The walk wasn't long, Dumbledore had made sure. Yet, each step towards the looming house of Number Four Privet Drive seemed to only lengthen the distance. Harry wished it had. He wished he'd never arrive at the neatly trimmed lawn covered in white frost, never cross the border of the wards, and never have to surrender himself to the pain that will soon rain down. He felt like a chastised child having to walk towards his disciplinarian to receive due punishment. Was this a choice? Or another decision made for him? He could enter the dark house, submit himself to Vernon's fury, and try to survive two days. Or he could pass the illusion of perfection. He could walk along the sidewalk until his ratty shoes finally give up. He could live in alleys and hunt in trash bins. He could find some ragtag gang and withstand the days until his majority. He could take his chances in winter London. He could do a lot of things.

It was only two days though. Surely he wouldn't be too damaged by then. He survived nearly fourteen years at the Dursley's. Facing Voldemort and his deathly sycophants would likely end with him in a worse condition. Two evils, that was his choice. He could go with the monster he's known since he was barely two or the one that he's only met three times with once being only an incorporeal form. The devil that you know...

Steps trained in secrecy brought him to the backyard fence. Summoning all the fear, worry, and anxiety eating at his nerves Harry expelled them with a deep exhale timed perfectly with him easing the fence gate open. Thankfully it didn't creak. He carefully reached the back door, his worn-shoes-made-slippers protecting him from the thin layer of snow along the ground. He really didn't want to follow through with his orders. But he didn't have a choice.

Harry eased open the back door, glad the Dursleys weren't cautious people. He crept inside the silent home.  Despite him being gone for months the place still smelt strongly of disinfectant and bleach. The linoleum was nearly sparkling. It was only after a decade and a half of training that Harry avoided dripping melted snow on the ground. His footfalls mimicked a small rodent; they were mute. He wound his way through the ground floor to the stairs. A sudden snore stopped Harry in his tracks. Fear gripped his rapidly panicking heart. Merlin, please let them keep sleeping, Harry wished. He stealthily maneuvered up the staircase, through the hallway, and to the door lined with locks. Briefly he wondered what the Dursleys told guests what the door was when he isn't there. 

He softly turned his door handle ... to find it wouldn't budge. He tried again, turning the metal knob to no avail. The simmering panic grew tenfold. No. He needed to get inside his room. They couldn't find him vulnerable in the hallway. He just wanted to get through the next two days relatively unscathed and out of his relatives' way. But it didn't look like it would go that way.

Professor Snape rose for his Thursday classes. His routine was practiced and trite as he followed it once again. He was smiling though, as he got ready. The Potter boy would be gone for the last two days of term. He would see neither hair nor hide of the arrogant prince until he'd have to retrieve him on Saturday. Potter was probably going to whine and moan about being torn from his dotting relatives. But he'd ensure the brat knew discipline and humility before term resumed come January.

Harry watched in horror as his Uncle advanced. He knew he should have hidden in his old cupboard.

During lunch Professor Snape observed the Granger girl sitting alone, reminiscent of her early days as a student. He was unsure what she possibly saw in Potter. The girl must know Potter is only pretending to be friends for her help. After all, that's what Potter Senior did with Lupin. Potter had allegiances and possibly the Weasley boy, but the true meaning of friendship was likely lost on the boy.

Harry carefully mopped the floor trying to irritate his wounds as little as possible. The work was hell on his pain-ridden body, but he couldn't stop; not with work still to be done.

Dinner was a terse affair with Umbridge's interrogative actions throughout the day weighing people down. She'd attack any Gryffindor she saw. Swooping down like a crazed vulture she'd peck at them with grating words. Snape witnessed Minerva McGonagall smile on the rare occasion if she saw Umbridge storm off fruitless. But, of course, this was all Potter's fault. His need for attention brought this upon all of them. If the boy would only keep his head down, then things wouldn't get so hectic. It was asking too much though for Potter to be dutiful, though. Like the brat could keep any secrets.

Harry slaved over the hot stove that was not a comfort within the Dursleys' 29 degree Celsius home. The night was almost upon him.

Silk sheets encased the dark-haired man. He peacefully slept away the worries that plagued his waking hours. The cold of the dungeons did not penetrate his wards that kept the room warm. Dreamless sleep filtered through his veins ensuring he got the sleep the troubled man deserved. He would need all the sleep he could get now, considering what lies ahead.

Harry shivered in his thin blanket while he lies awake in his dismal mattress. Nightmares, pain, and memories kept him from sleeping.

