Harry wasn’t sure if he liked the Knight Bus. The only transportation he’d ever taken before was the train to and from school, which went fairly slowly and steadily, and his uncle’s car. And his uncle never drove recklessly—well, not like this. The bus swerved back and forth so much that Harry was gripping a bed post for dear life.

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch an’ wiza—Perfessor!” A pimply, gangly boy was reciting something by rote as he finished setting a witch up in another bed. He turned, paled, and ceased talking. His Adams apple bobbed.

“Shunpike,” Snape said distastefully as he deposited some coins into the befuddled boys hand. “Glad to see that your lamentable Potion’s grade hasn’t impeded you on your—chosen career. Spinner’s End, if you would.”

“I—I—Would—Yes, sir—” the boy stammered, then he stumbled away. “Ern! ERNIE!”

“Shunpike. Worse than Longbottom with a cauldron,” Snape muttered, then pointed to the bed. “Sit down, you look like you might be ill.”

“I—It’s just I’ve never—it’s very fast,” Harry said as he sat, clutching his rucksack to his stomach.

“It’s uncouth and common way to travel, but the only way to get to our chosen destination after the wards the headmaster put up.” They rode along in bumpy silence for a moment before Snape turned back to him. “Are you injured, Potter?”

“No. No, I’m fine. I really am. They just ignored me.”

“How good of them.” The disdain dripped off of Snape’s voice.

“Uh-huh. And they—I even got to sleep in Dudley’s second bedroom. Aunt Petunia gave me this blanket, too. I—I know she’d probably burn it or something, so I took it. Is—Should I not have done that?” Harry bit his lip.

“Potter—it’s your blanket, I don’t give a damn.” Snape closed his eyes—the Knight Bus always made him nauseous.

“Erm—Perfessor?” Shunpike was back, looking like he was about to feed himself to a band of angry lions. “Er—I—Ernie said I hadda—“ He pushed forward a paper. “Thankyouforfrequentingourservices.” He took four steps backwards, tripped, then hurriedly made his way back to the front of the bus.

“Damn Hufflepuffs,” Snape muttered, and he flipped open the paper disinterestedly, sitting down distastefully on one of the beds. Soon, though, all disinterest and distaste immediately fled and he sat straight up.

BLACK ESCAPES AZKABAN! The paper proclaimed. ALL CITIZENS WARNED: ARMED, DANGEROUS, AND INSANE! Harry looked at the picture on the front with interest.

He reminded Harry of a man he’d seen on the streets called Por. He had a thin, maddened face, his mouth open and terrifying in an endless scream. His hair was dark and scraggly and shook back and forth as he threw his head around the frame.

“Sir, who’s—“ Harry started to ask, but then he caught one look at Snape’s face and shut up, pulling his blanket around his shoulders and starting to trace his parents face into a familiar corner.

Snape’s face could have been made of stone. It was frozen in an odd position, like he was gritting his teeth and letting out a scream at the same time. His hands were clutching the paper so hard that, with a small rip, the entire thing tore in half. Snape seemed to relax a little, and he ripped the picture again. And again. And he just kept on ripping until the picture was nothing but a pile of little scraps and he looked his usual self.

Harry just stayed wrapped in his blanket and traced his parents faces and tried to think about how great the rest of the summer would be.

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The place that the bus stopped at was a far cry from what Harry had imagined, but he liked it anyway. Outside was dark and dingy and slightly frightening—worlds away from Privet Drive. He didn’t know if that was good or bad.

The inside was better. It was lit by torches spaced evenly along the walls and bookshelves went from floor to ceiling. The windows were clean, mostly, except for little pockets of grime in the corners, as if they had been recently cleaned.

“This is the central area. Before this summer there has been little need for this house to be inhabited, so several areas will be off limits, as they are poorly lit and dangerous. If you go into these areas, you will go to Hogwarts immediately for the rest of the summer, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir. I won’t, sir, go anywhere. I can—I’ll just, I’ll just stay in my cupbo—room, I mean, I’ll just stay in my room—“ Harry was aware he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Potter, cease. There are five rooms that you are allowed to be in. The house as a whole is not large, so the other rooms are—no great loss. Bring your bag.” Snape swept off, grabbing a torch from the wall and leading Harry down a dim passage way.

“This is the kitchen. We’ll eat in here, it’s too much bother to tackle another room for it.” The room was small, as before, and had a funny old fashioned fridge and stove. A set of stairs led up from it, and Harry followed Snape up them. These stairs were well lit, with little floating balls of light hovering and making it seem more cheerful.

