Ever since, they were children, Ollie promised they would run away together, someday, before the sun came up, he promised he would take Harry by the hand, pick up the lock with his other, and they would be free.

Every time Uncle Vernon was mad, and brought out the belt, or every time Aunt Petunia said that she wished Harry had died in the car crash too, Ollie would hug him, his curly blonde hair tickling Harry’s face as he gently whispered, “We’ll run away, I promise.”

Harry believed him, of course, he would have. Ollie was his best friend, his only friend really. He and Harry shared everything, including the cupboard under the stairs. They had the same thoughts, the same favorite color, they both loved hugs and cuddling when it got too dark or too cramped in the cupboard, and Ollie never minded when Harry cried.

The only thing he could never share with Ollie was food and water, that’s because Ollie told him that he doesn’t need those anyways, and Harry should have it all. Harry never questioned this as a child, and turned a blind-eye as he got older as well.

Not eating, nor drinking wasn’t Ollie’s weirdest attribute. No one could see Ollie with their eyes, not even Uncle Vernon when he was busy hitting Harry with Ollie there only a few meters away. Ollie told him that’s because Harry was special, his only true friend.

Harry loved Ollie. Ollie loved him, and someday, before sunrise, they would run away from the Dursleys, get their own house, buy all the food they wanted so then Ollie could eat too, and sleep in the biggest bed ever found on Earth.

“And the toys we like too,” Ollie reminds him softly. They’re sleeping on their cot in the cupboard, it’s a little early for the eight year old Harry to get locked in, but he forgot to wash a fork after cleaning up dinner because he was just so hungry himself. He ended up going through the bin for some leftovers and accidentally left the fork in the sink.

Ollie tells him it’s okay, “They should have washed their own fork, don’t mind them Harry,” he hugs Harry closer and the small child smiles. Then they begin their nightly ritual, it always starts with Harry suggesting something along the lines of “We could run away,” at the end of any conversation related to the Dursley’s abuse.

Ollie’s hand would stop running through his messy hair, and they would look at each other. “Before sunrise,” Ollie muses under his breath.

“And we could steal some cookies from the pantry, and take Dudley’s Sippy cup,” Harry’s tongue feels extremely weird even as he says this. The thought of his relatives finding out that he had even thought of stealing from them sent shivers down his back.

Not only would Uncle Vernon bring out the whip, he would beat Harry black and blue with it until he went blind. He threatened to do so sometimes, when he got too red in the face and the vein on his forehead bulged out more prominently than ever before. He would threaten to beat him until Harry truly had ‘something to cry about’.

“And find jobs,” Ollie raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, the cookies won’t last forever.” Harry defensively whispers. Their voices never rise above whispering, if his relatives heard Harry talking to himself in the cupboard he would be in so much trouble.

They couldn’t see Ollie, so they wouldn’t understand that Harry wasn’t being freaky, or talking to himself.

“Work where?” Ollie asks him, he has several times already. Every time the subject comes up, the eight year old feels a heavy weight in his chest. He doesn’t know that he’s too young to think about jobs, or money, but it’s something that Ollie brings up a lot at nights.

“It’s an ugly truth,” Ollie tells him when the topic actually made Harry cry one night. He was younger then. “If we want to run away, we need money to get ourselves a house to live in.” the blond boy hugged him closer, humming under his breath and running his fingers into Harry’s hair.

“I can wash the dishes,” Harry mumbles that night. He could do a lot more than an average eight year old could do. He could mow the lawn mostly by himself now, he could paint the shed (even if the paint gave him horrible headaches), and he could clean pretty well.

Ollie hummed thoughtfully. “But who would want you to wash their dishes besides the Dursleys?”

That’s a good question. Harry doesn’t think that anyone else has a boy like Harry living in their cupboard to wash the dishes for them. At least, no one that goes to Harry’s school. The children are all like Dudley, none of them cleans, washes the dishes, or does the chores that Harry does, and to his knowledge, no one sleeps in a cupboard either.

Although, he couldn’t be too sure, since none of them really talk to Harry much. They all think he’s a freak. Most of them won’t even join Dudley when he’s playing ‘Harry Hunting’. Harry doesn’t really care though, he has Ollie, and they both like hiding in the library most of the time anyway.

“When we run away,” Harry mutters after a while, “Can we get new clothes too? And change our school?”

“We wouldn’t even need to go to school,” Ollie tells him. “We make the rules.”

“But I like school,” the eight year old argues. “Don’t you like it there too?”

Ollie stares at him, his shining very sadly down at him in the cot. “But they’re mean to you there all the time,” he says, his voice breaking and his brows knitted.

Harry shrugs, then cringes as his back sears with pain. “There’s the library.”

“We can have a library in our home.”

“And the things they teach us there,” he continues.

“They’re stupid things we already know,” Ollie retorts. “You already know math, you do the shopping all the time. You can write too, and read. That’s more than Dudley can do.”

“Don’t say his name,”

“Why? He’s stupid.”

Harry couldn’t argue with that.

*

When Harry’s ten, they nearly do it.

He’s getting too big for the cupboard, and so is Ollie, who’s only a little taller than Harry is, but around the same body weight. Instead of lying on the cot together, Harry lies on Ollie’s legs, so they can both fit in the small space. He’s argued that they could switch several times, complaining that surely Ollie’s legs would fall asleep if Harry’s weight is there all night, but Ollie is adamant.

“It’s alright,” he tells him, and pushes his head back down in his lap. “I’m not like you, remember?”

Harry more than remembers. He envies Ollie for it sometimes. He feels incredibly guilty whenever he’s jealous of the other boy but he cannot help it. Ollie never eats, he never drinks, never needs to use the bathroom, never needs to shower in order to smell like vanilla, he’s never seen.

Meanwhile, Harry gets into trouble, gets beaten, and insulted and degraded for having basic human needs, most of the time, he gets in trouble merely for being seen, or existing and breathing the same air as his cousin.

After a while, it gets too exhausting.

“When we run away, I want to have hot bubbly baths all the time.” Harry says wistfully as he plays with a stray thread poking out of Ollie’s trousers. The pants is a bit frayed around the edges, but wearable to Harry’s standards.

“And drink grape juice too,” Ollie mentions, making Harry frown.

“Grape juice?”

His invisible friend shrugs. “I saw Petunia taking a glass in the bathroom with her earlier.”

“Ollie that was wine,” Harry says, trying not to choke as he stifles his laughter.

Ollie makes a face. “Wine?”

Harry’s smile falls off his face and he sags down on his best friend’s lap. “Yeah,” He breaths. “The kind that makes you drunk.” Ollie’s hand stills on his back, the tips of his fingers brushing against the scabbed welts that cover Harry’s back. It only stops hurting when Ollie touches them.

“Drunk like him?”

“Kind of.” Uncle Vernon doesn’t drink wine, he drinks whisky, or watered down vodka when he’s too pissed off after work, Harry even found a half empty bottle of bourbon in the back of the liquor cabinet.

