When Harry Potter got off the Hogwarts Express, the only thing he was expecting was a summer like all the ones before; hot, boring, and labour-intensive at Number Four, Privet Drive.

In fact, this summer was shaping up to be all of those things, with one exception- the Dursleys had no intention of staying in Little Whinging. Uncle Vernon was all blustering and consistently pleased with himself, for Grunnings had decided to give him a promotion. Such a promotion apparently warranted a relocation. Harry privately wondered if Vernon’s boss was just trying to get rid of him by moving the walrus as far away as possible.

It was these circumstances, however, that led to something short of mass confusion at the little cookie-cutter house in Surrey. When Petunia Dursley could deign to stop boasting about her husband’s new status to the neighbours, she was packing away her delicate china and other oddities that a freak like Harry wasn’t good enough to touch. Of course, that didn’t mean Harry didn’t face the brunt of the packing. Oh, no- Harry was charged with almost everything else, particularly Dudley’s clothes and toys. It wouldn’t have been nearly as bad, Harry thought, if Dudley didn’t decide he suddenly needed the things that had already been boxed away.

Harry, of course, had been packed and ready to move as soon as he’d gotten off the Hogwarts Express. Everything he owned, with the exception of Hedwig and his Nimbus 2000, fit easily inside his trunk. That didn’t matter, of course. Harry was being blamed for holding up the move anyway. Uncle Vernon and Dudders obviously couldn’t be bothered to help. Harry was silently grateful that at least his uncle had arranged for movers to pack the boxes and heavy furniture into a lorry and deliver them to the new house. Harry spared a few moments of thought for the new house as he packed away and taped up another box of Dudley’s things. Apparently, it was in a suburb just outside the town his Aunt grew up. A jolt of anticipation went through Harry at that. If his Aunt grew up there, it was reasonable to assume that his mother had grown up there as well. The photo album Hagrid had given Harry had been more than the eleven-year-old had ever dared to hope for. But now that he would soon be living in the same town his mother had, it was enough to make him feel like maybe his parents had been real people after all, and not some legend.

“Boy!”     

Harry’s head snapped up as his uncle bellowed for him. He quickly got up off the floor of Dudley’s room and went down the stairs and into the sitting room. “Yes, Uncle Vernon?”   

Said uncle was already red-faced, but if it was out of frustration or due to the heat, Harry was uncertain. It was possibly both. “Haven’t you finished with Dudley’s room yet?” he asked, squinting his piggy little eyes at Harry like he was a speck of dust on glass.

“Not yet, sir.”

“Well, what’re you waiting for? The movers will be here tomorrow! It won’t do to leave any of Dudley’s things behind!” Vernon exclaimed, wiping sweat from his brow.

Well it’d be a hell of a lot easier if precious Diddykins would let the boxes alone after I taped them up! Harry thought, and tried not to project such thoughts on his face. It was best to keep a calm mask on when dealing with Vernon. Too bad it didn’t always work. Instead of voicing his thoughts, he simply said, “Yes, Uncle Vernon,” and made to go back upstairs to the boxes.

“Don’t you leave before I dismiss you, boy!” Vernon growled, and heaved himself up from his chair. Behind him, Dudley glanced at his father and cousin before absently going back to his slack-jawed worship of the telly.

“Sorry, Uncle,” Harry said, lowering his voice a tad and hunching his shoulders up a bit in a defensive posture. It was better to be prepared when Uncle Vernon was in one of his moods, especially when they were exacerbated by the summer heat. It was much easier for his uncle to get riled up in the summer months.

“That’s right, boy.” his uncle sniffed, and cuffed him on the head before growling, “now back to work.”

Harry gratefully took that dismissal and trudged back up the stairs as quickly as he dared.

“AND MAKE SURE YOU’RE DONE BY MORNING” Vernon shouted up the stairs behind him. Harry choked out a “yes, sir” as he went back to Dudley’s room. Thankfully, Dudley would go to Pier’s house after lunch and stay the night there with his other friends for one last hurrah before the Dursleys left Little Whinging. Harry thanked his lucky stars (wherever they were) that Petunia had at least allowed the party to happen somewhere besides Number Four. He wondered if even she acknowledged that Dudley and his friends were like a herd of rhinoceros in a china shop. Well, he wouldn’t complain. As long as he was left alone, he’d be perfectly happy to stay upstairs and put away Dudley’s belongings.

As if I’d be able to even touch them in any other situation, Harry thought as his nimble fingers untangled the mass of cables from his cousin’s various game consoles and computer. He briefly thought of turning them on and playing with them while Dudley was at Pier’s house this evening, but decided the risk wasn’t worth it. Besides, he likely wouldn’t get anything done if he did. And it was very important that Harry finish any task Vernon assigned to him. Harry continued to wrestle with the tangled mess as he thought about his friends. They didn’t know about the move yet, and he hadn’t had a chance to tell them. Then again, they didn’t seem to be too inclined to send him any letters first. Harry frowned, thinking, Ron I can understand, but Hermione is much better when it comes to letter-writing. He’d thought that even if Ron was too busy with his brothers, Hermione would have the time to write to Harry even after taking summer assignments into account.

Which led into another topic he’d rather not think about. How was he supposed to get any of his homework done? As soon as Harry stepped over the threshold of Number Four, his uncle had confiscated his trunk and broom and locked them away in his old bedroom underneath the stairs. Luckily, Hedwig had been allowed to stay with Harry in the small second bedroom, but he hadn’t even been allowed to get more clothes from his trunk, and that had been two weeks ago. Dudley’s old hand-me-downs that he was currently wearing were rather dirty and needed a wash now.  But he wasn’t even allowed to stand next to the cupboard door for more than a few seconds without receiving nasty looks, like he could magic his things out just by being near them. The Dursleys probably thought he could do that. Harry hadn’t seen fit to tell them he wasn’t allowed to do magic during the summers, and that was really the only thing that kept his relatives from being too horrible. Just yesterday, he’d scared Dudley by mumbling some nonsense under his breath, and his cousin’s piggish squeals were worth the angry Vernon that followed.

All of that was well and good, of course, but it didn’t solve anything. His trunk (and wand!) were locked away, and his homework with it. Maybe he could get some of it done on the train, and the rest of it finished in snatched pockets of time in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione would disapprove, but Ron would probably be just as desperate to finish his assignments. He and Ron together would get everything done (with Hermione’s grudging help), and if his professors complained about the sloppy job, well, at least he tried. There was certainly no chance of homework happening with the Dursleys around, except for Dudley’s summer reading and subsequent report. Harry always had to do that. At least he had that, so hopefully his brain wouldn’t melt from inactivity, like his Potions Professor told them all would happen over the summer. If anyone’s brain was melting, it was Dudley's, who only tore himself away from the telly to hang out with Piers, bully Harry, or both. Maybe Vernon’s brain had melted, too, and that’s why he was being sent out of the way to a different branch of Grunnings. Harry snickered at the thought before grimacing as he found a moldy clump of food from Dudleys' hidden stash. Apparently, dear Dudders was getting too fat for the Smeltings uniform, and the school nurse had him on a diet. Dudley, true to form, had taken the news rather poorly, and after a massive tantrum that resulted in various broken toys, a promise of new toys, and headaches all around, Petunia took it upon herself to put the entire household on said diet.

Like I need to lose any weight! Harry thought bitterly. His stomach growled in agreement. Quiet, you. Only a few weeks into the summer, and Harry was so starved for intelligent conversation he was talking to his own stomach. Not just for conversation, he was just plain starved! Petunia apparently thought that one meal a day of canned soup was all he needed. That was hardly enough for any boy, let alone one that was forced to share whatever food he could get with his owl. As soon as he got back to Hogwarts, Harry was going to take Hedwig to Hagrid and make sure her sparse feeding hadn’t harmed her. There was a brief pang of regret where Harry wished he had someone who cared enough about him to make sure he was okay after not getting enough food. He certainly wasn’t going to call any attention to himself that way, and if anyone tried to on his behalf he’d make a fuss. But for a few seconds it was nice to imagine what that kind of care felt like.

Harry sniffed and quickly shut down any tears that tried to form. He was not going to cry about his dead parents while he put away his cousin’s riches. He’d grown used to the unfair treatment a long time ago, and he wasn’t a little kid wishing someone would save him anymore. He probably couldn’t even be called a kid now, not after what happened at the end of the school year. Could a little kid face down a deranged professor with Voldemort riding around in his brain? He thought not. Then again, Harry could hardly believe a baby could defeat a grown wizard by himself, but that had happened too.

Downstairs, Harry could hear lots of excited shouting. It sounded like Piers and company were there to whisk his cousin away to do whatever they did at sleepovers. The heavy thuds akin to the stampeding of baby elephants on the stairs were the only warning Harry had before Dudley burst in with his pack of equally obnoxious friends behind him.

“Hey, Potty!” Dudley sneered as his friends snickered behind him. Harry thought it looked like his cousin was in pain, or perhaps constipated. Dudders had nothing on Malfoy or Snape’s sneering capabilities. Immune to his cousin’s attempts at intimidation, Harry simply acknowledged him with “Diddykins.”

“Don’t call me that, Potty!” his cousin whined, his chins jiggling with indignation.

“Sure thing, Big D.” That was a nickname Dudley had picked up at school, apparently. It was certainly apt, if not unimaginative. Dudley’s face got even redder than it already was, and he lumbered over to where Harry was kneeling next to a half-full box. “J-just because you’ve got some big friends now d-doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that, freak!” Dudley spluttered, obviously at war with his fear of magic and his desire to look cool in front of his friends.

Piers decided to put his dumb opinion in, too. “Hey Big D, I’ve got an idea of what we can do before you leave” his rat face was calculating as he studied Harry, “it’s been an awfully long time since we went Harry Hunting.”

Dread went through Harry like someone had poured a bucket of cold-but-not-quite-set gelatin over him. “Good idea, Piers!” Dudley guffawed with his friends, and Harry only had a second before they turned to him with hungry looks on their faces. Well, Harry thought glumly, wherever those lucky stars are, they’re absolutely rubbish. That was the only thing he had time to think before the group of boys started in on him. With movement and speed that came from years of practice as well as his Seeker reflexes, Harry ducked swinging arms and sweaty bodies and ran from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door. Distantly, Harry heard his uncle yell out “BOY!” over the clamor behind him. Too late to think about it now. Now he just had to run, and hope that Dudley wasn’t the only one out of shape.

 Harry led them all on a spectacular chase, but unfortunately Big D and his ‘gang’ had him cornered for the final time a few hours later. After the usual ‘beat up Harry’ session, Dudley and his goons left him curled in on himself in the park a few blocks from Privet Drive.

Well, Harry thought, it could have been worse. Defeating mountain trolls and Voldemort at 11 years old apparently skewed your perceptions a bit. The beating had hurt, but in the end all he had were some bruises. And really, what was the difference between Dudley and a mountain troll, anyway?

The troll was probably smarter, Harry thought before erupting into a tired fit of giggles.

Harry continued to lie on the ground, watching as the clouds rolled by and the sun made it’s slow descent in the sky. I should probably get back now, Harry thought, I bet Vernon’s absolutely livid. That didn’t really inspire any movements to pick himself up. He had hell to pay anyways; did it really matter if Harry stayed at the small deserted playground for a while longer? Knowing his Aunt and Uncle, the answer was probably yes. Groaning, the small boy picked himself up off the ground, dusting himself off (like it mattered, with the state of his clothes already), and testing a slightly twisted ankle. He’d certainly had worse. Better to walk back to the Dursleys than crawl. So walk back he did, preparing himself for the worst and counting the days before he could go back to the only place he had ever felt at home.

Just as he thought, Vernon was waiting for him when he went through the front door.

“I’VE NEVER SEEN SUCH DEPLORABLE BEHAVIOR, BOY. SHIRKING YOUR CHORES, RUNNING AROUND LIKE- LIKE SOME SORT OF ANIMAL- “

Harry didn’t think it wise to point out that if anyone was behaving like animals, it was Dudley and his friends.

“- YOUR AUNT AND I HAD THE HEART TO TAKE YOU IN, TO CLOTHE YOU AND FEED YOU AND KEEP A ROOF OVER YOUR HEAD AND THIS IS THE THANKS WE GET-”

Yes, a fine job you did with that, Harry thought.

“- AFTER ALL WE’VE DONE FOR YOU, AFTER ALL THE HOURS I’VE PUT IN AT THE OFFICE TO KEEP THIS FAMILY AFLOAT, WE FINALLY HAVE THIS NEW OPPORTUNITY AND YOU’RE JUST BOUND AND DETERMINED TO RUIN IT-”

Oh yes, Harry thought, because it’s my fault I got chased out and the packing isn’t done yet.

“- AND ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, BOY?!”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon,” Harry replied, keeping his tone and expression carefully neutral. His uncle, purple-faced and sweating, twitched his mustache while trying to find anything wrong with that statement.

“Hrrumph,” Vernon finally declared, “this is the last I want to see of you before tomorrow morning, boy. Get up to Dudley’s room and finish up. NOW!” Harry scurried away, relieved to get off so easily. “AND NO FOOD TONIGHT OR TOMORROW, YOU HEAR?”

Harry’s heart sank. There went his chance of feeding himself and Hedwig. He poked his head into the second bedroom to say hi to her before he resumed his chore.

“Sorry about that, Hedwig,” he stage-whispered to her, “Hopefully I can let you out tomorrow for the move, and you can hunt then.” Hedwig hooted softly in reply, making Harry smile slightly, which didn’t fade until he was rooting around in his cousin’s frankly disgusting closet. Hedwig was his first and best friend (excluding Hagrid), and he didn’t know how he ever got on without her.

So Harry worked, alone save for the occasional checking in from his aunt. She never said anything, apparently either finding his progress adequate, or she was so disgusted she couldn’t bring herself to speak to him. It wasn’t until three in the morning that Harry finally fell onto the small cot in the smallest bedroom. He was tired and sore from both Harry Hunting and packing Dudley’s room. Tomorrow was the long-awaited move, and he’d finally be free of Number Four. Too bad the new house was unlikely to be any better for him, and doubly so that he couldn’t simply leave his relatives behind.

“G’night, Hedwig,” Harry yawned. Her hoot and feather ruffle was the last thing he heard before he drifted off.

 “BOY! GET UP!”

Harry started awake at the sound of his Aunt screeching at him and banging on the bedroom door. “Coming, Aunt Petunia!” He called back, before looking at the clock. 6 A.M. Wonderful. After getting out of bed and making a quick dash to the loo, Harry was in the kitchen with Petunia with just enough time to finish frying the bacon for Vernon. Dudley would be retrieved Piers’ house when they all left Privet Drive for good. Harry had no intentions of ever returning, though he couldn’t speak for the rest of his family.

After his Aunt and Uncle had eaten, and the breakfast things had been put away, it was a mad scramble to get the last remaining possessions stowed away for moving. The movers that Vernon hired arrived at quarter to seven, and they assisted with the furniture and boxes with Petunia fretting and Vernon grumbling all the while. Harry mostly did his best to stay out of the way.

Finally, after a few hours and minor mishaps, the contents of Number Four, Privet Drive were in the mover’s lorry and on their way to the new house. After making one last sweep through the house, Harry stopped at the cupboard under the stairs. It felt like years since the cramped space was his bedroom, when in reality it had only been one. He wasn’t sure if he was sad to leave it behind or not. On the one hand, shoving a child into a cupboard whenever you didn’t want to look at him was rather mean. On the other, this small space was his only escape from his relatives before his Hogwarts letter came. The words “Harry’s Room” were still on one of the walls in green crayon from when Harry had scrawled them there when he was in primary school.

I wonder if they’ll bother to give me a room at the new house, Harry thought. Did Dumbledore have any knowledge of the move? Could his Hogwarts letter find him there? Considering all the trouble Uncle Vernon went to last year to escape Hogwarts letters, I don’t think that will be much of a problem.

At last, it was time to leave. Harry set Hedwig free before stowing her cage into the boot with his trunk, broom, and a few suitcases. He clambered into the backseat of the car while his Aunt and Uncle took a picture of their old home. Aunt Petunia was looking a bit weepy and was dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief while Vernon apparently tried to comfort her. Gross. Harry was glad he couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was probably something to do with the fact that Number Four had been the first house his Aunt and Uncle bought together after they got married.

