He was wearing Dudley's ratty hand-me-downs. Though he'd considered buying new clothes -- shoes in particular -- when he'd made his first shopping trip just for himself, ever, he hadn't. He'd been sensible, instead, knowing that anything non-school related he bought would just be ruined or tossed out by the Dursleys when he returned from Hogwarts.

Nothing good ever lasted long for Harry. He supposed that it was just the way that things went for little boys whose relatives had to take them in and provide for them in spite of not wanting to.

He shouldn't be having these thoughts. They were wretched, ungrateful thoughts, and Harry wasn't ungrateful.

Really. He wasn't. He knew that he'd be living in an orphanage (and he'd heard all sorts of horror stories about that) if the Dursleys hadn't been kind enough to take him in. He might've even ended up running away and living on the streets if it hadn't been for their generosity.

Harry just sometimes wished that he could have nice things, like Dudley did. Things that would last a long time. Clothes that fit him properly. Books and toys he could call his own. Things the Dursleys wouldn't take away from him the minute he was given them. Like the gifts he'd gotten from his teachers and classmates in primary school, or those Mrs. Figg sometimes gave him whenever she watched him when the Dursleys went on family vacations.

Orphans didn't go on family vacations. They didn't get presents for birthdays or Easter or Christmas. They were provided for -- given a roof over their heads, food that could be spared, clothing, and a purpose.

Harry's purpose was to serve his family. Do the chores he was given, without complaining, and, as far as he was able, to never be seen or heard unless he was wanted. It was tricky business, but, most of the time he managed to accomplish these things. Once upon a time, he'd foolishly thought that he'd earn their love this way. He hadn't. Probably never would.

He also, according to his aunt and uncle, had an obligation, not only to the Dursleys, but to the world, to get his freakishness under control. A freakishness he'd recently learned had a name: magic.

His uncle had explained it all very carefully, and in great detail, to him one day when he'd asked why he had to stay in his cupboard during Christmas dinner, and why Dudley got presents, but he didn't. Though he was only four at the time, Harry remembered that talk as though his uncle had only just spoken to him yesterday. He'd memorized it over the years, drawing comfort from it whenever he was left out of celebrations, or made to cook elaborate dishes that he'd never taste. He was fulfilling his purpose, earning his keep.

Harry knew exactly where he stood with his relatives. He wasn't as stupid as the Dursleys liked to pretend he was. He was a quick learner. He knew what he could and could not get away with. Knew what would earn him a thrashing, and what would get him locked up for weeks at a time. He knew how to avoid Dudley and his 'Harry hunting' friends, and how to egg them on if he was itching for a fight. Though he knew he'd lose any fight he got into with Dudley's crew, sometimes a fight was just what he needed to remind him of what he had, who he was, and where he stood in the world.

In spite of all of that, Harry learned that he had a lot of control, once he understood all of the rules. Many of them were unspoken. All of them seemed unfairly balanced against him, but Harry knew that he had no control over that. While he couldn't control or change the rules, or his relatives, he could, and did manipulate them. Not that it did him much good.

When Hagrid had found him that stormy night on his eleventh birthday, and told him the truth about who and what he was, Harry hadn't believed him at first. It was as though the world had started spinning in the opposite direction when his aunt verified it -- he, Harry Potter, freak and troublemaker (though he tried to avoid getting on his relatives' bad side, most of the time, it seemed inevitable) was a wizard.

His freakish tendencies, like talking to and understanding snakes, popping onto roofs, making his hair grow long after his aunt cut it, were all because he was filled with magic. Just like his mother and father who hadn't died in a car accident. According to Hagrid they'd been murdered. At the time, it had all been overwhelming. It was still a little overwhelming and Harry felt the urge to pinch himself often, just to prove that he wasn't asleep.

He no longer understood his purpose. Didn't know what his role in the world was, now that his freakishness had been explained, and justified by a half giant and his fearful, hateful aunt.

Harry didn't yet understand the rules of this world in which magic existed. Didn't know what would earn a punishment, or what that punishment would entail. Would food be withheld? Would he be locked up in a tight space? Would he be hit?

So far, he'd just gotten house points taken away, and had to serve detention, which, while unpleasant, wasn't completely horrible. It was better than a belting, or being stuck in his stuffy cupboard for days on end with nothing to do.

Harry wasn't counting on those types of punishments to last, though. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for Snape, or McGonagall, or Dumbledore, or one of the other professors to wallop him, or take something more than just points from him.

From the moment he'd set eyes on Hogwarts, though, and in spite of  his misgivings,Harry had felt like he'd come home for the first time in his life. He breathed easier within her walls, slept better, definitely ate better.

Hogwarts was...love. It felt to Harry like the castle had, not only welcomed him, but also embraced him, accepted him as one of her very own.

It was a strange thought, and Harry wasn't entirely certain that he understood what love was, because the Dursleys didn't love him, and his own parents had died when he was just a baby. Much too soon for them to actually love him.

