The Monday morning following the dementor attack, Harry found himself locked in his bedroom. As in the summer before his second year, Harry was not allowed outside to do chores, clean the house or cook meals. His aunt let him use the bathroom three times a day and pushed a tray of food through the small cat flap at the bottom of the door for each meal. To his amazement, she was not giving him the minimal amount of food as they had done in the past. Dudley had not left the house at all. He had not fully managed to get over the effects of the Dementors and his mother was keeping him close. Harry knew that his uncle was still furious at him. The few times he had actually seen his uncle, the man shoot him a Basilisk-like stare, wanting to kill him, if possible.

Harry did not know what to do that first day. He knew he had summer homework to do but he only had a few of his school supplies hidden away under the lose floorboard. The rest was in his trunk locked away in the hallway cupboard. That's when he heard movement out in the hall and the locks being undone. To his great surprise, he saw his Aunt Petunia push his trunk into the room. "Here," she said simply. "Keep it in the closet so your uncle won't see it," Petunia then left without another word. Harry just kept staring at the door as he heard her put the locks back into place.

"That's a shocker," he said as he opened the lid and began to pull the remainder of his text books and supplies out and began working on his Transfiguration work.

Tuesday afternoon, Harry found himself wondering why he still had not heard from anyone. Hedwig was still able to get out at night but she always retuned in the morning without any letters for him. This made Harry feel more and more lonely. He wanted to talk to someone. With a heavy sigh, he reached over for his copy of A History of the Dark Arts and The Defense Against Them, a book he bought during a Hogsmeade trip this past year. Harry found having his Quidditch and other wizard reading material did help make the time go by a little faster when he was not working on his summer assignments. He saw this as being due to the year he and the rest of his classmates would be taking their O.W.L.s. Their professors had given them a large amount of work.

Wednesday was when everything changed. The day started out normal till he heard his uncle arrive home that evening and from the loud slam of the car door, indicating he was not in a good mood. It appeared that a large business deal had fallen through at Grunnings which meant Uncle Vernon would not be getting the raise he had been promised. Harry could hear his uncle's loud, angry voice all the way upstairs. An hour after supper, Harry lay on his bed, looking through one of his Quidditch books when he heard the locks on the door being removed. Uncle Vernon barged into the room and started yelling at Harry. The smell of whisky was evident on his uncle's breathe. The man got hold of his arms and squeezed them while berating him. That lasted for several minutes until Aunt Petunia came in and pulled her husband off their nephew, saying that he was going to draw their neighbor's suspicions about the noise. She followed as Vernon stumbled out of the room and then slammed the door shut. Harry heard the locks being applied followed by Vernon's heavy footsteps going to the master bedroom accompanied by Aunt Petunia.

Large black and blue bruises in the shape of his uncle's fingers were left on Harry's arms. Several minutes later, Harry was shocked when he heard the locks being undone and Aunt Petunia came in with a bag of ice which she told her nephew were for his bruises, astounding the boy by this simple action. Harry could read the look on her face as he took the bag. Before he could say anything, Petunia left, closing the door softly behind her. Harry heard her apply each lock before her footsteps walked away. As he applied the ice to his left arm first, Harry thought about his aunt's out of character behavior. Aunt Petunia had never truly shown this much concern for his well being before. When he was younger, if he had gotten a scrape or cut, he was not consoled or cared for as Dudley was. If the injury was bad enough that he was bleeding, she would get him a Band-Aid and it toss to him. She did not take the time to apply it and kiss it like she did Dudley's. Aunt Petunia did see that he got his vaccinations, but Harry was sure it was required by law so he could attend school.

If he showed early signs of getting sick, he did get medicine but again Harry was sure it was more for Petunia's benefit than his. That way, she did not have to tend to him while he was sick. But getting the ice did not fit into her pattern of behavior. As he switched arms, Harry thought more about the look on his aunt's face and finally saw it was concern and regret. Harry did not pursue where this new realization of his aunt suddenly came from. He was much more worried about his uncle loosing complete control due to his heavy drinking.

‘I hope Aunt Petunia can keep Uncle Vernon's drinking under control or at least, not leave the two of us alone.'

