A knock at the door startled Harry from what, during a sleepless night, had become a train of increasingly dark thoughts. He scrambled to sit up, wide eyes fixing on the door, keenly aware of who was on the other side and terrified of everything that meant.

He watched, muscles tense, as the door swung wide to reveal his professor framed in the doorway. Snape made no move to bring himself into the room, and when his ire sharpened gaze fell on Harry, it was clear he found it insufferable to be standing even that close. Harry swallowed but stayed silent, it wasn’t exactly the time for casual greeting even if Harry could bring himself to speak at all.

Snape’s eyes swept quickly around the bare room. “Good, you are packed. We will be leaving immediately.” There was an air of annoyed anticipation about the man, as though he was expecting, and dreading, whatever irritating thing he believed would come gushing out of Harry’s mouth in the next moment.

But Harry was frozen. In the night he had come to the conclusion that his only option was to apologise for his father’s actions and his own; what more could he do than try to explain himself? Except, now Harry had seen into those dark eyes, and after finding there a depth of loathing that was unprecedented even for Snape, he knew his words would mean nothing to the man.

Snape scowled, apparently just as irritated by Harry’s prolonged silence as he’d have been had Harry said anything at all. “Bring your things.” Snape said, turning and striding away without bothering to give Harry a chance to reply.

With Snape out of sight, Harry’s mental paralysis eased and he rushed to follow after the man, grabbing and awkwardly dragging his trunk along as quickly as he could manage. Snape was already at the end of the hall and continued on to glide down the stairs, scarcely slowing as he turned the corner.

“Do try to keep up, Potter.” Snape’s irritated voice floated back to him.

Harry grimaced but kept his pace, moving toward the man’s voice. Snape was standing by the back door and once Harry was in sight, he opened it and stepped outside. Harry followed him into the garden moments later.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, slightly breathless from his efforts.

“You are going home,” Snape answered into the cold air before him.

Harry faltered, his sleep deprived brain struggling to process what he’d heard. “I thought no one was allowed to be at Hogwarts during break.”

Snape turned to him then, in apparent awe of his unbelievable stupidity. “To your relatives, Potter.”

Harry nodded and attempted a grin, which Snape’s suspicious frown told him was anything but convincing, and instead affected a posture which he hoped would be read as relief.

“That’s my punishment? You're sending me away to be pampered by my relatives on Christmas?”

Snape’s lip curled and twitched with unconcealed contempt. “What you did was utterly inexcusable, an unforgivable breach of my privacy that spit upon everything I have tried to do for you-” Snape cut himself off, pausing, and something shifted in his expression, as though he’d suddenly tucked his wrath away just out of view, ready to bring it back out only when the time was right.

“This has nothing to do with punishment,” he continued after a moment. His tone was even, almost impassive now, which Harry found all the more disquieting knowing the rage that lurked beneath. “I cannot teach you, and you do not wish to learn from me as is made clear by the blatant distrust and disrespect you continually show. So consider this the predictably disastrous end to an attempt to achieve something I knew to be futile from the start. I am relieved to say that what becomes of you from this point forward is no longer my direct concern.”

Harry swallowed hard, a dizzying thrum of panic was starting to creep its way into his awareness. Snape’s barest tolerance of him had been a gift maintained only by a brittle tether of trust between them, and now, because of Harry, it had crumbled to dust. And he hadn’t known how much it could hurt to have Snape give up on him altogether. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d been relying on Snape just to be a steady, familiar presence while his world rocked beneath him.

He couldn’t do anything to change what he’d done but he needed to say something, even if it wouldn’t make the slightest bit of difference.

He gathered his courage and tried to meet the man’s eyes. “Professor, last night… I need you to know I won’t tell anyone what I saw, I really am–”

“I do not wish to hear your contrived apology, it will do no one any good now.” Snape's words cut off the speech he had spent half the night planning and Harry understood it would be worse than useless to continue.

“Now, take my arm and ready yourself, we are going to Disapparate.”

Harry numbly did as instructed, and was soon experiencing the slightly more familiar but never comfortable sensation of being forced through a narrow tube. He landed with considerably more grace than he had after his arrival at Snape’s home, but Snape pulled away so quickly he very nearly toppled right over anyway.

They had arrived on Privet Drive, it was still early enough that the street was quiet but not so early that their presence would draw suspicion. He could see number four, its holiday decorations a precisely average representation of Christmas indulgence. And it was far closer than Harry would have liked. He trudged forward, fighting not to reveal just how distressed he was to be nearing that house again so soon.