After the sentimentalities were taken care of, his Aunt and Uncle got in the car and drove to Piers’ house to pick up their son. They had to wait at least 15 minutes in the driveway for Dudley to appear, but eventually he lumbered out and settled his girth in the seat next to Harry. As they set off, Harry wondered where they were actually going. All he’d heard about the new house was that is was their new dwelling, it was a house, and that it was where his mum lived growing up. Aunt Petunia never talked about her sister or even of her own childhood, so Harry was still vague about the actual location. All she’d said was her parents were dead and that she inherited their house.

The drive was shaping up the be a long and boring one. The only thing Harry had to do to pass the time was look out the window, which was boring save for the few times Hedwig made an appearance. At least there was someone who liked him on this trip. He almost wished she was in the car with him, but Harry knew she needed the exercise after being cooped up in a cage for so long. Even if she hadn’t been forced to stay in her cage, she wouldn’t have been doing much delivering anyway since Harry’s friends had apparently abandoned him. What happened to the easy friendship the three of them had formed after the troll, after the quest for the Philosopher’s Stone? Before Hogwarts, Harry wasn’t allowed to have friends (courtesy of Dudley and his penchant for bullying anyone who tried). So while friendship was a rather new thing for him, he was sure that summer communication was a pretty important part. After all, his friends had promised.

Next to him, Dudley pulled out his Gameboy and berated his Pokemon when they fainted in battle. Up front, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia talked together about various boring adult things while the radio played in the background. Harry resigned himself to a lonely ride as he watched the English countryside speed past. Judging by the occasional roadside sign, they were steadily driving north.

For a short while, he was even able to doze. When he woke up, the sun was higher in the sky and Uncle Vernon was taking the car to a petrol station. Petunia and Dudley both went inside the attached shop for what Harry assumed to be a trip to the loo and a snack stop. Sure enough, Dudley returned with an armful of crisps and sweets, which he crammed into his mouth with surprising speed. After Vernon paid for the petrol, they were on their way again. This time, Harry stayed awake, trying his best to ignore the nauseating smacking sounds of his cousin.

At long last, Vernon guided the car off the motorway and into a town. Harry wondered at the familiarity of the surroundings before he realized that it was the same town they stayed in when running from his Hogwarts letters the year before. Cokeworth, he thought. To think Harry had been so near to his mother’s childhood home and he hadn’t even known it! He certainly hoped that staying in this town was a better experience than it was last time, though he wouldn’t bet on it. If anything, this “new life” Petunia kept blathering on about would be a lot like the one he had on Privet Drive. His Aunt would continue to stick her nose in the latest gossip and parade her immaculate house, garden, and family for all to see. Vernon’s life would probably continue as usual, but with a bigger paycheck at the end of the day. As for Dudley, it didn’t matter where he was. As long as Harry was around, Dudley would have someone to bully and beat up. Last of all, Harry would continue doing the work in the garden, and the chores, and the cooking, and never hear a word of praise or thanks for it. In essence, all their lives were to stay exactly the same but for the change of living space. Come to think of it,  Harry’s new life started last year, after finding out he was a wizard and attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A simple move certainly paled in comparison to an entire world of magic revealing itself to you.

After perhaps a half hour more, they finally arrived at the new house. The movers were there already, the lorry parked right outside on the kerb. Harry could spot Hedwig in a sturdy oak tree, resting on a branch next to a second story window. He wondered how she knew where the new house was before even he did. Harry made a mental note to ask Hagrid about post owls when term started in September. If anyone could tell him about magical creatures, it was his giant, gentle friend.

The family clambered out of the car, stretching stiff muscles and aching backs.

Well, Harry thought, here we are.

Well, here we are.

The house in front of them was similar to the surrounding houses in the neighbourhood, but without the cookie-cutter like effect of Privet Drive. While each house was the same in that they were all two storeys and were around the same size, there were subtle but noticeable differences. Harry supposed it was called having character. The neighbourhood itself looked nice enough, he decided.

If removing the contents of a house was chaotic, putting them back into a house was even more so. Boxes were piled high around the furniture that the movers had already put in.

Just like before, Harry was tasked with most of the work. Petunia took charge of the kitchen, tutting at “the state of these boxes, look at this Vernon dear.”  Vernon directed the movers in placing the boxes of personal belongings in their proper places. Dudley was sitting on his fat arse in the sitting room, complaining that the telly had not been set up yet and that he was hungry. Harry was upstairs, sorting boxes of clothes and other personal effects into the appropriate bedrooms. The two movers seemed to be mildly sympathetic towards him, but for the most part were otherwise occupied by the job they were actually being paid to do.

Unloading the lorry took most of the afternoon, and it was early evening when the movers left after Vernon paid them. The sudden absence of activity created a vacuum in the unprepared house. Harry moved another box into the bathroom upstairs before sitting on the lid of the toilet. He hadn’t eaten since the dry piece of toast for breakfast yesterday, and he was sick with hunger, like his stomach was going to purge what little it had when it also yearned to be fed more. However, that was nothing in comparison to his body’s urgent need for water. Throughout the moving-in, Harry had been able to get sips of water from the taps here and there. If Harry hadn’t taken a nap in the car on the drive to Cokeworth, he was sure he’d be shaking with hunger and exhaustion.

Dudley was in his new room now while Petunia fawned over him and chattered on about how it had been her room when she was a girl. Harry was sure his cousin was ignoring his mother in favor of tearing open his things in search for Merlin knew what. Vernon called for Petunia then, and she went down the hall to the bedroom she and her husband would share. She passed the bathroom on her way there, but as usual she seemed not to notice Harry’s presence. That suited him just fine, except he really was tired and wanted to know where he’d be allowed to sleep. His trunk was still in the car, so he was rather at a loss as to where he was meant to stay. The cupboard under the stairs here was even smaller than the one at Privet Drive. Harry leaned back, tipping his head up and closing his eyes. He could hear his Aunt’s high-pitched voice mingle with Vernon’s gruff tones, muffled by distance and a closed door.

A few minutes later, Dudley barged in, obviously looking to use the facilities. “Wot you doing in here, then?” Dudley slurred.

"It’s not polite to barge in when someone is on the toilet," Harry replied.

"Muuuuum, the freak is hogging the loo!" Dudley shouted, and Harry could hear the thumps of footsteps in the hall. The source of the footsteps soon came into view through the now wide-open door.

"Whats this, then?" Vernon gestured to Harry on the toilet with a beefy arm. "Been lying about while the rest of us work, have you?"

If anyone had been working, it was Harry, and he suspected that his uncle was very well aware of that but accused Harry just for the fun of it.

"Just as well you're not meant to have food tonight, boy. Even takeaway is too good for a slacker like you."

Harry's stomach contracted in near pain at the thought. Even if he was allowed to eat tonight, he wasn't sure if the food would stay down. While he contemplated that, Vernon took him by the scruff of his neck and shoved him bodily out of the bathroom.

“Show him where he’ll be staying,” Vernon huffed, “if he insists on lazing about, at least he can do it out of the way where I can’t see him.”

Petunia clucked at Harry disapprovingly and walked stiffly down the hall, away from the other two bedrooms. After opening the door at the end of the hall, she ushered Harry inside then shut the door sharply. “Stay in there and don’t make trouble if you know what’s good for you,” she said harshly before walking back down the hall.

Harry reeled a bit at his aunt’s snappish behavior before getting a look at the room he’d been shut into. It was rather plain, but even so it was nicer than the second bedroom he’d had at Privet Drive. The floors were a solid dark wood, and so was the wood around the window and the door, contrasting nicely with the off-white walls. The movers had placed all the furniture in the house before Harry and the Dursleys had got there, so his bed, wardrobe, and rickety desk were already in the room. There was a window set in the far wall across from the door, and his bed was in the corner to the right of it. Harry flopped onto the bare mattress of his bed and stared at the ceiling. With a start, he realized that this might have been his mum’s room. Petunia had given Dudders her old room, and Harry assumed that his aunt and uncle had claimed the room for parents. Harry gazed around his mother’s old room in newfound appreciation.

After a minute or two, Harry heard soft hooting from right outside his window. When he got up and looked out, he realized that the large oak tree he’d seen upon arriving was in front of his bedroom window. Hedwig was still in the branches, and was looking at him rather impatiently. With a grin, Harry threw open the window and invited his familiar inside. She flew in and landed heavily on his left shoulder, giving his ear a fond nip before preening her feathers. Harry leaned on the sill, watching the last rays of light from the setting sun disappear from the evening sky. Ignoring the commotion from downstairs, Harry relished in the peaceful quietness of the neighbourhood. He wondered if the neighbours here were as gossipy and as nosy as the ones he’d left behind. A welcome breeze washed over him and Hedwig, rustling the branches of the tree outside.

Harry sat at the window for a while longer, but went back to his bed after he saw Vernon’s car leave and go up the street. It was a short while later when Harry heard the front door open and shut, signaling his uncle’s return. From Dudley’s exclamations, Harry deduced that the family had ordered Chinese takeaway. He could picture the scene perfectly as he pet Hedwig. Dudley would get his usual greasy fried honey chicken and nearly a pound of fried rice. His Uncle would get something heavily fried as well, but with lo mein. While father and son scarfed down heart attacks with sides of egg rolls, Petunia would get the least flavorful option possible. She always ordered some sort of mixed vegetable thing with white rice that her favorite housewife magazines recommended for healthy eating at takeaway.

Since the dining table was still covered in boxes, the family ate in the sitting room, where the telly and VHS player were set up courtesy of Dudley. Harry could hear the sounds of Dudley’s favorite explosive action movie. An unwanted flare of jealousy surged through him. Why did Dudders get to have the loving family who ate takeaway while watching a movie together? Why was Harry the random target of a madman when he was a baby?

It was these sorts of thoughts that consumed Harry for hours before he finally fell asleep long after the other occupants of the house.

 When Harry awoke the next morning, he panicked at the unfamiliar surroundings before remembering the events of the day before. After that, it was business as usual.

That morning, Vernon finally took Harry’s trunk out of the boot and locked it away in what Harry was now privately calling “the Cupboard Under the Stairs 2.0”. The only upside Harry could see was that at least he didn’t get locked in the cupboard with it.

Harry was set to unpack some of Dudley’s things, and the task was more unpleasant than packing them up in the first place. Harry was currently working through boxes of clothes, putting them away properly even though his cousin would soon have them strewn all over the floor. At the bottom of a box, he found a white shirt that was a size smaller than what his oaf of a cousin wore these days. More than that, it was only slightly worn around the edges. A bit of a stain here, a loose thread there. In any case, Harry doubted Dudley would miss it too much. His cousin favored loud shirts with graphics Harry couldn’t decipher and were probably meant to be mock gang symbols. Harry paused, making sure no one was around to walk in on him, then stuffed the shirt down the back of his loose jeans.  Since it looked nearly exactly like the T-Shirt he was already wearing, Harry didn’t think his relatives would notice if he wore the new shirt tomorrow. He couldn’t risk pilfering anything else, but a clean shirt was better than nothing. After all the work he’d done, he had at least earned this.

When he wasn't unpacking, Harry was busy cleaning the house from top to bottom. Aunt Petunia was even helping, though Harry knew it was less out of the goodness of her heart and more to do with the illusion of being a ‘proper housewife’. Harry didn’t know exactly how long his grandparents had been dead or how long the house had been empty, but in the meantime it had certainly accumulated enough dust in its neglect. Besides the dirt and dust, some fixtures and other things were in a state of disrepair. Uncle Vernon took care of those minor home repairs because he was “the man of the house” and it was his job  “to keep everything running proper.” Loyal to his company to the end, Vernon used nothing but Grunnings drill bits and drills. He had a rather magnificent set of Grunnings’ finest that he had received from a higher-up at Christmas one year for getting the highest number of sales in his office. Harry thought it rather impractical for a simple suburban family. Was it really decent to own that many drill bits? Surely they couldn’t all have a purpose? As it was, Vernon proudly displayed his set, and boasted about the quality of Grunnings drills as he used one to reattach a light fixture to the sitting room ceiling.

Later in the day, Harry was sent to the attic to put some things away. It must be nice to have so many things that you have to keep some of them stored away until you need them, Harry thought. It was dark, dusty, and had more than it’s fair share of spiders, but Harry wasn’t bothered. Unexpectedly, there were already some things stashed in the dark musty attic. From what he could see, there was an old dresser and a worn brown trunk. Harry went to the trunk first, trying but failing to pry the heavy lid open. It looked like it had been a school trunk, so perhaps it was locked with magic. Maybe he could take it with him to school and unlock it there when he had access to his wand. It had likely belonged to his mother, and he was eager to find out if she had left any mementos behind.

The dresser next to the trunk was made of dark, sturdy old wood with smart brass fastenings and handles. Harry tried opening all four of the drawers, but only the third one from the top would open, and only with some difficulty on Harry’s part. Inside, there seemed to be mostly junk, but Harry was determined to check every inch of it.

Digging around and trying not to cough because of all the dust he was kicking up, Harry stumbled across a small, hard object wrapped in a soft cloth. After pulling it out and carefully removing the cloth, he discovered it was a small metal box, made of silver that had long since tarnished. It looked like an antique; all sides of the box were adorned with carved designs of various flowers and vines and delicate latticework. Harry turned it over to take a look at the underside and what he saw stole his breath away. There on the bottom was a discreet wind-up (so it was a music box, then) and a name engraved simply but elegantly.

Lily

Harry was so shocked at this revelation -this treasure- that tears welled up unwillingly in his eyes. This had belonged to his mother. This was proof that at one time, she had been alive, and real. This was something that she had owned, had touched. Harry imagined that by touching this belonging of hers it was as close as he’d ever get to feeling her touch ever again. His fingers traced the delicate engraved lines of her name, trying to carve their very existence into his flesh, his memory. He considered the wind-up. Would the music box still play? Might as well try. As gently as he could, Harry wound up the box, then set it in front of him on the floor where he was sitting. He lifted the lid.

Unbidden tears overflowed, streaming down his cheeks. The music was soft and sweet, and a little sad. It sounded to Harry like the warmth and safety of a mother’s arms. He sniffed and tried to blink back the tears when his eyes landed on a small purple velvet bag lying inside the ornate box. When he pulled back the drawstring and turned the bag over, a necklace fell out onto his palm. On a delicate gold chain hung the most beautiful turquoise stone Harry had ever seen. It was perhaps an inch around, snugly and securely framed in gold wire that matched the chain it hung from. This must have been his mother’s, too. He longed to put it on, to have something of his mother to carry with him always, but doing that here would only be asking for trouble. The chain would be easily visible around his neck because of the large necklines of his too-big shirts, and if the Dursleys saw Harry in anything except rags they’d start asking questions. It was almost guaranteed that they’d immediately take the necklace from him, and he wasn’t going to risk that. It had belonged to his mother, so now it belonged to Harry. No one would make him give it up. He decided he would put it on under his school robes as soon as he got on the train on September 1st and never take it off.

Harry put the necklace and music box back the way he found them, vowing to return for them. At Privet Drive, he’d had the loose floorboard under his bed in the second bedroom to stash away things precious to him. He didn’t have a hiding spot here yet. No one else in the house was likely to come up to the attic (which was why Harry was up there in the first place), so his treasures would be safe there until he could put them somewhere else. Harry spared one last look at the old dresser before wiping his face on his sleeve and heading back down the ladder. If he was out of sight for too long, his Aunt and Uncle would wonder what he was up to, and Harry didn’t want to give them any reason to even consider going into the attic.

Late that night, when the Dursleys were snoring soundly in their beds, Harry sat at his open window and hummed his mother’s song to himself. Perhaps the move had been a life-changing event for him after all.

 Not even being put to work for the rest of the week could completely dampen Harry’s spirits since finding his mother’s music box and necklace. He tried his best to keep his excitement to himself, but he could tell his uncle was a bit suspicious of Harry’s behavior. When he was certain everyone was out of earshot, he hummed Lily’s song quietly while he worked.