Harry usually gets the burn of his anger when that occurs. Like last night. The lashes on his back throb in agreement. Last night didn’t happen because Harry was a freak or did something bad, it happened because Harry just happened to be polishing the floor with Uncle Vernon in the same room.

“We’re never drinking wine,” Ollie quietly declares, making Harry chuckle.

They fall asleep talking about the things they’ll do when they run away, just like every night.

*

Next week wasn't as pleasant for Harry, Vernon had lost his shot to get promoted the previous week, and found out over the weekend, the same weekend that Petunia and Dudley were off to Aunt Marge’s for one reason or other, leaving the little ten year old with a seething middle aged man with a drinking problem.

It all went fine for the first couple of days, Ollie had Harry’s back, warned him when Vernon was in the vicinity, talked him down when Harry had panic attacks whenever he thought he’d hear footsteps in the middle of the night, helped him snuggle some food out of the bin before his uncle found out.

Things were going fine, not well, but good enough.

Tuesday evening was yard work, and it gave Harry the perfect excuse to get out of the house and hide from Vernon in the shed after the chores were done. Ollie and Harry played ‘the quiet game’ in the shed on those days, where they took turns being ninjas and racing to the door without making a sound. Ollie was very adamant for Harry to excel at this game and Harry, as bored as he was, didn’t question it when the other boy asked he try again and again and again until he had it down pat.

When it started getting late, Ollie prompted Harry to head back to the house to make Vernon dinner.

“Make something quick, then we can go back in the cupboard,” Ollie told him as they snuck back from the backdoor. Nodding, Harry went to wash up in the sink, completely unaware of a bulking mass of a man stumbling toward the kitchen in his drunken haze.

The child busied himself with cutting some vegetables for the soup, while Ollie sat next to him, playing with a carrot stick before suddenly his body stiffened.

“Harry-.” Ollie couldn’t finish his sentence as Vernon ripped Harry from the chair and threw him to the ground, his eyes large and beady as he peered down at Harry's crumpled form, and his bleeding arm that had nicked the kitchen knife.

“YOU!” Uncle Vernon seethed, sharply driving his foot to Harry’s side. Ollie stumbled out of his seat as Vernon kept kicking until he was lying next to Harry, trying to shield his body from the vicious drunk beast.

“IT’S ALL YOU BOY!” Vernon shattered his empty bottle against the chair and hit Harry with the jagged glass, and the little boy screamed in pain, crying and pleading for it stop.

“Harry, it’s okay, shh. He’ll go away soon,” Ollie was saying on the brink of tears. “We’ll run away, I promise, I promise!”

“EVERYTHING’S WRONG WITH MY LIFE! AND IT’S ALL YOU!” the man was furious beyond reason, violent beyond what was considered cruelty, and drunk beyond what was once thought possible.

Harry could do nothing, but to lay on the ground, taking hit after hit as he tried to stifle his cries and just listen to Ollie’s voice, singing in his ears.
Just as Vernon got tired of the glass and his shoes, he got out the belt, and Ollie shot to his feet, trying to body slam the whale like man away from Harry. He knew Harry couldn’t take the belt, he would die, this monster would kill him.

“STOP!” Ollie screamed, punching Vernon in the stomach as hard as he could. “YOU’RE KILLING HIM! STOP IT! STOP!”

Harry was crying, fully expecting the belt to whip into the air and land on his skin…he only felt one lash, before Vernon crashed to his knees, violently vomited before passing out cold on the kitchen floor, next to a bloodied, shivering Harry.

Ollie was immediately beside him, cradling Harry’s broken head in his lap. “It’s okay. Shhh, he’s gone, he’s gone Harry, shh.”

“We’ll run away tonight, I promise, Harry I promise.”

Harry didn’t answer, unconscious from the blood loss and cold and clammy to touch. Ollie cried over him until dawn, when the boy finally awakened, groggy, and in pain as Ollie forced them to both get into the cupboard and lock themselves in.

Where they remained for a whole week until Petunia came back, grudgingly told Vernon off for causing 'too much damage' to the boy and then went on with her life as if nothing was wrong.

“We’ll get away someday,” Ollie promised him every single night, as he hugged him a little tighter every time. “I promise, they would never find us. He would never find us.”


*

“I told you we would get away,”

“This place is beautiful Ollie.” Harry breathed in wonder a year later, touching the windowpane as he peered down the edge to watch the grounds. He and Ollie were alone in the dorm, since it was too early for even the first years to be getting ready for bed. Ollie chuckled.

“We’re sleeping in a tower, on a real bed Harry! We got real food, and there’s the bathroom we can use whenever we want-.”

“How did you know?” The messy haired boy interrupted him.

“Know about what?”

“About this place silly!” Harry grabbed the blond by his arms. “That’s why no one can see you right? We’re both magic!”

Ollie’s face-unbeknownst to an excited Harry- fell. “Harry-.”

“And you told me all about it since we were children! That we would run away, and get a bed and real food…you should have told me sooner that it was all real. Are you like the ghosts we saw at the feast? Why can no one else see you? Is it a special kind of magic?”

Ollie squirmed in his arms. His eyes downcast. Harry let the other boy go. “In a way.” he mumbled.

Harry frowned. “But you should lift it now! The Dursleys aren’t here anymore, and you can attend classes with me like that! Make other friends.”

Ollie’s expression darkened, he was scowling at Harry, something that rarely occurred. “Make other friends?” he repeated slowly, crossing his arms. “Are you saying that you’re not enough for me?”

The messy haired boy blinked. “No, I’m saying that…these people are nice Ollie, like Ron. He’s nice, right?”

“Yes,” Ollie admitted. “But he’s not our friend, he’s just there. I’m your friend.”

Harry pulled away from the blond, his brows furrowed in confusion. He had no idea why Oliver was acting in this way. The boy had been as excited as he was on the train. Or when they were doing the shopping in Diagon Alley, or even when they were mounting the boats. What was wrong with him now?

“Of course you are, but why can’t we have several friends? If you lift your magic then-.”

“No.”

“Ollie-.”

His friend turned away from him, flopping down on Harry’s bed as the other boy stood on the other side, feeling a slight lump forming in his throat.
“Harry, these people aren’t your friends,” Ollie said slowly.

“They weren’t there in the cupboard with us; they know nothing about you, or about The Dursleys, or all the things that we went through to get here.”

“I know that.” The lump got bigger and the eleven year old thickly swallowed against the urge to start crying. Ollie has never been this mean to him, maybe to other people when they were mean to Harry, but they never fought like this.

“Then get the idea out of your head.” The blond said and got up once again to face him. His brown eyes coldly narrowed. “Other people hurt us Harry.” Harry turned his head away.

“You know that’s true.” Ollie prodded. “Remember Philip?”

Philip was a boy in elementary school, really nice and sweet at first; he even sometime shared his lunch with Harry and laughed at his jokes. He was in Harry’s opinion the first true friend he has had after Ollie, and he was ecstatic that someone like Philip wouldn’t consider him a freak like everyone else.