Friday went easily enough for Snape. Without any Weasleys, though the girl was bearable, or Potter his classes seemed subdued. The whole castle was, though. The weight of Umbridge's decrees and small actions happening throughout the Wizarding world without explanation was slowly putting students on edge. They weren't all stupid. By now doubt that the media's solid stance in Voldemort not being back was setting in. Snape may hate Potter, but the boy was right. Voldemort was back. And, he had the profound, black Dark Mark to prove it. Sadly, his day was close to an end. Tomorrow he'd have to retrieve the cause of his perpetual aggravation for the last four-almost-five years.

Harry could hardly move from pain and exhaustion. Tomorrow he'd be saved.

Snape decided to grade the end-of-term essays after he slept in on Saturday.

Harry kept glancing at the door after he started his five AM chores.

Snape felt a sense of elation as he organized his storeroom putting off picking up Potter.

Harry felt a sense of hopelessness as he served lunch with shaking hands.

Snape waited until it was after suppertime. Potter would likely be leisurely devouring his evening meal. He could imagine the shocked expression on the conceited brat's face. Snape reveled in the injustice and horror he could cause to appear on the Potter spawn's face. The spoiled child deserved everything he got. Some people weren't born into privilege. Some people didn't have enough money to buy out the Ministry's Department of Transportation. Some people didn't have a million fawning followers. Some people didn't have anyone.

Ignoring the detrimental path his thoughts were taking Snape found himself just outside the Hogwarts's gates. In one breath he'd be spinning and arrive at Potter's home. But surely it could wait? He may enjoy the brief moment of terror Potter'd experience at finding out his arrangement for the next three weeks, but it wasn't worth having to watch and teach the boy. Surely he could prolong this endeavor a few more hours ... or days. Voldemort won't wait that long, Snape knew. He has to teach the child soon lest Voldemort discovers the connection.

With his new resolve Snape disapparated on the spot to emerge on a snow covered street. The lawns were perfect, far as he could tell, under the white. The streetlights were flickering on and off, undecided in the twilight. Each car he passed seemed eerily similar to the next. Everything was eerily similar. Snape brushed aside the unsettling perfection. His mission was to grab Potter and leave. And, loath as he was to complete this mission, he knew he had to.

No one noticed the black clad man suddenly materialize into existence at the end of their street. No one noticed the dark figure pass their house. No one noticed the fearsome form approach number four. And, no one noticed the scene that unfolded after he knocked.

Shilo took a calming breath as she checked over herself. Within the confines of the small bathroom she could drop her boy role. She could drop the stoic face and hardened eyes. She could be herself and not worry about remembering to snort instead of giggle. She didn't have to remember to walk like a soldier instead of a swan. She didn't have to remember to number her smiles or hold her tears. Here, she could forget to remember.

Before the mirror she carefully cataloged the injuries, ignoring the bad taste in her mouth at seeing her male appearance. Her nimble hands drifted over her cheeks which were unharmed. Vernon hadn't aimed for them, or her head, after she managed to alert him to the fact that she was leaving in two days. But he wanted to ensure she remembered her place. The blows were not the most helpful in recovering her mental state. Her hand traveled downwards over her swollen lips and past the hollow of her throat to rest right at the collar of her overflowing shirt. Shilo didn't want to look. She knew if she pulled down the collar she'd see a mass of bruises and cuts. He loved to scar her chest, reveling in pointing out its level height. Because someone else did know about her.

She hadn't been careful and he found out. Vernon was the least likely of the Dursleys to accept abnormality. And, Shilo embodied it. The punishment for being caught hadn't been pretty. It hadn't left her pretty. But a deal had been made: Shilo could dress as herself, be herself, at night if Vernon could visit her. Well, like many things in her life, Shilo wasn't allowed to make the decision. It wasn't her choice. It was never her choice. The life that followed that fateful 1989 day resulted in her current predicament. Returning to Privet Drive meant indulging Vernon's sick, twisted side that enjoyed mocking Shilo in the cruelest fashion he could find. As much as Shilo wanted to be a girl in more than just mind and soul she was glad she couldn't fully change her body until she was past her majority. She didn't want to consider what Vernon would do if she was a girl utterly.

Deciding to ignore her chest for now Shilo moved on to inspect her shoulders. There were no marks past her sleeves. Her stomach was bad shape, but nothing she couldn't stand. It was only two-almost-three day damage. She had experienced a month of non-stop abuse only this past summer. Part of her really wished she didn't know the kind of pain that entitled. The other had learned to accept that this was her life. And so, she continued her scrutiny. She knew to avoid her groin; she did it regularly, and focused on her legs. There were bruises and welts that likely matched her back. It must be a horrible sight to see, her back. A cluster of concentrated fury right over ... oh, no, she wouldn't think about that. Not now. She couldn't afford to.

