Aug.18

Snape loaned me some paper so I could write. I won't let him take flying time away from me, just 'cause I don't have my journal here. I should've taken it with me when we went out to Diagon Alley. I should have just not gone to Diagon Alley at all, or I should have agreed to go back to Hogwarts right after I'd got my wand, and then we wouldn't have . . . . . . .

--- Okay, I'm back. That was, um . . . awkward. If this ink is smeared, Snape told me that for posterity's sake, to make sure that I write it wasn't his fault, as he wasn't the one dripping tears all over it. I know he was just trying to make me laugh, though. It's been a . . . rough couple of days. Yesterday afternoon, after I finished slobbering snot all over Remus' robes, and Snape changed into his own clothes, he said we could stay here for the rest of the weekend. He let Dumbledore know where we were, I guess, but he said we could both use a change of scenery. He's right, I guess. I was . . . pretty upset yesterday . . . and today. My nightmares last night were . . . bad.

Snape says it's okay I'm upset, that I have good reason to be, although the words he used were more like: "Any dimwit can see that with the varied pressures you've been under of late, your response to such stimuli presented at our point of egress would be over-reactive, blah, blah, blah."

I think he was being serious, then. I'm not sure, though. He may have been making a joke. It's hard to tell, sometimes with him. Part of me wonders if he's figured out that I figured out his tells, and he's swapping them all around so I can never get a handle on him . . . and the other part of me wonders if I'm just expecting him to do certain things, and rather than accept that he's done something different, I pretend he's not using the right tell.

He was serious, though, when he told me that the Ministry is sending someone from Child Welfare to come and talk to us tomorrow. I don't want to talk to anyone else. And I like the quiet here, at this old manor, and the garden out back that's full of lilacs and flowering bushes of some kind, and the soft hum of insects, and I almost don't want to go back to Hogwarts at all. But like Snape says, that's simply not an option, at least for him, not this close to term. If I'm not ready for classes, though, he says I'll be able to stay with him in the dungeon rooms, and we can work out some kind of tutoring thing to keep me up with classes until I can return to a regular schedule.

I just don't know yet, if I'll be ready.

---

Monday morning, Harry woke in the bedroom Snape had given him in the old Prince Manor and stared up at the ceiling for a while before rising. The bedroom was done in light blue and cream, soothing colors, and a warm breeze through the open window nearest the bed riffled the sheer curtain drapes and flowed over Harry's body like a balm. He wondered if they would come to this house for holidays, when . . . if he was Snape's ward, and if he could have this bedroom then, too. He liked it, even more than the one in the dungeons at school, because, well . . . dungeons.

Finally, though, he couldn't excuse still lying abed, and got up to take a shower and dress in some of his new clothes. Though he hated to admit it, he was glad Snape had insisted on buying all those clothes, as he wasn't sure he wanted to go back to Diagon Alley anytime soon. Or anytime ever, as long as Lucius Malfoy was alive. A sick feeling rose in his gut, threatening to make him hurl, and he swallowed convulsively several times until his stomach settled a bit.

Then he dressed in a nice pair of trousers and a collared shirt, as well as new shoes, so he'd look decent for the Child Welfare people. The Ministry officials were going to meet them at Hogwarts, Snape said, just after lunch, but they had to go back a little earlier, so they could make sure his quarters were neat and picked up and "prettified" for their guest.

He wondered if Snape was as nervous about the interview as he was.

Forty-five minutes later, he met Snape in the small, less formal dining room near the kitchen, where they ate breakfast. Though he hadn't realized it until yesterday, the manor had a House-elf here named Turner, a wizened, rather short - even for a House-elf - fellow with huge blue-gray eyes. Turner rarely spoke, perhaps because he'd been alone in this house for years as far as Harry could tell. Or perhaps because he just didn't like talking to humans.

Turner had set out a hearty breakfast of hot cereal, toast, rashers and soft boiled eggs, plus tea and juice. Despite this, Snape drank coffee, but Harry, glad for the fact that tea this time did not mean "talking," drank two cups, sweetened with extra sugar. Snape raised an eyebrow over his excess, but didn't tell him to stop.

Afterwards, they used the Floo in the Prince Manor "drawing room" to go back to Dumbledore's Office. This time, the Headmaster was there.

Harry, having stumbled out of the Floo, to be caught and righted again by Snape, stared at his shoes, and then at the wall, to avoid the man's gaze.

Seemed like he wasn't going to get away with much of that, though, as the silence in the room was interrupted after only a minute or two by Dumbledore's quiet voice. "It's good to see you, Harry."

Was it really? he wondered. Or was Dumbledore just making small talk? Snape cleared his throat suddenly, and Harry realized he was being rude. He glanced at the Headmaster, still not meeting his eyes -- like Dumbledore had refused to do with him all last year, though for a different reason -- and said, "You, too, sir."