That was until a week later, when he had goaded Harry into walking right into a trap so Dudley and his cronies could play a new version of ‘Harry hunting’ that included rocks and chalk from the teacher’s room, resulting in Harry to land himself on the roof to get away, and then later be suspended because of it.

“Philip was different.”

“No he’s not. You know I’m right.”

Harry took off his glasses, furiously rubbing his eyes as tears threatened to stream down his face. He wasn’t a child anymore, he wouldn’t cry. If Oliver wanted to be a git, then let him be, he was most probably just jealous that Harry was starting to find other friends that wasn’t him.

“You’re telling me that I’m not allowed to have other friends. Sounds to me like you’re jealous, Oliver.”

Oliver actually sneered at him, crossing his arms. “Jealous? I’m trying to protect you!” Harry passionately shook his head, but Ollie was relentless. “These people cannot keep you safe and I can!”

“If you got to know them, talked to them-.”

“They cannot see me. You know that.” His friend interjected bitterly. This was the last straw for Harry, and the other boy lashed out, throwing a pillow at Ollie’s head with a growl.

“Then lift your stupid magic so they can!” he cried, and Ollie held the pillow in his hands, just staring at him.

“You just don’t understand, do you?”

Harry really didn’t.

*

The next morning, when Ron and Harry were late to Transfiguration, Ollie was already standing in the corner of the classroom, pointedly ignoring the messy haired boy, as he and Ron scrambled to find seats.

Professor McGonagall clicked her tongue a few times and suggested to buy a wristwatch for the boys so they wouldn’t feel compelled to be late to classes again. Harry flushed and ducked his head, afraid that the stern speech would turn into something more, which was usually the case with Aunt classes anymore, whilst Ron’s face turned red as a beet, and Harry muttered apologies under his breath.

All the while Ollie’s eyes were stitched to the blackboard, avoiding Harry’s anxious glances and his internal plea for the other boy to notice him. His tense posture rarely changed in their second period in Herbology, and outright turned hostile at charms when Ron quipped with the Granger girl.

Harry was miserable. He wanted this fight to be over with already. It was his first day at Hogwarts, and he’d much rather explore the castle, and get through his classes with his best friend, someone who knew him his whole life, instead of Ron and the others.

Not that there was anything wrong with them, but Harry missed his friend, who was always present in the corner of every room, glaring at the walls or other people.

At lunch, Ron caught Harry glaring back to the corner of the Great Hall.

“What you looking at mate?” he asked as he was handing the potato tray to Seamus.

Harry’s eyes snapped back to his plate. “Nothing.” He was tempted to tell him about Ollie, and their fight, or somehow force the other boy to reveal himself, but he wasn'r mad enough to betray his trust like that.

If Ollie wanted to be a git, then let him be. Harry wasn’t going to apologize for finding friends, and he most certainly wasn’t about to cut ties with the other first year boys.

“What do we have next?” he asked, stabbing his potato with a fork.

“Double potions,” Ron made a face. “Fred and George say Professor Snape is downright awful to Gryffindors…well to everyone really, who isn’t in Slytherin.”

Harry’s face mirrored Ron’s own; he wasn’t really sure how to feel about another adult who intensely disliked Harry for his freakishness, in this place of all places. He had gotten a weird vibe from the Professor the night before at the feast, but he was too busy with Ollie, and the food to think it through.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel anxiety churn in his stomach like a scorching pile of coals.

Ollie remained in the corner as the first years got up to leave, ignoring Harry’s shortness of breath, and beseeching glances.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first potions lesson, he knew he’d been wrong. Snape didn’t dislike Harry…he hated him.

He tried to make himself as small as possible in his seat, and to his hidden relief, he wasn’t the only one. Words about Snape had spread fast since the feast, and other Gryffindors-much like Harry- were dreading this class. Meanwhile, Slytherins lounged in their benches and whispered amongst themselves before bursting into laughter.

Absolutely at ease.

Ollie stood in the corner once again, his arms clenched at his sides and his eyes closed. He must have seen how distressed Harry had been. The messy haired boy desperately wanted to talk to him, or better yet, hug him before Snape came in. Ollie was invisible, no one would know, and the Slytherins couldn’t make fun of him for it, but after glancing back and forth between Ron and his best friend, Harry deiced to leave it.

The classroom door slammed open at once, crashing into the wall and surprisingly, surviving the encounter as a tall man with billowing black robes glided into the room.

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but the petrified students caught every word-like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort.

Harry watched as Ollie’s eyes slowly opened to glare at the man’s back.

The man continued, and Harry scrambled to ink his quill, his writing was wobbly at best, but he was adamant to take as much notes as possible in order to survive in this class. Harry knew how to handle volatile adults, meekness and obedience was essential for receiving the least amount of damage, and Harry liked a head start.

“Mr. Potter-.” The man suddenly drawled. “Our new…celebrity.” Harry’s head stayed hung only for a moment, before he put his quill away and looked up into Snape’s black eyes. His hands wrung his jumper under the table as he silently stared at the potion master.

Snape uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to Harry, his eyes endless dark tunnels of disdain, and disgust that was directed at Harry.

Painstakingly, he tore his gaze from the silent man, and looked at Ollie, who was watching him with a knowing frown. They were both very familiar with this silence, the silence before confrontation. Harry, though, doubted that the man would raise a hand on him in the middle of a class, but he would never assume.

He and Ollie knew the heavy prize that came with assuming things.

“Potter!” Snape said suddenly, tearing Harry’s eyes away from Ollie. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“Don’t say anything,” Ollie warned him, stepping closer to Harry now. “Harry don’t say anything, don’t provoke him.”

Harry shook his head, his eyes downcast, his nails digging into his palm through the wrung jumper. He was vaguely aware of the Granger girl raising her arm beside him.

Snape sneered at him. “Are you mute boy?”

Harry bit his lip, looking at Ollie for instructions. His friend slowly nodded his head. “Just agree with whatever he says, don’t provoke him.” they both knew this by heart now. Ollie usually did the speaking for him, when things got too bad, Harry would get too nervous, his mind would go blank and he would have no idea what to do from that point on, without making things worse. That seldom happened anymore, but here in this potion class and with the hectic day and the fight last night, Harry’s mind was as blank as a slate with only one thing in it.

‘Please don’t hurt me.’

Ollie managed to get that message across without making Harry sound pathetic.

Be meek, be respectful, they’re always right, and you’re the one who’s wrong, just agree with whatever they tell you and you might just avoid a beating.

“Sorry sir,” Harry muttered. ‘Please don’t hurt me.’

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. He seemed very frustrated at the boy’s wandering stares, and subtly glanced over his shoulder to see what Potter was staring at. Thin air, apparently. What an insolent brat.

"Tut, tut-.” he clicked his tongue, forcing the boy’s eyes back to him. “Fame clearly isn't everything."

Harry hung his head once again. “Don’t say anything Harry,” Ollie wasn’t behind Snape anymore, but rather kneeling in front of Harry’s bench, his hands perched on his parchment. “Just let him speak first. It’ll be fine. He won’t do anything to you. This isn’t like our old school.”