His aunt and uncle had told him as much, though, not exactly in those words. Harry knew how to read between the lines. Understood what he meant to his aunt and uncle by what they didn't say to him as much as what they did say to him.

They spoke to him through chores and punishments. Through the cramped cupboard under the stairs that was his room for the first eleven years of his life.

He understood that he was a burden to his aunt and uncle. A freak. An ungrateful (really, he wasn't) brat who would never amount to much.

He understood that he wasn't loved. Wasn't liked. Wasn't worthy of those things that 'normal' people took for granted -- friends, clothing that fit, food, warmth in the winter, a cold drink of water in the summer. No, Harry wasn't worthy of those kinds of things, because he was a burden and a freak, and his parents died before they could really and truly love him.

Startled by a rustling movement in the trees, Harry picked his foot up and grimaced when his shoe almost got stuck in the mud. He frowned down at his shoes. They were waterlogged, and full of holes. They made a squelching sound whenever he took a step, and, to make matters worse, it was raining, and he was lost in some kind of watery swamp.

The other shoe, it seemed, had dropped.

It was supposed to be a grand adventure -- a treasure hunt set up by Madame Hooch to familiarize the first years with the school grounds -- but it had gone south rather quickly. At least it had for Harry who'd gotten separated from the rest of the first years when he'd gone after Neville's Rembembrall after one of Draco's friends (that boy was pure evil, Harry was certain of it) had tossed it into the forest (again).

This time, Harry hadn't ended up getting his own broom and a place on the Quidditch team, which was another surprise he'd not been expecting. He should've been punished, maybe kicked out of Hogwarts, even.

Instead, he'd gotten turned around, and had lost sight of the others, and was now wandering the forest, looking for his way back to the castle. He feared his days at Hogwarts were numbered. There was no way that he'd be getting out of punishment for this. It would be back to his cozy cupboard at Dursleys for him. Back to chores that gave him purpose.

Snape ought to be happy, Harry thought. He's had it in for me since the first moment he set eyes on me. Forget love at first sight; I'll only know hate at first sight.

His thoughts, or maybe it was a combination of the cold, the steady rain, and the numbing terror of being lost in the Forbidden Forest made him giggle. His giggles soon turned into sobs, and he sunk to his knees in the ankle deep water.

He clutched his wand to his chest, and swiped at his tears with the cuff of his robes. No doubt Dudley and Uncle Vernon would poke fun at him if they caught him in this getup. They'd probably call him a girl, or a wuss, or something worse.

He wished that he knew magic well enough to cast a spell that would bring him back to Hogwarts, or show him the way to get back. Better yet, he wished that he had his broom with him.

A very bleak future stretched out before him as he pictured himself lost forever. Sure, he wouldn't have to go back to the Dursleys, or deal with Snape's unfair treatment of him, but he'd never get to see Ron, or that know-it-all Hermione, or clumsy, forgetful Neville, or any of his maybe friends (the first he'd ever really had) again.

He'd wander the forest, forever alone until he died of hunger or thirst. Maybe, if he learned how to hunt, and could find fresh water that didn't stink like sewer, he'd become a keeper of the forest, or something like that.

Spirits boosted by the thought of being useful, of having a purpose in the woods he was currently lost in, Harry stood, and blinked away his tears. He squared his shoulders, and held his head high and started walking. He could do this, he could survive, just like Mowgli in The Jungle Book.

Harry didn't know if there were jaguars and bears in Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest, or what kinds of creatures he'd meet up with, but he was ready to find out. He just hoped that there weren't any creatures that would try to eat him, or his adventure would be very short-lived.

Sneezing, Harry ignored the tickle at the back of his throat, the way that the rain collected on his glasses, and the headache that was starting to make itself known. At the very least, he had to get out of this swampy water before it started to get dark. He refused to think about still being lost in the Forbidden Forest once the sun went down, the place was dark enough already.

“Right, first things first, Harry,” he spoke the words aloud, needing to hear another voice, even if it was just his own. “Find shelter.”

He sneezed again, but pulled one foot up out of the muddy water and put it down again. He marched forward, a plan in place, and determination in his heart. He might not be on the adventure that Madame Hooch had planned for them, but he was on his own adventure, and would make the most of it.

He would survive this, just like that time he’d survived being locked outside of the house overnight too many years ago to count. It had been cold and dark and he’d been without a coat. At one point, his teeth had chattered, he’d shivered so hard, and then he grew used to the cold. He’d had a head cold for an entire week afterwards, but he’d survived the experience.

Harry was made of stronger stuff than what his relatives thought. He was a good boy, no matter what they said. And, though they might never love him, he knew that Hogwarts, and maybe Ron and Hermione (as friends) did.

“That boy is more trouble than he’s worth,” Severus muttered to himself as he limped down the stairs leading from the castle. He, as well as the majority of the staff, had been summoned to search for the attention-seeking boy who’d somehow managed to get himself separated from the rest of the first years during class.

The injury to his leg was in fact something that he could lay at Potter’s feet, even if Albus thought he was being unfair. The boy had a knack for being where he shouldn’t be when he shouldn’t be there, and Severus had an inkling that Potter might end up being the death of him before the boy graduated from Hogwarts.

