Normally for Harry Potter the coming of the dawn brought hope to his thoughts. It meant that there was one less day to put up with his relatives and he was one day closer to another term at Hogwarts. Recently, though, all the dawn brought with it was misery.

Harry had only been a small child when his parents were murdered by Lord Voldemort, so he shouldn’t really have missed them. How could he miss what he barely knew? He did long for decent company. To be loved by a family would have been nice. The thoughts of the way his life could have been tormented Harry almost as much as the reality of the way his life was now.

It wasn’t good to dwell on the way things could have been, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. When he wasn’t at school, Harry’s life consisted of chores, being belittled and a slow diet of starvation. At first he took it in stride; after all, he had lived this way for his entire life.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed reciting the various ingredients to potions and reciting other things that he was supposed to know before the next term. At least schoolwork was a distraction from the boredom of being kept prisoner in his own bedroom. It was dull and lonely in his bedroom, but at least he was safe from his relatives and their comments about him.

Hours later, Harry walked downstairs quietly to fix dinner for the family. He stood back and watched them eating. He knew better than to ask for a share of the meal; to ask for anything was to ask for denial. If he kept quiet then perhaps they would leave whatever they didn’t want for him.

It wasn’t a lucky night for Harry. The plates had been scraped completely clean thanks to Dudley. As Harry stood washing dishes, his belly rumbled. It had been three days since his last meal; would tomorrow be the fourth day in his forced fast? Harry hoped not, since eventually he wouldn’t be able to do chores without something to feed his muscles. Vernon liked to force Harry to wait for long periods between meals, and this was the longest in-between period Harry had been without.

Later that evening Harry lay listening to his unhappy stomach as he tried to fall asleep. It was difficult to sleep while he felt so poorly, but he was grateful when sleep came and temporarily quieted his need for food. Harry was sleeping deeply sometime later. He didn’t even hear the footsteps coming up the stairs to his room. The noise of his locks being undone didn’t rouse him.

Harry was jolted awake when he felt a strong fist yank him up by the shirt collar. Disorientation swirled through Harry as sleep held fast to his thoughts. It took him several seconds to realize that it was his uncle in the room shaking the stuffing out of him. After a few moments Harry tried to recall what he had done now.

Harry allowed his uncle’s harsh words to wash over him like rainwater. He tuned the angry yelling out completely as he replayed the events of the day over in his mind. He had gotten up and cleaned himself up before going down and making breakfast for everyone but himself. He’d cleaned up the dishes after the meal and then went out to work on the front yard. He remembered mowing the grass, weeding the flowers and pruning them. Then he’d started the watering of everything. He had almost finished when . . . he’d been surprised by his aunt’s voice. He had managed to lose track of time! He was late to fix their lunch. Harry had dropped the hose and ran into the house to wash his hands and fix their meal.

So that must have been the reason for Vernon’s anger; he’d completely forgotten to put the garden hose away. It really wasn’t that big a deal, but Harry’s uncle needed little provocation to set him off.

A sharp noise and a flash of pain brought Harry out of his thoughts. What had happened? His cheek was burning with heat, and seconds later the other cheek burned just as fiercely. Harry stared wide eyed in disbelief. Vernon had hit him. Harry knew that Vernon and the others all hated him, but he’d never been struck before. It had all been just cruelty through words and ignoring his existence before now.

“Pay attention to me when I’m yelling at you! You freak!” Vernon growled angrily. His face was deep red and Harry could see him curling his hand into a fist. Harry wished that he could disappear, but sadly he did not know how.

Everything ached and pulsed with pain. Some pain was sharp and some of it was dull, but all Harry knew was that he hurt. No position gave any comfort. Harry lay on his bed and listened to the painful rhythm of his breathing and tried to forget what he’d just experienced.

He groaned in dread as he heard the warning sound of his door being unlocked again. Several hours had passed since Vernon had vented on Harry, but Harry felt as though he had just received some of the blows only seconds ago. He wasn’t ready for another go. It was way too soon.

“Think you can just lie around all day? You’ve got chores to do! Now get to it before I give you something to mope about!”

Harry wanted to get up and respond to his uncle’s voice. He wanted to obey, but his body hurt and he was weak from no food. He attempted to get up and failed.

Harry flinched as a meaty paw grabbed him by the scruff and hauled him up. He couldn’t get his feet beneath him, and before he’d had time to register what was going on he was being dragged to the stairs. Without warning Vernon tossed Harry down the stairs and shouted at the boy as he tumbled to the floor below. Harry lay on the floor and wondered if he’d broken anything. He didn’t think he had been badly hurt from the fall, but it was difficult to tell new pains from old ones.

As Vernon pulled Harry to his feet once more Harry realized what was going on. He wasn’t going to put Harry to work. Vernon was headed for Harry’s old bedroom. In a weakened attempt to resist Harry reached up and pulled against his uncle’s iron grip. The boy protested in vain as he was shoved into the tiny compartment and shut away in the darkness.

All Harry could think as he crouched in the small space was that he wished that he had taken the time to put that stupid garden hose away. This was all his fault; he’d managed to ruin what little privilege he’d gained from his relatives. No one could help him now. He felt certain of that.

While Harry was alone in the tiny cupboard, it was impossible to really tell how much time had passed. All he really knew was that it felt like an eternity crammed in such a nasty place.

After a while he could hear the noises of his relatives carrying on with their lives. To them he didn’t exist when he was in the cupboard. The faint scent of a well-made breakfast sent a series of painful hunger pangs through Harry’s weary frame, and he was relieved when the aroma faded away.

Harry wondered if someone was going to let him out within the next few hours. He really needed to use the bathroom soon. He wasn’t sure what he would do if someone didn’t unlock the cupboard door and allow him to use the facilities.

The young wizard started in surprise when his door was suddenly jerked open. The gentle waves of morning sunlight blinded him as if he’d been flashed by a harsh spotlight.

“Come out of there,” Aunt Petunia snapped. Harry was glad it was his aunt instead of his uncle. “I’ll not have you using my cupboard for a litter box like some animal,” Petunia sneered as she grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him to his feet. It was as if she’d heard his thoughts, and he was grateful that she hadn’t forgotten that he was in the house.

Harry stumbled as she led him roughly by the arm to the bathroom and ushered him inside. Even if she was not the best support he was happy to accept what little help she offered to him.

After Harry had relieved himself, he drank water from the tap and rinsed his swollen face.

Harry glanced at himself in the mirror and grimaced. He was marked with bruises and his left eye had turned black. As he turned to inspect his injured eye closer, the bruised skin gave off a strange silver cast and he learned the meaning of “a shiner”. It was not a pleasant lesson.

Petunia rapped impatiently on the bathroom door, causing Harry to start badly. “Come on, Potter! You’ve had plenty of time in there!”

Reluctantly Harry opened the door and followed dizzily in Petunia’s wake. She halted suddenly when they reached the kitchen and Harry nearly stumbled into her. She told Harry to wait there for her. Not knowing how long she would be gone he decided to obey.

Seconds later Aunt Petunia returned. She had a half-eaten piece of toast and a small glass of water from the kitchen tap. She gave Harry a piercing stare. “Now, if you want this food you’ll go back to your cupboard without a word of protest. Not one word, do you understand me? Because if I hear one thing out of your lips this is going into the trash.”

Harry nodded; he understood. Once he was back in his cupboard, he was locked away in the dark again, but Petunia had given him the food as she’d promised. He chewed his little reward of cold, soggy toast slowly to make it last longer. He cherished the glass of water in the same manner. After a few short moments the food was gone, and he felt a little bit better. Without anyone to bark out orders to him, Harry drifted off.

The familiar sound of Uncle Vernon’s voice brought Harry quickly to his senses. There was a strange graciousness in his uncle’s muffled tone, and Harry thought that the man almost sounded nervous. Someone had come over to the house and from the sound of the footsteps they were coming in the direction of Harry’s tiny prison.

Harry crowded the far corner of the small space as his uncle unlocked and thrust open the door. “We put him in here last night to keep him from falling down the stairs again. The silly boy really is quite clumsy. He’s got two left feet. I really hope he grows out of it soon,” Vernon explained as he smiled at the person that he was speaking to.

The young wizard cowered reflexively as Vernon reached in to yank him out of the cupboard. Instead of harshly jerking the boy from the tiny room his uncle reached in and helped the boy out with soft hands. Vernon rested his big hands on Harry’s shoulders in a false gesture of affection; Harry didn’t like it, but he did not dare move away.

Harry’s eyes were used to the pitch black confines of the cupboard once more, and it took him time to adjust to the new lighting. He wondered for a moment if Dumbledore had come to see him. He sincerely hoped that it was him. A friendly face and a gentle tone of voice would have been most welcome. His vision finally cleared and Harry glanced up to see who had convinced his uncle to let him out of his prison.

Oh no, Harry thought as he felt his heart trip over several beats. Snape stood there beside his uncle, scrutinizing Harry with his dark stare. Harry shivered as Snape’s cold eyes noted everything and expressed nothing.

“Potter,” Snape said in a neutral tone of greeting. It was almost as though he didn’t see that Harry had been hurt. He didn’t look a bit sympathetic, from the glint in his black eyes to the grimace on his face.

“Hello Professor,” Harry stammered.

Snape turned his focus on Vernon. “I’ve been asked to take the boy to the school early. He’s in need of some remedial courses in order to keep up with the rest of his class. I’m certain that you wouldn’t mind being rid of the boy, but if you have any objection to me taking him I’ll gladly hear you out.”

Harry flinched as his uncle sputtered and quickly told Snape that he had no desire to keep Harry from his important studies.

“Where are your things, Potter?”

Before Harry had a chance to answer Petunia cut him off.

“I’ll show you his room. It’s upstairs.”

The boy watched as Snape followed after his aunt to his small bedroom. Harry felt his body tense as Vernon’s hands shifted from his shoulders to the collar of his shirt and the big man turned and put his face close to Harry’s. “If you tell him anything, and I mean anything about how you are treated here- if you dare say anything bad about this family after all we’ve done for you and I find out, I’ll make you regret it. Not one single word about us to that freak!” Vernon growled in a low tone. He bashed Harry up against the wall and Harry hit the back of his head; for a moment everything spun.

Vernon seemed to shift very suddenly, and his false pleasantness had returned. The massive hands on Harry’s shirt collar relaxed their grip and Vernon patted Harry on the shoulder as if to encourage him. Harry realized that Snape was coming back down the stairs with Harry’s belongings hovering in tow behind him. Harry wondered if Snape had managed to find his wand; he really didn’t want to leave it behind. Hedwig’s cage was settled on top of his trunk, and in spite of the steep incline of the stairs the cage held fast in its place.

Hedwig hooted excitedly. She seemed to know that they were going somewhere. Harry had been able to let her out at night to hunt mice as long as she didn’t bring any wizard post. If she carried one letter to or from Harry without prior permission from Vernon then she would no longer be allowed out at night and that could mean starvation for the owl if Harry wasn’t eating either.

“Let’s go, Potter. We’ve been here long enough,” Snape said dryly as he brushed by Harry and toward the front door.

Harry nodded and followed in a slow pace to keep his head from swimming too much. Once they were outdoors Harry dropped to his knees in the grass. Snape watched the boy. His face betrayed not a show of concern, but a show of annoyance. Snape strode over to Harry and knelt with a small vial in hand.

“This will help with the dizziness, Potter.”

Harry swallowed the potion quickly. He wanted to end the swirling feeling in his head as swiftly as possible. He waited several moments for the feeling to back off and was surprised when he felt worse. He clutched at Snape’s black robes, afraid that Snape had given him the wrong potion. Maybe Snape could fix the mistake if he acted fast enough, but Snape seemed unworried. The young man could hear Snape speaking to him softly, but his words made no sense. Harry’s vision grew even hazier and his fingertips buzzed numbly.

Seconds later his mind clouded too much to clear with simple concentration. This was not something that he could fight. The last thing that Harry remembered before blacking out was the sensation of being picked up from the lawn by his professor.

When Harry woke he could feel a thick veil clouding his thoughts. It felt as though he had woken up during the deepest part of sleep and was meant to go back under. He did not feel pain, only disconnection from everything. Fingers and toes buzzed and he had a strange floating sensation beneath him. The bed beneath his body seemed to be made of warm air instead of an actual mattress.

Harry blinked as he tried to clear his head. He could hear a familiar voice in a low tone, but he could not translate the words that were spoken. The quiet voice was comforting and his body defied his will as he was taken over by sleep once more.

This time he would not fall back asleep. He wanted to be aware of what was going on. If he was at Hogwarts, even if he was in the hospital wing, he wanted to be able to see and participate in his recovery.

It took effort to force his eyes open. Soft halos of light surrounded everything, and Harry felt as though he was in a dream unable to wake. He did not like this feeling. He tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes and found his limbs to be stiff and weary. He was still very tired, but he didn’t care. He had to know what was going on.

He struggled fearfully as a hand reached down and helped him to sit up, when he realized that this person did not intend him harm he relaxed. He felt a cup pressed to his lips and drank. It was some kind of warm cider. It was spicy and sweet in his dry mouth. He drank unresistingly. The warmth from the cider made him feel even more mellow. He didn’t want to sleep anymore, and he tried to resist when the hands eased him back against the pillows.

For several hours Harry was in and out. There was no clarity when he was awake and only nothingness when he slept.

At last the cloud over his mind was fading away. Harry opened his eyes and was pleased to find that he felt much better. His muscles still ached, and his face was still tender, but he felt like he could function again. Once he realized that his mind had been returned to him he saw that he was in unfamiliar surroundings. This was neither Hogwarts nor the Dursley’s home. Where in Merlin’s name had Snape taken him?

Fine cherry-wood furniture decorated the room. The carpet was a plush burgundy that seemed to want to swallow the furniture. The soft yellow glow from the lantern on his night stand told him where his glasses were and he reached over and picked them up.

His hands trembled as he slipped on his spectacles. Harry felt terribly weak, and he wondered if it was caused by the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of the Dursleys or by the potion that Snape had fed him earlier. As he sat up slowly he felt a trickle of dizziness and in a few seconds it had cleared away.

Harry jumped in surprise when he saw that Snape had been standing in the doorway for the past several minutes.

“Nervous, Mr. Potter? I cannot see why. You are on a ground level room; there are no stairs to fall from.”

Harry tried to act like he didn’t hear the twist in Snape’s voice.

“While you were asleep Madame Pomfrey came by to assess your injuries. I have her assurances that any injuries you have are for the most part superficial. Apparently your relatives seem to lack conviction. Laziness runs in the family does it not?”

Harry closed his eyes he wasn’t listening to his teacher even if he was right about the Durlseys. They were lazy, but Harry never had been. He’d never been given a chance to be lazy although his uncle had often said that he was a prime example. He wondered what it would feel like to be lazy for a little while and not fear being punished for it.

“I’ve been asked to look after you for a while,” Snape said quietly.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and he smiled in disbelief. “Wonderful,” he said before he could stop the word from slipping between his teeth.

“I can assure you, Potter, that if it were not for the direct order from Dumbledore I would have left you with your relatives. Perhaps they are wrong to treat you the way that they do, but they are your family. You should not run from them.”

“I didn’t ask you to take me from them, and you don’t know who they really are,” Harry answered. Harry felt his stomach clench in anger. He should stay with the Durlseys only because they were blood relatives? They hated him, not even the blood shared between them could change that, and he would not feel guilty because of Snape’s comments.

Snape stood quiet, he watched Harry from the doorway and waited. His black eyes showed no inclination toward sympathy or even mercy. As Harry looked further he couldn’t even see anger, there was only emptiness. Harry wondered if that was all Snape was, or if that was all Snape would allow him to see.

Harry was thankful when Snape left and closed the door softly behind him. Harry felt anger and doubt in response to Snape’s words. Had he deserved what he’d gotten? Did he deserve it still? Harry could not help the frustration that he felt and the tears that followed were unwelcome, but unstoppable.

All crying had done for Harry was make him feel like he would never want to move again. It hadn’t solved anything. The Dursleys were still going to be the same, and he still had the bruises and the slight build to show that they hadn’t cared for him. Harry had already felt poorly before Snape had talked to him; why did Snape have to cut him to the quick in such an icy manner?

After a short nap Harry stood testing his legs as he looked about the large bedroom. He remembered the door that Snape had used to leave the room, and there was another that Harry thought might have been a closet.

Harry padded to the door that he assumed was a closet, his toes squishing pleasantly into the thick carpet as he walked. He gently opened the door and peered inside. He had half-expected Snape to be behind the door waiting for him so that he could chastise Harry about being too nosy. He was relieved to find that Snape was not there, and the door led to a very impressive bathroom.

An ivory colored tub with silver claw feet stood empty in the center of the room. A matching sink below a mirror decorated with a mosaic pattern of red roses rested in the center of the back wall. Even the toilet looked almost too lovely to ever be used, and Harry smiled at the thought of dancing about because the toilet was too good for him. The rugs in the room near the bath matched the burgundy carpeting of his room; they were made of a velvety soft material and he skimmed his foot on the surface, enjoying the way it felt against the soles of his feet. The floor was tiled in a dark gray marble and it was so finely polished that he could see his reflection as clear as a mirror in the dark surface.

As he watched his reflection on the floor, Harry realized suddenly that his clothes were different. When he had met with Snape, he had been wearing the filthy clothing that he had cleaned the yard in; he hadn’t ever had the chance to change. He remembered these robes fitting better during the school year, and now they seemed looser. He shrugged his weight loss off, and felt the skin of his arm in an almost nervous gesture. Not only was his clothing clean, but he was as well. Harry really didn’t want to know how he had been cared for, or who had cared for him, but he was glad that he was clean.

As he exited the bathroom, he glanced around the bedroom for a pair of shoes. He hadn’t been wearing any when he had been taken from his uncle’s house and he had no intention walking around barefooted if he could help it. He found his trunk of belongings along with Hedwig’s empty cage against the wall near his bed. Harry searched for the pair of school shoes he kept hidden in the trunk, but he wasn’t able to find them. The shoes were gone.

At the edge of the bed was a pair of suede black boots that reached up just past the ankle. They reminded Harry of children’s booties, but for now they were better than running around barefooted. He slipped the soft soled boots on and found them to be a perfect fit. As he tested them out, he found that anything he stepped on he felt through the sole of the boot. These were not meant for hard travel, but they were better than nothing.

Harry went to the door that Snape had used to leave the room. He reached for the handle and hesitated. He jumped back as the door opened gently. Harry backed away from the imposing figure of his Potions professor.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked as his dark eyes spied the boots on Harry’s feet.

Harry swallowed and shook his head. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. There was no need to punish him for thinking about opening the door.

“Are you hungry?”

Harry looked confused for a moment. Was he hungry? He hadn’t thought about it. He probably should have been starving, but he felt nothing.

Snape pulled his wand from the folds of his robes and flicked it in a soft motion. A plate of food appeared on the floor near his feet. From where Harry was standing it looked like more cider and a sandwich. It smelled like warm roast beef, and in response to the smell Harry felt his stomach rumble in longing.

Harry watched warily as Snape picked up the tray of food and set it on the night stand near the glowing lantern. “Tonight you may eat in here,” Snape said. It sounded like an order to Harry, but he would rather not be dragged into a dining room at the moment to eat with Snape.

As soon as Snape had turned and left the room, Harry turned his attention to the meal he’d been offered. He was quite sure that he last time he had eaten a decent meal was in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. He missed that place as if it were a dear friend.

Harry barely gave his tastebuds a few seconds to recognize the soft bun that covered the tender roast beef. The mild provolone cheese was perfectly melted by the warm meat, but it could have been a head-cheese sandwich and he would have wolfed it down in the same hungry manner. Within a few disappointing seconds the only evidence of the sandwich was a few crumbs on the silver plate. Harry licked his finger and cleared the plate of the crumbs as well; he was not going to leave anything behind.

As Harry reached for the warm goblet of cider he allowed the scent of it to mellow the urge to ravage it as he had the sandwich. He was sure that had Dudley been given the same meal he would have protested that a warm drink did not go well with a warm sandwich. His cousin would have preferred a raspberry iced tea and he would have pitched a fit until he got it and made everyone in his company miserable in the process. When Harry wasn’t with his relatives, the thought of Dudley throwing a fit was amusing; Dudley’s parents seemed to bend over backward for him for nothing.

Harry gave his warm cider a little swirl in the goblet and took a small sip. The drink was sweet and spicy, just as it had been before, but he enjoyed this drink better now that he was awake. He smiled as he enjoyed the cider to the very last drop. As he took the final swallow, he noticed a slight bitter taste in his mouth, but Harry didn’t seem to be bothered by it. He felt warm, and lazy. Even the aching from his healing bruises seemed soothed from just a little food and drink.

Harry settled down on the floor, leaning his back against the side of the bed and tracing little patterns of crescent moons and stars into the thick surface of the carpet. Harry wondered briefly if he really felt warm and safe in this room or if it was just a temporary happiness from being full. Either way he didn’t really care; he hadn’t felt this good in a very long time. Within a few moments Harry released a contented sigh and didn’t even notice how heavy lidded his eyes felt.

It was midmorning when Harry woke to find himself in his bed. Strange that he had no memory of getting ready for bed, but he had managed to set his boots neatly beside the bed and place his glasses on the night stand as if it were automatic. If Harry hadn’t put himself to bed there was only one other person who could have done it, and Harry thought that was next to impossible. Harry glanced at the night stand where his glasses had been placed, and as he slipped them on he remembered that he had left Snape’s silver plate there. The plate was gone, and his glasses had been in its place. If Snape had been there he had been awfully considerate, but Harry held onto his doubts where Snape’s kindness was concerned.

Harry stood and stretched his muscles. He slipped into his boots and approached the door that led out of his bedroom. He gently tested the door handle to see if it was locked; to Harry’s complete surprise the door had been left open. He wondered if that had been a mistake or if Snape had wanted him to be able to come and go as he pleased.

As quietly as he could Harry slipped out of the room. He did not know where he was going, but he intended to find the way out of this place. He wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to stay with Snape even if he had nowhere else to go.

Fine paintings of ancestral wizards adorned the walls and watched Harry suspiciously as he passed. There were little displays of finery everywhere, weapons on the walls, fine vases and statues. Harry stopped abruptly when a striking white carved horse on a small cherry-wood table caught his eye. It seemed to gleam in the soft light of the sun that came through the partially shaded windows placed high in the walls. The horse was frozen in a rear of anger. It’s white teeth bared, front hooves poised to strike and it’s long immoveable mane and tail flicked into wild positions as if blown by the wind instead of carved by a chisel. The work of art had completely stolen his attention from finding the exit. Harry wondered if such an animal, had it been alive and full size, could ever be ridden by anyone.

He reached out to touch the horse’s small muzzle with his hand and jerked back suddenly at the sound of a stern voice behind him.

“I would not touch that if I were you.”

Harry whirled to see Snape standing behind him with his arms folded within the drape of his cloak. The man looked annoyed or angry, but Harry saw no difference. Both emotions were dangerous, and he had no desire to experience the result of either emotion from Snape. Harry’s eyes flicked about for an easy escape.

Harry stood stock still as he watched Snape approach him with measured steps. It was the same pace his uncle had used. The angry clip, clip of hard-soled shoes on the wood floor set his fear in motion.

It would only be a matter of seconds before he was shoved away into some tiny space intended for soup cans and jarred peach preserves. There was no telling when his next meal would come in the darkness of the tiny space; no one to talk to and no way to tell how much time had passed. It was bad enough being treated like a freak, but then shoved into a space where there were only a few inches to shift positions was utter cruelty.

No, he didn’t want to let that happen ever again. With a slight hesitation Harry took flight from the teacher. He wasn’t certain where he would run, but he knew he had to get away or at least try.

As he ran along the halls of the enormous mansion, Harry could feel his feet slipping on the smooth surface of the floor. The soft leather soles of the boots he wore refused to give decent traction against the floor. Harry yelped as his feet flew from beneath him and he slid a little way down the hall on his side. Within a few seconds he had pulled himself up and was heading toward a door at the end of the hall.

He finally reached the door and prayed that it was unlocked. He jerked the door open and dashed inside the room pulling the door closed behind him. This room was dark, and large. From what Harry could see it was some sort of library, or perhaps a study chamber. Harry hid behind a desk shielded with a large stack of books as he heard the door creak open.

The soft glow of Snape’s lit wand made Harry’s ragged breath stop in his throat. He wanted to calm the hammering of his heart for fear that it would give him away. He ducked as Snape walked by him. Harry wished that he’d had his invisibility cloak. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember seeing the cloak in his trunk where it should have been. It was supposed to be under his pair of school shoes, and it had disappeared as well.

Harry watched silently as Snape left the room to search others in the hall. Harry breathed in a gulp of air in relief. He glanced about for a door or a window that led outside, but in this room there were only solid walls. There was no other way out but back through the door he’d come in; he’d have to risk the chance that Snape had gone to another room.

Harry padded to the door and put his ear to it. He couldn’t hear a thing; the door was too solid to allow the sound of Snape’s footsteps come through. After trying to concentrate and getting nowhere Harry gave up. He blew out a sigh of resignation and tried to open the heavy door a tiny bit to look out. The door groaned as he pushed it open. Harry sucked in a breath and looked down the hall, no Snape.

He felt his shoulders drop in relief. Perhaps he still had a chance to escape. Harry cautiously crept out of the library and snuck down the hall. He looked back and saw nothing behind him. Harry smiled and turned his focus back to the task of leaving. All he could see in front of him was black.