But that wish did come to pass for the Boy Who Lived. 

-----Now-----

The Thursday night after the Dementor attack, Harry, as usual, was confined to his small bedroom. He heard Aunt Petunia tell her husband that she needed to run to the market because she had forgotten to get the supplies for the refreshments for her garden club meeting tomorrow and that she was Dudley with her. A few minutes later, Harry heard the sound of the car pulling out of the driveway and taking off down the street, leaving a frightened Harry alone with his uncle. It took less than five minutes for the young wizard to hear his uncle's heavy footsteps coming-up the stairs and the locks being undone.

From the moment he barged into the room, Harry could tell Vernon was completely drunk. Stumbling over to the bed, Harry smelled that his uncle's cloths reeked of alcohol. ‘Has he been drinking all day?'  Vernon grasped Harry's arm, yelling at him for several minutes. Vernon let go and started hitting his nephew with his large fist across the face. Harry put his arms-up trying to protect himself, but that only made his uncle angrier. Suddenly was pulled off the bed and onto the floor so Vernon could kick him harder. Harry drew himself-up into a ball trying to protect himself, but he felt the hard jabs to his back and chest. After several minuets he stopped, but Harry remained curled-up. He felt his arms yanked away from his face and felt the heavy blow of his uncle's fists. Harry tried to yell for his uncle to stop as the man continued striking him, but could not. Finally after what seemed liked ages, Vernon Dursley backed away from where his nephew lay cowering on the floor and stumbled back of the room, slamming and locking the door.

Harry remained on the floor till he somehow found the strength to pull himself up off the floor. All his limbs were sore and Harry felt like he did not have the strength to move them. Any type of movement, no matter how slight, seemed to cause pain. Harry managed to make his way to the small mirror over the chest of draws. A bruised and battered Harry Potter looked back at him from the mirror. Much of his face was discolored and scraped. A large purple bruise covered the left cheek. Harry's left eye was already starting to turn black and blue. Slowly, he lifted his shirt and saw sickly red and purple contusions covered his back and chest. Both arms were marked by a large black and blue bruise in the shape of large hand prints. His right arm inparticular felt like it was badly sprained, possibly even broken. The reflection made the Boy Who Lived sick to his stomach but for the wrong reasons. All the hurtful things he had heard from his uncle growing-up filled his mind, allowing it to become distorted and leading to the wrong conclusion.

‘How could I let this happen? I'm a wizard for God's sake. A wizard! I should have been able to defend myself from my drunk uncle. How could I have been able to fight off Voldemort, a dragon, hundreds of Dementors, a Basilisk, but not a single Muggle?'

As fresh tears began to form in his emerald green eyes, Harry turned away from the mirror and wobbled over to his bed. He then collapsed onto the covers. Curling himself up in the fetal position, the young wizard allowed the tears to fall.

‘Snape is right. Uncle Vernon is right. I'm nothing special.  I'm weak, just a weak and worthless freak. A freak that can't protect himself from anything.'

He heard a soft hoot from his desk and it provided him with some comfort. Hedwig had returned from hunting. Harry uncurled himself and found the strength to turn over on his back propping himself against his pillow to look at his owl. She was sitting on her perch; her eyes were filled with concern for her master. The snowy owl gave him a look that said she knew it was more important to stay rather than to go hunting.

"Thanks girl," Harry said in tried tone but still managing a smile."I'm fine."

Hedwig gave him a look that told him she did not believe him.

