That evening, Harry ate his dinner quickly, so he could have extra reading time. Father said if he was ready for bed early enough, he could have two stories at bedtime, instead of just one, and then Father would let him read aloud, too, to show how much he was learning with Mrs. Weasley, or, as she liked to be called by him, Aunt Molly. Father said it was okay to call Aunt Molly that, if she said to, even if she wasn't really his aunt, and Harry didn't mind, anyway, because the woman who was really his aunt, Aunt Petunia, had never wanted him to call her anything but "Ma'am," and had been real angry if he called her anything else.

The one time he had really messed up, after he had fallen out of the tree while trying to prune it and hurt his arm, then called her "Mum" when he cried for help, he had been hit over and over with a long-handled spade from the shed, then shoved into the potting shed for a week with no food or water. It had been easy to count the days in the shed, because sunlight peeked through a loose board in the roof, so he knew when a new day started. It had been awful hot in there, and he'd had to drink water from the light rain that had fallen the second night, collected in a metal can he'd dumped out which had been full of roofing nails. But he'd gone without food the whole time. Late in the week, he had eyed the spiders who made the shed a home a few times, thinking if his punishment went on too long, he could at least put something in his belly. Fortunately, Aunt Petunia had let him out of the shed and given him a slice of stale bread before he had to decide whether to eat the spiders alive, like the song about the woman who ate them to catch the fly inside her, or to kill them first instead.

Sometimes, when it rained really hard outside, his arm still hurt where he'd jarred it, in the fall from the tree.

Tonight, though, he wasn't going to think about Aunt Petunia anymore. He was going to read to his Father, so Father could see that he wasn't as stupid as the Dursleys said.

From a little blue and white book, with a blond boy sitting down for tea on the cover, Harry read the second verse of his selection, "'Tattoo was the mother of Pinkle Purr, / A rih-deck-luss--"

"Ridiculous," Father corrected quietly.

"Rih-dick-you-luss kitten with silky fur. / And little black Pinkle grew and grew / Till he got as big as the big Tattoo. / And all that he did, he did with her. / "Two friends to-, um, to- together," says Pinkle Purr,'" Harry continued, glad he knew most of these words by sight, and the ones he did not, he could "sound out" like Mrs. Weasley taught him.

The boy on the cover was called Christopher Robin, and Father had several books about him and his friends. Some of the poems and pictures in this book were about the boy's silly, old bear named Pooh, whose name Harry giggled over until Father gave him a cross look. But there were other poems, too, like this one. "Pinkle Purr" was about a cat, and Harry liked cats, since Treacle Tart was kind of like one, except even smarter and special-er. Harry knew Treacle enjoyed reading along with him, like now. She was sitting in his lap and batting her paws at the pages when Harry tried to turn them. They were all reading together on Harry's bed, with Harry in Father's lap, while Father leaned his back against the headboard.

When he had given Harry the book several weeks ago, Father had told him that Now We Are Six was one of his own books from when he was a boy. Now it was Harry's favorite, even more favorite than the book Professor McGonagall had given him, because just last week, Father had needed to read this poem to Harry, but this week, Harry could read it to Father. He nearly burst with pride when he reached the end of the poem's last line and Father kissed the top of his head and murmured, "Wonderful job, Harry."

Harry grinned up at his father, and when Father squeezed him in a tight hug, Harry hugged him back. Father even smiled, too; Harry could feel his thin lips moving against his hair.

"Time for bed, child." Father eased Harry off his lap and stood, before pulling the bedclothes up to cover Harry's legs and chest. Treacle turned around twice and settled down again, and Father kissed Harry's forehead, right next to his scar.

"I can read to you tomorrow, too, Father."

"I know you can." Father brushed the fringe off Harry's forehead, and Harry closed his eyes briefly, relishing the gentle touch of Father's affection. He'd never known anyone like Father before. Before Father had taken him from the Dursleys, no one had even touched him in kindness. No one had smiled at like Father did. No one had cared.

Father sat on the edge of the bed, and they spent the next few minutes on the relaxation and mind-clearing exercises to help keep Harry's nightmares away. The bad dreams had gradually been easing up. He didn't wake Father every night anymore, though when he did, it was awful. Finally, Harry covered his mouth, yawing wide enough to make his jaw creak.

Father stood. "Good night, Harry."

"G'night, Father."

"Sleep well."

"You too, Father." Harry bit his lip for an instant, then said, "I love you."