Harry realized what had happened too late. Somehow Snape had appeared out of thin air in front of him. Harry stumbled backward and felt the soft soled boots lose traction once again on the hard floor. The boy cringed as Snape reached out and grabbed his right arm and kept him from falling to the floor. For a moment Harry had thought that Snape was lashing out to strike him; he was glad that he was once again wrong about the Potions Master.

Snape looked at Harry. His dark eyes glistened with what must have been intense fury. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, are all Gryffindor as easily frightened as you? It was my understanding that members of your house were said to be quite courageous and yet you ran from me like a terrified house elf.”

Snape spun Harry in an about face and gave the boy a gentle push in the direction of Harry’s bedroom. Harry turned to face Snape, and for a moment it looked like Harry intended to resist. His eyes flitted to Snape’s wand and then back to Snape’s impassive face.

“Mr. Potter, please do not give me an excuse to curse you.”

“I never realized that you needed a reason to curse someone,” Harry thought.

Harry watched Snape as the grip on his wand and the expression on the professor’s face tightened in irritation. Suddenly Harry realized that he hadn’t just thought that he’d said every word aloud! He’d meant to keep that as an internal dialogue, what in the world was wrong with him? He swallowed, expecting some type of reaction from Snape, but Snape said nothing.

In spite of the fact that Harry had no desire to return to his impressive room he did not think it wise to defy Snape. He trudged to his room without a word the entire time. Snape followed into the room after Harry and slipped his wand into the folds of his robes.

“Stay here and think of a good explanation for your actions. I would like to know the reason for your cowardly behavior.”

Snape had taken out his wand again and conjured some more food for Harry. Harry was glad when Snape left him alone again; he wasn’t sure why he had spoken so out of turn, but he was going to have to watch his tongue more carefully.

Harry looked at the meal set out before him and felt his stomach rumble in want. Porridge, a cup of cream, fresh strawberries and buttered toast waited for him. Harry thought it was odd that Snape hadn’t left him a glass of juice or milk, but more of the cider that Snape seemed to favor. Harry didn’t dislike porridge, but it did remind him of food that had already been chewed up and spit out, and that reminded him of the Dursleys. He disliked the thoughts that brought to mind.

After a few seconds Harry allowed the memory of starvation to encourage him to eat what he’d been freely given. He poured a bit of cream into the cereal and stirred it, then he added a few strawberries and began to eat. It didn’t take long for the whole bowl to disappear. Harry finished the rest of the strawberries and took a sip of the warm cider as he started to munch on the toast.

As Harry finished off the last of his toast and goblet of cider, he was greeted with the faint bitter taste in his mouth. The bitterness did not ruin the pleasantness of the meal, but Harry wondered what was in the cider to cause it to have such a bad aftertaste.

The mellow sensation of being full and content soon pushed all other thoughts away and Harry was once again dozing before he could fight himself.

When Harry woke Snape was standing a few feet away from him with an expectant look on his face. “Have you thought of your explanation, Mr. Potter?”

“No,” Harry thought. “Why should I have to explain anything to you?”

Harry clapped a hand over his mouth. His personal dialogue was not being very personal; he had only intended to keep those words as thoughts not actually say them!

“Having trouble keeping your thoughts to yourself, Potter?” Snape’s sneer revealed a slight twist of a smile.

“I don’t know what’s going on, Professor,” Harry admitted softly.

“That much is obvious, Potter,” Snape growled. “Now then, I’ve given you more than enough time to think of a decent answer. Why did you run from me, Potter?”

The words popped into his mind within fractions of a second and before he could stop the words spilled from his mouth in a subdued tone. “I ran because I was afraid.”

Harry didn’t want to say anymore. He clenched his jaw; if Snape asked him another question, he would not answer easily.

“Yes, I gathered that, Potter. But why were you afraid? I did not give you cause to be so unnerved,” Snape said in a steady voice.

Harry bit down on his tongue; he did not want to talk about the Dursleys. It seemed that Harry had little power over the will of his words and once more they sprang from his mouth without his approval. “I didn’t want to end up back in the cupboard. I wasn’t going to touch the horse. Well, not after you’d said something.”

“Indeed,” Snape said recalling the look on the boy’s face when he had been surprised.

Harry wondered how much harder he would have to bite down on his tongue before he would draw blood. Snape gave Harry a scrutinizing stare.

“If you would speak your mind willingly, it would not be so unpleasant, Potter.”

Harry bit his tongue a little harder as his thoughts scrambled for purchase as spoken words. “I think that you have heard enough of what’s on my mind. I don’t believe that pouring my heart out to you would be anything but unpleasant,” Harry stated with a wince, every bit of defiance in the words had been only in his mind. Why was he having such a difficult time holding his tongue?

He hadn’t taken any potions recently and the one he had been given had worn off hours ago. The only thing he’d drank on a regular basis had been . . . the cider.

Snape had been drugging him from the very beginning, and there was no way to know when this would wear off. Harry felt his heart drop to the soft-soled boots on his feet, the way things were going Harry was not going to be able to keep anything from Snape. The person who despised Harry more than almost anyone in the wizarding world had a grip on Harry’s very thoughts, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from speaking. All Snape had to do was ask the right questions and he could know everything.

When Dumbledore had asked Snape to look in on Harry Potter, Snape wanted to refuse. He had wanted to tell Dumbledore to ask someone else from the Order, or even the head of the Gryffindor house. Anyone but himself, but as much as he wanted to protest Snape did not.

Almost immediately after he’d received the assignment he went to Potter’s home in the muggle world. Snape took in a deep breath, rapped politely on the door and waited.

As he waited Snape glanced about at the flowerbeds. The beds were well-kept, but in Snape’s opinion utterly useless. There was not a single useful herb or root in the entire garden. Nothing that could be considered helpful in the slightest. Snape sneered at the flowers for being an utter waste of time and effort and rocked on the heels of his boots.

Finally the door opened and a plump muggle peered out. The fat man started when he recognized what Snape was.

“You, you’re here for the boy?”

Snape folded his hands behind his back as his harsh gaze scanned over Vernon. After a moment Snape met Vernon’s nervous eyes and Vernon quickly looked away. Vernon forced himself to smile as he reached for the door handle to invite Snape inside of the house. His hand trembled slightly as he made for the knob and he dearly hoped that Snape hadn’t noticed.

As amusing as it was to frighten a muggle relative of Potter without so much as a harsh word, Snape only really cared about completing his task. He would look in on Potter, see to it the boy was doing well and chastise him for not writing to the Order as he had been instructed. Simple.

The muggle was rambling on about Potter’s clumsiness. Snape looked around the house as he followed the fat muggle toward the stairs on which Vernon said Potter had injured himself in a fall. Oddly enough they did not go up the stairs, but instead Vernon led Snape to the cupboard beneath the stairs. Perhaps, Snape mused, he had frightened the muggle more than he’d realized and now what Vernon wanted was a stiff drink to bring him courage.

Snape watched with mild interest as Vernon huffed and puffed to reach whatever bottle he had stashed in the recesses of the cupboard. As Vernon retreated from the little cupboard Snape realized that no bottle of scotch or brandy would call for this amount of exertion. A muffled cry from within the small room killed the tiny amount of amusement that Snape had been entertaining.

He realized that he knew that voice. Potter. The Boy Who Lived, crammed into a space that was not fit to house a small dog. Snape watched quietly as Vernon pulled the boy from the cupboard. Potter looked dazed. Snape kept his face emotionless and waited for the boy to recognize who he was. Harry seemed to have recovered from being shocked by the light, and by the look on his face Snape had no doubt that he had been recognized.

*********************

“Potter, kindly explain to me why you refuse to eat. You obviously are in need of the nourishment.”

Two days had passed and Harry had refused to eat or drink anything that Snape had offered to him. Harry had been drinking from the tap and sleeping a lot to pass the time. It was a dull way to live, but the only way he could see to keep control of things.

Snape believed he understood the reason behind the boy’s behavior, but he was not amused in the slightest. The boy was testing his patience and his own willpower. Sooner or later one of them was going to have to give in to the other’s wishes.

Harry refused to answer. Whatever drug he’d been given had worn off over the period of his two day fast. He could control his tongue once again and he was triumphantly exercising the right to keep silent.

Several minutes had passed before Harry spoke of his own accord. “Professor, despite your basic opinion of myself and many other students I am not stupid.”

Snape frowned, felt himself bristle a tiny bit and then something clicked. Potter was teasing him. The boy was trying to irritate him, probably to change the area of focus.

Snape soothed any annoyance he’d been feeling with a deep breath. He was an adult and he was not going to let a boy have control of things. Potter was not going to manipulate him.

“Potter,” Snape said sharply. “Kindly stop skirting the issue with this useless drivel and answer my question. Why are you refusing to eat?”

Harry looked at Snape with a glint of defiance in his sharp green eyes. “The reason that I’m refusing Professor is because I can, and there is nothing that you can do to stop me.”

“Potter,” Snape said softly, his eyes glowing with some dark amusement. “You assume far too much. There will be an end to this foolish behavior one way or another.”

Harry watched as Snape left the room closing the door behind him. What could Snape do to him? If he didn’t want to eat tainted food then that was it; he wasn’t going to eat it no matter what Snape said. Harry watched the door for a long while after Snape had gone and felt something other than hunger in the pit of his stomach.

As he slept, Harry could hear someone speaking to him, calling his name. He knew the voice. Not Snape. The voice was much warmer, not the cold frost that Snape put out disguised as communication. Drowsily, Harry attempted to concentrate. Ah, yes, now he could place the voice with its owner. It was Remus Lupin.

“Harry,” said Lupin. “Harry, you need to drink this.”

Remus helped him to sit up and pressed a goblet to the boy’s lips. Harry turned his face away from the drink.

“I’m not thirsty,” Harry said softly.

“You must do something to keep up your strength, and this will help you. Professor Snape tells me that you haven’t been eating well,” Lupin set the full goblet on the night stand near Harry’s bed.

“Yes, that’s only because there’s something wrong with what he tries to feed me,” Harry said in a still drowsy whisper.

“I’m sure that he has your best interests at heart, Potter,” Lupin said softly.

“I’m sure,” Harry murmured disbelievingly.

Potter? Harry felt the dreaminess of sleep quickly fading. He reached for his glasses and felt a jolt of shock run through him as Lupin roughly grabbed his hand. He looked up at Lupin’s face. His familiar features were blurred by Harry’s naturally poor vision.

“Why are you here?” Harry asked as he carefully pulled his hand away from Remus. He’d get his glasses later.

“I wanted to see how you were. I was worried about you,” Lupin answered.

“I’m well, thank you for the concern.”

“Pot- Harry, you don’t look well to me. When was the last time you ate a decent meal? You do realize what will happen if you keep on like this, don’t you?”

Harry shook his head. Why did Lupin sound so different? The voice was the same, but there was something not quite right. It wasn’t that he sounded so different, but more like he felt different.

“I’d really rather not talk right now. I’m very tired,” Harry said quietly as he feigned a yawn.

“All right, you can get some more rest, but I must insist that you drink this first,” Lupin offered Harry the full goblet once more. Harry took it in hand and looked into it. The dark liquid inside shimmered beautifully. It looked appetizing, but smelled quite disgusting.

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter what it is. All that matters is that it will help you to recover,” Lupin answered in an irritated tone.

“It does matter what it is. I won’t drink it without knowing what it will do to me.”

“You are behaving very foolishly, Potter.”

“Maybe,” Harry said softly. “But I don’t need a mystery potion, even if you say it will help me.”

“I’m not leaving until you drink it,” Lupin said in an unfamiliar stern and almost harsh tone of voice. Harry felt something inside of him recoil as he saw the intensity of Lupin’s gaze clearly even without his glasses.

Well then, I guess you aren’t leaving anytime soon are you? Better make yourself at home.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want it.”

“I never said that you had to want it. You need it, and you’re drinking it now,” Lupin growled.

Harry moved to get up on his weak legs. He felt two firm hands push him back onto his bed. He struggled against the hands that were forcing his mouth open and pouring the putrid smelling potion past his lips. No! Lupin wouldn’t have treated me this way! He gagged as a hand forced his mouth shut and the other plugged his nose. The taste was so revolting, but there was no opportunity to spit the stuff out. He was already choking the stuff down because part of it had painfully gone down the wrong pipe.

The unkind hands finally released him, and he coughed as though he’d been drowning. It took several moments to catch his breath

“Potter, you’re making this far more difficult than it has to be,” Lupin said with a dark smile of victory.

“At least I’ve been honest, unlike you,” Harry said as he felt his vision beginning to swim.

“I was trying to take the path of least resistance, Potter.”

“You can’t fool me into trusting you. No matter what you look like,” Harry mumbled as his eyes rolled and his body relaxed involuntarily.

“No, perhaps not, but it was worth a try.”

Lupin shifted Harry on the bed and covered him as if he were performing a demeaning or undesired task. He snatched up the empty goblet and left the room with his robes swishing behind him.

When Harry awoke, only half an hour had passed, and he did feel a bit stronger. He stood on slightly trembling legs and went into the bathroom for a drink of water.

He turned the spigot and waited for the water to come. Nothing but a hollow gurgle from the faucet. No water! Not a single blasted drop! With a frantic thought he looked to the claw footed bath tub. Surely Snape had left him that. He turned both the hot and cold spigots, but received nothing save for the empty sucking noise that the faucet had given to him moments before. Harry felt his insides squirm coldly. Now what little control he’d been clinging to had been cut off like the valves to his tub and sink.

The toilet still had water running to it. Harry flushed it for the toilet for the third time with a little laugh of disbelief, and watched as the water slowly filled itself once again. He certainly wasn’t going to drink from the toilet, no matter how thirsty he became.

He felt slightly more fatigued now, as if the shift of control had drained what little reserve of strength he had been storing away by sleeping. Harry wandered back to his comfortable bed and settled down to stare at the ceiling for the next few hours.

Harry didn’t bother sitting up when the door to his bedroom opened quietly. He could feel the massive weight of Snape’s critical gaze on him, and he attempted to pretend that he hadn’t noticed it. Without a single word Snape demanded the boy’s full attention, and with a soft groan Harry sat up and leaned up against the wall to listen to whatever the man had to say. He knew that he’d been beaten in more ways than one.

“Feeling better now, Potter? That was quite a fit you threw earlier.”

Harry felt better in a small way, but for the most part he felt altogether lousy. He didn’t acknowledge Snape’s question with an answer.

“I trust that by now, Potter, you’ve realized that defiance will get you nowhere with me.” Snape paused as an evil glint suddenly showed itself in his black eyes. “Is that the reason that the muggle had you locked up in that cupboard, Potter?”

Harry let Snape’s sharp words drift by without acknowledgment. He wasn’t going to let Snape get to him.

“Perhaps it was silly of the Headmaster to worry enough about you to send me to look in on you,” Snape said with a sneer. Snape smiled as Harry’s green eyes sharpened into a fierce glare that Snape knew well. “Could it be, Potter, that you really did deserve to be stuffed into that cage of a room?”

No, I know that I made mistakes, but I never deserved that.

Snape chuckled at the all too obvious anger that was displayed clearly on the boy’s face. “The black eye, the malnourishment. Is that part of the act as well?”

Harry reflexively clenched his fists, but he managed to hold his tongue in check.

Snape pushed even harder now. “Potter, shall I go to the Headmaster and explain that this has all been a terrible misunderstanding? That you are in fact the very cause of your own misery. That the muggles who were kind enough to take you in have been cast in a dark light because of your own actions.”

His body was trembling now, both with equal parts of violent anger and cold fear. Harry was quite sure that he knew what Snape was going to say next.

“Now then, Potter. How shall we go about correcting this rather large misunderstanding? Perhaps a letter of apology to both the Headmaster and your muggle relatives; that would be a more than proper start. Although I don’t know if the muggles will have you back after what you’ve done to them, Potter. Blood ties can only go so far.”

What I’ve done to them! Oh good Lord! Is he bloody serious?!

“I’m not writing any bloody letters of apologies to anyone,” Harry growled softly.

“Would you care to explain why, Potter?” Snape asked.

“I’m not going to apologize for what’s happened to me.”

“Now, Potter,” Snape began in a strange, almost patient tone of voice, “there is no shame in admitting that you did something that was wrong. I know for a fact that those bruises on your body and your weight loss didn’t come about by doing nothing. Someone caused this to happen to you, and if you are indeed innocent as you claim to be then upon whom shall we place the blame?”

Harry opened and then shut his mouth as if he’d intended to say something and then decided he’d better not say anything. Snape clicked his tongue and shook his head as if he were disappointed in a very young child.

“I have given you more than ample time to tell me the truth, and yet you’ve still kept silent. To me, Potter, your silence means only one thing. It means that my assumptions about you are correct and that you are indeed to blame for your own suffering.”

No, I didn’t do any of this to myself! I never wanted to be treated this way!

“If you were doing this to gain more attention then you’ll certainly get it now. Come, Potter, we need to speak to the Headmaster,” Snape said coldly.

Before Harry had realized what was happening Snape had grabbed him firmly by the arm and was roughly dragging the weak boy to his feet.

“Sir, please! I don’t want to speak to Dumbledore!”

Snape abruptly stopped pulling Harry by the arm and carefully steadied the boy by holding his shoulder.

“Potter, unless you tell me the truth we shall speak to the Headmaster, and I will tell him exactly what I think of you.”

Harry nodded; he couldn’t believe that he was going to comply. “My relatives, sometimes they punish me when I upset them,” Harry said in a whisper so soft that Snape had to lean closer to the boy to be certain he heard everything.

“What did you do to upset them, Potter?” Snape urged.

Oh the usual things. Not putting the garden hose in it’s place, doing Hogwarts homework, letting Hedwig hunt for mice outdoors, being born a wizard.

“More than I’d care to recall at the present time, Sir,” Harry answered flatly.

“As punishment they’d lock you in that cupboard and deprive you of food?”

“Yes, but they were upset at me,” Harry murmured, almost wishing he hadn’t said anything.

“The black eye?”

Harry looked away for a moment.

“Is that a normal punishment, Potter?”

Harry shook his head. “No Sir, Uncle Vernon never used to hit me before.”

“Yes, well he should never have started to hit you, Potter.”

“Well, I do have a tendency to make him very angry.”

“Potter, are you actually defending the muggle who’s starved and mistreated you?”

“Professor, they are the only family I’ve ever known, and I know I won’t get another.”

Snape cocked an eyebrow at the boy’s response, but in a way he did understand exactly how the boy felt.

Snape let the boy drop to the floor, like a dirty sock. Harry lay on the floor, and watched in silence as Snape left. He considered getting up to move to his soft bed, but decided against it. For now the floor was soft enough.

*********************

Harry woke feeling disoriented. He slipped on his glasses and attempted to gain his bearings. His heart plummeted to his toes when he realized where he was. Snape had taken him back home! Back to the Dursley’s!

Harry’s heart gave a jolt as he recognized Vernon’s heavy footfall on the creaking stairs just over his head. The boy was sure that he could hear Vernon’s angry huffs for breath as the big man descended the stairs. He could hear Vernon cursing viciously as he fumbled with the cupboard’s lock.

As Vernon reached into the cupboard Harry let out a strangled yelp and lurched backward into shelves full of rotten peach and apricot preserves that nobody had bothered with while they were still edible. Vernon yanked Harry from the cupboard by his shirt causing the boy to knock several of the mason jars to the floor and they shattered in a sticky mess of old fruit and glass.

The boy began to sputter apologies in a near sob as Vernon held him by the shirt and screamed unintelligible curses at the young man. Harry couldn’t believe that Snape had brought him back here after what Harry had revealed to him.

Harry looked up into his uncle’s unpleasantly red colored face in confusion. His uncle had been screaming at him, that he knew, but he thought that he’d heard someone call his name calmly and clearly. Vernon shook him hard in what felt like an attempt to jar loose what sense Harry felt he had left to him.

He felt his head jerk sharply to the side as Vernon slapped him across the face. There wasn’t really any pain, just the sharp crack of a huge hand impacting against a soft cheek. He’d barely registered what had happened before Vernon gave another forceful blow.

Harry heard the voice as it called his name again. His uncle seemed to be growing angrier with each successive blow he landed and Harry watched with wide, helpless eyes as the man closed his beefy hand to make a fist.

The boy could taste the metallic flavor of blood in his mouth. It seemed that there was too much to spit it all out and Harry choked as Vernon began to laugh.

“Potter! Breathe, blast you boy! Potter, do you hear me!” Harry obeyed the familiar and irritated sounding voice as he gasped for breath.

Harry opened his eyes and felt Snape raising his left arm and hitting him firmly on the back. There was an odd taste in his mouth. Harry could feel his eyes were watering as if he’d been crying, and he was coated with sweat.

He’d been having a nightmare! A bloody nightmare! But he felt all right, even mellow now that he thought about it. That must’ve been what the odd taste in his mouth was from. Snape had been trying to wake him so that he could feed him a calming potion. When Harry hadn’t come to and Snape had force fed him the potion Harry had choked on part of it

“Potter, are you all right?” Snape asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good, there is still much to discuss between you and I.”

“No! I’m not agreeing to that!” Harry shouted with a snarl of defiance. Just because he was weak didn’t mean he was a doormat.

Snape snorted in disbelief. “Potter, it’s for your own good, and you don’t really have a choice.”

“You can’t do that! I’m not going to cooperate!”

“Potter, what you don't seem to grasp is that I don't need you to cooperate. I have things to attend to, but until then you may occupy yourself with a bath. The water has been turned back on...and if your behavior is acceptable it shall remain that way. In the meantime, attempt to make yourself more presentable,” Snape said coldly as he closed and locked the door behind him.

What did Snape know anyway? Angrily Harry crossed his bedroom to his trunk and pulled out fresh robes. He laid them out on the bed and then went to the bathroom to clean himself up.

As he stripped his dirty clothing he caught a glimpse of himself the mirror. So that's what he sees, Harry thought. Maybe he did need help, but that didn't mean he had to like it. He turned the taps on and settled into the empty tub, to sit as it filled with hot water. Harry let his mind drift as the water soothed him. He could easily become angry again when Snape returned.

“Potter! What in Merlin’s name is going on!” Snape was pounding viciously on the bedroom door that he had locked himself. He seemed to have forgotten that Harry had neither a key nor a wand to unlock or lock the door.

Startled, Harry jerked out of his bath induced trance and slopped cool water all over the floor that had a large pool of water started already. Oh Merlin! The tap was still running when I dozed off! The tub was flooding over now. When Snape saw it he would not be pleased.

Snape was coming through Harry’s bedroom door now. It would only be a matter of seconds before he saw the water on the floor. Harry struggled to turn off the spigots to the tub and then scrambled out of the full tub for a towel. He had nearly broken his neck in the attempt, but he had wrapped a towel around his waist before Snape entered. Harry was seated on the toilet lid when Snape entered the bathroom and running his fingers through his dark hair in a gesture of nerves.

“Potter,” Snape growled, “Why is there water all over my floor?”

Harry swallowed when he saw a little muscle twitch in Snape’s jaw. The man was livid.

“I’m not sure what happened, sir,” Harry answered with a sickly smile.

Snape waved the water away with a flick of his wand, and then turned to the boy. With the mess cleaned up he felt better. “It would be wise to try and explain, Mr. Potter.”

“Well, I turned the water on, got in the tub and then I heard you yelling. That’s when I realized I’d drifted off in the water. The tub was full and the water... it just overflowed. I’m sorry about the mess,” Harry answered quietly. He placed his cheek in his palm; he had a bad headache brewing. He wanted to be alone.

Snape looked around, as if to be certain he'd cleaned the entire mess. “Yes, well, don’t be so careless in the future, Potter. Now go and get dressed. I'll return in a few moments.”

Harry was sitting on the edge of his bed when Snape returned as he’d promised. The boy groaned; he was not in the mood to deal with Snape now, even if he had just let him off easily for the mess in the bathroom. Snape strode over to Harry and set a small satchel on the night stand. Snape folded his arms and gave Harry a menacing stare.

“It’s time that you had something to eat, Potter.”

Harry groaned, Not right now. “Please Professor, I’m really not hungry right now.” Harry felt dizzy. His head was pounding, if he did eat anything it was going to come right back up.

“I thought that you would say something like that. I haven’t brought anything that will upset your system. In fact it should be rather soothing. If you eat it willingly that is.” Snape reached into his satchel and withdrew a clear sack filled with what appeared to be runny, tan-colored vomit.

Harry put his hand over his mouth and shook his head as his belly gave a rumble of dizzy protest. No way! I can’t eat that!

“However, it appears that you do not intend to cooperate, am I correct?” Snape was reaching into the pouch again, and Harry was staring into the carpet to keep from dry heaving.

“Please,” Harry pled. “I really don’t feel well. I can’t eat right now.”

“Potter, you feel ill from a lack of nourishment. This food will help,” Snape said matter of factly.

Harry shook his head.

“All right, Potter, have it your way.”

Harry sighed with relief. Snape had decided to leave him alone! Harry looked up, and was about to say something when he heard Snape cast a charm.

He couldn’t move! Snape strode over and easily maneuvered Harry’s helpless body back onto the bed. He was holding a coil of clear tubing, and it became clear what he intended to do.

“Don’t fret, Potter. You won’t choke. You don’t even have to swallow, except for when I slide the tube down your throat. Swallow it and it won’t hurt. Resist and... it will be unpleasant.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Snape was sitting on the edge of his bed now, leaning over him with a slightly amused expression on his face. Snape used his left hand to gently squeeze Harry’s jaws apart and the other hand slipped the smooth tubing past Harry’s teeth, over his tongue and then Snape paused.

“Try to relax, Potter,” Snape fed the tubing carefully down a small ways. “Swallow it, boy.”