“Is Dumbledore really all right with you giving up like this?” A surge of desperation brought the quiet words from his mouth. He cringed even as he spoke, he knew this wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

Snape didn’t even look at him much less grace him with an answer, but his mouth thinned into a bloodless line and his pace quickened slightly.

Harry let his shoulders slump, unable to hold on to any false bravado in the face of this particular reality. And Snape had already written him off so completely, Harry doubted it was physically possible for the man to think much less of him anyway.

He tried to resign himself to the situation but he knew he’d never feel ready, despite how this very scenario had consumed his thoughts throughout the night. Now that he was here, with no chance of escape, he was having a hard time getting his legs to keep moving forward.

He felt pathetic.

When he was away at Hogwarts, it was always easy to tell himself that when he saw the Dursleys again, he wouldn’t lose himself to their lies. That no matter how his relatives tried to reinforce them, their tricks wouldn’t have the same power over him.

And yet every time he crossed the threshold of number four Privet Drive, no matter how much he wanted to fight it, he always ended up giving in. And after the last few days, he felt so far adrift, how could he hold on to himself when he had no idea who that even was? He wasn’t strong enough now, never had been.

He braced himself with the thought that at least this time, it was only for a couple of weeks.

Snape knocked loudly on the door, and Harry nearly stopped breathing.

“Just a minute!” A shrill voice called out from inside. Snape folded his arms impatiently as Harry focused on making his breaths even.

The door opened tentatively a few moments later and Aunt Petunia appeared in the doorway. She saw Snape first and Harry didn’t miss the slight alarm that widened her eyes as they flitted from his professor’s potentially conspicuous clothing to the neighbouring houses in search of observers. A second later her gaunt face stretched into a strained but polite smile.

“Good Morning, what can I–” Her eyes dropped to Harry and after a nearly imperceptible hesitation, she beamed at him. “My, what a wonderful surprise, you've brought Harry!”

Snape nodded dispassionately. “Indeed, though I regret that I was unable to give you any advanced notice about our arrival. But, as I’m sure you were informed, this is a precarious time in the Wizarding World. I do hope you won’t find it too troublesome if your nephew stays in your care for the remainder of the holiday.”

“It's no trouble at all. It'll make for a much brighter Christmas with Harry around.” She reached over and pulled Harry into a one-armed hug for good measure, and Harry tried to resist the overwhelming urge to recoil from the contact. He was sure his aunt was doing the same.

“It's, erm, really good to see you too, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said, dully. Snape looked on with something approaching disgust.

There was a minor commotion from inside the house and a moment later Dudley appeared at the door. He gave Snape a nervous glance and took a step back before he even seemed to realise it. But upon seeing Harry, he grimaced and turned to his mother.

“What’s hedoing here?” he asked.

Petunia’s plastered smile faltered for an instant at her son’s too obvious discontent. “He'll be staying with us these next couple of weeks, isn't that right?”

“Quite so,” Snape said, clearly losing interest in the whole situation. “However, as… touching as this familial reunion has been, I really must be on my way.”

Petunia nodded. “Of course, I won’t keep you. Thank you again for bringing Harry to us.”

“It was my pleasure,” Snape replied a little awkwardly. Harry might have found it amusing, had he not been on the verge of sicking up.

Harry grabbed his trunk and scurried inside with a half-hearted farewell to his professor that went completely ignored. Petunia stood in the doorway until Snape disappeared fully from sight, then closed the door a little too hard. Dudley stared at them briefly with an uncertain frown and then disappeared into the lounge.

“What the devil are you doing here?” Petunia hissed, “I was promised we wouldn’t have to deal with you until the Summer.”

Harry dropped his head. “Right, I'm sorry, things just…didn’t work out exactly.”

She latched onto his hesitation, her eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

Harry debated for an instant and then lied. “I didn’t do anything. The arrangements just fell through.” It was always risky to lie to her, but it wasn’t as though Snape would be coming round for tea anytime soon to catch him out.

She eyed him critically for a moment, but appeared to believe him. “Fine. But I won't have you skulking about and ruining my family's holiday. If you’re going to stay here–”

“WHAT!?” A voice erupted from the adjacent room and a second later the door to the lounge flew open and bounced hard against the wall. Harry flinched violently, already anticipating what was coming.

Vernon appeared before him, his bulk taking up most of the doorway as he passed through. His uncle’s beady eyes fixed on him straight away and Harry tried not to shrink back. Dudley slunk out after him, watching but without quite the same gleeful malice Harry had become so used to from him.