"I hope we'll see you in the Great Hall for meals, soon," Dumbledore said.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe. I . . ."

"He will when he's comfortable," Snape said with some asperity, and Harry was glad for the assistance.

"I understand, my dear Severus." Dumbledore paused for a long moment, and Harry chanced a look at his face, finding the Headmaster's narrowed eyes peering at him as if through a Muggle microscope. He flushed and looked away, almost hearing the censure - in kindly tones, of course - for his actions over the weekend. "Perhaps just a private chat, then, here in my office. This evening, say?"

Snape didn't answer right away, and then, quietly, said, "Harry?"

Swallowing heavily, Harry managed a nod. He was going to have to deal with it sooner or later. He wondered if almost casting an Unforgivable carried as much of a sentence as actually completing the spell. "All right."

"Good, good." Dumbledore clapped his hands together as if he were truly pleased, and in the next few minutes, they were ushered out of the office and were back down to the dungeons.

Harry wanted nothing more than to collapse in his bed and burrow under the covers for a year or two, but Snape wouldn't let him, reminding him of their rules. For a brief and shining moment, Harry wanted to tell him to stuff his rules, but the moment passed, and Harry straightened his books and put away his new clothes and picked up his room a bit. The Hogwarts House-elves did most of the regular cleaning, but Snape expected Harry to keep his room neat on his own.

Soon it was lunch time, and Harry only picked at the sandwiches and raw vegetables, long enough that Snape reminded him again of the rules about eating. Harry glared at him, but ate a half sandwich and a handful of celery sticks before pushing the plate away.

"What're you going to tell them?" Harry asked, while Snape finished eating.

"The truth. I suggest you do the same."

The truth. What a laugh. Would anyone even believe him? Anyone besides Snape?

The dishes had barely vanished via House-elf magic when there was a knock at the door to Snape's quarters. Harry's stomach did flip-flops during the eternity it took for Snape to get to the door and answer it. He rose from their little table where they'd been eating and moved to stand next to the settee where he could watch the Officials come in. He hadn't been this nervous since moments before he faced the Hungarian Horntail . . .

And then he just had to laugh. There were only a couple of people he could ascribe that much fear to, and neither of them was a Ministry Official.

He was still chuckling as Snape brought the slightly dumpy looking woman, gray haired and wrinkle faced and dressed in dark blue robes, into the sitting area and introduced him.

Snape's eyebrow was lifting double time as he waited for Harry's snickering to die down, and then said, "Madam Phineas, this is Harry Potter. Harry, Madam Phineas from the Ministry of Child Welfare."

"How do you do, Mr. Potter?" the woman said and held out her hand.

"Fine, thanks," he said and shook her head, noting that for an old lady, she had a good grip. "But call me Harry, please."

"Very well." She didn't offer her own first name, but Harry didn't really care.

"May I offer you tea?" Snape asked, sounding for all the world like a normal, conscientious host, instead of a dour Potions Master and ex-Death Eater.

"Thank you, Mr. Snape," she said and sat where Snape directed her.

"It's Professor," Harry told her.

"Sorry?"

"It's Professor Snape. Not Mister."

"I see. My apologies, Professor."

"Quite all right," Snape said, giving Harry an odd look, which Harry returned, with interest. Then Snape called up a House-elf and ordered tea, instead of making it himself, and Harry relaxed a little, deciding the lack of ritual meant nothing to taxing would be discussed.

He realized after an hour that he had been very, very wrong.

That first hour was Madam Phineas asking Harry all about the Dursleys and how they'd treated him, and he'd answered the first few questions with, "But they're not even around anymore, so what does it matter?"

He'd been advised by both Snape and Madam Phineas that it did matter, for the official records of the transfer of guardianship, and so he had to talk again about the cupboard and the lack of consistent food, the occasional smacking around, the games of Harry Hunting, the cat flap and all of it. He looked down at his hands the whole time, and was glad, for once, that he had told most of this to Snape before, so he wouldn't have to worry what the man thought of him and his inability to stick up for himself with a bunch of stupid Muggles.

And Snape, for his part, remained silent, which was also a boon.

"So, you were ‘rescued' by three of the Weasley boys the summer after your first year at Hogwarts?" Madam Phineas asked. She'd been making notes in a folder the whole time, and now seemed to be just asking for clarifications.

"Yeah . . . I mean, yes, ma'am. They used their Dad's Ford Anglia to help pull the bars off the window, and then we flew to the Burrow. I stayed there the rest of the summer." It was, bar none, the best summer he'd ever had.

"Mm-hm." She paged through her paperwork for a few moments, then looked back at Harry, holding up a thin piece of parchment. "I have a letter written by Arthur and Molly Weasley, sent to Child Welfare in August of that year, protesting your placement with your aunt and uncle."

"Really?" Harry leaned forward to see the letter, but Madam Phineas put it back in her folder. He'd always wondered why they'd never said anything about that summer breakout to him, or to Dumbledore, always just figuring they didn't care if he was locked up, so long as he was safe.

