Harry sat at the table, smiling hesitantly at Hermione and Neville and wondering what he was going to do.

He had been surprised at the extent of his uncle’s wrath. Harry did admit that Uncle Vernon really hadn’t meant to break his arm, he looked almost as horrified as Harry when he did it—though he was worried about the law and Harry was worried about his arm.

Uncle Vernon had made him pack all his belongings into an old ruck-sack of Dudley’s. There wasn’t much to pack, which was good, because Harry kept blacking out whenever his arm hit something. He had Snape’s letters, his wand, four Galleons, two large pairs of trousers, two shirts, a sweater, three pairs of socks, and his school shoes, which he’d been wearing all summer. He had then been driven to London (again) to a local hospital there, and had his arm set and put in a cast. Then Uncle Vernon had taken him, given him the letter he was so angry about (probably scared that he’d be caught with incriminating evidence) and then driven away.

Again.

Harry had almost started to cry, but he wouldn’t let himself. He asked people around him the way to King’s Cross, and from there he had gotten to platform 9¾. He hadn’t exactly known what he would do from there, but he was lucky. There was a Floo Network, and the man there said that he could spend a Galleon to get to York, where the letter said Neville lived. He’d asked directions there from a kindly witch who apparated him halfway, and then Harry had walked the rest of the way.

“Harry,” Mr. Granger said, and Harry was jerked out of his musings. “You haven’t eaten.”

Harry looked at his plate and was surprised to see it empty.

“I, I didn’t—“ Harry was about to say that he didn’t know he could eat, but that would sound stupid and he didn’t want Mr. Granger to think him stupid. He was a tall, handsome man with Hermione’s color hair and eyes. He laughed a lot and smiled a lot and was talking about Hermione as a little girl in a way that made Harry wish he’d had his parents picture.

“Oh, Harry’s always thinking about something, aren’t you, Harry?” Neville said cheerfully as he started spooning spaghetti onto Harry’s plate. “He always loses himself at meals, doesn’t he, Hermione?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. He does.”

Harry looked at Neville and Hermione. He didn’t do that—well, he did, but not without putting food on his plate. What were they playing at?

He didn’t question it, though. He smiled sheepishly and dug in to the tastiest spaghetti he had ever eaten. He didn’t even notice when Neville slipped two meatballs in, or added extra spoonfuls of spaghetti. He simply tried to relax and pretend that this was they way things were meant to be for him, always.

After dinner Harry opened his presents.

“I know your birthday is tomorrow,” Neville said proudly. “But I wanted to give you your now, so we could open them together.”

He was surprised to get anything—all the Dursleys had given him was the broken arm. But he was stunned to receive a picture frame from Neville with dried daisies stuck along the edges and a picture of them three on the inside, and a Muggle set of water colors from Hermione.

He fell asleep that night wondering what he had done to get such great friends.

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Severus Snape was slightly surprised when Hedwig flew through his window mid day.

“That was awfully fast,” he said to the bird as he took the letter from her ankle. “It normally takes you a couple more hours to even get to Surrey, let alone get there and back.”

Then Severus opened the letter and his puzzlement was answered.

“Dear Professor Snape”, the letter read.

“I am writing this in a tent in Neville’s back yard! He invited me and Hermione to stay for the end of summer and I have gone and am staying with the Longbottoms. I did not want to worry you so I wrote immediately immedetily as soon as I could.

I am fine and I hope you are too. I have taken my potion every day and I feel very healthy. Thank you very much for the book, it is very interesting. Neville likes to read it and see what plants interact with one another, but I only let him look at it with me because it is special and a present.

We spend a lot of time out doors and I have collected these potions ingredients to send to you to thank you for writing me so often and being so kind. I miss Hogwarts and you very much and cannot wait to be back at school.

Neville says I can tell you that he is very sorry he got in the queens way, but I told him he was being stupid and the queen did what she wanted and it wasn’t anyone’s fault but hers. He also said to tell you that I will be able to buy my school books as we are going to Diagon Alley in three days and I am very excited because I have never been.

I can’t wait until Hogwarts!

Yours truly,

Harry Potter”

Severus put the letter down on the desk and gave a small smile at it. So, Potter had a few weeks of fun. Better than him being worked to the bone in that house. Severus sent the letter over to where he kept the others and surveyed the plants Harry had sent. Comfrey, vervain, hyssop and fennel. Nothing extraordinary, but he put them in his desk drawer and turned around to look at the picture of Lily and James.

“You have a wonderful son,” he said softly. Then he got up to get Hedwig her feed dish.