Vernon grunted. “So it's true then. Thought I wouldn’t have to see your runty arse around here for a while yet. Why'd you come back, boy?”

“I didn’t want to come back, they forced me–”

Vernon advanced on him, anger suffusing his meaty features and Harry froze. “What do you mean you didn’t want to come back? You saying you’re unhappy here?”

“Of course not, I–I appreciate everything you’ve done for me!” Harry said quickly.

Vernon shook his head and Harry paled, an icy dread tingling up his spine. His uncle never believed him as easily as Petunia. The man addressed his wife. “It's like this every time. He goes away to that freak school of his and forgets his place in the real world.” He turned his attention back to Harry. “I think it's time for a refresher, don’t you, boy?”

Harry shook his head, placating. “I'm sorry, you’re right I forgot myself, it won't happen again.”

Vernon was unmoved. “If only I could trust your word. Dudley, fetch my belt.” Harry bowed his head, inwardly cursing his own carelessness. One sentence in and he had already screwed up.

"Get upstairs, you know what to do."

Harry looked warily to the stairs and then turned back to his uncle. If he was going to take a stand, now was the time. He took a steadying breath, clenching and unclenching his fists anxiously.

"No. I won't let you–" Vernon was on him before he could finish, a sharp blow to his midsection forced the air from his lungs with an undignified rush of sound and Harry fell back against the wall.

Vernon leaned in. “I don’t need you to let me do anything, boy.”

Harry glared at him, but he didn’t have the energy to be truly defiant. When he was away, it always seemed so absurd that he couldn't take on Vernon. He was just one man, surely it couldn't be so hard just to stand up to him. But now, looking up at his infuriated uncle, knowing how much worse it would be if he didn't just give in, he was having a hard time seeing any other way.

He couldn't go out on his own, it would be stupid to run away because he couldn't take a little pain, just to find himself captured and tortured to death by Death Eaters. It was so easy now to look back and see how all of his terrible decisions had led him right back here. He should have begged Snape to let him stay.

Seeing that Harry hadn’t been persuaded to move, Vernon scowled. “Why must you always go making things difficult.” He grabbed Harry by his already sore upper arm and began practically dragging him towards the stairs. Harry struggled valiantly against the man's grip, protesting loudly, but got no reward for his frenzied efforts.

Vernon tossed him into his room, and waved impatiently. “Take off the shirt.” Harry didn’t move. His uncle walked over and forced the shirt over Harry's head, taking Harry's glasses with it. Harry scrambled into the corner, drawing his knees up to cover his bare upper body. Dudley poked his head into the door. “Here you go, Dad,” he said holding out a thick brown leather belt. Vernon took it, sliding it through his hand and snapping it as though to get a proper feel for it.

“Seems you’re feeling especially wilful this time. I was prepared to go easy on you if you cooperated, but that's out of the question now, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “It must be so confusing for you, with those freaks filling your degenerate mind with lies. Don’t worry, boy, I'll put your mind at ease. You’re home now and I can remind you exactly where someone like you belongs in this world.”

“Wait! You don’t have to do this! I remember now, really, I won't screw it up again.” Harry said recoiling as his uncle drew nearer and hating himself for it. His appeal was not acknowledged. Myopic green eyes darted around the small room in search of an escape route. He spotted it: A space between his uncle and the wall; if he was fast enough, he might be able to slip through to the door.

Vernon took another step and Harry went for it, dashing forward at top speed and twisting himself through the gap. But he hadn’t seen Dudley, standing there with a look of surprise on his face, blocking off the doorway and his only means of escape. He faltered, could he even push Dudley out of the way?

It didn’t matter. His brief hesitation cost him dearly as he felt a hand closing around the back of his neck and a weight pressing him down. A second later his face slammed into the ground, his limbs flailing uselessly about him. The weight at his back lifted but before Harry could think to move, Vernon delivered a swift kick to his ribs. Another followed shortly after and Harry writhed on the floor gasping for breath.

Vernon's sausage-like fingers took hold of Harry's short hair, forcing him upright only to throw him back onto the floor to his hands and knees. Harry tried to crawl away, too distressed to consider the futility of the action. Pain exploded in his back as hard leather bit away at his flesh and he stopped, instinctively going down on his haunches and tucking his head so only his back would be exposed. It was over, he had nowhere to go, he couldn’t fight it any more and moving away now would only make this more painful.

