By A Thread by Mugiwara

Harry meandered unhurriedly back to consciousness, thoughts rambling along a confused, bleary path. He opened his eyes, wincing against a stab of sunlight that threatened to blind him. It was already morning then. He wasn't sure why he found that vaguely surprising, though now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember going to bed at all.

Dismissing the thought, he stretched languidly; somehow he felt more rested than he’d done in weeks. He sat up with a reluctant slowness, wanting to linger in this relaxed state, but his stomach gurgled its discontent at the possibility of missing breakfast. Besides, he didn't want to give Snape any more reason to be cross with him.

He stiffened. In a sudden rush, the tranquil fog that shrouded his mind was whisked away as a whirlwind of memories filled in the events from the previous night. He’d managed to successfully get Snape out of his head and more stunningly yet, had somehow forced his way through Snape’s defences. He was sure he’d been witnessing the man’s memories. And he had to admit it felt good knowing that for once it had been Snape and not himself left feeling exposed.

Harry smiled inwardly at this undeniable evidence of progress. Of course he wasn’t so delusional as to think he’d find Snape eager to offer him congratulations. The man had been rather upset by the invasion and likely still was considering Harry had gone and passed out before he could be properly chastised.

But then Harry also had hazy memories of drifting in and out of sleep and finding Snape beside him mumbling various oaths and giving him potions. He remembered his head had been in terrible agony but there was no trace of the pain now, and not so much as a tingle in his scar. He rubbed at it anyway, as though afraid the sensation might return at the suggestion. He couldn’t help but wonder why Snape hadn’t just left him to suffer as he'd done previously; the man had made it abundantly clear that no one would’ve cared had he not bothered.

Harry shrugged away his incredulity. Whatever Snape’s motivations, it had benefited Harry well enough in the end. Feeling light on his feet, Harry was showered and groomed within twenty minutes and made his way to the kitchen with time to spare before breakfast. Still, Snape had already set everything out on the table and he himself was seated in his usual place.

“Good morning, Professor,” Harry said amicably as he sat; his enduring good mood even in the presence of Snape was a testament to the wondrous effects a restful night could have.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter. I trust you are recovered?” Snape asked, eyeing him critically.

“Yes, sir. I think so. Whatever you gave me seemed to do the trick,” he said, quickly growing uncomfortable under the man's scrutiny.

“I am surprised you remember.”

“Yeah, well, my memory’s a bit muddled actually, so I’m not entirely sure what happened,” Harry said.

“You attempted to expel me from your mind through the usage of a Shield Charm.” Snape didn’t mention the breach of his own memories and while his tone remained neutral, Harry imagined he could detect a hint of displeasure in the man’s expression. “I suspect that after a laborious day, that final endeavour pushed you beyond your limit causing you to pass out from the cumulative exhaustion.”

Harry cringed, feeling slightly embarrassed though he wasn’t sure why. “Right. Erm, well for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for what happened. It wasn’t intentional.”

Snape waved a dismissive hand. “I take full responsibility. I should have recognized that your body, similar to your mind, is undisciplined; your muscles weak and neglected. That much is plain to see simply by looking at you. Naturally, I should have accounted for that before I assigned to you such a demanding task.”

Harry scowled, he thought himself to be in pretty decent physical condition considering everything his body had been put through. But this time he chose not to rise to the bait. “What I meant was, I'm sorry I broke into your memories,” he ground out.

Snape shook his greasy head. “Again, your apology is unnecessary.” Harry crossed his arms, preparing himself for another passive insult. “What you achieved last night was the very first indication that you possess some potential to advance in your Occlumency studies. You demonstrated a level of focus which I, based on your previous performance, was beginning to believe was hopelessly beyond your capabilities.”

Harry hesitated, swallowing a defensive retort as he processed what the professor meant. “Did you just compliment me?” he asked, unable to hide a baffled grin. It was a minimal compliment, mildly disparaging in light of his efforts actually, but coming from Snape it felt huge. For once it seemed Snape was maintaining a rather decent mood too.

“It was not so much a compliment as it was merely a statement of fact. I will not deny that it was a slight improvement, however there is still a tremendous amount of work to be done on your part. A Shield Charm is hardly the most effective way to accomplish your final goal; and I will warn you now that such a tactic will fail miserably against the Dark Lord.”