“Up here is your room.” Snape strode down a hallway, stopping briefly to knock on a door. “This is my room. Unless it’s urgent, I do not wish to be disturbed. That does not mean, Potter, that in emergencies you should not come to me. I trust your judgement and don’t come knocking on the door after ten unless there’s something the matter.” Harry nodded furiously. “This is your room.” His door, he was relieved to find, was only one down from Snape. Snape pushed the door open and Harry peeked in, then stepped in, eyes wide with surprise.

He had expected a small room with a bed and maybe a desk, since Snape would want him to study. Instead, his room was comfortably sized with a bed, a night table, a desk, and a set of drawers. It was clean, too, as though it had been recently scrubbed, and more of those little hanging globes illuminated the room—one over the desk, two over the bed. His school trunk sat at the end of the bed and—

“Hedwig!” Harry cried out joyfully, and he scampered over to the owl, stroking her softly and cooing. She was on a perch upon his desk, and a window was opened wide enough so she could get in or out. Also on the desk were—

“Presents? For—for me?”

“Yes, Potter, presents for you. Your birthday is tomorrow, after all.” Harry looked at the wrapped parcels on his desk reverently, then turned away and, after getting an approving nod from Snape, put his backpack on top of his school trunk.

“Sir, it’s—it’s the best room I’ve ever seen. Thank you.” Harry tentatively hugged Snape, then pulled back quickly.

Snape seemed at a loss, but settled for a nod and a small smile. “No need for thanks, Potter. I’ll give you time to unpack, then I believe we’ll have a late supper and go to bed. The stairwell to the lab isn’t quite lit yet, so we’ll go down there in the morning. I’ve taken the liberty of buying you a Potions text that we’ll work out of for our lessons here—it’s underneath that monstrosity of a gift from Longbottom. I suggest you look over it before our lesson tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dinner in—thirty minutes?”

“I—Thank you, sir, really. It’s—I won’t be a nuisance or anything, I promise!”

“I know, Potter. Unpack. Dinner in thirty minutes, mind.” Snape left the room quietly and Harry’s first act of unpacking was to get his parents photo out of his trunk and place it on the night stand. Then he lay the blanket over the bed.

This was going to be a wonderful summer.

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Harry woke up the next morning with sunlight coming in at an unfamiliar angle. He sat up, sleepily, and put on his glasses before remembering where he was. He jumped out of bed and hastily made his way to his bathroom (which had grubby white tiles and a little mirror that he sometimes thought was smiling at him) and washed up before heading down the stairs to the kitchen from the night before.

He remembered from dinner that there were eggs in the fridge. Should he make them? Maybe Snape didn’t like eggs. What about bacon? He was good with bacon. He should wait, and ask Snape what to make. He was satisfied to simply sit at the table when there was suddenly a loud pop behind him and he spun around in fright and then in joy.

“Tookie! What’re you doing here?” he cried out happily, and he hugged the little elf. He hadn’t seen her since the last day of school, when she had packed him a lunch and told him to be good.

“Tookie is working, Young Master! Tookie is on very important mission for Headmaster Dumbledore to watch over Young Master Harry and Master Snape so that they is eating right and going to bed at good time and not being silly, that is what Tookie is doing! Tookie just about to make breakfast for Young Master and Master! Is Young Master wanting anything special on his birthday?”

His birthday! He had forgotten. He always did. He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t care, Tookie, anything would be fine.” He stood around awkwardly as Tookie snapped her fingers and four of the eggs appeared in a bowl. “Can—d’you need any help?”

Tookie turned and squealed “Is Young Master’s vacation! He not need to help Tookie with breakfast, that is Tookie’s job.”

“But—I like to help. I’m—I can crack the eggs. Please, Tookie? I’ll go mad just standing here.”

Tookie sighed, then nodded. “Young Master is odd as duck. Can Young Master be toasting the bread on the oven and be very careful not to burn hands?”

“I can, Tookie.” Harry grabbed a knife and a loaf of bread and hesitated before slicing it. “D’you want any toast, Tookie?”

“Tookie has eaten already, but Young Master is kind to offer!”

“How—how many pieces of toast do you think the professor will want?”

“Master Snape never wanting more than two pieces. Ooh!” Tookie started to make tea and Harry cut four pieces of bread and lay one over the oven burners.

“When did you get here, Tookie? Were you here last night?”

“Tookie asleep by time Young Master and Master come in! Told Master to be back by eight o clock to have dinner, otherwise be cold. Elves go to sleep early early, not like humans. Days is very very long, need lots and lots resting.”