He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth against the pain. He knew it wouldn’t go on long, Vernon had never had much in the way of stamina but he made up for it with the considerable strength he put behind each strike. Even so, it may as well have been an eternity later when he heard an unexpected voice speak out.

“Vernon, for Heaven's sake that's enough.” The blows stopped and Harry raised his head, he hadn’t noticed when Petunia entered the room. He stared at his aunt as though he'd never seen her before. Petunia had never been one to watch his punishments, but she'd never put a stop to it either.

Vernon had a similar look on his own face. “Enough? He still has fire in him, the filth hasn't accepted his place yet. You know this is the only way to get through to his kind.” He raised his belt arm again, and Harry quickly lowered his head.

“I know, I know,” Petunia quickly agreed, “but it's Christmas Eve–”

Vernon laughed outright. “Feeling sentimental is it!”

Petunia shook her head, put off by the absurd notion. “No, No. Tomorrow is Christmas and there are still a good many things to be done in preparation. If the boy must stay, I intend to make good use of him. But how can I if the freak can barely move? Look at him, he'll track blood all over my clean house!”

Vernon considered it for a moment. “All right, we'll finish this later, boy,” he conceded gruffly. He left the room and Dudley followed, only Petunia was left standing over him.“Get yourself cleaned up. I want you downstairs in five minutes,” she said brusquely, eyeing him with intense dislike.

Once she’d left him alone, he righted himself, grabbing at his glasses and shirt and hurrying for the bathroom. He didn’t look in the mirror, he was disgusted enough with himself without having to see what had been done. That had been humiliating, he hadn't been remotely able to defend himself. He cursed his idiocy. Why did he always have to make things worse for himself? When would he learn that it was best to just keep his head down?

He bitterly stripped off the rest of his clothes and threw on the shower, not waiting for the water to heat up before stepping in. After the initial shock of cold, he found the cool water ebbed away the pain of the hot, stinging cluster of welts on his back.

Of course, he couldn’t stay long to enjoy it. As soon as the water circling the drain lost its red tinge he shut off the shower, redressing and made his way downstairs to report to his aunt. She had evidently spent the last few minutes composing a list of chores he was to complete for the day. She shoved the list in his face as soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

He took the paper, skimming the long list. There was more housework than Petunia could possibly have been planning to do if he hadn’t shown up. He looked to his aunt knowingly, but didn’t dare to voice his thoughts.

She looked disdainfully back and made an impatient shooing gesture. “Well, off you go then. I want all of those tasks completed by the end of the day, I want everything to be perfect for tomorrow and if the house isn’t sparkling clean it'll be on your head.”

“Of course, Aunt Petunia,” he said, resigned.

Harry spent the day moving stiffly about the house, trying to get through all the work assigned to him while staying as much out of the way as possible. He worked fast, with an efficiency only brought about by experience.

“Boy!” Petunia's shrill voice called out from the kitchen and Harry stopped dusting and went over to her. The kitchen smelled wonderful, the room filled with the savoury scent of the hot roast beef sandwiches plated on the counter. He realized suddenly that it had already been about a day since he'd kept anything in his stomach. The events of yesterday had all but erased his hunger, but now his stomach betrayed him, growling loudly at the tantalizing aroma.

Petunia gave him a nasty look and Harry flushed, of course he knew the food wasn’t for him. “Take these to the living room, and then tidy up the kitchen.” She said, handing him the serving dish. “And don't you lay a single grubby finger on them, these are not for you.” She watched him carefully as he took the sandwiches into the room where Vernon and Dudley were watching the telly with the volume way too high. When he set the plates down they dove in like starved dogs, not bothering to acknowledge him, and Harry decided it best not to linger until they did.

He returned to the kitchen, hoping to clean up quickly so he could get back to the tasks on his list. But his eyes fell on the counter and he stopped; Petunia had left a crusty end piece to a loaf of bread and a few tiny scraps of meat sitting on the counter. He looked around and quickly shoved it all into his pocket for later, unable to believe his luck. It was rare that Petunia was so careless, she must have somehow got out of the habit of hiding food scraps before Harry could get at them. He carried on with his cleaning in slightly higher spirits.

It was evening when he heard his aunt screeching for him again, thankfully his haste had paid off and he was already finishing up on the last task on the list, setting the table. Petunia was wholly unimpressed with his swiftness. She had prepared dinner and Harry, as usual, was to play the role of manservant. At his aunt's instruction, he set out the warm food on the dining table as everyone took their seats.

