He fell through the floo like he always did, bracing himself to hit the ground as he tripped forwards.

Only he didn't fall, because as the floo spat him out into the dingy interior of the Leaky Cauldron, someone's hands were there to catch him.

His heart rammed itself into his throat, his brain already starting to panic, before his eyes opened and he realized who was holding him.

"P-P-Professor Snape?" He whispered, staring upwards in befuddlement.

"Silly boy," Snape admonished softly as he helped to put Harry back onto his own two feet.

"Thank you," he answered. It was then that he realized that the other patrons of the pub were all staring at them. Nervously he pushed himself slightly behind his professor, cautiously slipping his hand back into the man's much larger one as he did.

"Ignore them," Snape said so quietly that Harry thought he must have imagined it.

Snape turned them to the door and then flicked a critical eye down at his borrowed pajamas and transfigured shoes.

"I would have brought your coat with us, but seeing as how you did not seem to own one . . ." Snape trailed off, his dark eyes glinting dangerously.

"Sir?"

"Warming charms will have to do," Snape finished, taking his wand out and performing the necessary incantation. Harry instantly felt warmth settle over his limbs and he involuntarily let out a little sigh of pleasure.

"Luckily we are not going far," his professor said, briefly stopping before the door that led to muggle London and flicking his wand once more.

Instantly his heavy teaching robes changed to a long black trench coat, and Harry goggled a bit at the black jeans and long sleeved gray pullover that were clearly visible underneath it.

"Come," Snape said, opening the door that led to the frigid outside.

Harry was thankful that Snape did not let go of his hand as they walked briskly down the sidewalk through the blowing snow. Luckily, the bitter cold weather seemed to limiting the number of pedestrians around them, but there were still a few close calls. The third time he accidentally tread on his professor's feet to avoid being touched by stranger, Snape stopped and without warning suddenly lifted him up and propped Harry on his hip before continuing onwards.

It was a shock initially, but Harry felt much safer by the next block and was able to relax a bit by the time they had reached their destination. He was somewhat grateful that Snape put him down just outside of the shop itself, but couldn't help missing that warm safe feeling that had been present in his chest while Snape had been carrying him.

. . .

The boy was thirteen, but he was very small for his age, looking to Severus more like the ten year old Draco had. And yes, he hadn't usually carried the ten year old Draco, but there had been times where it had been necessary—say, at the end of a very long day when the child was completely worn out.

Besides, it was frigid and there weren't any of the boy's little friends about to mock him, and Harry's grip on his hand was beginning to cut off circulation to his fingers. Interestingly enough, when he had picked him up, the boy had instantly melded to his chest, wrapping thin legs around his waist and burying a cold nose in his neck, seemingly holding on for dear life.

The muggles didn't care. No one was there to judge either him or the boy, and even if they had been, he couldn't say that he definitely wouldn't have done it again.

He looked down at his charge, at the wide green eyes staring out of a too thin, pale face.

Lupin did this, his mind snarled.

But it was more than that. His relatives had a hand in it too. In fact, as he looked around the plush surroundings of the muggle clothing shop they now found themselves in, he realized that the muggles had more to do with this than just a hand. They had delivered a kick to the boy's backside, throwing him on his knees before he had ever entered Hogwarts.

It made his blood boil.

. . .

The shop was every bit as different from the outside world as it could possibly be. It was warm; so warm in fact that Harry was thankful when Snape ended the warming charm shortly after their entrance. The floor was covered in plush maroon carpet, the kind that made him want to take off his shoes and run barefoot through the store.

And if not for the people and Snape's disapproving glare, he might have considered it.

The people were all around him, still staring at him like they had on the street. He could feel their eyes judging, knowing what he was: a weakling, a victim, another man's plaything. He shivered and automatically took a step closer to his professor, pressing his body up against Snape's side, slightly behind him and ready to run should it become necessary.

. . .

A older female employee greeted them, coming over to them from the far side of the store with an accusatory expression on her face that seemed to demand an explanation from him without her even asking.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" She demanded through a pseudo aura of politeness.

"Good morning," Severus answered politely, feeling Harry twitch in surprise from beside him.

Please do not speak, child. For once in your life . . . his thoughts trailed off.

He was a spy and as a spy, he could adapt to the roles and the expectations that were laid upon him by the various situations he found himself in.

"My sister's family experienced a rather devastating fire in their flat last night, and as such, my nephew needs an entirely new wardrobe."

The woman narrowed her eyes before tersely demanding, "And your sister? Why isn't she here?"

He dropped his voice in a mild version of the deadly whisper he used with his students. "My sister and her husband were injured while rescuing him," here he glanced down at Harry pointedly, before shooting his eyes back up to the nosey hag before them.