On Tuesday the cable company came to the house and set up the telly and the internet. Dudley was grumbling yet ecstatic at the same time, because he’d missed his favorite programmes and he was getting bored playing his video games. While the cable company workers busied themselves with their cords, Dudley was reading the only thing in the world he would read voluntarily- the TV programme schedule. He was probably trying to find out when reruns would be playing to make up for the episodes he missed. At long last, the telly and cable were set up, and Dudley was happy to ignore Harry while he gorged himself on his beloved visual media.

On Wednesday Harry got a chance to go back up to the attic. The music box was still there, and the song it played was still bittersweet and lovely to his ears. He traced his mother's name again lovingly. This was better than he ever could have hoped for, on par with the photo album that Hagrid had given him. However, his musings were soon cut short.

“BOY!”

Harry started at the sudden summons. Hastily, he wrapped the music box up and placed it back in its spot, hidden well in the drawer full of old newspaper, junk, and dust. He raced back down the ladder to the attic as quickly as he dared.

Vernon was waiting for him at the bottom, red-faced and with his arms crossed over his heaving chest. The first words out of his mouth were, “What do you think you’ve been doing, boy?”

“Aunt Petunia wanted me to-”

“DON’T TALK BACK TO ME,” Vernon roared, his face getting dangerously close to turning purple. “You’ve been nothing but lazy and useless ever since you got back from that freak school of yours. Seems like you forgot what it means to do what’s expected of you.”

Harry didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. His voice had fled to somewhere around his feet, and all he could do was stare up at his beefy uncle looming over him.

“Have you seen the state of the dining room? A right mess, it is. Think you can just slack off and leave those dirty boxes on your aunt’s antique table? Hmm? What are you doing all day? Think you can go through your miserable life like that freak father of yours? At this rate you’ll end up just like him; a worthless, dead, freak!”

Any joy Harry had still held upon the discovery of his mother’s forgotten treasures was sapped away. He wanted to retaliate, to deny all the claims his uncle had just laid out. But he couldn’t. What did Harry even know about his father? His name was James, he’d been in Gryffindor, he’d been a Chaser. And he was dead.

“You get back to work, boy. I don’t want to see a single box in the dining room when your Aunt and I come back from the grocer’s. If you’re not finished by then, no meals for you tonight.” Vernon grunted, satisfied, before he went down the stairs. Harry could hear some conversation, then the open and close of the front door as his Aunt and Uncle left.

Resigned to his fate and to probably another full day without food, Harry trudged down the stairs. He pointedly ignored his cousin who was still glued to the telly, and walked into the dining room. The table and parts of the floor were still laden with boxes, and Harry knew that his work was cut out for him. It would take a miracle to get all of this put away. He got straight to work, opening boxes of china and stowing the delicate bowls and plates carefully away in Petunia’s fancy china cabinet. Not even his mother’s song could make him feel any better; this time, it only reminded him of what he lost before he even had a chance to remember it. He was still working when his aunt and uncle got home from the grocer’s, and so he continued late into the night with nothing in his belly but the water he drank from the tap whenever he could get to the loo. Harry didn’t bother to look at the clock when he finally finished, instead he creeped through the dark house of his sleeping relatives straight up to his room where he collapsed onto the bed.

On Thursday, Harry was supplied with gardening tools, flowers bought from the nearby nursery, and orders to plant in the flowerbeds and window boxes. At least at lunch, Petunia gave him a can of cold soup. As hungry as he was, Harry was careful and made sure to drink the contents slowly so he wouldn’t lose the only food he was likely to get. Water wasn’t a problem today; he was able to sneak in drinks of water from the hose when he filled up the watering can. Harry was glad Hedwig was able to get her own food now, so she wouldn’t starve alongside him. Earlier that morning, Vernon had tried to make Harry put Hedwig back in her cage, but his smart girl had evaded Vernon’s every attempt. Right now, Hedwig was napping in the high branches of the oak tree, acting as guardian while Harry worked below. The summer sun was hot on his skin, particularly on the back of his neck from being bent over all day. Harry was glad he decided not to put on his snatched shirt yet, because it would have just gotten dirty from gardening.

In comparison to the other chores Harry was made to do, gardening was the least repulsive. He was out of the house, which in summer meant he was out of his Aunt’s sight. She and the rest of her family spent as much time indoors as possible to escape the heat. Not even Dudley terrorized the neighbourhood kids as much in the summer; instead, he sat in front of the telly consuming enormous amounts of ice cream. Harry reveled in the lack of intense scrutiny from his relatives. It certainly made getting a drink from the hose easier if Petunia wasn’t breathing down his neck.

When Harry had finished planting in the garden, he moved to the flower boxes that hung on the windows. The ones downstairs came first because those he could do while he was still outside. Afterwards, he had to carry his supplies through the house and upstairs, careful to keep dirt off the floors. Harry did his best to work quickly, starting in Dudley’s bedroom and ending in his room. It was while he was pouring new soil into the planter outside his window that Harry got the idea. He’d been trying to think of places in his room  to hide his mother’s music box, but what if he placed it right outside? This room didn’t have any loose floorboards or any other small hidden spaces, so the flower box would be as good as he could get. Besides, who would go looking through decorative flowers?

His mind made up, Harry found new resolve to finish his chores and clean up. Afterwards, he had to unpack more boxes that were in the sitting room. Aunt Petunia found him just as he found the holiday decorations.

“Put that up in the attic, will you? And any other decorations while you’re at it,” she sneered before supplying her precious Dudley with more ice cream. Harry couldn’t believe his luck, and tried not to look too happy as he complied. His uncle was at the office today, and Dudley and Petunia were busy in the sitting room. This was the perfect chance to hide his mother’s treasures. Harry carefully ascended the ladder to the attic with the first box of decorations. After setting it down against a wall, Harry quickly retrieved the cloth-wrapped music box from the dresser. After descending, he made a quick dash to his room and stashed it in the back of his wardrobe. He could put it in his more secure hiding spot later. Harry did his best to look miserable for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. He kept his mind on his work, putting more boxes in the attic and unpacking and putting away more things that belonged to the Dursleys. By the time his uncle got home from work, Harry was getting impatient and was doing his best to not let it show as he fixed dinner.

It was some hours yet before Harry could go back to his room for the night. Hedwig was absent from both the room and the tree, so Harry suspected she went out hunting. Carefully so that he didn’t make too much noise, he retrieved the music box from the very back of his wardrobe. Sitting on his bed near the open window, Harry listened to the music play in the soft moonlight that filtered through the oak branches and into his room. He took the necklace out and put it around his neck, so desperate to wear it that he risked being caught by his uncle, however unlikely it was. Harry was unaware of how long he sat on his bed and thought of the mother he’d never known until the grandfather clock downstairs chimed twelve. Not five minutes later, Hedwig swooped in through the window. She drank deeply from her water dish before hooting a greeting to Harry. She silently flew to him and alighted on his knee, giving the turquoise pendant of his necklace a nibble.

“This belonged to my mum, Hedwig,” Harry told her, winding the music box up again. Harry and Hedwig sat together quietly, listening to the music. Suddenly, Harry realized that today was July 31st. In all the commotion of the move, he’d completely forgotten. In his sparse yet comfortable room, with two trinkets of his mother and his beloved familiar, Harry thought about how much had changed since that very same day last year, when Hagrid came and told him he was a wizard.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” he whispered.

 To anyone looking in on the Dursley family Friday morning, not one would guess that someone in the house had a birthday that day. For Harry, it was business as usual. Wake up, prepare breakfast, clear the plates, then get to the list of chores he had to do. If he allowed himself to think about it, he was really disappointed that he still hadn’t heard from his friends, especially because of his birthday. While Harry was used to the Dursleys pretending that his birthday was the worst day of their lives, he thought his friends would have celebrated it with him, even through letters.

Would’ve been nice to hear from someone who's happy I’m alive, Harry thought grumpily as he scrubbed the bath. The day continued in much the same way, with Harry working himself to the bone on his birthday with nothing to look forward to but listening to his mother’s music box late that night.

And so it was that Harry was completely unaware of the frantic search for him that began after the three youngest Weasley sons found an empty house on Privet Drive.

Severus Snape, Potions Master and Professor at Hogwarts, was brewing. As usual. It was his prerogative to start brewing for the Hospital Wing as soon as the students left for their precious summer holidays. Merlin knew he’d be busy enough next term without the added burden of renewing the potions cabinet in the infirmary.

Because the Fates were always against him, Severus should have expected an interruption courtesy of Dumbledore.

“Good Morning, Severus,” came Albus’ deceptively benign grandfather voice from the Floo, “I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem.”

Of course they did. Severus really didn’t expect anything else when he was criminally busy. “Can it wait, Albus?”

“I’m afraid not, my boy. Come up to my office, if you will.” The headmaster made it sound like a request before his head disappeared from the flames, but Severus knew that it was a command. Cursing his rotten luck, Severus ceased the preparations for the standard rash cream he planned on brewing and did as Albus asked.

When Severus stopped spinning in the green flames and stepped out of the grate of Albus’ fireplace, he was accosted by a swarm of Weasleys. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there, faces projecting various states of worry, and the three youngest boys they’d brought with them were looking predictably guilty.

“Thank you for joining us, Severus,” Dumbledore greeted genially as he passed around cups of tea.

“Am I to assume Messrs. Weasley are the cause of this problem we have?” Snape sneered.

“Not the cause of the problem, no, but the ones who discovered that we had one.” Dumbledore’s bright blue eyes twinkled as he sipped his tea. The three young Weasley boys all looked rather morosely into their steaming cups.

“It’s absolutely dreadful, what’s happened,” Molly Weasley sniffed, red in the face and looking quite overcome with emotion.

“Since you have requested my presence here, Headmaster, I assume I am meant to aid you in some way. In order to do so, I must first know what the problem is.” Severus pointed out, feeling rather lost at sea in the middle of so much Gryffindor foolishness.

“I am afraid, Severus, that neither Harry Potter nor his relatives are anywhere to be found.”  Dumbledore supplied.

“You can’t find Harry Potter? Your precious golden boy just up and left without so much as a by-your-leave?” Snape spat. Leave it to a Potter to inconvenience everyone around them without a thought to the trouble it would bring. “Did he decide that he was too good for Hogwarts, that he was free to do as he wished with only a year of schooling under his belt?”

“Now, now, Severus. We don’t know for sure what has happened,” Dumbledore chided him, and Snape had the uncomfortable feeling that he was a student again waiting to be scolded. He tried to conceal his discomfort by taking the seat next to Arthur that Dumbledore had conjured for him.

“So what do these three young men have to do with it?” Severus asked, refusing the offered tea and lemon drop.

That was enough to shake Molly from her incessant worrying. “My sons here had themselves a rather fantastic adventure last night, didn’t you boys?” The youngest hunched down in his seat looking cowed, making Severus think that they had all received quite a scolding already, but the twins didn’t seem quite so bothered.

“Mum, we hadn’t heard from him all summer-”

“-thought maybe his relatives were being terrible to him-”

“-we could tell he hates it there, didn’t want to go back-”

“-so when Ronnikins and Hermione hadn’t gotten any letters-”

“-we decided to check in on him-”

“-and if it turned out that those muggles were being gits to him-”

“-we were going to rescue him!”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off a headache while the twins spoke in their unique way. “And just how, Messrs. Weasley, did you think you could rescue Potter, whose home is hundreds of miles away from yours, without the use of magic?”

The three brothers looked at each other then, but before any of them could say anything, Molly took over the conversation.

“They stole their father’s car! Flew it all the way to Little Whinging in the dead of night without even a note to tell their poor mother why their beds would be empty in the morning!” Molly’s voice got progressively louder as she spoke, and by the end she was shouting.

Flying cars. Snape did not wake up this morning and volunteer to discuss flying cars. “And?” He sighed when three confused freckled faces looked at him blankly, “what did you find when you got there?”

“Well,” said the youngest, “we didn’t find anything, did we? Like someone had gone through and banished everything.” His eyes got comically wide. “You don’t think someone killed Harry then banished all the evidence, do you?”

“I assure you,” Dumbledore said calmly, “that wherever Harry is, he is quite alive.” Those incredibly blue eyes flicked to one of the many whirring instruments in the office, and Severus’ eyes followed, resting on a small platinum one that puffed purple smoke.

“But we still don’t know where Harry is, or if he’s hurt,” Arthur reasoned, a welcome break from the rants of raging redheads. “Molly sent an owl to me at the Ministry, and I can assure you that there’s been no word about Harry there. Well, besides the usual rumors.”

“So am I to assume that you want me to find the Potter brat?” Severus gnashed out. “May I remind you that I’m exceptionally busy during the summer holidays? Can you not send Minerva, or Hagrid?”

“Professor McGonagall has already investigated, but found nothing. Hagrid, I’m afraid, rather lacks the… subtlety this situation requires.” The Headmaster’s eyes twinkled at Severus, and out of habit he reinforced his Occlumency barriers against manipulative old men. “I believe that with your… connections and skills, you’ll be able to find Mr. Potter before long.”

The three Weasley boys looked rather doubtful, and Snape was rather inclined to agree with them. Him? Locate the Potter brat?

Barmy. Dumbledore’s gone barmy. Instead of voicing his opinion, however, Severus simply stood up and left through the heavy office door, robes billowing out behind him.

So the precious golden child Potter would annoy him even in his absence. Well, this was just wonderful. Exactly how Severus wanted to spend the summer hols. In any case, the most obvious place to start would be at the house in question. Severus strode briskly through the castle, out the front doors, and to the front gates where he could Apparate. When he landed on Privet Drive, he quickly cast a Disillusionment spell on himself and approached the dwelling with purpose.

Number Four was just as the Weasley whelps had described; empty. Severus, however, had skills far beyond that of three schoolchildren, no matter how talented the trickster twins were. Some days he thought they had enough cunning between them that they could have made fine Slytherins. Snape banished all thoughts of annoying gingers as he entered the house through the back door with a simple Alohomora. After all, if the house was being watched, it wouldn’t do for anyone to see the front door open all by itself.

From what he could tell at first glance, the house hadn’t been occupied for a week, at most. He could still smell traces of a flowery muggle air freshener. More than that, Severus could tell there’d been no struggle at all, at least not downstairs. A quick charm confirmed his suspicions; wherever Potter and his relatives had gone, they’d done so willingly. Although the fact that the brat hadn’t said anything to his most loyal friends is odd, he thought as he inspected the positively sterile kitchen. As far as Severus could tell, the entire house was just as clean. He knew that Petunia had rather abhorred things she considered ‘dirty’, but to think she had the resolve to keep things this clean? If it were anyone else, Snape would have suspected magic was at play.

As he continued through the house and made to go up the stairs, Severus stopped to check the cupboard under the stairs for thoroughness. He crouched down to get a good look and was greeted by a rather dirty and dingy little space, but nothing stood out more than the crayon-written words on the wall.

Harrys Room

That was definitely unexpected, but certainly not too unusual. In his experience, small children (and magic-wielding teenagers) rather liked defacing property. All the same, his brain filed this small tidbit of information away for later perusal. He stood up, brushing off imaginary dirt from his robes, and continued to the upstairs. It was just as pristine as the downstairs, which wasn’t surprising at all. He cast some searching and diagnostic spells, trying to determine if there had been any magic cast with malicious intent. He hadn’t heard anything of importance from his old Death Eater colleagues, but Lucius was acting like more of a pompous ass than usual. Lucius Malfoy definitely had some sort of plan in the works, but if it had anything to do with the Boy-Who-Lived, he hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone.

Severus wasn’t sure how to feel when all of his scans came up with nothing. The entire house was like a magical void; the only magic he could feel was Potter’s magical signature, indicating that he had been here. Severus hadn’t noticed before now, but he couldn’t even detect the blood wards that had kept the Chosen One safe from both malicious Death Eaters and the Dark Lord all these years. Had Dumbledore not noticed them breaking?

No, Severus corrected himself, not broken. Just… misplaced. That was definitely something to consider.