Harry squeezed his eyes closed, and felt his throat catch in a reflexive gag. His eyes watered, and his entire body twitched, despite the fact that he’d been immobilized. Snape pulled back a tiny bit, and then pressed forward once more. As much as Harry hated to submit, he knew that there wasn’t anyway to get Snape to leave him alone. He swallowed on the second try and felt his own tears hotly streaking down his face.

“Really Potter, you’re making this much harder than it had to be,” Snape said softly, as he began to carefully guide the slurry-like substance into the tube that was down Harry’s throat. He lifted his end of tube up a bit to allow the stuff to travel downward more easily.

When the some of the slimy goo had made it’s way into Harry’s belly, it felt warm. Harry was almost glad, something cold probably would have felt more like a kick in the gut. It faintly reminded him of the sensation in his stomach after sipping warm hot chocolate, but this was not something he would recall fondly.

How would Snape tell when he was full? Would he just feed Harry until he burst like a bloated tick?

Harry Potter the boy who lived has died from being overfed. Harry’s eyes grew wide at the thought.

Snape was watching the slime travel smoothly down Potter’s tube. The teacher narrowed his eyes at a bubble of air and gently smoothed it down the line until it filled with the goo.

Harry could see that the slime was almost gone. Only a few more minutes of this utter humiliation before Snape would take out the tube and Harry could let his body puke up the predigested stuff if it wanted. Snape was reaching into his pocket for something. Not a potion!

“For your upset stomach, Potter. This will keep your insides calm until the food has had the chance to settle and do you some good,” Snape said as he poured the contents of a vial into the tube and squeezed it down the line with the remainder of Harry’s meal.

Snape gave the line of tubing one last squeeze before he began to slip it back out of Harry’s throat. Harry’s belly was full and calm, but the rest of him was quite upset.

“This could have been avoided. You do not always need to resist me. I am trying to help you,” Snape said as he wiped a bit of spit off of Harry’s chin with a rag from his satchel. Snape put his used supplies back into his bag and stood.

Harry waited for Snape to set him loose from the spell, and he waited. Snape’s hand never did reach for his wand, and Harry wanted to cry out in protest.

“Rest now, Potter. The charm will wear off on its own in a little while. I fear you are too wound up to be trusted at the moment. When you are calmer I’ll speak to you again.”

Snape was leaving him stuck like this!? NO! Please, don’t leave me like this. For the second time in less than an hour Harry felt the strong urge to cry, and once Snape had left he didn’t resist it any longer.

His pillow was damp and cold under his ears from where he’d been crying moments earlier. Harry would have liked to turn it over, but he couldn’t shift his position in the slightest. The only things he really could move were his eyelids. Frustration rippled through him in spite of his body’s natural want to be mellow and digest the stuff that Snape had fed to him.

Because he had no alternative, Harry had waited quietly for Snape’s spell to wear off as the man had said it would. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Soon Harry had been lying completely still for over an hour, and an itch on his nose was driving him mad. He was ready to scream. He needed to be able to move, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen anytime soon.

When two hours had finally passed Harry heard the door open and spied Snape’s black robes from the corner of his eye and the man approached. Aggravation pushed heat to his cheeks. He wanted to get up!

“Still indisposed, Potter?” Snape shook his head in mock pity. “Once again you are making things more difficult than they need to be.”

Why is everything always my fault? Harry thought angrily.

“Perhaps it is better for you to remain that way for a while longer. A few days, maybe. After you’ve had a few feedings, and a chance to regain some strength, I’ll let you up.”

What? Stay like this for a few days! Be fed from a tube more than once. Oh, no! NO! Harry felt panic mixing with his anger. His breath was coming in frustrated gasps now. He was going to start to cry. He couldn’t believe that this was happening to him. At least when he suffered at the hands of his relatives, he was able to move. This was so unfair!

He closed his eyes as he felt warmth pooling to form tears.

“You do realize that you’re not helping yourself by getting all worked up,” Snape said coldly.

Shut it, Snape! It’s not like you actually care anyway!

“My suggestion to you, Mr. Potter, is that you take a breath and make an attempt to regain some composure. In small, simple words, Potter, calm down.”

Why? It’s not like it will make any difference anyway. Harry could feel Snape’s expectant gaze on him. Snape was waiting . . . waiting for Harry to obey him. To listen to his advice.

Snape towered over Harry. He knelt and put his hooked nose close to the boy’s ear. He was so close he was nearly touching Harry. Harry could feel little, warm puffs of breath on the side of his face. He wanted to cringe away, but he settled for clamping his eyes closed once more.

“Potter, did you hear me?” Snape whispered. “I asked you to calm down.”

He couldn’t do it. Harry could not recoup any composure. His heart was pounding, the frantic beat sounding mercilessly in his ears. Snape was still kneeling beside him. Not in his face anymore, but still far too close as far as Harry was concerned.

Snape made audible sigh that was more like a groan of discontent. He could not believe he was doing this. Gently he reached out and pushed a few stray pieces of dark hair away from the boy’s eyes. Harry took in a sharp breath, as if in protest of the uninvited contact. Snape pulled back for a moment, and then reached into his pocket for his clean handkerchief.

Patiently, Snape wiped the sweat and stray tears from Harry’s forehead and cheeks. “Must everything be difficult with you?” Snape asked in a mild tone.

Harry wasn’t quite sure what to think. Surely, Snape didn’t really mean any of it. The gentleness must have been forced from somewhere. Because someone like Snape didn’t really care about anything or anyone. Did he?

“Easy, Potter,” Snape said quietly. Carefully he placed his cool hand against the boy’s forehead, over the scar that had given the boy both fame and misery. Harry winced as Snape’s hand lingered over his scar. He wanted Snape to go away; even if he was acting kinder than Harry had ever thought possible. “I don’t understand this need to resist constantly, Potter. I haven’t done a thing to harm you. You must know that.”

Harry listened to Snape’s mellow voice. The tone was meant to soothe him, and for a moment he thought he would let it. He took in a deep breath and let it go slowly, but the heavy feeling of distress refused to leave him. He could not become calm like this.

Snape stopped talking. He narrowed his eyes and jerked his hand away from Potter’s forehead as if the boy’s skin had singed his hand. He stood abruptly and stared down at Harry as if he were considering his next move in a game.

“It’s time for your next feeding, Potter, since you still cannot care for yourself we shall employ the artificial method once more.”

Wait! No! Don’t do that! Harry felt his breath quickening again, and anger and anxiety were rising like heat from a bonfire.

“I’ll return in a moment with your supper,” Snape said with a coldness in his voice that made Harry completely forget the milder tone from a few moments ago.

When Snape returned with his supplies Harry wanted to let out a deep groan of disappointment, but he couldn’t do anything. Snape set his bag on the night stand and took out the warm bag of sloppy food. He set the stuff on Harry’s belly to free up his hands. Oh, take it away! Please just leave me alone! Snape took out the length of tube and opened the boy’s mouth. He passed it easily over the boy’s teeth and tongue to the back of the throat. Now when he pushed it down the boy would need to swallow again.

“Potter, swallow.” Snape pressed the tube forward and felt Harry jerk in a gag. “Don’t fight me. Just swallow it.”

No! Please! Don’t . . . He gagged a second time. Snape rolled his eyes in disgust, stupid boy.

“Potter, we both know you won’t eat if I don’t feed you. Now stop acting foolish. You’re only making yourself miserable.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, which were filled with tears from choking on the tube. I believe you’re the one making me miserable, Professor. I wanted to be left alone.

“Potter, do realize that it is not causing me any discomfort when you resist? You are only hurting yourself by being a stubborn fool. I am not leaving until you’ve been properly fed. How unpleasant the process is I leave entirely up to you.”

Snape reached up and tilted Harry’s head back a bit, and rubbed Harry’s throat with his thumb until the natural response kicked in. Easily now, Snape got the tube down and he allowed Harry’s head to settle back into its former place.

“Here we go, Potter. Another warm meal will do you good,” Snape said as he smoothed the first of the liquid goo down the line in a gentle, practiced motion.

Harry stared at the ceiling, ignoring the motion of Snape’s hands. Pouring and smoothing the fluid down the line. When it was finished Snape once again wiped the stray spit from Potter’s lips and stood to leave.

“Potter, had you listened to me earlier and calmed down as I had asked, we might have avoided this unpleasant business. That is the counter to the spell that is binding your limbs. You must be calm. Both mind and body. It is unfortunate that you refused to listen to me.” Snape left the room quietly locking the door behind him.

That was it! Be calm and the spell would break! How completely ridiculous! Harry would have laughed in disbelief had he been able to move. Was Snape simply lying to him to make him feel like a fool, or was the greasy git serious? Well, there was only one way to find out.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to think of things that brought him peace, but nothing came to mind.

Harry had tried everything that he could think of to become calm enough to break Snape’s charm. He’d tried all of Hermione’s stress relieving techniques, and everything that he’d been taught to prepare for a Quidditch match. Controlled breathing, closed eyes, open eyes, but nothing had even helped a tiny bit.

Harry began to wonder if perhaps Snape had left some crucial detail out of the counter like a key thought. Snape could have told him that being calm would break the spell when it really did nothing as a simple method of control. Harry had no way to know for certain.

********************

Someone was coming. Harry could just barely make out the sounds of hard soled shoes on the hardwood floors. Snape was coming back. Harry felt a little ripple of faint hope, perhaps Snape had come to set him free from the curse. He had been a frozen prisoner for nearly six insanely dull hours.

Harry heard the click of the lock as Snape turned the key and entered. He never thought that he would ever be even a little bit glad to see the potions master, but he was happy to see him. Snape was his only chance to getup from his prison of a bed again.

Snape had once again brought the satchel and while that was slightly disappointing Harry saw that Snape had not come alone this time. Madame Pomfrey was standing next to the grim professor a blank expression on her face. Madame Pomfrey! Perhaps she was Harry’s chance for escape from Snape!

Earlier Snape had told Harry that he had asked Madame Pomfrey to come out and check up on Harry’s progress. Harry had protested immediately. He was afraid that she would see how he had not gotten any better and then try to convince Professor Dumbledore that the best place for Harry was St. Mungo’s. Right now Harry didn’t care if he had to spend a year at St. Mungo’s, he’d go cheerfully. Almost anywhere was better than being totally humiliated by Snape.

Surely Madame Pomfrey will get angry with Snape for his unfair treatment of me. He could just imagine how things would go, she’d chastise Snape a bit, demand that he turn Harry loose and make Snape apologize to him and then take him back with her to Hogwarts or to St. Mungo’s. Either way he didn’t care, so he’d allow her to decide without his input. All he really cared about was getting away from Snape.

Madame Pomfrey did not look too happy, but she kept her comments to herself. She bustled over to Harry’s bedside and took his pulse, looked into his eyes and did a few other things to see how he was doing. Harry waited for her to say that what Snape had done was wrong, but she hadn’t said anything. Instead she returned to where Snape was standing and talked with him just low enough so that Harry wasn’t able to hear.

They didn’t appear to be arguing from what Harry could see. After a few moments Madame Pomfrey returned to Harry’s bedside.

“Mr. Potter, I’m surprised at your foolish behavior,” She began to scold him and it took him several moments to realize that she was upset with him, and not with Snape. “I expect you to behave better for Professor Snape. The Headmaster will not be pleased to hear that you’ve been making yourself worse rather than improving.”

She reached down and put a hand on his forehead. “I think that we’ll give you a few more days with Snape. He seems to know how to handle you.”

Harry’s heart was pounding. His hope for escaping Snape’s clutches was swiftly fading away. She isn’t going to defend me! She’s going to leave me here? Oh, no!! Please, Just take me with you!

The medi-witch seemed to sense Harry’s distress and she patted his shoulder gently. “Now Harry, I’m certain that if you show some cooperation Professor Snape will return the favor. He’s done a good job healing your other injuries, and he can’t do as good a job helping you if you fight him. The more you cooperate the faster you will recover, young man. Take care, Harry. I do not expect to be called back here for a second visit.”

Second visit? Didn’t she mean a third visit?

Madame Pomfrey had turned away from him to speak with Snape once again. As they had before the two adult wizards kept their voices soft enough that Harry could not hear them. He tried to hear, but all he could pick up on was when one of them said his own name and nothing important, such as when he should be allowed up again.

Snape was showing her out now, and they both left Harry alone in his room. Several agonizing minutes passed. What had happened? What had Snape said to her? Had he mentioned the reason behind the forced feedings? The fact that when I had been eating earlier he’d been drugging me? Most likely not, thanks very much.

When Snape returned, he reached for the satchel on the night stand and sat on the edge of Harry’s bed. Harry felt himself groan internally. Not Again! Snape took out the coil of tubing and threaded it through his long fingers.

“Potter,” Snape began. “I am willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

Snape set the coil of clean tubing down on the bed and reached into his robe for his wand. With a simple twist of Snape’s wrist, Harry felt his jaw relax. Harry’s throat felt scratchy; he wondered if he’d be able to speak.

“Do as I say and I’ll release you. Defy me and you’ll find yourself stuck here for a long while, and then I will tell Madame Pomfrey that in my opinion you are hopeless.”

“What . . . what is it that you want, Sir?” Harry choked out the words, as his throat protested desperately.

Snape turned to the night stand and gave a little smile. He’d grabbed the fresh bag of gooey food. He turned to Harry, his expression menacing. “For starters . . . eat this. With a spoon.”

Harry felt his fingers twitch. He could move his arms! He pushed himself up into a sitting position and shakily took the food and spoon that Snape offered to him. He set his spoon in his still dead lap and attempted to break the seal on the bag that Snape had handed to him.

His arms shook from the effort, but the normally easy seal refused to give. Harry looked up at Snape, who’d been watching him struggle for several seconds. Snape made a little noise in his throat, but what it meant Harry had no idea.

“Sir, I can’t open it. Can you help me, please?”

Snape glared at Harry, and for a moment he was certain that Snape intended to tell him to not be weak, but Snape nodded and held out a hand for the bag. Harry swallowed with relief and with shaking hands handed the stuff back to Snape. Snape easily opened the bag and carefully handed it back to Harry.

“Don’t spill it,” Snape warned.

Harry shook his head. He’d try not to spill it, or look at it or taste it for that matter.

“It’s not really all that bad, Potter. Get started or it’ll get cold,” Snape said quietly. Harry realized he must’ve been making a displeased face, and he looked at Snape as if he meant to playfully ask if the man wanted to share, but Snape’s cold expression put a stop to any thoughts of joviality.

Harry nodded, yes, and looked at the stuff. It still looked very, very nasty. He took a spoonful of the stuff and watched as his hand shook so badly that most of the goo landed in his lap. What he’d managed to keep on the spoon he gave a sniff and attempted to pilot it toward his mouth. He brought the spoon in close, and managed to brush his nose with it smearing the goo over a nostril. His hands were so shaky!

He felt his face warm with embarrassment, and he refused to look at Snape. He managed to get the spoon in his mouth this time, raking it roughly by his teeth and across the roof of his mouth.

“Potter,” Snape said. Harry looked up, eyes wide, feeling fear ripple through him. He thinks I’m not trying! Harry could see now that Snape was offering him a rag, and he eased up a bit. “Wipe your face off, and try once more.”

Harry set his spoon inside the bag and let Snape trade him. The bag for the rag. Harry wiped his face off as best he could and set the washcloth in his lap. Snape returned the food to him.

Harry retrieved his spoon and took a deep breath to prepare to try again. He took another spoonful and steered it toward his mouth. He’d nearly made it when his trembling hand poured the stuff down the front of his robes. Harry nervously swallowed a bit of air. This would be so much easier if his hands would quit shaking!

“Potter, I don’t believe that this is working out very well,” Snape said quietly.

“Professor, please! It’s not my fault! My hands won’t stop shaking! Let me try again, please!” Harry was surprised at the frantic voice that was coming from his lips. He was breathing quickly. Fear was clearly pasted on his face.

“Potter,” Snape began softly. “If you continue this way, you will go hungry.”

“No,” he protested quickly. “I won’t spill anymore,” Harry said, despite the fact that he knew his hands would not back him.

Snape looked at Harry and shook his head. “You’re too weak to stop yourself.”

Harry flinched slightly as Snape reached out to take the food from him. He wanted to resist and clutch the stuff to him, but he allowed Snape to take it back.

“I’ll help you,” Snape said.

Harry’s eyes immediately drifted toward the coiled tube on the bed. Snape followed the boy’s gaze as he absently stirred the watery mush with the spoon.

“We’ll try it without that for now, Potter. Since it seems to trouble you, but I don’t want to hear one word of protest. Do you understand?”

Harry nodded, feeling more than a little relieved. He concentrated on the spoon. If he didn’t look at Snape, he could pretend that the man wasn’t there. Snape spooned out a little of the food and held it near Harry’s face. Harry stared at it, as if he had no idea what he should do.

“Well come on, Potter,” Snape said roughly. “Open your mouth.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, and Snape stared at him, waiting. Snape dropped the spoon back into the bag and glared at Harry. “The other method,” Snape growled, “is still an open option if this is too difficult for you.”

Harry immediately shook his head. “No, I don’t want to do that. Please, not yet.”

“Very well,” Snape said retrieving the spoon and scooping out a bit of stuff.

After the first few hesitant and awkward bites of food it became easier to simply concentrate on the task of eating and not on the person feeding him. The goo itself wasn’t so bad. Harry had been afraid that it would taste like a badly flavored Bertie Bott bean, but really it was just rather bland. The taste could be compared to a plain pudding or muggle baby food. He would tolerate it just for the chance to get up and stretch his legs again.

He was getting full. Really full. I can’t finish! There’s too much! Harry pulled back slightly as Snape offered him another bite. He stared at the bag which was still more than half full.

“Mr. Potter, you have not finished yet,” Snape said menacingly.

Harry cringed. Yes, I can see that, thanks.

“Do you recall what I said?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry mumbled. Snape had said that he had to eat with a spoon he never said anything about finishing the stuff!

Snape was resealing the bag of Harry’s food and he put it back into the satchel. Once the food was stashed Snape reached for his wand and pointed it at Harry. He’s going to curse me again!

For a moment Snape cherished the terrified expression on the boy’s face, and then he lowered his wand. “I take it, Mr. Potter, that you do not wish to get up and attend to other needs.”

Wait, so he’s not going to curse me? “Well, Professor, I just thought that . . . well,” Harry paused. There wasn’t really a tactful way to express what he was thinking so he did not say anything.

After letting Harry stew for a few more minutes over whether or not Snape was going to leave him half paralyzed, Snape released Harry from the spell. Snape stood from his spot on Harry’s bed and motioned for Harry to get up. A panicked look crossed Harry’s face. He couldn’t move his legs! “Sir, I still can’t move.” Are you sure you used the right spell?

“Well, of course you can’t move, Potter,” Snape snapped. “Your legs have fallen asleep.”

“Oh,” Harry said feeling a little better. Snape had stalked over and swung Harry’s dead feet over the edge of the bed. After a few moments the feeling started to come back in the form of a nasty buzzing sensation.

When the irritating buzzing in his legs had finally stopped Harry gave a little smile and wiggled his toes as if he could see them through his boots. Snape glowered, watching Harry like a bad-tempered cat watching a puppy.

“Well, if you’re finished amusing yourself, you should probably get up and attend to yourself.”

Harry pushed himself off of the bed and stood on his weak legs. The bathroom wasn’t that far away, he was quite sure that he could make it without asking for any help. He took a test step, and moved to make another. Harry could feel his leg muscles shaking. He took another step and faltered. He was going to fall, and his arms were still too weak to protect him.

The carpet took the brunt of the impact from his fall rather well. It hadn’t really hurt except for the unpleasant stinging sensation of a mild carpet burn. After he fell Harry didn’t move for several seconds. He knew Snape had been standing very close just watching him struggle to walk and then had let him fall.

Harry pushed himself onto his knees, but he could not bring himself to stand. His muscles would not obey! He tried for several minutes, grunting with effort and then fell back onto the carpet in exhausted defeat.

“What have I been saying to you this entire time, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked in a biting tone. The man was clearly annoyed over something.

Harry groaned loudly. He did not feel like listening to a lecture when all he wanted was to use the restroom. Harry thought about it for a moment. What has Snape been saying to me? Finally, something came to mind. That he was making things more difficult than they needed to be. Is that what I’ve been doing this entire time? Certainly not! Whatever, Professor, it’s not like you’re making things any EASIER for me. WHAT WAS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN ANYWAY?

Snape stormed over to the night stand and retrieved something from his pouch. “If you don’t make it, Potter, clean up after yourself.” Snape sneered and then tossed something at Harry. It was a rag. Harry wanted to throw it right back, but he didn’t need to waste his energy fighting with Snape. Instead he chose to try and ignore the git who stood there watching him struggle to move.

Nearly five minutes had passed and Harry had only moved a tiny distance forward. Finally he gave up. It wasn’t his house anyway. Who cares if it smells like pee? Well, I don’t. He gave a tiny laugh at the thought of wetting himself in front of Snape.

“Well, Potter, why are you just sitting there? Get a move on!” Snape barked with a crooked smile barely showing on his face.

Harry tried again, but didn’t move an inch. “I can’t! I can’t do it! Is that what you want to hear, Professor?” Harry shouted in frustration.

Snape glared at him, and Harry immediately regretted raising his voice at the man. “It is not wise to test my patience, boy.”

Harry mumbled an apology, even though he really wasn’t all that sorry. Snape was till standing there watching him, when he could have been helping him. No, that’s what decent people do. Not what Professor Snape does. He does not help people.

Why Snape stood there watching the boy struggle to get up from the floor he couldn’t say. Yes, in a way it was amusing to watch the boy fight for something that should have been so easy, that must’ve been why he had remained. He’d intended to leave the room the moment the boy had shouted at him, but for one reason or another he stayed. And he waited.

Had the idiot boy asked for help in the first place Snape might have said yes, and then again he might have said no. He really wasn’t in the mood for this game that Potter seemed to be playing, but with nothing better to do he had no excuse to leave.

He allowed Potter to struggle a little while longer, while it was still amusing. And then when it became more of an annoyance Snape took out his wand again. He whispered an incantation and watched Potter’s reaction. . The boy tensed momentarily as tingling warmth went through his lower abdomen and then as it faded he seemed to relax. .

Harry flopped onto his back, breathing a little quickly. He looked angry.

“Feel better, Potter?” Snape asked smugly.

Harry glared at the ceiling as he considered a response. He wasn’t sure what spell Snape had used to save him from making a mess on the carpet, and while he did feel better he wasn’t grateful. When he saw Hermione again, Harry would have to ask her about that particular spell, it might have been useful later. “Why did you do that?”

“Well, my carpet is clean, and I would like it to stay that way,” Snape replied.

“Why didn’t you just help me in the first place? Instead of watching me make an idiot of myself!” Harry snapped in irritation.

“You did not ask for help, Potter,” Snape answered in a measured tone.

Oh, so I should have asked for help! Maybe you should’ve offered! Harry closed his eyes. He’d had enough. Whatever he said or did, it didn’t really matter. Only one person in the room was always right.

Snape had gone to the night stand again and retrieved the bag of food and his spoon. He walked over to Harry and dropped the items in front of the boy. “I still expect you to finish this, Potter,” Snape said in a sharp tone of warning, and then he took the rest of his belongings and left the room.

For a period of about two seconds Harry actually considered finishing his gooey meal. He picked it up attempted to break the new magical seal and when it didn’t give easily he hurled it away from himself fully intending to watch it splatter against the wall in a display of spite. Instead of making a satisfying SPLAT against the wall, the bag made it nearly halfway and then fell softly to the carpet with a little PLOP.

Harry mumbled a few bitter words to no one in particular and then closed his eyes to shut out the world. If he felt stronger after a short nap then he would make certain the food was splattered all over Snape’s wall.

********************

When Snape walked into the room to check on the boy awhile later, he’d fully expected Potter to still be lying where he’d last seen him. However, when Snape opened the door all he found on the floor was his half-eaten bag of cold mush.

Snape picked up the cold food and sneered at it before stuffing it into a pocket. He looked at the thick carpet. There were marks where Potter had dragged himself along the floor toward the bed. Dark eyes scanned the bed, but it was just he had last left it. No Potter.

He could feel a bit of irritation beginning to build as he stalked over to the bed and lifted the cover which had draped down to the floor. Why was the boy sleeping under the bed instead of on top of it? Snape grabbed a hold of one of the boy’s ankles and rudely dragged him out from under the bed. Startled by the rude awakening Harry cried out and shielded his face defensively.

“Isn’t it a tad odd to sleep under a bed rather than on top of it, Potter?” Snape asked softly as he watched the boy finally regaining his bearings.

“Well, I was going to sleep on the bed, but I guess I never made it that far,” Harry replied.

“Defensive aren’t we?” Snape jabbed, referring to Harry’s startled outburst.

“I just forgot where I was, and I thought . . . ” Harry trailed off not wanting to say anymore.

“I would not raise my hand to you in anger, Potter. I am perfectly willing to curse you, force feed you and allow you to fall on your face should the situation require it, but I would never strike you,” Snape’s voice was smooth, and despite his gruff words Harry almost felt reassured.

Snape took in a deep breath and released it slowly as if what he was about to say was very difficult for him. As Harry looked up at the tall man, he noted the all too familiar scowl, but there was something missing from his deadly serious stare. Harry found that he couldn’t place it. But it made him feel uneasy.

Snape cleared his throat. “Potter, I realize that there is a . . . shall we say a mutual . . . dislike between you and I. I do not expect your feelings about me to change any more than my own feelings toward you. However, it is my belief that if you cannot cast aside your feelings of mistrust long enough to allow me to help you, then you will not improve.”

