No. No no no. I did not like that, that was not pleasant, that was really not pleasant, I do not want to do that again, Harry thought as he and the strange man in black landed and he took a gasping breath. He tumbled to his knees but maintained his grip on the man, squeezing hard as the world spun around him and his stomach threatened to retch its pitiful contents. He did say to keep holding on, didn’t he? I think that’s what he said. But he said that it would only be unpleasant for a few seconds, then it would go away. Right, didn’t he say that? Was he lying? He’s been so nice so far.

Distantly, he thought he heard the strange man saying his name (That is my name, isn’t it? I haven’t heard it in a while.), but he was too focused on not hurling to answer. Throwing up was not a good idea, he knew. It only made him hungrier later, and Aunt Petunia got mad at him for leaving something so stinky, even if it was behind the garage.

“…can let go now, we are here, everything is ok, the feeling will pass in a moment…”

Oh, I should let go now? But Harry was not sure he wanted to let go. His whole world seemed to be spinning around him, literally and figuratively, and he found that he wanted to keep holding on to this anchor. He tightened his grip and tried to breathe, in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Suddenly he felt a cool hand on his face, and he jerked back and looked up into eyes that were swirling black pools.

“Harry, it is time to let go of my arm. It will be ok, I can keep holding on to you, but I need to get you up, we need to go a little farther.”

Ok, I can do this. Slowly, he released his grip on the man’s arm, then huddled in on himself, his nausea beginning to subside. Unexpectedly, he felt the man slide a hand behind his back and another under his legs. He struggled for a moment, but then he was in his arms and was being carried between two huge wrought-iron gates. He found that he was quite tired, and that fighting was just too much energy, and so he relaxed slightly. The man had not hurt him yet, and even if he did later, he would just have to deal with it when it came.

After a long walk through fresh, green grass (oh, how he wished he could lay in that grass, it looked so soft and sweet), and then through huge doors and down a large, echoing hallway, they entered a bright, white room with rows of beds along the walls. Incredibly, the man laid him in one of these beds, and the sheets felt cool and clean and the bed was soft and springy. He nearly closed his eyes in contentment, but then people began bustling around him, more people than he had seen in so long, and they were all looking at him, and his heart began to thump loudly in his ears, and his breathing sped up, but then there was something at his lips and then a liquid in his mouth and he swallowed and then he knew no more.

xxXxx

Once Harry had taken the dreamless sleep, Severus stepped back and ran a hand through his greasy hair, watching the matron casting diagnostic spells over the boy’s sleeping form. He spun around when he heard Minerva’s hot-tempered voice.

“You!” she was saying, pointing an accusing finger at Dumbledore. “How could you let this happen?! I warned you-- I warned you they were the worst kind of muggles! You said you were checking!”

Dumbledore had his hands raised in a placating gesture, but he looked mildly ashamed. “I was checking. Or I thought I was. But I had promised to stay away as much as possible, not bother the family and give Harry as normal a childhood as he could have. So I had Arabella Figg watching him and sending me monthly reports, and everything seemed fine. But it seems that Arabella has been declining lately, I’m not sure for how long; she has the symptoms of an illness the muggles call ‘dementia.’”

“Headmaster, you know that abuse is not often obvious to those outside the family. Arabella is an unlikely person to recognize the signs,” Severus began, but then he faced Minerva. “But you should also know, Minerva, that abuse can be very difficult to recognize even in those looking for it. It was likely only in the past couple of years that it should have been obvious.”

“I never thought…” the Headmaster trailed off. “I never truly thought of abuse as a scenario from which to protect him. Death Eaters, yes, the return of Lord Voldemort,” he ignored Severus’ and Minerva’s flinches “yes, but not abuse.”

“There is fault on many sides. But for now, we need to discuss next steps. Harry needs treatment, and the Dursleys need to be dealt with.” Severus’ eyes flashed when he mentioned the Dursleys.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “Let us first see what Poppy has to say about his physical condition, before we begin discussing counseling for him and how to handle the Dursleys.”