Harry nodded, his grin fading only when Snape returned to his custom of reading the paper and pretending Harry didn’t exist. Harry ate his breakfast thoughtfully, trying to remember what exactly had been different about that last time. But even as he finished eating he had still failed to pinpoint any useful variation from his other attempts.

He excused himself, heading back upstairs, but not before Snape graciously reminded him that he would still be spending the afternoon scrubbing, albeit for a shorter duration.

Harry's good mood disappeared rather quickly with no one to share it with. He found himself working halfheartedly on his assignments for a little while. He was much closer to finishing them than he had let on, and he didn’t want to be left with nothing to do. He shuddered to think how Snape would help him occupy any more free time.

He put his quill down when he realised he was spending more time staring distractedly out of the window than actually working. He wished it was the Hogwarts grounds he was looking down on instead of the unattractive housing across the street. Then at least he would still be connected to the wizarding world, and more importantly, be near his friends. He missed them sorely. So much had happened in the last few days, and he was itching to tell them about everything.

He shoved his books to the side, and took out a fresh piece of parchment. He may not be able to see anyone but he could at least write to them, it had only been a few days since he'd seen them but they felt so distant from him now. Receiving any correspondence would be a huge relief.

He wrote down everything from how he was settling in, to his Occlumency progress that even Snape had to compliment him on (regardless of what the man called it), to all the things he'd overheard about Voldemort and a prophecy that seemed to involve him in some way.

He finished the letter and looked it over, wondering if he could add anything, and how his friends would react to all of it. It was only then that he remembered how he wouldn’t be allowed to send out any letters without Snape reading them over first. Snape had said as much on the very first day. There was no way he could allow the man, who was already distrustful to the point of paranoia when it came to Harry, to see what he had just written.

Harry groaned, crumpling up the parchment and chucking it in the bin with more force than probably necessary. A moment later, he thought better of it, and dug into his trunk until he found an old match book he'd used for transfiguration practice. He didn’t want to risk Snape finding the letter and he wasn’t sure he could use incendiary magic in his room without Snape being alerted. He struck one and dropped it in the bin, watching grimly as the letter burned away to nothing.

He flopped onto his bed with a sigh, feeling unbearably frustrated and restless. Just writing the letter had been a somewhat cathartic exercise but he still hated feeling so isolated and so powerless to do anything about it. Even if Snape was a wizard, the man was so closed off it was nearly as bad as being stuck with the Dursley's.

He just wanted someone who didn’t hate him to talk to, he would have even settled for a house elf. Of course, with his luck he'd probably end up stuck with another Kreacher. He sat up, an idea striking him suddenly. Would Snape let him spend Christmas at Grimmauld place? It only had to be one day, he’d even settle for just half the day, and it would make for a much more enjoyable holiday. It would be just what he needed, and the more he thought about it, the more Harry convinced himself that if he presented his case properly, he could get Snape to agree to it.

When lunchtime rolled around, Harry just about ran down the stairs, hoping Snape's mood had held up better than his own. He greeted the man and received a slight nod in return, then sat down trying to discreetly judge if the professor would be as neutral as he'd been earlier. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Harry decided it would be all right to broach the subject.

“So, erm, Christmas is the day after tomorrow,” Harry began, then hesitated, not losing his nerve, but feeling the need to be cautious with his wording.

Snape stared at him impatiently. “You have a stunning gift for stating the obvious, Potter. What is your point?”

Harry sighed, was it even possible to have an accommodating conversation with the man? “Okay, I'll just get on with it then. I was wondering if you’d let me go to Grimmauld Place for the day? You know, to see my godfather, and maybe my friends too if they can come round for a bit.” Snape arched a brow in a way that didn’t look promising and Harry continued in a rush, “It doesn’t even have to be the whole day, I could still be back in time for Occlumency of course, if that's what you want.”

Snape gave an irritated sigh. “It is not what I want, it’s what you should want, Potter. These lessons are chiefly for your benefit if you recall. However, my answer is no.” The terse reply left Harry momentarily stunned; in all the possibilities he imagined, he hadn’t considered such an outright dismissal.

“No?”

“That is correct.” Snape returned his attention to his meal.

“What? There must be some reason, how can you just say no? What about a compromise?”

The professor's mouth twisted with annoyance. “You requested my permission and I have denied it. You should have been prepared for this outcome; or did you think I would simply bow to your every whim on command?”

