape swept up the street, peering at the numbers of the identical houses, and searching for number four. He had sneered when he first read the address written on the Potter boy’s letter. Doghouse, indeed. Such a plebeian name for one’s bedroom. He marched up the steps to number four when he found it and rang the bell without hesitation.

He heard pounding footsteps inside and then the door was flung open unceremoniously in front of him by a particularly rotund boy with a half of a doughnut clutched in his pudgy fist.

The boy looked him up and down and then said, “What do you want?”

Severus sneered. This had better not be Potter. “I am here for Harry Potter.”

The boy’s eyes widened and he turned around and thundered back down the hall, screaming, “Mum!!”

At this obviously welcoming gesture, Severus stepped inside, glancing around. The parts of the house that he could see (the foyer, dining area, and a small part of the kitchen) were unnaturally spotless and stark. The walls of the foyer were covered in pictures. Severus picked out a woman he presumed to be Petunia Dursley, née Evans, whose horsey face resembled the teenager he remembered, as well as the chubby boy who had answered the door, at various ages, and he imagined the... wide... man with the walrus mustache must be Mr. Dursley. But Potter had a cousin, so where was the second child in these pictures?

His musings were interrupted by the appearance of Petunia Dursley herself. She took one look at him and immediately screeched, "Out! Out! We'll have none of your lot here! You're not welcome!"

Severus smirked. "Is that anyway to treat an old childhood friend?"

Petunia stared at him for a moment, and then her nose wrinkled slightly. "You," she breathed. "I remember you. You're that Snape boy. Well, you're still not welcome."

"Trust me, Petunia, I have no desire to stay longer than strictly necessary. I merely need to see Harry Potter to ensure he receives his letter, and take him to get his school supplies."

"No." Petunia was shaking her head now. "No, he'll not be going. We swore when we took him in we would stamp out that... that... nonsense, that rubbish, that freakishness. No. He'll not be going."

Severus' annoyance was turning into anger now, with a tinge of dread mixed in. What did she mean, stamp out the freakishness? "I am afraid you do not have much of a choice. The child belongs in our world. He will be coming to Hogwarts. Now where. Is. He?"

At this, Petunia began to look frightened. "He's... He's out... at a friend's..." Her eyes darted from side to side as she said this.

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Why do I not believe you?" he hissed smoothly, stepping forward.

"No! I won't tell you! We had no choice, the boy was out of control!" Petunia was backing into the wall now as Severus continued to advance.

"If you will not tell me, I will pry it from your mind," he informed her coldly, then incanted, "Legilimens.”

Staring into and past Petunia’s eyes, Severus searched for recent memories about her nephew, then began reaching farther back in time, and what he found sickened him. Finally tearing his eyes away, he moved swiftly towards the back door and out into the yard, sending a Patronus to Hogwarts as he went. Inside, he was reeling as his carefully-built assumptions, the wall of anger he had built between himself and Harry Potter, had just been torn down. His annoyance at the boy had turned into righteous anger for him, and he began chanting in his mind I should not kill her. I should not kill her. Murder is wrong. Albus would be furious. I should not kill her.

Picking his way over shovels and a lawnmower by the shed and then rounding the corner of the garage, he found a small boy huddled with his knees to his chest in the shade of the fence. When he heard Severus approach, he shot up and began scrambling back towards the corner where a doghouse stood, his body language clearly demonstrating fear even as his eyes -- which never left Severus, although he did not make eye contact -- flashed with defiance.

Severus stopped and raised his hands in the universal sign for ‘I mean no harm.’ He took slow, careful steps forward until he was within five yards of the boy trembling by the doghouse. Then he crouched down, trying to make himself as unintimidating as possible and hoping that Harry might calm down slightly if he was patient. He was afraid that getting any closer might spook the boy, and was hoping -- although it seemed like a long shot -- that he might be able to coax Harry into coming towards him. He began examining Harry as he murmured soft words of assurance.

Harry was quite a miserable sight. He was incredibly skinny, although it was difficult to get a clear gauge of his weight under the oversized clothes, and very small for his age. His dark hair was matted and hung down around his chin. Severus could tell even from this distance that there were some sores on his neck around the collar, and glancing down at where the chain disappeared under his tattered pant leg, he imagined there would be more around his ankle.

Glancing around to try to help Harry feel less threatened, he noticed that this section of the yard, in complete contrast to the rest, was almost entirely dirt, with only some sparse greenery towards the center. By the corner of the garage closer to the shed, flies buzzed around a bucket. There was a stake that had been drilled deep into the side of the garage at a height just above his own head, and a sturdy-looking chain hung down from it. The fence was high enough that no neighbor would be able to see over it, and there were no windows on this side of the garage. Overall, it was a surprisingly crafty set-up.

Severus was still murmuring to the child as he shifted his attention back towards him. He kept his face turned away and used mainly his peripherals to watch as Harry slowly stopped trembling and began to look almost… curious, even as he remained hunched in on himself. Curiosity was a good sign. Perhaps the child was not as far gone as he had feared.

Severus eventually faced back towards Harry and said to him, “I am not going to harm you, Harry, I am here to rescue you, to take you away from here. Would you like that?” Then he had a sudden, scary thought. “Can you understand me?”

The pause was long enough that Severus grew afraid that the answer might be ‘no,’ but Harry finally gave him the tiniest of nods, his green eyes flicking quickly up towards Severus’ own before fixating back on the man's hands.