Snape checked all the bedrooms and the loo, and inspected Potter’s more thoroughly than the rest. The only reason he knew it belonged to Potter was the telltale smell of owl in the small bedroom. However, the room offered up no vital clues to the brat’s whereabouts or well-being. After rechecking all the bedrooms, Severus had to admit that there was absolutely no more information here to glean.

With an annoyed sigh, Severus Apparated out of the abandoned dwelling to Hogwarts.

 Dumbledore, McGonagall, Arthur, and Molly were in the Headmaster’s Office when Snape returned.

“Nothing.” He announced, claiming the same chair from earlier.

“How can there be nothing, Severus? Surely Mr. Potter didn’t simply disappear without a trace!” McGonagall exclaimed with wide eyes, her Scottish brogue intensifying.  

“There’s barely any sign that Mr. Potter even lived there, or that anything magical had ever happened in that house,” Severus told her.

“Surely a young wizard such as Mr. Potter showed signs of magic at an early age? Both his parents were quite formidable in strength; any son of theirs should leave behind enormous amount of residual magic in a living space.” Minerva added, perplexed.

“You see it every so often in my work,” Arthur said. “Some of the misuse of muggle artifacts cases that get called in are caused by young witches and wizards whose magic affects their surroundings.”  

“The fact that there isn’t any residual magic… You don’t think-?” Molly sounded like she would start weeping.

“Ohh, I knew it from the very start, Albus. Those muggles are the worst sort, especially if they’re the cause of Harry’s magic suppression!” McGonagall sternly accused.

“Now, now, Minerva.” Dumbledore waved a hand placatingly. “We could be mistaken. Perhaps Harry simply has better control over his magic than others his age. It wouldn’t do to jump to conclusions when we don’t know for sure what is going on.”

Evasive and manipulative as always, Albus. Severus thought, projecting nothing but his usual state of irritation. Though if the Potter menace is found, a few diagnostics would not go amiss. Chosen One he may be, but no child has such intimate knowledge of control to be able to mask their magic so thoroughly, unless… But that was ridiculous. Surely Dumbledore left the boy in good hands, left him with the muggles to spoil him rotten. The alternative was simply absurd. But so was the idea that the one prophesied to bring down the Dark Lord only left the magical footprint of a squib. Severus shook himself from his reverie. Now was not the time.

“We also must take into account that while the wards that surrounded the Privet Drive house are no longer there, I found no evidence of forced removal. It seems that wherever Potter and his family went, the wards followed.”

“Indeed?” Dumbledore mused, eyes flicking to yet another whirring instrument. “Well, if the wards protecting Harry are still doing their job, we have even less to worry about.”

“But we don’t even know where the poor boy is!” Molly exclaimed. “Muggles don’t just up and disappear, do they? They can’t just Apparate away as they please!”

“Now, Molly, if Dumbledore says Harry is safe, then he must be,” Arthur placated his distraught wife. She didn’t seem terribly convinced, but she did seem somewhat eased.

“If that’s all, Headmaster, I’ll be on my way.” Severus announced. He’d had enough of this nonsense. Sitting around pondering the whereabouts of an eleven, no, twelve-year-old wouldn’t benefit any of them.

“Severus, you can’t mean to just let the matter go, can you?” Minerva gasped. Molly seemed just as taken aback at the notion.

“If Potter doesn’t return to school this fall, it’s no loss of mine. Just as well he leave now rather than fail a Potions course before he goes,” he sneered at them all. “In the meantime, I’m going to my home to finish my summer projects. I expect to be left in peace unless we have a real emergency on our hands.” Lip curled in contempt, Severus swept out of the office and down the stairs before striding towards his quarters in the dungeons.

Was the impromptu disappearing act of Potter disconcerting? Certainly. After all, Severus was counting on the boy to eventually defeat the Dark Lord. However, since Harry seemed to be a carbon copy of his miscreant father, Severus was certain that the child would turn up unharmed and unaware of the trouble he had caused. Always count on a Potter to be disrespectful and untroubled by the inconvenience on others.

Upon entering his living quarters, Severus summoned his favorite summer cloak and the newest Potions journal. After striding to the fireplace, he threw a handful of Floo powder from the jar on the mantle down and stepped in.

“Spinner’s End!” he called, and spun away.

 Severus stepped into a dark sitting room upon arrival. Thin strips of bright light streamed in through gaps in the thick drapes that covered the windows, highlighting specks of inevitable dust floating through the air. The walls were dark in the spare places they could be seen, as the room was lined in dark wooden bookshelves that held tomes of all varieties. A great deal of the wood floor was covered with a thick rug, and on top of it sat furniture of dark blues and browns.

Severus let out a strained breath. It may be dark and dreary, and held many memories from childhood, but it was quiet. And quiet is what he came here for. He only stayed here when he needed to be undisturbed for long amounts of time, so it was unlikely Dumbledore would call for him for anything unless it was absolutely necessary.

After hanging his cloak on a hook in the entryway by the door and tossing the journal on an endtable, Severus walked down the front hallway and to an inconspicuous door across from the kitchen. After undoing several powerful wards and unlocking spells, he descended down the stairs into the cool cellar, which he had fashioned into a potions lab many years ago. It wasn’t nearly as spacious or as well-equipped as the Hogwarts facilities, but it was enough for private projects and brewing massive amounts of potions without worrying someone would come along and muck them up. Severus was the only one with access to his private potions lab, and it wasn’t common for him to have visitors in his home anyway.

Wasting no more time (for much of his time had been wasted already), Severus prepared a line of six cauldrons and started in on chopping and readying ingredients. He started with three cauldrons of the rash cream that he had been working on when Dumbledore had interrupted him this morning. The other three cauldrons would be used to brew Pepper-Up Potions, something that Madam Pomfrey always seemed to be running out of. It was amazing how quickly illness could run through the student population. Severus hummed while he measured out and added ingredients with relaxed movements that could appear undisciplined to the untrained eye. While he always told his dunderheaded students that Potions was a precise science, a Master such as himself could see that it was also a subtle art. Like a chef at an acclaimed restaurant, a true Potions Master could ‘read’ their brews, could anticipate reactions and either nullify or create them with a simple pinch of an ingredient or a few stirs. Severus lost track of time as he usually did as he settled into a rhythm of timing, stirring, and mixing. It wasn’t until he had completed Madam Pomfrey’s request a few hours later that Severus realized he’d not had a bite of food since lunch. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but it was best to consume something now while he was thinking about it.  

Severus climbed up the stairs, stripping off his outer robes as he went. He was down to his button-up shirt and trousers when he emerged from his lab, face flushed from bending over steaming cauldrons. After quickly warding and sealing the door, he went into the kitchen. Even when he was the only one in the house, Severus was always careful to keep his lab warded and locked at all times.

As Moody is so fond of saying, ‘Constant Vigilance,’  he thought with a low chuckle.

The first thing Severus did when he was in the kitchen was to set a kettle of water to boil for tea. Food was good, but tea was even better. Severus smirked at memories of Pomfrey scolding him for replacing “proper meals with cups of tea”. Pomfrey could tell him he was too thin and needed to eat more all she liked, but Severus had never liked stuffing himself silly, and eating in the Great Hall was stressful. It always had been. That was one thing that wasn’t a result of the Marauders, although they certainly hadn’t helped matters any.

Severus scowled at the kettle that was steadily heating up on the stove-top. It seemed that he was doomed to have his thoughts invaded by Potters today. At least none of them could find him here. This town had always been something he and Lily alone shared. He rummaged through the cupboards and found a mug and a box of simple bagged tea. The kettle whistled, and he prepared his brew with only sugar because he had nothing else on hand. If he was going to stay here for the rest of the holidays, Severus would have to stop by the grocer’s for essentials.

As he sipped his tea, Severus thought of the things he’d learned that day. So Potter had disappeared without a trace. While the Weasleys and McGonagall were overly concerned, Severus wasn’t. Worst case scenario would be kidnapping by the Dark Lord, but after the events of last term Severus didn’t think it likely. A being who had to depend on the life force of others and the lifeblood of unicorns was in no fit state to conduct a large-scale scheme such as kidnapping a savior.

So where had the boy gone? There was no forced removal, that was certain. Dumbledore would have known immediately because of the trinkets in his office, and Severus would have been called much more urgently. The fact that the wards were unbroken but no longer at the house was puzzling. Severus supposed that if Potter and his relatives had gone to live somewhere else, the blood wards would follow them while intact as long as the boy recognized the family as his home. Blood wards were peculiar in that way. But if Potter was moving, certainly he would have told his annoying little friends?

There was also the matter of the low amounts of magical residue left behind. If Potter had spent roughly ten years in that house, there should have been more magical evidence left behind. Children were usually unable to control their magic, instead letting it run wild and untamed, resulting in the manifestations known as ‘accidental magic’. There were only a few circumstances in which this general rule was not followed, and none of them were terribly pleasing to consider.

Minerva and Molly had both come to the conclusion that the Potter brat was suppressing his magic because he was being mistreated. Severus had to scoff at that. The great Harry Potter, abused? If anything, the boy was probably spoiled beyond belief. There was no way Dumbledore would have put Potter in a family that would treat him badly. After all, a savior of the wizarding world was hard to come by. An unwelcome image of ‘Harrys Room’ scribbled on the wall of the cupboard in the Dursley house flashed across his mind. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Severus finished the dregs of his tea and set the dishes to clean themselves with a wave of his wand. Obviously he needed to do some meditation before retiring for the night. He went upstairs and did exactly that.

 That night, Severus dreamt of Lily Evans, as radiant and kind as he remembered her. Her hair was vividly red, complimented nicely by her green eyes and the pendant around her neck. It was a turquoise stone on a delicate gold chain; something she had treasured and wore often. She was humming softly to herself as she sat under her favorite tree by the Black Lake at Hogwarts, weaving a crown of wildflowers and long grass. She looked up and seemed to notice Severus, greeting him with a warm smile. Lily beckoned him over, and he obliged happily, settling down next to her in the grass. They sat together for a while in the quiet stillness of the lakeshore.

“Why are you making a flower crown?” Snape asked Lily curiously.

“It’s for my son.” She replied simply, holding it up to inspect her progress briefly before returning to her work.

“Your son?”

“Harry. I’ve nearly finished it, but there are some pieces missing.”

“Can’t you just pick more flowers?” Severus looked around them, eyes searching.

“There are no more here. You have to find them and finish this for me.” Lily looked at him, eyes beseeching.

“You know I’m no good at weaving flower chains, Lily. You were always better.”

“But you have to. You have to finish it for Harry. It will save his life. Finish it and give it to him.”

The dream ended abruptly, and Severus started awake, feeling peculiar. Did he come to Spinner’s End for peace only to be haunted by the ghosts of the past? While he had enjoyed dreaming of Lily, he was rather confused about the flower crown. Where had his subconscious picked that up? The last time he and Lily had sat together and weaved flower chains was when they were twelve. Severus didn’t know what to think of his dream. Why did he think of giving the Potter brat flower crowns? He groaned and flung an arm over his eyes. Trelawney would have a field day if she ever heard tell of this, not to mention his students. He was sure his reputation as a scary dungeon bat would be ruined if anyone thought he wove flower chains in his spare time.

Knowing he wouldn’t get back to sleep now that he was awake, Severus rolled out of bed and saw to his morning ablutions. After getting washed and dressed, he walked down the stairs to the kitchen and once again prepared a pot of tea. This morning he would need to visit the grocer’s for food. After that, he was free to brew potions all day in his lab. A brown horned owl swooped in through the ajar kitchen window, coming to a rest on the chair next to him at the breakfast table. He took the Daily Prophet from it’s leg and gave it a knut, paying it no more attention as it flew out. He shook out the paper, and after a quick glance at the front page, relaxed. Clearly, no one had heard of Potter’s disappearance. If anyone outside the Order had, Snape was sure that it would be all over the front page, as anything concerning the boy was sure to be.

He sipped his tea as he read about some Wizengamot member who had made a generous donation to St. Mungo’s, crediting the good deed to a personal experience in the past. The pot was empty by the time Severus got to the section that contained the type of drivel written by Skeeter and her like, and that was when he decided to abandon the Prophet until he got some work done. He went upstairs for a muggle coat and shoes instead of his usual robes and boots. He relished his anonymity in muggle towns, and wasn’t going to risk compromising himself by dressing foolishly as many wizards unaccustomed to muggles did. After retrieving some muggle money from a secure box in a kitchen cupboard, Severus left through the front door. It was early yet, around 7:45. A small number of muggles went to and fro in their cars as they bustled to work or to school.

The grocery was nearly deserted, and Severus was able to quickly acquire a sufficient supply of food for the few weeks until school started. He was walking back home with his items when he saw an owl swoop through the air, its white body barely visible against the clouds in the sky. It was unusual to see owls around muggles during the day, so it must be the familiar of a wizard.

Strange, I didn’t think there were other wizards here.

Severus watched the owl make a graceful turn before descending and moving out of sight. Well, as long as whoever the familiar belonged to wasn’t stupid about when they sent letters, Severus didn’t think it to be a problem. He’d just keep to himself like always and look out for himself in case the new addition to the town decided to stir up trouble. If he was a friendlier man, he might try to introduce himself to his magical neighbor, but he came to Cokeworth to be left alone, and alone is how he would stay.

Severus was soon home and put his purchases away in the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator. While most wizarding homes didn’t have muggle appliances, this one did. It had been made for muggles, and for many years a muggle had lived here. Severus didn’t like to think about that particular muggle, but he kept the appliances around to keep up the appearance of a non-magical home. After taking a trip upstairs to don the robes most suited for brewing, Severus went back to his lab and started on the hefty list of potions he needed to concoct.

That afternoon, Snape made a lunch of a simple beef stew, the leftover of which became his dinner that evening. Before retiring for bed, Severus finished reading the Prophet and an article in the Potions journal with tea and biscuits.

The next day started the same as the one before, with a breakfast of tea and another issue of the Daily Prophet. Despite Madam Pomfrey’s objections, Severus never ate anything for breakfast. The thought of consuming food in the morning always made him feel slightly ill. Speaking of things that made him feel ill, a regal eagle owl delivered a missive from Lucius Malfoy, requesting that he visit for tea in a few day’s time. There were other things Severus would rather do, but it would be remiss of him to decline. He penned his acquiescence and sent it back with the Malfoy owl.

Looking outside, Severus noted that it was shaping up to be a stormy day. Perfect for reading and brewing. With a satisfied twitch of the lips, he cast a charm on the teapot, cup, and kettle to wash themselves in the sink. Just because his house looked like a muggle owned it didn’t mean he had to live like a muggle himself. Once again donning his brewing robes, which were specially designed to resist staining and other things that typically happened when working with Potions, he went down to his lab and brewed through lunch. When he finished at ten minutes to four o’clock, he had successfully brewed enough Calming Draughts to satisfy Madame Pomfrey. Severus had been hearing the rumble of thunder in the background for some time now, so he went upstairs and hung his robes by the lab door. As he thought, a steady downpour was drenching the streets and houses. After preparing yet another pot of his customary tea, Severus retreated to the sitting room with the Prophet. He sat in his favourite chair by the windows after pulling back the drapes to let the dim light through. For a good while, Severus drank his tea and read, eventually finishing the paper. Afterwards, he gazed out at the rain that was still coming down.

What the hell was that?! He thought, startled out of his thoughts as he spotted a blur out of the corner of his eye. A minute later, his question was answered. From the kitchen (presumably through the window he kept open for owls and warded against the elements) came a snowy owl, presumably the one from yesterday. It alighted on the back of the armchair that mirrored his across from the fireplace. Even as he leapt to his feet at the unexpected intruder, it simply hooted and shook the water free from it’s feathers before it set to work on grooming itself.

“Who do you belong to? Why don’t you have a letter?”

The owl ignored him.

Severus frowned and checked the wards on his house. The ones blocking entry from anything with malicious intent toward him were still strong. So for whatever reason this owl was in his sitting room, it wasn’t for nefarious purposes. Deciding on doing nothing for now, Snape sat back down in his chair and watched as the owl continued to casually groom itself. The owl struck a chord of familiarity in him, though he couldn’t say why. At last, when the owl was through with it’s feather care, Severus had his answer.