Just then, Madam Pomfrey joined their small circle by the foot of Harry’s bed, a rolled-up parchment in your hand. “Well, he is not in any immediate physical danger, but he has quite a list of issues.” She unrolled the parchment and began scanning it, speaking as she went. “Myopia is the least of his problems, but he is in rather desperate need of corrective lenses. Malnutrition, as well, and it has been going on for quite some time. He is much too thin, although fortunately he has not begun experiencing any significant damage to internal organs yet, nothing irreversible at least. There are also the sores on his neck and ankle. They should heal with treatment, but I am afraid I will not be able to completely prevent scarring. They look as though they’ve both had some mild infections at various points that have very fortunately cleared up on their own, although there is a mild one setting in on his neck right now. He has had many bruises and contusions over the years; I get the impression that he never received any all-out beatings, but that he got quite a few cuffs or backhands. Many bug bites as well, only one that was serious about a year ago, but he seems to have recovered just fine from that, only a small scar left. No insect-carried diseases, either, thankfully, and no sign of lice or fleas. His muscular development has been slightly abnormal for the past couple of years, and his right leg is stronger than his left by a wider margin than is usual, but the main concern is that his fine motor skills have suffered. He will likely have some serious issues writing, particularly with a quill, for a while. He also has some fairly severe bruising around his voice box, made worse by the fact that the cause looks to have been chronic, or perhaps continually re-occuring. He will need to rest his voice while the bruising is treated, and even so his voice may always remain a bit hoarse.” When she finished, she looked up to meet the grim faces of the three professors.

Professor McGonagall turned towards Snape. “What exactly happened, what did you find? You gave so little information in your message, and then we see this,” she gestured towards the sleeping boy. “What did they do to him?” There was an edge of steel in her voice.

Severus crossed his left arm over his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand, his body language uncharacteristically readable. “He was never treated well, neglected, denied food, locked in his room frequently, which was the cupboard under the stairs, by the way.” He looked up and met Minerva’s angry gaze. “But for the past two years, he has been left outside, chained to a corner of their yard, given a doghouse to sleep in and a bucket to relieve himself in,” When Poppy gasped, he added, “And that is not all, not even the worst of it, I don’t think. They put a… a dog collar on him… that is designed to give an electric shock when a dog barks. They didn’t want him speaking.”

Poppy covered her mouth at this, glancing back at the child who was sleeping, curled in a tight ball, beneath the covers. “The psychological damage…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Dumbledore spoke up at this. “Severus, you have the most training in counseling, of us here, what do you think his prognosis is?”

Severus ran a tired hand through his hair. “It is difficult to say without spending more time with him. Earlier, I was much more concerned with building enough trust to get him to come with me than with evaluating him. There has certainly been quite a lot of damage, but I think given enough time and support, he should be able to recover enough to live a normal life. There is certainly some fight left in him. It would take a miracle for him to be ready for school this fall, though. We will need far more than two months, not even, to get him comfortable with crowds and comfortable speaking again.”

Dumbledore nodded, his expression sad and fatigued. “Unfortunately, one of the first things we need to do is press charges against the Dursleys. We need to insure he is legally protected from them. I think our first question is whether we should take them to muggle or magical court, considering that it will undoubtedly be considered a criminal as opposed to a civil offence.”

“Muggle,” Severus answered without hesitation. “As discreet as Wizarding Family Services is, it is highly unlikely that we will be able to keep this completely quiet if we go that direction. And once it gets out, the anti-muggle furor will spread like wildfire, not to mention I imagine Harry will not appreciate the extra attention. With the muggles, the press attention will be much less considering he is not already famous, and we will be able to more easily manipulate the information that is released so that no wizard who stumbles across a muggle newspaper will make the connection. Our main issue will be the rather unorthodox handling the situation has been given so far, but I think a few doctored photos and modified memories should smooth it over. Besides,” he smirked, “the Dursleys will be much more upset to have their reputations ruined this way.”

Minerva nodded. “My cousin, Angus McGonagall, should be able to help. He works as a muggle lawyer, but as a squib he will know enough about the magical world to help us. And he has been used by the Order before and proven himself discreet.”

“An excellent idea, Minerva,” Dumbledore nodded, starting to regain a bit of his usual vigor as the talk turned towards plans. “I think our next question is who should take over guardianship?”