He rolled his eyes toward the stormy sky and begged Merlin for patience and strength to survive the year, let alone the rest of what he’d been thinking of as ‘The Potter Years’.

Trust Potter to wander off during class and get lost somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, no doubt Minerva would pin a medal on the boy this time for bravery or some other fabricated rubbish, he thought.

Severus was still smarting over her making the boy her Quidditch team’s Seeker after the stunt he’d pulled during Madame Hooch’s class earlier in the year. That he’d managed to get himself in trouble a second time during the good witch’s class only served to further implicate him as the troublemaker that Severus had him pegged as.

Potter’s exactly like his father. This time the apple did not fall far from the tree, Severus continued on in his uncharitable thoughts. Surely, after this, Albus and the others would see the truth of what he’d been saying of Potter all along, that he was an attention-seeking, selfish, spoiled brat.

“Do you think they’ll find Harry, Ron?” the bushy haired girl, Granger, asked the redhead. Both students were soaked to the bone and huddled together as they walked up the stairs. Her face was scrunched up in concern and Severus resisted the urge he had to scowl at her.

“You two should be inside the castle,” Severus said, tone curt. He pointed toward the double-doors and ignored the glare that Weasley shot at him.

“Leave Potter finding to the professors.” He allowed himself a small, grim smile that, judging by Weasley’s gasp, had been mistaken for a look of pure evil.

“Maybe we should be out there, looking for him, ‘Mione,” Ron whispered as they passed Severus. “You know Snape’s got it in for Harry.”

“Oh, hush, Ron,” Granger chided her friend. “He’s a professor, he’s not going to hurt Harry. You two are...”

Whatever else Miss Granger had to say on the topic was lost in a loud clap of thunder. Severus snorted, and shook his head as he hurried down the stairs as fast as his injured leg would let him. Not that he thought he should be rushing anywhere to help Potter out of the predicament that he’d gotten himself into.

No doubt that this was just another ploy for him to get even more attention and love lavished on him than he already had. If Severus had his way, the boy would be serving the rest of the school year in detentions for causing such an uproar at the school. Classes had been canceled for the rest of the afternoon, and the professors who’d not been employed in the search for Potter were keeping an eye on the students who’d been sequestered in the castle until the boy was found.

“For Lily,” he muttered to himself, grimacing, and nodding when he caught Albus’ eye.

He did everything for Lily. Though the witch hadn’t loved him when she’d been alive, he’d loved her. Loved her, in a manner of speaking, to death, which was why he found himself chasing after Potter on what felt like an almost daily basis, because Potter was a trouble-magnet, and Severus was bound to, if not love and dote on him, keep him as safe as he could. Potter didn’t make that easy at all.

The elder wizard was worried, Severus could see it in the distinct lack of twinkle in the wizard’s eyes, and in the tight lines around his mouth. Albus’ lips moved soundlessly, and Severus felt his robes dry, as his mentor cast a spell to dry him, and then shelter him from the rain. He acknowledged the action with a brief smile and nod of his head, and then walked toward the area of the forest he’d been conscripted to search.

The other professors were either just beginning their own search, or well on their way toward hopefully finding Potter. This time, when the brat was found, Severus would have a say in doling out punishment for the boy. No matter what any of the other professors said, or how they tried to excuse his behavior, Severus felt that Potter was bordering on a pathological disregard for authority and school rules.

If they didn’t tamp down on it now, and punish him accordingly, and harshly, his actions would become worse over time. They were doing no one favors by letting the boy get away with breaking the rules and flaunting it in their faces.

If anything, they were doing Potter, and the other students, a great disservice by putting up with Potter’s shenanigans by setting a poor example, and showing themselves as weak. It never boded well for schools that pandered to their students, and let them get away with misbehavior. It made the professors look incompetent and stripped them of their power.

Students needed to be guided by a strict hand, and they needed, if nothing else, consistent, black and white rules to follow. Severus disliked how Albus often turned a blind eye toward misbehavior from students, or excused them outright with some kind of inane saying: “They’re just kids.” or “Boys will be boys.”

If a student was sent to Albus, he’d offer him a candy, listen to his side of the story, and lecture him about following rules, or something bland like that, and then send him back to class, or his dorm. Nothing ever happened, and it irked Severus to no end.

Maybe, if someone had punished James Potter, Black, Pettigrew and Lupin properly when they’d bullied him, Severus would never have joined the ranks of the Death Eaters. Maybe he wouldn’t be plodding through the darkening Forbidden Forest during a rainstorm, searching for James Potter’s rotten progeny.

He could have made a name for himself, maybe won Lily’s hand in marriage, instead of severing their relationship with words uttered in anger and frustration. Words he’d never really meant to aim at her, but words which had, nonetheless been said, and could never be taken back no matter how many times he replayed that fate-sealing moment in his mind.

“Potter!” Severus called, muttering a lumos spell to light his way. “Potter, stop this nonsense and show yourself.”

