Albus stepped heavily from his fireplace and made his way into his office slowly.

From his perch, Fawkes trilled worriedly at him and he acknowledged the sound with a half-hearted wave of his hand. His mind was on Lupin, on the images that he had taken forcibly from the man's mind; images that were now swirling around in his mind at a sickeningly fast pace.

Not looking at his surroundings, Albus slowly walked across the room and went into his bedroom. Behind him, he heard a rustle of feathers, and then quite suddenly he felt the comforting weight of his familiar land on his shoulder. Fawkes touched his head with a brightly colored wing and gave a mournful trill into his ear.

He didn't respond to his feathered friend's sadness for the tragedy unfurling around them. He didn't respond when Fawkes began to sing. He merely carried his body to the edge of his bed, seeing himself move as though he were looking through someone else's eyes.

Now sitting, he turned his face into the phoenix's body and breathed in blank silence.

. . .

When Snape had sent him back to the room he had spent the night in, Harry had gone without thinking; his terror far too great for him to remain in the same proximity with an angry McGonagall for very much longer.

Unfortunately his fear had not abated when he had closed the door behind him. Instead, it had continued to rise within his chest like a great winged beast, reaching its clawed fist around his throat and slowly choking him until the room was spinning around his head.

There was too much open space around him; too many places for things to reach out and grab him.

Although he would have had difficulty explaining it to anyone else, he suddenly found himself dearly wanting his cupboard. Therefore, he had chosen to move to the closet and hunker down in its narrow confines. It was the closest thing available to what his mind desired.

. . .

Severus knocked on the lad's door and waited. There was no answer and he frowned at the silence. Without further ado, he opened the door and went in. There was no sign of the boy. He ignored the quickening of his heart rate and looked under the bed.

No Harry.

Could the lad have left under his invisibility cloak?

No, the wards would have alerted me.

The door hadn't opened. He was sure that the door hadn't opened since had sent Harry in here.

He was sure.

He took his wand out and whispered, "Point me Harry."

It spun around in his hand before coming to a stop. His brow furrowed further as he realized that it was pointing at the closet door.

Why in Merlin's name—?

Quickly, he crossed the room, his feet making little to no sound on the carpeted floor. He came to a stop in front of the door, but hesitated before opening it, his hand on the knob.

Why was the child in the closet?

He shook his head. He didn't know. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know. It didn't matter. The spell wasn't wrong. Harry was in there and he needed to come out.

Finally, he turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open.

. . .

Harry blinked hard as the light suddenly came into his hiding place. There was a dark figure standing in the doorway and he scrambled backwards from it.

"Harry," the dark figure said in a soothing voice, crouching down and reaching a long fingered hand out towards him.

Huddled at the back of the closet, Harry cocked his head at the sound of the man's voice. It wasn't his uncle. His uncle would never speak so civilly to him. A freak like him didn't deserve such treatment.

"Harry," the dark figure tried again. "Please take my hand, child."

Suddenly it clicked and he blinked hard at the unexpected wave of emotion that went through him at his realization.

"P-Professor Snape?" He whispered, still holding his hands tightly around his knees.

"That's right," his professor said with a nod; his voice still so very calm. "Won't you take my hand and come out of the dark?"

Harry hesitantly reached out a smaller hand, but jerked it back a few inches before reaching the older man's hand. Snape didn't yell and he didn't move any closer. It was for that reason that Harry finally got up the nerve to try again. He reached out and touched his much smaller fingers to his professor's warm hand. Snape gripped his hand gently, but didn't pull on him and didn't pinch.

Harry let out a breath and let his body creep forwards a bit into the light.

"That's it, Harry. Just a bit more now," Snape said encouragingly, his dark eyes looking sincere.

With his free hand, Harry picked up his sodden handkerchief and shoved it into the pocket of his pyjamas. Then he pushed himself up on his knees and allowed himself to move closer to Snape's still crouched form.

"Are you angry?" He whispered.

