It was a cold day, and Harry was outside, tending to his aunt’s flowers. Even if they were already frozen and dead, he was tending to them. In his overlarge t-shirt and jeans, and little else. The only warm clothes he had were from the magical world, and he couldn’t very well walk around Surrey in a Hogwarts robe, now could he? Over his shoulder he heard someone make a sound, and he flinched. His obvious bruises on his face could easily tell you why, a thin jumper hid the rest.

            “Mr. Potter I presume?” the accented voice asked. Harry slowly stood up and turned around. 

            “Yes, yes sir.” He answered. The stranger could tell that the boy was in a bad way. How had no one noticed his home life?

             “I am Professor Daskalov, from Durmstrang. You wrote to us, asking for a spot in the spring term. I wish to talk. Let us walk, yes?” And, with that he began to slowly walk away, knowing that the boy would not be able to keep up if he went quickly, but also knowing that he had seen some sort of warm food stand on his way over.

            “Let us begin, yes? How are you Mr. Potter, you do not look well? When did you last eat? I think not for some days, yes? Yes, yes, I thought not, you do well not to lie to me. Now, how did you get those marks on your face, I think it was not a door, yes?”

            Harry thought of lying to the man, he really did, but he just couldn’t. “No, it, it was, I deserved it sir. It was my fault. It’s nothing really. I’ve, I’ve had worse. My uncle, he just, I get in his way. I should know better. It’s nothing really, I’ll be fine.” His answer didn’t do anything to alleviate the man’s worry for the boy, only to inflame his anger at those fools at that ridiculous school. Finally, they arrived at what he supposed was food, a pie stand. He quickly ordered a few pies, enough so that the boy would have something to take home. He knew that he would need to help him hide the food, no doubt he wasn’t fed either. As they sat down on a bench and he handed the boy a pie, the boy’s sleeve rode up a bit and he saw the multitude of angry red lines, lines that seemed close to deadly. His hand stopped and he looked at the boy.

             “Why do you really want to come to Durmstrang Harry? What is going on in that house? School too, what there? This is not good, this will kill you, and soon. Yes?”

            The boy quickly pulled his sleeve down, and looked away sheepishly. Silence reigned, the professor knowing that the boy would break it eventually.

            “I know, I know it will kill me, but that’s not that bad. I mean, so what? It’s just me. It’s not like anyone would really care. It, it would be better. No one here would miss me anyway.”

            “Harry, I may call you Harry yes? Yes. Why? Maybe your home is not good, no, but school? Your friends, teachers, have you talked to them? No, no, I think not. I know of the, relationship, between you and the Snape man. Maybe he will listen? No, I suppose you would know best. Alright, we will talk later. I have seen your schoolwork, I know we want you, yes, we do. But we need a, guardian yes, yes, guardian’s signature on the form. It is magical, as soon as he signs it, I will know. I will come get you. You can stay at school all year long, we have classes in summer too for extra credit. I think you like that, yes? Yes. Now listen to me Harry, you are special. I like you, you will be a great man one day, and a great student. You are not alone. If you need anything, write me. I will come. Yes? Yes. Good.” 

             And that, that is how Harry ended up sitting on Professor Snape’s couch, begging for a happy ending, for a different type of escape. He knew he would find a way to escape either way, but while this one seemed like more work it might just be worth it. Plus, he could always escape the other way if it turned out like he thought it might. He didn’t know why he was remembering that day so vividly, or why it felt like some of the memories he didn’t like to think about were coming to the surface, but he didn’t really mind. At this point, he was a bit disconnected from his mind and really didn’t care. His arms itched, and he needed to escape.