He stopped, hand pressed against a tree, and listened. The sound of the rain hitting the leaves would have been a pleasant, soothing sound were he in a better mood, and were he not hunting for Potter when he could be inside the considerably dryer, warm castle walls.

“Potter!” Severus called again, before shoving off of the tree and moving on.

He kept an eye and an ear attuned to any sign of the boy, and ploughed on through the forest. This little trek through the forest was definitely not on his list of top ten things to do on a rainy day. Not that he kept a top ten list of anything, rain related or otherwise.

“Potter!”

He alternated walking with stopping to call the boy’s name, his leg aching, and his spirits definitely dampening as he walked on without any sign of spotting the recalcitrant boy, or sparks being shot off by another professor indicating that he or she had found him. The rain increased steadily as the afternoon wore on, and Severus had no desire to continue this useless search for Potter.

It was like searching for a needle in a haystack, and Severus reasoned that, when the boy had first come to Hogwarts, he did appear to be a little on the almost too thin side. Not that he cared, or thought the boy was being starved by his relatives. He just happened to, along with over half of the staff, notice how malnourished Potter had appeared to be. Severus couldn’t be faulted for noticing that, or the way the boy flinched from time to time when someone got a little too close, or touched him when he wasn’t expecting it; he wasn’t blind after all.

“Not blind, but I can’t find one scrawny little boy in a forest,” Severus muttered to himself as he pushed past a low hanging branch. Water spilled down on his head, and he was grateful for the spell that Albus had cast on him to keep him dry.

Potter did not have the benefit of having such a spell cast upon him. No doubt the boy was soaked and well on his way toward wearing his immune system down. He’d probably be sick by the time he was found, and Severus would have to brew pepper-up, as well as other health boosting potions to nurse the boy back to good health.

Severus scowled into the gathering darkness and pointed his lit wand ahead of him. When he found Potter, sick or not, the boy was going to be left without a doubt as to the nature of his wrongs, and just what he intended to do about them.

“Detention for the remainder of the school year, for starters,” Severus growled. “No unsupervised free-time, an escort to and from classes, and meals,” his voice grew louder as he continued to tick off the long list of Potter’s punishments that he was going to, come hell or high water, insist upon once the boy was found and returned to the safety of the castle.

He wasn’t even aware that he’d walked well past the point where he was supposed to turn around and head back to the castle, Potter in hand or not,  until he was at the tail end of his disciplinary action plan for Potter. It had grown from an admittedly full blown rant into something much more tangible that Severus was convinced would be good for the boy. Not to mention the preservation of his own life and sanity.

Severus turned in a wide circle, lit wand held high, illuminating the woods around him. It had grown darker, wetter, though the rain was now petering out, and decidedly colder. Winter was well on its way, and now, even Severus was starting to worry for Potter’s safety. He searched the sky for signs of sparks indicating that Potter had been found, but there was nothing.

Potter was still somewhere out in the forest, and Severus was supposed to turn around and report back with Albus and the others, regather their efforts before night settled in. He pinched the bridge of his nose and ground his teeth, and, instead of turning around, he headed further into the woods.

“Foolish,” he whispered and shook his head. He was no foolhardy Gryffindor with a hero-complex. The sensible thing to do was turn around and meet with Albus and the others, create a new search grid and head back out. Still, his legs kept carrying him forward, as though possessed, and he let them.

“Potter!” he called, and stood still, waiting, listening, inwardly cursing himself for his stupidity. And then he heard it, a soft noise that, had he continued on his forward march, he would’ve missed entirely.

“Harry Potter!”

He held his breath, kept his illuminated wand held out in front of him and listened, hoping he hadn’t happened upon an angry centaur or some other creature of the forest that would be happier to harm him than it would be to leave him be. He heard the noise again, and tried to make sense of it.

“Mr. Potter, if you are there, answer me this instant,” Severus spoke in a clipped tone and waited, with bated breath, for an answer.

All that his edict met was an eerie silence, punctuated by a series of quiet sneezes. He waited an impatient count of ten, matched to the beat of his own heart, and just as he opened his mouth to threaten Potter to a number of detentions preparing flubberworms for potions if he didn’t answer him, the boy stepped into view.

“Professor?” Potter shielded his eyes from the light of Severus’ wand and swayed on his feet.

He was a mess from head to toe. His robes were plastered to him from the heavy downpour, his glasses were covered in rain spots, Severus doubted that the boy could see much of anything right now. Potter shivered and wrapped his arms around his chest.

“Mr. Potter, are you aware of the kerfuffle that your actions have caused today?” Severus stepped closer to the boy, noting that Potter’s swaying had increased considerably, and he seemed to have misplaced one of his shoes. The shoe that remained was woefully inadequate and raggedy.

“Kerfuffle, Sir?” Potter’s voice was hoarse, and he rubbed at his forehead, eyes squinting as though he was in pain.

“Yes, commotion, Potter,” Severus explained, and he rolled his eyes when Potter’s forehead scrunched with confusion. “You’ve got half the staff of Hogwarts searching for you, not to mention your friends worried sick over you.”