Severus smiled reassuringly. “Good, good job. Can you come towards me now? It is ok, I will not harm you, I want to heal you and take you away from here, to somewhere safe. Would you like that?”

Harry stared at him for another long moment before giving him another tiny nod. His shoulders relaxed minisculely, but just enough that Severus noticed. Then Harry’s eyes flicked towards the stake in the garage wall briefly, then back to Severus, and to the stake, and back again.

Severus got the impression that he was either debating to himself how trustworthy the strange man was, or he was trying to ask him a question. He chose to answer the question.

“Yes, Harry, I will take you off of that chain. I will take that collar off of your neck also. But you have to come towards me first, Harry. You can do it, just a few steps.”

Again, Harry stared at him for a long moment, then reached up tentatively with his right hand and fingered the black box on the front of the collar, sending Severus a questioning look.

“Yes, Harry, that is right, you just need to walk towards me. It is ok, you can take your time, as slowly as you like, you just need to walk towards me.”

Incredibly, Harry took a tentative, tiny step forward, then stopped and stared at Severus as though making sure he had not moved. Severus felt like whooping for joy, a rather uncharacteristic thought to be sure, but contented himself to simply keep murmuring reassurances and keep his own body as relaxed and non-threatening as possible. He watched as Harry slowly took another tiny step forward, and then another, pausing between each.

After what felt like hours, Harry finally stood just beyond an arm’s reach of Severus. His shoulders were hunched, and he was faced partially away as though he was trying to present a smaller target or was preparing to flee, but his eyes remained steadily on Severus’ hands.

Deciding that it would be best to free him of the ankle chain first, as it was in a much less vulnerable -- and therefore less frightening -- area, Severus softly asked, “Can you stretch your right ankle towards me, just a bit? So that I can reach it to unlock it?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Harry shifted his weight and inched his foot forward.

When he judged it to be within his reach, Severus nodded encouragingly at the boy and said, “I am going to reach towards your foot now to unlock it, is that ok?”

Harry gave him another tiny nod, although he tensed up slightly.

Nodding, Severus slowly reached his right hand, with his wand hidden up his sleeve, towards the proffered foot. Once he was nearly touching the boy’s ankle, he lifted up the pant just a bit and performed a nonverbal unlocking charm. With more gentleness than he knew he possessed, he carefully peeled the cuff away from the raw skin, gratified when Harry twitched but did not flee at his ministrations.

Finished, he slowly withdrew his hand, then looked back up at Harry and met the wide green eyes. Harry’s face looked torn between fear, anguish, and hope, and his eyes were bright with unshed tears.

Speechless for just a moment at what looked like the beginnings of a shaky trust in Harry’s eyes, Severus recovered himself and softly said, “I am going to stand up now, so that I can reach your neck. Will that be ok?”

Harry stared into his eyes for a moment before giving him another tiny nod.

Even slower than he had reached for Harry's ankle, Severus rose to his feet and then cautiously lifted his right hand towards Harry’s neck, watching carefully for signs of additional distress. Miraculously, Harry stayed perfectly still, his eyes never leaving Severus’ hand.

When his hand was at the collar, he said, "I am just going to reach behind you for the clasp." He slowly took a careful step to his right, and Harry's head followed him. Biting back a sigh, he told him, "I need you to face forward so I can reach the lock. It's ok Harry, I want to help you."

Trembling slightly, Harry turned his head to face forward again, but his eyes were kept on Severus' arm. Severus stretched his hand behind Harry's neck, watching as Harry tensed but did not move, and he performed another silent unlocking charm. He gently felt for the loose end of the padlock and carefully worked it free. When he finally pulled it away, Harry immediately took several quick steps backward and brought his hands up behind his neck, scrabbling at the clasp of the collar.

"Whoa, whoa, easy now, it is ok," Severus said, remaining where he was so as not to spook the child further. "Careful there, you do not want to hurt yourself. Can I help you, please? I want to help you take that off."

But Harry ignored him, continuing to frantically work at the collar. Eventually, he tore it off and tossed it away from him into the dirt. He ran back over to the doghouse and huddled in the corner between it and the fence. He drew his legs back up to his chest and hugged them, his head buried in his knees and his shoulders shaking, and Severus could see that the nails on his right hand looked like they might be slightly bloody.

Severus sighed silently and crouched back down, beginning to murmur soothingly again. He wanted to comfort the boy, and desperately needed to bring him to a healer, but he was loathe to frighten him any further by approaching without his knowledge. He debated the merits of putting a sleep charm on him and carrying him away, but worried about his reaction when he woke up in an unfamiliar place, especially since he thought he might have built just the barest beginnings of trust between them. He also worried about the best way to get the child back to Hogwarts awake. How could he explain magical transportation to the child in such a state, and how could he expect him to fare under the unpleasantness of apparition, portkey, the floo network, or the Knight Bus?

After what felt like a very long time, but may have been only minutes, Harry's shaking stopped. A couple minutes later, he looked back up and met Severus' eyes.

"Will you let me take you away from here, Harry?" Severus asked gently.

Harry gave him one of his characteristic long pauses before nodding his head slightly.

"May I come over there?"

Harry's eyes widened a bit and he shook his head quickly.

Severus held back his sigh and asked, "Will you come over here then?"

Another long moment and Harry carefully stood up and took a few steps towards him, then stopped before taking another couple of shuffling steps. Severus stood up very slowly as Harry took the last two steps to bring him just out of Severus arms' reach.