“Oh.” Harry flipped one of the pieces, then the others. “How’s Gibley?”

“Gibley good! Make you cake for when you go back to Hogwarts. Him want to come too and help Master Snape with cleaning, but he needing stay and clean school. Professor Master Snape ask for Tookie especially for cleaning!”

“Is it you that’s cleaned all the rooms?” He flipped the bread again.

“Tookie and Headmaster and Professor Master Snape clean! Clean, clean, clean, like busy bees! Place look almost respectabibble now, yes?”

“It does look a great deal better,” came a voice from the stairs, and harry jumped forward and pulled the bread off the stove before it burned, then turned and saw Snape, dressed in his usual attire. Harry put the toast on a plate and looked down at his own clothes. He had worn his best that day—a pair of trousers only two sizes two big and a shirt that looked more like a dress than a tent. He felt the tips of his ears go a little red, and he wished he still had the clothes Neville’s gran had mended. Uncle Vernon had thrown them out, though, and Harry settled for tugging on his shirt a little.

“P-professor!” Harry said.

“Potter. I trust you slept well.” Snape reached out, and Harry took a small step back. Snape, however, merely went for the cupboard nearby, pulling out two teacups, and Harry relaxed. Snape took the teacups over to a kettle and poured water into one. “Do you drink tea, Potter?”

Harry looked at the man, wordless. All he ever drank at the Dursleys was water and the only drink they seemed to have at Hogwarts was milk or pumpkin juice. He shrugged. “I—I don’t know.”

Snape poured him a cup of hot water. “Take.” Harry reached put and took the cup carefully. He remembered his aunt drank it with bags of tea, so he looked around, but he didn’t see anything.

“I use leaves, Potter. Tea leaves. Here.” Snape fixed him a cup of tea, then motioned that they both sit at the kitchen table. Tookie came over and served them both toast, eggs, and sausage—Hary’s plate close to overflowing, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to finish it. He turned to thank Tookie, but she had popped out of sight.

“Where did she go?”

“Probably working on the house somewhere. Don’t worry, Potter, she’ll be back.” Snape took a sip of his tea. “Do you like your tea?”

The question sounded silly coming from Snape, and Harry smiled at his sausage. “Yes, sir. Uhm, thank you.”

“What elective classes do you intend to take?”

“I—Hermione and Neville and I are taking Divination and Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione’s taking everything—“

“I did not ask about Miss Granger. Why did you pick those two classes?”

“Well—I’m rotten at maths. And, and I—it sounds fun. I like animals, I fed this dog all summer, and I—“ He tried to think of a way to justify Divination. :Percy recommended Divs.”

Snape snorted into his tea and started to cut his eggs. “Remember that after a term you may ask your head of house to drop any classs you deem ridiculous.”

Harry nodded and started to nibble on his toast.

“Today I thought we could get started on some of the more basic healing potions. I’ll show you the lab and then perhaps you could fire-call your little friends. To see if they would be interested in a birthday dinner.”

Harry dropped his toast into his lap and looked at Snape in shock. “A—a what?”

“A birthday dinner, Potter. You’re thirteen today.”

Harry still gaped at the man. “But—a dinner? For, for me?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “No, for the elf. Yes, Potter, it’s your birthday.” Snape finished his eggs off daintily and rose. “Finish that off, Potter, and come with me.”

Harry spent the rest of the day brewing potions in a dark lab. Snape never talked except to say directions or warn him to duck. Harry was sweaty, grimy, and happy by the time Snape sent him over to the fire with a fistful of powder.

“Neville!”

“Harry! Happy birthday!” Neville’s head looked cheerful and green tinged. “Hermione’s here, want to talk to her? How’s Snape’s? Is he—”

“He’s being—it’s great. He says, uhm, he says that I can have you and Hermione over.”

“Really? Gran? GRAN!!” Neville yelled, and Harry grinned into his hand as Neville chatted with his Gran, then stuck his head back in the fire.

“Gran says you’re both to come over here. Hermione just got here today—she went to France, isn’t that wicked?—so Gran says we can have both birthdays here.”

Harry turned around and saw Snape sitting at the table behind him.

“Can—I mean, is, is it okay? If—Neville says we can both—“

Snape looked on the verge of refusing. But then something went through his head and he pursed his lips and said “Fine. But no longer than two hours, I refuse to be trapped with Longbottom for any longer.”

Harry let out a whoop and threw himself at Snape again, crushing him in a hug and running upstairs to change from his potions stained clothes. Snape sighed and knelt in the grate to get the address.