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Harry was having the time of his life at the Longbottom Estate. Located about three hours outside of the city of York, it was a flat, grassy place filled to the brim with funny plants and places to go. Harry and Neville had been exploring everywhere whilst Hermione trailed behind them, rattling off facts about the War of the Roses and tidbits on the magical world she had picked up from Neville’s gran. Sometimes, Harry would paint pictures with his water color set of flowers and rocks and sometimes Neville and Hermione. He was horrible at painting people, and whenever he tried they spent hours laughing at what he had done to them.

“That can’t be Hermione, it has to be a beaver, look at that brown spot!”

“Neville, you look like a barrel of cod fish!”

Dr. Granger and Dr. Granger had stayed over for a few nights, taking the kids in to town to get ice cream some evenings, where they all laughed at the town peoples funny accents.

“How come you don’t speak like that, Nev?” Harry asked as he ate his ice cream.

Neville shrugged. “I lived in London until I was four. Then I moved out here, and I mostly stay with Gran and she doesn’t take this way, so I guess it just never stuck.

“Lucky you,” Harry said, and they all giggled.

Dave had taught Harry and Neville how to make a campfire, and they camped out every evening. They sat around the fire and talked, then retreated to tents or, some nights, just sleeping bags.

Two days before the summer was to end (best summer of Harry’s life to date, and definitely better than last years), Neville’s gran, who had told the children to call her Gran or Gus but Harry persisted in calling Mrs. Longbottom, took them in to Diagon Alley.

Harry had enjoyed the Alley itself. He had bought all his school books and a few just for reading. Neville had discovered a brilliant book series about a boy named Liam who was a cabin boy on a magical pirate ship. Harry and Neville promptly bought the first four books, splitting the cost between them, and Hermione wrinkled her nose but Harry got the feeling she would be borrowing them all the time.

On their way out of the store, Hermione noticed something set up in the back of the shop.

“Look, they’re setting up for something.”

Neville wrinkled his nose. “Probably some boring witch who wrote some book on house cleaning. C’mon, we still have to go to Florean Fortescue’s!”

The ice cream at Fortescue’s was fantastic, and Harry was just finishing his off when in walked someone not terribly high on his list of people.

Ron Weasley had stormed into the store, followed by a gaggle of other red heads. A tall man who looked like Ron’s father was briskly trying to catch up with Ron.

“Now, Ron—“

“I hate them! I hate them all, I wish they would die!”

“Ron, I know it’s hard to have people like Malfoy do those sorts of things, but you have to be the bigger man—“

“I don’t want to be the bigger man! I want to have a bigger house, and first hand books, and I want to be able to laugh at the Malfoy’s!”

Ron suddenly caught sight of Harry and he clammed up, his face and ugly puce as he scowled.

At that moment, Percy Weasley entered the shop, and Harry smiled and waved.

“Hi, Percy!”

Hermione, who had just finished her vanilla ice cream, looked up and smiled as well, only she took it a step further and actually pulled Neville and Harry up to Percy.

“Percy, I’ve learned so much this summer! I couldn’t do any magic, of course, but I’ve learned all the things I could and I’ve read so many books—“

Percy was smiling and listening when suddenly two voices interrupted.

“Wow it’s a—“

“Mini-Percy. How—“

“Terrifying!” The twins, who were attatched to the twin voices laughed, until one of them really looked at Harry.

“Harry Potter,” he breathed out in awe. Harry suddenly found both his hands being shaken at once.

“Pleasure to meet you, m’boy—“

“We’re honored—“

“We tried all year to get rid of Quirrell—“

“But then this twidgy little first year does it for us!”

“The cheek!” Harry shivered a little at the word.

“Luckily, we don’t bear grudges.”

“Just honor the genius of the Boy who Got Rid of the Git.”

“We tried everything.”

“Everything.”

“Wish we’d gotten you in on it at first, would have been a lot faster!”

Harry felt slightly at a loss, especially since he couldn’t think of Quirrell withouth hearing him screaming. Harry gave a small smile and tried to back away.

“Fred, George, get off of him now!” Percy barked, and he seperated them from Harry with frightening ease. “Harry, Neville, good to see you both. Fred, George, Dad wants you at the counter to order.”

Ron had already given the cashier his order and was sulking near Harry.

“Already center of attention with my family,” he muttered. “Bet they adopt you and leave me for dirt, that’s how much I matter to anyone.”

“Hello, Ron,” Harry tried pleasantly. “How’s your summer been?”

Ron glared, then snuck a peek over his shoulder. His father was looking at him. “Fine.”

