"Slow down Harry," Ron's older brother George told him the next morning as he shoveled eggs into his mouth.

"Sorry," he said, trying to swallow as he spoke. "I'm so hungry. I was hungry last night too because of all the scrubbing I did."

Fred and George both winced. "Dungeon floors?" Fred asked.

Harry nodded. "Twice."

"Ooh, harsh," said George, and his twin nodded.

"What'd you do?" Fred and George chimed together, thinking it must have been fantastic to warrant scrubbing the floor twice.

Harry shrugged, and Ron said, "We don't know."

Fred stuck his tongue out and said, "Not to worry Harry, George and I already have two detentions with McGonagall tonight for flooding the boys toilets."

Ron scrunched up his nose. "What'd you do that for?"

They grinned and said, "That new little snot Malfoy was in there."

"Excellent," said Ron with a wide grin. "He laughed the whole time Snape got on to Harry yesterday."

"What can we say, said Fred, "We have an intuition for these things."

Harry tried repeatedly to stretch his back during the remainder of breakfast and all through his morning classes. Somehow it had stiffened and gotten worse overnight, and it was making him very uncomfortable. It reminded him of the time Uncle Vernon had taken away his cot from under the stairs and told him he had to sleep on the floor for a week. He'd even taken away his thin blanket and pillow, so Harry had nothing to comfort him at all. His back had hurt for a long time after that as well.

Harry spent lunch scrubbing dungeon classroom tables as Professor Snape had ordered, and while it was better than scrubbing floors on his knees, bending over the desks was still hurting his back. He dared not sit down to clean the desks because Snape was watching him from the desk as he graded papers. At least the detention was only half an hour long before Harry was allowed to rush to the Great Hall to scarf down a sandwich before his next class.

At dinner Harry thought to ask Ron if he'd ever heard of any other Potter's in the wizarding world, but Ron hadn't. He promised to write his parents and ask if they had, because his father worked for the Ministry of Magic. So after dinner they headed for the Owlery to find Hedwig so that Ron could send the letter he'd scrawled quickly at Gryffindor table. It wasn't long before the boys were lost again however and found themselves turned around and unsure of what floor they were even on.

"Maybe we should back track to that one eyed statue," Ron suggested, standing on his toes to try and see out the only window nearby to see if he could get his bearings from the scenery outside.

"I can't remember how far back it was," Harry said. Somehow they had found a part of the upper castle with narrow corridors and few windows, and it made Harry feel cramped and closed in.

"Well, we can't go wrong if we just keep going down stairs whenever we hit them... I mean, we'd end up back at the ground floor eventually, right?"

Harry shrugged. "And then we could ask a Prefect how to get there," he agreed.

"Sounds good, let's go."

They continued on in the direction they were headed and eventually came to some stairs, but they only lead up. They went up the small flight of stairs, down two more corridors, made another left and two rights, and somehow ended up in the Owlery, even though they'd been trying to get back to the ground floor.

"How'd we end up here?" Harry asked, scanning the tower for Hedwig. He saw her and held out his arm, and she swooped down to him, nipping him affectionately on the hand.

"I don't know, but there has got be a shorter way."

Harry nodded as Ron tied his letter to Hedwig and told her to go to the "Burrow," whatever that was. "We'll find a shorter way on the way down," he told his new friend as Hedwig flew off out an open window.

Even though they had left right after dinner, it was well past their eight o'clock curfew when they had managed to find their way down to a part of the castle they recognized. Just a few more corridors and they would be at Gryffindor tower. Ron was just commenting on how lucky they were not to get caught when they heard an angry shout.

"Potter!" Ron groaned and Harry's eyes widened. It was Snape. Harry turned and Snape strode over to them. "Breaking more rules are we? How hard is it to be in before curfew?"

Harry bit his lip, unsure whether or not it was one of those trick questions you weren't supposed to answer because the adult asking already knew before they asked.

"Well?"

Harry shrugged. "Not hard sir?" he asked.

Snape crossed his arms. "So again, you know you are doing wrong, but you do it anyway. What will it take to get it through your thick little skull that you are not king of the world and must follow the same rules as everybody else?"