As he wiped the teas off his cheeks, Harry looked out of his window into the starry night wishing he could escape on his broom into the darkness. Yet he knew he could not. Harry did not know where he could go. The Burrow came to mind, but he feared what his best friend and his family would think of him once they saw the battered Boy Who Lived. People would instantly recognize him at the Leaky Cauldron. Hogwarts was too far away and he knew Sirius was supposed to be hiding at Remus,' but he did not know where his former Defense teacher lived. No. Harry was stuck on Privet Drive till someone came and got him. Minuets passed before he heard his aunt and cousin returning home. He heard his aunt make her way up the stairs. Suddenly, Harry realized that she was coming upstairs to let him out to use the bathroom and he feared what her reaction was going to be when she saw him, Petunia made no mention and told him to go. A baffled Harry did as he was told and it was not until he closed the bathroom door behind himself that he saw the answer. An unblemished face looked back at him in the bathroom mirror. While he wondered what had happened, he knew now was not the time. After he had finished and returned to his room, he looked in the mirror again to see the contusions had returned along with the pain. Changing slowly into his pajamas, Harry got into bed and tied to figure out what had changed his appearance. The only answer Harry could come-up with was that he had managed to cast a glamour charm over himself with accidental magic. He had learned that accidental magic was a young witches and wizard's inner protection themselves from danger or harm. His fear of being seen caused his magic to conceal the bruises before his aunt could see them.

‘Just another thing that makes me a freak,' Harry thought despondently as he turn off the light and tried his best to ignore the pain the action caused. Harry did not close his eyes right away. Instead, he looked into the darkness, his mind filed with fears and concerns about his situation and wondered if he was ever going be liberated from this nightmare.

‘Why haven't I heard from Ron or Hermione? I haven't heard from Sirius since...that night,' he choked at the memory in the Hospital Wing. ‘Do they...no longer want anything to do with me? And Sirius...Does he...think I'm not strong like my dad?'

As Harry lay in bed trying to fall asleep, he felt tears forming in his eyes. Slowly, he closed his eyes and clenched them tight to prevent the tears from falling. Harry did not want to cry. That was a sign of weakness. He was only half way successful. As he felt himself slowly drift off to sleep. As he felt himself slowly drifting off to sleep, tears still falling down his cheeks, his last thoughts were of somebody conforming him.

----------

 The Acheron River, located in Shropshire in Northern England, ran through the town of Alan-Somerville. To the east was a thriving downtown area and well kept middle class neighborhoods. The west was not as fortunate. Once across the bridge, an individual was met with a bleak sight. The banks of the river were littered with trash and many of the neighborhoods had a squalid look to them. Primarily, the west side had been home to a large industrial business which had long by now had left the area. The main sight of the area was the large looming chimney of the old Catirpel Mill. 

The Catirpel Company had once been a large supplier of spun wool and other fabrics at the height of the Industrial Revolution and in the early part of the century. To make the employee's commute simpler, a large housing development had been built for them and their families. For a number of years, the mill was highly profitable. With advances in technology, numerous violations citations, new sources of competition and downfalls in the economy of the area, closed the mill permanently. The development then became low cost homes for families of limited means.

Even though the area looked neglected, people still moved there when faced with no other choice. Most of the streets had been named in reference to the mill and one was named Spinner's End. The childhood home of Severus Snape, number 162, was located on this street. This Thursday night, the Potions Master was currently sitting in the small sitting-room, trying to focus on his copy of A History of the Dark Arts and the Defense Against Them.

Severus had finally been able to move from Hogwarts to Spinner's End on Tuesday. He had informed the Headmaster of the Dark Lord's meeting at the home of Walden Macnair that morning. He recalled the look of concern in the aged eyes of his mentor when he entered through the floo, the lingering effects of the Cruciatus Curse still visible despite his having taken two doses of the anti-Cruciatus potion when he had returned to Hogwarts and another that morning. He recounted the rather short meeting to Albus who did not seemed surprised by Voldemort's actions. They proceeded to work on false information for Severus to provide Voldemort with as well as false request to be made on Dumbledore's request. After finishing-up the details and being told that there was little they could do but wait for Voldemort to make the next move, Albus told the Head of Slytherin that he was free to travel to Spinner End's at his choosing. With a curt nod and a reminder about the order meeting for Friday, the Potions Master departed for his chambers.

