A week went by before Ben was allowed to leave the infirmary. Lewy and his friends got him good this time. But he would put up with few scrapes and bruises any day if it meant standing up for his new friend. He hoped Harry was ok. Ben hadn’t seen him since that night. He thought that maybe the other boy would visit him sometime but Harry didn’t turn up.

Ben shrugged it off. He wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. Happily, he walked down the nicely coloured hallway. It was a sunny day, a welcome reprieve from all the rain and stifling grey summer smog in the last week. Warm rays of gold filtered in through the windows and Ben gingerly tried to skip from one bright streak of floor to another before he realized that he was still too sore to do so. Lost in thought he looked at the cast on this left hand. It didn’t hurt now that the plaster held it securely locked in place. So he wouldn’t play goalie for a few weeks. What did it matter? Maybe he could improve his legwork.

And maybe, just maybe Harry would sign the cast. Ben had fended off all attempts from the social workers to sign it. He wanted Harry to be the first.

The social workers had come in regularly during his stay in the infirmary allegedly to check up on him, actually to find out who had put him in such a state. He remained silent. He didn’t know why exactly. Only that it wasn’t out of fear for Lewy and his gang. Ben just didn’t think that it would achieve anything ratting them out. He had seen the glances Tom and Jad exchanged right before Lewy had stomped on his hand. Was it uneasiness he read there? As with every gang Ben thought that as individuals, they all weren’t as bad as they were in the trio. They just wanted to prove themselves worthy of being a part of the gang. Stupid group dynamics.

Enough psychologizing. His thoughts had brought him to their room. Grinning and with a thrill of excitement Ben opened the door.

“Hey Harry-“ he faltered. The grin died on his face.

Puzzled he looked around the tidy room. It was too tidy. There were no signs of the nightly scuffle. The curtains were opened, his bed was made and fresh clothes lay neatly folded on the desk. The other bed however was not made; it was completely empty. No pillow, no blanket or sheets, no backpack stuffed awkwardly under it.

Ben quickly crossed the room and got down on his knees before the bedframe. He looked under it in the hopes of finding something - anything to explain Harry’s obvious absence. But all he came up with was the dusty floor. With a pang in his heart, he sat back against his own bed.

Wad had happened to Harry? Ben didn’t remember everything from that night but before passing out he had been sure he saw that Harry was all right save a mighty shiner already blooming on his face. Where was Harry?

As if summoned from his unspoken question the social worker that had found them that night knocked on the still half-opened door.

“Hey Ben, glad you’re back with us,” he smiled down on the boy. “Everything all right kiddo?”

Ben scrambled to his feet.

“Where’s Harry?” he asked without stopping to take a breath. His rips were still smarting.
“Hey, no worries. His uncle came and brought him home. Isn’t it fantastic?”

Ben stared at the men. Standing Ben was nearly taller by a head. That growth spurt had really kicked in.

“Bloody fantastic…” he mumbled and averted his eyes.
“What did you say?” the social worker asked.
“Nothing.”

If Harry was back with his family, well, Ben wasn’t stupid. The other boy might have not talked about his home situation. In fact, he had avoided the topic as Felix would the rain. All Ben could gather from the small crumbles Harry had been willing to share had been that he lived with his aunt, uncle and cousin somewhere south of London and that he had run away same as Ben himself.

Well, no one just ran away from home. And no one just ended up at a juvenile shelter. Sometimes when Harry had come from the shower, Ben had seen red spots on his lower back. He had seen the other boy flinch away if someone near him would make sudden movements. He had noticed how Harry preferred to sit with his back to the wall at meals so that he could view the whole room. Reconsidering all this now, Ben was nearly sure the red spots had been marks. What this revelation would mean for Harry if he were back with his relatives now Ben didn’t want to think about in detail.

“But- but he, his relatives- they-“

“Now now,” the social worker clapped him on the shoulder in a way that clearly meant to be reassuring. “I’m sure, Harry is happy to be home. Aren’t you happy for him?”