Dudley prattled on about his school and what only he could consider to be accomplishments while Vernon and Petunia showered him with all the praise and attention he desired. Harry had taken his place standing out of the way in the corner, just in case he was needed, and stared studiously at the floor as his relatives ate and talked. Harry tried to let his thoughts drift away from the room and the food so close yet out of his reach, he didn’t want to draw attention to himself because his stomach wouldn’t keep quiet.

Eventually, once Dudley had all but licked his fourth plate clean, dinner was at last winding down and Harry stepped in to collect the dishes. He took up his aunt's and his uncle's plate and was reaching for Dudley's when the doorbell rang. His cousin perked up. “I'll bet that's Piers!” Harry barely had time to wonder why Dudley's friend was visiting so late before Dudley slid his chair back, not caring as it knocked into Harry. “Out of the way, freak,” Dudley said, pushing past him in a hurry to get to the front door.

Harry hopped almost comically, trying to regain his balance but he lost this grip on the dishes in his hand in the process. They hit the floor just a second before he did, and he winced as they cracked against the hard surface. He stared at the broken pieces in something akin to a daze, and then looked worriedly over to the two still seated at the table.

“My china!” Petunia screeched hysterically. Her ordinarily pasty face was bright with unbecoming blotches of colour, but it was nothing compared to the violent purpling of his uncle's face. With a jolt of panic, Harry sprung into action.

“I'm so sorry! I'll get it cleaned up right away!” Harry said scrambling to collect the large shards in his hands.

A second later something cracked against his skull with a burst of pain and he toppled over sideways, dropping the pieces he'd collected. He blinked, looking up to find the shadowy form of his uncle against the chandelier's light.

His uncle wasn’t looking at him any more though, Harry followed his gaze and his own eyes fell on a familiar hunk of bread lying amongst the china and before he could stop himself his hand went to check his pocket. Vernon didn’t miss the incriminating movement, he grabbed Harry by his throat pulling him easily to his feet and forcing him back against the wall.

“So. Stealing from us already, is it?” he accused through gritted teeth.

Harry floundered, “It wasn't...I mean, I didn’t–” Vernon's hand tightened threateningly around his windpipe, nearly cutting off his air.

“I'm sorry!” Harry choked, “I won't– I won't do it again.”

Vernon threw him forcefully to the ground and swiftly stomped down on his tender back. Harry rolled over immediately, attempting to move back but Vernon was all too ready to unleash his fury on him.

“I graciously let you into my home. I give you a place to live. And you repay me by insulting me? Breaking my things? Stealing from me!” he ranted, punctuating each sentence with another kick.

“Please... I'm sorry..” Harry moaned, he knew apologising had never once helped, but he was sure his ribs were going to give soon. Harry braced himself for a blow that never came and after a few seconds, he cracked open his eyes.

“Get up.”

Harry didn’t move, not quite ready to believe it was over. His uncle rolled his eyes and reached down and yanked him up by the back of his shirt. Harry stood, trembling, and Vernon looked at him with a mixture of repulsion and amusement. “Pathetic!” he jeered, dragging Harry from the room and over to the back door. He opened it, letting in a rush of chilled air, and pushed Harry through.

“You'll sleep out there tonight. And you can stay there until you remember how you freaks are to behave in proper society.”

Vernon closed the door and pulled the shade over the window, leaving Harry to fumble in the darkness. Harry waited a moment while his eyes adjusted to the scarce light of the starless night. When he could make out the path to the shed he set towards it, the stinging December winds quickening his step. To his immense relief, the lock on the door was already undone and he blindly stepped inside, feeling his way through the clutter to the back wall.

He huddled in the corner, ignoring the pain in his ribs as he drew his knees to his chest to recapture some of his body heat. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Was it worth it just for a bloody piece of bread? he rebuked himself mentally. He could have gone several days longer without food before resorting to stealing and now he'd just guaranteed that he’d have to do just that. Whereas they might have eventually thrown him some pity scraps before, now they would feel justified to let him starve for a while.

Harry let his forehead drop onto his knees with a sigh. His first day back had gone almost as disastrously as ever. In a way he was happy he had to stay outside, at least he didn’t have to worry about making a mess of anything out here. It was even relaxing, and despite the bitter cold it was still better than being in the cupboard where he could be yanked out at any moment.

The cold seeped into him, making him feel even more tired than he'd already been. He groped around him, he'd smuggled an old towel in here one day for occasions like this and he hoped it hadn’t been discovered. After a minute, his hand fell on something soft and fuzzy and he grabbed it. He lay down in the corner, draping the towel over as much of himself as he could and resting his head on an old mower tire. He drifted off gently and with surprising ease, a testament to his exhaustion.