“What’d you do?”

Ron shrugged. “Played Quidditch, mostly.”

“Wicked, I haven’t played since class. Going out for the team?”

Ron shrugged again, but he seemed less angry at Harry now, more neutral. “Probably not. I mean, I’ll go out, but I’m a rotten seeker, I’m too tall. Probably wait to be chaser or keeper.”

“Cool,” Neville interjected.

At Ron’s side was a small red-headed girl who was staring up at Harry with quiet awe. She was holding a cauldron, and inside it were lots of books—first years, by the look of it.

“Hi,” Harry said, and the girl blushed and almost dropped her cauldron, which made a loud noise against Harry’s cast.

“What happened to your arm?” Ron asked, poking Harry’s cast. Harry shrugged.

“Fell out of a tree,” he answered, and the little girl looked even more impressed.

“Ouch. Hey, Gin fell out of a tree too. Yesterday, she almost killed herself, except she bounced.”

Gin blushed red and looked at her feet.

“Oh, I did that too,” Neville volunteered. “Only it was out of my window.”

Ginny looked back up in more awe at both Harry and Neville.

Mrs. Longbottom took them home soon after that, and Harry packed all his things into his little rucksack over and over again in anticipation for a wonderful year at Hogwarts.

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Severus Snape had never been so anxious for the students to return.

He had been pacing his office, nervous, when Hedwig had flown in through the special owl chute and hooted.

“Is it in?”

She hooted again.

Severus walked briskly upstairs, looking over the students as they piled out of their carriages and walked, chatting with each other, up to the castle. He scanned the crowds eagerly, but when he found Harry he felt cold.

The boy was walking with Neville and Hermione, of course, and while the other two were talking, Harry was just looking at the castle like he’d come home.

He reached up to push his glasses up on his nose, and the boys robes fell back to show a Muggle cast.

Snape went cold and charged to where to older students were coming through the doors. He waited there until Harry walked through.

“Mr. Potter,” he said, and Harry turned and smiled at him shyly.

“Hello, Professor. Did you—“

“Your trunk, Mr. Potter. Please come fetch it.” The boys face fell and Snape could kick himself. Of course, he would rather kick the Dursleys.

“Y-yes, sir. Erm,” he said, turning to Neville and Hermione, “Would you two save a seat for me?”

“Sure, Harry.” The two headed off, Hermione throwing a worried look over her shoulder.

As soon as they hit Snape’s office, Snape spun and lifted Harry’s arm.

“What is this?”

“Err—it’s a cast, sir.”

“I know what it is, Potter, but why is one on your person?” Snape knew he sounded angry, and he was, but not at Harry, so he tried to calm down. “How did you get the cast, Potter?”

“I—I—“ Harry stammered. He hadn’t thought Snape would be angry about him getting hurt. Was he angry that Harry hadn’t been good while at home? He’d tried, he had, but he couldn’t do it. “I fell out of a tree, sir.”

Snape slammed an open hand into the stone wall of his office. “Tell me the truth.”

“It is!” Please, Harry thought, please believe me. I tried so hard, does one little bone really count?

Snape stepped back and scrutinized Harry. “I want you,” he said softly, dangerously, “To tell me the truth in five seconds. If not, the consequences will not be pretty.” Snape circled Harry once. “There are ways to find out when a wizard lies, Potter.”

Harry swallowed and looked down at his cast. “I—I got into a fight.” And he had, sort of. Uncle Vernon had definitely been fighting.

“With whom?”

“My—my uncle, sir.” Harry bit his lip. “I tried, sir, I really did try to do everything he said, but Neville sent me a letter and it just came through the slot with the regular mail, and he just got really angry—he didn’t mean to, he took my to the hospital—Please, sir, I’m sorry!“

“Potter, calm down.” Snape sat at his desk and looked at a clock. Two minutes before they had to head back to the feast. “I’m not angry with you.”

Harry blinked. “But—what? I thought—“

“You thought wrong. I won’t be angry with you because someone decides to break your arm. I will be angry—“ here Snape let a little anger come through, “—if you ever lie to me again. Is that quite clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

And the two headed back to the feast, leaving Harry’s trunk along with the others at the stairs.

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Dave Granger looked at the phone book in his hand.

There were no Potters listed in Little Whinging. He hadn’t a clue what the boy’s relatives were called. He sighed, and he closed the phone book.

For now, the kid was safe. He’d only known him for a few days. He’d give it til the next break—and he’d get all the information he could.

Right then, it was the best he could do.