Ben looked at the social worker with horror and strong doubt mixed on his face. The men must have misunderstood his expression.

“Oh Ben, I’m sure, your relatives will come for you too. Until now, we haven’t been able to contact them unfortunately.”

Yeah, unfortunately, Ben thought sarcastically. Was the social work training any good?

Though now he really wasn’t sure anymore if he preferred to be here. Back home there would be Mr. Snape at least. He would let Ben kip on his sofa and make him tea and dinner. They would watch Star Trek or Ben would help the professor in the garden. Absentmindedly Ben asked himself if Mr. Snape would have cleaned up his garden after the big storm already.

­­­­­­­

“No dawdling Potter!” Snape called over his shoulder as he disappeared in the narrow hallway.

No dawdling my ass! Harry thought. If I walked in in my shoes, he would make me clean the whole house top to bottom with my toothbrush.

Sighing softly as to not alert his caustic potions master to his thoughts he quickly put down his shoes next to a pair of - strangely enough - bright yellow wellies. Then he hastily followed Snape into what Harry could only describe as a comfy looking living room. There were - maybe not so surprisingly - some bookshelves overflowing with tomes. Perhaps it was more surprising that Snape hadn’t wallpapered his room with book shelves.

There was a fluffy rug, Harry had to supress a snigger upon setting sight of it, and there was a couch facing the middle-sized windows that were looking out towards a fascinating kaleidoscope of a garden made out of all shapes and sizes of different shades of green. Harry had done enough gardening for his picky aunt to not only appreciate all the work that must have been put into this orderly chaos but also be deeply impressed with this jungle-like backyard that didn’t compare to all the dull uninspired backyards of Privet Drive in the slightest.

“If you’re quite finished with gawking at my living room Potter!”

Harry quickly lowered his eyes to his sock clad feet. At least the socks he got at the shelter didn’t have holes in them.

“Sit down!” Snape ordered and pointed to the couch.

Harry carefully sat at the end of the sofa farthest away from his moody teacher. Nervously perching right at the edge, he put his hands under his thighs to hide their shaking.

Snape had disappeared into what Harry presumed to be the kitchen judging from the sounds coming from the other room. He could hear some clanking and – was that the click of an electric kettle? The soft sound was so heavily ingrained in Harry’s morning routines that he would recognize it even if it came from Voldemort’s kitchen itself. Somehow, the image of Snape brewing tea was even more unsettling than that of the Dark Lord operating a muggle device. Could one picture Snape brewing with something other than a cold menacing looking cauldron and a stirring rod looking as if the man could easily deliver the trashing of the century with it? Well, Harry couldn’t.

Nervously he gulped down the shudder at his last thought and followed Snape with his eyes as the foreboding men re-entered the living room with two steaming cups. He plunked one of them down harshly on the coffee table in front of Harry. Then he took a step back and leaned on the wall taping his cup with one finger and eying Harry as though he were an interesting specie he would like to dissect for one of his nasty brews.

“Drink!” Snape growled after a few minutes of appraising Harry who hadn’t made a move to grab the cup.

“I’m- I’m not thirsty,” Harry forced out anxiously.
“Merlin boy! If I wanted to poison you, you wouldn’t realize until you hit the floor unconsssciousssly.”

Harry flinched. Did Snape have to hiss his S’s this much? It was scary.

Not wanting to aggravate the man in his own home further Harry warily reached out a hand. Apparently, it wasn’t fast enough for Snape because he snatched the cup before Harry could. Two long strides brought him to the window, which he opened and unceremoniously dumped the whole tea outside. Harry watched partly fascinated by this new display of Snape’s apparent madness partly stressed out by what the unpredictable man would do next.

“Listen here and listen good Potter! You’re in my house and it would suit you well to act accordingly. I will not tolerate your prevailing tendencies of trouble making. Do I make myself clear?”