He awoke screaming.

Harry clutched at his burning scar. Voldemort was angry, very angry and he was on a rampage. Harry had watched in abject horror as he tortured muggle after muggle before he'd managed to claw his way back to his own mind. A hand clamped over his mouth and Harry frantically pulled away and tried to bite down, sure a Death Eater had found him at last. He received a slap in the face for his efforts.

“BE QUIET! You'll wake the whole ruddy neighbourhood!” Vernon's voice broke through his fear, and he began to panic for an entirely new reason. Waking his uncle was never good in the best of times, but dragging him outside into the cold in the middle of the night? The man was probably murderous. But Vernon hesitated, apparently torn between acting on his hatred towards Harry and succumbing to his desire to return to bed.

“Get back inside, before the neighbours start asking questions. And I don't want to hear another peep from you,” Vernon grumbled, obviously having chosen the latter but not happy to be letting Harry off his punishment. Harry didn’t argue or hesitate, his uncle followed him up to his room and secured the locks outside the door once Harry was inside. He collapsed onto the thin sparsely bedded mattress the Dursleys provided him. He groaned, feeling wide awake and yet still utterly exhausted, a state which had become the ongoing theme throughout this past term. All the same, he knew he’d be getting no further rest that night.

With no way to occupy himself, Harry laid there as the hours passed, glumly watching the light stretch across his ceiling as the sun rose to announce the arrival of Christmas day. To Harry’s surprise, Dudley was the first one to rise, apparently as impatient as he'd been when they were kids to get at his presents. Harry heard his distinctive footsteps as he waddled down the hall to the master bedroom to wake his parents. He heard Vernon grunt something and a minute or two later, Harry heard the locks on his door being undone.

Petunia poked her head in. “Downstairs, now,” she said. Harry got up and joined in the migration down to the living room. Harry was unsurprised when he saw the immense collection of presents stuffed under the Christmas tree. He examined them impassively, he wasn’t a fool, he knew he wasn’t brought here to open anything himself. Petunia shoved a bag at him, with the obvious implication that he was on rubbish duty.

Dudley was already ripping into his first present, tossing the paper about carelessly and Harry collected it without bothering to look at what his cousin had received. It had taken a good while but he'd stopped being envious of Dudley. He knew he would never have everything that his cousin did, barely even a fraction of it. There was no point in wasting energy pining over things he’d managed just fine without.

When he was younger, it had been a much more difficult concept to accept. He remembered the day Dudley found out when his birthday was. Dudley had thrown a world-class tantrum in the grocery store saying it was unfair for the freak to have a birthday when he had to wait nearly another year for his. Petunia had given in immediately as she always did, not wanting the scene to continue.

Just like that, she had given Dudley his birthday and he'd had to watch as his spoiled cousin opened presents and ate cake on what should have been his special day. He was too young to understand then that it didn’t work that way at all. Instead, when he was alone, he'd cried and hated himself all the more because he could never be normal.

Harry glanced absently over at Dudley who was currently opening a small, rather crudely wrapped box. He threw away the paper and pulled out something that somewhat resembled a wallet covered in fur. Must be some new muggle trend, Harry thought blandly, though considering some of the fashions he'd seen wizards sporting, he could hardly criticize. He bagged the crumpled paper.

“OW!” Dudley cried out, right in his ear and Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. Dudley was holding an injured finger to his mouth. “The bloody thing bit me! Is this some kind of joke?” He looked to Harry accusingly.

Harry kept his face blank, though he was quite taken aback, trying to figure out exactly what Dudley was trying to accuse him of doing.

Nobody moved, the allegation was absurd after all. “Just look at it, it's got teeth!” Dudley said, irritatedly waving a bloodied finger at the furry thing.

Vernon wasn’t convinced, “What are you on about? Of course it hasn’t!” he said, shuffling over to examine it. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. “Well look at that. Where did you buy this one, Pet?”

Petunia, who had gone over to Dudley and was attempting to soothe her poor, injured son, looked up in surprise. “Me? I thought that tasteless thing was from you!” she said, her indignation clear.

Like the breaking of a dam, understanding flooded the room and three horrified sets of eyes found Harry. Dread coiled heavily in his stomach and Harry rushed to explain. “This wasn’t me! Well, at least not on purpose... I think Dudley must have just opened a present that was meant for me.” Whatever it was, he had a pretty good idea who it had been from.