“Oh, sorry,” Potter said, and then he swayed precariously to the left, and Severus moved to intercept before he fell face first onto the forest floor.

“Sorry? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Severus scolded as he helped the boy to his feet.

When Potter swayed, again, Severus pursed his lips and picked the boy up. He was light, but Severus didn’t relish the thought of hauling Potter through the forest, back to Hogwarts and the Hospital Wing. Potter was sick, just as he’d thought the boy would be. He had a fever, and was shivering. His eyes, so much like Lily’s, were glassy, and his cheeks were a rosy red.

Potter sneezed, and then started coughing. He looked away from Severus’ scrutiny as though embarrassed, and tried to push himself out of Severus’ arms.

“I didn’t mean to get lost,” Potter mumbled.

“Stay still, Potter,” Severus growled, and Potter ceased moving immediately. “Make this easier on the both of us.”

Potter nodded, and bit his lip. He had his wand clutched tightly in his hand and was looking at some point in the distance. Avoiding Severus’ gaze.

“I’ve got to notify the others that I’ve found you,” Severus explained, and he used his wand to send colorful sparks up into the air, signaling his success.

The sky was lit up with acknowledging sparks, and Severus breathed a little easier, though he still had Potter to contend with. The boy looked like he’d had a very rough time of it, though Severus reasoned that he’d only gotten what he deserved for wandering off like he had.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Potter whispered, and he fumbled around in his pocket for something, finally pulling out what looked like a Remembrall. Severus held his tongue and took the trinket from Potter. He stuffed it into his pocket.

“Crabbe threw it into the woods when Madame Hooch wasn’t looking,” Potter explained.

“I see, and you thought that you’d go retrieve it.” Severus rolled his eyes and started heading back toward the castle, casting a silent drying spell that caused Potter to sigh in relief.

“Except, well, I somehow got turned around, Sir.” Potter frowned and coughed into his hand. “I didn’t mean to get lost.”

“That’s all very well and good, Potter, but it seems to me that you don’t mean to do an awful lot of the things that you do. Tell me, do you like having the entirety of Hogwarts at your very beck and call? Are you that starved for attention that you need all of the adults, and your fellow students worried about you?”

Potter fisted his hand and shook his head. His face colored, and Severus once more found himself holding his tongue, and counting to ten.

“I don’t want any of that,” Potter said, his words quiet and yet fierce. “I am supposed to be quiet and out of sight except for when I’m wanted. I’m supposed to keep a lid on my freakishness, and not draw attention to myself.” The words were spoken like a mantra, and Severus frowned down at the boy, steps faltering a little as the implication of the words hit him.

“Exactly what is that supposed to mean, Potter?” Severus asked, hoping that the boy’s fever would keep him talking long enough to give him some insight into his home life. Something that he’d heard Minerva, and some of the other staff, talking about. Many of them believed that Potter’s homelife was not ideal, and that he should be removed from his aunt and uncle’s home. Severus had scoffed at the idea, refusing to believe any of the gossip. He was not a gossipmonger, nor did he wish to be mistaken for one.

Potter closed his eyes and shrugged. He picked at a sleeve, and rested his head against Severus’ chest, having finally decided that it would do him little good to attempt to break free from Severus’ hold. Apparently even Potter’s had a limit to their damnable pride, and understood when to be sensible from time-to-time.

“It means, Sir,” Potter said, and Severus could hear that the boy was gritting his teeth, that he was trying hard to keep his temper under control. It was a good sign.

“It means that I, that...” Potter drew in a deep, shuddering breath and sneezed. “That I need to be punished,” he whispered the last part.

“And what kind of punishment do you need to receive?” Severus asked, careful to step over a rather large, gnarled root that would’ve sent him crashing to the ground had he not caught it just in time.

Potter took a deep breath, as though fortifying himself. “Food should be withheld,” he said, voice filled with conviction.

Severus silenced his inner voice, when it attempted to chastise him for thinking that Potter was a spoiled reincarnation of James Potter; it sounded an awful lot like Minerva. He continued to question Potter.

“And for how long should food be withheld?”

Potter was silent for so long that Severus chanced a look at him. He was surprised to find that Potter was watching him, and seemed to be considering the question very carefully. Maybe calculating days, or weighing his options.

“At least a week,” he bit his lip, eyes gauging Severus’ reaction, as though waiting for approval or denial of the timeframe.

Severus frowned, his gut sinking with the realization that Potter was intimately familiar with this form of punishment.

Potter blanched and swallowed, mistaking Severus’ frown for disapproval. “Two weeks,” he said, biting his lip and looking away. “And, I, I should be locked in my room, until, until I’ve learned my lesson.”

“And how long will that take?” Severus asked, his Minerva-voiced conscience was practically purring her I told you so.

Potter shrugged and picked at a loose thread on the shirt beneath his robes. “A week, maybe, maybe two?” He gave Severus a sidelong look.

“A week, maybe two,” Severus repeated, feeling numb. “I see, and is there anything else, Potter?”

