There was a brief pushing sensation, almost as though the portkey was trying to pull Harry through treacle, and then he was landing in a heap in Snape’s living room, a ragged part of the bin bag still clutched in his hand.

“Potter!” “Harry!” two shocked exclamations greeted him. Slowly, Harry lifted his head from the floor to gaze up at his professors.

“Harry, what happened?” the headmaster asked, hurriedly crouching down next to Harry.

“Let me guess – a gang of seven, three girls and four boys?” Snape asked. He didn’t even wait to see Harry nod, but turned towards the kitchen and waved his wand. “The Stribbins gang,” he finished over his shoulder. “They are the local menace. It appears Potter ran afoul of them.”

“How badly are you hurt, my boy?” Dumbledore asked, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder to steady him as he shakily pushed himself upright into a vaguely sitting position.

“Not too bad,” Harry murmured. “Fists, mostly. The lead pipes missed me.” He raised a hand to gingerly feel his face, and stopped as the remains of the bin bag met his skin. “Um, there was a bag,” he said, holding his hand up so the headmaster and Snape could see it. “The gang had a bird in it. I tried to bring it with me . . .”

“Apparently whatever is affecting the owls is still active,” Dumbledore said, glancing at Snape, who had turned back to face them, several vials in his hands. “It shouldn’t be far; I will see if I can retrieve it.”

Snape crouched down to take his place as Dumbledore stood up and made for the front door. Snape studied Harry’s face intently, before abruptly thrusting a vial at Harry. “Here,” he said, roughly. “This will seal up the cuts.”

Harry took the vial, eyed the horrid yellow-grey colour, then closed his eyes before downing the potion. “Oh, blech!” he gasped, feeling his taste buds trying to curl up and die.

“And this one for any bruises,” said Snape, sounding amused. Harry didn’t even open his eyes, just held out his hand blindly. This potion tasted of strawberries – much to Harry’s relief – but when he opened his eyes, the remnants in the vial were orange. Harry decided he didn’t want to know how that worked.

“Severus.” Dumbledore’s voice came from the doorway. At first, Harry thought he was holding the crumpled bin bag, but then he realised that it was actually a bird the headmaster was cradling. Its black feathers were severely ruffled, and several looked broken. “Severus, I cannot bring the bird inside,” Dumbledore said.

“What?” Snape straightened to his full height and frowned. “Why not?”

“Whatever barrier is stopping owls is a physical barrier against all birds.” Dumbledore tried moving his hands forward, but couldn’t seem to get them past the open doorway. “See if you can take it from me,” he suggested to Snape.

Snape stepped forward, but although he could take the bird from Dumbledore’s hands, as soon as he tried to pull them back towards himself, he looked to be pulling hard against something that didn’t want to give.

“Whatever this is, I did not do it,” Snape said, eventually, giving the bird back to Dumbledore.

“No, otherwise it would have shown up,” the headmaster agreed. He looked down at the bird, who gave a miserable cheep. “I’ll have to take the bird to Hagrid, and will do some research.” Without further ado, the headmaster disappeared with a muted crack.

Snape hissed under his breath and slammed the front door shut. “Honestly, you’d think we didn’t have that little thing called the Statute of Secrecy,” he grumbled to himself as he came back towards Harry.

“The what, sir?” Harry asked. He’d moved himself so that he was now leaning back against his armchair. He didn’t hurt much now, but there was a dull ache in his muscles.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Honestly, how do the muggleborns cope?” he lamented to the ceiling. “The Statute of Secrecy, Potter,” he said, tilting his head back down. “The law that says we must remain hidden from the Muggles. It is illegal to perform magic in front of Muggles.”

Harry thought about this, and then frowned. “But what about people like Hermione?” he asked. “Her parents are Muggles. What happened when she did accidental magic? Or the Dursleys . . . they’re Muggles.”

Snape covered his eyes with his hand, apparently praying for patience. “It’s illegal to perform magic in front of Muggles that are not part of your household,” he clarified.

Oh, Harry mouthed. He supposed that did make more sense, since surely Hermione would have mentioned at some point if she’d continually got in trouble for doing magic in front of her parents.

Snape cast a quick tempus, and then sighed. “I will make lunch,” he said, not sounding the least bit happy about it. He gave Harry a sharp glance. “You may as well continue with your homework whilst I do so.”

Now Harry sighed. “Yessir,” he muttered, and groped around himself for the things he’d dropped when the headmaster’s patronus had arrived earlier. It seemed a very long time ago.

Snape had just turned away to the kitchen when there was a small pop, and a medium-sized wooden crate appeared in the middle of the floor between him and Harry. Harry stared at the thing warily, and Snape spun around, his wand already drawn and aiming.