“I will,” Severus immediately stated, and every head turned towards him. Surprise was clear on Minerva and Poppy’s faces, but Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling. “Provided that Harry agrees to it, of course,” he added, and then realized how oddly disappointed he would be if Harry did not agree. Had he begun caring for the child already? He mentally shook that thought off and continued, “It is the most reasonable choice. I have already begun building a rapport with him, I have training in counseling and the handling of abused children, and I will be able to protect him when necessary. And on the topic of counseling, I would like to bring in Pierce Blackburn to work with Harry.”

“An excellent choice, on both counts, Severus, I quite agree,” Dumbledore assured him, a small smile on his face. “Well, now that that is settled, Minerva and I will leave you and Poppy to it. We do not want to crowd him.”

With a small nod, and a confused frown towards Severus, Minerva followed after Dumbledore and the two left the wing.

xxXxx

Harry awoke confused and disoriented. The light was all wrong -- too bright and too white. It was never this bright in his corner of the yard, let alone in his doghouse where he always slept. And he was too… comfortable. The surface beneath him was soft and the usual soreness around his neck and ankle had diminished somewhat. He had different, soft clothes on, and he felt… clean. Then he remembered that morning and sat bolt upright, looking around frantically. He relaxed slightly when he saw a tall black shape on the far side of the room, presuming it to be the strange man in black although he was too far away to see clearly. He shifted back a bit and drew his knees to his chest when the shape began moving towards him.

“Harry, it is good to see you awake,” the strange man said when he reached the side of the bed Harry was lying in. “I am sorry I did not properly introduce myself before. I am Professor Severus Snape, though you may call me Severus for now. I am a teacher at a school called Hogwarts, which is where we are now.”

Harry was a bit confused. It didn’t look like a school. He remembered going to school, and there weren’t any beds. And why was a teacher coming to rescue him from the Dursleys? Maybe it was a school for freaks, like the Dursleys had said he was?

As he thought, his attention wandered, and he was only pulled back to what the strange man -- Severus Snape, he said? -- was saying when he heard him ask, “Do you understand?”

He nodded. He knew the right response to that question. His aunt and uncle liked to say that all the time.

“Good,” the man continued. “Now, I know that you are probably very confused right now, and there is quite a lot to explain…”

Harry frowned, his attention wandering again. He was confused. He had so many questions. Why had the man come and gotten him? How had he even known he was there, or that anyone was there, in that corner of the yard? And if this was a school for freaks, then why was he being so kind?

“…refrain from speaking until it is fully healed,” Harry heard the man saying as he directed his wayward focus back on him. “However, in the meantime, here is a notebook and pen.” The man gently laid a small, blue spiral notebook and a somewhat large black pen down on the bed next to Harry. “If you are able, I would like you to write any questions or responses that you may have down. But only if you feel comfortable. Do you understand?”

Again, that familiar question. Harry nodded. He was supposed to ask questions, and make responses? That did not make any sense. He knew that he was not supposed to say anything. Not supposed to try to communicate. That always got him a quick blow to the head from his aunt or uncle, when he tried to gesture or something. Just like if he looked them in the eye. Although he had already messed up on that one a couple of times with this strange man, and so far hadn’t received anything for it. Still, better to be safe, so he had kept his eyes trained on the man’s slightly blurry hands.

Harry realized that the man had been speaking again as his attention had wandered (this man did quite a bit more speaking than his aunt and uncle), and he forcefully wrenched his thoughts back to him.

“…it might sound very confusing, and very strange, but despite what most people believe, there is such a thing as magic, and witches and wizards exist who can use this magic. Your mother was a witch and your father was a wizard, and you are a wizard also, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes widened. What was this man saying? He was talking about magic, and Harry knew that that was a forbidden topic. And what was this about witches and wizards? He could not be a wizard. Wizards were the heroes in stories, and he was just a dirty little freak.

“…is often passed down from parent to child, but in some cases, a magical child is born to non-magical parents. Your mother was like this, Harry, born to non-magical people or muggles, which is why your aunt is not a witch.