Whatever had taken the iciness away from Snape’s critical stare had withered and died, because his fierceness had returned to him within seconds. Snape’s harsh gaze focused once more upon Harry, and the boy instantly felt the urge to fall back, but he dare not move.

“You did not finish this as I requested,” Snape said withdrawing the packet of goo from his pocket. “Even after I gave you the chance to do so on your own terms.” Snape was staring at the stuff in his hand as if it were a living creature. “Why is it that when I give you a chance to cooperate of your own free will, you refuse? Do you have a reason, Potter?”

Harry thought about this for a few seconds. Sure, he had a reason. A darn good one too, but Snape wouldn’t like it very much. Well, maybe it’s because I don’t trust you. Harry made something else up for an answer. “I wasn’t hungry,” he mumbled in a quick half truth.

“I think that you’re lying to me, Potter,” Snape growled, edging close to Harry and standing over him with a scrutinizing stare.

Harry met Snape’s stare for a moment and then broke away. He knew that if Snape wanted to he could find out the truth. “Think what you want,” Harry said quietly. He wasn’t going to change his answer.

Fury was rising in Snape, but he held it at bay, pushing it back down with a breath and a swallow. He knew a liar when he saw one, and at the moment Potter seemed to fit the description perfectly. Perhaps he’d give the boy one last chance at redemption.

“It is very reckless of you to tempt me while you are in my home, without your wand and barely able to stand under your own power for more than two minutes, boy,” Snape said folding his hands into the recesses of his dark robes, perhaps reaching for his wand. Harry tensed waiting to be attacked.

Despite the fact that he knew that an escape was impossible Harry’s eyes flicked to the door that led to the hallway. Snape easily traced Harry’s quick glance, and he smiled briefly. At times the boy was very easy to read.

“Even if you managed to make it to the door, you’d never make it to the courtyard.” Snape showed his hands once more. In one he held Harry’s unfinished meal and in the other he had his wand.

Snape flicked his wand suddenly, and Harry flinched badly. Then he realized rather sheepishly that the wand wasn’t pointed at him, but at the bag of disgusting goo resting in Snape’s hand. After a few seconds Snape lowered his wand, and then stashed it smoothly away in his robes. When Harry saw the wand disappear he was visibly relieved.

Snape shoved the bag of food into Harry’s hands. It was warm. Harry shuddered, he really didn’t want to eat it fresh, let alone hours old and rewarmed. He stared at it, and wished it would disappear, fly away, anything to save him from eating it.

“It’s still good, Potter, and I still expect it to be eaten,” Snape said with a nasty glare.

Harry looked up at Snape in disgust. He could just imagine the greasy professor telling him that no matter how old or moldy the bag of mush was it was still good. “I’m not eating this.”

Snape’s expression shifted to the face he made when he was about to insult Neville in class. Harry almost started to say that he would agree, that he’d just been being stubborn, but no sound came out when he opened his mouth to protest. Snape reached down and grabbed Harry by the arm and moved him the few feet to the bed.

“No wait!” Harry cried, suddenly finding his voice, but Snape acted as though he hadn’t heard. I’m sorry! Give me another chance!

Snape shifted his leverage over the boy and forced him down. Seconds later Harry was frozen with a familiar curse. Harry watched as Snape pulled a vial of murky blue liquid from his robes. He had no idea what the stuff was, but he was sure it wasn’t anything nice.

“You don’t recognize this, do you, Potter?” Snape said mockingly as he held the little container close to Harry’s nose. “This potion will replace the meal that you are skipping, but there are a few not so pleasant side effects.”

Side effects? Oh that’s just wonderful. Snape shook the little vial to mix the contents, and then he unstopped it. Harry could feel Snape moving his right hand so that palm was up. Snape poured a small amount of the liquid into Harry’s hand, and then replaced his stopper.

Harry could feel a mild burning sensation in his palm, and it seemed to be spreading rather quickly. He could feel his belly beginning to churn, like he was going to be sick soon. A feverish shiver coursed through him and his teeth began to chatter in the comfortable room.

“Well. Potter, I’ll leave you for the night. Not that you’ll get much rest now,” Snape said with an evil little grin.

The fire in his palm had moved deeper into his bones. Every nerve was tingling as though he had shoved his fingers into a light socket. If he could have screamed he would have, but the spell would not give, even for his pain.

When Snape had told Harry that there were unpleasant side effects to the potion he’d poured in Harry’s palm he had not been exaggerating. But Harry hadn’t been expecting torture such as this; he’d been expecting something mild, like sleepiness or a bad case of gas. Not the feverish agony that he was suffering with now.

Harry wished that Snape had had the patience to explain the consequences of taking the potion over the food. Harry wondered, had Snape explained things, would he have believed? On second thought he knew that it probably would not have made a difference.

His fingernails seemed to ache and even the hair on his head felt tender. His head was pounding in time to the jackhammer rhythm of his heart. His stomach clenched and churned as if he’d eaten spoiled food. Just the thought of eating again made it feel worse, but he could n’t think of anything else. If I had listened to him, this would not have happened.

Tiny drops of sweat collected on his forehead, and he wanted to take in gasping breaths through his teeth, but he could not unclench his jaw. Instead he had to try and steady his breathing through his nose, and that became the center of his focus. Just breathe in, and let it go. Nothing else is important. Not Snape, not the Dursleys. Not even pain. All that matters is to breathe. The rest will come later.

He was calm now. The pain was still in the background, reminding him that he was still not totally in control. He ignored the urge to want to scream. That was not what was important. He inhaled through his nose and then let it go. A finger twitched, but he didn’t notice.

Had he fallen asleep? He couldn’t recall. Tiredly he uncurled from the little coil of blanket and sheet to go use the bathroom. He was halfway across the room when he froze. I moved! Had Snape set him loose? Perhaps . . . or maybe Harry had released himself.

He smiled as he looked in the bathroom mirror after rinsing his face. He did feel a lot stronger, so perhaps the potion that Snape had given him had helped.

**********

Snape entered Harry’s room. He was fully expecting the boy to still be frozen to the bed, but instead Potter was sitting on the mess of bedding with a little amused expression on his face. Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise. He certainly hadn’t been expecting Potter to find the willpower to break the spell.

“Pleasant night, Potter?” Snape asked, smoothly covering his surprise with a glare of disdain.

At the thought of what he’d been through last night Harry shuddered.

“I trust that now you will think about the consequences before behaving like a stubborn fool.”

Harry did not answer, and the amusement that had been on his face had faded.

**********

Snape escorted Harry to the kitchen. While the room was very beautiful, it wasn’t as grand as Harry had been expecting. He’d had an image in his mind of something that would rival the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The table was rather small and only had two chairs. It wasn’t possible to see the type of wood the table was made from because of the white table cloth covering it, but Harry was sure it matched the cherry-wood chairs perfectly. Harry wondered if Snape had a grander dining room for formal occasions, but then Snape probably wasn’t one who enjoyed a lot of company.

Harry took a seat when Snape told him to, and watched as the man waved his wand and a spread of several breakfast items appeared. A pot of hot tea, a large bowl of creamy, white porridge, and a plate of French toast. A few smaller items appeared as well. Powdered sugar, regular sugar, butter, milk and some ripe strawberries.

Harry didn’t want porridge. He was so sick of eating goo. French toast would’ve been much more appetizing. He watched with a silent grumble of protest as Snape scooped him a fair amount of porridge and placed it in front of Harry.

“Eat up, Potter. You still look quite pasty.”

Harry nearly snorted. He looked pasty! Perhaps you ought to have a look in the mirror, Professor!

Harry watched enviously as Snape speared several pieces of French toast and put them onto a plate for himself. Harry looked down at his porridge and stirred it absently. Why couldn’t they both eat the same things? Harry’s thoughts began to sort through the different reasons why Snape would feed him something completely different from what he served to himself. Perhaps he just doesn’t like porridge, but I don’t care for it either. Maybe he knows that. Or maybe he did something to it, like he did to my cider. I can’t eat this! Snape glared at Harry as the boy distracted him from the important task of buttering his French toast.

“What is it, Potter?” Snape snapped impatiently.

“Nothing, Sir. It’s really quite silly,” Harry mumbled.

Snape slammed his butter knife down on the table cloth, and Harry started. “I do not have the time nor the patience for mind games, Mr. Potter.”

Harry swallowed. “Well, it’s just that. I don’t want to eat something that’s different from what you’re having.”

“And you’d rather eat my French toast. Is that it, Potter?” Snape growled.

Harry looked at the toast and then to his bowl of white mush. Toast would be much more appetizing. Harry gave a tiny nod.

Snape made a low grumbling noise. “Absolutely not, Potter. French toast would be rough on your stomach. It would make you ill. You will eat what I’ve given you until I decide you’re ready to move onto something else.”

Harry nodded, and returned to stirring his cereal forlornly.

Snape groaned and conjured a second empty bowl. He scooped out a portion of porridge and his toast disappeared. He gave Harry a glare. “Better now, Potter?”

Harry swallowed. “Well, sir . . . it’s just that.” Harry looked at Snape, and then at Snape’s porridge.

Snape gave the boy a look of exasperation. “Oh, really now, Potter! Do grow up! You watched me spoon both bowls!”

“I know but . . . ”

“Never mind, if it will make you feel better. We can swap,” Snape said snatching Harry’s bowl and replacing it with his own.

Harry watched Snape. He wanted to see Snape begin to eat before he started in on his own portion. He watched Snape spoon a little cereal into his mouth with a less than happy expression on his face. Harry glanced down into his own bowl. Why was he still worried? Snape had scooped the stuff from the same big bowl, and he’d even traded bowls with Harry. There wasn’t any reason to still be suspicious, but he found that he couldn’t help it.

“It’s going to get cold if you keep dissecting it, Potter,” Snape said as he spooned himself another bite of cereal.

“Right,” Harry mumbled. He looked at the spoon that he’d stirred up the porridge that Snape was eating now. With a sickly look he wiped his spoon on the table cloth drawing a wondering stare from the Potions Master. After a few bites Harry poured himself a cup of tea and sipped it rather greedily.

“Don’t just fill up on tea, Potter,” Snape warned glancing at the cereal that Harry was attempting to ignore. Snape poured his own cup of tea and took a little sip and then continued to eat his cereal.

When at last Snape allowed Harry to leave the table he was uncomfortably full. He rubbed his stomach through his robes, willing it to digest the stuff quickly so that he wouldn’t be miserable for too long. Snape was guiding Harry through the halls, and with each step Harry suppressed a groan of misery. If they didn’t stop soon, he was going to puke. Why oh why did he drink all that blasted tea?

The door that Snape led him to looked thick enough to be fit for a fortress. It was covered in scroll work, an ancient language that Harry didn’t totally understand. He could only pick out a few words that looked like a type of Latin. Friends and Family Beyond and Within, at least that’s what he understood, but he wasn’t willing to ask about it. Harry thought that the door would be next to impossible to open because it appeared to be so heavy, but Snape didn’t seem to have any trouble with it.

As Snape pulled open the door, Harry could almost smell the sunshine. He could hear birds, and smell the different scents from the outside. The sunlight was bright enough to nearly blind him, but he didn’t mind it that much. It only took a few moments for his eyesight to adjust.

“Potter,” Snape said. Harry snapped to attention and realized that Snape was holding a cloak. Harry’s cloak. When did he get that? Snape shoved the cloak into Harry’s hands and glared at the boy. “I expect this to be worn while you are outdoors. You are free to roam the courtyard as long as you like, but I expect you to return before sunset.” Snape placed something else in Harry’s hands, a small brown, suede leather knapsack. “Provisions, should you become hungry while you are outside.”

Harry thanked the man in a half stutter and threw his cloak over his shoulders and the knapsack over the cloak. He stumbled past the door and tripped down the set of three steps that led to the heavy door that Snape was standing by. He was too busy looking about to pay attention and realize that he had needed to step down. He recovered and gave a backward glance toward Snape. The door was closing! Snape was going to actually leave him alone in this place! Harry felt excitement ripple through him, and he smiled. Maybe there was a way out of this place.

The courtyard was cool despite the sunlight that shone through the large trees, and Harry was grateful for his cloak. The place was huge. It would probably take several days to explore the whole yard. There had to be a secret way out, a door, a tunnel, something that would provide an escape from this place. Harry wandered taking in the various flowers and trees, the tender grass squishing under the soft soles of his boots.

Harry stopped under a large tree to take a brief rest. He felt like he’d been traveling for miles, and as he looked around he realized that he’d lost sight of the house. How did that happen? The house was huge, and not an easy thing to miss. Harry shrugged and decided to worry about it later. He pulled the knapsack that Snape had given to him close and lifted the flap that covered the opening. Inside he found several items. The first was a scroll of paper. A note from Snape. Carefully Harry unrolled the scroll to read the letter.

Mr. Potter,

I hope that you are enjoying yourself. Do not bother to look for a way out of the courtyard, because as far as you’re concerned there aren’t any. Please take care and do not become disoriented. It will be very difficult to find your way back once you’ve become lost. I expect you to return before the sun sets.

--Severus Snape

Harry groaned. Well, maybe he wasn’t totally lost yet. He dug further into the bag and pulled out a warm leather flask of something to drink. He popped the cork and gave it a sniff. Tea. He tasted a bit of it, and found it to be rather good. No funny aftertaste, so it seemed safe. He drank some more and then replaced his cap. There was a small loaf of bread wrapped in a piece of cheese cloth, a little wheel of a yellow cheese that was wrapped in the same stuff and much to Harry’s surprise, a chocolate frog. The chocolate must’ve been a mistake. It had to be.

Still feeling very full from breakfast Harry tucked his items back into the bag and sat running his hand over the tips of the dark green blades of wild grass that seemed to engulf the entire courtyard. He sat like that for several more minutes before finally deciding that it was time to move on. Harry stood up carefully and stretched his back with a little yawn. He reached down for his knapsack and lifted it to his shoulder to resume his journey through the vast courtyard.

In the course of his wandering journey Harry came across several creatures; though none of them were magical he still found them interesting. Small grey field rabbits, a red fox, several different types of birds, and even a small hedgehog. He hadn’t found what he was looking for, in spite of searching for several hours. Harry had yet to even find a gate or a wall to orient himself as to the perimeter of the yard.

It occurred to Harry that he ought to try and make the journey back toward the house when he estimated that he only had about two hours before the sun set. He turned to find the direction from which he had come and was faintly alarmed to see that nearly every tree and stone looked alike. He hadn’t thought to mark anything to make a trail for himself, and had he thought of that what was he to use for markers? Cloth from his cloak? Certainly not . . .

He searched for footprints to try and backtrack and found that the grass he’d been walking through had recovered from being stepped on rather quickly, and because of his soft boots he had left hardly anything to follow. With a determined breath he refused to admit to himself that he was lost just yet. It was far too early for that.

Snape should have given him a map, Harry decided as he passed a large tree for what felt like the hundredth time. He kicked at a small stone and yelped as it turned out to be a small part of a large boulder that was covered in grass, dirt and moss. He resisted the urge to cradle his sore toe and limped forward until the sharp pain faded away. Was he going the right direction? Well, maybe if he went one direction long enough he’d run into something that was familiar besides the rocks and trees that all seemed to be alike anyway.

After going in what he thought was the right direction long enough to trip over several hidden tree roots and disguised rocks, Harry knew that he wasn’t going to make it back before sunset. He wasn’t even sure he’d make it back on his own. This wandering about searching only for an escape hadn’t been a very good idea, and he almost wished that he had asked Snape to familiarize him with the place before setting him loose. Better yet he wished that he had paid attention to the way that he had been going in the first place, instead of wandering aimlessly.

Harry stopped to rest under a large willow to eat part of his little meal of bread and cheese while the sun set. He wondered what Snape would say if he came out looking for him. What would Snape do? Call him a foolish boy, a dunderhead? Well, that would be nothing new, in fact he’d be glad to hear it. He’d tell Snape that had he warned Harry before he’d wandered off he would have been careful not to get turned around easily. That this wasn’t entirely his fault. Yeah, that’s exactly what he’d say. Well, probably not, but he could think it without any repercussion.

What he didn’t finish of the bread and cheese, he stashed in his knapsack. He knew that there wasn’t any point to traveling any further now that the sun had set. He’d tripped over enough roots and rocks in the daylight to tell him that night travel would be even more unpleasant. He pulled his cloak a little tighter around his body and leaned back into the tree he was resting against. Well, at least he wasn’t locked up inside the house.

*********

He could feel something warm on his cheek. For a moment he thought it was the warmth of flames from a hearth, but then he was screwing up his face in response to bright light. He blinked his eyes open. It was morning! He looked around. He was still sitting under the large willow that had shaded all but his face from the morning sun. A few bare branches in the right places allowed the sun to rouse him rather rudely. Snape had left him outside all night!

Like Harry’s body, Harry’s thoughts also began to wander. Perhaps Snape had looked for him for a while and gotten so angry that he’d given up and gone back inside. He could have never come out to look for him in the first place, after all the man didn’t really favor Harry at all. Maybe he’d just leave Harry to wander about until he found his way back on his own, and once he made it back Snape would never let him back out again. The possibilities were as endless as his imagination, and the more he thought about it the worse the scenarios began to become.

He stood and stretched in spite of the nervous feeling enveloping his entire body. He picked up his knapsack and fully intended to continue in the direction that he’d been traveling the night before. As he looked around Harry discovered that he couldn’t remember which way he’d been going. He was going to get even more lost this way! He circled his tree for anything to point him in the right direction, but didn’t find anything. Finally Harry decided to sit back down under the willow. He couldn’t find his way if he was all worked up. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Come on, I know the way back! I can’t be lost in this place forever!

He opened his eyes expecting to see a way back, but all that was there were trees, rocks and silence. Frustration rippled through him, taking his body in an unwelcome, cold embrace. He snatched his knapsack and rifled though it for the letter Snape had written to him.

“Take care and do not become disoriented! It will be very difficult to find your way back once you’ve become lost!” Harry angrily snarled the words in his best imitation of Professor Snape’s deep voice. He then proceeded to shred the letter into little tiny bits and allowed the fragments of fine parchment to cast to the wind. He watched the lost pieces flutter about with a bit of satisfaction; he felt better seeing the Professor’s script fly randomly through the cool breeze that seemed to whisper constantly through the courtyard.

“Never could follow simple instructions, could you, Potter?” Harry whirled about at the sound of the familiar, smooth tone.

Harry stood watching Snape; he wondered how long the man had been standing there watching him. Snape glared at Harry for a moment and then with a swish of his robes began to stalk away in the complete opposite direction of where Harry had thought of walking. Harry hurried to keep up, not wanting to be lost in the courtyard forever.

Snape had a long, easy stride, and Harry had to fight simply to keep up with the man. It didn’t take long for Harry to become winded from the tedious, silent journey. When they had walked for a considerable distance Snape paused to allow Harry to drink the last of the tea from his bag. Snape leaned against a thick tree, he was watching the clear sky. He was resting without seeming to rest. Harry was sitting cross legged in the lush grass, and he wondered if the man was attempting to summon rain clouds to dampen the mood of the weather.

“Let me see your bag,” Snape commanded. Harry offered it immediately. Snape opened the bag and rifled through it. “You left the chocolate. Hmm. Your loss I suppose, Potter.” Snape tossed the bag back to Harry who replaced his tea flask without a second thought. He wasn’t in the mood for chocolate right now anyway, even if Snape’s presence was a bit like a dementor at times.

Snape stepped away from the tree and brushed his robes off seconds before resuming his tireless pace. Harry stood with a weary groan and rushed to catch up before he fell too far behind.

Harry had never thought he would be glad to be going back inside of Snape’s home, but he was. Harry was ready for a rest. He would be glad to stay in his room for a few hours after such a interesting trip outdoors. He wearily followed after Snape into the house and toward his bedroom.

“Clean up, Potter. I shall bring you something to eat in two hours time. Next time you go outdoors it would be wise to go through everything that I give you.” Snape said softly before closing the bedroom door behind him.

Harry didn’t try to figure out what Snape had meant. All he really cared about now was a warm bath, clean robes and a long nap.

He remembered cleaning himself up and changing into fresh robes. He’d decided to sit down on the bed until Snape came into the room, but he didn’t remember falling asleep. He grumbled when he felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to rouse him. He shooed the hand. Get Lost, Ron! Suddenly Harry recalled that he wasn’t staying at Hogwarts yet, so there was no way that Ron could be trying to wake him. Stupidly, he rubbed the sleepy confusion from his face and took a moment to gather his wits.

By the time he had recovered some sense Snape had dropped off the offering of food and slipped out of the room. Harry yawned and stretched before swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He looked at the food that Snape had given to him. It looked like things to make a sandwich. Some type of roasted meat, a few slices of cheese, a small roll, a jar of grainy looking mustard, and a butter knife. With only a few seconds of hesitation Harry made short work of the meal. The drink that Snape had brought to him was something he was not going to trust. He took the goblet of mysterious dark liquid into the bathroom and poured the contents into the sink.

Harry satisfied his thirst by drinking water from the tap. He didn’t rinse the goblet, for fear that Snape might check it for a residue of some kind. He set the goblet on the tray that rested on the night stand and looked at a familiar little package sitting on the tray that he had not noticed while he was eating.

It was the chocolate frog that he had left in the knapsack. Why was Snape so keen on him opening it? He picked up the little package and stared at it. He was almost afraid to open it. After all chocolate was an odd thing to receive from someone like Snape. There must have been something wrong with it.

Harry screwed up his courage and opened the little package. The chocolate frog inside leapt out at him, as he’d expected it would, but he still jumped back from it as if it were on fire. He let it drop to the floor, because he’d never had any intentions of eating the thing and looked at what remained inside the small blue box. The Wizard Card. He looked at it and felt a little chill run down his spine. It wasn’t possible, but he was looking at his own face. He pulled out the card to be sure it was real and gaped as the healthy card verison of himself smiled and gave a friendly wave.

He set the card on the bed and regarded it as if it were a snake coiled and ready to strike him. It was several moments before he noticed that there was something else in the frog box. A little folded note. He jerked it from the box and unfolded it.

Mr. Potter,

This wizard card has been specially made for you during your stay here. Should you lose your way in the courtyard, or simply wish to return to your room speak the words “Safe Return,” and you will find yourself back in your room within moments. Take care not to lose it as there are not any duplicates.

--Severus Snape

Harry gingerly picked up the card by its corners. The Harry in the card was grinning at him happily and he wondered how long it had been since he’d felt happiness like that for real. It had been a while he supposed. Harry gaped at the card in wonder; Snape had given him quite a gift. Certainly not what Harry had been anticipating.

Harry stood alone in a clear area of the peaceful courtyard. His stomach rumbled loudly, and Harry almost wished that he had not eaten his lunch so quickly during his hike through the yard. It really had been quite a long journey, and his breakfast seemed to melt away much faster than it had other times. It was time to return to his room. The sun was setting, and he needed to get back.

Harry reached into his cloak and took out the wizard card that Snape had given him. He stared at his own face. Do I really look like that when I smile? Harry hesitated to try to use the card. Would it work? Would it really just send him to his room, or would it send him to somewhere else? Was it a trick to dump Harry in the dungeons? Harry was sure that Snape had a dungeon under the house somewhere. Snape simply would not be at home without a dungeon, would he?

The card was still grinning at him. Grinning like an idiot. He wished that he could make it stop, but he didn’t bother asking it. He swallowed and fully intended to say the words to make the card work, but something like a dry squeak wormed its way from his throat. Harry coughed, clearing his throat and looked hard at the face in the card. I suppose its worth a try.

“Safe return,” Harry said in a trembling voice. He felt the tug of the key pulling him, and he closed his eyes.

It was cold. Wherever the card had taken him, it didn’t feel like his room at all. Harry was almost too afraid to open his eyes and look. After a dizzy moment of standing with his eyes clamped shut he summoned the courage to open them. With an almost painful stab of panic he realized that he had no idea where he was! It was far too dark to see anything. There wasn’t a lamp in sight from what little Harry could discern, which was next to nothing. He shakily tucked the card into his pocket for safe keeping and blinked in an attempt to adjust to the unnerving darkness.

With his hands stretched out in front of his body to save him from a fall, Harry inched forward on feet made of lead into uncertain territory. Something moved behind him! He had felt it brush by him! Harry whirled in an about face and banged his shin against something hard. He yelped in the darkness, and thought that he had heard a stifled laugh. Harry’s heart pounded in a frantic, almost jerking rhythm. He wasn’t alone! Harry would have given just about anything to have had his wand and a light at that moment.

“Lumos,” A familiar voice said.

Something inside of Harry relaxed at once. He knew that voice. Snape was here with him.

Harry saw from the glow in the man’s wand that the card had indeed taken him to his room. Why had he felt so disconcerted then? He knew the room well. Even in darkness he should have been able to tell it from somewhere else. Perhaps it was because of where the key had dropped him, a corner of the room where he did not travel often. It could have been the darkness and the thoughts of being trapped in Snape’s dungeon running away with his imagination. Whatever the cause Harry hoped that the next time he had to use the card that he did not have a repeat experience.

Snape had lit a lantern, and the warm glow filled the room, chasing away the cold feeling Harry had felt moments ago. “You’re late, Potter,” Snape said. “I expect you to return at sunset, and no later from now on. Is that clear?”

Harry nodded. He probably was a few minutes late, because the sun had been nearly set by the time he decided that he was willing to risk using the wizard card.

Snape reached into his robe and took out a small, blue velvet pouch with a black drawstring. Harry felt his insides quiver and turn cold; perhaps Snape meant to punish him for being late. The boy took a step back and then another.