Shilo quickly washed her wounds as best she could. With trained practice she puts her mask back in place. She reconstructed Harry Potter in the mirror. Molding her face back into an indifferent, cold mask that would hide her pain and replacing dismay with anger seemed almost unjust. Injustice was a defining factor in her life, though. Fairness and justice have never been her friends. Not when they replaced estrogen with testosterone in the womb; not when they killed her parents before she could properly walk and talk; not when they turned the world and the only people expected to lover her against her; and they were especially not fair when they decided to bring back a man hell-bent on killing her while she was trying to figure her life out. No, life would never be fair or just for Shilo Potter. Or, rather, Harry Potter, as he was so perfectly in place before the mirror.

"Get out! Your time is up!" Aunt Petunia screeched through the bathroom door. Harry turned away from his reflection. He hated looking into a mirror as himself and not Shilo. The hope that he'd be able to visit the ROR when he got back to Hogwarts was dwindling. Dumbledore told him he'd be collected on Saturday, which was today (he'd checked multiple times). So far, no one showed. Doubt of ever being collected had settled throughout the day as Vernon got testy. Each hour that passed without anyone showing meant a new set of abrasions to Harry's body. He really hoped someone would show soon, before night fell.

Luck seemed to finally be on the teen's side as there was a knock on the door right as he reached the bottom step. The entire household went on edge at the noise. Harry tried to straighten his shirt, which was a challenge to do when it was nearly falling off him. A wonderful perk of being sent to the Dursley's without any of his personal items. Thankfully Petunia had yet to get rid of some of Dudley's old shirts. Harry hoped his luck would actually last and someone he knew would pick him up, like Lupin, and ignore the clothing he wore.

That luck quickly ran out as Harry opened the door. A sneering, sallow, spiteful face was what Harry found. One of the last men on the entire planet Harry wanted to encounter stood before him. Shit.

"Potter! We're leaving." Snape near growled as he did the opposite of what he commanded and entered the home. Harry sidestepped just in time to avoid the daunting man stalk through the threshold. Something began eating at his nerves as he noticed the man observing the living room where the Dursleys sat. It might have been consternation if outrage wasn't the predominant emotion taking over. Harry glared at the back of Snape's head as the man stood not far-off examining with stilted eyes. Of all the people who would pick him up it had to be Snape. Fairness didn't even know Harry existed.

"Sir?" Harry said trying to control the bitterness rising in his voice. He may hate Snape, but he'd rather leave the residence before nightfall. He'd rather not be in Vernon's presence while darkness takes over.

Snape turned to glare at Harry. His lanky hair flipped in an almost feminine manner. Though it might have been Harry's imagination as he wished his hair could flow. Maybe Snape was like him; a her. A giggle almost passed Harry's lips, but he choked it down. Like Snape could ever be anything but a menacing model of masculinity. He received a raised eyebrow for his slip up. Harry schooled his features back into an unreadable mask.

"My, my, Potter, I didn't know you had it in you to be civil and polite." Snape mock-praised with a smirk. Fury was not an emotion Harry knew he could afford right now. Snape might just up and leave abandoning Harry to three weeks of torture courtesy of the Dursleys. 

"Do you have everything, Potter?" Snape inquired. The slight smirk that followed really set Harry's teeth on edge. Of course he didn't, he didn't have anything right now. Bastard.

"Yes, sir." Can we go now, Harry mentally screamed at him. Snape gave Harry a rather harsh glare, despite how polite Harry kept his response.

"Impatience, Potter, leads to nothing good. Let us depart." Snape fully turned towards the door and swept past Harry, robes billowing. Harry didn't have time to mock Snape internally as he rushed out after the man. The cold assaulted him instantly. The last time he had traveled the yard before him he'd been in such a state of shock the cold hadn't fully registered. But he now felt it in his loose, thin shirt. A modest breeze roamed through the openings in Harry's shirt. The first time was a blessing as the cold felt nice against his scorching wounds. After a few moments, the bliss quickly turned to misery as he began to shiver.

Harry was tempted to ask how they'd be getting to Hogwarts, but his teeth were clattering too hard. Just as other questions formed in his mind Snape stopped walking and stuck out his arm. What struck Harry as odd was that he didn't hold out a wand to call the Knight bus.

"Come now, Potter. We don't have all night." Snape glanced back at Harry. At Harry's confused expression he sighed heavily. "Surely you are not that incompetent, Potter. Grab my arm." Snape barked the order.  Harry didn't hesitate to comply lest the man leave without him. He took hold of the man's arm to suddenly feel sick. He was being pressed along each side, like the walls closing in on a room. His body was being squeezed through some small, black tube system. It was unending.