Potter nodded, and blinked rapidly. Severus really hoped that the boy would not start crying. He didn’t do very well with tears, usually called in Sinistra, or one of the other professors when one of his first years was homesick, or one of the older students were lamenting over lost loves.

“The belt, Sir,” Potter whispered the words so quietly that Severus wasn’t sure he’d heard them correctly.

You heard those words just fine, Severus Snape, Minerva’s voice scolded, and he could almost feel her tugging on his ear. You just don’t want your bubble burst. You don’t want to believe what the rest of us have suspected all along, that Harry Potter is not the apple of his family’s eye. That he’s being abused. You and Albus Dumbledore should start a class, you know, or better yet, co-write a book entitled, The Art of Denial.

Severus wondered, briefly, if the witch had somehow breached his mind, but he pushed that thought aside almost as soon as he’d entertained it. He knew what it felt like to have another wizard or witch in his mind, and it was nothing like this. It was a sick, oily feeling, and he shuddered as he recalled a few of the times when the Dark Lord had entered his mind, some with, and others without, his permission.

No, these were all very much his own thoughts. Using Minerva’s voice as a delivery mechanism was just his mind’s way of easing him into the idea that Potter wasn’t who he thought he was. It was a way for his mind to cushion the blow to his pride for being wrong.

“Explain the belt, Potter,” Severus said a little more sharply than he’d intended to.

Minerva was both crowing her approval and chastising him for making Potter flinch. When this was over, and he’d deposited Harry into the industrious care of Poppy and explained to Albus why Potter could and would not be returned to the Dursleys during the summer months, he was going to indulge in a tumbler, maybe two, of firewhiskey.

“Uncle Vernon says that it’s only a last resort.” Potter was looking at his wand, gripping it so tightly that the knuckles were white.

“For the times,” Potter took a gulp of air, his voice growing so quiet that Severus had to strain to hear the words. “For the times when I really mess up.”

“And you think that now is one of those times?” Severus inquired.

Potter nodded. His face, though pale, was solemn and determined. “I didn’t mean to get lost,” he repeated his words from earlier. “But I did, and I caused a...a ker...”

“Kerfuffle,” Severus supplied the word for the boy, and ignored Minerva’s, Really, Severus, you said that to the boy? His counter of, You were there too, was met with silence.

Potter nodded.

“I should be punished; just, please don’t kick me out of Hogwarts,” he begged, eyes pleading with Severus. “Just, give me a purpose. I’ll do anything you want me to do. I’ll...I’ll cook and clean, I’ll weed the gardens...”

“Enough, Potter, you’re not going to be kicked out of Hogwarts for getting lost in the woods,” Severus said, keeping the delivery of his words matter of fact. “And, you’re not going to be hit, or locked in your room, and food is not going to be withheld. You’re certainly not going to be doing the cooking and cleaning.Your purpose is to be a student and learn. Nothing more than that.”

Potter looked down at his hands and frowned. He opened his mouth and then closed it, he gave Severus a long, searching look, and worried his lower lip between his teeth.

“Potter, those are not suitable punishments for any child,” Severus explained, refusing to recall similar events from his own childhood.

He had a lot more in common with Potter than the boy’s father did, and he wished that it wasn’t so. That Minerva and the others had been wrong in their suspicions. An arrogant, self-grandiose, attention-seeking brat was a much easier way for him to view the son of the young man who’d, in part, made his life at Hogwarts hellish. It was much better than the reality that Potter was no better off than he’d been when he was Potter’s age.

“And, in any case, we do not practice those sorts of punishments here,” Severus didn’t add, anymore, though Filch, if he was there, would delight in explaining some of the antiquated punishments that had been used to deter misbehavior a lifetime ago, maybe longer.

Potter let out a breath, and seemed to relax a little at Severus’ words, though he gripped Severus’ robes with the hand he wasn’t using to hold his wand. The boy stifled a yawn and his eyes slipped closed.

Severus continued walking, his mind battling it out with Minerva, who was making very good arguments for and against the disciplinary action plan that he’d created while he was searching for Potter. The boy was lacking appropriate and fair, if Severus understood the situation properly, discipline in his life, and someone, preferably not him, needed to see to it that Potter got the structure that he needed.

He had it all mapped out by the time he reached the edge of the forest, and was quite satisfied with his plan that included a doting Albus, and a stern, yet loving, Minerva, acting as the boy’s foster parents, though, obviously not as a couple. Albus didn’t swing in that particular direction.

Severus had no idea which way Minerva swung, and didn’t really care to know. It was none of his business, which is exactly what the Minerva in his head told him when he’d started to entertain the thought.

Severus was so deep in thought that it didn’t even register when Albus offered to take the boy from him. Albus’ eyes were twinkling like mad, and Minerva, not his mind’s version of the witch, was smiling warmly at him when he finally acknowledged the older wizard. It was enough to make him sick.