The skin around Father's eyes crinkled in that way he had of smiling inside, even as his eyes darkened with emotion. His fingers brushed over Harry's fringe once again. "I love you, too, son."

Grinning now, Harry settled into his pillows, having never felt happier in his life.

Father Nox'd the overhead light to turn it off, leaving only the small rainbow ball aglow beside Harry's bed to illuminate the darkness. The ball cast tinted shadows on the nearest wall, and Harry watched as the light cycled through its colors, until his eyes were too heavy to remain open any longer.

HPSSHPSS

After whispering a wandless Alohomora, Sirius Black flowed into Padfoot-form and nosed the back door open. The kitchen beyond the door was dark. Padfoot had heard reference made to a House Elf earlier -- he might have thought Snivellus was referring to Harry, except that the git used the name Dappin -- so he kept his ears pricked for any sound of anyone in the area.

Nothing.

No alarm had sounded, either, when he entered the house, as far as he could tell. But then, Padfoot had entered Hogwarts without any problems, too. He very much doubted Snivellus' home would be more safeguarded than the old school, which had generations of Headmasters and other professors adding to the wards each year.

Padfoot followed the scent of his godson through the small kitchen, the dining room, part of a sitting room lined with books, and then up a set of narrow stairs. His heart pounded. Harry would be safe soon.

At the top of the stairs, Padfoot hesitated. Should he deal with Snape first, or should he just take Harry and go? Unable to keep his fear and anger over the situation silent any longer, Padfoot let a low, rumbling growl emerge from his throat, even as he thought about ripping into the throat of his worst enemy, the man who had stolen James' son. He stopped growling as soon as he became aware of it, and stood absolutely still for several long minutes, listening to every creak in the old, run-down house in case he had disturbed anyone's sleep. Part of him, though, wanted to rush into the greasy git's room, which was just ahead of him, and tear everything in it -- including the bastard himself -- into shreds.

Only his desire to see Harry safe, before anything else, finally decided him. He followed the boy's scent into a bedroom a few paces away. He was momentarily startled to find the boy in an actual bedroom, instead of a cage of some sort, since he would put nothing past Snivellus' desire for revenge against his own enemy's son. But in a tall, comfortable looking bed, the boy slept peacefully. A ball of light near his head went through a series of colors like a rainbow, and gave some light to the dark room. The light also cast long shadows on the boy's thin face. His long lashes were like ink smudges against his pale cheeks, and he gripped his bed quilt in two tiny fists.

He's so teensy, Padfoot thought again. Neither James nor Lily had been particularly large adults, but they had certainly been above average for height. Harry was far too small for his age. He'd noticed outside, when Harry had been working, how skinny his arms and legs were; like sticks. It was like he'd been starved for years.

He pushed thoughts like that from his mind -- he would consider them later, and in great detail, but for now he had a job to do. Padfoot reared on his back legs, to put his front paws by Harry's hands, to get a better look at him before changing back into his man-form. No sooner did he do so than a white flash of fur launched itself at his face, with claws and hisses and teeth. A swipe of a paw full of needle-like claws caught him across the nose, eliciting a sharp yelp of pain before he could stop himself, and in the next the white and gray hell-cat was going for his eyes.

As fast as thought, Padfoot became Sirius and grabbed up the boy, who was starting to wake. The kneazle bit and scratched and yowled, and Sirius was bleeding in a dozen places before he had Harry secure in his arms. The yowling itself could have woken the dead, even without Sirius' cursing, so it was not surprising when Harry's blinked open and he murmured, "Wha'? Daddy? Wazgoin' on?"

"Shh, Harry," Sirius pleaded as he batted the kneazle away from his face with his free hand. This was all going badly, and he couldn't think what to do, how to calm the boy, or anything.

And Harry didn't seem to want to shh, and instead started wriggling in Sirius' arms, making him have to grip the boy tighter. "Da!" he called. "Daddy!"

Thundering footsteps had already sounded from across the hall, but at the boy's cry, the door slammed open to show Snivellus Snape, wand in hand. "Harry!" he yelled, and his expression changed from one of worry to one of rage in an instant when he saw who was in Harry's bedroom.

With that look of rage, everything clicked into place. Sirius grinned at Snivellus, baring his teeth, and as the greasy git opened his mouth to cast some vicious curse at the two of them, Sirius spun on his heel and Disapparated, his godson hugged close to his chest.

Harry was safe now, with Sirius. They were both safe and happy and free.