The woman's lip twitched. "Really. There is, however, an attachment from the Headmaster of Hogwarts, stating that for reasons of utmost security, you were required to remain at 4 Privet Drive."

Harry sat back. "Oh."

"It's why we never conducted home interviews with you previously," she said softly, looking him in the eye. "You were down on the list for inspections, as are most Wizarding children who are raised by Muggles, whether Muggleborn or adopted. Muggles don't often have the resources to deal with magical children."

"You're telling me," Harry muttered.

Madam Phineas smiled wryly. "No, I don't imagine I need to, do I? At any rate, such measures were waived in your case, which is highly unusual, but then, the way things are . . . with You Know Who . . . Well." She turned a couple more pages in her folder before she looked at him again. "This summer has been a bit of a trial, hasn't it?"

He shrugged one shoulder, looking at his hands again.

"The Muggles left you alone, I see . . ." She scribbled something and then her voice sharpened. "I have a report from the Headmaster about an abduction . . ." she started, and stared at him, waiting.

Harry bit his lip and didn't answer, except to shrug again, and eventually she went on. "And that for the last several weeks, you've been living with Professor Snape."

That was easier to answer. "Yes, ma'am."

"How is that going?"

"Fine."

"Harry. I'm going to need a little more detail than that." She glanced at Snape and said, "Would you be more comfortable talking with me alone?"

Harry looked over at Snape, then, whose face was completely void of tells, but who then tilted his head to the side just a bit, as if to encourage him to make a decision of his own. He thought about trying to describe his relationship to Snape, and the last few weeks with him, in front of him, and had to wipe suddenly sweating palms on his trousers. "Um, okay."

Without a word, Snape rose and went through the door into his private potions lab. Harry watched him go, not sure whether he'd hurt the man's feelings . . . and then had to suppress another mad bout of laughing at the very idea.

"All right, then," Madam Phineas said, "tell me a little more about how you and the Professor are getting along."

"I . . . well, he's been really good. About everything. Even when I get angry and break his stuff."

"Do you ‘break his stuff' often?"

"Not anymore." Harry shrugged. "It's mostly just yelling now. Not like I'm yelling all the time," he added quickly. "But sometimes . . . it's really . . ."

"It's been a difficult time for you," she said softly.

"Yeah." He shook his head. "And Professor Snape's been real helpful. He makes me talk stuff out and gave me a journal and we have rules and stuff that I have to follow so I can go flying and all."

"What made you agree to the idea of him becoming your guardian?"

"Well, he said . . ." Harry swallowed and made himself meet the woman's eyes. They were a soft, light brown, almost like Remus' when he wasn't wolfing out, and they regarded him seriously. "He said he would protect me, and . . . and . . ."

"And?" she prompted.

"And that I wasn't just good for one thing, defeating V- Voldemort, you know? That I had a right to a life aside from that." He didn't tell her about how he knew he wasn't going to survive that fight; it was enough that Snape knew. "I think . . . I think he just wants me to be safe, but also, you know . . . happy." And he realized, in that moment, that it was true, though Snape hadn't said it in so many words. "No one else has offered me that. I'm just a weapon to them. Or a burden."

"I see," she said, and scribbled a few things down, before she closed her folder. "I'll just talk with the Professor for a few minutes and then get going. We should have a decision to you by the end of the day."

"That soon?"

She smiled. "Well, you are a bit of a special case. I also have a recommendation from Headmaster Dumbledore, written in favor of Professor Snape's request."

"Oh. Good."

Madam Phineas stood up, and Harry rose with her, then went to knock on the door to the lab. It was opened so fast Harry figured Snape hadn't been actually working on any potions, but was just biding his time until it was his turn in the hot seat.

"Madam Phineas has some questions for you, sir," Harry told him.

Snape nodded and came out to the sitting room.

"Do you want me to leave?" Harry asked.

"That will not be necessary," Snape said and sat down when Madam Phineas did, and she reopened her folder.

She spent the next few minutes verifying information Snape had put in his application, and then asked similar questions to her last few for Harry.

As for how they were getting along, Snape said, "Harry is going through a rough period, and I have made accommodations for his attendant needs. I will not tolerate self-harming behaviors nor attempts at isolation, as neither are conducive to his recovery. He is also required to get adequate amounts of sleep and nutrition."

"Yes," Madam Phineas said, "but how are you getting along?"

Snape peered at Harry so long he felt like a bug about to be ground to powder, but he was honestly interested in the answer. Finally, Snape said, "Our interactions are satisfactory."

Harry thought that might be the biggest compliment he had ever received from Snape, and grinned, even while Madam Phineas' brows dipped down. Then the corner of Snape's lips twitched, and the woman's frown smoothed as she offered an almost Dumbledore-like smile, and Harry knew that everything was going to be okay.