“You’re Potter’s owl, aren’t you?”

The owl hooted happily and bobbed her head at him before flying to him. Severus held out his left arm just in time for her to land.

“So what is Potter’s owl doing flying around here? Without a letter, no less?” Usually, Severus felt foolish talking to owls, but this one seemed exceptionally smart. Unlike the wizard she belongs to, he thought nastily. As if reading his thoughts, the owl bit his wrist, hard enough to mark him with an angry pink spot, but not enough to draw blood.

“My apologies,” he mumbled, and the bird puffed up the feathers on her chest. “So, what do you want?”

The owl didn’t answer, but simply walked up his arm and settled on his shoulder.

“A place to rest, apparently.” Severus grumbled, but summoned his Potions Journal to him along with a few owl treats. The owl happily consumed the treats, and Severus realized that as long as she was here he wouldn’t be able to start brewing again. Potions fumes sometimes had adverse effects on animals, and he didn’t wish that fate to befall any animal, even one that belonged to Potter. So he settled down to wait out his feathery guest, and read through a few articles, murmuring arguments about theory to himself as he read the scholastic work of his peers. He had quite lost track of time when the owl surprised him with a friendly nip of his ear and a hoot.

“Have you decided to leave me in peace, now?” he asked grumpily. The owl responded by batting him with her wings and taking off. Severus followed as she swooped out into the hall and landed on the floor before the front door. He sighed when she strutted back and forth in front of the door, hooting all the while. “You want me to escort you out?” he asked, and received another hoot in reply.

Severus carefully opened the door so he wouldn’t accidentally hit the bird with it, exposing himself to the outside air for the first time that day. Everything outside was still damp, but at least the rain had stopped. As he held the door, the owl waddled across the threshold. But as he made to close the door, she turned and grabbed onto the bottom of his trousers and tugged. Not only did she want to be let out the door instead of the window, but he was supposed to follow her, too?

Will wonders never cease? Reluctantly, he did as the owl wanted. After a quick glance at his pocket watch, he learned that it was half past six. Most muggles would be at home together with their families, so the chance of someone seeing him with an owl was greatly reduced. He looked down at the owl, who was staring at him with his trousers in her beak.

“You’re a really annoying bird, Potter’s owl.” That only earned him another hoot.

“Come on, then.” He sighed, and held out his left arm again. She flew up and settled on his arm with a low hoot. She ruffled her feathers in reaction to the magic of his Disillusionment spell, and together they went down the path from the front porch to the road. Severus was completely resigned to his fate as he tried to correctly interpret the bird’s directions, and it was with some alarm that he realized they were heading toward the old Evans house. But they couldn’t be; there was hardly anyone still alive who remembered it had belonged to the Evans family.

If this is someone’s idea of a joke, I’m going to show them some of the things Death Eaters did for fun, he thought maliciously. It was in that state of mind that he arrived at the edge of the old Evans property and observed the goings-on through the windows of the brightly-lit house.

Bloody hell, Snape thought. I’ve found Harry Potter.

With the passing of Harry’s birthday came the sweltering heat of August. The Dursleys spent even more time indoors, and Harry spent an increasing amount of time outdoors. According to the news, they were experiencing a heat wave not seen in over five years.

Today Dudley was at the cinema with Aunt Petunia while Uncle Vernon was at work. To make sure that he wouldn’t ruin anything inside the house, Petunia had locked Harry outside. It wasn’t so bad, really. Even if there wasn’t any air conditioning or food, at least Harry could sit in the shade of the oak tree and get water from the garden hose.

Today Harry climbed into the tree where Hedwig was waiting, and together they sat in the branches and waited for the rare cool breeze to pass them by. While it was peaceful up in the tree with his beloved familiar, Harry had to concede that he was also rather bored. Since he hadn’t heard any news from the Wizarding World since June, all Harry had to think about was whatever happened with the Dursleys, and that was hardly stimulating. Harry wished he’d ordered a subscription to the Daily Prophet like Hermione did. During the school year, it wasn’t a problem because he could read her copy, but now in his solitary summer hols it was proving to be a bad choice.

Even if he wanted a subscription now, there was no way for him to send for one. Sure, he had Hedwig, but she wasn’t much use if he had no letters for her to send. All of Harry’s writing supplies were in his trunk and locked away. He rarely had time to himself, anyway. If he tried to sneak away a piece of stationery and a pen, someone was bound to notice the missing objects and blame him for it. Besides, with Petunia and Dudley always hanging about, he had a hard enough time getting a drink of water in between chores. There was no way he’d be able to pen a letter with them around, and they always locked him outside when they were away.

Harry sighed and looked at his familiar, who had fallen asleep some time ago. Hedwig looked a lot healthier than she did at Privet Drive; happier, too. Obviously being able to hunt down her own food was a lot better than whatever Harry could spare her. Lately, she had taken a few trips during the day as well, and she always returned looking remarkably pleased with herself. It didn’t happen too often, but Harry wondered if maybe she had found herself a nice boyfriend. Owls didn’t usually go out during the day, but if her trips made her happy, Harry didn’t mind.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached his ears then, and Harry perked up and spun his head to locate the source. Sure enough, there was a taxi, and his aunt and cousin were just getting out of it. He met them by the front door just as Petunia was unlocking it with her key. Dudley had telltale bits of popcorn on the front of his large shirt. They were both pink-faced with the heat, particularly his cousin who was sweating like a pig.

“Go in and start preparing for supper,” Petunia told him as she and her son crossed the threshold.

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry replied stoically. Upon entering the kitchen, Harry started to plan and prepare the family meal. The sanctioned meals that Smeltings school nurse and Dudley’s doctor had both approved were incredibly boring and bland, according to Dudders. Harry didn’t think they were as bad as Dudley made them out to be. Besides, Dudley still had his ways of wheedling sweets from his mother.

“Oh, my poor boy is wasting away!” She would say, and pat her son’s round pink cheeks. In the meantime, Harry was getting a bit worried that his friends would notice how thin he was when school started again in the fall. Then again, no one seemed to notice before. Harry’s stomach growled, and he thought that he’d be rather grateful for a can of soup that was warmed up instead of cold.

Petunia had bought some chicken breasts from the shop for a recipe she found in House and Garden, so Harry decided to make that. After retrieving the magazine and locating the right recipe, Harry got to work.

The chicken was roasting in the oven and the vegetables were sauteing in a pan when Uncle Vernon got home. From his station at the stovetop, Harry could hear Petunia greet her husband at the door, chattering away at him as she took his coat and briefcase and put them away. Vernon gave his sedentary son a merry greeting, which was returned with a grunt. His uncle must have had a fantastic day of yelling at people on the phone if he was this chipper upon returning home. He got to the kitchen then, and his face twisted into a sneer at the sight of Harry.

“Come home and dinner isn’t even on the table. Disgraceful, it is. Used to be a man could come home to his loving family with supper waiting for him.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Vernon.” The apology was an automatic reaction. There was nothing he could have done short of magic for the food to be ready in the amount of time he was given.

“Can’t even do just one little thing asked of him,” Petunia chimed in.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled. He didn’t know why he kept apologizing. It wouldn’t change anything. Anger flared within him at his uselessness and cowardice. Some Gryffindor he was, apologizing to his muggle uncle like his life depended on it.

“You will be, boy. You will be,” his uncle growled before turning away and going upstairs to change out of his work clothes.

Petunia continued to look at Harry like he was a particularly smelly fish while he worked the stovetop.

When the food was set out on the dining table that Harry had prepared, he was banished to his room without a bite to eat. He fumed while the Dursleys sat at the table laden with food he prepared in a house that he cleaned and took care of. Their laughter and conversation floated up the stairs, and Harry couldn’t help but listen in.

“... and Coach McCulloch said that next year I could try out for the team,” Dudley finished saying through a mouthful of food.

“That’s my son,” Vernon declared proudly, easily audible from upstairs. “A nice, strong lad just like his father. Isn’t that right, Pet?”

Aunt Petunia made disgusting cooing noises at her son. “I don’t know what that nurse is thinking, putting Dudders on a diet. He needs as much strength as he can get if he’ll be on the Boxing Team next year,” she clucked.

“Just you wait, Pet. Our Dudley is a hardy boy. He’ll do us proud.”

“I know, dear, but you know how I worry…”

Harry had to force himself to stop listening. There was only so much Dudley coddling he could take. He wondered if all parents were this gooey about their children.

My mum and dad are dead, so it’s not like I’ll ever find out. I don’t think I’d like being that pampered all the time anyway. Harry lay back on his bed, thinking of his fellow schoolmates. He’d seen Ron’s mum once, when she helped him through Platform 9 ¾ . She was a very nice woman, and Harry really appreciated that she’d sent him a jumper for Christmas. All the Weasley children loved her very much, and she in return loved them all. Harry wondered if maybe his mother had been anything like Mrs. Weasley. Part of him hoped so, especially since anything was better than Aunt Petunia.

After getting off the Hogwarts Express, Harry had seen Hermione rush over to her parents, but he hadn’t a chance to introduce himself. His Uncle had manhandled Harry to the car without even a chance to say a proper goodbye. Hermione’s parents looked nice enough, and he remembered that they were dentists. He doubted they let Hermione eat sweets like his cousin Dudley. They must be really good parents if they raised a smart and conscientious girl like Hermione.

Harry thought of the things he’d heard about the parents of his fellow Gryffindors in the common room. He realized that the only one who never contributed (besides himself) was Neville. He only ever mentioned his Gran. Harry frowned to himself and wondered what might have happened to Neville’s parents, and if it was okay to ask. Probably not. Harry didn’t really appreciate it when people asked about his parents, either. After all, before Hogwarts he hadn’t even known their names. Now, thanks to the Mirror of Erised and the photo album from Hagrid, Harry could now place faces to names.

Harry glanced out the window at the flower box where his mother’s music box was hidden. He listened to it almost every night before bed. Not only did he know the names and faces of his long-dead parents, but they had also left things behind for him. From his father he had the Invisibility Cloak, and from his mother he had the music box and necklace. After having nothing for so long, it was nice to feel like he had a heritage.

Harry was abruptly torn from his thoughts when his uncle bellowed up the stairs for him to clean the dishes. Reluctantly, he went down the stairs and got to work, filling the sink up with soapy water as he cleared the table. When all the dishes were clean and either drying or put away, Harry wiped down the counters and dining table with a wet cloth. Satisfied, Harry then took out the rubbish and put it into the bin outside. Apparently, his relatives had nothing else for him to do, so he went back upstairs and sat with Hedwig for a while. She left to go hunting after the Dursleys went to bed.

After changing into his overlarge and holey pajamas, Harry carefully removed the music box from its hiding place. After making sure all the Dursleys were sound asleep, Harry wound up the mechanism and opened the lid. The soft music filled the air, and Harry spent a long while thinking of Hogwarts, his friends, and his owl. When he was starting to drift off, Harry put the music box back in the flower box and went to bed.

Apparently, part of the reason Vernon was in such a good mood lately was that he was getting ready to make a huge sale.

“Just think of it, Pet. Just got a promotion, and now the largest sale this company has ever seen,” Vernon said gruffly, puffing out his chest.

It was Thursday, and the Masons (Vernon’s potential clients) were due to come to dinner on Saturday. Predictably, Petunia had Harry working himself to the bone in preparation. It was late afternoon, and Aunt Petunia had just come back from the nursery with yet more flowers and fertilizer. Apparently after being neglected for so long, the garden was in desperate need of an overhaul. Harry didn’t understand why flowerbeds were so vital for just one dinner party. What was wrong with plain grass? But flowerbeds were what Aunt Petunia wanted, so Harry kept his complaints to himself and did as he was bade.

Harry spent hours bent over in the front garden under the hot summer sun digging, planting, and watering. The sun was hot on the back of his neck and his ears, and Harry knew he’d have a fresh sunburn at the end of the day. He’d probably sleep without a shirt tonight just to get some relief, because he sure wouldn’t be given any lotion or medicine for it.

He was on his way to turn on the tap for the hose when he spotted a little garden snake.

“Oh, hello!” Harry exclaimed, more out of surprise than anything else.

“Greetings,” The little garden snake replied lazily. Harry suspected he had interrupted it’s sunbathing. It was probably best to let sleeping snakes lie, so he shrugged and went about his business.

At long last, it was Saturday. The entire house was busy getting ready for the esteemed guests. Even Dudley, although his part to play came later when the Masons arrived.

Harry was sitting in the shade under the large oak tree in front of his bedroom window when Dudley came up to him. More than anything, Harry was surprised that he had willingly gone outside.

“Wot you doing out here, freak? Shouldn’t you be working? It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.  I know your freaky little friends haven’t been writing,” Dudley taunted.

“What would you know about it, Dudley?” Harry couldn’t help but snap back. He knew he should hold his temper in; he knew, but still-

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out, Potty. Anyway, it’s a good thing they wised up so quick. If they couldn’t see what a freak you are I’d start to wonder about their heads.” Dudley chortled. “Then again, your lot is a bit on the barmy side already, innit? Waving round your funny little sticks-”

“Abra kadabra! Boogity woogity!” Harry yelled, waggling his fingers in his cousin’s direction as he spouted more nonsense. It was worth it to see Dudley nearly fall on his fat arse.

“MUUUUUUUUM!! THE FREAK IS DOING IT AGAIN! HE’S DOING THAT STUFF!”

Oh, now Harry was in for it. Petunia had followed her large son back out of the house to where Harry was, a soapy frying pan in hand. He hadn’t bothered trying to run; that would just make things worse.

“He cast MAGIC on me, mum!” Dudley yelled, pointing at Harry with a sausage-like finger.

“I didn’t! I ju-” that’s all Harry could get out before he had to dodge the soapy frying pan that his Aunt had lobbed at him. It missed him and thumped heavily on the grass. For such a skinny woman, she sure could chuck that thing.

“You better not have hurt my dear Diddikins, you worthless, no-good freak!” She exclaimed shrilly. In response, Dudley clutched at his bulging stomach and groaned. Petunia immediately went to his side and chattered soothing words at him, while Dudley moaned things like “Mummy” and “feels funny”. As she escorted her precious pudding of a son back indoors, Petunia looked back at her nephew.

“Finish the washing in the kitchen, but don’t you lay a finger on the roast,” she snapped at him over her bony shoulder.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry replied obediently. It felt like he was being let off easy, but he knew his Aunt would have more chores for him as soon as she saw to her precious little butterball. He followed them inside at a safe distance, then went right to the kitchen. There was a large stack of pans and dishes that needed washing. He got to work, quickly and efficiently cleaning up his Aunt’s mess. She came into the kitchen a few times to get her darling son a generous helping of ice cream and other snacks. Obviously, Dudley was playing this incident up for as much as it was worth. She reappeared for the last time when Harry was just finishing his task.

“If you’re done here, Hoover the sitting room.” She snapped at him before once again attending to her cooking. She always did the cooking when guests were over, for which Harry was immensely grateful. It looked like tonight it would be her ‘specialty’; a traditional roast beef with root vegetables, mashed potatoes, a chic garden salad, and dinner rolls. After dinner Harry knew there would be what Petunia liked to call her pièce de résistance; a large and heavily decorated pudding. Just as well she liked to do that herself- Harry didn’t have the patience or the stomach to create such offensively sweet treats.

Shaking his head in private disbelief, Harry retrieved the vacuum from the Cupboard Under the Stairs 2.0 and not only Hoovered the sitting room, but the entire downstairs. Just because his Aunt hadn’t outright told him so didn’t mean she didn’t want him to do it. It didn’t take too long, though Dudley complained about the noise the entire time. As if Harry could do anything about that! When it was done, Harry reported back to his Aunt, and she told him to prune the hedges, repaint the garden bench, and fertilize the flowers.

Harry went to the shed in the back garden for the manure that his Aunt had indicated. If the Weasley twins were here, they’d undoubtedly tell him that his summer hols truly were shitty. Chuckling under his breath, he did the pruning first, and it was while doing that he found his small snake friend from before. It was casually lying under the hedges, half in and half out of the sun.