"At you? Why should I be angry?" Snape began stroking the back of his hand with a potion stained thumb and Harry scooted just a little nearer. He was sitting less than a foot from his professor now, feeling strangely unthreatened by the man's close proximity.

"'Cause I got so scared?" He asked, still whispering.

"I believe you had an appropriate response to a trying situation, Harry. There is no shame in that."

Harry shook his head in disagreement. Uncle Vernon hadn't driven him to tears since he was eight. In fact, as he thought about it, he had never acted so—so cowardly before in his entire life. Was he a Gryffindor or a Hufflepuff?

Or just a freak like always?

His eyes burned and he had to look away from Snape's intense dark eyes. Not looking up, he hastily pulled his hand back from Snape and wrapped his arms around his stomach.

What's wrong with me? Why can't I just push through this like usual?

To his great mortification, his vision started blurring up as his eyes filled with tears once again.

"Harry," Snape murmured, laying a hand on his shoulder and gently drawing him into his side.

"You're not 'posed to hug me!" Harry cried out hoarsely, trying to pull away again.

"Because of what Lupin did?" Something flashed in his professor's face and then he was calm again. However, unlike before, Snape didn't let go of his shoulder; he just kept holding Harry close to the side of his chest.

"'Cause freaks don't get hugs!"

"'Freaks?'" Snape's lips twisted as though he didn't particularly care for the word.

"You know," Harry blinked hard and glanced briefly into the man's stern face. "Freaks? Weirdos? Monsters? Outcasts?"

Snape was staring down at him as though he had frozen and Harry ducked his head in embarrassment.

Maybe he doesn't know what I am? He asked himself. Not true! He knew something was wrong the first time he met me!

"Harry," Snape started, but had to clear his throat before he could continue. "What else can you tell me about 'freaks'?" He asked, making another unidentifiable face as he said the word again.

"Freaks don't get love. No one loves a freak. You just put up with them," Harry began, unaware that his voice had taken on the quality of a younger child's.

"Freaks shouldn't be heard or seen. No one wants to look at a freak. They're worthless," his voice trembling as he continued his recitation. "Freaks oughta be glad for what they get, 'cause they're lucky to get anything. No one wants a freak."

"Why is that, Harry?" Snape asked very softly.

"'Cause freaks are bad," Harry answered automatically.

"How so?"

"They don't act right. They make weird stuff happen. You can't be seen in public with a freak. People stare and point. Good people don't spent time with freaks. They smell bad and look funny. You can't trust a freak. They cheat and they lie and they don't know how to be good."

Snape's face was completely unreadable now. Harry decided it might be better not to look up again. He didn't really want to see whether Snape agreed with the Dursleys or not.

"What does it take to be good?" His professor finally asked; his voice strangely hoarse.

"Do what 'm told and not talk or do anything freaky."

Silence, and then Snape said, "It sounds as though you are not allowed to be good, child."

"If I tried harder—," he whispered, feeling the old yearning deep in his heart again.

"What happens if you are 'bad,' Harry?" Harry could hardly believe that Snape still had his arm around his shoulders; that he was willing to continue touching him.

"Get punished," Harry said with a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes still on the floor.

"Like what, child?"

"Spankings and—and I get locked in my cupboard without food. Well, now I get put in my cousin's second bedroom. They moved me after I went to Hogwarts," he said, giving another shrug.

"Your cupboard?" Snape sounded slightly incredulous, and he didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

"Yeah. Freaks don't deserve rooms. They're not like people. They don't need that much."

"What are they like then?"

Harry thought for a moment and then answered hesitantly. "They're more like animals."

"Like pets?" It seemed that Snape was really trying to understand the intricacies of being a freak.

His mind went automatically to Aunt Marge's dog Ripper, and how he was allowed to terrorize Harry.

"No. Pets are more important. You can love a pet. You can't love a freak." He lifted up his glasses and ran his hand across his eyes impatiently.

"Harry," Snape's hand touched his cheek and he flinched backwards slightly. "Harry, look at me."

