At first, Ben had been sure the book must have been some sort of ironic joke.

He could watch Star Trek and all the other science fiction stuff Mr. Snape liked so much, as much as he wanted. The days Ben had believed in some kind of secret force or power had long gone.
They belonged to a forgotten past, pushed to a little cranny in the back of his mind. One couldn’t afford to believe in such things with an alcoholic mother.
For Ben it had been magic if they had had money to get food at the end of the month sometimes or if his mother’s newest addition to the boyfriend league wasn’t as bad-tempered as the last.

But then there had been the piece of paper he had discovered while riffling through the pages. After reading the letter addressed to Harry from a fellow named Ron, Ben had been confused. More than confused.
Technically, he knew that reading other people’s mail wasn’t exactly considered honourable. Usually he was good with these kind of things. He wasn’t nosy in the slightest. Just a little bit curious. Ok, more than a little bit.

At that moment, he had tried to justify his actions by reasoning that maybe the letter held some kind of hint towards Harry’s home situation that Ben could show the social workers so that they would get Harry out of there. Except, maybe Ben had known from the beginning that there was going to be something else.
There had always been these little nagging suspicions gnawing at him from behind his ears, tapping him on his shoulder, winking at him from the nooks of Mr. Snape’s garden.

And after reading about “muggles”, who or whatever they were, “magical folk” and a magical primary school they were back full force. A lot of things would make so much more sense. All the peculiar plants that didn’t seem to mind his neighbour’s absence for most of the year for example.

If Ben could just start believing again.
As it was, he firmly closed the book and lay back in his bed. He wasn’t going to pry into Harry’s private life. All that counted was that he considered the smaller boy his friend so here’s what Ben was going to do.

Ron had mentioned the Dursleys, Harry’s relatives. He seemed to know what was going on with them and wanted Harry to come stay with him instead. Just hang in there and I’ll convince my parents… These weren’t the words of someone just wanting to invite his friend over during the summer break.
Just hang in there.
No, Ben had been convinced that something was going on with Harry’s relatives and this just confirmed his doubts.

The longer he thought about it the more determined he became that he had to help Harry.
The only problem was that Ben hadn’t the tiniest idea how to do this. Not to mention his own worry about his mum finding him and sending him to military school for real this time. The social workers wouldn’t fall for the false phone number forever either. Ben nearly felt bad for them ringing a deserted phone booth at the corner of his street every other day in hopes of contacting his mother.

Over the last few days, Ben had enquired surreptitiously if his mother was allowed to send him to military school against his will. Of course, he hadn’t asked like that. He made it out as if his mother wanted him to start an apprenticeship now that he was 16 and as if he wanted to continue school instead. Fair enough.
The social workers had been excited to tell him all about emancipation of minors probably because they thought that this would make Ben open up about his situation so that they could send him either back to his mother or passing him on to another institution in Child Services. They had enough boys at the shelter after all.

Well, Ben had sworn he wasn’t going to become a number in the system. The social workers were already suspicious. Besides, Harry was more important.
The only real idea Ben had come up with starring across the room at the empty bed for several hours was asking for Mr. Snape’s help. The man had always been good to Ben. He had nursed the scrawny frozen cat back to health that now destroyed his flowerpots. At the thought of Felix, Ben felt a burning stab in his stomach. He missed the little fellow.

His neighbour with the peculiar garden had also tried to help after the Greg incident. Moreover, Mr. Snape was a teacher and that meant caring for children right? No matter how often the professor would complain about his students, Ben was positive that Mr. Snape would help a child in need.

Coming to this conclusion, the only way forward could be running away again.
Was it running away though if Ben went back home?
Nervously, he worried his lip between his teeth.
There was just one thing that made him hesitate. His mother.
Ben had to make sure it was Mr. Snape who he first run into, not his mum and her abominable boyfriend. After that, well… If it meant Harry being safe, Ben would gladly put up with whatever his mother came up with next.

Decided, Ben quietly flung back the covers, pulled on his jumper and tied his shoes.

The following week went by much the same for Harry.
He nearly fell back into the familiar trot he was used to from summers at the Dursley’s.

The only thing that was different was the food. After the first day, Snape curiously enough insisted upon three square meals a day, making sure to call Harry in for them from the garden. And even though this callings were accompanied with lengthy lectures from Snape peppered with insults about washing his hands and proper hygiene, Harry had to admit that is was nice taking a short break and getting to eat again.
Just the other day the man had gotten angry with Harry for not eating his whole sandwich yelling something about throwing away good food. Well, that was new. The Dursleys had always made sure Harry knew he wasn’t even good enough for the food they threw away.