Harry hunched in on himself.

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled.
“Speak up boy!” thundered Snape impatiently. “And look at me when I’m talking to you!”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Snape meant the same thing by “talking” as Harry’s uncle. Reluctantly Harry raised his eyes and met Snape’s burning black glare.

“Yes, sir,” he repeated a bit louder.

But Snape just ploughed on, his voice growing louder and louder the longer he spoke.

“Do you have any inkling at what you have done? At the trouble, you caused the Order? Every member neglecting their duties just to search for your sorry hide?” Snape was coming closer and put his hands on either side of Harry looming over the boy who pressed back into the couch.

“But no, not you Potter! The world revolves around you! Why would Prince Potter halt for a moment to think about the consequences of his actions?” Snape spat the last words and tiny drops of spit landed on Harry’s glasses. Even without them, Harry’s vision was swimming. He blinked hard as to not let the tears threatening in his eyes fall. His ears pounded with that far too familiar noise of water pressing on his eardrums. Harry could feel his hands jerking and he pressed down harder on them.

“You are one sorry excuse for a human being boy! You’re just a spoiled brat who had it too good in life! Well you know what Potter? I will personally see to it that it changes. I will-“

But before Snape could finish his sentence and could announce exactly what awaited Harry a loud crush could be heard through the still open window.

“What?” Snape abruptly turned around. Then he looked back at Harry his arms still trapping him as if his student had anything to do with the sudden noise. Well I sat here the whole time, Snape, Harry thought with a challenging raise of one eyebrow. Snape didn’t see luckily. He had stood up making his way across the room to look out the window.

“Meow.”
“Felix?” Snape asked in a low voice as if he didn’t want Harry to become privy of the conversation.
“Meow!”
“Blasted cat!” Snape spat and opened the window wider. Something red jumped on the windowsill and Harry craned his neck to see what it was.

Snape bend down and started speaking softly at the something named Felix, which Harry was more and more sure was a cat. He strained his ears.

“Do you have to destroy all my flowerpots? Where were you anyway?”

The only answer the potions professor got was another “meow” which strangely enough sounded a bit reproachful to Harry.
“I know, I know,” said the man still in that soft voice and Harry would’ve lied if he said that it didn’t sound apologetically.
Suddenly the man whirled around a red ball of furry in his arms.

“Potter!” he spat as if only now realizing the boy was still sitting on his sofa. The cat butted his head against the arm holding it. The man sighed.

“Potter, I-“ he rubbed his forehead with his free hand. Harry worried his lip between his front teeth. What was the matter? What was going to be the next insult? Didn’t it come to Snape’s mind fast enough?

“Potter, I’m no more enthusiastic about this situation than you are.” Bewildered Harry raised his eyebrows. In Snape-language that was as good as an apology.

“I have to talk to the headmaster.” Snape let down the cat and made to leave the room.

“Stay here,” he added over his shoulder and Harry wondered why it didn’t sound so much like an order and more like a request. With that the man was gone leaving behind a red cat and a very confused Harry.

The cat gracefully approached the sofa. Then it started to rub his head against Harry’s leg. Checking that Snape was really gone, Harry carefully reached down to let the cat sniff his hand. His experience with animals was limited to a rabid bulldog, a club-wielding troll and a giant snake that could kill you with her eyes, neither of whom was a good example in Harry’s book.

Yet, the cat didn’t seem as if it would turn Harry into stone although with what was obviously Snape’s pet one couldn’t exactly know for sure. When the furry red ball begun purring however, it was over. Harry had to smile. It was a small one but it was there. Gingerly he stroked the cat’s shiny fur.

“So, you’re Felix?” he asked quietly. The cat meowed and jumped into Harry’s lap. He startled but let the cat roll itself up on his thighs.

“I take that as a yes then,” Harry grinned. Felix purred again and the purring tickled Harry’s stomach relaxing him somewhat. He laughed.

“Well, hello Felix.”