“Stop backing away from me, boy. I have no intention of lashing out at you.”

He halted and swallowed in an attempt to steady himself. Snape took a stride forward and closed the little gap between them. Harry had to resist the urge to put a space cushion back between them.

Snape opened the little velvet pouch, and in one fluid movement poured the contents into the palm of his hand. A clear blue, marble sized stone in the perfect shape of a tear plopped into his cold hand, trailed by a glittering chain that seemed to be made from quicksilver. The small stone in Snape’s palm began to glow softly, and Harry watched as the clear blue surface began to swirl with several different shades of blue. The colors swirling in the stone now resembled a faded pair of muggle blue jeans.

“This is a Blue Moon Tear, Potter,” Snape said softly. “Have you ever seen one before?” Snape asked, holding the glowing stone by the chain so it dangled in the air.

Harry shook his head; he had never seen a stone like that one before. It looked very beautiful, but he did not wish to handle it if it had something to do with punishing him for being tardy.

“Here Potter, take it,” Snape said offering the stone hanging from the shiny chain.

The swirling colors in the incandescent stone attracted his gaze, but Harry made no move to take it from Snape. He looked at the stone and then to Snape, unsure of what he should do. Snape waited for a second and then rolled his eyes. The man grumbled something that Harry couldn’t understand in a low tone and lunged forward taking Harry’s right hand in a firm grasp. Harry cried out in protest. He didn’t want to touch the thing! No, don’t make me touch that!!

Snape pressed the stone into Harry’s palm and held it there. Harry struggled and tried to pull back out of Snape’s grip, but he wasn’t able to squeeze free. There was a warm sensation in the palm of Harry’s hand, and it took him several panicked moments to realize that he wasn’t being hurt.

Finally relaxing a little, he stopped struggling against Snape. With a little sneer Snape released the boy and took a step back. Harry stared at the warm, glowing stone in his hand. The colors were changing. Now instead of the lighter blue that it had been while Snape was holding it, it had turned several shades darker to an almost midnight blue.

“The darker the color of the tear, the darker the mood of the one holding it, Potter. It would seem that you are in a very troubled mood right now.”

Harry clenched his fist over the stone, hiding it’s still darkening colors from Snape’s condemning stare; the shimmering chain spilled out near his thumb and forefinger.

“Tell me, Potter,” Snape said softly. “What can be done to lift your spirits?”

A little ripple of shock tingled through Harry’s body. What had Snape just asked him? Was something wrong? Was this the same man talking to him? Some of the shock seethed into heated irritation. He tightened his grip on the little stone caught between his fingers, and felt it warming his hand.

What did Snape want him to say? Umm . . . a good Quidditch match and a chocolate frog would solve all my problems? Not bloody likely. To be honest, Snape, nothing that you can do or say will help me feel any better. Fixing his features in a determined glare, Harry said nothing in answer.

For the briefest of moments Harry thought he saw uncertainty in Snape’s face. The man didn’t know what to do. Snape cleared his throat and took a step toward the door. Harry’s stomach gave a loud, uninvited growl, and Snape looked at Potter in secret amusement.

“Perhaps after you’ve eaten something you’ll feel better, Potter.” Snape opened the door to Harry’s room and walked out, not shutting the door behind him. Harry was hungry, but he was also irritated. After a moment of personal struggle his stomach won the battle for temporary dominance; the irritation he could save for after dinner.

Harry sat at Snape’s table taking baby sips from a goblet of pumpkin juice. They had both finished eating moments before, and Harry did feel a little bit better now that he was full. In fact he wasn’t really all that annoyed anymore; his full belly had quelled that fire. He looked at the Blue Moon Tear sitting next to his nearly full goblet and picked it up. Harry allowed the chain to twirl slightly in his fingers as he stared at the drop shaped stone twisting in the air. He dropped the stone into his other hand, allowing the chain to flow into his palm. Harry focused his gaze on Snape.

“Why did you give me this thing?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Because, you seemed to need it, Potter,” Snape said quietly.

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question,” Harry said shortly. “What is this thing really for, Professor?”

Snape was quiet for a moment as if in deep thought. “In some wizard families these stones are given to children as gifts. The stones are often seen as a source of comfort and security for young children.”

“So this thing . . . is a. . . . child’s toy?” Harry said with his eyebrows raised in disbelief. The stone was darkening again, and Harry let it fall softly onto the tablecloth. In seconds the tear shaped stone reverted to its original clear blue. Why didn’t you just give me a stuffed bear instead? “I don’t understand this . . . this game . . . that you are playing with me.”

“I am not playing with you.”

Almost openmouthed, Harry gaped at Snape. He looked for the signs of dishonesty, but of course Snape was simply unreadable. Feeling a little foolish when Snape had met his stare, Harry quickly looked at the moon stone to find something to focus on.

He needed time to think, to absorb things. Harry couldn’t think clearly with Snape standing only a few feet away and glaring down at him; he needed to be alone. Standing from the table, Harry grabbed the tear by the chain.

“I’m feeling a bit tired now, Professor. I think I’ll go back to my room.”

Snape raised an eyebrow, perhaps because he had been expecting something else from the boy, but he nodded and let Harry leave the room. As soon as he saw Snape give him a little nod, Harry practically ran from the kitchen.

Harry had been sure that once he was in his bedroom and away from Snape things wouldn’t seem so confusing. Instead of feeling calmer as he had hoped he would feel, he only felt agitated. He paced the bedroom, clenching the warm stone that Snape had given him in his fist. He thought about throwing it against the wall in anger, and as he stopped to do so something caught his eye.

The leather knapsack was lying on the floor where Harry had dropped it earlier. Perhaps spending some time in the courtyard would make things seem clearer. Without thinking he put the tear chain around his neck, and tucked the stone safely beneath his robes. It gently warmed the skin on his chest as it snuggled against him. He snatched up the knapsack and filled his empty flask with water from the tap. He placed the filled container inside the bag and threw on his cloak.

Carrying the bag over his shoulder, Harry went to the night stand to grab the lantern. He searched inside the stand’s drawer for a flint and oil, but didn’t find any. He hoped the oil in the lamp had magical properties as he lifted it up and carried it to the door.

Harry quietly snuck back into the kitchen to nip something to tide him over in case he got hungry outside. All he could find in the cupboard that was ready to eat was a mason jar filled with pickled purple turnips, and an unopened box of saltines. Rulger’s Soothing Saltines, read the bright red box covered in stars and crescent moons that glittered in silver against the red background.

“Guaranteed to Soothe or Your Money Back,” the smaller letters beneath the brand name gleamed as Harry read them. Harry took out a saltine and nibbled an edge cautiously. It looked and tasted normal as far as he could tell. He finished eating the saltine and shoved the nearly full box into his knapsack.

Despite the fact that the soft soled boots he wore made his steps soft, Harry still tiptoed to the door that led outside. He set his lit lantern on the floor and looked back to be certain that he was alone. Once he was sure that he was safe, Harry took the thick brass ring that was a handle for the thick door and pulled. He pulled as hard as he could, but not even a creak from the door. When Snape had opened it, he had made it look so easy. Harry threw his weight back, but only felt his feet beginning to slip toward the door jam.

Click, click, click. Harry froze. That was the sound of footsteps, and they were headed for him! There was no way to go back the way he’d come! He was trapped. If only there were somewhere safe to hide! Wait a minute! With a little grin Harry reached into his pocket and gently held the wizard card between his fingers. In barely a whisper he spoke the words “safe return,” and was gone.

As Snape billowed up to where Harry had been only seconds before, the soft glow from a lantern caught his eye. Snape glanced around as he stalked over to pick up the forgotten lantern. This could wait until tomorrow.

********

When Harry did not show up for breakfast promptly at nine a.m., the Potions Master was not overly concerned. Potter had been doing much better with eating, and he had been spending long periods wandering around the massive courtyard. Perhaps everything was simply catching up with the boy and he needed more rest than normal. In any case Snape was going to finish his own breakfast and check on the boy in about an hour.

Snape quietly opened the unlocked door to Potter’s room. As he stepped inside something crunched under his boot. He picked up his foot with a grimace of distaste and looked down; a crushed saltine was ground into the once clean carpet.

Strange, Snape hadn’t given anything like that to the boy to eat. As he looked around Snape saw that the things were scattered in a little trail that led to a familiar red box near Potter’s bed. The idiot wizard on the ridiculous red box smiled annoyingly and Snape sneered in irritation at it. He looked at the boy and went to his side in a quick swoop.

The boy was asleep on his stomach. One arm was flopped over the edge of the bed like a dead fish, and the other was limply resting on a half-eaten saltine. Snape’s mind began to race as his black eyes took in the boy’s appearance. How many of the stupid things had the boy eaten? How much time had passed since he’d eaten the blasted things? Was there enough time to save him?

Snape took a deep breath and in a smooth motion turned Harry onto his back. He palmed the boy’s forehead, Harry’s skin felt cool and clammy. Firmly Snape pinched the back of Harry’s hand and watched the boy’s face for some kind of a response.

Nothing. The boy was too relaxed, too out of it to feel pain, and too weak to do anything but lie on the bed in a puddle of young muscle and bone. Snape cursed under his breath and lifted Harry’s dead weight into his arms. I knew today was going to be a horrible day, Snape thought as he watched Harry’s slack body settle against his own chest. Gently Snape cradled the boy closer to him in an almost protective gesture and they both disappeared with a loud POP.

********

The last thing that Harry recalled clearly was pacing around in his room eating the buttery saltines that he’d stolen from Snape’s kitchen. The saltines melted in his mouth and left a pleasant feeling on his tongue. Harry had easily become fond of the taste, and soon he’d eaten more of the things than he had planned on.

A little while later when he began to feel a bit dizzy, and he had dropped a few of the saltines to the floor before stumbling almost drunkenly toward the bed. As his vision was failing him, Harry had thought about telling Snape to ask for his money back. The soothing saltines had only enticed Harry to eat more than half the box, and then he didn’t even feel soothed at all. What he had felt was dizzy, and his stomach was filled with the sensation of fluttering butterflies. That was not what Harry would consider a soothing sensation at all.

**********

It smelled damp, and it felt cool. Slowly Harry opened his eyes, and even without his glasses he knew that he was in Snape’s personal dungeon. Harry felt a sense of dread and fear tingle through him. How in Merlin’s name did he get down here?

Harry tried to sit up to look for his glasses, but he discovered that he could not move. He let out a muffled moan through his partly open mouth that refused to open the whole way. Harry’s blurry eyes flicked about as he heard footsteps coming toward him.

“Welcome back, Mr. Potter,” Snape said softly. He took Harry’s right hand. “Squeeze my fingers as hard as you can manage.”

He felt a little confused, but Harry tried to obey. His fingers wouldn’t respond. Harry couldn’t even sense Snape’s grip; he only recognized what his fuzzy vision let him see. Snape squeezed Harry’s hand firmly.

“Can you feel this, Potter?”

It took a considerable effort to simply whisper no in response.

Harry could see now that Snape was pinching the skin on the back of his hand, but he couldn’t feel it. Snape set Harry’s hand down and turned away to a table. He returned with a goblet full of a dark green liquid. Harry could smell its earthy scent as Snape lifted his head and pressed the goblet to the boy’s lips.

“Try to swallow, Potter.

It took several tries and a few minutes, but Harry managed to choke down most of the bitter tasting potion. Snape set the empty goblet down on the floor and carefully removed the moon stone from around Harry’s neck. He gently eased the boy down and pressed the stone into Harry’s right hand before resting both of the boy’s hands on his chest instead of letting them lie limply at the boy’s side.

“Rest. The potion I’ve given you is the last dose of what should help bring feeling back to your limbs. It will not take full effect for several more hours. When you can feel the stone in your hand let me know. I have some other potions to brew that will probably help you. If you need anything, I shall be close by. I will hear if you call out.”

Harry tried to nod in acknowledgment, but only succeeded in tilting his head into what would be an awkward and uncomfortable position when he regained his feeling. Snape moved Harry’s head back into a more natural position on the cot he was lying on and conjured a soft blanket for the boy. Harry would have thanked him, but when Harry had whispered the words Snape had already turned away.

Harry felt warm and fuzzy inside. He wondered if it had something to do with the potion that Snape had just fed to him, or perhaps it was Rulger’s Saltines finally kicking in. Whatever it was it felt rather nice, and Harry let it swallow him up with a heavy sigh. The familiar sound of a cauldron burning nearby and the bustling noises of Snape brewing different things almost felt like reassurance. Harry fell asleep feeling glad that he wasn’t alone in this cold, dark place.

Snape woke him twice for two different doses of foul tasting liquids, but Harry drank them down without a protest and then faded back into a dark sleep.

When Harry woke he could hear hushed voices. He recognized Snape’s voice and the other was Madame Pomfrey. Harry strained to hear what they were saying. From what little he could pick up neither person was happy. He heard Snape shush her sharply, and then a low incantation that Harry recognized as a silencing charm. Whatever they were talking about Snape didn’t want Harry to hear it.

*********

“Send the boy back to those muggles! You can’t be serious! He’s just recovering himself as it is. Sending him back to those animals is madness. I want no part of it,” Snape growled in a low, angry tone as he looked over at Potter who was drifting back to sleep on the cot that Snape had made for him in the dungeon.

“I don’t like it either, but he hasn’t really admitted anything to you that should give you reason to not send him back.”

“I saw the bruises on his face, Poppy. I saw the cupboard that they locked him in under the stairs. The boy bloody flinches every time I move to do anything! That to me is a sign that the muggles were mistreating him, and to me that is reason enough not to send him back.”

“Did he tell you anything to give you cause to believe he’d been mistreated?”

“He only implied a few things. Nothing specific. He refuses to talk about it.”

“Well, unless you can get him to admit abuse to you, and then get him to tell the Headmaster as well we can’t do a thing for him, but send him back home.”

“That is bloody ridiculous,” Snape murmured under his breath.

“What shall I tell the Headmaster then?”

“Potter needs time to recover from his encounter with Rulger’s Saltines. A week at least, perhaps two.”

“Two weeks? Was it that bad?”

Snape glared at her. “I was not the one who put those bloody things in the cupboard. Had they not been there, he would not need the time to recuperate his strength. You were the one who gave me those things.”

“Yes, well, I thought they would help you to have a bit more patience with your students, Severus,” she said in a soft voice.

He snorted. She could sooner change the flow of the tide than change his teaching methods. “I simply forgot to toss them away is all, and the boy got into them. He had no idea how powerful they were.”

They stood for a moment in an awkward silence. Madame Pomfrey was first to break the spell of quiet in the room.

“I shall inform Dumbledore of the situation. I’m sure that he will be glad to give you the two weeks that Harry needs. Good luck with him.”

Snape nodded and watched her trudge up the stairs that led out of the dark dungeon to leave. He dispelled the silencing charm and checked on Harry who was once again sleeping soundly. Snape adjusted the boy’s blanket, in spite of the fact that it really needed no adjusting at all. With a last look at the sleeping youth Snape decided to get back to work. He had two weeks to change things. Fourteen days to gain the boy’s trust, but could he give what he wanted to receive?

Harry couldn’t help but grimace. It felt like Hedwig had been pinching the back of his hand with her pointy beak for the last hour. He grumbled sleepily and tried to shoo her away. He felt someone’s hands pressing his own back onto his chest, and Harry jerked awake. He looked about with blurry, wide eyes and spotted Snape’s imposing form sitting beside him on the bed. From the bleary lantern glow Harry could see that Snape had taken him back to his bedroom. Harry felt a little shiver of relief; he disliked being in cold, dark places.

Snape focused his sharp eyes on Harry. “You’re all right. I was just looking for a response to stimuli. It appears to me that you have your sense of touch back, correct?”

Harry nodded. He could feel the warm moon stone in one of his palms and Snape’s cool hands as they slid away from his own. Snape handed Harry his glasses, and Harry slipped them on, ignoring the zinging sensations that were pulsing through him. As he pulled his hand away from his face he stopped, something was different. His fingernails had turned black! It looked like he had taken a black magic marker to his fingers. He checked the other hand as well, and discovered the same discoloration. Did his toenails look that way too?

“That is a normal side effect from ingesting too many Rulger’s saltines. The poison is working its way out of your system still. Some of your fingernails may fall off. In fact they all might because of the amount you ate, but the nails will grow back fairly quickly,” Snape said in a soft voice.

“Are there other side effects?” Harry asked, staring at the black thumbnail on his right hand.

“None that I care to mention,” Snape said with an internal grimace. “You will recover fully if you’ve made it this far. I take it you’ve never had Rulger’s Saltines before this?”

Harry shook his head.

“Some things are not meant to be eaten by the handful. Soothing Saltines are toxic in amounts larger than four pieces. They really ought to have a warning label for those who don’t know any better,” Snape said in a voice that was not nearly as cold as it could have been.

Harry swallowed as he felt his cheeks darken slightly. His vision blurred as unexpected tears welled up and struggled to be released. He blinked furiously for a second, fighting the urge to start to cry. What in the world was the matter with him? Snape hadn’t even been being harsh. Harry made a little frustrated noise as a tear struggled down his cheek. He flinched as Snape put a hand on his shoulder.

“Another side effect, Potter. The emotions that were subdued with the saltines are going to surface. It would be best to just let it come.”

Despite Snape’s advice Harry didn’t want to let his emotions go. Releasing his emotions felt like losing control of things, and the last thing Harry wanted to lose control of was himself. He took in a ragged breath and squashed down a sob with a loud gulp. He stared at his black fingernails and rubbed forcefully at his left index nail. Maybe if he rubbed hard enough, the blackness would fade a little; maybe it would go away entirely.

Snape reached down and moved Harry’s right hand away from his left. The teacher picked up the moon stone, which had been forgotten in Harry’s lap, and put the stone into Harry’s hand. “It won’t make it any better by torturing yourself. The darkness is beneath the surface. You can’t simply rub it away. It will get better with time.”

Harry let his fingers clutch the comforting warmth of the tear in a death grip; his hand was shaking and white knuckled. He looked up at Snape, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. “How do you know it will get better?”

With a grimace that resembled exasperation Snape thought carefully of a response. He needed to say the right thing. Only what was the right thing to say to this boy? “Well, Potter,” Snape hesitated. Blast it he’d had something and lost it! He was going to choke if he didn’t say something, but nothing came to mind. Harry was watching him, and as if he’d sensed that Snape had lost his answer the boy’s eyes dropped to the bedding.

“You don’t know, do you?” There was no malice in Harry’s voice as he whispered the words.

“Still, it is better to hope for the best, is it not?” Snape said, trying to sound encouraging.

Harry choked on a laugh that was half of a sob. “I don’t know. Why have hope if you never had a chance in the first place?”

“Is that what you believe?” Snape asked softly. “That you’ve never had a chance? A chance for what exactly, Potter?”

Harry pursed his lips as a few tears slipped down his cheeks. “I don’t know.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Potter,” Snape said gently. “I believe you know exactly what you wanted to say.”

Snape was right. Harry did know everything he wanted to say. All the things that were clawing at his insides trying to rip him apart, but if he let these things go what would be left of him? Would he simply be hollow inside? Harry shuddered at the thought of feeling nothing at all. He’d rather be torn to shreds on the inside than feel emptiness.

“Potter,” Snape said, and Harry clamped his eyes closed in an attempt to shut out the world. Snape reached out to lift the boy’s chin to face him, but did not pursue it when the boy flinched at his touch. “Tell me.”

“It won’t help me to tell you anything.”

Snape casually brushed a piece of lint off his robes and then stared down at the boy. “How can you know that if you do not try first?”

Harry met Snape’s eyes for a second and then looked away. I can’t do it.

“If it helps try starting small, Potter.”

Start small? What in blazes was that supposed to mean? Snape may just as well asked Harry to grow wings and fly, because this was just as impossible.

“What are you feeling now?”

Harry glared at the man and whispered a reply. “I feel like I’m being torn to pieces inside.”

“Why?”

Harry shrugged and took a little gulp of nothing but air. “It’s just the way things have always been.” Harry stopped and glanced down to look at the moon tear. It was so incredibly dark . . . almost black.

“Things can change if you let them.”

“Somehow I doubt there will be a change for the better in my life, Sir.”

Snape frowned. This wasn’t going well at all. “It is far too early to tell that for certain. Things could improve, but they will not if you’ve given up already.”

Was he ready to give up? Probably not since he wasn’t certain. He nodded. “I just don’t know what to do, Sir.”

“Perhaps it would be best not to fret. Just accept things as they come for what they are,” Snape said.

The moon stone held loosely now in Harry’s hand fell to the sheets, landing near Snape’s fingers. The darkly clad man picked it up by the chain to give it back; Harry stared as its colors changed to a much lighter shade of blue. Snape shifted uncomfortably as he saw the disbelieving expression on the boy’s face.

“That thing never lies, does it?” Harry said with a little swallow; he was still focused on the colors that had swirled inside for Snape. He did not move to take it back and Snape set the stone down beside the boy.

“No, Potter, unfortunately it never lies.”

Harry leaned back into his pillow as fresh tears assaulted him. This time he didn’t fight it.

“Would you like me to leave you now?” Snape asked, feeling sure that if he left now Harry would just cry until sleep took him.

“Please,” Harry choked. Severus stood quietly and straightened his robes. “No, I . . . don’t leave. Not yet.”

Snape stood frozen to the soft carpet in shock. He certainly hadn’t been expecting the boy to ask him to actually stay with him. Slowly he returned to the place he had warmed on Harry’s bed and sank back down onto the soft duvet. “Do you wish to talk about anything?”

With his eyes closed in an attempt to hold back unbidden tears, Harry shook his head.

“Very well. I shall stay with you for a while if that is what you want.”

Yes. Harry nodded, trembling beneath the shield of his downy comforter. He could hear the noises of his own sobbing breaths as he cried; the sound making it feel like he would never have the will to make it end.

Snape sat poised on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do or say. Was simply being here enough to do the boy some good? In an attempt to distract himself and the distraught young man beside him Snape began to speak. “This house has been in my family for generations,” he said in a low, even tone, and he began the long process of explaining the significance of the room that Harry was staying in now.

********

Harry felt himself calming a little as Snape continued to talk. It wasn’t as if what the man was saying was particularly gripping or anything like that, but something in Snape’s tone was soothing like the sound of the wind on the empty Quidditch Pitch before a match. It was a peaceful tone; not the snappish voice that Harry knew so well from lectures in Potions class.

The consuming despair seemed to be fading now, but where it was going Harry wasn’t sure. Perhaps it would surface again when he had the energy to resist it, but he hoped not. He felt a little drowsy, emotionally drained, in effect raw inside. Succumbing to the almost hypnotic quality of Snape’s smooth baritone and his own spiritual fatigue, Harry let his mind drift.

When the boy appeared to have fallen asleep, Snape rose from the bed. He turned and regarded the pale boy’s appearance compared to the boy he’d met a few years ago. As he recalled that first day Snape shuddered inside. He’d been so harsh, unwilling to try to understand any circumstance, but wasn’t that the way things were meant to be? Certainly the Dark Lord would be completely merciless in an assault upon any one of the students. Just as he had been cruel when the boy had first come here for help. Snape shook his head, recalling the heartlessness that he had regarded Potter with only a few days ago. He told himself that he hadn’t really known what to do, but that still didn’t seem to make it feel right.

Gently Snape adjusted the comforter over the boy. Harry’s face pinched in an expression of displeasure in his sleep; the boy was murmuring something unintelligible. Placing his hands on the edge of the bed Snape leaned in to try and make out what the boy was speaking about. “Please . . . don’t . . . I have to go back. I... know . . . you hate . . . me.”

Snape frowned and leaned back, away from Harry. Was the boy saying that he wanted to go back home? Did he think that it was truly that horrible here with Snape to want to go back to his relatives? He thought briefly about reaching down to put a hand on the boy’s forehead, perhaps whisper a few words of empty comfort to soothe him, but Snape couldn’t bring himself to do it. He reached for the moon stone and placed it gently beside the boy’s glasses on the night stand to keep it from becoming lost. No, empty words wouldn’t do, so turning away silently Snape left the room.

*********

When Harry awoke, he recognized the heavy weight on his chest immediately. Apparently sleep had not dulled it as much as he would have liked. He let loose a mournful sigh and reached for his glasses, though he didn’t really know why he cared.

Snape entered a moment later. A goblet of something warm was in his hand. He took a seat on the edge of the bed without asking, but Harry didn’t seem to be bothered by it. He set the goblet down on the night stand and looked at Harry. “How are you feeling?”

Harry shrugged in answer.

“Any better?” Snape prodded.

Harry shook his head. No, not better, but not worse, just stuck.

“I suppose that you just need more time. Don’t be discouraged.” Snape paused, staring at the boy, watching the listless expression on his face for any flicker of change. “I’ve brought you something to drink. Are you thirsty?”

Not waiting for an answer Snape helped Harry to sit up and put the rim of the cup to his lips. Some sort of tea, Harry thought as the scent of the liquid caught him. Unwilling to resist he took a little sip. It tasted almost like citrus . . . something spicy and sweet all at once. In the space of a few greedy gulps the drink was gone, and Snape let Harry rest back onto the pillows once again.

With the warmth inside his belly, the heavy weight on Harry’s chest seemed to ease slightly, and the sigh that escaped his lips was not so sorrowful. Snape reached into his robes and withdrew a rolled piece of parchment. A letter? Harry didn’t seem interested.

“Miss Granger sent you a letter, Mr. Potter. Would you like to read it?” Snape offered the tightly rolled scroll sealed with some type of charmed wax. It smelled almost like blueberries.