Yes, it had become quieter at Snape’s. The mean professor had even left Harry in peace for the evenings although Harry was convinced that this was rather born out of Snape’s own unwillingness to deal with Harry more than necessary and not so much out of consideration for his student.

Snape’s insults steadily grew worse though. They had long left the territory of Harry’s alleged incompetence and turned to expand to his father and godfather’s deplorable characters. Harry tried holding his tongue as good as he could resorting to actually biting it so much it bled.
Snape hadn’t done anything worse than slandering him and Harry’s family after all. He hadn’t done anything worse to punish Harry other than making him do yard work for the past week. Yet.
Who was to know if that wouldn’t change if Harry started fighting back.

Still, Harry didn’t know how much longer he could put up with it.
As soon as they surfaced he tried pushing these thoughts back into the cupboard he had created in his mind and that had once been his childhood room.
He knew that he was a burden. He knew that he wasn’t likeable. He had known from the beginning. He must have been used to it by now.
Except you never got used to it.
Even if it came from a person, you didn’t expect anything better off.
Hope was a complicated thing.

On Wednesday, Snape made Harry dig the former patch of sneezewort now only containing a few sad little stems of the ingredient. Snape had told him to bury the remains of the plant Harry had plucked accidentally.
Harry who actually had read ahead in the plant guide was fascinated to learn that this would enrich the soil with nutrients and felt a bit proud when Snape told him to plant some sort of nightshade plant the next day.
Apparently, sneezewort could be used to stem bleeding and nightshades were a main ingredient in blood-replenishing draughts. Slowly he understood Neville’s enthusiasm about herbology.
Of course, as Harry had assured himself, he only read Snape’s book out of pure boredom when he was left alone trying to fall asleep on the exposed sofa. Ron’s book was curiously missing.

“Isn’t sneezewort the same plant Achilles used to heal Telephus with?” Harry asked Snape before he could stop himself. Questions were always a precarious bet in potion classes.

Snape who had come outside to check on Harry’s progress eyed the boy distrustfully. It seemed as if he couldn’t figure out what Harry was up to now but was completely sure that the boy was planning something. Seeing the suspicious glint in his teacher’s eye, Harry nearly had to laugh. Yes, it was a well-guarded secret his clandestine reading affinity. He barely stopped himself from smiling opting instead for a carefully neutral expression.

Snape shifted clearing his throat awkwardly. The professor had still not completely gotten rid of his cold. Harry had heard him muttering about the preposterous failing of medicine muggle and magical alike when it came to common colds.
He almost felt bad hearing him cough at night but then he remembered his bruised nose. It wasn’t as swollen as it had been on Tuesday but still. Serves him right the git for throwing the book at me!

“Indeed Potter,” Snape quirked an eyebrow.
“Its botanic name is Achillea after the Greek hero as you could have known if you payed attention in my class.”

“Oh,” Harry said.
He looked up at Snape. “Interesting.”
“Is that so?”
Harry shrugged.
Snape smirked.
“Back to work, Potter!”

Well, that had almost been a civilized conversation, Harry thought as he continued to plant the delicate nightshades.

Thursday had seen a return of the rain. Snape made Harry work outside nonetheless. It didn’t bother Harry that much. It was a welcome reprieve from the heat at least.
Come Sunday however and Harry felt as if there wasn’t a dry bone inside his whole body.
The last days he had to turn Snape’s compost, an enormous heap in the back of his garden. Harry, having had much experience gardening at his relative’s had actually never done this before as the Dursleys hadn’t bothered with generating their own humus. They just bought whatever mulch was cheapest and had Harry spreading it on their flowerbeds.

It was hard work. The roots from the big trees that enclosed Snape’s property had grown inside the huge pile of earth and Harry had to use all his weight on the spade to break them.
Big chunks of half-rotten earth clung to each other breaking apart with loud squelching sounds. After less than a day, his lower back had started to tingle unpleasantly and Harry’s neck had become stiff from all the heavy earth he had shovelled. His hands normally used to this sort of drudgeries had capitulated, his horny skin cracking and his blisters bursting with some nasty yellow pus.