Finally, Harry's feet met solid, icy ground. He nearly collapsed. His stomach took a few moments to return to him while he gulped down air. The ground below him came into focus once he was stabilized. The sound of footsteps reached his ears. Weary eyes noticed Snape walking ahead. All around him were identical brick houses. The stone was dull with a black hue matching the sky. Harry quickly covered his nose to the chemical dust that faintly lingered. The broken lamp just above him barely reached him in its dull radius. And, he thought Privet Drive was an indistinguishable street.

"Hurry up, Potter, I will not wait hand and foot for the Gryffindor prince!" Snape said harshly from the doorway of the nearest building. Harry sped over to the man, not at all liking his surroundings. There were two steps up to a black door that melted into the wall. Snape opened the door and entered the dark home. Harry reluctantly followed.

Inside was a cramped living area with bookshelves lining each wall. Rows of leather bound tomes encased the already small space. A musty stench of age and disuse permeated the stale air. A fireplace with an eloquent mirror hanging over was to the left. Harry avoided looking at it. A small archway past the fireplace led to a run-down kitchen. There was a threadbare couch and chair, each of a different make and pattern suggesting they weren't a set, next to a rickety looking side table. The room screamed ancient and unused.

"Professor, why are we here?" Harry asked while he went deeper into the room. Snape didn't respond immediately. He flicked his wand at the door to close it. He then seemed to take a moment to ... collect himself?

"Potter," Snape started and the venom behind the word answered Harry's question. He was trying not to let his anger get the best of him. Well, that was a possible bright side. But why was he with Snape in this ratty house? "As you should know, lest your minuscule mind has already forgotten, Professor Dumbledore had plans for the remainder of the vacation for you." Snape continued.

No. Harry's mind nearly blanked. No way was he going to be stuck with Snape. But the man kept talking, so Harry held on to his dim flame of hope.

"I shall explain everything tomorrow, but know you will be residing with me in this house until term resumes. And, let me warn you now, Potter," Snape no longer glared at Harry but bore into his soul with the death look he was giving the teen. Loathing isn't even a strong enough word to describe the emotion swirling in the onyx eyes. "If you so much as step a foot out of line, no, if I hear you breathe wrong, Potter, I will make your life a living hell. Do not. Disobey me. Do not. Go gallivanting. Do not. Go anywhere you do not belong. And, do not. Touch anything." Snape leaned a bit closer with each rule. Harry involuntarily leaned back.

Snape straightened. "Suffer under no illusion, Potter, that I will cater to you like every other man, woman, and child in this world who worships you." The professor turned sharply and stalked off towards a bookshelf. Harry hesitantly followed, blood-curling scenarios flashing through his mind. Snape stopped before a small door and traveled up the winding staircase. Harry felt he might appreciate the house if it wasn't so dusty ... and he wasn't scared shitless. The duo reached the top. It was a small hallway with a collection of small doors. Snape walked past the first to the second door. He motioned to it. "This is the lavatory." was the curt explanation Harry received. Snape then moved back to the first door. He opened it to a narrow, near empty room. With a flick of a switch the room was aglow with yellow light. There was a twin bed against the wall with a dresser right next to it and moth-eaten curtains covering the grimy window.  A desk was situated by the opposite wall. The room was a little smaller than his one at Privet Drive. The roof was low creating an even darker feel. Harry kept up his mask as his face metaphorically fell. Maybe, just maybe, some irrational part of his mind hoped to see something reminiscent of Shilo's ROR room.

"Go to sleep, Potter, though I doubt you need it after likely sleeping in until noon. Rest assured, Potter, that you will rise early tomorrow. I will not let you laze around for this entire break." With that threat hanging in the air Snape turned to leave, but Harry stopped him.

"Sir?" Many questions whirled through Harry's mind. Why did Snape take him to the sad excuse for a house? Why had Snape even picked him up? What was Dumbledore playing at? Would he ever get to make a choice in his life? But he knew he'd get time tomorrow to ask them. He'd have to wait. Tomorrow everything would be fixed. Right now he had to stay on Snape's good-side, as if he ever could, and stick it out. Professor's had limitations for punishment, but at this house? Could Snape follow through with his threat? There weren't many things Snape could do to make Harry's life more Hell than it already was. Well, there was one thing, but Snape wouldn't. Right?

"May I still use the bathroom to prepare for bed?" Harry said in his most confident voice that betrayed no fear or anger. He received a sneered nod in reply as well as a slammed door. Harry had to restrain himself from jumping at the noise.

As Harry prepared to sleep he noted that a part, albeit small, of him wished to be back at Privet Drive. At least he knew what he'd be doing right now, and what he'd be doing the next morning, and the ones to follow. The devil that you know ... is better than the one you don't.