“You didn’t even consider it!” Harry shot back testily, wondering why he was even surprised that the man would be so ridiculously inflexible.

“My answer is final and petulantly arguing the point is certainly not going to do you any favours,” Snape hissed.

Harry leapt up from his chair with enough force to send it tottering back, surprising himself with his own vehemence, but he was too exasperated now to care. “I won't accept that if you can't even tell me why! Can't you see this is important to me? Or do you hate me so much you just can't stomach even the thought of me being happy?”

Snape rose from his own chair, eyes blazing. “Control yourself, Potter! It is this kind of childish behavior that only serves to further my abhorrence for such a superfluous celebration.”

“Superfluous celebration...?” Harry gaped at the man in disbelief. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Harry let out a wry bark of a laugh. “Why am I surprised? Someone like you who has nobody who cares for or even likes him? Of course you'd hate a holiday that brings people together!” Harry spat.

“Enough! You will cease your insolence this instant!” Snape thundered, but Harry didn’t intend to hold back now, not after he’d already gone this far.

“Look, you might be hated by everyone who’s ever crossed your path but I'm not! I have friends and family out there who would happily see me home; so if you won't let me go, I’ll find my own way there and you can just rot here alone in this dank hole where you belong!” Harry was breathless by the end, he'd rarely been so genuinely enraged.

They both fell silent. The fiery rage in the older wizard had been extinguished and Snape looked down on him with black eyes cold and hard as coal. Harry met his gaze steadily, but he felt his own temper quail under the man’s stare. At last the professor spoke.

“Get. Out.”

Harry marched from the room without another word.

The first thing Harry did when he reached his bedroom was sick up in a fit of anxiety. He knew he’d acted like a right idiot, and in doing so, surely obliterated any chance there had been of getting to see anyone who cared about him anytime soon. He'd stupidly gone off on Snape, giving in to his already deeply entrenched dislike for the man and his growing frustration over his isolation. It had felt good for that moment to vent, but now that it was over he was absolutely terrified of what Snape was going to do to him.

He made his way over to his bed and sat himself in its center drawing his knees up to his chest. He stayed there watching the door, half certain that at any moment Snape was going to burst through and Crucio him to the brink of insanity.

Of course no such thing happened, but it took Harry a long while before he was able to convince himself enough time had passed for Snape to calm down some. Harry got up, opened his door and leaned out just enough to listen for any indication that Snape was lurking nearby. After a minute, when he was sure there was nothing to be heard, he cautiously advanced into the hallway and crept down the stairs.

He was determined to make his way unseen to the absurdly grimy potions lab he’d been introduced to yesterday. Harry doubted Snape would be willing to hear an apology from him just yet, so he’d decided that if there was any way to mollify the man it would be by giving a show of obedience. He was willing to try at least, especially since he hadn’t resented the chore the way Snape probably imagined he would. He wouldn’t say he found it enjoyable, but the mindless physical task had helped to ease some of his agitation. He hoped continuing today would again provide a welcome distraction from the building stress of his existence here.

Harry donned his cleaning gear, taking up the scrub brush in one hand and the bucket in the other, steeling himself to start in on this gruelling task once again. He worked as diligently as he’d done yesterday, if not a bit more so, using the time to practice clearing away his muddled thoughts and emotions and simply focus on the task at hand. He found his anxieties began to fall away and soon, he was only distantly troubled by his imminent punishment.

It was nearly six when he stopped, he’d kept track of the time today, knowing that if there remained any possibility of getting dinner, it would be lost if he was late again. He made his way through the halls and over to the dining area, taking all the time he could without being late. He wished he could avoid the inevitability of what was coming, but he knew he couldn’t just do nothing. He took a deep breath and entered the kitchen, ready at least to attempt an apology–

Only to find the room quite dark and empty with no sign of Snape having been recently inside. So no dinner then. Harry's shoulders drooped; he wasn't exactly shocked, but it was still disappointing especially since he hadn't kept his lunch down.

It occurred to him that Snape hadn’t made anything for himself either. In fact, Harry hadn’t heard or sensed the man at all since his outburst, only now he had the presence of mind to wonder where the professor could have gone. He hated having to actively seek the man out when clearly Snape wanted nothing to do with him, but Harry still wanted to try and set things between them to rights if it were possible. He went about warily searching the house for any sign that he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t long before he reached the sitting room, the only room that showed any trace of use.