“No, thank you,” Harry answered with hardly a moment’s hesitation.

“Fine, I’ll set it here until you feel like reading it.” Snape put the letter next to Harry’s moon stone.

“Professor Snape?” Harry said softly.

“Yes, Potter?”

“Can we go outside? I think I’d feel better . . . ” Harry stopped. His face flushed as if he’d said something incredibly stupid, but Snape pretended not to notice.

“Potter. You’re very weak still. I really don’t think it would be prudent . . . ” Snape stopped as he saw the tiny flicker of hope in the boy’s eyes beginning to fade. “I suppose a short period outdoors wouldn’t hurt.”

Snape noticed that the smile that crossed Harry’s features was fleeting; more than anything the boy looked relieved.

“Potter, do you think that you can stand?”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t exactly sure that he’d have the strength to walk around, but he was going to give it a try.

Snape peeled back the duvet that had been covering the boy and handed him his soft, black boots. With effort Harry tugged into them, it was substantially more difficult to pull them on while he was feeling so out of sorts. With a grunt of exertion he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Snape stepped back to give the boy a bit of room. Harry pressed his toes to the thick carpet, still unsure of whether or not he had the resolve within him to stand up.

Harry took in a deep breath and forced himself up. Something inside of him was swirling, and dark colors danced in front of his eyes; he felt dizzy. Harry fumbled a hand out to reach behind him for the bed to stop himself from dropping like a stone to the floor.

Snape quickly stepped forward grabbing Harry’s right arm beneath the shoulder and hauling him up, and surprisingly he didn’t flinch away from the touch. “Easy. I told you that you are still weak.” Snape moved him back to the bed and made Harry sit. A few disorienting moments passed before Harry started to feel more normal again, and he could sit without feeling like he was in a swoon. He didn’t care if he felt poorly; all he cared about was going outside, and thinking that Snape was going to make him lie back down he began to protest.

“Sir, please-” Harry stopped abruptly when Snape shushed him.

“Relax, Potter. I said that I would let you spend some time outside, and so we shall.”

An audible gasp of shock escaped Harry’s lips as he felt Snape’s arms move to pick him up. Snape was holding him like a small child; one arm behind his back just under his shoulder blades and the other was under his knees.

“I suggest that you try to hold onto my robes. Perhaps it would be best to close your eyes,” Snape said, as he gave Harry a few moments to gain some composure. Thinking that Snape would not give him a frivolous suggestion Harry quickly clamped his eyes closed and clutched Snape’s robes for dear life as they disappeared with a very loud POP.

Snape set Harry down in a thick patch of green grass beneath a massive tree. Harry took in a lungful of the outside air, which seemed very crisp. He could feel both the warmth from the sun and the cooler spots from the shade provided by the tree canopy. Some of the tension seeped from Harry. Being outside really did seem to help.

Something in Harry clicked as he heard a small noise. He snapped out of the trance nature had lured him into and looked for the source of the sound. Harry realized that Snape had moved closer to him. Staring straight ahead, Harry could see Snape settling beside him on the soft grass from the corner of his eye. Snape sat quietly, perhaps thinking of some ingredients to a potion or some silent insults about Harry. Whatever the man was pondering, Harry had no way to tell if it was good or bad.

Harry found a leaf on the big tree to focus on and stared at it. Maybe he could count the veins on the skin of the leaf if he concentrated hard enough. His heart was starting to pound. He wasn’t afraid. No, this was another emotion entirely. Perhaps it was a blend of awkwardness, his lingering sadness and the new gratefulness for being outside. It was a struggle to ignore all the strong feelings pushing him in every direction. At any moment he might have burst into tears. In silent dread he waited for Snape to speak.

His leaf jiggled a little in the breeze; if the wind blew a little bit harder it would probably fall. It wasn’t very long before Harry lost count of the veins on the dark green leaf. It was too difficult to try and concentrate on the tiny things with the wind blowing the leaf about and with Snape so very near. The man’s presence was not easily shut out.

“The weather is pleasant,” Snape said mildly.

Harry was drawn to attention. That sounded like an attempt at a civil conversation. Still not making eye contact, Harry nodded. The weather was quite lovely, and Harry was surprised that Snape thought about such things. At times he felt that he didn’t know this man at all.

Snape had been right about the crackers affecting his state of mind, and within two days Harry felt almost like a new person. He was more or less steady again; his body felt stronger and his emotions had become less tender, like the spiritual rawness he’d felt had simply ebbed away over the period of a few days. It was a huge relief to be able to walk around on his own, and to be able to think without bursting into a fit of tears. He noticed that the color of his moon stone had lightened several shades, and as he smiled it swirled to an even lighter blue. Now instead of being nearly black, it just about matched the tone of color that had been there when Snape had held the stone.

Harry wanted to talk to Snape, to ask him something really. He wanted to ask if he could send a letter to his friends to tell them that he was alive and well. Harry wanted to write the letter so badly that if Snape requested to read it before sending it out, Harry would’ve let him in a second. The boots covering Harry’s feet made almost no sound as he padded about looking for Snape, who seemed to have disappeared.

Perhaps Snape had gone down into his dudgeons to make a potion. Harry was certain he could find his way down there despite the fact that Harry hadn’t been back there since Snape had apparated down there with him.

As Harry wandered through the house looking for the stairs that would lead to the lower lever, he spied a half open door. It looked like a study room. Maybe Snape was in there. Gently Harry pressed the thick door the rest of the way open and peered inside.

“Professor Snape?” Harry whispered as he invited himself into the room after the lack of a reply.

He glanced around the room. No Snape. Just a desk with parchment and quill, a cold fireplace and a few miscellaneous things about the room that were probably family heirlooms. Harry stepped a bit closer to the desk as he thought about borrowing some ink and parchment. Perhaps Snape wouldn’t mind if he just used the desk for a little while as well.

Harry settled quietly behind the desk and set a fresh piece of parchment in front of him. He dipped Snape’s quill into the ink and began to write. He’d only written a few sentences when the point of the quill snapped with a pop. Harry lifted it and inspected it. He felt inside of his pockets in spite of the fact that he hadn’t anything in them but his wizard card, and not wand nor a pen knife to make a new point on the quill. Gently Harry set the wounded quill on the desk and looked around.

No knife or extra quills in sight on the top of the desk. Perhaps Snape kept them inside the drawers of his desk. Harry opened a drawer and peeked inside. No knife in sight, just some old letters. Wait, not so old. The one on top was only a few days old. He did not pick up the letter to read it, but left it in its spot in the drawer.

Headmaster,

I have received your message. Surely Madame Pomfrey informed you of my feelings on this matter? When the time comes I shall obey your order, and I will be grateful to be finished with this unpleasant duty.

Perhaps the muggles will be glad to have the boy back in their possession once more. No doubt they are in need of a whipping boy to vent their primitive muggle aggressions. Black and blue seems to suit him, does it not?

In my opinion it would have been better for all concerned if Potter had not become “the Boy-Who-Lived.” He is not strong enough to defend himself against a grown muggle and yet you expect him to defeat Voldemort like this? It is a mistake to expect anything like this from the boy-

“Would you care to explain yourself, Mr Potter?”

His body froze. Slowly Harry’s eyes traveled in the direction of the familiar timbre of Snape’s steady voice. Snape was standing in the open doorway, looking displeased. “I was.. I was looking for you, Sir,” he stammered. He wondered if Snape had seen him searching through the desk.

“Well, it seems that I have found you instead.” Snape smoothly stepped into the room. He stalked over to the desk. “You wished to speak to me?”

“I just wanted to ask about writing a letter, Sir,” Harry said hoping that he could control the sudden shakiness in his tone.

“You seem to have made yourself at home,” Snape remarked lifting the broken quill and narrowing his eyes at it.

“I...uh. I’m sorry,” Harry stammered. He took a step back and ended up falling into the chair behind him. He thought about trying to stand, but stayed put. Snape raised an eyebrow and Harry cringed inwardly.

Snape’s eyes flitted toward the drawer that Harry had left ajar while searching for a new quill.

Snape stepped behind the desk and slammed the drawer shut. He glowered at Harry. “It is impolite to search through another’s possessions without permission.”

Harry swallowed and nodded grimly.

“You shall have to return home soon,” Snape said, gliding back around the desk so that he stood where he could face Harry.

Harry closed his eyes and tried not to think of home. He supposed that he should have been expecting this to end, just as he was beginning to think his life was about to improve.

The stew that Snape had served him smelled delicious, but Harry was in no mood for eating. It occurred to him that perhaps this would be his last decent meal in a while, and that he should take in as much as he could, but he really didn’t want to. He sat at the small kitchen table twirling his heavy spoon in the thick broth with a cheek plopped into his other hand. If one had not known better, the boy would’ve looked positively bored out of his mind, but boredom was the farthest thing from the young man.

“Is there a reason why you are not eating?” Snape asked from his seat directly across from the boy. Snape watched Harry and took a sip of water from a delicate glass.

Harry didn’t look up, just continued to stir his food in slow, smooth circles.

After a moment he stopped and stared into the broth. “Is there a reason why you have to send me home?” Harry asked in a tone that was as hushed as a breath, but Snape heard clearly enough.

“This is not something I wish to discuss with you at the moment,” Snape growled in a tone of warning.

Harry looked up, fresh anger flashed in his green eyes. “Why not?”

“Because we are in my home, and I do not wish to speak of that subject right now.”

“It isn’t a subject! It’s my life!” Harry snapped, slamming his spoon down on the table sending little splatters of thick broth flying. A second later he seemed to regain control and he looked up at Snape fully intending to apologize.

Snape held up a hand to stop him. “Do not say it when you know that you do not mean it.”

But I wouldn’t... Harry stopped himself from even thinking it, because he was doing exactly what Snape had said. Had he apologized it would have been like all those times he’d said those same empty words to Vernon. I’m Sorry. It was a measure of self defense, like bringing one’s arm up to protect the face, but it was also a lie, and Harry wasn’t so sure that he wanted to lie to Snape.

Harry was back home, or as close as he had ever had to a home. He couldn’t really recall the specific details of how he had come home, or what had happened when he had first walked back into the house. What he did know for sure was that he was back in the tight confines of his cupboard.

It wasn’t that he hated the cupboard, because really he didn’t hate it at all. What he did hate was how it was used against him. So often his relatives took advantage of the opportunity to cram him into that small place for no particular reason at all. It wouldn’t be so bad if they had told him how long he was going to stay in the cupboard. Perhaps an hour or two would have been enough to get whatever point they had across. But things never were like that at all. Instead of an hour or two he would spend whole days in the cupboard only being allowed out because Petunia didn’t want a stain in her house.

He reached into his robe, which oddly enough he was still wearing, and meant to pull out his moon tear from beneath his collar. His fingers clutched at air. He felt for the chain which had been about his neck. Nothing. It was not there. Perhaps, Harry thought, he had shoved the tear into his pocket and forgotten about it. Maybe it was just sitting there with the wizard card that Snape had given him.

He reached into the right pocket of his trousers first. There was a bit of lint that he pulled out with his fingertips, but nothing else. He reached into the left pocket. Please, let it be there. He found the card, but the tear was gone. He felt his heart sink. He had lost it.

Harry took a deep breath and took out his wizard card. He squinted at it in the dim light that the vent provided. All he had to do was speak the words that Snape had given him and he could leave this place. He froze as he heard a thick noise, like an animalistic squeal of joy. He shoved his card back into his pocket and tried to look out the vent holes. He could make out Dudley’s massive form, and he was clutching something in his fist. Harry’s eyes caught the glint of silver, and he heard himself whisper “Oh no.”

Harry pressed his body to the door of the cupboard and felt his breath hitch in his chest. That was his tear! Dudley had it! Harry must’ve dropped it when he came into the house! He watched as Dudley put the chain loosely around his finger and began to twirl the stone around like a plane propeller. He bit his tongue to keep quiet; if Dudley knew that he wanted the stone that would only give him cause to try and ruin it. Maybe Dudley would get bored of it rather quickly and he could get it back somehow.

Nearly a day later Aunt Petunia had let him out of the cupboard. She had fed him some bread and warm apple juice and then allowed him to use the bathroom. Afterward she had given him an assignment with a sharp warning. “Dudley’s room needs picking up, and I expect you to do a good job. If you cause any trouble, any at all, then right back in you’ll go. Do you understand?”

Harry simply stared at her blankly for a moment. She thought about grabbing him by the arm and giving him a good shake, but instead she just rolled her eyes at him and mumbled something that was unintelligible.

It wasn’t that Harry was trying to ignore her out of spite. His attention was focused on one thing. His moon tear. From the sound of things his cousin was upstairs, and it was a good bet that his tear was up there with him.

Harry went up the stairs as calmly as he could manage so that he would not draw attention to himself. There was a rough pounding noise on the floor. It almost sounded like someone was jumping around in Dudley’s bedroom. Harry could hear Dudley shouting in a combination of excitement and anger. He must’ve been playing some new video game his mother had given him, and from the intensity of his shouts he was losing the game.

Harry crept to Dudley’s bedroom door to find that it was cracked open just a bit, and from the little viewpoint he could see Dudley smashing hard on new controller buttons. Dudley stomped a large foot down on the floor when smashing the buttons down really hard didn’t seem to work. Harry might have laughed at him for being so absurd, but instead he gently pushed the door open a little wider to be able to see.

He scanned the room. Toys, games and clothes were scattered everywhere. He didn’t see the tear, so maybe it wasn’t up here. Or maybe Dudley had in stashed in his pocket still. Harry made a fist, raised it to the door and let it fall. It wasn’t exactly a knock, and the door opened a little wider in response.

“What do you want, Potter?” Harry looked up at his cousin. Dudley had paused the game to see who was intruding in his room.

“Aunt Petunia asked me to help you clean up the room,” Harry answered quickly. Dudley appeared to be sweating from his exertions while playing the video game. Only he could play something that required no effort at all and have to take rest periods in order to catch his breath every ten minutes.

Dudley narrowed his eyes at Harry. “Well, don’t just stand there! Get on with it, and don’t get in the way of my screen or I’ll make you regret it.”

Harry nodded and entered the room. He wrinkled his nose; it smelled like a locker room in Dudley’s room. Harry realized that it wasn’t the room that smelled, because he had always had to keep the room very clean; he realized, with a shudder, that the smell was coming from his cousin. Onion soup. He tried not to think about it for fear that he would cause himself to gag. No wonder Petunia hadn’t wanted to come in and clean up after Dudley.

Harry tried to breathe shallow breaths through his mouth. He was glad that the air was not strong enough to taste, because otherwise he would have had to leave the room for air breaks. As he picked up the dirty laundry scattered around in the room, Harry looked for his tear. He picked up several dirty shirts and a few socks that were so stiff that they could have doubled as shoes in a pinch. He picked up a pair of Dudley’s trousers and heard a jingle. Dudley had resumed his game, so Harry was quite sure that he hadn’t heard anything. Besides if it was just money in the pocket Harry wasn’t interested anyway.

He stole a glance in Dudley’s direction and was glad to see his cousin was thoroughly absorbed in the game. His pudgy face was focused on the screen with the tip of his tongue just peeking out of his mouth. If Dudley wasn’t careful during his next tantrum, he might bite that piece of tongue right off; Harry really didn’t want to be around to see that. Dudley would probably try to pin the blame on him somehow. Quietly, Harry took the pile of clothes and padded out of the room.

At the edge of the stairs, where he was sure that Dudley would not hear or see him Harry felt in the pants pocket. Aha! That was it! He smiled and closed his fingers around the tear. Quickly he took it and placed it around his neck and under his robes.

“Potter!” Harry froze. That was Dudley’s voice from behind. Had he seen Harry take the stone? “You missed some!” Harry felt something hit his back. He turned to see Dudley’s boxer shorts had been what had hit him. Harry shuddered, he did not want to touch that. He heard the sound of Dudley waddling over to him. “What were you doing?”

Harry looked at Dudley blankly. “I dropped some of the clothes, that’s all.”

Dudley did not look convinced. “Was there money in my trousers?”

“No,” Harry answered honestly as he bent to pick up the clothes he had dropped on the floor. He didn’t pick up the underwear, and he was hoping that Dudley wouldn’t notice.

“Let me see!” Dudley shouted grabbing for Harry and the clothes in his arms. Surprised, Harry backpedaled. He felt the edge of the stairs as the floor dropped beneath him. He groped for his cousin in an attempt to stop himself from falling. Dudley made a shocked squawk as his own footing faltered. They were both going to fall now along with a tangle of dirty laundry.

Harry was surprised to find that aside from a sharp pain in his right leg he wasn’t badly hurt. He’d figured on at least a broken arm or a concussion. Perhaps he had gotten off with only a bad bruise.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked Dudley who was lying half on the leg that was giving Harry pain.

“Of course I’m not all right, Potter! I just fell down the stairs with you!”

Harry cried out as Dudley stood up and roughly jarred his hurting knee. He cradled the throbbing limb protectively. Now it seemed that it was indeed more than a bruise.

“Serves you right,” Dudley said. He pawed through the clothing that had made the trip down the stairs with them.

Harry heard Petunia shuffling about. The noise must’ve attracted her attention.

“What happened?”

“Potter, pushed me down the stairs,” Dudley answered in a whiny voice.

Seconds later Harry felt his ear burning. If Petunia pinched it any harder, it was going to begin to bleed before detaching from his head. “GET UP!” She screamed at him. Harry tried to get to his feet, but as soon as he put weight on his right leg it buckled beneath him and sent shards of pain shooting through his nerves. He felt Petunia grab him by the right arm and support some of the weight that his hurt knee would not. He limped as quickly as he could to the cupboard. As soon as he was inside, he dropped to the floor and waited for the pain in his knee to recede some.

Snape had no idea why he was doing this. Dumbledore had said that he was relieved of his burden. He had been relieved of Harry Potter. He didn’t have to give him another thought, and yet he couldn’t push the boy out of his thoughts. He had tried to . . . even reading about potions and planning lessons for the next term hadn’t been enough to distract him. Something about the boy was bothering him . . . almost like an itch. Was he worried? No. Heavens no! Snape did not worry about Harry Potter . . . his concern was more for the fate of Wizard Kind than for the boy.

With that in mind to steel his resolve Snape knocked on the muggle door and refused to acknowledge the garden that had been so displeasing on his last visit. He could hear shuffling from behind the door, and he wasn’t surprised when the large muggle man answered the door. The muggle blanched a little as he recognized Snape as well.

“You want to see the boy?” Vernon asked, rubbing his hands on his grey trousers.

“Yes,” Snape answered. He stepped forward and Vernon stepped aside to allow him to enter the house.

Vernon cleared his throat as they headed for the cupboard beneath the stairs once more.

“I assume that despite his time away from you, the boy is as clumsy as ever,” Snape drawled almost casually. Vernon adjusted his collar nervously, all of the sudden it seemed to have shrunk several sizes.

“Ah, well.” Vernon stopped fumbling for an excuse as he came to Potter’s door and unlocked it.

Harry felt his heart jump when he recognized the dry voice outside of his small prison. He would have stood up, but his leg was still very sore. It had been worth it to get the moon tear back though. He could feel its warmth beneath his robes even now. He blinked as the light from outside flooded the small enclosure and blinded him.

He felt a big hand close around his upper right arm and winced at the fierceness of the grip as he was yanked to his feet. As his body weight was forced onto his sore right knee he yelped and made an attempt to shift everything to the leg that didn’t hurt him.

Snape looked at Harry, who was breathing through his clenched teeth in an attempt to cope with a fair amount of fresh pain, and back to the fat muggle who was probably responsible for the boy’s current condition. “I wish to speak to the boy alone,” Snape said, shooting Vernon a glare.

“Of course,” Vernon stuttered quickly. He roughly guided Harry to a wall to lean against and left the two wizards alone.

Harry winced at first from the sharp burst of pain that shot up his leg, and then from the look on Professor Snape’s face. Snape’s lips were drawn to a taught line against his already tight face; he looked very displeased.

With a clumsy movement Harry adjusted his unstable position against the wall. He received more pain for his efforts, and he hissed unhappily through his teeth. After his pain had receded to a bearable level, he looked up at Snape to find that the man’s expression had changed. He was still unhappy but in a very different way. Harry was afraid to ask him what the matter was.

“I’m okay,” Harry said. He was being careful not to move in a way that would hurt, and making an effort not to speak through clenched teeth. He gave Snape a sickly little smile, which withered as the man narrowed his eyes and scanned him up and down. Snape’s eyes lingered on the leg that Harry was favoring.

“I’m sure,” Snape drawled. He made eye contact with Harry once more. “Bear your weight down on your other leg and prove it to me then, Potter.”

Harry looked at Snape, trying to gauge whether or not he was serious. That was silly though, Harry had never known Snape not to be serious. He took in a deep gulp of air and let his right foot touch the floor. As soon as he moved to apply a slight bit of pressure to shift his weight, his sore knee flared in protest. That had not been the wisest thing for him to try. Harry balanced on his left leg as his right throbbed painfully. He would not be trying that again anytime soon.

It looked like Harry was having a difficult time balancing on his good foot while trying to cope with another strong burst of pain, but Snape made no move to assist him. Instead he leaned his weight against the wall facing Harry and folded his arms into the black material of his robes.

“How were you injured, Potter?”

Harry swallowed and hesitated before answering. He thought about reaching into his robes for his moon tear, but the risk of losing his balance made him leave it alone. “I’d rather not explain, sir.”

Snape made a low noise in his throat that resembled a growl. “Spare me this game of evasion, Potter.”

Harry sighed. When he thought about things logically this really was very silly. He had fallen down a flight of stairs for a necklace-- no, for a rock! No doubt Snape would find that imbecilic. Harry could feel blood rushing up to heat his face; that combined with the throbbing in his knee it made him feel a little dizzy. This was not a good time to swoon with his injury.

“Potter?” Snape saw that after a brief flush, Potter had suddenly gone very pale. Quickly he stepped up beside the boy to help him to the floor if he needed to sit.

“Sir, I’m,” Harry began to weakly protest, but Snape quickly cut him off.

“If you say you’re fine, you will regret it. Sit on the floor for a moment and get your composure back.”

Harry was on the floor before he was really aware what was going on. He closed his eyes and took in a breath as he tried to ignore all the sensations attacking his body. After several seconds had passed, he opened his eyes and lifted a hand to rub his forehead. He pulled back when he saw that his hand was shaking.

“Perhaps you just need some air,” Snape said quietly.

Harry nodded in agreement, but the last thing that he wanted to do at the moment was try to move.

“Could you stand with some assistance?”

Harry quickly shook his head. He was in no shape to try and stand up again.

“Very well. There are other options.” Suddenly Harry knew what Snape meant. He was going to pick him up from the floor and carry him out of the house. As appealing as leaving was, he didn’t want to aggravate his knee anymore.

“Sir, please. I don’t think I can stand to move right now.”

“Nonsense, Potter. I will be considerate of your injury. You obviously need medical attention, and I doubt you will receive it should you remain here.”

Harry wasn’t going to struggle against Snape if he really was intent on picking him up, but that didn’t mean that he was going to make things very easy either. Harry leaned back into the wall he was sitting up against and allowed his weight to rely completely on the wall for support. As careful as Snape was when he lifted Harry from the floor, Harry could not help but gasp in pain.

“Try to relax,” Snape said firmly.

Harry almost laughed at that. *Relax? Hah! What a joke!* With fresh flickers of pain cycling through him by the second and his strong emotions raging through him, he could hardly bring himself to relax. He closed his eyes, buried his fingers into Snape’s robes and squeezed for all he was worth. Where he was going he didn’t know, and really he didn’t care.

Harry still had his fingers clenched tightly in Snape’s robes. He had a white-knuckle grip on the black material, and nothing was going to force him to let go. Snape had carried him outside and they had Apparated somewhere, but Harry was too distracted by pain to try to figure out where. Snape shifted Harry’s weight against him and Harry cried out as the movement jarred his knee. It had been a gentle change of position, but to Harry it had felt almost like a blow from a sledgehammer. There was a mumbled apology from Snape, which Harry did not notice.

He twisted his grip on the material of Snape’s robes as he felt his weight shifting once more, afraid that this movement was going to hurt. Snape eased Harry’s body down to put him on a bed; he had to lower his own body as well because Harry still had a tight grip on his robes. He set the boy down on the bed as carefully as he could manage and did not move to stand upright just yet as Harry still had a hold of him.

“Potter, release my robes.” Snape looked down at the boy’s face, which was inches away from his own. The boy made no move to obey the request. Snape could see in Potter’s expression that the boy was in quite a bit of pain, which made his own discomfort from the awkward position seem minor.

“I can’t,” Harry murmured. “My hands won’t move.”

Snape groaned inwardly. “Potter, relax your fingers and let go.”

Harry’s breath stopped in his throat. “I can’t.”

Snape moved his own hands to one of Harry’s and gently peeled it off of his robes. He repeated the process with the other hand, and placed the boy’s hands at his sides.

Harry watched through pain-glazed eyes as Snape quickly turned from him and left the room. Only a few moments had passed before Snape returned, and Harry found that he was relieved to see the man again as Snape closed the door behind him and stalked over to the night stand to put down the items he was carrying. Harry had seen a few potions and a very sharp-looking knife. Without realizing what he was doing, Harry twisted his hands into the bedding beneath him.

Snape fed Harry a potion to ease his pain and another to replace any nutrients he had probably missed while in the care of his muggle relatives. Then Snape set a chair next to Harry’s bedside and waited for the painkiller to kick in before doing anything further.