Once, back when Harry was in second grade, a very similar incident happened with a boy named Tyler. This boy would keep kicking Harry under the table, and no matter how hard he and Ollie tried to ignore it, they only managed to encourage the other boy and to make it even worse, the teacher kept telling Harry off for making a ruckus. When Ollie finally told him to complain to the teacher, she told Harry off for lying, and then sent him to stand in the corner for the rest of the period after hitting his hands with her ruler four times. Hard enough to open skin.

Turned out Tyler, was the son of a very important man, and they couldn’t have an unwanted orphan freak like Harry Potter to drag down his good name.

Harry remembered how it hurt, how he couldn’t use his hands to wash the dishes or touch detergent because it burned through the wounds every time.
Snape was more dangerous. The man had a wand.

“Let’s try again Potter,” the man snapped. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

Hermione’s hand shot in the air once again, and was ignored by the glaring potion master.

“Tell him you don’t know.” Ollie ordered.

“I don’t know sir,” Harry repeated the words. Snape’s sneer expanded across his face.

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?”

Something churned in his stomach. He didn’t know he needed to do a prior reading. Was he the only one who didn’t know? Last night he was too busy fighting, and marveling at the simplest things around him that he had barely paid attention to his books. The other teachers didn’t seem to require this, but Harry shouldn’t have assumed. Assuming meant leaving a gap open for them to strike. Harry was such an idiot, if he hadn’t fought with Ollie, the other boy would have reminded him. He wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Sorry sir.” He told the potion master, forcing himself to keep looking in Snape’s cold calculating eyes.

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Humiliated, Harry shook his head once again, as Hermione’s hand stayed, quivering in the air.

“At least have enough respect to respond with a verbal answer Potter,” Snape snapped. “I suppose that wouldn’t require too much brain work for you?” The Slytherins snickered.

“No sir, I don’t know the answer.”

Snape gave him an odd, scrutinizing look, and then turned on his heels before walking back to the center of the class. “For your information Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the draught of living death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons.” He turned around to face the students. “As for Monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite.”

He raised an eyebrow at the eleven-year old boy as he addressed the whole class. “Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?”

Ollie stayed by his side after that.

*

“You need to stop freezing when that happens,” Ollie gently told him, hugging Harry close in the small space. They were in an empty broom closet near the dungeons, where Harry had rushed to as soon as the class was over. Harry stuttered out a few excuses to Ron and then ran off, Ollie hot on his heels.

“I couldn’t help it, he looked so mad. I should have done the reading Ollie, you were right-”

“Shh, stop rambling.”

“He hates me, like the rest of them. I thought this place was supposed to be good.”

“It is good. We have food, we have a bed to sleep in, and most of the people are nicer here. Snape is just one person Harry.”

“All it takes is one person, you said that all the time!”

“He wouldn’t have hurt you,” Ollie told him firmly. “Not in front of twenty other students in school hours.” Harry shook his head, but the blond continued. “Should you be careful around him? Yes, because you’re not an idiot. Should you be utterly terrified to the point of going mute? No, that man doesn’t have the same power over you that Vernon or Petunia did.”

“Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

“Ollie I’m so sorry about last night. I was being a git.”

“Me too, the Weasley boy seems decent enough.”

“He would love to meet you, I’m sure of it.”

“He cannot see me Harry.” The other boy reminded him.

“Why cannot you take your magic off?”

Because there was none in place, Ollie thought as he looked into his friend’s eyes.

“It’s not something that can be diminished. Just accept it Harry, you’re the only one worthy of my company.” He tried cracking a joke to lighten up the mood.

The messy haired boy bit his lip. “But if we told one of the teachers…”

“None of them can know that I’m here, they would take me away from you. Harry, are we clear?”

“But Ollie-.”

“Promise me.” He cut in. “No one can know about me, you will tell no one, you cannot keep looking at me in classes, or talking to me in public, just like before. They would think you’re crazy.”

Harry finally released a breath he had been holding for too long and nodded. “Alright, I won’t, I promise.”

“I love you Harry.” He hugged the Gryffindor close.

“Me too Ollie,” Harry’s voice was muffled in his shirt. “Never leave me.”

The potion master narrowed his eyes. His ears straining to hear whom was Potter talking to in a broom closet when he should be in his dorm. He had caught the boy almost racing to the empty closet as if he were being chased; slamming the doors behind him, and Severus’ curiosity was piqued, so he had followed the boy, listening from the other side.

Only…Potter was freaking out, half sobbing and half panting as if he was drowning. The boy was obviously having a panic attack of sorts, quite uncommon for a boy his age, and even more uncommon for the boy-who-lived. The pampered prince who surely couldn’t even be bothered to get to his classes on time, or read the material beforehand.

He thought of intervening anyway, the boy seemed quite distressed. That was until Potter started talking-to himself…or rather someone by the name of ‘Ollie’, but Severus couldn’t hear this person answering the boy in return.

He was expecting another voice to answer Potter’s blabbering, but much to his growing disappointment and concern, the boy seemed to be talking to himself, sniffling every once in a while. At first, he thought the boy was carrying out a prank of some sort, just like his arrogant father, but it became clear soon enough that Potter didn’t even know Snape was eavesdropping on the other side of the door.

Severus decided that he would keep an eye on it.

The man straightened his robes, and glared at the wooden doors once more before striding off, mentally mulling Potter’s words in his head.

*

Harry wasn’t an idiot. He knew when to push and when to back off when Ollie went into one of his moods. He mostly tried spending time with his other friends while his best friend brooded in the corner with crossed arms, mulling over things that he would never tell Harry about.

Ron had started teaching him chess, a game Harry had never played before, and the wizarding kind seemed even more fascinating than the muggle kind he had seen in school. The rest of the week was spent in a relieved, jovial mood seeing as Harry had no other confrontations with the potion master as well.

Hermione Granger, the girl with the bushy hair kept hanging around the boys, usually with a book in front of her face so she wouldn’t have to interact with anyone. Harry didn’t mind the girl being around, she was quiet, but Ron didn’t seem to think like him.

The two had a rivalry going on, between them, and Harry wanted no part in it. As long as she didn’t join Ollie in nagging him to study more, he was content with her being around.

Although, she didn’t know about Ollie, none of them did. He kept Harry to his word, and the eleven year old tried to abide the rules. He didn’t look at Ollie unless they were alone, or sleeping behind the curtains, safe for the night. He didn’t mention Ollie to any of his friends, and even though his best friend kept hanging around in every class, the green-eyed boy tried to concentrate on the lessons instead.

“You cannot take it for granted,” Oliver had told him as they were lying in bed. “You have to be the best here, so you can have a good job later.”

“But I already have money,”

Their visit to the Gringotts might have been brief due to Hagrid being in a hurry, but Harry had by no means underestimated the amount of coins in his vault. He was rich enough to buy himself a house, and don’t work for the rest of his life.

Oliver however, shook his head vehemently. “Don’t trust the money you haven’t earned,” he said. “These people are strange. They seem like the kind who would turn on you at the drop of a hat. You need to survive by yourself.”