Snape had definitely been there, just perhaps not within the last hour or so. While the fireplace had been lit, the flames were so low it was clear it hadn’t been tended for some time. But something else seized Harry’s attention, because in the dim glow of the dying fire, yet another light was visible. A pulsing silvery light shone from atop the mantelpiece, drawing Harry towards it. He recognized the source of the enchanting light to be a Pensieve and he peered inside watching as its pearlescent contents ebbed and swirled.

Harry felt a rush of excitement, his eyes widening with the realisation that in front of him could be a stash of Snape’s memories. No doubt the professor was taking precautions just in case Harry found a way to break into his mind again. That meant there was a good chance that whatever Snape had secreted away, it had something to do with Harry. He just couldn’t afford to pass over this chance, especially if he could find out any more information about the prophecy everyone was hiding from him.

Harry hesitated, glancing quickly around the room to reassure himself that he was still alone, and found the house as still and silent as it had been moments ago. Harry took out his wand, his heart was pounding in his chest but he felt confident enough that Snape would not likely return to this room in the next few minutes. He gave the contents of the Pensieve a small prod with the end of his wand. The matter flowing within began to swirl more rapidly, becoming transparent as he watched. With a burst of conviction, Harry took in a gulp of air and plunged his face into the depths until suddenly he was tipping right into the Pensieve.

He was tumbling through icy blackness, flailing wildly, but without warning he found himself abruptly standing with two feet firmly planted on the ground. He stared, confused and trying to mentally orient himself. He’d been expecting closed doors and paths to hidden secrets but instead he was standing in the middle of the Hogwarts grounds on a bright Summer day.

He looked around and nearly started when he saw, sitting in the shade of some bushes, a clearly recognizable, but decidedly much younger, Snape. He’d barely had time to contemplate how the teen-aged Snape could lead him to the prophecy when Snape hastily stood and began striding away briskly. Harry jumped to follow close behind.

“All right, Snivellus?”

A voice shouted out but before Harry could even think to react, Snape was already spinning on his heel and whipping out his wand. Harry halted, alarmed by Snape’s lightning fast reaction, though it wasn’t quite fast enough because a quickly uttered ‘Expelliarmus!’ from the other party sent his wand flying before he had it even half raised. Reflexively, Harry gripped his own wand as he turned to face the threat.

He gaped, struck by an overpowering giddiness as he recognized a teen-aged James headed in his direction. From this distance the resemblance to Harry was uncanny, it was eerily like watching a slightly altered version of himself coming right towards him. Walking beside James was another teen whom Harry realised with glee was undoubtedly Sirius. They looked to be right around his own age. He’d never dreamed he’d get a chance to see James like this, that he’d have a chance to confirm for himself any of the brilliant stories he’d heard about the person he’d tried so hard for so long to emulate. He relaxed his wand hand, smiling so wide it hurt.

“Impedimenta!” Sirius shouted the incantation and Snape, who’d been leaping to retrieve his wand, thudded to the ground. A jolt of surprise yanked Harry from his awe stricken state. Harry wondered what Snape had done to provoke this kind of ambush, immediately reasoning that he must be witnessing some sort of reckoning. It wasn’t a stretch to think Snape had done something characteristically awful, forcing James to retaliate. It only made sense that Snape would hide a memory like that, especially if this was a victory for the Marauders.

Harry observed the crowd gathering around them, students looked on with expressions ranging from amusement to unease. James and Sirius approached the impotently furious Snape, wands at the ready.

Harry watched curiously, wondering just what they thought Snape capable of seeing as he was defenseless. But James and Sirius only began to mock Snape, rather theatrically Harry thought, and it was obvious to Harry that they were pandering to their audience. Snape, still mostly immobilised, could only indulge in muttering swears and hexes at his captors. Of course without his wand, his limited efforts didn’t have the desired effects. James just looked down at Snape without sympathy and cast a ‘Scourgify’ that had Snape suddenly choking on the stream of soap bubbles which came pouring from his mouth.