“Who’d want to send you presents?” Dudley asked with genuine and insulting confusion.

Harry bristled, despite himself. “My friends for one. If you remember I’m actually rather famous in the wi– in my community,” he said heatedly.

Vernon stepped in, his tension replaced by irritation. “I don’t care if that lot dubs you King of the Freaks, I don’t want any of that abnormal filth under my roof!” He started digging through the remaining presents under the tree, making a much smaller pile of what must have been Harry's presents.

“Sneaking into my home without my permission, I should be calling the police!” Vernon groused.

Harry was about to protest that possibly they had simply been spelled into the house somehow, but he couldn’t think of a way to point that out without painful results.

“I won't stand for this, I'll burn every last one of these blasted boxes!” he said, looking at the pile with revulsion.

Harry's eyes widened, “No! You can't!” he blurted, regretting his rash choice of words immediately. Vernon's beady eyes narrowed. “Oh, I can't you say?”

Harry thought quickly, his friends would be asking a lot of questions if they found out he didn’t receive their gifts. “Er– no, it's just … it could be dangerous if you try to burn– er – you know, m-magical–” Vernon's beefy fist collided with the side of his head and sent the room spinning. Even at his angriest, Vernon always avoided directly hitting his face, something Harry was always vaguely grateful for.

“That vile word is not to be spoken in my house! or did you need another lesson?” Harry was sure his uncle would have pulled out his belt right there had he been wearing one.

“Come oooon, I want to open the rest of my presents,” Dudley whined pathetically. “The freak's ruining it, does he have to be here?”

“Of course he doesn't, Diddydums,” Petunia cooed, shooting her husband a chastising look.

Vernon stopped short, his anger fading to chagrin after getting so caught up. He cleared his throat. “Right, yes. Boy, back to your room. And take that pile of rubbish with you,” he commanded, gesturing at Harry's meagre stack of gifts.

Harry did as he was told, using every method of restraint he knew of not to look too happy about it. He silently appreciated his cousin's need for endless attention and vanished upstairs into his bedroom and placed his presents on the bed. He moved quickly; there was no guaranteeing Vernon wouldn’t change his mind and destroy everything, consequences be damned.

Harry sorted through his presents and found one with Hermione’s handwriting on it. She had given him a book that resembled a diary, except that it said things like “Do it today or later you’ll pay!” every time he opened a page.

Sirius and Lupin had got him a stunning set of books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts, which had moving colour illustrations of all the counter jinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful for him later.

Tonks’s present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around his room, though he wished he still had his full-size version. Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans; Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies; and Dobby, a truly dreadful painting claiming to be a likeness of Harry that he suspected had been done by the elf himself.

He grinned, placing the painting against the wall; he didn’t have to look at it to appreciate the thought behind it after all. Harry put on the jumper over his rather worn shirt and then savoured one of Mrs. Weasley's pies; it was heavenly and not just because he was so hungry. He reluctantly hid the rest away for later along with the beans; he had to make it through the next couple of weeks yet.

He could hear the Dursley's downstairs, talking and laughing, but he couldn’t have been happier not to be a part of it. For the first time in a week –though it felt infinitely longer– Harry was reminded that he was loved. His friends were his true family, they were his continual source of strength even when he was surrounded by so much animosity. He knew that without them, he would be lost.

He felt remarkably content. Harry settled down on his lumpy bed with his new defence book, bent on looking through it in depth, but still ready to stash it away at any moment if need be. Harry read the day away, making mental notes of things he could use for the DA, hoping he'd remember it until he could write it all down. Considering where he was, he could not have asked for a more tolerable Christmas.

Harry did his best not to make a sound, not wanting to remind his relatives of his existence. By midday enticing aromas were wafting into his room, and Harry was almost tempted to go downstairs and see if he could nick something; of course he wasn’t foolish enough to push his luck that far. The Dursley's were apparently so wrapped up in their own goings-on, it seemed they'd chosen to forget about him completely. Or so he'd thought, until a couple of hours later Harry nearly had a heart attack when he heard the locks on his doors rattling until he realized they were being slid into place instead of released. A plate appeared through the pet door with a slice of bread on it, he stared at it in wonder. When he heard the doorbell ring, he recognized the bread as a bribe to ensure his continued silence.

He put his ear to the door, trying to determine who the guest could be. He all but recoiled with loathing as he heard the distinctive, imperious speech of Vernon's sister Marge. He understood their precaution now, obviously they had still not forgiven him for blowing up Aunt Marge a couple summers ago; even if the ministry had erased the incident from her mind.