Severus nodded slowly and said, "I need to bring you to a safe place, ok? The way we get there is very quick but very unpleasant, do you understand?"

Harry's green eyes looked curious and a bit confused, but he nodded.

"Good. So you have a choice. You can either go to sleep and when you wake up you will be in a new safe place, or you can stay awake but it will be a bit unpleasant and maybe a bit scary, but the feeling will go away in just a few seconds. Do you understand?"

Now there was fear mixed with confusion in Harry's eyes, but he nodded again. Severus hoped he actually did understand.

"Good. So if you want to stay awake, I want you to clap your hands together like this," Severus demonstrated, "and if you want to sleep I want you to pat your legs like this," again he demonstrated. He assumed that Harry would not be ready yet for talking, but was also a bit worried that nodding was an ingrained response, so he had tried to come up with signals that would help him know whether Harry actually understood.

Harry almost immediately tapped his hands together in a tentative, silent clap.

"You are sure?” Severus checked.

Harry nodded and tapped his hands together again.

“Very well.” Here is the tricky part. “You will need to hold on to my arm. We will disappear for a moment and it will feel… rather strange. Then we will reappear somewhere new, and from there we will have to walk just a little ways to our destination. But you will need to hold on to my arm until I tell you to let go. Do you think you can do that?"

Harry looked scared but determined as he nodded.

"Ok. Then please take my arm." Severus held perfectly still as Harry tentatively took another step forward, reached out his left hand, and held Severus' right forearm in a vice grip, keeping him at arms' length. But before Severus could turn on the spot and take them away from there, he saw out of the corner of his left eye that Petunia was rounding the corner of the garage.

Immediately, Harry bolted behind Severus, maintaining his grip on his arm and keeping Severus between him and his aunt. But he peered out around Severus slightly, and Severus again saw that strange mixture of submission and defiance in his body language.

Petunia wrinkled her nose at them and said imperiously, “Fine then. Take the boy. And good riddance. But don’t bring him back here.”

No. No no no. I did not like that, that was not pleasant, that was really not pleasant, I do not want to do that again, Harry thought as he and the strange man in black landed and he took a gasping breath. He tumbled to his knees but maintained his grip on the man, squeezing hard as the world spun around him and his stomach threatened to retch its pitiful contents. He did say to keep holding on, didn’t he? I think that’s what he said. But he said that it would only be unpleasant for a few seconds, then it would go away. Right, didn’t he say that? Was he lying? He’s been so nice so far.

Distantly, he thought he heard the strange man saying his name (That is my name, isn’t it? I haven’t heard it in a while.), but he was too focused on not hurling to answer. Throwing up was not a good idea, he knew. It only made him hungrier later, and Aunt Petunia got mad at him for leaving something so stinky, even if it was behind the garage.

“…can let go now, we are here, everything is ok, the feeling will pass in a moment…”

Oh, I should let go now? But Harry was not sure he wanted to let go. His whole world seemed to be spinning around him, literally and figuratively, and he found that he wanted to keep holding on to this anchor. He tightened his grip and tried to breathe, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Suddenly he felt a cool hand on his face, and he jerked back and looked up into eyes that were swirling black pools.

“Harry, it is time to let go of my arm. It will be ok, I can keep holding on to you, but I need to get you up, we need to go a little farther.”

Ok, I can do this. Slowly, he released his grip on the man’s arm, then huddled in on himself, his nausea beginning to subside. Unexpectedly, he felt the man slide a hand behind his back and another under his legs. He struggled for a moment, but then he was in his arms and was being carried between two huge wrought-iron gates. He found that he was quite tired, and that fighting was just too much energy, and so he relaxed slightly. The man had not hurt him yet, and even if he did later, he would just have to deal with it when it came.

After a long walk through fresh, green grass (oh, how he wished he could lay in that grass, it looked so soft and sweet), and then through huge doors and down a large, echoing hallway, they entered a bright, white room with rows of beds along the walls. Incredibly, the man laid him in one of these beds, and the sheets felt cool and clean and the bed was soft and springy. He nearly closed his eyes in contentment, but then people began bustling around him, more people than he had seen in so long, and they were all looking at him, and his heart began to thump loudly in his ears, and his breathing sped up, but then there was something at his lips and then a liquid in his mouth and he swallowed and then he knew no more.

xxXxx

Once Harry had taken the dreamless sleep, Severus stepped back and ran a hand through his greasy hair, watching the matron casting diagnostic spells over the boy’s sleeping form. He spun around when he heard Minerva’s hot-tempered voice.

“You!” she was saying, pointing an accusing finger at Dumbledore. “How could you let this happen?! I warned you-- I warned you they were the worst kind of muggles! You said you were checking!”

Dumbledore had his hands raised in a placating gesture, but he looked mildly ashamed. “I was checking. Or I thought I was. But I had promised to stay away as much as possible, not bother the family and give Harry as normal a childhood as he could have. So I had Arabella Figg watching him and sending me monthly reports, and everything seemed fine. But it seems that Arabella has been declining lately, I’m not sure for how long; she has the symptoms of an illness the muggles call ‘dementia.’”

“Headmaster, you know that abuse is not often obvious to those outside the family. Arabella is an unlikely person to recognize the signs,” Severus began, but then he faced Minerva. “But you should also know, Minerva, that abuse can be very difficult to recognize even in those looking for it. It was likely only in the past couple of years that it should have been obvious.”