Harry tried to look him in the eye because he knew it was respectful, but years of being taught to look at the floor when you were spoken to by an angry adult, or else be hit, demanded that his eyes be drawn quickly to his shoes.

"Oh, I see," said Snape, rolling his eyes. "The little king can't even do me the respect of looking at me when I talk to him."

Ron wanted to help, but he couldn't do anything but just stand there with his mouth hanging open, horrified. Even if he could bring himself to speak, he couldn't think of anything to say to make the situation any better.

"Speak Potter," Snape ordered him. "Or has the ability to do that escaped you as well as your potion making skills?"

"I'm sorry sir," Harry said immediately, falling back on another one of his habits, well learned at home. He didn't know what else to say besides.

"Not good enough Potter. It is becoming apparent to me that it takes an extra long time to teach you even the simplest things. Since you insist on staying out after curfew I will put you to work. Come with me."

Harry moved off after him, still staring at the floor for sudden fear of being hit, although he had never been hit by a teacher before, the fear was just there from the way he'd been scolded for doing nothing. Ron started to follow as well, thinking the punishment also applied to him, but Snape said over his shoulder, "Not you Weasley. It's not your fault your dimwitted friend has persuaded you to break the rules. Five points from Gryffindor. Get back to your common room." And then they were gone around a corner and Ron was left standing there, mouth still hanging open.

He had to nearly run to keep up with Snape, but Harry did his best, his short legs taking two steps for every one of Snape's. Before long they were descending into the dungeon, and had gone right back to Harry's least favorite classroom. He couldn't possibly see what else would need to be cleaned in here, but before he could ask, Snape had waved his wand, and the bucket and rag had appeared again. "Get to work Potter. The floor had better shine or you'll be doing it again until morning."

Harry fell to his knees. His back already hurt and he desperately just wanted to go to bed. He hadn't even had time to do his homework yet, and he knew he'd be up late finishing it after his detention.

He tried to scrub fast and hard, but it still took him 45 minutes to finish the whole room.

"I don't think its shining Potter," Snape said before Harry could even inform him that he was finished.

Harry sat up, rubbing his lower back. It hurt so much he almost couldn't stand it. The pain was even radiating down into his thighs now. "Does it ever shine sir?" Harry asked seriously, wondering if it were even possible.

"Potter, if you were not so insolent, then you would not be here, would you? Just for that snarky little comment you can do it again."

Oh how badly Harry wanted to groan, but he was so afraid he might get in trouble for it that he bit his lip hard instead until it hurt and he was sure it might bleed.

"I did not tell you to take a break Potter, I said to scrub." His voice was harsh but calm. There was a resolve there that told Harry the man could stand there for days watching him clean.

Harry got the rag wet again and started over. His arms began shaking from holding up his weight for so long and he felt weak. He tried to occupy his mind with his pretend family, but he couldn't recall any of the pretend faces he'd made up for each of them. It was well after ten when he was told he could go, and Harry staggered out of the dungeon classroom, knees aching as badly as his back.

Ron and the twins were waiting for him this time when he got back. "He's evil," Ron said, disgusted when he saw the state Harry was in, barely able to walk.

"Go to bed Harry," Fred instructed. Harry wanted to obey Ron's older brother but knew he still had work to do.

"I can't. I have to do my Potion's essay or I'll get in trouble tomorrow."

Ron pulled a crumpled roll of parchment out of his back jeans pocket. "Here, you can copy mine and change the wording a little."

"Thanks," Harry said, considering the offer, but ultimately deciding that if Snape caught him cheating there would be hell to pay.

Ron tried to stay up with him as Harry read through his Potion's book and tried to summarize the chapter, but eventually gave up and went to bed around midnight. It was 12:30 when Harry was finally able to make it to his four-poster and collapse on it, fully clothed. There was some relief for his back, but not much, and as he lay there the pain began to creep further down into his legs, making him want to jerk them. After a few minutes he was asleep, but his discomfort followed him into his dreams where he still sat in the common room trying to finish piles of homework before some impending deadline.