Then, almost as though they had planned it beforehand, he felt Harry push his face into the front of his shirt and make a very soft whimpering sound, as though his parents' "injury" had truly just occurred the previous night.

It was all that was needed to break down the rest of the woman's defences, and quite suddenly Severus witnessed an about face in her behaviour towards them.

"Oh my goodness!" She whispered; her hand going up to her mouth in a public display of silent horror. "And your nephew?" She queried, looking down at Harry with a shocked expression.

"Is suffering a bit from smoke inhalation and is under strict orders not to speak unless absolutely necessary," Severus reeled off easily.

"Oh you poor dear," she said in a slightly louder voice, making Harry twitch again. "Let's see if we can't get you some new clothes, shall we?"

"Yes, thank you," Severus replied smoothly, waiting for the woman to begin walking before putting a hand on the boy's shoulder and steering him also in that direction.

. . .

The whimper hadn't been very hard to produce. The woman scared him—not like the men did, but bad enough. Snape, on the other hand, was safe. Snape was like his island and as long as they were touching, no one could hurt him, no one would dare.

They moved through the store easily enough, the other employees leaving them alone since they were already being taken care of.

Still though, Harry could still feel them watching him. There was one man in particular who gave him the creeps, but luckily he was standing all the way at the other end of the store. Harry watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye, and tried to figure out what exactly it was that set him on edge about the man.

He was rather lanky, perhaps as tall as Professor Snape, if not a bit taller, but his teacher looked positively chubby by comparison with his nearly gaunt appearance.

Maybe he's just the security guy, he tried to reason to himself as Snape began talking to the woman about what sorts of things they needed.

He wished that the man would get what he was there for and leave and stop staring at me, he pleaded silently, pushing his face into Snape's warm side once more. He also didn't know why the professor was being so lenient towards him.

Maybe he feels guilty about . . . about everything, he thought, not giving voice to the truth of what had happened.

"Harry," Snape said, catching his eye and looking at him with a brief touch of what looked like concern. "I need you to go into the dressing room and try these on," he said, holding out a pair of trousers towards him.

"Where?" he whispered back.

"Follow me, young man," the woman interjected then, forcefully trying to push her chipper persona into their private conversation.

He couldn't help but flinch back in surprise, and then it was with some embarrassment that he realized he was using Snape's dark coat to hide behind. He felt his cheeks burn and he tried to apologize, but Snape only shook his head, and then gave an empty sounding excuse to the employee about him being frightened of sudden noises because of the fire.

"Perhaps you could just point out the dressing room, madam?"

Harry was still shocked at hearing Snape be polite, let alone to a muggle, and to a muggle like her no less!

"Certainly," the woman answered, her polite tone a bit more clipped this time.

"This way," Snape instructed, pulling Harry out of from his hiding place and lightly pushing him forwards.

As they walked, Harry got the undeniable feeling that he was still be stared at, and so he risked looking in the man's direction again.

There was nothing there. No tall dark haired man staring at him around a rack of clothes. Harry looked around wildly; suddenly aware that not knowing the man's whereabouts was infinitely worse than his constant unnerving stare had been.

"Child?" They had stopped just outside of the rooms, and Harry realized that he couldn't breathe. He couldn't get enough air in, and there were too many people staring at him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was trying to get to him, and—.

Abruptly the world swam before his eyes and he pitched over to the floor.

"Harry?" Snape's face was over his, dark eyes watching him carefully and his mind latched onto the sight desperately.

"No, don't go, don't go!" He begged in a rasping whisper as Snape started to sit up. He watched his professor wave irritably at the crowd that seemed to be gathering around them and then leaned over his body again, picking him up easily and then standing up.

" Somewhere private . . . " he managed to catch from the conversation around them, before closing his eyes and praying that he could be anywhere but there.

He felt them moving and then suddenly the light was different and the sounds dropped off to a distant murmur. Instinctively he knew that they were alone now, and that seemed to be all his body needed before he felt his tears begin, his sobs following not much after.

. . .

Snape was . . . concerned about Harry. He would have been concerned with just the knowledge of the sexual abuse, but with what he was learning now about the child's family, that concern was beginning to blossom into fear. The parallels between Harry and the Dark Lord were far too numerous to ignore, and furthermore, he knew all too well the perils of growing up without proper parental or mentor support.

It would be difficult enough for a well-adjusted child to bounce back from this latest tragedy, but a boy with either of their histories?

And so, he was more than a little concerned about what would happen if Harry did not find that support at the necessary time and from the correct people to give it. Magically, he knew that the child was strong; how could he be otherwise with parents like his?

But mentally, emotionally, even physically he needed help getting to where his classmates and peers already were.

Perhaps it was time to do something more than what he was doing. Perhaps it was time to take a stand, to help this boy find a path before one found him.