Severus Snape was sitting in the Great Hall, staring angrily at the chicken on his plate. Every time that the Headmaster, who was on his left, tried to speak with him Snape looked up, made eye contact, picked up his fork. And quickly, deliberately, stabbed the chicken. Then he turned away.
Severus Snape was sitting in the Great Hall, angrily thinking about how much his perceptions were changing and how much he hated it.
He had based his whole life on black and white, in his childhood. His father had been bad, his mother good. His home had been horrible, Hogwarts had been wonderful. Muggles were evil and wizards were righteous, and there was just no way to get around these truths. His life had been lived in such extremes that it was nearly impossible for him not to view his life that way.
But then he became a spy, and that changed.
He had commited atrocious deeds, but he was still a good person, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he? He was doing these things for the righ reason, wasn’t he? But they were dead.
That’s when it all started to shift.
But when the Dark Lord had been defeated when he became a teacher, his perceptions slid back to the way they had been, and he’d rejoiced in it. Three dimensional worlds and people were too much to handle. It was easier, with everything black and white.
But now this. Now a boy, a little boy, was acting just like him. But he wasn’t him. He was Potter, or as good as, and how could a Potter, any Potter, act like him?
“What do you want me to do, Severus?” he heard the Headmaster ask on his left.
This time, instead of looking at him and stabbing the chicken, he stared at him and hissed “I want you to do the right thing.”
No matter that Severus didn’t know what it was.
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Harry had cried into Professor McGonnagal’s robes for what seemed like a decade, but was really only an hour and a half. Then, as she calmed him down, she rubbed his back and told him stories about his parents. About the first time he had walked, when she had been present.
“Your father, God bless him, had just gone to get the tea for me and the Headmaster when your mother saw you holding yourself up on Professor Dumbledore’s robes. She screamed for your father and I swear, he broke every single tea cup in that house leaping into the room. Just in time, though, and you ran to him and he picked you up and twirled you in the air, he was that excited.”
“He really did?”
“He really did. I remember your mother and I were horrified, we were sure he would drop you. The Headmaster simply laughed and you were giggling so hard while you were up there. Once you were down, however, you spit-up all over his robes. Lily told him it served him right, but he just kept on smiling.”
The professor took a pause and looked at a clock on her desk.
“Oh, it’s time for dinner! We’ve been in here for two hours, you must be half starved!” She seemed to be summing him up, then, and firmly said “After dinner, I am taking you to Madam Pomfrey. You’re far too skinny.”
Harry nodded and sniffled, and the professor stroked his hair gently.
“Perhaps you’re not ready to face the Great Hall, hmm?”
“I—I don’t think so, ma’am.”
“Well…why don’t I have the house elves send up a plate for you here. Then, as soon as you’re done, I want you to go directly to the Infirmary. Do you know where that is?”
He vaugely remembered Percy pointing it out. “Uhm…is there a big statue of a funny-looking guy with two noses near it?”
“Twiggins the Two-Nosed, yes. Actually, have a house elf take you, I don’t want you getting lost.” Her eyes softened as she got up and straightened out her robes. “I wish I could stay and eat with you, Mr. Potter, but I need to at least put in an appearance at dinner. That’s when most of the children come up to me and ask me for help with school work or something. I promise that I will meet you in the Infirmary as soon as I can. Tell Poppy to start the examination as soon as you arrive, all right?”
Harry nodded, and she gave him a quick pat on the back before disappearing.
As soon as she was gone, however, Tookie and another elf appeared, and Harry forced a small smile.
“Young Master Harry left kitchen before Gibley give cake!” Tookie scolded, setting down two enormous platters of food. His stomach faintly rumbled, as he had thrown up most of his lunch.
“Does Young Master Harry not like cake? Oh, Gibley such fool!” the other elf moaned, and he started to beat himself in the head.
“No, no, Gibley, I love cake! I just had to go early, that’s all. I’d love a piece now,” Harry said quickly.
Gibley stopped hitting himself and smiled happily. “Young Master is wanting his cake! Gibley must make him more cake!”
Tookie scolded Gibley. “Silly Gibley, Gibely make him cake already! Must wait for Young Master to finish cake already made before making next cake! Besides—“ here Tookie’s eyes sharpened a bit, “—Young Master is growing boy. Must have veggy-bles and meat before cake.”
Gibley nodded. “Oh, yes, Gibley understand. Gibley make Young Master eat meat and vagaballs first.”
Harry’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw what was on the platter.