“Hello again,” Harry said politely as he pruned another bit of bush with the large garden shears.

“Hello again, ssssspeaker.” The snake flicked its tongue lazily.

“I never did catch your name last time we met,” Harry remarked, clearing up some of the clippings.

“My apologies,” the snake replied, and then proceeded to let out a long string of hissing. Harry didn’t think he could translate it into a single English word if he tried. It seemed to be a representation of the warming of a rock when the sun was just emerging over the horizon.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Harry said. “My name is just Harry.”

“Well met, Harry,” the snake replied. It slithered out of sight suddenly without a warning. “The shrill one approaches.”

Sure enough, Aunt Petunia had come to check on his progress.

“Lazing about again, are you? You’d best hurry it up. You’ll have nothing to eat until all the work is done.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry mumbled, and she stalked back to the house.

After he finished pruning the hedges, Harry used the manure to fertilize the flower beds. After that was repainting the garden bench, even though it was nearly immaculate to begin with. When all was done, Harry stood up and carefully stretched his sore back muscles. He put the pruning shears, paint, and leftover manure back in the shed, then went round to the back door of the house. Petunia had set out a path of newspaper for him to walk on so that nothing of worth (which basically meant everything except Harry) would get dirty.

“There’s dinner for you on the breakfast table, hurry and eat it before the Masons get here,” Petunia snapped at him, nervously smoothing down her best Sunday dress. Starved, Harry eagerly sat down to his meal of plain toast and a glass of water. He wolfed it down in no time at all, then washed his dishes (which were lower quality than the other dishware in the house). It was then that Harry spotted the pudding on top of the fridge. It was true to Petunia’s usual tastes, a sickeningly sweet pastel purple color. It was adorned with all sorts of sugary decorations. Harry reckoned that there was some sort of cake or custard underneath all the pomp and flair. He didn’t have any more time to think about it, though. Uncle Vernon had just come home. He had his and Dudley’s sport coats in hand, fresh from the cleaners. The Masons would be arriving within the hour, so Vernon and Dudley put on their ‘costumes’ and Petunia put the finishing touches on the dining table.

Afterwards, Vernon went through the itinerary for the night with them all. Petunia and Dudley would be putting on nauseatingly fake performances, but Harry’s job was easy; stay out of the way, don’t make any noise. Pretend you don’t even exist. Harry could certainly do that. After the summer he was having, pretending he didn’t exist would be a piece of cake.

Just then the doorbell rang, and they all scurried to their places. Harry was halfway up the stairs when he heard Dudley open the door and greet the guests like he had rehearsed. There was one small thing he didn’t envy his cousin for. Harry would much rather hide in his room than have to perform like a dancing monkey. He opened his bedroom door quietly, looking forward to a quiet evening alone.

Except there was one problem. He wasn’t alone at all.

Huge, globe-like green eyes peered at Harry in the semi-darkness, and Harry just barely suppressed a yelp. After turning on the lights, Harry saw that there was some sort of… creature sitting on his bed. Hedwig was resting on the sill of the open window, eying their unexpected visitor.

“What are you?” Harry blurted out.

“I am Dobby, a House-Elf, Mister Harry Potter sir!” The creature squeaked. Harry entered the room and carefully shut the door behind him.

“Hello, erm, Dobby.” He stuttered. “Can I help you with something?”

“Help Dobby, sir? Mister Harry Potter is so kind!” The little elf chirped happily. “No, sir, Dobby is here to help Harry Potter!”

“Help me? You mean you can take me away from the Dursleys?” Harry asked excitedly, remembering to keep his voice down.

“Take you away? No, Dobby is making sure you stay here!” the elf proclaimed. Harry couldn’t believe his ears.

“Keep me here? They’re muggles, they hate me and my magic!” Harry tried to stay quiet yet convey the dire situation he was in. “I’ve got to get out of here! To- to go back to Hogwarts, and see my friends-”

“Friends that don’t even write to Harry Potter?” The elf interrupted.

“....What?” Harry was derailed by the sudden disruption, but not for long. “How do you know my friend haven’t been writing?”

Looking supremely guilty, the House-Elf produced bundled stacks of letters from nowhere. Harry could easily make out the handwriting of his friends.

“Dobby...” Harry began, trying to reign in his temper, “why do you have my letters?”

“Dobby thought that if Harry Potter thought his friends didn’t care about him anymore, Harry Potter wouldn’t go back to Hogwarts!” the small creature exclaimed shrilly. There was a lull in conversation from downstairs, and Harry prayed that he’d emerge from this unscathed. Distantly, part of him was glad to learn that his friends still cared about him after all.

“Not go back to Hogwarts?!; Dobby, I have to go back, it-it’s my home! I belong there!”  Harry was steadily starting to feel overwhelmed. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty, and now a weird little elf was telling him he couldn’t go back to the only place he’d ever really felt accepted? As if!

“No! Harry Potter mustn’t go! It’s too dangerous for Harry Potter to go back to school!”

“Why, though? It can’t be any more dangerous than it was last year! I hardly think there are any other teachers working for Voldemort-”

“DO NOT SAY HIS NAME!” Dobby shrieked. A tense stillness followed, the noise from downstairs definitely stopped. Harry could easily hear the heavy footsteps of his uncle coming up the stairs.

“Quick, Dobby, hide!’ Harry whispered, and tried to sit on his bed and look normal. Dobby had disappeared with a small pop.

“What in the blazes do you think you’re doing, boy?”

Truthfully, Harry had no idea what was going on. Too bad that wouldn’t placate his uncle. “I’m sorry, it was an accident.”

“There better not be any more accidents, boy, or there’ll be hell to pay,” Vernon growled menacingly. Harry immediately cast his eyes to the floor. Don’t make a sound. Stay in your room. Pretend you don’t exist.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mark my words, another peep out of you and you’ll wish you’d died with your fool parents.” Vernon closed the door on Harry and lumbered back down the stairs to his guests.

That threat would work better if I hadn’t been wishing that for the past eleven years, Harry thought sadly. He was aware of Dobby’s presence when the little elf popped back into view. It was looking at him sadly.

“This is why I have to go back. I have to go back to Hogwarts,” Harry pleaded.

“If Harry Potter will not stay, Dobby will make him stay,” Dobby told him mournfully. “Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter sir.” With that, he vanished again. Harry’s heart immediately started beating rapidly in a state of panic. He knew, he just knew, that the elf would make sure Uncle Vernon never let him see the light of day again. Harry dashed out of his room, doing his best to keep his steps light. His footfalls made barely a sound on the thick rug that ran down the hallway. He slowly creeped down the steps, constantly making sure that the dinner party was going on as usual.

“Dobby!” Harry whispered harshly. “Dobby!”

Finally, Harry reached the bottom of the stairs. Looking both ways down the hall, he started toward the kitchen. It was unlikely that Dobby was in the dining room; surely if he’d done something in there Harry would know already. After making sure no one would be getting up soon, Harry ducked into the kitchen and froze at the sight in front of him. Dobby was standing on top of the fridge, right arm held out in a display of magic. Floating in the air was Aunt Petunia’s horrid pudding.

“No, Dobby. Please, no.” He didn’t care if begging wasn’t very Gryffindor of him. He couldn’t let this weird little creature give his uncle an excuse to get angry.

“I must, Harry Potter sir,” Dobby said solemnly, and disappeared. The pudding fell to the floor in a great crash, shattering the expensive crystal and flinging confection everywhere.

For a few moments, silence reigned. Then came what sounded like a herd of stampeding buffalo. Dudley was the first to reach the entrance to the kitchen, and it was there that he stopped and looked at the mess with his mouth hanging open. Petunia came next behind her son. At the sight of the crime scene in the kitchen, she shrieked and brought her hands up to cover her mouth. At long last came Uncle Vernon, his face already purple and a vein in his forehead standing out prominently. Harry did his best to keep from shaking. There was no way he’d be allowed to go back to school. It’d be a miracle if Harry was spared the cupboard under the stairs.

“I warned you, freak,” Vernon spat. “I BLOODY WARNED YOU!”

The Masons were somewhere in the background, looking perplexed. Harry could do nothing but hang his head and try to make himself as non-freakish as possible.

“I apologize for this, Mr. and Mrs. Mason.” Petunia tried to calm the atmosphere down. “This is our nephew. He’s very...  disturbed. Doesn’t like strangers, you see. We didn’t want him to get overexcited and have a fit.” Petunia looked back to her husband, who was still fuming. “If we could all move to the sitting room, I’ll have something prepared to serve for pudding.”

Mr. and Mrs. Mason seemed at once reluctant and relieved for the dismissal. They both retreated down the hallway to the sitting room. Petunia grabbed the attention of her son.

“Dudley, if you would entertain our guests while we take care of your hopelessly insane cousin?”

Dudley nodded in reply and waddled out of the room.

“Now, I don’t know what has gotten into that thick head of yours, but if you think that after this we’ll let you keep going to that crackpot school, then-” Uncle Vernon was interrupted by a loud shriek. The three of them ran from the kitchen into the sitting room. There, they found Mrs. Mason flailing wildly and screaming. The was an envelope at her feet, and an owl was on it’s way out the window. Numbly, Harry picked it up. It could only be for him. In the background, Mr. Mason was explaining his wife’s terrible fear of birds. With shaking hands Harry opened the letter.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlock’s Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours Sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

 

Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

For the second time that night, there was another loud shriek. Again it was Mrs. Mason, who had just experienced another Owl Post delivery. The brown barn owl left immediately just like the first.

“THAT’S IT!” Mr. Mason roared. “I’VE BEEN PATIENT WITH YOU, DURSLEY, BUT I DO NOT APPRECIATE THIS CIRCUS YOU’VE INVITED US TO! DON’T EVEN CONSIDER TRYING TO MAKE A DEAL ANYMORE!” Mr. Mason led his hysterical wife out of the house to their car. She was still waving her arms like they were being attacked by a swarm of owls. Petunia followed them out, presumably to convince them to stay. Dudley was staring at the entire spectacle, jaw slack. And Vernon-

“BOY!” Vernon roughly grabbed Harry where his neck and left shoulder met. With the considerable weight that his uncle had on him, Harry had no choice but to back up until he slammed into a wall.

“What’s it say?” Vernon growled.

“W-what?”

“THE LETTER, YOU DAFT BOY! WHAT DOES IT SAY?”

With a quavering voice, Harry read the Ministry’s missive aloud.

“Not allowed to use magic? Convenient we didn’t know, eh? Suppose it must’ve slipped your mind.”

“He’s got another one,” Dudley said, holding the edges of the second envelope by the tips of his fingers like it would bite.

“Go on, then. Open it.” Vernon let go of Harry, and he took the letter from his cousin’s hand. The loopy writing in purple ink was immediately recognizable.

Do not panic. Help is coming.

-A. Dumbledore

 “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?!” Vernon yelled.

“I don’t know!” Harry yelled back. Would Dumbledore come and get him? Or maybe Hagrid? Did this mean he wasn’t going to be expelled?

While Harry was trying to not panic, Petunia came back inside. Apparently, the Masons could not be convinced to stay. She pursed her lips as she stared at Harry.

“Just like Lily, you are, making freakish things happen to decent folk.” Harry wondered what she meant by decent folk, because he certainly didn’t see any here.

“That freakish school of his expelled him. ‘Parently magic isn’t allowed during the hols.” Dudley piped in, eager as always to see what punishment would befall his cousin.

“As if I’d let him go back there after this spectacle. No, you won’t even speak of magic until you’re of age and out of my home!”

Just then, someone knocked on the front door. Four, solid knocks that startled the occupants of the house.

“Who could that be?” Petunia wondered.

“Get the door, boy,” Vernon ordered.

Harry obeyed, unlocking the deadbolt and twisting the knob of the heavy door. Could this be his promised help? The door swung open, revealing-

“Professor?”

“Potter.”

Harry stared up at the Potions Professor, bewildered. This was his help? If the Dursleys were bad, Snape and the Dursleys were even worse! Behind him, the Dursleys peered curiously at their unexpected guest.

“You!” Harry was startled to hear his Aunt exclaim. He turned around to see her pointing at his professor accusingly.

“Petunia,” Snape sneered at her, using the overall confusion to sweep past Harry into the house.

“You’ve no business here, Snape.” Petunia hissed.

“I do, in fact. You see, I am one of Mr. Potter’s professors at Hogwarts.” Snape carried himself in his usual menacing manner. In fact, Harry often wondered if Snape knew how to slouch. The more amazing thing was that he towered over everyone in the room, even Uncle Vernon. Harry knew from experience that his uncle liked to be the one who towered over people. As he closed the door he had kept holding open, Harry privately admitted to wondering how the people he hated most (with the exception of Malfoy and Voldemort) would clash. Snape had continued walking past all of them into the sitting room as if he owned the place. Harry followed, and as he passed his cousin Dudley asked, “Does he teach maths? He looks like he teaches maths.”

“Potions, Mr. Dursley. I teach Potions. Remedies for all manner of ailments, elixirs to change one’s appearance, antidotes...” Snape paused, and Harry knew it was for a dramatic effect. “... Poisons.”

Looking around, Harry saw that his relatives were absolutely entranced by his professor’s deep and captivating voice. According to the smirk the man wore, he rather liked the awed and scared expressions they wore. Aunt Petunia was the first to snap out of it.

“Yes, yes, you and your freakish chemistry set.” She waved her hand like Snape hadn’t just insinuated that he was very familiar with lethal substances. “What are you doing in my home?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, but he let the insult slide. “Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to… neutralize the situation while he does damage control at the Ministry.”

“Neutralize the- that brat smashed my best crystal!” Petunia exclaimed.

“Tragic, I’m sure.” Snape conjured a mop, unbothered when the Dursleys jumped at the casual display of magic. He gave the mop to Dudley. “Best start cleaning up.” Dudley gaped at him, and Harry was sure this was the first time in his cousin’s entire life that he’d been asked to clean anything. The Professor turned to Harry.

“Potter, a word.”

Curiously, Harry followed his Potions Professor into the hall that connected the dining room, kitchen, and sitting room. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia attempted to follow them, but were repelled by a classic Snape glare.

“What in the world possessed you to do underage magic, Potter?” Snape hissed. “Around muggles, no less?”

“It wasn’t me!” Harry shot back.

“Then who, Potter?” Snape obviously didn’t believe him.

“It was an elf! A-a House-Elf!” Harry stumbled under his words, and he knew he didn’t sound convincing at all.

“Oh? And where is this House-Elf now?” Snape looked around like he expected one to pop out of nowhere. “Try a better lie next time, Potter. House-Elves only work for wizards.”

They do? Harry couldn’t help but think. “I’m not lying, I swear! It had a name- Dobby.”

This made Professor Snape pause. “Are you sure about this, Potter?”

“Certain, Professor. It kept saying I couldn’t go back to Hogwarts because it was dangerous. It was taking all my mail, and when I refused to stay here, it smashed the pudding!”

“Did it say anything else, Potter?” Snape asked, sounding as nonchalant as ever.

“No, I don’t think it did.”

Snape seemed to be lost in thought, and Harry stood there wishing he’d been able to go to bed like he’d planned from the beginning.

“What’s that on your neck?” Snape asked suddenly. Harry’s right hand went up to touch the spot where Uncle Vernon had grabbed him earlier. There was a large patch of skin that was warmer than the rest, and Harry suspected he’d soon have a bruise there.

“It’s nothing,” Harry replied. Snape got a peculiar look on his face, but said nothing else about it. With a dramatic flair of his black cloak, the Professor turned around and made for the front door.

“Where’re you going, then?” Vernon asked.

“None of your business, Dursley.”

“None- none of my business? You just walk into my house uninvited, spout nonsense, then leave?” Uncle Vernon looked like he wanted to say more, but he was currently cowering under the scrutiny of Professor Snape, who was looming over him menacingly.

“We’ll be in contact,” Snape told them abruptly. “I trust you remember where I live?” He directed this at Aunt Petunia, who nodded. Without saying anything else, Snape left.

They were all silent after the Potion Master’s dismissal, but it was soon broken by Vernon.

“Never in my life…” he trailed off, and the vein in his forehead started to make another appearance.