“Your parents were killed when you were very young by a bad man, a wizard who used his magic to do very bad things. You were sent to live with your aunt and uncle, as they were your only remaining relatives, but you were always expected to come to this school, to Hogwarts, to learn about how to use your magic.”

Really? He was always expected to come here? What, at a certain age or something? Had his relatives known about this? Had they known he was magical? Was he even actually magical? It seemed so crazy, so far-fetched, and yet, they had appeared here. And he had made light before, when it was dark in his cupboard or in the doghouse. He had known that was a freakish thing to do, but maybe his freakishness was actually magic?

“…but you are safe now, here. You need not return to your relatives. You will not be locked up here, or denied food or other basic necessities. You can stay here. You can even stay with me, if you want. I can be your new guardian.”

At this last statement, Harry’s gaze flicked up to the man’s face. A new guardian? He could not see the man’s face well enough to read his expression, but his body language spoke of uncertainty. What was he uncertain about? Did he not really want to be Harry’s guardian?

Unsure of himself, Harry looked back down at his knees, keeping the man's hands in his peripheral vision. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he did not.

xxXxx

Severus saw the flicker of hope in the skinny child's expression when he looked up, before it was clouded out by fear and uncertainty. He suppressed a sigh, and noticed an unidentifiable but uncomfortable feeling in his gut, as Harry focused his gaze on his own knees without responding.

"I will leave you be for now. Madam Pomfrey is just in the other room," he pointed to her office, "and will check in on you from time to time. I will be back later." With that he stood up and exited the wing, trying to get Harry's hopeful-turned-fearful expression from his mind.

He was just beginning to sweep down the hallway towards his dungeons when he heard Minerva calling his name from behind him. He spun around and faced the witch hurrying towards him, crossing his arms.

"Severus! I have just finished arranging things with Angus. The police are heading to the Dursleys now to arrest them," she told him, coming to a halt before him.

Immediately Severus started down the hallway once more, in the opposite direction this time. "I want to be there," he stated.

Minerva fell into step beside him. "I know. I as well." Her mouth was set in a firm line.

They did not say anything more to each other as they exited the castle through the main doors and walked across the grounds, then spun simultaneously and Apparated to Privet Drive. There, they stood in the shadows and watched as the police knocked on the door to number four, entered briefly, and came back out with Vernon and Petunia in handcuffs. Vernon was blustering, his face purple as he protested, just short of actively resisting his arrest. Petunia was quiet, her face stiff and chin raised. She looked about just before she got in the car, and met Severus’ eyes. His mouth turned up into a grim smile as their gazes locked, and then the policeman’s hand was on Petunia’s head and she was in the squad car.

Once he had seen Dudley being led out by a kind-looking woman with her hand on his shoulder, Severus turned to Minerva, nodded once, and then Disapparated with a crack.

xxXxx

Once the man had left him, Harry sat looking at the notebook and pen he had left behind. The man had said that it was for him to use, but he had only mentioned writing questions down. Was it ok for him to use now? He wanted to. He was quite used to occupying himself after two years of being confined to a corner of the yard, but he was unsure of what he was allowed to do in this place, and so was wary of getting up and pacing -- his usual pastime when he felt restless and unsure as he did now. He wanted to play with the notebook and pen, he had not had such tools in such a long time, and they had been sort of given to him… but was he allowed to use them now? The man had left them behind, but what if that had been a mistake? Or worse, a test?

Eventually, after a long debate with himself, he picked up the notebook and opened it. He smoothed down the white, pristine page, enjoying the feeling of its crisp texture, and the way that it lay so flat. He stroked it for a minute, then scooped up the fat pen with his right hand, trying to remember how he had been taught to hold these implements. The black tip hovered shakily over the page for a moment, then he pressed it to the paper and began drawing, bending his head low over the page so that he could see it clearly.

He thought of all of his frustrations of the past two years as he drew, of his constant restlessness and loneliness, and his feelings of hopelessness and fears that he would never again leave that corner of the yard. And then he thought of his one friend there, Sihatha, and wondered how she was faring, and what she thought of his disappearance. As he continued to draw, enjoying the experience though his hand was shaky and unsure, and a bit sore, his mind turned to his fears and uncertainty in this new place.