Although he relaxed slightly when he saw the crate, Snape didn’t approach it until he’d cast several spells on it. Nothing appeared to happen. Harry frowned, confused.

“You should always check unexpected things for curses,” Snape said, abruptly, apparently catching sight of Harry’s expression from the corner of his eye. His gaze darted to Harry for a split second before returning to the crate. “In your case, it will probably become necessary.”

“In my case, sir?” Harry asked, tilting his head.

“You are the Boy-Who-Lived,” explained Snape, with a slight scoff. “Everyone will want to send you mail for the least little reason. Not all of it will be good.”

“But nobody sends me any mail,” Harry protested. “Um, even when there isn’t something stopping the owls,” he added.

“No doubt Albus had it diverted. He’ll probably change that when you’re older,” Snape said, casually. He apparently found the crate safe, as he took two steps towards it, just enough so that he could see the top of it. He made a sound of disbelief, and then all but pounced on the crate, a brisk slash of his wand causing the lid to shoot into the air like a cork from a bottle.

Harry watched with alarm as Snape’s temper went from relatively calm to almost nuclear in the space of a second. He cringed back against the armchair as Snape whirled on his heel and thrust his wand at a spot in the air. A piece of parchment tinged with red and a large, ornate quill popped into being and held themselves ready in front of Snape.

“What Merlin-blasted idiot decided to send my order via PORTKEY?!” Snape roared. Harry jumped, and the quill began to scribble on the parchment. “There were ingredients in there that cannot travel by magic, hence why my order was to be DELIVERED BY OWL! Even Neville Longbottom would know better, and he is an absolute disgrace at potions. Would you kindly find someone there who is NOT INCOMPETENT and find a NON-MAGICAL way of getting my order to me, before I decide not to waste any more time or gold on imbeciles who cannot tell the difference between flobberworms and caterpillars!” Snape made a curt gesture with his wand, and the parchment folded itself up into a red envelope, which floated down to rest on top of the crate. Still glaring fiercely, Snape tapped the top of the crate twice, and then the whole thing vanished with another pop.

Breathless, Harry stared at the place it had been. “Sir, what was that?” he asked, hesitantly. “That letter?”

“That was a Howler,” Snape informed him, looking grimly satisfied. “It will scream my words for the entire shop to hear. Maybe next time, someone who actually owns a brain cell will utilise it and get my order right!” And he whirled away again into the kitchen.

Later that afternoon, Severus retreated to his lab again, determined to salvage what he could of his potions. Unfortunately, most of them were edging towards the stage where the next ingredient had to be added, and the window of opportunity was fast closing on them.

Growling to himself, Severus renewed the stasis charms where he could, and banished what was going to spoil before the apothecary managed to get his order to him. When I get my hands on whoever is blocking those owls, I am going to skin them and boil them in a potion of their very own! he thought to himself.

“Severus Snape!”

Severus startled as the strident voice of Hogwarts’ medi-witch Poppy Pomfrey echoed around his lab, and barely managed to avoid banishing one of his best – and most expensive – cauldrons. A scowl already forming, he turned to face the Floo.

“How dare you keep ignoring my owls!” Poppy ranted before he even had a chance to open his mouth. “It is imperative that I do a check-up on Harry, and you’ve ignored each and every reminder! You cannot keep him from getting medical attention, young man! I insist you bring him to Hogwarts – immediately!”

“Merlin’s beard, have you not spoken to Albus recently?” Severus snapped back, folding his arms and tapping his wand against his bicep.

“Why on earth would I have spoken to the headmaster?” Poppy asked, glaring back at him.

“Because if you had, you stupid woman, you would know that no owls have reached me at all!” Severus hissed, bending closer to the mini-Floo to emphasise his point. “He would also have told you that Potter appears to be physically recovered from his ordeal with Quirrell. Mentally and emotionally, however . . . well, that isn’t your area, now, is it?” he sneered.

“Oh, and it’s your area, I suppose?” Poppy shook her head. “Regardless, Severus, Harry needs a check-up. And I have a list of potions that need brewing. Kindly arrange to visit Hogwarts sometime in the very near future!”

“You—” Severus opened his mouth to tell her just what she could do with her list of potions that need brewing, when Poppy removed herself from the Floo, and the flames disappeared. Severus sighed and reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Why me?” he groaned.

Given the events of the day, it was perhaps unsurprising that Harry’s dreams took the turn they did.

“Want to play a game?” a boy, who was verging on the edge of chubby, asked little five year old Harry with a wide smile that showed all his teeth.