“I-” Harry started.

“NOT A WORD, BOY,” Vernon commanded. “Up to bed.  Don’t you dare come out until we tell you.”

Harry obeyed, head hung low. Could this summer possibly get any worse? As he lay in his bed clutching the turquoise necklace, he didn’t think it could.

The next morning, Harry woke up to the sound of metal bars being drilled into place over his window. Beyond his uncle’s red face peering in on him, Harry could spot Hedwig soaring gracefully through the sky. At least she had escaped imprisonment. Hopefully she stayed away for a while and was safe wherever she had taken to going during the days.

On a pleasantly bright and sunny Sunday, Severus was having a rather good morning before Potter’s owl swooped into his sitting room. Again.

The owl (Hedwig, he reminded himself) was looking rather agitated.

“Come now, surely Potter couldn’t have gotten into that much trouble overnight!” Snape groaned as he folded up that morning’s Daily Prophet.

Hedwig merely hooted at him dolefully.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised; the boy is a Potter, after all,” Snape grumbled. “Can it wait until I’ve finished my tea?”

He summoned said tea to him along with a few owl treats. The owl accepted the snack, albeit begrudgingly. She seemed to pierce him with her gaze, eyeing him accusingly as she munched on the treats.

“Oh, very well, then. Let us go see what Potter has managed to do in the…” Severus checked his watch. “... ten hours since I left him.” Severus went to the door and took a jacket out of the entry closet. After he put it on, Hedwig perched on his shoulder and together they left. Part of him was astounded at the familiarity the bird was showing him. He’d never owned an owl before; as a student he couldn’t afford one, and since then he’d simply never considered it.

Perhaps I should, he thought.

Severus needed little prompting from Hedwig this time; whereas last time he had been a victim of the owl’s fancies, this time he knew where they were going. As he walked, he couldn’t help but think of the events that had transpired after the shocking revelation he had received. After making sure the Chosen One was indeed safe, Snape had parted ways with the owl and Apparated straight to Hogwarts, Once there, he’d gone right to Dumbledore’s office. As usual, the Headmaster seemed to be expecting him. Severus had long suspected that the portraits all over the castle told the headmaster what was going on.

“Ah, Severus. I didn’t think we’d hear from you so soon. Come in, my boy, come in.” Dumbledore was putting on his kindly grandfather routine, complete with the tin of lemon drops. After waving his hand in customary refusal for refreshments, Severus got right to the point.

“I found him, Albus. I found Potter.”

That certainly got the older wizard’s attention. “Indeed? I knew my faith in you was not misplaced. Well done, my boy.”

“Perhaps I should reiterate. It is incorrect to say that I found Potter when I was led right to the boy by his very own owl.”

“Did she? Hedwig certainly is a clever owl,” Dumbledore mused, sipping his tea. “If I may ask, Severus, where did you find our wayward Mr. Potter?”

“At the old Evans house.”

 Severus shook himself from his memory when he came upon the house in question. After doing a quick Disillusionment spell to conceal both himself and his passenger, he got closer. Hedwig was decidedly less agitated now, presumably under the assumption that he would find and fix whatever bothered her. Severus mentally cursed annoying and intelligent birds as he walked right up to the windows to observe the goings-on.

The sitting room window was closest, and so it was that one that he peered through first. Nothing of note there, just the telly left on. So Severus moved to the large window on the other side of the front door, which looked into the kitchen. There was the activity he was looking for. Three family members were inside, and Severus quickly labelled them as the Dursleys. There was no trace of destroyed pudding left over from the night before, and he briefly wondered who had cleaned it up. Frowning, Severus looked for the fourth occupant of the house, but came up with nothing.

The spoiled Potter brat must be having a lie-in, Snape sneered. After determining that Potter wouldn’t be downstairs any time soon, Severus backed away from the kitchen window and walked around the side of the house. The sturdy old oak tree was still there, and brought back fond memories of Lily. Hedwig suddenly took off from his shoulder and flew up into the branches. She landed just outside the window to Lily’s old room, and it was then that Severus came to a halt.

Who the hell put bars on the window?! Severus thought. They hadn’t been there last night, surely! Some muggles liked to put bars on the outsides of windows for extra security, but none of the other windows were adorned thus. A nagging feeling overcame him, and Severus thought that if he had to guess, that room now belonged to Potter. He’d put Galleons on it.

Sure enough, the window opened and a thin arm threaded through the bars to pet Hedwig.

“Hey, girl.” Came a soft voice, and Severus had trouble connecting it to the usual brash Gryffindor speech he usually heard.

“I’m glad you got out before they could lock you in here with me. I hope you found a safe place to stay.” Hedwig hooted and butted the hand petting her with her head, making the child laugh. As Potter continued to pet his demanding owl, said creature swiveled her head and stared right at Severus through his Disillusionment Charm.

“Message received,” he grumbled.

Just then, the great oaf of an uncle bellowed something and Potter left his spot at the window. Severus went back to the windows he observed the Dursleys through before. In the sitting room, the rotund pink-faced Dursley child was parked in front of the telly. Severus wished the boy was one of his students just so he could dock points for wasting time. The overlarge boy desperately needed some sort of activity to get him off his arse.

Shaking his head to clear his mind of more errant thoughts, Severus peered through the kitchen window again. Potter just entered the room, and was apparently being told off. Petunia either didn’t notice or didn’t care, and continued to sip her tea as she read a gossip rag. Dursley made a dramatic gesture, and Severus carefully noted the Potter boy’s flinch. Once Dursley was done, he left the room after grabbing that day’s newspaper from the breakfast table. Potter said nothing, and instead picked up the forgotten breakfast dishes and started to wash them. All of this was done with eyes carefully cast down and with drooping shoulders. Severus was proud of his ability to read people, but wanted to second guess himself when it looked like Potter was used to this sort of treatment. There was a nasty blue and purple bruise on his neck and shoulder where Severus had noticed a red spot the night before.

At the moment, Severus had more questions than he ever wanted to have about the Potter brat. After backing away from the window, Severus went back around the side of the house to unnecessarily confirm that there were bars over the window.

What the hell is going on here?

Though he made no secret of his dislike for the boy, Severus had made a promise to protect him. If these muggles decided to put bars on the boy’s window, there was no telling what else they might do. The words ‘Harrys Room’ written on the wall of the cupboard in the Privet Drive house came to mind again, and once again Severus brushed them aside. He could think about that more later, but right now it was best to let Dumbledore know about the current issue.

After Apparating to the front gates of Hogwarts, Severus removed the Disillusionment charm from his person and made his way up to the castle. Hagrid waved a merry greeting at him from the garden next to his hut. Apparently, Hagrid wasn’t expecting a greeting in return, because he went right back to tending his seedlings. Just as well, because Severus did not make a habit of waving his arms frantically at people.

When Severus entered the castle, the first person he saw was Minerva, who stopped heading in whatever direction she had been going in to walk alongside him.

“Severus, what a pleasure to see you here! I thought for sure we’d seen the last of you. Why, I was just on my way to consult Sybill to see if you’d died horribly,” Her tone was decidedly smug.

“As you can see, I am still among the living, regrettably,” He drawled. Minerva’s lips twitched, and she shot him a look that would have been stern if not for the telltale twinkle in her eyes.

“It’s just that after you left in such a dramatic fashion, I really thought you’d be holed up in your home for the rest of the summer holiday.”

“If only that were the case. Right now I have news for the Headmaster, so if you’ll excuse me…?”

“Of course, Severus,” Minerva replied fondly, and the two of them parted ways. When he approached the statue that guarded the Headmaster’s Office, Severus paused only to say the password; “Bonbons.”

The stone gargoyle jumped aside, and Severus rode up the moving spiral stairs. All too soon, he was staring at the ancient, heavy oak door that heralded the entrance to Dumbledore’s office.

“Come in, Severus,” Dumbledore called before he’d even had a chance to knock. Upon entering, Severus was unsurprised to find the Headmaster sitting behind his desk with a pot of tea and his tin of lemon drops at the ready.

Does the man consume anything else? Severus thought dourly.

“Good day, Severus. Can I interest you in a cup of tea? Perhaps a lemon drop?”

“No thank you, Headmaster,” he refused, just like he always did. Somehow, this had become a custom of theirs, and Severus wasn’t sure what he’d do if the day came when Dumbledore didn’t offer him refreshment. As he usually did, Severus settled himself down in one of the overstuffed chairs across from Albus.

“After you came bursting through my office door the last time, I must say I didn’t expect to see you again until the start of term,” Dumbledore hummed, popping a lemon drop in his mouth.

“Minerva said much the same thing,” replied Severus with some amusement and more than a little frustration. “However, I have more news of Mr. Potter that I felt was best addressed in person instead of by owl.”

“Of course, of course. Nothing is wrong, I hope?”

“I… cannot say for certain,” Severus stalled.

“Indeed?” Dumbledore asked, looking interested. Nodding, Severus continued.

“This morning I found myself host to Potter’s owl again. At her request I went to the Evans house and found something rather unusual.” Severus paused for a moment then ploughed on ahead, “There were bars over the boy’s window.”

“The Dursleys must have put them there for the boy’s protection, Severus. From what I hear the practice is not uncommon.”

“No, but what is uncommon is that they installed the bars over Lil- Potter’s bedroom window and none other. Those muggles bear watching.”

Looking troubled, Albus seemed to think on this for a while. Severus sat quietly and waited for his mentor to puzzle out whatever argument he was having with himself. Another person might have asked questions or otherwise interrupted, but Severus was loath to disrupt the thought processes of a brilliant mind such as Dumbledore’s. It would be rude, in any case.

“Did you happen to observe any troublesome behavior by Harry’s relatives?” Albus asked suddenly.

“I did not, though admittedly I did not stay with them for long. Petunia is much the same as she was when we were young, but I cannot speak about the characters of her husband and son.”

“Of course, of course,” the old wizard murmured, sounding troubled. “If I may ask yet another favor of you, Severus- would you investigate them?”

“It was my intention to do so.”

“Why, Severus, it sounds as if you’re beginning to care for the boy.” Albus’ eyes twinkled at him maddeningly from behind those half-moon spectacles.

“Care for the Potter brat!” Snape ejaculated. “Are you daft, Albus? I’m as likely to care for that sprog of James as Remus Lupin is to stop being a werewolf! I made a promise and I intend to keep it- and that’s the end of it!” With a huff and a great swish of his black robes, Severus made to leave.

“Severus.”

When he turned around to look at the Headmaster, Severus found himself pinned under a piercing gaze.

“Please try to remember that Harry is Lily’s son, too.”

The Potions Master simply left without another word.

 After the unexpectedly disruptive morning, Severus had every intention of retreating to his lab to brew potions. At the moment, it was less to fill Pomfrey's orders and more to do with avoiding all the unwanted questions that had been forming ever since Privet Drive was discovered empty. The fact that the potions he produced would make Poppy happy was just a bonus. Hedwig was sleeping in his sitting room when he Flooed in, but he spared her barely a glance before donning his brewing robes and descending into his lab.

There were two more weeks until the start of term, and in that time Severus established a routine in order to get his potions done and keep an eye on the Potter brat. In the mornings, after his usual breakfast tea, he would brew Potions until some time in the afternoon. The actual time he stopped to take a break would vary, depending on what he was brewing. After a break for sustenance, Severus would either finish the Daily Prophet or read one of his many books. When he felt it couldn’t be avoided any longer, he’d go to the old Evan’s house and stand as a silent and invisible sentinel, keeping watch on Potter.

The first two days of his vigil, nothing of particular consequence happened. If Potter wasn’t tending the garden or doing other chores, he was kept in his room. Hedwig would often spend the day sleeping in the oak tree just outside the boy’s window. Part of Severus wished he was an animagus so that he could get a closer look when Potter was stuck behind bars. He hoped that the boy had enough sense to do his summer homework while he was stuck up there.

After dinner, Severus had mostly free evenings. Since all the exam grading had to be done early on in the holidays so that the scores could be delivered to the students in a timely manner, he had very few professorial duties to attend to. He definitely did not envy Minerva, who would be working overtime to get all the Hogwarts Letters owled in time before the new semester. Not only that, but often she had to visit the homes of muggleborns to explain the letters sent out to all the prospective new Hogwarts students.

As it was, Severus had mostly free evenings. He would supervise Potter from afar for a while, then retreat to a pot of tea, biscuits, and good reading material. Hedwig always stayed with her wizard for a while, then joined Severus where he would idly stoke her feathers as he read. When it was time for him to retire in the evening, the snowy owl left again, presumably to go hunting.

On Wednesday was tea with the Malfoys.  Since he’d be busy in the afternoon, Severus spent part of the morning watching Potter instead. It was the same as the previous two days. Potter was kept in his room, let out once in the two hours that the Potions Master watched. After a very uneventful morning, he retreated to Spinner’s End.

There was some time for him to work yet, so Severus set a timer with a wave of his wand and started on a large batch of Blood-Replenishing potions. It would need to simmer for several hours, which it could do while he was away at Malfoy Manor. At quarter to three, Severus adjusted the heat under the cauldrons before getting ready for tea with the Malfoys. He chose to wear lighter summer robes, though they were still his trademark black color. They certainly weren’t top quality, but trying to show up a Malfoy was a fool’s errand. Severus didn’t really give a damn about what he wore, anyway. After making sure his house was securely warded against intruders, he Flooed to Malfoy Manor.

The resplendent green flames deposited him into the Floo Room of the opulent Malfoy estate. Most Purebloods with large ancestral homes like the Malfoys had special reception rooms for guests who travelled by Floo. This ensured that guests could have a moment of privacy to brush off soot and rearrange themselves before seeing their host. During the summer, Floo Rooms were the only rooms that kept a fire burning. From the looks of it, Narcissa had seen fit to redecorate. The room was swathed in light browns and other non offensive earth tones. A rich, thick, and expensive Persian rug covered the equally expensive marble floors. Most of the rugs in the Manor were of the same make, delicate patterns and bold colors all weaved in the most expensive silks. They were protected by a multitude of charms, of course. The fact that they were on the floor at all instead of hanging on the walls was simply another testament to the wealth of the Malfoys.

One of the many Malfoy House-Elves popped in just then, taking Severus’ cloak before leading him to the formal sitting room. This room was again different from the last time he’d been to the Manor. It was now decorated in a range of blues with cream and gold accents. On the floor was another silk Persian rug. Narcissa was waiting for him when they arrived, and stood up to greet him with a chaste kiss on the cheek. She was dressed in lavish grey robes that were light and airy and cut to fit her perfectly. The house-elf disappeared to wherever it was needed.

“It’s good to see you again, Severus,” Narcissa smiled warmly at him in the manner of a perfect hostess. It was a mask she wore well, and one could almost never tell if she truly enjoyed her guests or not. Severus rather thought that her feelings were always genuine when it came to him, though. After all, he’d known her and her husband for over twenty years.

“Always a pleasure, Narcissa,” he intoned back, projecting no small measure of fondness in his voice. He bent at the waist and kissed her hand, as was proper. She smiled demurely at him, then led him to a settee and chairs where they both sat.

“My husband will be with us shortly,” she told him.

“And Draco?”

“Here, Professor,” came the young boy’s voice from the doorway. The two adults watched as the Malfoy heir came into the room with as much grace as a twelve-year-old boy could achieve and sat on the couch next to his mother.

“Good day, Professor Snape. Have you been enjoying your holiday?” Draco asked, making polite small talk while they all waited for the Lord of the house.

“I have, Draco. Thank you. However, I’m sure your holiday has been far more interesting.” The professor eyed his student critically. It seemed that in the weeks since the end of semester, Draco had grown half a foot. In actuality, it was probably a mere inch or two, but children always seemed to grow like weeds. Except Potter, his mind supplied. He swore the boy was actually shrinking instead. Mentally frowning, he turned his attention back to the young Malfoy heir, who was getting ready to start regaling them all with tales of his summer exploits.

“Ah, Severus, how good it is to see you again,” Lucius Malfoy’s debonair voice interrupted his son before the boy could even start. “I do apologize for the delay. I had some… business… to attend to.”