He arrived at Spinner's End later that night. His house, while unoccupied for most of the year, was never in the sort if state that Grimmauld Place was in. Unlike several of his colleges, Severus did not have one of the school's house elves serve as caretaker at his residence while he was teaching. Several simple cleaning charms took care of the accumulated dust and cobwebs while another charm gathered the spiders and roaming insects into jars to be used for potions later. He had also placed preserving charms on his extensive collection of books that lined the walls of the sitting room that kept them in excellent condition. Yet, he did not do so with the furniture which was now several years old and appeared somewhat haggard. Severus had also never attempted to update the few modern muggle appliances in the house. Magic kept much of them going after they had finally expired. Wards completely protected his home from break-ins. The following day, he had gone grocery shopping and gotten himself fully settled in.

Normally, Severus had mixed emotions about returning to his former childhood home. Eileen Snape had tried her best to make a good home for her son despite her husband Tobias' low wages and his tendency to spend most of it on his almost all consuming need for alcohol. Eileen was also the only shield between her young son and Tobias' drunken field rampages. Tobias would then focus his anger to his wife and the two would yell and shout at each other, leaving a frightened Severus to huddle in a corner. As a result, Eileen became severely disheartened, but she always was there for her son when he needed him. True the small house had negative aspects to it, but there were a few positives ones also.

Peace and quiet were the things he never seemed to have in his chambers at Hogwarts. In the basement there was a fully stocked potions lab where he could brew the remainder of the potions for Madam Pomfrey and be able to carry out his private potions research without fear of interruption. Severus was also able to catch-up on his reading, both professional and personal. There never seemed to be much time for that when he was at Hogwarts either. There was always seemed to be some nuisance or interruption to his solitary time. Being safely away from the castle and Albus Dumbledore's unexpected visits was a relief to him. However, the Potion Master was not partaking in any of these endovers. As much as he tried, Severus found this attention kept reverting back to Harry Potter and his living situation.

"You're seeing only what you want to see Severus," Albus' voice echoed in his mind, "Harry is far more like Lilly than James."

"Bah," Severs spat, "If that was true, the boy wouldn't be such a danger to himself and everyone around him. Potter has constantly ignored the rules since starting Hogwarts and every year as a result of his foolish actions, he and his friends have been put in mortal danger and almost killed."

‘But you can't count this past year,' the small voice in his head said. ‘He wasn't the one who put his name in the Goblet of Fire or turned the Tri-Wizard Cup into a portkey. The events of that entire affair had been orchestrated by the Dark Lord.'

The Potions Master knew that to be true. He recalled both Minerva and Albus trying to find some loop hole to get the boy out of participating in the tournament. He had also heard scuttlebutt among the Gryffindors that Potter and Weasley had a big fight after his name came out of the Goblet and didn't speak to each other till after the First Task. Even with the events of his fourth year aside, Potter had found away to put himself in danger every year. Closing his neglected book, Severus placed it on the small stool beside his chair and rubbed his tired face.

"Potter foolishly ignores both his and those of his friend's welfare so he can play the part of the hero. And as a result, each time he's run off to be the hero; he's come closer to death than the last time."

‘He only put himself in those life and death situations because he felt he was the only one who could do anything.'

"Then why not go to an adult and have a more skilled individual take care of the situation?"

‘He did when he thought you were after the Stone. Minerva said so to you and the Headmaster in the hospital wing. and despite her assurance that it was well protected, Harry and his friends still acted. Perhaps Harry felt he could not take his Head of House's comment seriously. Maybe, he feels he can't fully trust adults and what they tell him.'

"And pray tell why would the Golden Boy who is adored by practically by all feel that way?"

‘You don't need to be reminded of what you saw in Petunia's home and of her and Vernon's treatment towards him.'

"That doesn't excuses his poor taste in judgment and-"

‘Do you really believe Harry has had rules and boundaries laid before him by an adult who has truly had his well being and safety in their mind growing-up?' The voice interrupted again. ‘If he would know better. I highly doubt Petunia took the time to teach her nephew the consequences of thoughtless actions and choices. As you saw yourself, she treats him no better than a house-elf.'

Severus shut his eyes at this. It was not till few seconds later that he came to a startling realization and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyment. "I having a conversation with myself and talking out loud to an empty room. Merlin," he grumbled, "I'm becoming Albus. Next, I'll be going around in dandelion and lilac robes, humming to myself."