Harry welcomed the pain. It was something that distracted him from the thoughts running around his head. Thoughts about the last month. About his relatives. About his uncle. About running away. Thoughts about Ron and Hermione. About Ben. About Siri- the ministry.
Sometimes he would spy a red streak chasing something in one corner of the garden and it made Harry swallow around the lump in his throat. A Hedwig-shaped lump.
The pain from his hands and the aches in the rest of his body helped to ground him. There wasn’t anything other than digging in the dirt, eating and sleeping. There wasn’t anything he had to think about other than finishing his work for Snape on time lest the cruel man come up with some different method of punishment.

With the grey clouds above, the night seemed to arrive earlier.
Harry was just finishing his work for the day. Tired he trudged through the muddy earth towards the small shed to put away the tools. Suddenly his foot exploded with pain.

“Fffffuck!” hissed Harry.

Dropping the spade and dung fork he carried he toppled over into the sodden soil. Apprehensively he felt for his left foot in the mud clutching it harshly in an attempt to quell the pain.

The brown mud dripping off it mixed with something red at an alarming speed. Harry leaned over. Something had pierced through the sole of his ratty trainer and now stuck in his foot. He retched and had to force himself to keep looking at it.

It was a little piece of wood, a broken branch with a sharp peak currently imbedded in Harry’s foot.

Harry released his foot and closed his eyes. Wearily he rubbed a calloused hand over his face sucking in a harsh breath.
Then he pulled his foot closer again, took a firm hold on the wood and pulled.

With a gruesome squelch and a silent cry from Harry courtesy of years of training from the Dursleys, the wooden thing came loose and left a hole in the sole of Harry’s trainer.
He looked at the horrid thing, his blood dripping from it and pooling on the earth beside him.

With all his remaining strength, Harry flung the thing away into the bushes.
At the same moment, he heard the back door open with an unpleasant squeak.

“What is taking you so long out there, Potter? Dinner is ready!”
Gritting his teeth Harry slowly stood up, shifting his weight to his right foot and leaning onto the spade. He heard a loud sigh coming from the house.

“Is this your latest ploy for attention boy? Do I have to come down there myself?”
Harry panted.
“Coming, sir,” he wheezed but Snape was already striding over to where Harry was still standing shakily in the mud.

If he wouldn’t have been so afraid of what Snape was going to do to him Harry would’ve spared the yellow wellies his teacher was wearing more attention. At that moment though, everything was just too overwhelming.
The pain in his left foot seemed to have increased tenfold in the last minute. Harry who had had his fair share of injuries over the years always was fascinated at how fast the body seemed to forget old pain. He couldn’t remember ever feeling something that painful.
It hurt anew each and every time.

Someone grabbed his arm and started dragging him back to the house. He let go of the spade that dropped unceremoniously in the mud. Snape stopped abruptly.  

“Pick that up Potter!”
Harry bent down to gather up the spade.
“What are you waiting for boy! Into the shed!”
“Yes, sir,” answered Harry faintly and began his long and painful trek towards the shed.

His teacher never once looked back at the stumbling boy.

He had waited in the shed for a long time, convinced that Snape had meant for him to wait there while he gleefully decided on the best punishment for Harry.

Harry had picked up the fork as well breathing harshly as his foot made contact with the earth in the process. He cleaned both tools in the water barrel just outside the wooden hut, hung them up inside and sat down to wait for his angry teacher.
What was taking him so long? Did he try to decide which implement to trash Harry first with?

Darkness had long since crept from the cobwebbed corners and Harry could hear the faint bubbling of the falling rain on the roof.
He was just glad Snape allowed him to stay here where it was dry instead of shutting him out in the rain, as Uncle Vernon had liked to do when Harry misbehaved.

His foot was throbbing. He could feel his heart pulsating in unison with the pain.

It couldn’t go on like this. He couldn’t go on like this.
Apparently, Snape had mercifully decided to spare him this evening. Harry refused to think about the morning.

There was only one thing he could do. He had done it before. He would be more careful this time. This time it would work.

Slowly getting up from the wooden crate, he left the shed and made his way towards the shadowy house. Everything was quiet inside when he pushed open the back door. Miraculously, Snape hadn’t locked it.
Harry crawled over into the living room. He didn’t want to think about the consequences of getting dirt on Snape’s floor. And he couldn’t even bear to think about getting off his left shoe. So, crawling.

Next to the sofa, his backpack was lying in a sad little heap. Harry carefully slung the straps over his shoulders and crawled to the front door.

His left trainer felt wet. He looked down to see it thoroughly soaked. Harry had read somewhere to put pressure on open wounds. The only thing he could think off currently was untying his shoelaces and pulling them more tightly.

His foot hurt awfully as he tied his shoes. Then he quietly slipped out of the silent house.