Harry couldn’t relax properly again until at last, that wretched woman had said her goodbyes and left. Just in case Marge had put any ideas about disciplining Harry into Vernon's head, Harry didn’t even consider attempting sleep until he'd heard all three of the Dursley's heading off to bed themselves.

The house quiet, Harry made sure to clear his mind before letting himself sleep, he didn’t want a repeat of last night. He drifted off with decidedly hopeful thoughts that he could have a few more days like this one.

Harry made his way through the darkness, his body lithe and flexible as his belly slid smoothly over the stone floor. He scented the air, he was nearing his destination. He turned a corner, his sharp eyes picking out a lone drowsing figure slumped in a chair in the distance, he felt an incredible bloodlust rise within him.

He ignored it and moved forward, focusing only on his singular goal. But the figure was stirring now, a man, and as he stood he was drawing forth a wand. He couldn’t let the man become an obstacle, there was no helping it. Harry approached quickly and without caution, letting instinct take over and rearing up to strike. He lunged forward, plunging his teeth into the man's chest until he felt the satisfying give of bones as they cracked under the pressure of his bite. He savoured the rich flavour of blood as it seeped into his mouth before easing up, ready to strike again and again–

“NOOOOO!”

Harry's eyes flew open, unseeing in the agony lancing through his skull. The feeling wouldn’t subside, and no matter how he clutched at his head the pain only intensified. He couldn't escape it, until the pain became so much he rolled over and vomited over the side of the bed. He writhed, trying to untangle himself from his sweat soaked sheets, a sense of urgency driving him through the miasma of pain.

He had to wake Snape; Snape would know what to do. Harry staggered towards the door but before he reached it, the door flew open and light flooded in from the hallway. Harry was blinded again, only just able to make out a figure in his doorway.

“P-professor?” he choked out desperately.

“What in the blazes is all this ruckus!” No, that wasn't Snape. He wasn't with Snape any more, he remembered.

Harry took another step and lost his balance, he reached out, grasping at the cloth of Vernon's nightshirt to steady himself.

“He's in trouble,” Harry gasped, “I saw it.. so much blood.. I have to help him!”

Vernon recoiled from his touch, slapping his hand away, but he seemed too disturbed to do anything more. “Blood? Who?” Vernon said, looking around with alarmed uncertainty.

Harry squinted at his uncle, the pain was finally starting to ebb. “You won't understand, I saw it…He's dying! I-I have to tell someone!” Vernon was taking up the entire doorway and Harry tried to push past but the man pushed him right back.

“Just where do you think you're going?”

“Don't you get it? I need to get to my trunk!” Harry was yelling, but he didn’t care.

“You'll be doing no such thing, now be quiet!” Vernon hissed.

“I have to get help! Someone's in trouble!” Harry said frantically, trying to find a way around his uncle's immovable mass. “Enough of this nonsense.” Vernon said, losing his patience, he brought his knee up to catch Harry in the stomach and he staggered back, but Harry wasn’t going to be stopped so easily.

Harry cried out desperately, ramming Vernon with all his might. For all his effort, he'd only managed to make his uncle rock backwards slightly.

“I said ENOUGH!” Vernon advanced on Harry again, hands curling into fists and Harry stepped back warily, still eyeing the doorway.

“Please, he needs help–!” Vernon's fist found him before he could finish, hitting him so hard, he fell to the ground. Harry winced in pain as he got back to his feet. Why couldn’t Vernon understand? This was life or death and all the man cared about was losing a few minutes of sleep.

Vernon fixed him with a hard stare, making clear his intention not to give in to his nephew's whims.

“LET ME THROUGH!” Harry all but screamed, feeling the anger and frustration build to near intolerable levels within him. The lights began to flicker and Vernon's eyes widened with alarm.

“Oh no you don't!” Vernon clouted him around the head this time, and Harry swayed on his feet, but his determination remained. Vernon regrouped and slammed his massive fist down on him like a sledgehammer, Harry was too slow and disoriented to dodge and it connected solidly near the top of his head. The force of it radiated all the way down his spine and his knees buckled beneath him.

The world became fuzzy around the edges, dreamlike; he knew he had to do something, something important but as much as he tried to will himself to move he couldn’t muster the strength. He toppled bonelessly onto the floor and Vernon took to kicking him again, he really seemed to like doing that, Harry thought distantly. But the man's efforts were wasted because only moments later, Harry was lost to unconsciousness.