“Of course,” Severus replied neutrally, standing up to clasp the Lord Malfoy’s forearm instead of shaking his hand. Purebloods, particularly men, often preferred to clasp forearms in a gesture of brotherhood or camaraderie in honor of fighting together in the past. If one knew to look, it was an easy way to identify a Death Eater. After greeting his wife and son with warm smiles (or as warm as Lucius ever got), he sat down in the chair that was between Severus’ chair and Narcissa’s end of the settee.

“I’m glad I finally got you out of that potions lab of yours, Severus,” Lucius began the conversation amicably. In the meantime, Narcissa called for a House-Elf and was busying herself with the tea service the elf provided.

“After spending ten months running after hundreds of dunderheaded students, I rather thought I deserved some time alone with my potions,” Severus replied.

“Of course, but your friends do like to see you every now and again,” the Lord Malfoy chuckled.

“Friends? I wasn’t aware I had any,” Severus remarked. It was mostly true, but if Lucius thought it was banter, all the better. After all, the best deception was entrenched in truth. Narcissa offered a cup of tea to him, and he took it graciously.

“Come now, Severus. We’ve known each other too long for words like that.”

“Perhaps I said it because we’ve known each other for so long,” the Potions Master snarked back, taking a sip of tea. The Lady Malfoy was now serving tea to her husband and son.

“That’s enough now, boys,” Narcissa chided good-naturedly. She put the pot back on the tea service and distributed biscuits.

“Of course, dear,” Lucius said, gracefully steering the conversation. Severus resigned himself to shallow and uninteresting small talk. This polite invitation to tea was just another mask of the Malfoys. Sooner or later, Lucius would take him aside and talk about the true reason for this visit. For now, though, it was all relatively inoffensive chatter accompanied with sweets and tea.

“I received an owl this morning by the Director of the Board of Governors this morning,” Lucius started, “Dumbledore is again pushing for more Board funding. Honestly, if the little half-bloods and mudbloods can’t afford top-notch Potions ingredients they shouldn’t be attending at all! No offense, Severus.”

“None taken, Lucius. The finer quality would simply be wasted on them.”

Relatively inoffensive, indeed. Severus had been trying to push the necessity of better quality potions kits for the students for years.

“Of course I mean to fight it, and the rest of the Board will follow my lead. Once we get rid of that meddling fool and replace him with a more qualified Headmaster, we’ll reconsider.”

Good luck, Severus thought dryly. Influential the Malfoys may be, but Dumbledore still held the hearts of the ordinary witch and wizard. Removing Dumbledore from the Headmaster position was still too ambitious yet. With luck, Albus would stay there at least until all danger of the Dark Lord passed.

Draco, who had been quiet in the conversation as expected of him, chimed in now. It was no secret that the boy wanted to be Slytherin’s Seeker, and apparently it would happen through sheer force and daddy’s purse-strings. Severus cared for Draco, he really did, but sometimes he wondered if the hat placed the boy in the wrong house.

“Father, may I show my independent projects to Professor Snape now?” the young Malfoy heir pleaded.

“Of course you may, son. You are excused,” Lucius said. As Severus made to stand up and follow Draco out of the room, Lucius called him back.

“Severus, if you would meet me in my study afterwards, I’d be much appreciative.”

As the two of them set off for Draco’s rooms, Severus decided to strike up a conversation with the only being in the Manor who was likely to be unguarded around him.

“So what’s this I hear about independent projects?” He asked, and Draco visibly hesitated.

“Father wasn’t too happy when he got my test scores from last semester. They weren’t bad, but that Mudblood Granger got top scores in everything,” the blond ground out, frustrated. “I mean, I got top scores in Potions and Transfiguration, but Granger got perfect scores. On everything. I’ve been learning about wizarding history my entire life and I still missed a few of the finer points in Binn’s exam.”

“You’re not the only one, I promise,” Severus replied. It was a widely-accepted fact that no one took History of Magic seriously. Well, almost.

“That’s not the point!” Draco insisted as they drew near to the hallway that contained the entrance to his rooms. “She’s just a filthy little Mudblood, and she did better than me. Me, a Malfoy! Malfoys are supposed to be the best!” The child was working himself up into a frenzy and needed to be soothed before he had a full-blown fit.

“Draco,” the professor said calmly, turning the child to face him by placing a hand on his shoulder. He then knelt so they could talk face-to-face.

“I understand that you’re frustrated, but you must listen to me. Miss Granger is a talented witch, especially considering her upbringing. However, you must not compare yourself to her and treat your own achievements so harshly. Granger is a competent brewer, but for all her precision, she lacks the ability to think outside the cauldron. Part of being a master Potions brewer is the ability to create without restriction, and she simply lacks the inspiration. You, on the other hand… well, weren’t you about to show me your own independent projects?”

Draco offered a tentative smile, and Severus rewarded him with a rare smile of his own. “Come, enough about your classmates. I’m interested to know what you’ve learned.”

“Yes, Professor!” Draco exclaimed, and resumed his original task.

Roughly an hour later, the Potions Master was stalking through the dark halls of Malfoy Manor towards Lucius’ study. After the emotional outburst, Draco had quickly livened up and proudly showed his favorite professor the projects he’d done over the summer. There weren’t any groundbreaking findings, but Draco was still young and had yet to delve into the deeper aspects of Potion-Brewing. All the same, Severus was proud of the young Malfoy’s ambition and desire to explore. In time, he could prove to be an innovative Potions Master if he chose. Truthfully, Draco wouldn’t have to work a day in his life. Lucius certainly never entertained the idea. As far as the Lord Malfoy was concerned, sitting on his gold and meddling around in politics were all he should be accounted for. And if he did some Death Eater activities on the side? Well, it was only what he deserved. Shaking that thread of thought before it dredged up too many unpleasant thoughts, Severus knocked on the door to Lucius’ study.

After being called in, he opened the door to the largest and most grand study in the Manor. The walls, where they weren’t covered in black wood bookcases, were a deep and handsome green. The floor was marble like most of the public spaces in the Manor were. On the floor was yet another rich Persian rug, this one in deep greens and other dark earth colors. All the furniture was made of black wood and smooth black leather. The hearth on the wall closest to the door was unlit, which was not uncommon in the heat of summer. Lucius was behind a great, solid, black desk and sitting in an extravagant leather chair accented with stately brass buttons. Severus took the empty seat on the other side of the desk, and Lucius poured out two glasses of Superior Red, a wine from one of the Malfoy estates. For many long moments, they sat in silence, neither ready to give up the game. Who would play his hand first?

“This is a vintage from my grandfather’s time,” Lucius said appreciatively, holding his glass up so the deep red wine was caught in the light coming through the study windows. After examining the color, the Lord swirled the wine then took a sniff before finally tasting. Apparently, it was palatable. As if the Malfoys would settle for anything less than exquisite.  

“I apologize for making you come all this way, Severus. Some things just shouldn’t be put to parchment.”

“A wise choice, even in times of relative peace such as these.”

“So you know what it is I wish to discuss?” Lucius’ careful mask seemed to be marred only by a raised brow, but that was yet another mask. Few ever saw beyond the many guises of a Malfoy.

“I suspected.” The two sat in silence again for a time, brooding and sipping the fine red wine. It was again Lucius that broke the silence.

“There have been whispers, Severus. They have been swirling for a while now, like a fine morning mist, but only recently have they come directly across my path.”

“Oh? And what do these whispers tell you?” Severus had a feeling he already knew.

“He is gathering his strength again. I’m sure you remember the debacle last year with the- what was it- the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“Yes. I never even suspected Quirrell, couldn’t tell he was a servant to the Dark Lord at all. I might have offered my services if I’d known.” Lies, of course. Snape had suspected Quirrell the entire time, although he was curious as to why his Mark never burned. Perhaps the Dark Lord had simply been too weak.

“It was a good move, using such a quivering and weak man to use as a host,” Lucius added. “I had no suspicions about him either, thought he was a bit touched in the head from his brief encounters with Dark creatures. Honestly, using a Muggle Studies professor to teach Defense…” The blond man trailed off with a smirk. “In any case, our Lord has designs on Hogwarts yet again.”

“May I inquire as to what these designs entail?”

“You may.” The smirk widened. Severus knew there was no use trying to get information from the man when he was in this sort of mood.

“I only have Slytherin house’s best interest in mind. Never let it be said I don’t protect my own.”

Lucius hummed noncommittally. “Speaking of students, how is our beloved Boy-Who-Lived doing?”

“Why would I know such a thing?” Severus asked, purposefully playing dumb.

“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps because that old fool Dumbledore loves to keep you so close? I’m sure you have some idea of what the little brat is up to.”

“The boy was sent off to those muggle relatives of his, of course. Dumbledore wouldn’t risk putting the Boy-Who-Lived anywhere else. However, he’s not so gone yet that he’s let slip the location to me.” The biggest lie he’d told yet today. Albus had practically made him Potter’s keeper.

“Pah! Muggles!” Lucius spat. “Even that noxious little half-blood deserves better than that. I’ve tried, Severus, to persuade the Minister to put the boy in my care, but Dumbledore… well, it simply hasn’t been possible. Both Narcissa and I have tried, ever since the Dark Lord fell.”

“I can’t imagine Draco would be too happy about it if you somehow managed to get custody of the Potter brat now. They’ve built quite a schoolboy rivalry.”

“Draco still has much to learn about making ‘friends’. I’m afraid I must put his training in your hands, now. Narcissa and I were so happy to finally have a healthy son and heir that we appear to have spoiled him.”

Too true, unfortunately. Severus thought. The boy was attention-seeking and far too eager to gain approval of his betters. If Draco wanted to truly rule the Slytherins, he’d have to stop throwing his father’s name around and actually show the cunning and ambition the house was supposed to stand for.

Finally, Severus had to make his excuses to leave.

“Regrettably, I must be going. I have a large batch of Blood-Replenishing potions brewing at the moment.”

“Of course, Severus. I know how dreadfully busy you are, what with your Head of House duties and your obligations as Potions Master. If all goes to plan, you’ll see me at Hogwarts soon enough.”

A House-Elf escorted him back to the Floo Room and from there he Flooed back to Spinner’s End. The visit to Malfoy Manor had given him even more to think about. Clearly, Lucius had a plan of sorts in the works, but it was anyone’s guess as to what it entailed. Hedwig was still in his sitting room and gave him a hoot in greeting upon his arrival. After changing into his brewing robes, Severus took care of the potions that had been simmering for hours. They were nearly the right color now, and would soon need tending to.

When the potions were at last the right shade of red, Severus added the final ingredient; finely powdered Chrysocolla. With the introduction of the blue stone, the solution turned royal purple and after exactly 30 stirs anticlockwise, the potion was finished. The Potions Master expertly decanted and bottled the batch and then cleaned up. He had some thinking to do.

After all was put away, Severus went back up the stairs and boiled water for tea. While this brew was nowhere near the quality he’d tasted earlier that day, it was decidedly more comforting. The water was soon ready and he retreated to the sitting room with the tray floating sedately behind him.

While he’d gained some insight into what Lucius had been planning, Severus was frustrated with the lack of information regarding the Malfoy House-Elf that visited Potter. There was always the chance the brat had been lying, but he didn’t think that was the case. The little Gryffindor couldn’t be deceptive if his life depended on it. Speaking of Potter, there was some investigating left to do. In the confusion when the boy went ‘missing’, some rather undesirable possibilities came to light. Severus had a hypothesis, and he was determined to test it the following day. His mind made up, the prickly professor settled in for the night with a book and his pot of tea before retiring to bed.

The next morning, Severus meant to test his hypothesis as soon as possible. After tea and a brief look at the Prophet, he gathered up Hedwig and went to the Evans-now-Dursley house.

Discreetly, Severus cast a magic detection charm. As expected, there were the barest traces of Lily’s magic, and the subtle magic of the wards that protected Potter. As for Potter himself… His magic was there, but had nowhere near the amount of presence most wizards and witches had at that age. Had Potter ever done an impressive feat of magic? Severus had a habit of tuning out the other professors when they talked about Potter, so he didn’t know how well the brat did in his other classes. Nevertheless, the charm’s results only added weight to the growing unease that Severus felt. He left Hedwig to keep watch while he retreated to Spinner’s End.

At last, Severus couldn’t avoid the questions and problems rattling around in his head. It was time to think about the Potter situation, as unsavory as he found the task. Severus sat in his favorite armchair in front of the currently cold fireplace. There were many things to consider, so he might as well get comfortable. Was Harry Potter, the prophesied Savior of the Wizarding World, abused?  

Well, the fact that no one had even considered the possibility wasn’t hard to believe. Abusing magical children had dire consequences, and as such it was nearly unheard of in the Wizarding World. Purebloods were on the forefront of movements to abolish such behavior. For all of their holier-than-thou attitudes, Purebloods did care about children. In fact, children (and having them) were considered a sacred thing. It was when you took muggleborns and half-bloods into account that things got… unpleasant. Severus knew this firsthand, growing up with a Pureblood mother and a muggle father. Of course, the situation wasn’t unique to muggleborns. While Purebloods would scarcely strike a child either physically or magically, there was one area that was sorely neglected. After all, verbal abuse didn’t leave a lasting mark. At least, not visibly.

Minerva and Molly had been absolutely livid when they realized that Harry’s magic left only the barest traces on Privet Drive, and rightly so. One of the reasons the Wizarding World found child abuse so abhorrent was for the detrimental effect such experiences have on the child’s magical core. Young magical children who are abused either learn to wield their magic like a weapon or suppress it. Both were incredibly dangerous. Often, the children that suppress it do it because they think they deserve the abuse they receive. Additionally, they may become afraid of their own abilities. Such a phenomenon was particularly common in abused muggleborns. Consequently, their magic rarely intervenes and is kept shut away. While wild magic does occur, a strong will can reign it in.

Considering what he now knew since the fiasco with three Weasleys and a flying car, Severus suspected he knew why Potter was so magically nonexistent. It was just an idea, mind. There was only so much that he could speculate, and only so much he could do when the child in question never saw fit to tell an adult anything. Severus would reprimand the boy except for the fact that the pot would be calling the kettle black.

Was the great Harry Potter suppressing his magic unknowingly? If so, what the hell would any of the professors at Hogwarts be able to do about it? In all likelihood, the boy had no idea he was doing it. Nutritional supplements and potions would help, although getting Potter to take them would be… tricky. Unless he had no idea he was ingesting them at all. That was a thought. If he could convince the House Elves to lace Potter’s pumpkin juice at mealtimes, that would be a considerable help.

At long last, Severus came to a particular clue that he hadn’t been able to fully disregard no matter how many times he tried to push the memory away. The cupboard under the stairs and the words ‘Harrys Room’ had very serious implications. The red mark on Potter’s neck that could only have been a forming bruise came to mind. So far, it looked like there was possible neglect and some physical abuse.

Eventually, Severus had to concede that Potter might be mistreated. It was extremely likely that abuse had happened in the past. Hoping that the behavior had stopped as some point was giving too much credit to Petunia and her family. The only way he’d really know for sure is if Potter told him, and that was as unlikely as surviving the Killing Curse.

So, what was the next move going to be? Both Minerva and Molly had made protests to Dumbledore’s face and had gotten brushed off. No, the situation necessitated more delicate maneuvering. Proof would be needed, as well as subtle manipulation of the right people. Most of all, he needed the child to say the decisive words himself. Severus was under no illusions that the process would be quick. Indeed, he’d be lucky to achieve his goal in a year.

After some more deliberation, Severus pushed himself out of the chair and went upstairs to the heavy wood desk in his office. Parchment and ink were summoned, and a letter drafted. He would “suggest” to Dumbledore that Harry spend the last week of summer with the Weasleys. It was only a temporary measure, but at this juncture it was the best option he had. After all, the Weasleys favored the boy. Let him be their problem for a week.

Hedwig came back to the house that evening, and Severus was waiting for her with the letter and owl treats.

“Care to make a delivery?”

The owl bobbed her head then stuck out her leg, to which the letter was soon attached. After snapping up the treats offered, she took off on powerful wings to Dumbledore with the first of many steps to ensure the future well-being of the wizard she was so loyal to.