His eyes snapped open at the thought and with a grimace, pushed himself out of his chair by the fireplace. As he stretched, Severus' thought turned to tomorrow's Order meeting. Dumbledore had told him that he was going to reveal what the Dark Lord's intentions about retrieving the prophecy. Severus could only image what the response was going to be. After the shock of that had passed, the topic would then focus on the Bloody-Gryffindor-Who-Lived-To-Torment-Him. He wondered how many members fell over one another to be part of the group who was to fetch him from his relatives'.  He knew he was not going to be a part of it. Even if the Headmaster should ask, he would say no.

"The last thing I need to see is Potter' showboating style of flying up-close." Severus muttered as he flicked his wand and extinguished the fire and turned off the lights before heading to bed. Once he had gone upstairs to his room, another important realization struck him. "I need to get Albus to see that memory. He has to see what type of home he left the boy in."

‘True,' the voice in his head spoke-up again. ‘Albus must see what you saw in that house. It's not normal despite them trying to keep it completely normal .Harry needs to be removed for his own good. Who knows what other kinds of treatments he's been subjected to growing-up.'

The ex-Death Eater shuddered at this thought as he changed out of his black attire and into his sleepwear. He had decided to not read anything after getting into bed so he reached over, set his wand on the nightstand, and turned off the light. resting his head against the pillow, Severus closed his eyes and slowly drifted off into sleep. It was in his last moments of conscious that Severus realized that the small voice in his mind which fought for Potter's well being, sounded a lot like Lily's.

----------

There was large black door at the end of a long dark and silent hallway. As he walked towards it, the corridor seemed to stretch on and on. He began to run towards it but the door still seemed farther away. Finally he stood before the door. Just as he reached to open it, the door flew open and a voice shouted, "Avada Kedavra" and Harry saw a blinding flash of green light come straight towards him.

Harry bolted straight up in bed. He was breathing fast and was sweating heavily. It had been the fifth time in the past two weeks he had dreamt about that door and hallway bit until tonight. He always woke before he ever got a chance to try and open it.

"I'm just a freak," Harry whispered. "I'm unwanted and weak." Propping himself against his pillow, the young Gryffindor brought his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around them. Placing his head down on top of his knees, Harry's thoughts turned to the mother he never got to know.

"Mum," Harry spoke softly. With all his might, Harry deeply wished she could have been right there to wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him. She would have made him feel safe and secure, help make him feel not strong and make him feel loved.

----------

She was smiling. Her lovely emerald eyes sparkled liked the freshly fallen snow.  Her laughter was filled with so much joy. "Come on Sev," young Lily Evans called out, "it's fun. Try it."

"I...I don't know about this Lily," the young Severus replied before he was pulled down by Lily into the snow.

"Now move your arms and legs like this," Lily instructed as she made another snow angel. Severus mirrored her actions until she had stopped and carefully got back up. She extended her purple mitten covered hand to him and helped him up.

"See? It's not too hard." She said as they looked at the two finished angles.

"Yeah. I guess not." Severus answered as he looked at his only true friend he had.

"You made a good angel," Lily said.

Severus did not know how to respond. Suddenly a sound came from within the bushes behind them.

"Who there?" Severus called out.

"It's probably nothing," Lily answered as she moved toward the bushes and dived into them. The next sound Severus heard was Lily's scream.

"Lily!" he yelled out as he ran towards the brush only to hear a high cold voice cry out, "Avada Kedavra!" and was blinded by a bright flash of green light.

Severus bolted up in his bed. His breathing was short and harsh. He felt his heart was pounding away at his chest. As his breathing and heart rate slowly returned to normal, he thought about the dream. It had been the winter before they were to start at Hogwarts. Up until that time, Severus had never made a snow angel. As he thought more about Lily, he began to feel something else in his heart. The all too familiar feelings of pain and hurt of Lily being gone filled him. His soul felt crushed again; it was too much for him and tears started to form in his eyes.

"Lily," he whispered as he placed his hands in his face and cried over the loss of the only true friend he'd ever had. Unbeknownst to the Head of Slytherin, he was not the only one that night crying for the warmth that only Lily Evans could provide.