He sat the entire evening with Gus Longbottom and Dave and Jane Granger. He sipped wine and made small talk and found himself enjoying the company of Muggles—something he never guessed would happen. Dave was spinning a fantastic yarn about the owner of their hotel, a little French woman with a limp, while Jane laughed hysterically and Gus let out chuckles every now and then. Snape listened with half an ear, but the rest of him was watching and listening to Harry.

He had given all this up long ago—human company. When he was about Harry’s age, he would guess. He couldn’t understand why no one could see, why no one would help him, so he decided that if they didn’t want to help, he wouldn’t let anyone close enough to help. The only reason he had agreed was for Harry. And also for the little kid in him, the one who was silent and scared all the time, the one he let live a little in Potter.

He wanted Potter to like him. No, more than that, he wanted Potter and him to live in that damnable mirror. And he would do anything to get that, even spend a night in the company of others.

Harry was sitting in front of a picture window that looked out over the Longbottom grounds. Neville and he were both exclaiming over their presents from Hermione—Harry had dashed upstairs and brought his present for Neville and his present FROM Neville (“We always open gifts with each other, cause they know I can’t open them at the Dursley’s.”). Neville was wearing a knit hat from Hermione with little frogs on it (“I know they aren’t toads, but they reminded me of Trevor!”) that she had found in France while Harry was winding up and letting romp over the floor a clockwork knight and dragon from Neville. He wore a similar hat to Neville’s, only his was blue with little red stars on it. Neville, meanwhile, was flipping through a book—one of the ridiculous ones Harry had blathered over at lunch about magical privateers or something—and laughing with Hermione.

“They’re great kids, don’t you think, Mr. Snape?”

Severus turned back to the adults. Jane Granger was smiling at him, her chin tilted a little towards the children.

“What?”

“The kids. They’re really something, huh? I mean, I don’t know if it’s the magic—“

“It’s not, I’ve met some children that are right blighters,” Gus Longbottom said bluntly.

“Well, our Hermione, she’s no dim bulb, and Neville, never seen a brighter boy with plants—gave us a tour of his garden today, it’s something, I’ll tell you. Hermione tells us that Harry’s staying with you for extra help with potions. And they all—“ Jane turned to our husband and smiled. “What is it you said, dear?”

“They’re sweet kids, all of them. Special. It’s not only smarts, it’s how they are. Gentle, like.” Dave scratched his ear. “All of them. Good kids. Me and Janey, we’re that proud.”

“Neville, too. Having those two as friends has made him much more confident, I s’pose. After his parents—“ Snape looked slightly sympathetic, while the Granger’s looked a little confused, “—well, he needed those two.”

Snape nodded. “Potter is—more than adequete,” he admitted. “Those two seem to be an—acceptable influence. At times.”

Dave gave him a long look. “Looks a sight better than the last time we saw him. In the cast still.” Dave was staring Snape in the eyes, now, and Snape held the look. “Janey, think it’s time for the cake?”

Jane seemed to sense her husbands meaning. “Gus, come on, let’s go set up the cake for the kids.” Gus and Jane made their way to the kitchen, calling to the kids, who gathered up their loot and started to chat with the adults as they headed to the table.

Dave turned and looked Snape in the eye. “The relatives. What did they do?”

Snape took a sip of his wine. “What makes you think they did anything? Perhaps they merely want Potter to be well versed in the art of potions making—“

“Cut the crap, Mr. Snape. I saw that kid when he got here last year, and if he hadn’t already have been here with Gus I would have taken him away from those people. I don’t think they even dropped him off here, last time. The kid must have walked or something, I don’t know. He—he wouldn’t even eat until Neville loaded up his plate. Kid was like—like a skittish horse or something. Took him a couple days to snap out of it.”

“Do you suspect something?”

“I do.”

Snape sneered. “Why did you not do anything?”

“What could I do? Call the authorities in Surrey—no idea what town, mind, just Surrey—and tell them that there is a child named Harry Potter who is being abused, but I don’t know what his family’s name is and he doesn’t seem to go to any school at all? I—I tried to find the relatives, but no flash.” Dave ran his hands through his hair and fastened his eyes on Snape’s again. “Tell me. Did you do something?”

Snape hesitated, then inclined his head. “I did.”

“Does he—is he going to get hurt again?”

Snape shook his head. “No. I won’t allow it.”

Dave nodded his head. “Okay. Okay.” Then he stood up, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a great whoosh of breath. “Okay.” He then turned towards the kitchen and called out that those ‘darn kids better not have finished off the cake!’

Severus merely stood there a moment, then brought his dour prescence to the cheerful kitchen.