Harry found himself feeling increasingly uncomfortable as he watched the scene unfold. It felt wrong seeing Snape like that, even if it was just his teenage self. He hadn’t had any desire to see Snape being humiliated, whatever the reason. It was especially troubling to watch James, who seemed to be enjoying the reactions he was getting from the crowd, but who looked at Snape with such callous indifference. Something about that unsettled Harry, because this didn’t feel like a grand, justified retribution, it felt closer to what Harry had seen in his cousin and his lackeys when they would gang up on him just because they were bored.

He was suddenly terribly aware that he shouldn’t even be seeing any of this. There was no reason to stay now, it was already clear this had nothing to do with Harry at all. It didn't help that he'd lived through plenty of similar experiences. He had a feeling he knew how this would end, and he didn't want to see it.

“Leave him alone!”

It only took Harry a second to recognize Lily as the source of the protest. The dark red hair and those brilliantly green eyes, eyes just the same as Harry’s, were unmistakable. Harry grinned, his concerns momentarily forgotten as the teen-aged version of his mother approached.

Harry looked back to James, who had swiftly taken on a wholly different demeanor, one clearly aimed to charm. He greeted Lily, his voice now manifesting a deeper, more pleasantly mature quality.

Lily was unmoved. “Leave him alone. What’s he done to you?”

“Well, it’s more the fact that he exists if you know what I mean. Besides, what’s wrong with trying to liven things up…”

Harry’s stomach churned unpleasantly upon hearing those words come from James, that ugly sentiment was one which had so often been aimed at Harry for as long as he could remember. He had hoped what he’d sensed was wrong and now he wasn’t sure how to handle the confirmation. Harry had heard many words used to describe his father’s attributes and cruel had never been among them, but James was acting like a bully, and Harry couldn’t excuse it even if the victim was Snape.

“You think you're funny, but you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.” Harry felt a vague sense of relief at hearing his thoughts echoed by Lily. That she seemed to feel just the opposite as James was about as encouraging as it was confusing.

James drew himself up. “I will if you go out with me, Evans. Say yes and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.”

Harry barely heard Lily’s exasperated refusal as his attention shifted to Snape, who, with the jinx wearing off, had finally managed to close the distance between himself and his wand unnoticed by the others. Snape pointed his wand at James and unleashed a spell Harry couldn’t identify. Sirius called out to warn his unsuspecting friend but it was too late. A slash appeared on James’ face and James whirled in a fury to counter attack. In an instant James had Snape suspended upside down with his robes falling over his head leaving Snape’s pale, scrawny legs and dingy underpants exposed.

Harry watched the events with growing dismay. The students around them laughed and cheered while Lily continued to fight with James to leave Snape alone. Eventually, James relented and released the spell, letting Snape fall to the ground in a heap.

He had seen enough, Harry decided, more than enough actually, and he wanted out. But now he thought about it, he had no idea how to leave the Pensieve by himself. Perhaps it was a physical motion he had to perform, or could he just imagine himself leaving?

“I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!” Snape’s harsh words snapped Harry’s attention back to the happenings around him. Had Snape disliked his mother too, even as she'd defended him? They didn't seem to be enemies but that he'd looked down on her anyway wasn’t terribly surprising; Snape hadn’t become a Death Eater out of nowhere. Although it did make him wonder again why Snape never spoke of her.

Lily appeared only momentarily surprised before responding with impressive equanimity, “Fine, I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.”

James however, rounded on Snape, furious. “Apologise to Evans!”

“I don’t want you to make him apologise, you’re as bad as he is,” Lily shouted.

Harry fought off a sudden wave of nausea as he quickly tried to refocus on his goal of getting out of the Pensieve. He looked around desperately for a way out but he saw nothing but the Hogwarts grounds surrounding him. When he’d entered it had felt like he was falling, maybe if he tried jumping… but a quick test of that theory proved him wrong and left him feeling a little silly. So he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the distraction of Lily quarreling with James over his repulsive behavior, and imagine himself rising back out of the Pensieve.

Nothing happened, and Harry sighed and opened his eyes, supposing he’d just have to wait until the memory concluded. But to Harry’s horror, James had Snape up in the air again and was now threatening to remove Snape’s pants.

Harry didn’t know if James was likely to see the threat all the way through, but he did not want to risk finding out. He abruptly decided that waiting out the memory somewhere along its edges would be his least distasteful option.

He turned and promptly slammed right into a soft wall of black. Harry staggered back, looking up in surprise, he hadn’t thought anything in a memory was supposed to be so tangible. But he found, to his absolute horror, a fully grown, thoroughly enraged Snape looking down on him.