“I never thought…” the Headmaster trailed off. “I never truly thought of abuse as a scenario from which to protect him. Death Eaters, yes, the return of Lord Voldemort,” he ignored Severus’ and Minerva’s flinches “yes, but not abuse.”

“There is fault on many sides. But for now, we need to discuss next steps. Harry needs treatment, and the Dursleys need to be dealt with.” Severus’ eyes flashed when he mentioned the Dursleys.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “Let us first see what Poppy has to say about his physical condition, before we begin discussing counseling for him and how to handle the Dursleys.”

Just then, Madam Pomfrey joined their small circle by the foot of Harry’s bed, a rolled-up parchment in your hand. “Well, he is not in any immediate physical danger, but he has quite a list of issues.” She unrolled the parchment and began scanning it, speaking as she went. “Myopia is the least of his problems, but he is in rather desperate need of corrective lenses. Malnutrition, as well, and it has been going on for quite some time. He is much too thin, although fortunately he has not begun experiencing any significant damage to internal organs yet, nothing irreversible at least. There are also the sores on his neck and ankle. They should heal with treatment, but I am afraid I will not be able to completely prevent scarring. They look as though they’ve both had some mild infections at various points that have very fortunately cleared up on their own, although there is a mild one setting in on his neck right now. He has had many bruises and contusions over the years; I get the impression that he never received any all-out beatings, but that he got quite a few cuffs or backhands. Many bug bites as well, only one that was serious about a year ago, but he seems to have recovered just fine from that, only a small scar left. No insect-carried diseases, either, thankfully, and no sign of lice or fleas. His muscular development has been slightly abnormal for the past couple of years, and his right leg is stronger than his left by a wider margin than is usual, but the main concern is that his fine motor skills have suffered. He will likely have some serious issues writing, particularly with a quill, for a while. He also has some fairly severe bruising around his voice box, made worse by the fact that the cause looks to have been chronic, or perhaps continually re-occuring. He will need to rest his voice while the bruising is treated, and even so his voice may always remain a bit hoarse.” When she finished, she looked up to meet the grim faces of the three professors.

Professor McGonagall turned towards Snape. “What exactly happened, what did you find? You gave so little information in your message, and then we see this,” she gestured towards the sleeping boy. “What did they do to him?” There was an edge of steel in her voice.

Severus crossed his left arm over his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand, his body language uncharacteristically readable. “He was never treated well, neglected, denied food, locked in his room frequently, which was the cupboard under the stairs, by the way.” He looked up and met Minerva’s angry gaze. “But for the past two years, he has been left outside, chained to a corner of their yard, given a doghouse to sleep in and a bucket to relieve himself in,” When Poppy gasped, he added, “And that is not all, not even the worst of it, I don’t think. They put a… a dog collar on him… that is designed to give an electric shock when a dog barks. They didn’t want him speaking.”

Poppy covered her mouth at this, glancing back at the child who was sleeping, curled in a tight ball, beneath the covers. “The psychological damage…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Dumbledore spoke up at this. “Severus, you have the most training in counseling, of us here, what do you think his prognosis is?”

Severus ran a tired hand through his hair. “It is difficult to say without spending more time with him. Earlier, I was much more concerned with building enough trust to get him to come with me than with evaluating him. There has certainly been quite a lot of damage, but I think given enough time and support, he should be able to recover enough to live a normal life. There is certainly some fight left in him. It would take a miracle for him to be ready for school this fall, though. We will need far more than two months, not even, to get him comfortable with crowds and comfortable speaking again.”

Dumbledore nodded, his expression sad and fatigued. “Unfortunately, one of the first things we need to do is press charges against the Dursleys. We need to insure he is legally protected from them. I think our first question is whether we should take them to muggle or magical court, considering that it will undoubtedly be considered a criminal as opposed to a civil offence.”

“Muggle,” Severus answered without hesitation. “As discreet as Wizarding Family Services is, it is highly unlikely that we will be able to keep this completely quiet if we go that direction. And once it gets out, the anti-muggle furor will spread like wildfire, not to mention I imagine Harry will not appreciate the extra attention. With the muggles, the press attention will be much less considering he is not already famous, and we will be able to more easily manipulate the information that is released so that no wizard who stumbles across a muggle newspaper will make the connection. Our main issue will be the rather unorthodox handling the situation has been given so far, but I think a few doctored photos and modified memories should smooth it over. Besides,” he smirked, “the Dursleys will be much more upset to have their reputations ruined this way.”

Minerva nodded. “My cousin, Angus McGonagall, should be able to help. He works as a muggle lawyer, but as a squib he will know enough about the magical world to help us. And he has been used by the Order before and proven himself discreet.”

“An excellent idea, Minerva,” Dumbledore nodded, starting to regain a bit of his usual vigor as the talk turned towards plans. “I think our next question is who should take over guardianship?”

“I will,” Severus immediately stated, and every head turned towards him. Surprise was clear on Minerva and Poppy’s faces, but Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling. “Provided that Harry agrees to it, of course,” he added, and then realized how oddly disappointed he would be if Harry did not agree. Had he begun caring for the child already? He mentally shook that thought off and continued, “It is the most reasonable choice. I have already begun building a rapport with him, I have training in counseling and the handling of abused children, and I will be able to protect him when necessary. And on the topic of counseling, I would like to bring in Pierce Blackburn to work with Harry.”