Harry couldn't stop himself from yawning through all his classes the next day. Snape glared at him as he handed in his homework, which it turns out was half an inch too short, and Snape took points for it, before informing him that another dungeon classroom awaited him if he decided to act too bigheaded and famous any time in the near future. Harry, who hadn't even realized he was famous until just a few days ago didn't think anything of it, because how could he be acting like that anyway? His mind was confused and he couldn't think straight because he was so tired and because the constant aching of his back and knees were sapping his energy.

"Want to take a break?" Ron asked after Potions.

Harry nodded. "When? We don't have time for breaks."

"We can go see Hagrid during lunch," Ron suggested, remembering that Harry had told him that Hagrid had been his first wizarding friend.

Harry brightened visibly at this and smiled weakly. Maybe Hagrid would know what to do about Snape.

At lunch Ron and Harry hurried down the front lawn to the hut on the edge of the forest where Hagrid lived. He opened the door before they even got there, because he had seen them coming.

Harry immediately fell in love with Hagrid's cabin. It was secluded and to Harry was the perfect picture of tranquility... a place away from his castle worries and away from Snape. This was the one place here where he couldn't get into any trouble.

He let Ron explain how Snape had it out for him, and watched tiredly as Hagrid dug through an old trunk, half the size of Harry's bed. Finally he came out with a dusty photo album.

"'Ere Harry, know it ain't much bu' its all wha' I have left fer yeh."

On the front was a picture of a man and woman with a little baby. There was something familiar about them though... the man had jet-black hair... Harry's black hair, and the woman had deep emerald eyes... his eyes.

"Are these... are these my-"

Hagrid nodded. "Tha's you an' yer parents Harry," he told him.

Harry bit his lip apprehensively. He had never seen his parents before. He had never seen himself as a baby either. For all he knew these could have been pictures clipped from a magazine because they were so foreign and perfect looking to him.

"They woulda' wanted yeh teh have it," Hagrid told him, pointing at the book as Harry opened it and found a picture of his father playing with him on the floor. He ran his fingers gently over the picture. His father wore glasses too.

"I'm sorry James an' Lily aren' here to help yeh now, but... well, I don' know wha' ter say. They'd jus' wan' yeh ter try yer hardest is all. Jus' do yer best an yeh'll do ‘em proud Harry."

Harry looked up briefly and nodded. He would try hard and try to make them proud, but could they even see him now? Were they looking down on him from somewhere and shaking their heads because he had gotten into so much trouble already? He closed the book, as if doing so would stop them from seeing him.

"Thanks Hagrid," Harry said.

They only had a few minutes to get back up to the castle, so Harry and Ron hurried off, the photo album clutched tightly in Harry's arms, his new treasure.

Desperate for sleep and comfort for his aching body that evening, Harry skipped dinner altogether and stayed in his room, not wanting to have any more run-ins with Snape and serve another detention... he just couldn't do that many nights in a row.

He lay on his bed looking through the album, longing to hear his parent's voice and know who they were. After seeing his mother's hair he now imagined some of his family with bright orange hair and remembered Ron and his brothers. Were they related? The names on the album said Potter and Evans... he'd have to ask Ron to ask his parents if they knew any Evans' too.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but all he could think about was James and Lily dead. Why had he survived and they hadn't? What good was it him living when he had just been made to live with the Dursleys all his life and then come here to continue to be tortured. Surely things would have been better if their roles had been switched? But then there was that selfish little piece of Harry deep down inside that nagged at him that he wanted to be alive, and it made him feel all the worse, knowing that if he could switch places with his dead parents... he wasn't sure if he would or not.

Angry with himself, Harry closed the book again, ashamed and not wanting his parents to see his selfishness. And then Snape's words came to mind again, ‘if you hadn't been so insolent you wouldn't be here now...' if he hadn't been so insolent... Did Snape know something he didn't? Was it Harry's fault that his parents had died and he had lived?
His questions followed him into a fitful sleep where he barely rested, and couldn't remember his nightmares in the morning.