“Having fun?” Snape didn’t wait for a response, he grabbed Harry’s upper arm with a strength that had him wincing and Harry immediately felt himself rising into the air. It wasn’t long before he was back in Snape’s sitting room standing in front of a revived fire.

“So,” Snape was almost too angry to speak. “So…been enjoying yourself, Potter?” He was still gripping Harry’s arm so tightly Harry was already losing feeling in that hand.

“N-no…” Harry said, now straining to free his arm.

Unable to escape, Harry tried to hide his terror; the man was clearly on the verge of losing control; Snape’s lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth bared. “Amusing man, your father, wasn’t he?” said Snape, shaking Harry so hard that he almost lost his glasses.

“It wasn’t–” Harry tried, but Snape wasn't listening. He all but threw Harry from him and Harry fell hard onto the floor.

“You will not share what you saw with anybody!”

“No,” said Harry, as he righted himself and put as much distance as he could between them. “No, of course I wo–”

“Pack your things, I don't want you spending another minute in my house!”

“I–”

“GO!”

Harry shot out of the room and virtually flew up the stairs to his bedroom. He practically slammed the door shut behind him in his eagerness to get a barrier between himself and Snape. He collapsed against the door as he tried to get his breath back. He was panting and his limbs were trembling but it had little to do with his exertion, and while Snape had frightened him, he was reacting to something bigger because the meaning of everything that had just transpired was almost too overwhelming to bear.

It was the first time he’d been able to see what his parents were like first hand. He’d created such a clear impression in his mind of who they had been just by how everyone around him had spoken of them. He’d never had any trouble accepting the nostalgia tinted recollections of their characters that had made Harry feel so proud to be their son. And he’d never had much difficulty dismissing the few who spoke of those same treasured qualities as though they were faults.

Now he couldn’t overlook the truth when it was right in front of him and nothing he’d seen matched the hallowed image of his father that he’d clung to. How much of it had been based on distorted perceptions and outright lies? There was nothing endearing or charismatic about what James had done. His father had appeared every bit as selfish and arrogant as Snape had claimed. Harry had never considered that all this time Snape was the one seeing things clearly. Did Snape see something like that in Harry?

But Harry could never be like that, regardless of what Snape said, because he knew what it was like to be humiliated in front of a group of jeering onlookers; only no one had ever spoken out for him.

Except, maybe under everything he pretended to be, he'd become more like the real version of James than he’d have thought possible. No one had ever said he was even a little like his mother, save for his eyes and that hardly counted. Snape had hinted how disappointed Lily would be to see him now and he had seen the loathing in her eyes when she’d looked at James; he was more certain now that she would look at him in just the same way. He winced as he thought about how he’d taken out his frustration on Snape earlier that day, he wasn’t sure he’d been pretending at all then.

Harry forced himself to let out a long breath, trying to release himself from the paralysing combination of dismay and confusion that gripped him. But it wouldn’t let him go just yet because he had more than just thoughts of the past to be devastated about.

He had been arrogant, monumentally so, in thinking that he’d any right to invade Snape’s privacy the way he had. This was different from what he’d done yesterday, this was a deliberate violation of trust. It was inexcusable, and it was no wonder Snape had been the angriest Harry had ever seen him. It was no wonder Snape no longer wanted anything to do with him now. Mere hours ago, being told he could get away from Snape would have elated Harry, but in this moment the thought only left him laden with guilt and self-loathing.

He felt suddenly drained, a cold, miserable dread seeping into him. He dragged himself over to his trunk, opening it and proceeding to carelessly heap all of his belongings inside. It didn’t take more than a few minutes to strip the sparse room of his things. He wondered if Snape meant to have him leave immediately, it had seemed the man wanted him gone as soon as possible. Of course, as tempting as it was, Harry knew he couldn’t just traipse out the front door on his own and see where the night took him. He would have to face the man again if only for transport purposes.

He sat on the edge of the bed, silent and slightly dazed, barely daring to consider what was likely to happen next. Because as much as he wanted to imagine that his departure from here would mean he would get to go to the Burrow or even Grimmauld place as he so fervently wished, he somehow knew the third option was the most likely one. He was sure he was going to be sent back into the tender, loving care of the Dursley’s.