A whole chicken, just for him, and scalloped potatoes. A hot roll, too, with butter melting off it. More green beans, and lettuce.
The other platter held the cake, and Harry immediately wanted to forget about the chicken and dig in to the cake. It was chocolate, he could see, with chocolate frosting and his name (his name, not Dudley or Uncle Vernon’s, but his own name, HARRY!) written across the top in green icing.
“Gibley, it looks great. I can’t wait to eat it,” Harry said, and Tookie put the cover back on the plater and gave a small, motherly glare.
“But Young Master must wait and eat chicken and potatoes and veggy-bles and bread before he eat Gibley’s cake! And—“ here she pointed to a goblet he had missed before, “And must be drinking all of punkin juice! Make Young Master strong!”
Harry dug into the chicken then, gnawing on the drumstick and shoving potatoes into his mouth so fast he was surprised he didn’t choke. The roll went into his mouth whole, along with the beans, and by the time he had finished the majority of the chicken, all of the beans, all but one, lone potatoe and a few bites of the salad, he felt almost full for the first time in months.
He drained the glass, which was filled with something that tasted a lot like apple cider, and then turned his attention to the cake.
Harry almost didn’t want to eat it. It was his cake, his first cake ever, and here he was, all alone in a teachers office, eating it by himself.
Then he looked at Tookie and Gibley and got an idea.
“Would—would you two like a slice?” he asked shyly, and they both looked shocked.
“Tookie and Gibley not take Young Master’s cake!” Tookie exclaimed, and Gibley nodded.
“Yes, but I want you to have some. Please, take a piece. I won’t be able to eat it all by myself.”
Tookie burst into tears and was hugging his left lef, while Gibley was doing the same to his right.
“Young Master Harry so good to measly elves!” she wailed, and Gibley was just wailing without words.
He finally calmed them down, and between the three of them they finished all the cake. Except for the part that said HARRY, which Gibley and Tookie promised could be kept. Harry didn’t want to forget his first cake.
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Poppy Pomfrey wasn’t shocked to see a small, shy Harry Potter poke his head in the Infirmary door.
“Mr. Potter,” she said briskly, pulling him into the room. “Take a seat.” Tookie and Gibley waved goodbye and popped away as Harry sat on one of the beds.
“This is a physical examination, Mr. Potter. I assume you’ve had those before?”
Harry thought back to his doctor from the Dursleys who always seemed to give him injections, and swallowed hard. “Yes,” he said smally. He hated shots.
“Well, this is much the same.” She pulled the privacy screens over, shielding the boy from sight. “Please strip down and put on the gown on the bed. Call me when you’re done.”
She waited patiently for a few moments, then heard the small voice call ‘Ready.’ She went in expecting the worst, steeling herself so she could see and treat the product of three months on the street.
And she was surprised.
He was small and underweight and (she cast a spell to check) yes, malnourished. He had a few bruises on his chest and one shaped like a boot on his back and two hand shaped ones on his arms. There was a cut on his forehead, over his scar, and three long, angry, infected cuts up his arm.
“How did you get those?” she asked as she started healing the bruises. Harry was watching them, slightly entertained by how they shrunk from brown to light purple to green to yellow to gone.
“Uhm…I was running, and I ducked under a fence and it cut me,” he answered, still watching his bruises fade.
“When was this?”
“Mmm…two, the weeks? I washed it, when I got to a bathroom, but it still hurts really bad.” Suddenly he looked up, worried. “Is it infected?”
“Mildly so, Mr. Potter. Nothing to worry about.”
Harry started to shiver, slightly. “Will you have to give me shots to make it better?”
Madam Pomfrey snorted. “We stopped injecting medicines into people centuries ago, Mr. Potter. If I needed something in your blood stream, I could do it without puncturing your skin with bits of metal. Besides, it’s a very mild infection. A salve and a bandage should take care of it.”
Harry relaxed and smiled at her for the first time.
“I think that the more I learn about magic, the more I like it,” he said, and he allowed her to finish the examination.
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Severus Snape was summoned to the Headmasters office at the same time that Minerva McGonnagal was entering it.
“I just thought you should know, Headmaster, that I cleared up any…misunderstandings the boy may have had,” she said, and Severus backed up a bit. She was utterly feline in her manner, and there was a bit of anger in her eyes.
“Misunderstandings, Minerva?”
“Did you know—“ she said, eyes flashing, “—that Harry thought his parents died in a car crash? That the Muggles told him his parents were driving drunk and crashed into a phone pole?”
