At first Severus was angry. How dare the brat tell him to fuck off? How did he even know such language? But when he leaned closer to give the boy a proper telling-off, he noticed the slight flinch Harry couldn't quite hide, and the spark of fear in the bright green eyes, and his anger drained away as if through a sieve.

"All right," he sighed and leaned back. "You don't want to tell me right now, and that's fine. I'm sorry for pushing. But I hope you understand that at some point-and it will have to be sooner, rather than later-you are going to have to tell." He thought it prudent for the moment not to mention Dumbledore already knew. The child would panic again, and then where would they be? Besides, he was feeling a bit uneasy about actually telling his employer and erstwhile 'mentor' that he currently had custody of the Boy Who Lived.

Harry nodded curtly, the fear gone entirely from his eyes, which had gone harder than Severus had previously thought a child's could go.

"Now, I think it's time for supper and bed," Severus said, as kindly as he could manage. "Tomorrow, I know someone who can properly treat your ankle. You can walk on it tonight if you're careful, but please put as little weight as you can on it."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded and moved to get off the sofa. Severus quickly put out a hand to forestall the boy.

"I will make you supper and bring it to you here," he elaborated. "How do you feel about soup?"

"It's fine, sir," Harry acknowledged and slumped back against the couch cushions, picking again at a loose thread in the blanket that covered him from chest to toes. Severus opened his mouth to admonish him, then abruptly closed it. Ah, well. It's not like it really mattered, did it? A loose thread in the scheme of things was nothing. He had much more important things on his mind, like what he was going to do with the Boy Who Lived.

Harry watched him disappear into the kitchen with wide, nearly panicked eyes. He couldn't believe Jay had actually told the man to fuck off. You don't do that to adults! Backtalking adults gets you hurt! But Mister Snape hadn't done anything. He'd gotten closer for a moment and looked really angry, but it actually seemed like he'd noticed how scared they were getting and backed off. But that made no sense. Adults didn't do that! Did they? Harry scrunched his shoulders and wriggled deeper under the blanket, deciding firmly that adults were confusing and more trouble than they were worth.

It was Tom again who ate the soup (chicken noodle), brushed off the man's assurances of assistance in getting to the guest room, and carefully limped down the hallway to bed. Snape actually kept them company on the way and made sure they got into bed safely, a realisation that actually made them get a bit sniffly and red-eyed as a whole. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wouldn't have been caught dead ensuring Harry got into bed all right, broken ankle or not. More than likely, Uncle Vernon would have kicked his legs out from under him and he would have been forced to crawl into his cupboard, helped along by Dudley's jeers and occasional blows, while Aunt Petunia sniffed disapprovingly in the background.

He hated them all and he sent up a fervent wish as he crawled under the thick covers that he'd never have to see them again. Of course, life is rarely that accommodating...

The next morning was bitterly cold, even inside, and Harry found himself in a constant state of shivering when he woke up and awkwardly hobbled into the restroom. A night's sleep might have made him feel better, but it had made his ankle stiffen up in a quite painful sort of way. He nearly tipped right over when he got out of bed, although Jay managed to take over quickly enough that the body merely stumbled a bit.

Idiot, Jay muttered scathingly in Harry's direction, who flushed to the tips of his ears. How was he to know their ankle would feel this badly off? Jay hadn't known either!

It still stung though and Harry willingly submerged back inside, letting Tom deal with the bother of their ankle and breakfast and Snape. He didn't want to anymore.

Great going, Jay, Tom glared at him as he dressed the body in the same play clothes they'd worn the day before, drawing their sock carefully over the slightly swollen ankle. None of us were aware of how painful our ankle has become. Our host is not an idiot.

Jay went red at the reprimand and scowled right back.

Not that hard to guess, he drawled back. Besides, we almost fell. Wouldn't that have been a pretty picture for Snape?

...I should have known this led back to Snape, Tom sighed as he finger-combed their hair into some semblance of order.

We know fucking nothing about him, okay? Nothing. All right, so he probably ain't in league with the Dursleys or anything. But who says he doesn't wanna hurt us?

Honestly? Nothing, Tom admitted. But look at it this way. When Freak had a panic attack and broke our ankle, he fixed it. When you told him to fuck off, he didn't even yell at us, much less beat the shit out of us. He looked horrified when he heard what Vernon did, and saw the bruises. People who want to hurt kids don't have those reactions. So at the very least? He's better than the Dursleys.

...Okay, fine, you have a point, Jay sighed, looking sulky as he retreated back into his internal room. Tom mentally heard the door slam and sighed. They may have been more physically safe than they had been at the Dursleys', but mentally, they were turning into a real mess, and he hadn't the slightest how to deal with it.

Snape was up when Tom finally hobbled down the hallway into the kitchen. He merely raised an eyebrow at Tom's limping status, but Tom saw the chair subtly pulled out by a quick wave of the man's wand, before it was once again hidden up his sleeve. Again, kind.

"Today before anything else, you will be seeing Madam Pomfrey," Snape said shortly, brooking no argument. "She will be able to fix your ankle better than I. And afterward..." Snape paused. "You will be speaking with me more about your home life and your guardians."

Tom's face shuttered as he nodded. Of course. He knew they had to, but gods, how he wished they didn't. He'd much prefer to think of the Dursleys as simply a nasty dream, something that lingers in the back of your mind and coats the edges of your thoughts with their poison, but who is, at the end, harmless.

After a very hasty breakfast of porridge (that was much too bland and left Tom pushing it about his bowl with the edge of his spoon), Snape made what was probably one of the stupidest decisions he'd ever made.

He took gentle but firm hold of Tom's arm and Apparated.