He tried to hand Potter off to Albus, but the boy had a steel grip on his robes, and Severus was too tired to deal with it. He marched the rest of the way to the castle, and up the steps, with Potter in his arms, ignoring his colleagues who were watching, mouths agape, or with an adoring look on their faces.

Poppy helped him situate Potter on a bed when he arrived at the Hospital Wing, and she tsked over the minor scrapes and bruises that Potter had received from his adventure in the forest. Severus sunk into the chair that she pushed him toward, and watched her work on the boy.

He shook his head at the clothing that was removed from the boy. All of it was too big to fit him properly, and the one remaining shoe was a complete loss. He held it in his hands and regarded it carefully, as though he was looking for meaning in an abstract piece of art. There was no beauty in this shoe, no hidden meaning. It was all very clear to Severus what this shoe represented, even without the boy’s ramblings about proper punishment for his crime of getting lost.

This shoe was Potter’s -- his -- life, summed up in a smelly, ragged piece of clothing that had seen better days. Like him and Potter, the shoe had been battered and abused. The sole was starting to separate from the liner, which would’ve meant that Potter’s feet had been exposed to the cold of the castle floors on a daily basis. The collar and lining were rife with holes. It was a wonder that the shoe had lasted as long as it had, and given that Potter had lost the other shoe somewhere in the forest, Severus didn’t even want to know what poor shape that shoe had been in. He could guess. It wasn’t pretty.

“Check Potter for signs of physical and other abuse,” Severus said, eyes focused on the frayed ends of the knotted laces in the shoe. The shoe was too big for Potter’s foot, he’d had to literally tie it on using the laces, and possibly a bit of magic to keep it from falling off.

“Abuse?”

Severus nodded, and held the shoe up for her to see. She frowned, but shrugged, and did as he’d asked.

Her sharp intake of breath was all that Severus needed to give proper voice to his own thoughts and Minerva’s voice faded away. He set the shoe on the floor, and stood to regard Potter, who hadn’t woken since he’d fallen asleep, save for a brief moment when he was being transferred from Severus’ arms to the hospital bed.

He brushed Potter’s hair away from his forehead, the lightning-shaped scar livid against the backdrop of his pale skin, reminded Severus of what he owed Lily. What he owed the boy, who looked so much like his father, but had more in common with Severus and Lily than he did with James.

“Severus?” Albus’ voice broke through his thoughts, and Severus turned to face his mentor, the wizard who was arguably the most feared wizard alive.

Albus was a competent wizard, and he was rightly feared, but the man had his faults, and Potter was one of them. Severus wondered if Albus knew what life was like for Potter. If he knew that the boy’s relatives abused him.

“Do you know that Potter’s relatives mistreat him?” Severus asked. He kept his voice neutral.

Albus shook his head. “I know that Harry’s unhappy with --”

“It’s more than just a case of eleven-year-old moodiness, Albus,” Severus interrupted, impatient and angry at being summarily dismissed.

“Harry’s safest living with his relatives, because of his mother’s sacrifice,” Albus said. “You know this Severus, I’ve already explained it all to you.”

“But how do we protect Harry from his relatives, Albus?” Minerva’s voice wasn’t in his head this time, though for a moment, Severus had thought it was, and he had to shake his head. The witch stepped out of the shadows and rested a hand on Potter’s shoulder, her eyes were fairly sparking in challenge.

Albus frowned and pulled at his beard. Severus knew that he was thinking, but doubted that Albus would change his stance on where Potter needed to stay, for his own good.

“He’s been starved, beaten, and denied medical attention for things like broken bones,” Poppy spoke up, voice quiet, but with an edge of steel. “Albus, regardless of whatever magic keeps Harry safe under the roof of his relatives, I cannot disregard or deny the medical evidence. I need to file a report. Harry will need to be removed from the care of his relatives and an investigation --”

“Poppy, you know that we can’t do that,” Albus interrupted. “We cannot report this to the authorities, Harry would be placed in the care of --”

“The point is,” Severus cut Albus off before he could paint a dire scenario with well-chosen, and manipulative words, “that Potter cannot stay with his relatives, and while I agree that word of this cannot go beyond the three of us, for Potter’s safety, I disagree that blood magic is the only way to keep Potter safe.”

“And who do you propose to act as guardian for Potter?” Albus asked.

Severus rubbed a hand over his face, and looked from Albus to Minerva and then back again. Minerva was giving him a thoughtful look, and the twinkle in Albus’ eyes had resumed it’s sparkling.

“I have a plan,” he said, ignoring their looks, and pushing aside the newly renewed Minerva-voice of reason in his head. She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know, and right now, he just wanted to live a little longer in his denial. It would be stripped away soon enough.

He proceeded to outline his plan for Potter’s care and discipline, unaware that, as he spoke, he had one more pair of ears listening in than he’d anticipated. When he finished speaking, Minerva burst out laughing, and Albus chuckled.

Severus felt his cheeks growing red, and he crossed his arms over his chest. Even Poppy had joined in on the laughter.

“It was just a rough draft,” Severus said defensively.