Dumbledore sighed and nodded. “Harry had indicated something of the sort when I was handing him off to Mr. Weasley, but I simply did not have the time to deal with it at that moment. I am thankful, however, that you have had that conversation with him, and please believe that I myself did intend to address the problem.”
Minerva calmed down a little bit. “I told him about Lily and James, as well,” she said. “Gave him a picture. He cried with me for a good hour, I’ll have you know.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t approve of what that boy’s been through, Albus.”
“Minerva—“ the Headmaster said soberly, “Do you think I do?”
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It was seven o’clock by the time the examination was over. His arm, which had been aching for weeks, was fixed. He could breathe deeply in his chest without a pain. She had given him a lovely potion that wass cherry flavored, but not too strong, that she said would help him with his weight. He was waiting, warm and slightly drowsy from the meal and the potion, and talking to her about Muggle doctors and how horrid they were.
Professor McGonnagal, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Snape entered the room.
“Harry,” Dumbledore said kindly, “I hope you’re feeling better?”
“Yes sir. She fixed my arm, see!” He waved the bandaged arm in the air. “And she didn’t need to stick me with needles either, sir, and now my bruises are all gone and look, my potion’s much better tasting than Dudley’s stupid old cough syrup, I could drink it all the time, ‘cept that I won’t because Madam says it would make me fat.”
Professor McGonnagal let out a small laugh. “Well, Mr. Potter, it seems that Madam Pomfrey took good care of you!”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s much nicer than the nurse at my old school, she just gives you crackers, even if you go in with a cut or something.”
“The other professors and I need to talk with Madam for a moment, Harry. I know it’s been a long day, so after that I believe we’ll set you up in the dormitory.” Harry nodded and watched as the professors headed over to Madam’s desk.
“What’s the tally then, Poppy?” the Headmaster asked wearily, and Poppy got the distinct feeling that both Minerva and Severus had given the man a good tounge lashing.
“Not quite as bad as you may think, Albus. A few bruises—three on his chest, one nasty one on his back, one to the upper left arm and one to the upper right, a cut across his forehead, and the cuts he showed you. All taken care of, injuries wise.”
Albus sighed and looked relieved. “Fabulous, Poppy. So, he’s right as rain?”
“Not exactly. He’s lost a great deal of weight—not eating right, I imagine. He’s also extremely malnourished, that’s what the potion is for.”
“All that’s to be expected, Madam,” Dumbledore said joyfully. “He’ll make a full recovery, I presume?”
“Yes, but I was troubled by one thing.” Severus and Minerva exchanged a glance and Dumbledore looked pained.
“What, Madam?”
“His growth. James and Lily were not, say, of Hagrid proportions, but they were not quite as small as Harry here seems. I ran a quick diagnostic check—he’s been malnourished for years, it’s stunted his growth.”
Severus was looking at the Headmaster in a way that would have burned through his skull, had his eyes had that particular power. Minerva had pressed her lips into a thin line. And Dumbledore simply closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and nodded.
“Thank you, Poppy. I’ll keep that in consideration.”
“As it is, Albus, I would like Harry to be visting me at least every week, maybe twice a month, to be sure he’s progressing the way I want and that more potions aren’t necessary.”
“I’ll make sure of it, Poppy,” Minerva said. “But I think that right now, Mr. Potter should go up to his dormitory and get a good nights sleep.”
Poppy nodded and handed Minerva a pair of folded, blue and white striped pyjamas. “I doubt he has anything suitable for tonight, so give him there. I understand Tookie is to go pick up things for him?”
“They’ll be ready by morning. Just robes, cloaks, uniforms, pyjamas. We can give him extras of his text books. I’ve already been in contact with Orpheus, he said he’ll come tomorrow and sort the boy out, wand wise,” Dumbledore said, and he turned to wish Minerva goodnight, but she had already left the Infirmary, with Harry in tow.
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Harry found himself walking back into the Gryffindor common room, which was again packed to the brim. Most of the students were talking excitedly in corners, and when they saw the professor and Harry enter many jumped up.
Percy, however, came to their rescue.
“Sit down now, all of you! I told you that an explanation by Professor McGonnagal would be provided in due time, now sit down, all of you, or I will dock twenty points from everyone standing!”
Many of the children sat right back down, many landing on the floor to prevent the loss of points, and they all started to complain about Perfect Percy, but he seemed determined to do the right thing by the quiet little boy he’d led around that afternoon. He went up to the professor.