“And I have you?” he mumbled groggily.

Ollie nodded. “You’ll always have me.”

That conversation was last night, and Ollie seemed to be sulking since, Harry tried to ask what was wrong at first, but after only receiving a grunt along with a shrug , the boy let him be, and moved on with his classes, trying harder than ever to pay attention in class.

By lunch, he was already dreading the potions class.

“Calm down mate,” Ron said as he was piling mashed potatoes on his plate. “Your bouncing is shaking the whole table.”

Harry flushed, his bouncing leg halting to a stop before he started to fill up his own plate. “I’m just a little nervous for Potions.” Before that conversation with Ollie, he was busy reviewing today’s lesson, hopefully, this time he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.

“You should join a study group,” Hermione Granger piped in from his left, nibbling on a piece of bread.

“Joining a study group won’t change a thing,” Ron snapped at her. “Snape hates everyone. They call him the bat of dungeons for a reason.”

“That’s because he didn’t study last time!”

“Study for what?!” Ron yelled. “It was our first day!”

Ollie was sitting across Harry in an empty space, watching the two argue with narrow eyes. Harry quickly tried to placate the two from escalating to a full on argument.

“I already reviewed today’s lesson Hermione,” he reassured the indignant girl, and then turned to Ron. “You’re right, but…with me, I feel like he doesn’t just dislike me….he really hates me.”

That made his stomach churn in distress. People hating him always ended with Harry getting hurt.

“I guess,” Ron said around his spoon. “He’s even staring at you now.”

Harry’s head whipped around to catch Snape’s eyes glaring at him, his eyes two narrow black pits that tore right through Harry. The eleven year old hung his head, looking down on his plate.

“Has he been doing that for long?” his voice was hushed. Ollie answered first.

“The whole lunch break now,”

Hermione echoed Oliver.

Gulping, Harry reached for his goblet, his leg bouncing once again.

He slid in his bench with Ollie in the corner and Ron by his side. He nervously recounted his last night’s reading in his head and prayed that the potion master would start asking questions again.

Instead, the tall, black clad man burst into the room, in a similar fashion as before, and started listing off the ingredients needed for the potion they were about to make. The students all bustled around, most writing down the man’s words and a few Slytherins heading to the ingredient cupboard right away with the others soon following.

Snape leaned back against his desk, staring at them with a disdainful sneer, his eyes rounded the class until they found a timid Harry fidgeting, and the sneer widened.

“Why are you just sitting there potter?” the man snapped. “Do you expect other students to do your job for you?” the snark was heavy in his voice. He was adamant to drive Potter to zone out in the same way he had a week ago, when the potion master had caught him doing it while he was being told off, and then later in a broom closet.

“No sir,” Harry said, glancing over at the crowded cupboard. It was too cramped and crowded. He was just waiting them out. He didn’t want to accidentally lock himself in there, or bump into too many students.

“Being a celebrity doesn’t give you a pass to lazy around Potter,” he pointedly stared at Harry until the boy stood, miserably heading for the mass of students gathering ingredients in their arms.

“Look out for Malfoy,” Ollie warned him, glaring at Snape.

Snape in return, glared at Harry, intently staring as Harry gulped down a groan and made his way to cupboard, the Slytherins shouldered past him with their bundles and some of the lions seem to be agitated by Snape’s unsettling scrutiny as much as Harry and were having trouble giving him a wide berth.

Neville, the poor boy, was having trouble picking out the right ingredients, and even Hermione’s silent instructions didn’t seem to be having an effect, he was the main reason there was any hold ups at all, and Harry hated him for it, if only for a second.

Malfoy stood by Neville’s side with a smirk, even though he already had everything he needed in his arms. He was smugly staring at Harry, daring him to get closer.

Ron brushed past him with an apology, and Seamus tripped on his tail, they both seemed to be hurrying along to make space for him. The others Gryffindors hurried along as well, and it was only Neville, Hermione and Malfoy in the cupboard. Snape was keeping an eye on Harry as he turned and started writing the instructions on the board by hand.

“It’s the other jar Neville, if you just let me take it for you-.”

“N-No Hermione, He-He would tell you off. The one on the left?”

“Yes, the purple one, with the cracks on it.”

“Sorry Harry,” Neville apologized under his breath, casting a look over his shoulder as Hermione sighed and tried to move past the chubby boy for her own ingredients.

“It’s all right Neville.” He replied with a small smile.

“Ugh,” Malfoy groaned. “How disgusting. Hurry up, would you Longbottom?”

He already had everything he needed. Harry knew that Draco was just standing there for the sake of it, knowing that Snape wouldn’t say a thing. “Hey, leave him alone.” He said. Malfoy glared at him.

“Potter, any time now.” Snape called out. “Your tardiness is holding up the whole class.”

Neville’s hand knocked a brown jar down in his quest to get to the purple jar, and it fell, shattering against the ground. Snape was on them in less than a second, pulling out both Neville and Hermione by their elbows.

“You clumsy dunderheads!” he spat. “Potter!” he turned to a bewildered Harry. “Why didn’t you help Longbottom?” Harry blinked.

“Hermione was-.”

“Enough of your incessant ramblings boy! Do you think embarrassing Longbottom would help you in any way?”

“No sir,”

The man’s expression darkened. “Just like your father Potter, ignorant, arrogant, and self-centered. If you think yourself too superior to your peers then maybe you won’t be needing to seat in my class after all.”

Harry’s mouth opened, but Ollie interrupted. “Harry don’t.”

His mouth closed, and he tore his eyes from Snape to glance over at Malfoy, whose grin was wide enough to split his point face. This wasn’t fair. It simply wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry sir,”

“Sorry isn’t going to get me another jar of ginger roots. Get back to your seat.”

“But I don’t have any ingredients yet.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “That’s the point, isn’t it Potter? You won’t get to make any. Zero points for the day, and ten points from Gryffindor for your loitering.”

He turned to glare at a quivering Neville. “Another five points from Gryffindor for your clumsiness Longbottom.”

“Harry get back to your seat,” Ollie said, suddenly prompting a shocked Harry to move slowly towards his bench, his insides turned to ice, as blood loudly rushed through his ears.

This wasn’t fair.

Malfoy walked alongside him, smugly grinning at his snickering friends and sneering at the Gryffindors who were silently seething in their seats.
On the last second, Malfoy stuck his foot under Harry’s and tripped the boy, sending Harry flying to the edge of Dean’s bench, his mouth loudly slamming against the edge. Harry actually felt his tooth breaking against the wood, and his forehead grazing the edge before he crumpled to the ground, holding his bleeding mouth with a hand.

“Potter!”

“Harry, it’s okay,” Ollie was by his side, his hand on Harry’s shoulder as the other boy groaned in pain and humiliation. “It’s all right, just don’t move, alright. I think you hit your head too.”

When Harry opened his eyes, it wasn’t just Ollie’s face swimming in his vision but Snape’s as well. The man’s hand was on Harry’s, trying to pull it away from his bleeding mouth. Harry resisted the action.