“An excellent choice, on both counts, Severus, I quite agree,” Dumbledore assured him, a small smile on his face. “Well, now that that is settled, Minerva and I will leave you and Poppy to it. We do not want to crowd him.”

With a small nod, and a confused frown towards Severus, Minerva followed after Dumbledore and the two left the wing.

xxXxx

Harry awoke confused and disoriented. The light was all wrong -- too bright and too white. It was never this bright in his corner of the yard, let alone in his doghouse where he always slept. And he was too… comfortable. The surface beneath him was soft and the usual soreness around his neck and ankle had diminished somewhat. He had different, soft clothes on, and he felt… clean. Then he remembered that morning and sat bolt upright, looking around frantically. He relaxed slightly when he saw a tall black shape on the far side of the room, presuming it to be the strange man in black although he was too far away to see clearly. He shifted back a bit and drew his knees to his chest when the shape began moving towards him.

“Harry, it is good to see you awake,” the strange man said when he reached the side of the bed Harry was lying in. “I am sorry I did not properly introduce myself before. I am Professor Severus Snape, though you may call me Severus for now. I am a teacher at a school called Hogwarts, which is where we are now.”

Harry was a bit confused. It didn’t look like a school. He remembered going to school, and there weren’t any beds. And why was a teacher coming to rescue him from the Dursleys? Maybe it was a school for freaks, like the Dursleys had said he was?

As he thought, his attention wandered, and he was only pulled back to what the strange man -- Severus Snape, he said? -- was saying when he heard him ask, “Do you understand?”

He nodded. He knew the right response to that question. His aunt and uncle liked to say that all the time.

“Good,” the man continued. “Now, I know that you are probably very confused right now, and there is quite a lot to explain…”

Harry frowned, his attention wandering again. He was confused. He had so many questions. Why had the man come and gotten him? How had he even known he was there, or that anyone was there, in that corner of the yard? And if this was a school for freaks, then why was he being so kind?

“…refrain from speaking until it is fully healed,” Harry heard the man saying as he directed his wayward focus back on him. “However, in the meantime, here is a notebook and pen.” The man gently laid a small, blue spiral notebook and a somewhat large black pen down on the bed next to Harry. “If you are able, I would like you to write any questions or responses that you may have down. But only if you feel comfortable. Do you understand?”

Again, that familiar question. Harry nodded. He was supposed to ask questions, and make responses? That did not make any sense. He knew that he was not supposed to say anything. Not supposed to try to communicate. That always got him a quick blow to the head from his aunt or uncle, when he tried to gesture or something. Just like if he looked them in the eye. Although he had already messed up on that one a couple of times with this strange man, and so far hadn’t received anything for it. Still, better to be safe, so he had kept his eyes trained on the man’s slightly blurry hands.

Harry realized that the man had been speaking again as his attention had wandered (this man did quite a bit more speaking than his aunt and uncle), and he forcefully wrenched his thoughts back to him.

“…it might sound very confusing, and very strange, but despite what most people believe, there is such a thing as magic, and witches and wizards exist who can use this magic. Your mother was a witch and your father was a wizard, and you are a wizard also, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widened. What was this man saying? He was talking about magic, and Harry knew that that was a forbidden topic. And what was this about witches and wizards? He could not be a wizard. Wizards were the heroes in stories, and he was just a dirty little freak.

“…is often passed down from parent to child, but in some cases, a magical child is born to non-magical parents. Your mother was like this, Harry, born to non-magical people or muggles, which is why your aunt is not a witch.

“Your parents were killed when you were very young by a bad man, a wizard who used his magic to do very bad things. You were sent to live with your aunt and uncle, as they were your only remaining relatives, but you were always expected to come to this school, to Hogwarts, to learn about how to use your magic.”

Really? He was always expected to come here? What, at a certain age or something? Had his relatives known about this? Had they known he was magical? Was he even actually magical? It seemed so crazy, so far-fetched, and yet, they had appeared here. And he had made light before, when it was dark in his cupboard or in the doghouse. He had known that was a freakish thing to do, but maybe his freakishness was actually magic?

“…but you are safe now, here. You need not return to your relatives. You will not be locked up here, or denied food or other basic necessities. You can stay here. You can even stay with me, if you want. I can be your new guardian.”

At this last statement, Harry’s gaze flicked up to the man’s face. A new guardian? He could not see the man’s face well enough to read his expression, but his body language spoke of uncertainty. What was he uncertain about? Did he not really want to be Harry’s guardian?

Unsure of himself, Harry looked back down at his knees, keeping the man's hands in his peripheral vision. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he did not.

xxXxx

Severus saw the flicker of hope in the skinny child's expression when he looked up, before it was clouded out by fear and uncertainty. He suppressed a sigh, and noticed an unidentifiable but uncomfortable feeling in his gut, as Harry focused his gaze on his own knees without responding.

"I will leave you be for now. Madam Pomfrey is just in the other room," he pointed to her office, "and will check in on you from time to time. I will be back later." With that he stood up and exited the wing, trying to get Harry's hopeful-turned-fearful expression from his mind.

He was just beginning to sweep down the hallway towards his dungeons when he heard Minerva calling his name from behind him. He spun around and faced the witch hurrying towards him, crossing his arms.

"Severus! I have just finished arranging things with Angus. The police are heading to the Dursleys now to arrest them," she told him, coming to a halt before him.

Immediately Severus started down the hallway once more, in the opposite direction this time. "I want to be there," he stated.