“I’m sorry, Professor, they’ve been like this all afternoon, I don’t know how to stop them. You’ll need to give them an answer, please, or they’ll storm the first year dormitory in the night.”
McGonnagal nodded. “I understand. Thank you, Mr. Weasley, for keeping them under control. Twenty points.”
“Thank you, Professor. I’ve, uh, I’ve confined the first year boys to their dormitory, so they wouldn’t gossip, I’m very sorry. Shall I release them?”
McGonnagal’s lips quirked up. “Yes, do, Mr. Weasley, though I admire your dedication. I’m headed up that way myself, I’ll let them go. Make sure the whole house is down there when I return.”
With that, she led Harry up the stairwell and into the first year dormitory.
Ron and Dean were sitting on their respective beds. Harry could tell because Ron’s had a poster of that Quidditch team he’d been blathering on about that afternoon, while Dean had a poster of a football team. Dean seemed to be writing in a Muggle notebook with a ballpoint pen, while Ron was tossing a plushie Quaffle in the air. Both stood up when McGonnagal came in.
In a bed by the far wall was a boy with a chubby, sad face and very pink cheeks. He had been looking at something in a book, slamming it shut and jumping up when the professor and Harry had entered.
Seamus was sitting in the middle bed. Next to his bed was an empty bed, and on top of it were all sorts of textbooks, spare quills, Gobstone sets, chess pieces, and the odd bit of rubbish. He stood lazily, leaning against the bedpost with his arms crossed.
“Mr. Finnigan, wipe that smirk off your face.”
Seamus’s smirk disappeared.
“Boys, this is Harry Potter, your new yearmate.”
Dean and Ron muttered hello, Neville waved, and Seamus inclined his head.
“Why’s he so late, then?” Seamus asked.
“That’s Mr. Potter’s business, Mr. Finnigan, and if I hear anyone has been troubling him about it, they will receive detention and a talking to from the Headmaster.”
Seamus shut up.
“He is late, but here now and ready to be a part of life here at Hogwarts. He will need the support of his housemates, especially of his yearmates, and I would like you to remember back to a month ago when all of you were in his position, only there were other people with you. Mr. Potter is all alone.”
She steered Harry to the empty bed and scowled at the mess on it. “Who does this rubbish belong to?”
Seamus raised his hand sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Professor, we didn’t know it was going to be used—“
The items were suddenly, swiftly, flying on to Seamus’ bed.
“Mr. Potter,” she said as she pointed Harry to the bed. “Your bed. Tomorrow morning, when the others are headed to—what do you have first tomorrow, Mr. Weasley?”
“Erm—History of Magic, I think.”
“When the others are headed to History of Magic, Mr. Longbottom—“
“Who, me, miss?” the chubby boy squeaked.
“Yes, Mr. Longbottom, you. You will lead Mr. Potter to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office—“
Seamus snorted. “Uhm, Professor, Neville doesn’t even know how to get to the common room. He’ll never find it.”
“He will too,” Ron snapped. “I’ll help him, right, Nev?”
“Fine. Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Weasley will deliver you to the Headmaster to fit you for a wand and to give you the rest of your supplies. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Harry replied.
“Good. Until tomorrow, then, Mr. Potter.”
“Professor, Percy locked us in here and I need to get my Transfiguration book—“ Seamus started to whine.
“You boys are allowed to go.” As she let them go, she saw Harry pull, from in between the folds of his new pair of pyjammas, the photograph she had given, and place it reverently on his bedside.
Blinking away tears, she went to give a very similar talk to the rest of Gryffindor House.
Harry fell asleep as soon as he put on his pyjammas, waking only briefly when the other boys came in at curfew.
“—asleep already, not even ten—“
“—hush, Seamus, he’s probably tired, leave him be—“
He fell asleep, then woke again at one-thirty with a full bladder. Stumbling around the dark room, he found a doorway and yanked on the handle.
A rectangle of light and Percy Weasley tumbled into the room.
“Whaa—Harry?” Percy said, yawning as he picked himself off the floor. “Whasamatter?”
“I, uhm—I need the loo, please,” Harry said, and Percy only smiled and led him to it, then waited for him and escorted him back.
“Why are you outside our door?”
Percy blushed the same way Ron got angry—pink ears and a red neck. “Well, some people, you know—“ he shrugged. “They think that you’re this big, uh, celebrity and all. I just thought that no one should be out of bed after hours, not unless they’re a prefect on duty like me.”
Harry smiled. “Thank you, Percy,” he said, and then he went to his bed, shut the door, and went to sleep.