“Stop struggling boy,” Snape scowled, his hold firmer but not harmful as he gently pried Harry’s hand away from his mouth, it was sticky with blood and saliva, and Harry closed his eyes once again, preparing himself for the verbal lashing.

“Class is dismissed,” the potion master shouted instead, repeating himself louder as students hesitated to follow through. “ARE YOU DEAF?” with that, even Ron and Hermione scrambled off, casting pitying looks at their friend.

“Malfoy stay behind,” Snape growled, and knelt over Harry again, gently reaching to inspect the area around Harry’s mouth as well. The corner of the lip was torn, and Severus was sure there was a splinter in the roof of the boy’s mouth. Yet, all Potter did, was lying limply on the ground with his eyes screwed shut.

“Draco, seat here, I will deal with you later.” He reached and scooped the small boy in his arms, momentarily surprised by the lightness.

“But Uncle Severus-.”

“Draco Malfoy, do not finish that sentence.” He growled and walked to his office, directly behind the classroom.

He rushed the boy to his office and eased him on the couch, half tempted to call Pomfrey to be done with it, but he couldn’t do so without having to explain why Potter was in this state in the first place. He needed to deal with the Malfoy brat first, then after tending to potter, formally apologize-Potter would certainly love that-and hope that Minerva wouldn’t go full Alpha mode on him.

“Potter,” he called him, slightly shaking the boy by his shoulder.

Potter curled into a fetal position, his head to his chest, and his mouth still bleeding all over the boy’s clothes and his couch. It seemed almost as if the child couldn’t hear Severus, and the potion master concernedly wondered whether he had hit his head as well.

“Potter, you need to uncover your mouth so I can stop the bleeding,” he said as softly as he could, his hand slowly approaching the boy’s head.

Potter flinched away from his touch with the smallest whimper, not in pain, but in fear.

That made Snape pause.

“I won’t hurt you,” he told the boy, but didn’t reach out to him again. Consequences be damned, maybe he should call for Poppy after all, he knew that he was the one who mostly dealt with injuries acquired in his classroom, but this was a different case.

“There’s a splinter inside your mouth potter, and your tooth broke off. I can’t give you any pain reliving potions until you let me inspect the injuries.”
Still no response from the boy, other than another whimper and his ragged breathing. Severus was giving up on the lost cause as something occurred to him.

“Ollie would want you to get that looked at.” He said, and then immediately regretted doing so, as Potter’s head painfully whipped up from his chest to gaze into his. His face blotchy and blood drenched, his eyes was brimming with a new wave of tears.

Severus was taken back; he didn’t even know the boy was crying in the first place, he hadn’t made a single peep. Severus himself was a skilled silent crier as well, usually those with his skills couldn’t cry out loud in fear of getting hurt, could it be that Potter was the same?

No, he snapped at himself. Of course, not. Potter was the pampered prince.

“O’’ee?” the boy repeated the name back at the potion master and Severus numbly nodded along.

“He would want me to look at your mouth, would you listen to him?” Potter looked away from him, staring over his shoulder at someone that Severus obviously couldn’t see, as if waiting for confirmation.

Who was he looking for? Dear merlin, he didn’t get paid enough to deal with this.

Potter’s body slowly lost the tension, and he sat up, silent tears streaming down his face, and this time Severus knew they were from the pain. Slowly, as to not frighten the child, Severus scooted closer to the couch, his hand reaching for Potter’s mouth.

Potter obediently let his bloodied hand fall on his lap, his mouth open, and half of his front tooth missing. Severus inwardly winced, and gently tipped the boy’s head back; peering into the bloody mess for the wooden splinter that he was sure was wedged in his flesh.

He could easily get it out, even without his wand, but he needed the boy to be compliant. Severus stood, muttering an ‘Accio’ under his breath. A moment later, a lavender vial was in his hand, a pain-relieving potion. He would get him a blood-replenishing one after he was done undoing the damage.

“Ollie, would you mind telling Po-Harry, to remain still for a few seconds?” he was insane, Severus was losing his mind, playing along with this ridiculousness. Yet, that name, and his words seemed to have an instantaneous effect on the boy.

After several seconds, Potter sullenly nodded his head, shuffling to the edge of his seat.

Well, he might as well go all in. “Thank you Ollie,” he whispered to the vacant office, and heaved a heavy sigh as he knelt in front of Potter with his wand.

“Potter, I’m going to get that splinter out of your mouth,” the boy’s hands fisted on his lap. “Then administer a pain-relieving potion at once, so you wouldn’t feel a thing, alright?”

Potter nodded.

“I will be using my wand, and it will hurt a little, but-.” He closed his eyes in irritation. “Ollie would make sure you don’t move around too much so you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“O’ee.” Potter looked over his shoulder again, this time reaching into the air with his hand.

Severus watched as Potter’s fingers curled as if he was holding onto something, fascinated. “Yes, him.” he muttered.

He didn’t draw it out, an instant sting was better than agonizingly drawing out that splinter inch by inch, so the potion master instructed Potter (and Ollie) to count to three in their heads, and then proceeded to pull the thing out before Potter had begun counting. Then healed the torn lip while Potter was still in haze from the splinter removal.

Harry didn’t even cringe at the sudden pain, and obediently drank down the potion Severus held to his lips; his hand was still somehow clutching the air.

Snape banished the empty vials. “Madam Pomfrey would have to fix your tooth, my line of expertise don’t extend to dentistry.” He would likely have to drink a dose of Skele-Gro to repair the tooth, and that would require him to spend a night in the infirmary anyway.

“Than’ you sir.” Potter said, gingerly touching his mouth with his bloodied hands. The blood on his clothes were already dried.

“It’s quite alright Mr. Potter,” Severus muttered.

“There is a bathroom, through that door,” he pointed with his finger. “Go and get cleaned up while I deal with Mr. Malfoy.”

Harry lingered on the couch only for a moment before nodding; staggering a bit, as he was making his way to the door, his body heavily leaning on what Severus assumed was Ollie’s body.

Dear Merlin and Circe, this boy was either insane, or this Ollie was real, under some sort of Disillusionment charm of some sort. He would need to talk to Albus and Minerva about Potter, and soon.

When he headed back to the classroom, Draco was sitting on a bench, his legs swinging, the boy looked bored out of his mind.

“Draco.” Severus sharply snapped at the Slytherin, startling the blond boy to stumble off his seat.

“Uncle Sev.”

“It’s Professor Snape, Mr. Malfoy.” He coldly reminded the boy and nodded his chin to a bench directly in front of his desk. Severus waited for Draco to sink down in his chair and went to seat himself.

“I’m not going to make you explain yourself, neither am I going to waste my time and intelligence to rebuke you for that foolish, and unflattering portrayal of your house and family name-.” he held up a hand as Draco opened a mouth to protest.

“Rather, I want you to imagine, what would become of you had Potter cracked his head on that table instead of his tooth, splitting his brain open and dying right then and there in my classroom?”

He didn’t wait for Draco’s response.