It was their very first week at school. Little Harry had hoped that he’d be able to avoid showing any freakiness long enough for him to make at least one friend, but he was too shy to approach any of the other children, and they all appeared to have at least one friend of their own already.

Today, however, it looked like his luck was changing.

“Sure!” Harry agreed, enthusiastically.

The other boy patted him heartily on the shoulder, not seeming to notice that he almost sent the smaller boy flying. “Good!” he said. “You start running, and we’ll catch you.” He patted Harry’s shoulder again, harder this time, and Harry stumbled forward a step. “Off you go.”

“Um—” Suddenly, Harry wasn’t so sure he wanted to play that game. There was just something about the way the other boy had described it . . .

“What are you waiting for, freak?” the boy jeered. He leaned towards Harry and bared his teeth. “Run!”

Still unsure, Harry nonetheless began running. He yelped with shock as a shower of rocks and pebbles suddenly hit him.

“Get the freak!” he heard his cousin Dudley yell. Casting a panicked look over his shoulder, Harry sped up, and began to run in earnest.

He soon realised he was being herded. Dudley was lumbering along behind him, panting for breath even though he wasn’t moving any faster than a plod. The boy who’d asked if he wanted to play was on his right, grinning inanely at him. Another boy, almost as big as Dudley, was on his left, constantly smacking his big fists together.

So concerned with looking behind him, Harry didn’t watch where he was going, and tripped over a foot that someone had stuck out from behind a bush. He went sprawling headlong to the ground. Rolling onto his back, he saw the boys surround him. They appeared to tower over him, looking taller and heavier than five year olds should.

“Good work, Malcolm,” Dudley grunted. “You too, Piers. Another successful Harry Hunt.”

“What we gonna do with him?” asked one of the other boys, eagerly. He looked down at Harry and cracked his knuckles threateningly.

“Anything we want,” Harry’s cousin replied. “Nobody likes the freak anyway. No-one’ll care.”

Harry jerked awake, gasping for breath. The words rang in his ears, taunting him. Nobody likes the freak anyway. No-one’ll care.

Shaking his head frantically, Harry covered his ears, as though that would block the words out. It didn’t work. It was true, he thought, wildly. Nobody did like him. The Dursleys had moved to get away from him. Snape had never liked him, no matter what his recent behaviour was like – after all, hadn’t he argued with Dumbledore about having to look after Harry in the first place? – and his friends hadn’t responded to any of his letters.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Harry rocked himself back and forth as tears slowly slid down his cheeks. Even if he managed to make it through this summer without Snape throwing him out or killing him, there was still next summer to worry about, and the one after that. Who would Dumbledore foist him off on next time?

If only I wasn’t such a freak! Harry thought miserably. If he was normal, then perhaps someone would want him, and he wouldn’t keep attracting gangs like Dudley’s, or that group yesterday.

His introspection was broken by a shout from downstairs. “Potter!” Hurriedly wiping his face – and almost poking himself in the eye – Harry scuttled for the hidden staircase.

Snape was waiting at the bottom. “Here,” he said, hurriedly, thrusting a handful of toast at Harry. “Eat this, quickly. We shall be visiting Hogwarts today, so make sure you take your homework with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry murmured, taking the toast from his professor. If Snape noticed how downcast Harry seemed, he made no mention of it.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was being side-along apparated to the gates of Hogwarts. It appeared that he was getting the hang of it finally, since although he was plagued with dry-heaves when they arrived, his legs were perfectly steady.

They were standing in front of a pair of tall, wrought-iron gates, held up by brick pillars. Statues of what looked like pigs, with sharp tusks and large wings, perched on top of the pillars. The gate appeared to be standing by itself, as Harry could see no fence on either side of it, but as they approached, he could feel the hum of magic in the air.

“Come along, Potter,” ordered Snape, placing a hand on one of the gates. It slowly swung inward, looking as though it should be creaking loudly, like in a horror film. “I need to see Madam Pomfrey,” Snape continued, as they began to walk up the long, winding drive towards the castle. “And she insists on seeing you, Potter, so we shall head for the Hospital Wing first, and then—”

Exactly what the rest of Snape’s plans were, Harry didn’t find out. At that moment, a large dark cloud appeared in the sky. It was moving very fast, and heading straight for them.

“Oh, Merlin!” Snape groaned, along with a few other curse words that Harry thought he’d better pretend he hadn’t heard. Snape hurriedly pulled his wand out, and cast a large circle around them. “Brace yourself, Potter,” he warned.

“Why?” Harry asked, biting his lip as the cloud drew closer to them. “Is that cloud—?”

“That’s not a cloud,” Snape informed him, grimly. “That’s all the owls that haven’t been able to get to us over the past three weeks.”