Harry felt heavy, almost fatigued. He could hear the whooshing sound that the beating of his heart made in his ears: the rhythm was getting slower, calmer with each second that passed. Harry didn’t seem to mind that. He didn’t want to listen to the thudding of his heart anyway; he was trying to focus on a voice. Snape had asked him a question, and a moment later he was rambling something in reply. Harry blinked as he fought to keep his eyes open; he wasn’t finished talking to Snape yet. Snape asked him another question and again he answered with little hesitation. After what seemed like a very long time, Harry was too tired to speak to him anymore. He shut his eyes and let Snape’s voice fade to nothingness.

There was a lantern glowing softly nearby. Harry could recognize it even without his glasses. Lantern? Last time he checked the Dursleys had still used electric lighting. That meant... he wasn’t home! Harry took a moment to try and regain his bearings. He remembered being home, falling down the stairs, hurting his knee and then Snape had come to the house and took him. After that things blurred; it reminded Harry of how sometimes dreams were too fuzzy to recall after waking.

“How do you feel?” Harry nearly started at the sound of Snape’s voice; he hadn’t seen Snape enter the room. Snape crossed the room and handed Harry his glasses which had been sitting on the night stand.

His knee still ached, but not as badly as it had before. “I feel a little sore,” Harry answered.

Snape nodded. “The damage to the bones in your knee was easy to repair. It is the damage to the soft tissues that is causing you to feel discomfort. It will take longer to heal, but you should not suffer permanent damage.”

“Damage to my bones?” Harry asked softly. He hadn’t thought that he had broken anything.

“Yes. Considering the circumstances of the fall I am surprised that you did not suffer other injuries.”

“You know that I fell?”

Snape gave Harry a little smile without showing his crooked teeth. “Of course I know you fell.”

Harry didn’t remember saying anything regarding his injury to Snape, and he was fairly certain that his relatives would not have mentioned anything. “But how?”

“You told me, Potter. There were a few details missing from your story, but you explained that this fall down the stairs was an accident. How unfortunate that your cousin did not suffer a little injury as well, eh Potter?”

Had Snape just made a joke, or was he serious about that last remark? “But...”

“You don’t remember telling me. I know. That is a common side effect caused by the painkiller I gave you. Aside from loosening your tongue a little, it stifles the capacity to recall things while under it’s influence.”

Harry could feel his heart beginning to pound. What else had he said to Snape while he was drugged? He closed his eyes and tried to make himself remember, but nothing came to him. Only Snape knew whatever else he had said, and Harry had a feeling that Snape would want to keep things that way.

“Don’t fret over it, Potter. There are worse things in the world,” Snape said quietly.

Harry opened his eyes and stared at Snape. “What did I tell you?”

“Nothing that you didn’t want to get out of your system, Potter,” Snape said in a calm voice.

“That doesn’t answer my question, Sir.”

“For now it will have to do, Potter,” Snape replied evenly.

****

Later in the evening Snape entered Harry’s room. He was carrying some medical supplies with him and a small pillow. Bandages? Harry stared at Snape in confusion. What were the bandages for?

Snape smoothly seated himself on the chair at Harry’s bedside and flicked the edge of Harry’s comforter up so that he could see Harry’s wounded leg easily. Had Snape cut off his pant leg? From what Harry could see it looked like Snape had severed the material a few inches above his knee. Harry tried to sit up more so that he could see what Snape was doing, but moving around on the bed too much made his knee flare to life with pain and that quickly dampened his curiosity.

“Your knee was swelling at a rather alarming rate, Potter. It was necessary to make a small incision in the swollen tissue and wrap the knee in specially-treated bandages that would draw out any excess fluid. You may have a small scar later, but it will be better than a permanent limp.”

Harry winced as Snape moved his leg to unwrap the used bandages. Snape gingerly placed Harry’s calf on the small down pillow that he had brought with him to elevate the boy’s knee and make it so that he did not have to try and hold the leg up the entire time The bandages seemed very attached to Harry’s skin, making the unwrapping process very unpleasant. He unclenched his jaw when he saw Snape pick a fresh roll of material up from the night stand. The wrapping process probably wouldn’t be so bad.

“Sir, why didn’t you just take me to Hogwarts? Madame Pomfrey could have fixed my knee and then I wouldn’t have to bother you.”

Snape said nothing. He was focused on the task at hand, and Harry gave a muffled yelp of pain. Apparently Snape was being a little too rough. “Apologies, Potter.” Snape paused the bandaging and looked at the boy’s face: tears were welling in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Harry lied as he removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes.

Perhaps, Snape thought, I should have given Potter something for the pain before I started this task. It was a bit late for that now, though, so Snape made a conscious effort to be more gentle as he continued the bandaging.

Having recovered somewhat, Harry took in a deep breath. “Sir, I don’t understand why Professor Dumbledore sent me home and then had you come back for me so soon.”

Snape grunted. “The Headmaster sent you back, however he did not send me to look in on you a second time.”

“Why did you do it then, Sir?”

“I have my reasons, Potter.” That seemed to be the end of their conversation, because Snape had finished bandaging Harry up and was standing to leave the room with a bundle of the wrappings, which were soiled with Harry’s dried blood and Snape’s potion, in a tin basin.

“Sir,” Harry called just as Snape was reaching for the door lever. Snape paused but did not turn to face Harry. “I’m glad.... I mean... thank you.”

Snape seemed to stiffen a little with his back still to the boy. He said nothing in answer and quickly exited the room.

Harry leaned back into his pillow as his knee painfully reminded him why he was in the bed in the first place.

*****

Snape was alone in his study, standing near the fireplace mantle. How long would it be before Dumbledore realized that Harry Potter had gone missing? He wondered if he should write the Headmaster a letter to let him know what had happened, because as things were right now it could look like Snape had simply snatched the boy from the frightened muggles.

Sitting down at his desk Snape took the cap from his inkwell and took his quill in hand. A fresh piece of parchment was sitting on his desk waiting to be used. Snape dipped the tip of the quill into the ink and held it near the paper as he thought about what to write. A drop of ink dripped onto his paper and he scowled at it.

Snape groaned aloud he was fresh out of ideas. No matter how he tried to phrase this, in his mind it still seemed like flimsy protection from charges of kidnaping. He put his quill back in its place and replaced the cap on his inkwell. Snape stood to pace near the warmth of the fireplace. He needed time to think about this.

Dumbledore would understand the reason for his actions, right? As far as Snape knew the Headmaster still trusted him, so perhaps all he really needed to do was explain the circumstances of things and then let the Headmaster know where he stood.

Feeling slightly more encouraged Snape sat down to write again.

****

Harry groaned aloud and bit down hard on his lip. His knee was aching badly now. He wanted to try to sleep the pain off, but in order to do that he had to be able to fall asleep. Right now that was not going to be remotely possible. No . . . the pain was too much of a distraction to be able to fall asleep.

He tried to think of pleasant things to distract him from his knee, but nothing worked. Everything turned into the stabbing pain that drummed up and down his leg like someone laying into him with a baseball bat. Harry breathed through his teeth as he felt tears building up from behind his eyes. Why did everything seem to hurt more at night?

Harry reached under his shirt with an unsteady hand for his moon tear. He clenched it tightly in his fist until his hand began to hurt, but that provided no relief. When he could stand it no longer, Harry let loose sobs of agony, but behind the closed door he was sure that no one would hear.

****

Snape had not written down a single word on his piece of parchment. Not one bloody word. He had sat for a long time thinking about what to write, but nothing had sounded right in his head. It would sound even worse on paper if it hadn’t had a chance in his thoughts. Snape was now dozing at his desk, with his quill still in hand. The ink on the quill had dried a while ago, but there were a few small marks on Snape’s other hand where he had accidentally drawn on himself as he dozed.

Suddenly, as if someone had shaken him awake, Snape snapped alert. Something wasn’t right. Perhaps he still felt rattled because the situation with Dumbledore was not resolved yet. No: as Snape thought about it, he knew that he would have to explain this to Dumbledore in person. A letter wouldn’t do the job properly. So if that was not the problem, then what was the matter?

Potter? He had not checked on the boy since he had changed his bandages. Snape tossed his quill onto the parchment on his desk and stormed out of the study toward Potter’s chamber.

****

Snape halted at the door to the boy’s room and listened for noises from within. At first he didn’t hear anything. Wait . . . was that crying? Quietly Snape opened the door and entered the room which was still lit by the glow of a lantern.

“Potter?” Snape couldn’t see the boy’s face. Harry had taken the pillow that had been under his head and was holding it over his face, perhaps in an attempt to block things out. Snape watched as the boy’s hands clenched very tightly onto the pillow case. In one hand Snape caught a glimpse of blue and silver.

Snape reached into his robes for a potion to quiet the boy. He had forgotten to consider that Potter would still be in pain for a while. Snape bitterly thought that that was one of the reasons why he was not a medi-wizard; he really had a terrible bedside manner and the boy had suffered for that.

Snape was beginning to question his decision to keep the boy here. Perhaps it would have been better to leave him with Madame Pomfrey after all; she would not have allowed the boy to suffer like he had. He pushed away the thoughts of his own inadequacies and focused on trying to coax Potter to calm enough to be able to take a potion without choking on it.

“Come now, Potter. It will not do to smother yourself with that pillow.” Snape sat on the edge of the bed and gently pulled at the corner of the pillow that Harry was clutching fiercely.

Harry mumbled something from behind the pillow. Snape could hear the hitching in the boy’s muffled voice, but what he was saying was not understandable at all. When Snape tugged at the pillow again, it was clear that Harry had no intention of letting go of either the pillow or of the moon tear that was pinned between the fabric of the pillow and Harry’s hand.

Snape put the potion back into his robes and withdrew his wand instead. Quietly he stood from the bed and aimed his wand at the boy. In a soft voice he murmured an incantation and watched in silence as the tension left Harry’s body in a swift rush. From behind the pillow Snape thought that he had heard a muffled sigh.

Carefully Snape removed Harry’s hands from his pillow and placed it back in its place under his head. He took the moon tear and placed it on the night stand, and then removed Harry’s glasses and placed them next to the now clear blue moon tear. The boy was asleep now. Snape gently adjusted the rumpled covers over Harry’s body and left the room.

******

Snape was not at all surprised by the letter that he received the morning after he had taken Harry Potter from his Muggle relatives. In return for the neat roll of thick parchment; Snape offered the owl something to eat. It took the food in its sharp beak and flew. Did the owl belong to Dumbledore? Maybe, but it did have ties to Hogwarts; Snape felt sure of that.

Easily Snape broke the magic that sealed his letter and uncurled the parchment; holding the ends of the paper taut and in silence, Snape began to read.

Severus,

It has come to my attention, my dear boy, that you have taken Harry Potter from the safety of his muggle residence. I believe that you hold only the best intentions for the boy, but perhaps you have not thought out the consequences of your actions.

I expect to speak with you shortly.

Kindest regards,

A. Dumbledore

Snape felt the once smooth curls of parchment crumpling in his hands as he crushed the letter with his fingers. Surely the Headmaster knew why he had taken the boy from his so called home. How could he be expected to stand by idly when he knew that Potter was being mistreated? It was true that Snape felt a little fear was good for children. The right amount of fear ensured obedience, but the thought of Potter quailing and quivering in fear made Snape’s lip curl with disgust.

Harry was still asleep when Snape checked on him after he’d read his letter from the Headmaster. The spell that Snape had cast over Potter should have worn off a while ago, but since the boy was still in a quiet sleep Snape figured that he probably just needed the rest. Snape would allow Potter to sleep awhile longer, and then he would need to wake him up to be sure that the boy ate something; it would not do to allow Potter to starve himself.

*****

Dumbledore sat in one of Snape’s dark, heavy leather armchairs as if he had adopted the place as his own. He was sipping a mug of hot cocoa, which had originally been a cup of bitter herbal tea when Snape had given it to him. Dumbledore had thanked him for the tea and gave it a little taste. He smiled politely and waved his wand over the cup to change the liquid inside to something more palatable.

Snape was rigidly poised in his own armchair across the room from Dumbledore. He had barely touched his own tea: from his posture it almost seemed that he was ill at ease in his own home. He did not ask what Dumbledore had done to the tea he had offered him; Snape didn’t care. As far as he was concerned Dumbledore could transfigure the tea into malt liquor and it would not have made any difference.

“I trust that you understand the reason behind my visit today.” Dumbledore took a long drink of his chocolate before looking up for Snape’s answer. Snape nodded once.

“How is Harry, Severus?”

Snape was a little surprised at himself when he narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore for asking a simple question. He forced himself to try and relax. “At the moment Potter is resting.”

The headmaster smiled. “We’ll talk quickly then so that we will not disturb his rest.”

When several seconds of silence passed Snape realized that Dumbledore was waiting for him to say something in reply. “Of course, Headmaster.”

“Do you recall my original order concerning Mister Potter, Severus?”

As he tried to recall the original instructions Snape wrinkled his brow; it had been several weeks since he had been asked to look in on Potter.

“Now then, Severus,” Dumbledore began in a kind tone. “With my original order in mind, why did you take it upon yourself to remove the boy from the protection of his home?”

Before he had time to give it a second thought Snape took a swig of his bitter tea. He grimaced as it went down like a solid lump in his throat. The more he thought about it, the more it tasted like he was drinking hot leaves and bits of dust; although honestly that was not very far from the truth. He watched as Dumbledore was still sipping sweet hot chocolate with ease. Snape wasn’t changing what he had made for himself; instead he put the cup down on the small side table near his chair and pushed it as far away as he could without being too obvious.

“I thought that it was in the boy’s best interests to leave his relatives, considering his condition when I arrived at his residence.”

“Please go on, Severus,” Dumbledore suggested with a wave of his hand as he drank more cocoa. He must’ve charmed the cup when he changed the drink inside because Dumbledore could have easily drank down two cups full the way he was going at it right now.

Snape recalled how Potter had looked when he had first taken him from the muggles. How was he to put this and still sound as though he had remained unattached?

“When I arrived at Potter’s *home*, I discovered that he had been injured, and in spite of the fact that I am not a medi-wizard I thought it best if the boy received at least some care for his condition. I took him because it was the only thing to do, in my opinion, to protect the boy from further harm-- whatever the cause may be.”

Dumbledore made a little hmm noise in answer, but he did not seem concerned in the slightest. *Perhaps if he had seen the boy last night his attitude would be quite different,* Snape thought bitterly.

With a deep sigh Snape released his brooding irritation. “The boy refused to tell me everything, but what he has told me is enough to warrant, at least in my opinion, that he not be sent back to those muggles. Blood relatives or not, they are not the protection that he needs.” He wanted to add that should Dumbledore force Harry to go back to the muggles anyway he should at least allow Snape to hex them beforehand. Nothing too dramatic. A simple sympathy pain spell would do the trick: even if it only lasted a few days it would teach the muggles fairly quickly. Whatever damage was inflicted onto Potter would be reflected on the one who had caused it, so should Vernon decide to allow his hand to fly on its own accord once more Potter would not be the only one sporting the black eye.

There were things that the spell would not be able to help though. The emotional thrashing that Potter suffered through would be allowed to continue and perhaps after the curse it would become even worse. No, that could not be condoned anymore; not even for blood protection.

“What do you suggest that we do for Mr Potter if he is not to be returned to his family, Severus?”

Snape shook his head. “I don’t know, but I do know that if you send him back there things will only grow worse for him.”

Dumbledore smiled as though all Snape had said was about sunshine and roses. “Thank you for the drink, Severus. If you cannot find a suitable substitute to care for Harry I am afraid you will be forced to return him to his home once again. One cannot choose one’s family Severus, and they are the only family he has.”

He stood to bid the Headmaster farewell. Snape frowned as Dumbledore’s last words played over and over again in his head. Family! Family indeed! He could do a better job looking after Potter than Potter’s family had ever done! When the realization hit him, he had to sit down once more to regain his composure. What was he thinking? What would Potter think when he found out?

It had taken several moments for Snape to regain his composure after Dumbledore had left. The wizard had not been left shaken by Dumbledore’s words, but by his own inner thoughts. He needed something to distract him for a moment. He needed to think things through.

First thing Snape set out for when he rose from his seat was to look in on Potter. He needed to be certain the boy was still in a peaceful sleep. Snape wasn’t sure how he would break it to Potter that he did not want the boy to go back to his blood relatives. There had to be a way to make the boy understand what he meant, how he felt about things.

He quietly opened the door and peered into the room. Without the light from the glow of a candle the room was quite dim. Snape had chosen a room without windows for Potter, lest he should try to escape and wander away on his own. Perhaps later he could move the boy to a room with large windows so that he could have a view of the world outside of his room.

Snape listened carefully at the doorway. His sharp ears picked up on Potter’s breathing. It was slow and even. The boy was still at ease. After a few moments Snape closed the door and decided that he needed to brew a few fresh potions that would quicken the boy’s recovery. Brewing potions would allow Snape time to think, and it would give him something to do besides pace about in frustration, which is what he felt like doing at the moment.

***

It was a while later when Harry woke from his peaceful sleep. It had been several hours in fact. He hadn’t wanted to wake, but rather needed to wake. His brain was receiving several signals of discomfort. A fair amount of these signals came from his injured leg, but another urgent one told him that he needed to move. He raised his head from the pillow and let it drop. This was so inconvenient. He had been sleeping so well too.

Harry knew that once he got up and finished with his business he’d never get to sleep the way that he had been sleeping just a few moments ago. Silently he cursed the inconsiderate nature of his bladder and sat up. From his place on the bed the bathroom looked so very, very far away.

It occurred to Harry that perhaps he should call Snape to help him, but he shuffled that thought to the back of his mind before his mouth could attempt to call out. He wasn’t going to cry for Snape because he had to . . . go potty. That was just plain stupid. Snape would think him an idiot for sure. So with a breath of determination Harry eased his legs over the side of his bed. He ignored the sharp zing of pain from his injured leg as best he could and stared ahead at his goal. The bathroom door.

Harry decided that the few steps it would take to get to the toilet would not be too difficult for him to manage. He settled weight on his good leg first and pushed off from the edge of the bed. Gingerly Harry set a bit of his body weight on the toes of his wounded leg. It hurt, but not unbearably so. Not like the painful and annoying sensations his bladder was sending through his body. He was close to the bursting point; he was almost sure of that. He’d probably been holding it for hours in his sleep, and now there was no time to put it off like he could during class or a Quidditch match.

Harry resisted the urge to dance about. Dancing would do his injured leg and his full bladder little good. He set his face with determination. He would cross the room under his own power no matter what.

***

Snape had finished brewing the potions that he thought would help the boy. There were three different potions. The vials were filled with things to calm, ease pain and another was to strengthen Potter’s constitution. A weak boy would not heal as fast as a strong one. Snape slipped the vials carefully into his cloak pocket and then went upstairs to make Potter and himself something decent to eat.

***

Harry took a step, and it ended up being more of a hop, because his hurt leg did not want to bear his weight. Okay, Harry thought. I can do this. I’m a young wizard and an athlete. Hopping across the room should be simple.

He hopped for several feet. Just long enough to get far enough away from the bed that he would not be able to turn back to it easily. Harry could feel his good leg getting a bit shaky, and he could feel sweat of exertion starting to form on his brow. His breaths were coming a bit faster now. This was wearing him down quickly. He decided to just go for it. He could probably make it in a few more hops, at least that’s what he told himself.

He’d made it almost halfway to the toilet when a spasm coursed through his good leg. His muscles were cramping. Without thinking Harry let down his other foot to ease the burden on his good leg so that his muscles would relax. If he had been standing on hot coals, he would not have noticed. The sharp bolt of pain that shot up through his leg was enough to force him to falter. Harry tried to recover his balance, but his good leg was still clenched in a spasm and his other was in no shape to bear weight. He fell to the floor in a heap, clutching to the wounded leg and crying out sharply in pain. He hadn’t even noticed that his toes of his good leg had curled toward the ball of his foot as the cramp held his muscles in a firm grip.

Even when he felt the spasm ease there was little relief from the pain that he sensed. His injured knee was burning with the fresh, raw heat of agony. He hadn’t made it to the toilet yet either. Bitterly Harry thought that he should have stayed in his bed, at least then his leg wouldn’t be hurting him like it was. This had been a stupid idea. He released his leg as he felt a sharp sting of insistence from his bladder. If he didn’t make it to the toilet in the next few moments all his suffering would have been for nothing.

Harry thought about crawling along the floor. Squirming along on his stomach, while trying to only use his arms was too difficult. As he dragged his body, it sent flickers of searing pain into his hurt knee, and the pressure from lying on his belly made the task of making it to the toilet that much more urgent.

Harry clenched his eyes closed and stilled. He could hold it. He dug his fingertips into the carpet and tried not to think about anything. He took deep breaths in an attempt to calm his body. He could tell that he was fighting a losing battle, and that eventually he would have to let go.

What would Snape think when he saw him like this on the floor? Harry pulled his hands into fists as the urgency consumed him. There was too much at once. With a sharp sob Harry felt his control slip from him in a warm rush of fluid. He clenched his fingers in the carpet once again; it would not do him any good to stop halfway through the process, so he didn’t bother trying. It puddled around him, warm and foul smelling. As the liquid quickly cooled around him, Harry shivered as he cried both from shame and pain. He’d wet himself for goodness sakes!

Harry could just imagine what Snape’s face would look like when he entered the room. He’d probably want Harry to explain why he couldn’t even do a simple thing like relieving himself properly. Snape would probably wonder why he’d bothered to take Harry from his relatives, and maybe think on giving him back to them. The longer Harry lay there in that cooling puddle of urine the more hopeless things seemed to become. He buried his nose in a clean part of the carpet by his head and covered his head with his hands, interlocking his fingers.

He wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed, but most of the wetness had been absorbed by Snape’s lovely carpet. The smell as faint as it was, pierced through Harry’s nostrils as though he’d never smelled anything worse in his life. The carpet would probably be ruined, once that stuff had sat awhile there would be no way to get rid of it short of brand new carpeting. Snape would love that. His clothes were still quite wet. Both his pant legs and the lower part of his shirt that covered his stomach had absorbed a lot of the liquid, and as embarrassing as it was it was making him feel very cold. Harry lay there and shivered. Part of him wanted Snape to come into the room. At least then he’d have a chance at getting some help. How things stood at the present moment there was no way that Harry would be able to clean himself up. The other part of him wanted to seep into the carpet.

**

Snape had finished making a proper meal for the boy. He’d made Harry some porridge and even added a bit of cream and sugar to it to make it more appealing. He’d brought both milk and tea for Harry to choose from. If Harry felt up to it perhaps he’d even offer him some fresh fruit later, something like apples or strawberries. Snape stood at the door with the tray of warm food and thought briefly about knocking, but didn’t bother. After all this was his house.

As Snape entered the room, the candle that sat on the night stand near the boy’s bed lit with a silent incantation. Even if he hadn’t noticed Potter lying on the floor, the whimper that followed the lighting of the candle would have been enough to draw Snape’s attention. What in blazes was the boy doing out of bed anyway? He certainly wasn’t in any shape for wandering about, not even for short distances yet.

Snape set his jaw in irritation as he moved to set the tray of food on the night stand next to the lit candle and Harry’s glasses. He knelt next to the boy’s side, and felt something wet beneath his knee. Curiously Snape reached out with his hand and touched his fingers to the damp carpet. He raised his hand and sniffed it. Things suddenly made sense to him now. The boy hadn’t been getting up to play around like an idiot; Snape noted that he hadn’t even bothered putting on his glasses something he was sure that Potter didn’t forget often.

In a gentle motion Snape settled himself very close to Harry and proceeded to roll the boy onto his back so that he could lean Harry’s weight against him. True the boy was soaking in a rather unsavory liquid, but Snape couldn’t hold that against him as it was hardly the young wizard’s fault. After all Snape had supposed to have been caring for the boy, and a simple thing like a bedpan would have prevented all this needless suffering. Snape wondered why he hadn’t thought of that sooner, since he knew that Harry couldn’t possibly take care of his needs on his own.

Harry cried out loudly as Snape moved him. Snape was being careful, but that didn’t stop his injured leg from sending fresh stabs of pain through his whole body as it was jarred from its previous spot. Snape reached into his robe with one hand for the potion to help ease Harry’s pain. He cradled the boy to him with his other arm.

He unstopped the vial and held it to Harry’s lips. Harry’s hands were shaking at his sides, and his face was an unhealthy shade of white; Snape hoped that the boy would improve once his pain began to recede. As patiently as he could, Snape coaxed the boy into taking the potion. “Here Potter, once more,” Snape said offering the calming potion after Harry had accepted the one to dampen his pain.

Willingly Harry drank. Snape was sure that the boy knew what was being fed to him; he’d certainly spent more than a fair amount of time in hospital at Hogwarts to learn the tastes of many of the different healing potions. “Good,” Snape whispered encouragingly. Now all there was to do was to wait until the drugs took effect. Snape had a feeling that Potter would not like what Snape had in store for him, so it would be wise to have the young man as relaxed as possible to reduce the amount of resistance he would be able to put up.

Harry sighed loudly with relief as he felt the agony swirling within him start to fade into the background. He felt a bit on the bleary side, but attributed that to the lack of his glasses and to the amount of pain he had been suffering through. He wasn’t sure why Snape gave him both a calming potion and a potion for pain, but at the moment he found that he didn’t care. He felt safe held against Snape’s warm form, safer than he’d felt in a long while.

When Snape shifted Harry’s weight, Harry had no desire to be moved. He was comfortable just where he was, thank you very much. He made a noise that was akin to a child’s whine, since his tongue seemed too lazy in his mouth to make a proper protest. Snape frowned, thinking that he was causing Harry pain, and placed a hand over Harry’s forehead to smooth away the strands of hair that had gathered in the boy’s sweat.