“You wouldn’t be expelled Draco,” he spat his name. “Within ten minutes of that tragic ‘accident’ Aurors and other Professors alike will flood the classroom, proceeding to take both you and me to the ministry, to await a trial for killing the boy who lived.”

Draco visibly paled. “Sir-.”

“I’ll assure you that I will get out of it with not a single mark on my body, and might only lose my job as a teacher here, you on the other hand,” Severus paused. “You will be questioned by the entire wizarding community, given life in Azkaban, if you’re lucky, or the Dementor’s kiss if you’re not. Yes, you’re eleven. Yes, your father has some level of influence. But would that spare you? No.”

He looked the eleven-year old dead in the eyes. “It would not, Draco.”

He knew that simple warnings and house points would have no effect on Draco. But scaring him, and actually making him aware of the consequences of his childish actions might deter him from future attempts on Potter.

The boy wildly shook his head. “I didn’t mean to smack his mouth into a table!”

“They would do to you, what you did to him.” Snape concluded, crossing his fingers on the table.

“It was a stupid prank uncle! I didn’t mean to hurt that useless half-blood scum!”

Severus pinched the tip of his nose. “That useless half-blood scum is the reason your parents are alive.”

“Uncle,”

“Not a single word from you, Draco. If I ever, and I mean it when I say, ever, catch you harassing Potter in any way that might endanger his health-and yours by extension- I will deliver you to the ministry myself.”

Malfoy hung his head. “Yes sir.” He gritted out.

“Detention, for two weeks, Draco. Two points from Slytherin, and I will write your parents about this. Your father would undoubtedly be most disappointed.”

The little Malfoy burst out of his seat. His eyes wide like two saucers. “No!” he shouted. “You cannot tell him! I already have detention anyway!” Draco kicked the bench as if proving his point.

Severus, unimpressed, remained silent.

“It’s not fair.” Malfoy junior whined, close to tears. His father’s opinion meant the world to him. Severus knew that. It shouldn’t, but it did.

“Neither is breaking someone else’s tooth, but here we are.”

He pitied the boy, he really did, but Severus couldn’t help him any more than he could help Potter. He would have thought them alike, both boys spoiled and pampered to the point of abuse, as such was the case with Draco, but Potter surprised him.

There was something about Potter, something that made alarms go off in his head, making him want to wrap his cloak around the boy and steal him far away, in a safe house until everything was over. An intense paternal instinct, that the potion master rarely felt before, even though he was a teacher, and he had seen cases similar to both Draco and Potter through the years. It rebelled against every bone in his body, and he rebelled against it by snapping at Potter the way James Potter had done to him back in the day.

He couldn’t help Draco now, with his mind uncooked, and his beliefs all colored in black or white. All he could do now was scare the boy off doing anything incredibly stupid that would affect his future, until the boy was old enough to understand. To see the world with his own eyes and not through his father’s expectations.

“You are dismissed Draco.” He swiftly rose from his seat, his robes billowing as Malfoy stormed out of the classroom, and he headed back to his office, his stride halting as got closer and heard muttering.

“-See you?” Potter was saying.

Severus paused by the door.

“But he said your name Ollie!”

Another bout of silence. Severus decided to wait just another minute for the conversation to unfold. Potter was in the bathroom still, but the door was ajar, the potion master could see glimpses of Potter’s clean hands and his shadow against the opposite wall.

Potter was alone in the room.

With a stealth that only came with his career choice and practice, Severus silently drew his wand and tiptoed closer, under his breath, he muttered ‘Revelio.

Nothing happened. Potter was still the only person in the bathroom, muttering to Ollie. Severus’ concern and curiosity increased in waves, and he couldn’t tolerate the suspense anymore.

He walked in, startling Potter into silence.

“Potter,” he nodded. Potter meekly nodded back, his hands behind his back.

“How is your mouth?”

“Not hurting anymore, sir?”

Severus hummed. “Follow me Potter,” he hesitated. “And you too Ollie.”

“Can you see him sir?” Potter asked timidly once they got out of the bathroom.

“If I say ‘no’ does it make him any less real, Potter?”

“He’s real,” Harry said defensively.

Severus looked at him, then abruptly gestured at the couch. “Seat, Potter. Your friend too can seat if he likes. Is Ollie a boy?”

Harry nodded, as he sat. “Yes sir, we’re both eleven.”

That was a relief, Severus thought, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He conjured a seat and settled in front of the boy.

“How does Ollie look?”

Potter instinctively looked to his left, and Severus followed his gaze. The other boy must be sitting there then.

“He has blond hair, and brown eyes, and he’s a little taller than me, sir.”

Severus nodded slowly, feeling a bit silly, as he looked at the empty space on the boy’s left, as if expecting to see the other boy sitting there, who of course wasn’t. He most likely wasn’t real at all.

“Can Ollie talk to me himself?”

Harry looked at Ollie again, with uncertainty and guilt. “I promised he wouldn’t.” he whispered.

“You made him promise not to talk to anyone?”

The boy shook his head. “No, he made me promise not to force him to talk to others.”

“Can he talk to others?”

Potter shrugged a bit. “There was one time, with my uncle, when he was-.” the boy cut himself off, his eyes going wide, and his hands wringing his bloody trousers. Severus leaned forward.

“What was your uncle doing Mr. Potter?” he asked slowly, trying to sound as harmless as possible. It wasn’t abuse, he thought to himself. It couldn’t be abuse. Anything but that. He was almost praying that it was anything but that. It would explain a lot if it was, childhood trauma most likely having a hand in it, but he prayed that it wasn’t.

Potter shrank into the couch, his eyes downcast, and his glasses hooding his eyes. “Noting,” he mumbled.

Severus stared at the boy’s hands; the knuckles were almost white from the sheer force of Potter’s grip. If it was any tighter, Severus feared the pants would rip. “Alright then,” he drawled and sat back himself, his arms crossing across his chest.

“Let’s try something else,” he told the withdrawn child, but he already knew the results. The flinching, the imaginary friend, his overly timid behavior, lack of long span attention or focus…all obvious signs. And he had overlooked every single one, as he was virtually bullying him in class. Potter’s son was being abused by an adult.

“I’ll talk to Ollie,” he said. “And you can tell me what he says.” If he forced the truth out of Potter’s imaginary friend, Harry would be less likely to lie.
Harry sneaked a glance to his left and his head bobbed, his shoulders tensing. “He says okay.”

“You’ll have to promise that you will tell the truth,” the potion master warned and Potter bobbed his head once again.

Severus turned his body away from Potter, as a psychological trick, to give Potter the illusion that he was truly, talking to the imaginary friend.

“Hello Ollie, I’m Professor Snape. Severus Snape.”

Harry pressed his lips together to contain a snort. “He knows already sir.”

Severus didn’t look at Potter. “Does he now?”

“He’s in classes with me, in the corner.”

That explains why the boy was staring off into the space as Severus was verbally bullying him. He wanted to face palm himself. Of course, the boy’s defense mechanism would be where the boy felt threatened.

“Only in potions?”

Potter shook his head. “He’s always with me, even when we sleep.”