Minerva fell into step beside him. "I know. I as well." Her mouth was set in a firm line.

They did not say anything more to each other as they exited the castle through the main doors and walked across the grounds, then spun simultaneously and Apparated to Privet Drive. There, they stood in the shadows and watched as the police knocked on the door to number four, entered briefly, and came back out with Vernon and Petunia in handcuffs. Vernon was blustering, his face purple as he protested, just short of actively resisting his arrest. Petunia was quiet, her face stiff and chin raised. She looked about just before she got in the car, and met Severus’ eyes. His mouth turned up into a grim smile as their gazes locked, and then the policeman’s hand was on Petunia’s head and she was in the squad car.

Once he had seen Dudley being led out by a kind-looking woman with her hand on his shoulder, Severus turned to Minerva, nodded once, and then Disapparated with a crack.

xxXxx

Once the man had left him, Harry sat looking at the notebook and pen he had left behind. The man had said that it was for him to use, but he had only mentioned writing questions down. Was it ok for him to use now? He wanted to. He was quite used to occupying himself after two years of being confined to a corner of the yard, but he was unsure of what he was allowed to do in this place, and so was wary of getting up and pacing -- his usual pastime when he felt restless and unsure as he did now. He wanted to play with the notebook and pen, he had not had such tools in such a long time, and they had been sort of given to him… but was he allowed to use them now? The man had left them behind, but what if that had been a mistake? Or worse, a test?

Eventually, after a long debate with himself, he picked up the notebook and opened it. He smoothed down the white, pristine page, enjoying the feeling of its crisp texture, and the way that it lay so flat. He stroked it for a minute, then scooped up the fat pen with his right hand, trying to remember how he had been taught to hold these implements. The black tip hovered shakily over the page for a moment, then he pressed it to the paper and began drawing, bending his head low over the page so that he could see it clearly.

He thought of all of his frustrations of the past two years as he drew, of his constant restlessness and loneliness, and his feelings of hopelessness and fears that he would never again leave that corner of the yard. And then he thought of his one friend there, Sihatha, and wondered how she was faring, and what she thought of his disappearance. As he continued to draw, enjoying the experience though his hand was shaky and unsure, and a bit sore, his mind turned to his fears and uncertainty in this new place.

Harry was woken not too long later when a woman approached his bed. He sat up quickly and shrank back from her, curling up by the headboard. The woman just bustled about his bed, ignoring his discomfiture, and brought out a retractable tray from the side of the bed. She placed a plate with a bowl of broth and some bread, then two small vials, onto the tray.

“You can’t fall asleep yet, Mr. Potter. You need to have some dinner first. And your potions. Go on. Potions first.” She gestured to the tray.

Harry watched her carefully as he scooted forward obediently. He picked up one of the vials and tried to pull out the stopper, but he found that he could not grip it well enough. His face reddened as he pulled at it furiously, ignoring the matron’s offers of help as he hunched over the vial. Angry and frustrated, he switched his grip and twisted furiously, causing the vial to crack and a thick white substance to flood down his front.

Startled and frightened of the matron’s response, Harry dropped the glass and scooted back to the headboard. Then he began looking around frantically for a towel, watching the matron warily and hoping that perhaps he could clean up the mess before she got too mad at him.

However, if he could have seen Madam Pomfrey’s expression clearly, he would have seen her face soften as she said, “That’s quite all right, Harry. These things happen. I’ll just get you cleaned up and fetch another.” With that, she waved a stick briskly at him and at the bedsheets, instantly drying them, then wordlessly summoned another vial of the white substance. She pulled out the stopper on this and the second vial herself and set them on the tray, then backed away slightly. “I’ll just watch you finish the potions, then leave you be,” she told him as she waved her stick at the two pieces of glass on the bed, vanishing them.

Harry nervously moved back towards the tray and quickly downed the first vial, grimacing at the taste. He looked uncertainly at the second one, then back at the matron.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, you must drink them both. They will not harm you, even if they do taste nasty. They will help you.”

For a moment, he considered just shaking his head and refusing, but he thought better of it after a moment’s thought. He was not yet sure of what the rules were in this place, or of the punishments. Hesitantly, he picked up the second vial and drank that down as well, trying to keep from pulling a face. The nurse nodded to him and then retreated to her office, leaving Harry to eat in peace. When she returned ten minutes later with a jar in hand, she found the food gone, the bowl looking to have been licked clean, and Harry beginning to curl back up under the covers.

“Oh no, Mr. Potter, not just yet. I still need to put this salve on your neck and ankle.” She approached the head of the bed, reaching out for him, but Harry shrank back, scooting towards the far side of the bed and pressing himself against the headboard.

The matron sighed. “Harry, this needs to be applied. Those are nasty sores that require healing, and we need to clear up the infection on your neck.”

Harry shook his head, his expression defiant even through his fear, and brought his left hand up to cover his neck. No. He’d already taken her yucky potions. Why did she have to touch his neck? It hurt enough already. He knew that when it felt like this, he needed to leave it alone, and just will the pain back out. He didn’t want her messing with it.

Giving up on convincing him by herself after a minute of coaxing, Madam Pomfrey muttered an incantation and something silver shot out of her wand and out of the hospital wing. Surprisingly quickly, hurried steps were audible in the hallway outside, and then the infirmary doors burst open and Severus Snape was striding up the aisle between beds.

xxXxx

Severus took in Harry’s position and the fear and stubbornness in his expression and immediately took the jar from the nurse, gesturing for her to leave. He approached Harry slowly and spoke softly.