Snape allowed Harry to rest against him for a few more moments. Best to allow the potions more time to do their work. When he felt the boy relax a little more, Snape decided that it was time to get on with things. If he allowed the boy to stay in his wet clothes much longer there was a chance that he could catch a cold. He moved Harry’s nearly limp body into a more upright position and began to work at the buttons on the boy’s shirt with his agile fingers. Harry made a murmur of protest as Snape pulled his right arm out of the shirt sleeve. Snape shushed him, whispering to the boy that he would only get worse if he stayed in the wet clothing.

**

Harry shuddered as his bare torso gathered into gooseflesh. His room was so cold! Harry was tired, and he wanted to sleep, but he could never be comfortable as cool as it was. He whimpered in protest as he felt icy air hit his lower abdomen and the damp parts of his thighs. Snape was murmuring something to him, and he wanted to listen to the voice, to let it lull him, but as his teeth started to chatter he could no longer hear what was being said. Harry felt himself being gently settled on a dry part of the carpet, and seconds later the welcome warmth of Snape’s body was suddenly gone. Harry’s weary body curled in on itself as he tried to stay warm. Vaguely he realized that he was wearing nothing but his wet underwear and the bandage over his sore knee. This didn’t seem to trouble him as much as he thought it should. Ah well, he could worry about it later.

Something thick wrapped around him, and the chill biting at his skin began to melt away. This was so much more pleasant than being cold. Harry heard some sounds coming from a place that wasn’t too far off, but he was too dulled by the potions to recognize what he heard. Whatever the sound was, it wasn’t going away yet, but it didn’t bother Harry at all. He heard the sound of his bedroom door open and close and a few minutes later it opened again. The persistent sound that Harry had heard had suddenly stopped.

Harry felt part of the warm comforter wrapped around him move. There was something going on with his hurt knee for several moments, and then the chilly air hit for a few seconds before his blanket was replaced. Maybe Snape had removed the bandages for some reason, Harry finally reasoned. He felt his body being picked up in the thick cocoon that the comforter made. He’d expected the movement to have pain accompany it, but curiously he felt no discomfort. He was carried somewhere that was a short distance away, and had he been sharper he would have realized that he was in the bathroom next to his bedroom.

When Harry felt the warmth of his comforter being pulled away from him, he whined unhappily. He didn’t want to be cold again. He wanted to be left alone wrapped up tightly in the warm blanket so that he could just sleep for a long while. When the blanket was finally peeled away, Harry weakly clutched onto something else. Snape’s robes. He could feel his body being lowered, and he had the presence of mind to try and cringe away, but it was of little use. There was something holding his head, cradling him. His sluggish brain told him that he was in water, warm water that smelled faintly of lavender. A bit of warm water lapped at Harry’s ear and a tremor of fright that even the calming potion couldn’t stifle, passed through him. What if the thing cradling him let him drop? Would the water be so deep that he’d drown in it? Even in his drowsy state Harry realized that he didn’t have the strength to get himself out of this without help.

After a few minutes the pleasant feel and scent of the warm water, and the sound of a gentle voice calmed the remaining fear that Harry had let loose in his mind. He let his eyes slip closed, and within a short time he’d drifted off.

When he woke, he felt relaxed. Harry opened his eyes and realized that his clothing had changed. He was no longer wearing his shirt and half-legged trousers, in their place he was wearing a dark grey flannel night shirt that was long enough to hit him just past his knees, and from the feel of it that was all that he was wearing. He reached under his comforter and felt the side of his hip with his hand. Nope . . . no underwear. That meant . . . oh Merlin Harry felt his face heat very quickly.

He pushed the thought away from him quickly. He was being rather stupid about all this. Of course they weren’t there anymore. It would not have been pleasant to wake to the same wet underwear he’d had on earlier. Harry was grateful that he couldn’t remember much about Snape caring for him after being fed the potions. There were some things that were better being out of mind.

Harry reached for his glasses, and as he slipped them on, he realized that he was not alone in the room. Snape was sitting in a chair a few feet away from him, with a cup of dark tea in his pale hand. Snape set the teacup gently on the saucer and then set it down on the floor next to his chair. The man crossed to Harry in a fluid motion.

“You’re awake. How are you feeling?” Snape asked gently reaching out to palm Harry’s forehead. “Are you in pain?”

Harry shook his head. He actually felt quite good for a change, but perhaps the painkiller that Snape had given him still hadn’t fully worn off.

“Do you need anything?” Harry saw Snape’s face change, and for a moment the man almost looked truly concerned.

Harry shook his head.

“I’ve brought you some food. It’s still quite warm, and it will do you good to eat something.”

Snape reached over to the night stand for the porridge in the charmed bowl. Harry accepted it and carefully settled the bowl on his lap. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he caught the scent of the food. He ate almost as though he was in danger of being late for Quidditch practice. When he’d finished with the bowl only a small amount of the cereal remained. Snape offered him the tea, because he’d drank the milk himself while Harry was asleep.

Harry was forced to sip the tea slowly, because it was too hot to drink it quickly. When he’d finished Snape set the empty dishes back on the tray.

“Better now?”

“Yes, thank you Sir,” Harry answered.

Snape nodded. “I have something I wish to speak to you about, Potter.”

Harry swallowed loudly. Maybe Snape was upset about the mess on the carpet. “I’m sorry.”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t mean to ruin your beautiful carpet. Honestly, I thought I could make it to the toilet in time, but,” Harry stopped talking when Snape looked away from him.

“Don’t fret over the carpet, Potter. It does not matter. That is not the issue I wish to speak to you about,” Snape said as he took a seat on Harry’s bedside.

“Oh,” Harry felt his mouth go dry. There was something worse than the carpet? Harry cycled through everything he had said and done to Snape, but he couldn’t think of anything that could take the place of that.

“You do not have to answer right away. In fact you may have as much time as you require.” Snape paused, but not for breath, it was as though he was searching for the right way to put things. “I shall be blunt so that my meaning is quite clear to you. I do not wish to see you go back to your family. However, it has been brought to my attention that you need a proper guardian. I believe that if you are sent back to your relatives it will only cause you further misery.”

Harry felt his jaw go slack. Snape didn’t want to send him back! “But if I don’t go back to the Dursleys then who will I stay with, Sir?”

Snape gave Harry a hard stare for a few seconds. “That is the matter that I wished to ask you about, Mr. Potter.”

Harry stared up at Snape, the boy’s face was filled with complete surprise. This had to be a potion-induced dream, because there was no way that Snape would offer him this . . . right? “All I ask is that you think on it, Potter, and please don’t hesitate to call should you need anything. I will be in the next room, and will hear if you call out.”

Harry nodded dumbly and watched as Snape gracefully swept out of the room. Once he was sure that Snape was gone he gave himself a hard pinch on the arm just to be sure that he wasn’t dreaming.

Harry almost felt a little ill. He told himself that Snape was attempting to help him. That almost anything would be better than staying with the Dursleys. Still in the back of his mind he felt panic attempting to overtake him. What if Snape was only pretending to be civil? What would happen once Harry agreed to stay with him? Would he be locked away in some dark corner of the manor? Dumbledore probably would let Snape do as he pleased since he had let theDursleys pretty much have their way all along.

Harry felt his head snap up when Snapecame into the room a while later. He felt as though his skin wasabout to crawl away from his bones, and it was difficult not to want to squirm about. He rubbed at the top of his duvet to give hisfingers something to do, and he tried not to flinch when Snape noticed.

“All right, Potter?”

Harry tried to quiet his hands, but hecouldn't seem to keep still. “Yes, well I think so. I just can't seem to stop this.” Harry looked at his fingers which were twitching now, as though there was a small jolt of electricity hitting them every few seconds. He could feel tingling now, and it was starting to spread through him very rapidly.

“You are due for your next doseof potion. This is a potent painkiller that must be carefully made. Each dose is slightly weaker than the last as it has a bit of an addictive quality and the body cannot stand to simply stop taking it at once.”

Harry's jaw tightened. “You gave me something that I am going to be addicted to?”

“Would you rather I left you in a considerable amount of pain?”

“No Sir. I mean... I just. I don't like being at the mercy of someone else.” Harry's eyelid gave a bit of a twitch and he rubbed at it with his palm.

“Potter, I will do my best tohelp you, but for now you must suffer this through.” Snape reached into his robes for the potion vial and seated himself on the edge of Harry's bed. Harry's fingers clenched in the thick folds of his comforter as he watched Snape uncork the potion. His mind seemed divided. A part of him wanted to trust that Snape did know what was best, but the other part, the scary part of him said that Snape had just admitted to drugging Harry. Perhaps it really was a painkiller that the body grew attached to, but perhaps it had another purpose.

“You might have told me before you dosed me that the potion was addictive,” Harry said a bit more snappishly than he had intended.

“As it was, Potter, you were in no shape for anything. Let alone a lecture on a complicated potion formula.”

Harry had a hard time stifling a growl of annoyance.

“The agitation you are feeling will soon make it difficult for you to make sense of what is best for you. I suggest you let me give you this potion before we get to that point.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I shall wait it out with you and do what I think is best.”

“You mean you'll pour it down my throat, don't you?”

“In simple terms, Potter, yes. That will be my intention. You will not be able to withstand the pain for long anyway.”

“I don't want it,” Harrysaid stubbornly.

“Very well, Potter. I can waituntil you are ready.”

Harry clenched his covers again for something to hold onto. He was sure that had the covers not been there he would have been digging into the palms of his hands.

Harry's eyes glistened with fresh unshed tears. The pain from his wound had returned, but he didn't want to submit to a potion with an addictive narcotic.

“Listen to your body, Potter. You are suffering needlessly.”

Harry clenched his eyes closed and shook his head. “I don't care.”

“Stubborn boy.” Harry felt the bed move as Snape stood. He heard his door open and the footsteps as Snape left him alone in the room. Now that he was alone Harry could swear that the ache in his knee was driving a railroadspike into his nerves, and he breathed through his clenched teeth asthough he was battling in a wizard duel.

When Snape returned Harry was not glad to see him. He was almost certain that Snape was going to force that potion down his throat whether he wanted it or not. He opened his bleary eyes to see that Snape had brought a rather plain looking candlestick with him. Harry groaned aloud. The room was already lit for Merlin's sake! How many candles and torches did Snape want? He heard the enchantment when Snape lit the taper and watched as Snape proceeded to snuff out the other source of light in the room. Harry hissed as a violent pain knifed through his knee.

“Breathe Potter. It will not last.”

He nearly snapped at Snape, but he was having enough trouble focusing on not punching himself in the face to give his body a new pain to focus on. He took in a few deep breaths and let them go through his teeth.

“Pain is a strange thing. It is both a cruelty and a mercy at the same time,” Snape said quietly. Harry blinked at him. Was the man serious?

“I don't see how pain can be a mercy to anyone,” Harry ground out. Harry could have sworn that he saw Snape give him a little smile.

“Without pain or the sensations in the nerves you'd harm yourself even in the simplest tasks. Take eating a bowl of oats for example.”

Harry's face screwed up in confusion. How could anyone hurt themselves eating something like mushy oats?

“The nerves in your teeth tell you how hard to bite down on something. If you could not sense discomfort in your teeth you wouldn't give a second thought to breaking them on a spoon or even while simply grinding them against one another. I suppose then you would have a diet of mush permanently.”

Harry frowned at that. Snape was right.

“You must see that if you could not feel pain, you would not feel at all. How would you capture a snitch if you could not feel it in your hand?”

“I wouldn't need to feel it, because I could see it gripped in my fingers,” Harry answered.

“Would it survive your grip to fly in another game?”

Harry snorted. “They could make others you know. What do you care about snitches anyway?” Harry felt his fingertips buzz in a way that seemed to push the tingling from his withdrawal aside. He blinked as Snape started to talk again.

“I don't really care for them at all, but you understand what I was getting at now.”

Harry nodded. “Guess so.”

Harry drummed his fingertips lightly on the comforter because they seemed to be falling asleep, though he was sure that his circulation was not being cut off by anything, so was this another effect of his need for the potion? His toes were soon feeling the same way, as though he had been sitting on top of them until they had lost all sensation.

“I feel funny,” Harry said suddenly. The pain in his leg was still present, but it was as though it had been dulled somewhat. The rest of his limbs may as well not have been attached to his body because he could no longer feel them. His chest felt heavier now as it rose and fell, and Harry found that it was easier to inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth.

“It's all right,” Snape said calmly.

Something told Harry that he should protest that it wasn't all right. The voice in the back of his mind was telling him that something wasn't right here, but he didn't seem to care that much anymore to listen to it.

“Are you still in pain?”

“Yeah,” Harry said thickly. “But it's not like before. I think it's... better? I'm not really sure.”

“I think this change should beconsidered an improvement, Mister Potter.”

Harry tried to shrug and found it took more effort than he wanted to put forth. “Okay. You're usually right anyway.”

“Would you like to take the potion now?”

Harry blinked as his eyes nearly rolled and stared at Snape trying to find what he was supposed to remember. “Potion?”

“Yes, for the pain in your knee.”

“I don't know. Will it make me sick?” Harry drawled as he stared at the flickering candle for a second.

“No, it will take the pain away so that you can rest.”

Harry felt confusion ripple through him. Wasn't he resting now?

“Here,” Snape said adjusting his position on the bed so that Harry could sit up. “I'll help you.”

As Snape sat him up, Harry nearly lolled into the man's arms. It was an incredible effort simply to hold his head steady. He felt his stomach tingle as he saw the potion in Snape's hand. “All you need to do is open your mouth for a moment and swallow, Potter.”

Harry didn't respond for several seconds. Snape gently placed a finger at the side of Harry's jaw and encouraged him to open. “That's it, Potter.” When he felt the potion slide into his mouth and over his tongue he felt a little pocket of panic that reminded him of what he had been fighting. He made a incoherent moaning sound in the back of his throat and his numb toes curled as if he meant to struggle. “Swallow, Potter,” Snape ordered. The panic was gone as quickly as it had appeared and Harry complied without another thought. “Good boy.”

Harry swallowed again and licked athis lips as Snape settled him back down onto the pillows. He had a feeling that this was not at all how he had wanted things to turnout, but at the moment it wasn't important. The pain in his knee gradually faded to nothing and Harry watched in vague interest as Snape conjured a pot of hot tea for himself.

Snape had just been pouring himself a cup when Harry let his eyelids droop for a moment. He fought to keep them open, but they slipped shut again. When he opened them again Snape was pouring himself another cup of tea. “Potter, it's all right to rest. There is no need to fight it.”

Harry was barely able to keep awake. His mouth hung open slightly because he didn't have the resolve in him to close it. Snape reached out and pushed Harry's jaw shut with the tip of one finger, and to his surprise it stayed shut when he pulled away. Harry grunted in thanks as he still recognized that his tongue would turn to sandpaper if he fell asleep like that. The last thing that Harry recalled before drifting off completely was Snape humming a tune that Harry didn't recognize. Funny, Harry never would have guessed that Snape listened to anything but the bubbling of cauldrons.

Snape let the candle burn for a few more minutes before snuffing the flame between his fingers. He lit the first candle and watched Potter sleep. He wondered if he would have to coerce the boy's cooperation when the next dose came due. Dulling his fears had worked out nicely, so perhaps that was the best way to go about things until Potter learned that not everything was a punishment.

When Harry woke several hours later Snape was still in the room with him. Snape conjured a cup of hot chocolate and helped Harry to sit up so that he could drink it. “Thanks,” Harry said before he began to hungrily sip at the sweet drink.

“Potter, you realize that you'll be due for another dose of potion in a few hours.”

“I'd really rather not think about that, Sir.”

“I hope that you will not allow yourself to suffer again.”

“How long am I going to need this stuff?”

“Only a few days. It takes awhile to wean your system away from it.”

“I suppose I can put up with it then.”

Snape almost said that Harry had little choice in the matter, but he managed to hold his tongue in check and say something civil. “It will be better this way, Potter.”

“I hope that you're right, Sir,” Harry said.

“Don't fret, Potter. I'm sure things will work out for the best.” Snape took the cup of chocolate because Harry had finished. Harry lay back at felt the warm chocolate slosh around in his stomach.

“So if my knee hurts after we are finished with the habit forming stuff I won't have to go back to that will I?”

“I'll try to use milder painkillers.”

Harry worried his lip with his teeth for a second as he thought about the request that Snape had made of him earlier. “You know that thing you asked me about?”

Snape looked mildly amused at Harry's awkwardness. “I believe so, Potter.”

“I think you're right. I don't want to go back to the Dursley's. I'm just a little nervous about the whole thing. You know?”

“It is natural to feel distress about something of this nature, but you do not need to rush into anything.”

“I think I know what I want now,” Harry answered.

“You are remarkably stubborn, but I think we should wait to talk about this when you are not in need of pain medication. You seem clear enough to me, but you may have second thoughts later when you are healed. This decision, once you have made it will be quite a final one until you are of age and I don't want there to be any regrets, Potter.”

“But,” Harry began and Snape cut him off with a half hearted glare.

“No, I will not argue with you about this. You will respect my wishes and wait. A few days will make little difference to you, but you must consider that you will be spending years with me. I will not take this decision upon a whim due to illness.”

Harry found himself speechless and decided that Snape was probably right anyway.

It was more difficult than Snape had imagined that it should have been to wean Harry Potter off of the powerful painkiller for his injured knee. During the time that Harry really was in agony, was when Snape felt that things were the most trying. Harry, though he didn't mean to, was beginning to wear at Snape's patience.

Snape had Madam Pomfrey come and make sure that Potter was healing as he should have been. She informed Snape that the boy would be sore for some time, and that he and Potter would just have to have patience. Snape thanked the Mediwitch and showed her to the door. After Pomfrey had gone, Snape went back to check on Potter. Thankfully, Harry was drowsing peacefully beneath his blankets.

Snape carefully changed Harry's bandages, and to his satisfaction, the wound did look like it was getting better. It was still a swollen and angry mess, but definitely an improvement. Snape gently re-tucked the thick comforter around Harry and stood to leave the room. He froze mid-stride at the sound of a slurred thank you from the drowsy boy. Snape hadn't thought that Potter would notice very much, as muddled as he should have been due to drugs.

"I'll be back soon," Snape said in the most reassuring tone that he could muster. Harry didn't hear him; the boy had already slipped back to sleep.

****

The nightly ritual of potions and new bandages was less than amusing for both parties involved. While he was suffering from the pain in his knee, Potter was both very cranky and equally stubborn. Snape had started to cut back the amount of potion that he gave to Harry each night. He took away just enough so that he wouldn't throw Harry's body into a withdrawal.

It was almost a week later when he was able to inform Potter than they had successfully weaned his body off of the addictive potion. Harry let out a loud sigh of relief. He hadn't liked using that potion at all, even when it was the only thing that phased his agony.

A short while later, Snape brought Harry hot tea and an assortment of little things to eat. Harry started in on the food, and stopped mid bite when he realized that Snape was watching him intently. Not really knowing what else to do, Harry held out a small sandwich to share. Snape refused the offering with an amused expression on his face. Since when did anyone offer to share anything with him of their own free will?

****

The first time that Harry attempted to put some weight onto his sore leg, Snape wasn't there to stop him. Harry stood on his good leg and then, took a breath to steel himself, before attempting to plant his other foot. He grit his teeth and hissed. That really hadn't been the brightest idea. Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and panted as he waited for the throb of pain to recede.

Snape entered the room only seconds later. Harry tried to make sure that his breathing wasn't distressed sounding. He forced the most pleasant expression he could onto his face and looked up at Snape.

"Pain?" Snape asked narrowing his eyes at the boy. Harry cringed inwardly. Was he really that easy to read?

"It's not very bad," Harry lied. Snape glared at him.

"Afraid to be honest, Potter?"

Harry swallowed. "I just don't want you to think I wanted something for the pain. I've got to be able to stand it sometime."

Snape frowned. "I thought I had explained about the painkillers. I only used that other potion, because nothing else would have been effective. A milder potion wouldn't be habit forming, Potter."

Harry looked away, clutching at his wrinkled sheets with tight fists.

"Something else troubling you, Potter?"

Harry stiffened a little, but didn't utter a word.

"Out with it, Potter. Being silent will not help either of us."

Harry sighed, perhaps it would be best just to say what he wanted before it drove him mad. "I was just wondering if you had changed your mind about letting me stay with you." Harry swallowed, gathering what he meant to say before continuing. "I know I have caused you a great deal of trouble, and I would understand if you had had second thoughts about your offer."

Snape saw it now, when Harry looked to him for an answer, the boy was preparing himself for rejection. "My stand on that matter has not changed, Potter. The decision is yours to make."

Harry felt emotional relief flood through him, and for several moments he felt almost overwhelmed. "I'd like to stay."

Snape nodded silently.

****

So was it really that simple? One statement and Snape would take him in as a proper family member? How would his blood relatives react to this? If they knew that this was something that would make Harry happy, would they agree simply to be rid of him forever, or would they cause trouble just to be sure that he was miserable?

Snape ordered Harry not to worry about it; he was going to take care of things. All that Harry needed to worry about, Snape told him, was healing properly.

****

"Uncle Vernon, you just have to sign this piece of parchment, and then you won't have to worry about taking care of me anymore." Harry held out the elegant parchment and quill for Vernon to sign with.

Vernon sneered at the paper. "You expect me to touch that? After it's been handled by all sorts of those freaks?"

Harry felt his hope for an easy release slipping away. He should not have come to do this alone. Why hadn't Snape come to help him?

"What's the matter, Potter? Are we not good enough for you?"

Harry stepped backward defensively when Vernon advanced on him. His uncle's face was starting to turn a frightening shade of red. All Harry wanted to do now was diffuse the situation. He just needed the lousy signature and then he could go where he felt safe.

"Uncle Vernon, I didn't want to cause trouble. I just need you to do this one thing for me, and then you'll never have to see me again."

Vernon paused as if he were in thought. Petunia and Dudley walked into the kitchen, where Harry had been trying to reason with his uncle for several minutes.

"I don't think you should do it," Dudley said suddenly. They must have heard everything.

Harry felt his jaw drop. He would have thought that out of all the people in his family who would have been glad to see him go, that it would have been his chubby cousin.

"Why does he want this so badly?" Petunia asked. "There's got to be a reason for it."

Vernon seemed to light up as he came to his conclusion about the whole situation. "Well, I can see only one answer to this bloody mess, Potter." Harry flinched at the sound of fat knuckles popping. "It seems I must remind you of your place in this family."

****

Harry woke with a jerk and a cry of fear. He was shaking and covered in a layer of cold sweat. He started when a firm hand rested on his shoulder, and when he realized that it was Snape, he tried to make himself relax. It didn't do him much good though.

"Nightmare, Potter?" Snape lit the fireplace with a charm to warm the room a little more.

Harry nodded, swallowing roughly. Snape conjured a pot of hot tea, pouring some for each of them. Harry took his teacup in a shaking hand and tried to drink from it. He got a small swallow down before nearly splattering the rest all over his lap. Snape gently took the cup back, so that Harry wouldn't burn himself.

"You can have it back when it won't scald you, Potter."

Harry wrung his hands for something to do to distract himself a little.

"Would you like to talk about it, Potter?"

Harry looked up at Snape and gave him a sickened smile. "It's silly, really."

Snape didn't look convinced at all. "You're shaking and on the verge of tears. This is hardly something I would call silly, Potter."

"I had a dream about my family. That my Uncle wouldn't sign the documents I need to be able to stay with you. He said he was going to remind me of my place in his family. I woke up before things got violent, but it was enough to bother me. What if that were to really happen? What if he really refused to let me go?"

"Potter, I told you not to worry about that. I said I would take care of things, did I not?"

Harry nodded.

"And I have fulfilled my end of the agreement."

"You did?"

"Yes, everything was documented earlier this morning. I just hadn't had a chance to tell you yet."

Harry shivered. "You didn't do anything really awful to them did you?"

Snape chuckled. "Your lousy blood relatives were saved, due to the fact that I had to bring along a witness to confirm the signatures were authentic. It wouldn't have been wise to harm them, when I wanted their cooperation."

"Thank you, Sir."

Snape nodded. "How are you feeling now?"

Harry sat quietly for several seconds. The fear from his nightmare was trickling away, and the new shock of relief that he wouldn't have to face his blood relatives again was still almost unreal. "Better," Harry said, because he was sure that once the physical effects from the dream ebbed he'd be better than he had been in a long while.

****

Harry sat in the yard of thick green grass, playing absently with a snitch. Snape was nearby, sitting against a thick oak tree, dozing in dappled shade.

"Sir?"

"Yes?" Snape asked in a voice that was rough from his short nap.

"It's nice out today, isn't it?" Harry said as he caught the snitch in mid-flight and moved to settle beside Snape. His limp was barely noticeable anymore.

Snape grunted in agreement and blinked at the pleasant drowsiness surrounding his thoughts. "Are you still having trouble sleeping?"

"Not as much as before," Harry answered honestly.

"You're doing very well, all things considered, Potter."

Harry made a chuffing noise. "It could have been worse."

"Yes, I think we are fortunate that it wasn't. From the way that your relatives maltreated you, and my cold reception of you at first, I'm relieved that you were able to work out as much as you did."

"You helped me a lot."

Snape nodded. "Only after I realized that I was going about things in an imbecilic manner."

Harry shrugged. "Well, you didn't know."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't excuse the way that I treated you. I apologize, Potter, for my former actions. I shall try not to make such mistakes in the future."

Harry smiled. "I trust you." Harry found that as he said the words, he really did mean it.