He raised his head, fearing the worst, but his professor's face was calm.

"Is Ms. Granger a freak? Her parents are muggles too, correct?"

Harry had to wipe at his eyes again.

"Not as much," he answered at last.

"Explain."

"Hermione lives with her parents," he explained.

"And?" Snape prompted when he did not continue.

"Well, they wanted her. She's their kid," he said, gritting his jaw tightly and pinching the skin against his ribs tightly between the tips of his fingers.

"And your relatives?"

"Don't," Harry's voice was bitter. There was nothing he could do to make things better, no matter how hard he tried. He knew this. He knew it. He pinched harder; trying to replace the pain in his heart with the pain in his skin.

He felt Snape shift beside him and then suddenly his hands were being gripped by much larger ones.

"Stop that," Snape hissed in his ear. He stopped, surprised that the man had noticed. No one ever had before.

"Come child. It's time to get up off this floor," Snape said then, pulling them upright. Walking beside him the entire way, Snape directed him to sit on the sofa in the other room and then sat down beside him.

"Does the headmaster know any of what you have just told me?"

"Maybe?" His voice was uncertain and it caused Snape to look strangely at him.

"Either he does or he does not, Harry," Snape answered in the same soothing voice from before.

"He put me there. He said I'm safest there. I asked if I could stay at Hogwarts for the last two summers. He said I couldn't, because my aunt's love would keep me safer. I dunno if he knows how they really feel." Harry looked away, feeling the pain in his heart searing again. "Maybe he thinks I deserve it," he admitted in a barely audible voice.

"For what?"

"For what I did," Harry whispered, his throat closing off around the wet lump forming there. Maybe that's why Lupin got away with what he did. Maybe Dumbledore really did think I deserved it.

"Harry, what could you possibly have done to deserve your relatives?"

Harry's lip started trembling against his will and he closed his eyes tightly against the insistent tears.

"Voldemort wanted me. If I hadn't been born, my parents would still be alive. It's my fault."

"Harry, you idiotic boy," Snape growled, clearly exasperated with him. "Look at me. Look at me."

He made himself look up into Snape's blazing eyes as his professor's hands covered his own with a surprisingly gentle touch. He wondered if the man realized that Harry was crying on him. He wondered what he would do if he did.

"Their deaths are not your fault, child."

He shook his head 'no.'

"They chose to protect you with their lives. It was their choice to save you. The dark lord chose to kill that night. It is his fault alone that they are dead."

"Then I wish I had died too!" His tears wouldn't stop and he couldn't see, and the entire situation was completely surreal.

"The headmaster should have checked on you more often than he did," Snape said in frustration.

"He didn't care what happened to me. He just wanted me to suffer for what I did!" Harry cried out in a hitching voice.

"He wanted you to be safe," Snape answered more loudly. "Were you not listening to me? He loves you Harry. Surely you can see that?"

Harry recoiled from his professor. Dumbledore might not have raped him in the name of love, but he had placed him in the care of his relatives.

"Child?" The man's ferociousness had disappeared as fast as it had begun.

His chest felt as though it might burst from the conflicting emotions that were running rampant through his heart. He remembered what it looked like to see Lupin's hand caressing his skin; his face loving and caring, even while he forced himself inside of Harry's body. He remembered watching his own face, how his tears continued to roll down his face even though he was unconscious. Occasionally Lupin reached up and wiped the wetness off of his face, but he didn't stop what he was doing. He didn't stop until he had mixed himself with Harry's bloody innards.

Abruptly, he snapped back to the present and without warning began vomiting over the side of the sofa. Quickly Snape conjured a bucket for him and he threw up into it until he could give no more. He cried as he emptied himself; he cried and begged silently for it to end, for his insides to be clean once more.

Eventually his sobs quieted as weariness took over him once more. When Snape pulled him against his side, Harry allowed himself to be held. He was too tired to resist.

Snape didn't love him, didn't want him, and it was better that way.

It was safer, especially for a freak like him.