“Harry, I am sorry, but this needs to be applied. It may sting a little, it may hurt some, but it will help you in the long run. I am sorry, but it needs to be done. Now, can you move a little closer to me, please?”

Harry shook his head again, but he looked a bit less defiant and more unsure now. Severus sighed.

“Harry, this needs to be done. Do you remember earlier, when I told you that you needed to follow Madam Pomfrey’s instructions very carefully and listen to her?”

He saw Harry’s brow furrow slightly at that, and he looked mildly confused, but after a moment he nodded.

“Listening to Madam Pomfrey is a very important part of getting well again. It may not make sense to you, but it will help you. Do you understand?” At Harry’s nod, he added, “Please move a little closer to me.”

Severus was gratified when Harry hesitantly uncurled and then scooted closer to him. He unscrewed the cap on the jar and scooped out some of the salve, then reached for Harry’s right ankle. Grasping it, he gently pulled it towards him and rolled up the cotton pant leg to mid-way on his calf. Then he carefully rubbed the salve into the angry-looking sores, making sure to apply it all the way around the ankle.

Finished, he looked up to see that Harry’s expression had morphed into one of confusion and wonderment. The boy drew his leg slightly closer to his face and examined his ankle briefly, then looked back up to Severus with wide green eyes.

“Yes, there is a bit of a pain reducer in that salve. Now for your neck. Can you move so you’re sitting on the edge of the bed please, so that I can reach?” Severus asked, gesturing.

With much less hesitation, the child obeyed, his eyes trained on Severus’ hands as the man scooped up more salve and began applying it to the sores around his neck. Once he was done, Harry blinked owlishly at him for a moment before pulling his legs back up onto the bed and crawling back under the covers, curling up once again by the head of the bed.

Severus smiled slightly. “Get some rest, Harry. You have had quite the day.”

xxXxx

Harry fell asleep quickly once Severus left, but he woke several times in the night, each time feeling fearful, exposed, and confused, and taking long moments to remember where he was. Each time it took him longer to fall back asleep in the unfamiliar surroundings, until finally he dragged a spare blanket from off the end of the bed he was sleeping on and walked to the bed at the far end of the infirmary. He perched on the edge for a minute, then crawled underneath the bed and lay down, curling up with the blanket.

He woke as the sun began filtering in through the high windows. He crawled back out from under the bed and looked around, seeing that the wing was empty. He folded the blanket back up carefully and put it back on his original bed, then started pacing in the area near it, glancing up at the door every once in a while and wondering if he was allowed to leave or if the door was locked.

A little while later, Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, and Harry stopped pacing and sat back on the bed. As the matron approached him, she said brightly, “Good morning, Harry dear. Would you like some breakfast?”

Hoping that it was not a trick (she had fed him before), Harry nodded eagerly, and soon was tucking into a small bowl of plain oatmeal. He tried to squeeze every morsel into his stomach, but eventually gave up, not wanting to throw the food back up. When he finally stopped eating, Madam Pomfrey handed him another two vials, already open this time, and he downed them without complaint and with only the barest hesitation.

As he was just handing the empty vials back to the matron, the door to the wing opened, and the man in black entered with another, slightly shorter man whom Harry had never seen before. Harry scooted back a bit farther on the bed, bringing his knees up to his chest.

The matron made to leave as the men neared his bed, but the man in black stopped her and whispered something to her. Harry watched them converse out of the corner of his eye, but his focus was on the stranger.

His attention shifted back to the man in black a minute later when he began speaking, the matron having now left. “Good morning, Harry. This is a friend of mine, Pierce Blackburn,” he waved a hand towards the stranger. “We were wondering if we could speak with you about some things today. But first, have you ever worn glasses, Harry, spectacles?”

Unsure of where this was going, Harry nodded hesitantly.

He thought he might have seen the man in black smile as he said, “Good. Well Madam Pomfrey has ordered you a new pair that you can wear for now, until you are able to go to a store to pick out your own frame.” He placed a small object that Harry had not noticed he was holding onto the tray that was still up from breakfast. Harry’s eyes flicked between the object and the man in black a couple of times before he reached forward and picked it up.

It was a pair of glasses. A pair of simple, black glasses. Almost trembling, Harry slipped them on, and nearly gasped as he looked around. Everything was so clear. He looked back at the man in black, an odd lump in his throat, and this time was certain that he was seeing the man smile.

“You like them, Harry?” the man asked, and Harry nodded eagerly, wishing for some way to express his gratitude.

“Good. Well, as I said earlier, my friend Pierce and I would like to speak to you for a little while today, and ask you a few questions.”

Harry looked back at the strange man, and this time he could see that the man had short, dirty blonde hair, a small nose, and a big, grinning mouth. He was a few inches shorter than the tall man in black, and his clothes (which, now that Harry thought about it, did not look very normal, and neither did any of the other clothes he had seen people wearing in this place) were a dark red.

He turned back to the man in black and heard him say “…us know if something makes you uncomfortable. Is that ok?”

Reflexively, Harry nodded, but he noticed that the new man was looking at him with a rather thoughtful expression. He looked back at him, feeling slightly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and the man spoke.

“Harry, did you actually hear and understand everything that Severus said?”

Well, no, but I’m supposed to be paying attention and listening. I’ll get in trouble if I say I wasn’t, Harry began trembling as his mind churned, but I’ll also get in trouble if I lie, and the new man apparently already knows. Finally, after a long pause, Harry shook his head.