Severus nodded, and turned back to ‘Ollie’. “Are you learning anything useful too Ollie?” he was stalling the boy, trying to lull himself in a safety blanket before he probed him about the relatives again. Specifically the uncle.

Harry’s eyes widened by Ollie’s apparent response, and he gaped, as he looked at the other boy, vehemently shaking his head. “Ollie no!”

Severus frowned. “What did he say?”

Harry’s eyes stirred to the potion master with a jostle. “Nothing,” he said too quickly. “He said nothing.”

“You promised Ollie and me, that you would tell the truth,” he paused. “Harry.”

The boy shook his head, and Severus swallowed down his irritation. Patience, he needed to be patient with the boy.

“I won’t hurt you or him,” he promised the boy. “We’re simply having a conversation.” He thought for a beat before reaching in his robes, he pulled his wand out of his inner pocket.

“Here,” he handed the wand to Potter. “You can hold this, just in case, and use it on me if you felt threatened.” The boy didn’t have his bag with him, and his own wand was probably in his school bag still.

Potter held the wand away from his body, and looked at ‘Ollie’ again. “Say it nicer.” He actually snapped at his friend and Severus subconsciously drew back from the boy, feeling mildly disturbed by the scene.

“He says, he’s learned that…” Harry hesitated. “You’re a bully sir,”

Severus’ eyebrows were raised, but he couldn’t actually find it within himself to feel mad at the boy.

“You don’t like bullies, do you Ollie?”

“He says no,”

Protective of Potter, rude to an extent, something that Potter himself obviously couldn’t afford without being harshly punished, and bold enough to tell the truth. The complete opposite of the boy then.

“I would like to apologize to you both,” Severus said, a little ashamed to be seen admitting his mistake. “I judged Harry harshly. It was very cruel of me to talk to him that way.”

Harry blinked at him, confusion and wariness coloring his eyes as he looked between the potion master and the empty space on the couch. Severus cleared his throat.

“Would you find it in yourself to forgive me Harry?”

“I-,” the boy was wringing his hands again, a habit that Severus really hoped the boy could drop, before it got harmful. The potion master stood and Harry did as well.

Snape waved him down. “You needn’t come with me, I’m just going to bring you a blood-replenishing potion.”

A visit to Madam Pomfrey couldn’t be avoided, even if Potter was content to live with a chapped tooth, and a hole in his mouth, Severus would still have the Medi-witch run a full physical on the boy. It wouldn’t be unlikely for the boy to be hiding injuries under his clothes, and this was only the second day of school, so they could be recent.

He lingered more than he needed, trying to give Potter some privacy. When he got back, the boy looked much more relaxed, and actually slouching against the couch. He handed him the potion.

“Madam Pomfrey might give you another dose, but this is safe for now,” he said and took his seat once again. Harry downed the vial in one quick motion, but held onto the empty vial in his hands. Severus let him, it was better than wringing his hands at least.

“We forgive you sir,” Potter said. “But-But Ollie says he doesn’t trust you yet just because you’re suddenly nice to us.”

“I had a bully too, you know, when I was a child,” Severus didn’t know why he was saying that. The bully in question was the boy’s father. “I understand how it feels to be bullied.”

Harry bit his lip. “Ollie says…then why did you bully Harry…Err…me?”

“Adults make mistakes sometimes, but Ollie, you need to understand this; I would have never physically hurt Harry, would have never done anything beyond what was necessary in my classroom. I admit that I was being cruel to Harry, but I’m a stern person in nature,” he paused for a moment. “That’s not a bad thing, if you are a responsible adult, because teaching potions is really dangerous.”

“But you weren’t responsible, before.” Harry drifted off, staring at his lap.

Severus carefully kept his face blank. “Yes, I admit that I wasn’t, and I’m sorry for that. There is one thing you and I have in common Ollie," he turned to the empty space.

“Ollie doesn’t know what that is.”

This was it, the potion master thought. He could get the child to admit to the abuse, then he could take him to Dumbledore, evidence in hand, and Poppy near to check over the child so he wouldn’t have to return to that wretched household.

“We both don’t like adults hurting children.” Snape said, and hoped that Harry would take the bait instead of retreating into himself. He was so close.
Harry made a sound in protest, but Severus calmly continued. “I need you to answer this as honestly as you can Ollie, because I know Harry’s safety matters to you, and because you know you can trust me,” Potter was shaking his head, looking back and forth between Ollie and his teacher.

“Is Harry’s uncle a bully?”

Potter promptly burst into tears, the vial shaking in his hands as he refused to answer. Severus tried his hardest not to pay attention to the crying boy, and kept his gazed fixated on where the other boy should be.

“He hurts Harry, doesn’t he Ollie? And it makes you feel hopeless, because you cannot help him,” Harry’s sobbing got louder, and the boy dropped the cracked vial away, blocking his ears with his hands to block out what the potion master was saying…or rather, what he was hearing on Ollie’s end.

“It’s okay, if you tell me the truth, we can stop it, you and I. then Harry won’t have to return to his relative’s house.”

Dealing with abused cases was never easy for him, not because he had been violently abused as a child himself, but because he couldn’t bear to think about other children going through what he went through as a child. He simply couldn’t bear the moment the children would break, burst into tears and hang onto Severus with all their might, afraid that their parents would know…would somehow just find out, and were grieving in advance for later punishment.

Harry’s sobbing was different, it was in denial, it was in desperation.

The potion master willed himself to remain in his seat, remain calm, in control of the situation. “Ollie, we can stop this,” he said softly. “Harry doesn’t have to go back; I will make sure of that.”

He finally looked at Harry. He knew the boy could hear every word. “Harry,” he said. “What is Ollie’s answer?”

“NO!” Harry cried.

“I won’t hurt you or him, I just need to know what he said Harry, didn’t you promise?”

“No please sir, please.”

Severus stood and sat next to the shaking boy, carefully leaving enough space for Ollie to remain in his seat comfortably. He grabbed the boy by his shoulder, gently pried his hands away from his ears that had gone red from the child’s scratching.

“Ollie wants you to be safe,” he told the boy.

“We don’t-,” Potter heaved. “We don’t need you!”

Snape sighed, but didn’t back away. “You won’t ever have to go back,” he promised, once again. “Ollie has been trying for so long to keep you safe, hasn’t he?” Severus even suspected that Potter hasn’t even realized that Ollie wasn’t real. “Don’t you think it’s time we gave him a break?”

“No,” the boy mumbled between quiet whimpers. Severus, unaware of the nature, and density of the abuse Harry had gone through, was very hesitant to offer physical comfort, and ‘Ollie’ seemed to be doing that part himself. One would think that Potter looked absolutely ridiculous, hugging nothing but empty air, but it was actually devastating.

“If it was Ollie, wouldn’t you want him to be safe?”

Potter’s eyes closed and he seemed to be thinking. “Yes.”

“What does Ollie say Harry?” he asked, very careful about his wording. “Does Ollie think that your uncle is a bully?”

“Yes I do,” Harry answered and Severus closed his eyes, finally giving in the urge to hug the boy to his chest.