“Severus, it’s a great plan, aside from the part where you’ve got Albus and me acting as Harry’s foster parents,” Minerva said in a kind, almost motherly, voice.

“But you two love the boy,” Severus said, more than a little exasperated at their lack of cooperation. “And I won’t let you send him back to his relatives. No one deserves that.”

“Not even a Potter?” Albus asked, and Severus wanted to snarl at him, but he remained civil.

“Not even a Potter,” Severus agreed. “I don’t know who would be a better option than the two of you, but I do know that...”

“Why can’t it be you?” Potter’s voice, hoarse and scratchy, was quiet, but hopeful.

Severus closed his eyes and bit his tongue, he refused to look at Minerva or Albus right now, refused to look at Potter. He was ill-suited for something like this. His heart was broken and corrupt, incapable of love for anyone other than Lily, and she was dead. His heart, in a way, had died with her. Afterall, she was his heart.

His role in Potter’s life was to protect him, but to never be seen doing so. He wasn’t supposed to be caught in a situation like this.

“Why can’t it, indeed?” Albus mused, and when Severus did open his eyes, he wanted to slam them shut again, because Albus was giving him a look that always meant trouble for him.

“I’m sorry,” Potter apologized, breath hitching. “I don’t know why I said that. You hate me. Everyone knows it. I...I just thought...you had a plan. It sounded...kind of...nice.”

“I’m not a nice man,” Severus argued, turning to face Potter.

Potter nodded. “My uncle’s not a nice man, either, but, judging by what you said in the forest, you won’t hit me, or lock me up, or not let me eat when I’m hungry.”

Minerva let out a strangled sob, and Albus slumped into the chair Severus had vacated earlier, head held in his hands.

“You might not be a nice man, Professor, but I think you’ll be better to me than the Dursleys ever were. I tried to be good. Tried not to be a freak. Tried to do my chores and keep quiet and out of the way, but it didn’t work. None of it worked. I know that I’ll never be loved, and that’s okay. I...I don’t deserve that. Orphans don’t deserve love,” Potter said. “I know that. I just, I want to have something that will last, and I don’t want to remember so many unspoken rules anymore.”

“Something that will last,” Severus repeated, thinking of the ruined shoe lying on the floor, of how similar his and Potter’s childhoods had been, even if the particulars weren’t exactly the same.

He still hadn’t forgiven James Potter and his cohorts for what they’d done to him when he was a student, and probably never would. Their cruelty had, in part, driven him to the Dark Lord, and that was unforgivable. He didn’t blame them for the choices that he’d made, but he did hold them responsible for making the only place where his life had been somewhat tolerable, a place of torture.

“Clothes that fit,” Potter whispered.

“Shoes that don’t have holes,” Severus added.

“Food that isn’t moldy,” Potter said a little wistfully.

Albus grimaced, and Minerva gasped. Poppy added something to the parchment that she’d been writing on.

“Warm, winter clothing,” Severus said, thinking of all that he’d have to do to provide for Potter, if his role in the boy’s life was one that could be changed.

If he could go from unseen protector and eventual spy for a war which was already brewing, to guardian.

If he could separate his memories of the boy’s father from the boy, see more of Lily and himself in Potter than he did James.

If he could overcome his own personal demons, and put the plan that he’d come up with into action with fidelity. A plan that would ensure Potter knew the rules, followed them, and understood what would happen when he broke them.

Breaking rules was inevitable, Severus wasn’t foolish enough to believe that, once, if, Potter was placed under his care, the boy would miraculously stop misbehaving. Or stop walking headlong into danger, because of his desire to help others.

Potter sighed and smiled. “Books, and maybe even...” he trailed off.

“Toys,” Albus inserted, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes sparkling. Severus could almost see what Albus was thinking, and wondered if Potter’s new room would be big enough to hold all of the toys and books that he was going to get.

“And don’t forget, Quidditch equipment,” Minerva said with enthusiasm.

Potter giggled, and clapped a hand over his mouth. He turned bright red, and looked mortified. It reminded Severus of Lily, and the ifs in his mind started to melt away.

He could do this. Contrary to what his father had tried to instill in him all those years ago, he was a strong, capable man.

It wasn’t going to be perfect, but then again, nothing was. He owed it to Lily, and to Potter, and maybe even to himself to at least give it a try.

Severus tuned the others out as he focused on what he needed to put into place in order for him to become Potter’s guardian. Their ideas were getting ridiculously out-of-hand anyway. No eleven-year-old boy needed his own chest full of candy. That was just begging for disaster to happen. Potter hopped up on sugary treats was not something Severus needed to see anytime soon.

The steady rise and fall of their voices washed over Severus, giving him added strength, and, when he looked at Potter, who was smiling now, he felt like he had a purpose other than to protect the boy and then die. It was a good feeling. Oddly.

Though Severus didn’t know what the future held for either of them, past that of confronting the Dark Lord, who would return, and getting Potter a decent pair of shoes that fit, he did know that he was willing to tackle the uncertain future standing beside Potter as his guardian. If Potter would still have him after he laid out all of the rules, that is.