The new man smiled encouragingly at him. “It’s ok if you don’t understand something or your attention wanders, Harry. But I do want you to let us know if you miss something, ok? Because it might be very important for you to know.” The man thought for a minute, and then told him, “Maybe if you just frown really big,” he demonstrated, furrowing his brow comically and eliciting a small smile from Harry, “when you miss something, and then we’ll know. Is that ok?”

Harry nodded. He had been having a hard time following the man in black’s -- Severus, he had said? -- long speeches. This was almost like a code, just between them. And then he wouldn’t have to worry about how he wasn’t supposed to speak or gesture, other than nodding or shaking his head.

The two men seemed to be happy with his response, because they both smiled at him. Then Severus explained to him that Pierce was going to ask him some questions, and that he wanted him to answer as honestly as he could, but that if he felt uncomfortable he could just shake his head. He gestured to the notebook and pen that were still sitting on the little table, and Harry obediently picked them up and nervously opened to a new page. He saw Severus glancing at his drawings as he flipped past them, but the man did not say anything about them.

“Can you tell me, or show me, what your favorite thing to do is, Harry? I know that your throat is not healed enough yet to talk, but you can write it out, or draw it if you like, or even act it out. I have some toys you can use as props if you’d like, too.”

The new man’s hazel eyes were kind, and this eased a little bit of the tension that Harry felt. It seemed like a simple enough question, but he couldn’t think of what the answer should be. What did he like to do? Well, he liked talking to the snakes, but did that really count? Besides, it was probably kind of freakish. Eventually, he started drawing himself in the yard with footprints behind him to show that he was pacing.

The man smiled at him again. “Very good Harry. Are you walking in this?”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t sure he would exactly call it walking, but it was close enough.

“Good. Can you tell me what your favorite thing to eat is?”

Harry thought about this for a while. A favorite thing to eat? What did that even mean? Was he supposed to have a favorite food? Finally, he gave in and shook his head, too confused to come up with an answer.

“That’s just fine, Harry, you don’t have to answer every question,” Pierce reassured him. “I would very much like it if you could answer this question for me, though, ok? Can you show me where you live?”

Harry felt inexplicably nervous as he drew his answer to this question. The man -- Severus -- had already seen where he lived, and had taken him away, but for some reason he was afraid they would decide his relatives were right and that he was a freak, and maybe take him back.

When he finished, he got another smile and a ‘good job’ from the new man, and he relaxed a bit.

xxXxx

Severus was working very hard to keep his face neutral and encouraging as he watched Harry draw his responses to Pierce’s answers. He was impressed with the child’s resilience and with how quickly he had begun opening up and trusting these strangers to whom he had been brought, especially considering the state in which he had been found.

He watched as Harry drew where he lived. The child shakily traced a large house with what looked like the Dursleys sitting around a TV, with possibly sound blaring from it, and then drew a small corner of the yard hidden from view with a tiny doghouse in it. Severus noted that the garage with the cars inside was even much bigger than the picture of Harry’s corner of the yard.

After Pierce had told Harry that he did a good job, Severus told Harry, “I am very glad to see that you used your notebook yesterday. It was given to you for you to use as you like, so I am so happy to see that you used it.” He smiled encouragingly when Harry’s lips turned tentatively upward. “Would you mind showing me what you drew?”

Harry hesitated for a moment, and Severus considered telling him it was ok and he did not have to show him, but then Harry handed over the notebook. In the first few pages, Severus found messy drawings of what could only be Harry himself, drawn without a mouth, first tied up by the doghouse with his large aunt and uncle (who appeared to be shouting) on the other side of a fence, then apparently tied to a small bed with Severus himself standing largely between Harry and two other adults. Severus hoped that he was protecting Harry rather than threatening him. A third picture showed Harry, this time with a small mouth, tied up in his doghouse with a few snakes outside. Severus was not sure what to make of that picture, but he smiled at Harry and nodded, thanking him for showing him the pictures and praising him once again for using the notebook.

The child soaked up the praise like a flower in the sun, and Severus felt simultaneously glad to have so easily encouraged Harry and angry at his relatives for denying him so many things.

“Harry,” Severus began, hoping that he would not spook the child by broaching this subject, “how would you like to live with me, at least for now? I live here, in this castle, at Hogwarts. You cannot return to your relatives, we will not be letting them take you back, and I would like you to live with me, at least for the foreseeable future.” He felt slightly nervous as he said this, though he could not think why.

Harry’s eyes grew as round as saucers behind his glasses, and they flicked back and forth between Pierce and Severus a few times before resting back on Severus. Then his expression clouded somewhat and he looked back at his legs without responding.

Severus shared a look with Pierce. “It is ok, Harry. You do have options. I do not want to take away your choices. Do you understand why you cannot return to the Dursleys?”

Harry looked up and nodded vigorously, and Severus got the impression that he definitely did not want to return there. That was good. He had not really expected Harry to want to return there, given the level of neglect he had experienced, but it was all too common for abused children to feel a sense of loyalty to their abusers and not want to betray them by leaving, or to genuinely love their families despite the pain. At least Harry recognized that what the Dursleys had done was wrong, on some level.

“I want to give you a safe home, Harry. I want to help you feel safe and cared for. Are you willing to let me try?”

Harry’s expression turned almost wistful, and eventually he gave a small nod, then blushed, ducking his head.