Author's note: I finally found two amazing betas (one for grammar, and one to bounce plot off of), and so have made a few adjustments to this fic. There aren't many, and if you decide not to re-read through the first three chapters then you won't have any confusion during the next few. Happy reading!

Disclaimer: I don't own it. Duh.

Harry's sixth year hadn't started out in a particular momentous fashion. Like the year before, everything had been generally quiet. He kind of felt like a normal student, really. Voldemort, surprisingly, had been silent since his return at the Triwizard Tournament, and it had allowed for quite the ordinary fifth year. During it, he was made a Prefect, won the Quiddich Cup, found he had quite the knack for Transfiguration, earned a fair few passing OWL grades, fought with Draco Malfoy a few times, and lost the house cup by ten points to Ravenclaw.

The only exciting thing that had happened in the first part of his sixth year was that Remus had been reinstated as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher (after quite a few trials and re-trials and all around legal bullcrap). Apparently parents had finally decided that, after what Moody had turned out to be, a mild tempered werewolf who made sure to stay away at the full moon really couldn't be all that bad. The Ministry caused quite the upheaval, but Dumbledore played them like so many chess pieces and, after two years, finally got the okay to get him back in the school.

The students were quite pleased (minus Draco Malfoy and a few of his sheep-like followers), seeing as their teacher for fifth year had been a complete and total waste of space. He made Gildory Lockheart look like a genius. Remus really was the best Defense teacher they had ever seen.

Harry went to Remus at the beginning of the year and pleaded with him to give him extra defense lessons so he could better prepare himself for the war against Voldemort. Remus had at first refused, but decided after many arguments and lots and lots of pleading that Harry was right. Like it or not, try as they might to avoid it, there was a certain megalomaniac who would stop at nothing to see Harry to the grave. They decided it was better kept secret, so they told no one except Ron, Hermione, and the Headmaster (who occasionally showed up to help or insist upon rest when the two of them got too carried away).

Despite the calmness, Harry knew that the monstrosity named Voldemort would come for him eventually. So knowing, he had decided to turn down Dumbledore's offer for him to spend the Christmas holidays with the Weasleys or at Hogwarts, opting instead to go back to the Dursleys for the first time since he had discovered he was a wizard. He figured that the safest place - on everyone's account - for him to be would be where his mother's blood protection was.

Well, he was wrong. His uncle had been livid when Harry showed up on their doorstep, and chose Christmas Eve to get absolutely sodding pissed. Harry tried to hide in his room, and was doing his Potions' homework (trust Snape to assign homework over the Christmas holiday) when Vernon slammed the door open and stumbled into the room. It wasn't pretty, and Harry, nursing a swollen ankle and a black eye from being tossed down the stairs, finally decided that he had had enough. He was supposed to save the entire wizarding world, but there was no other option for his living situation than with hateful, prejudiced, awful Muggles who couldn't give a damn one way or another if he lived or died?

So he packed up his rucksack (there hadn't been a reason to bring his whole trunk), walked outside, and summoned the Knight Bus. It took him to Hogsmeade and he walked straight up to the castle and to Dumbledore's office. The Gargoyle jumped aside without Harry uttering a word and he marched up the spiral staircase and barged into the office to see a very startled Albus Dumbledore sitting at his desk.

"Harry! How did you – are you quite alright? What happened to you?" He looked concerned now, his white bushy eyebrows knitted together as he half stood out of his chair.

"No I am not all right! My uncle hit me with a bloody belt and tossed me down the bloody stairs." Harry snapped through gritted teeth. He really loved the old man, but he was so angry he could scream right at that moment

"Professor. This is it. I can't go back. I refuse."

"Harry, they'll be dealt with, but we've discussed this. There's protection that-"

"Look, they've treated me like crap my whole bloody life. I slept for eleven years in a cupboard under the stairs, for Merlin's sake! They called me a freak and starved me. Frankly I don't give a crap what kind of protection Petunia's blood gives me. I can't go back. You can't make me," said Harry stubbornly, crossing his arms and lifting his chin in defiance.

There was a moment of silence.

"Harry, I had no idea the extent to which your relatives were abusing you. I'm so sorry." He wiped a tear from his eye, and continued, "I'll think of something. I'm still not sure that I can allow you to leave the Dursleys', but rest assured that this kind of behavior will not continue."

"Professor, I - "Harry started, but was cut off by Dumbledore's raised hand.

"I really must ask you to trust me on this Harry. I promise I'll find a solution; however, it needs to be one that keeps your protection in mind. Now I think you ought to head off to your dormitory. I daresay that Mr. Longbottom will be pleased to have some company," the Headmaster said. He stood and placed a hand on the small of Harry's back, leading him to the door.

"I'm not giving up on this, Headmaster," said Harry as the door began to close behind him.

"Nor am I, my boy," was the last thing he heard before the door shut and he was left in the dark staircase on his own.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

A few days later, as the other students were arriving back from their vacation, they were all sitting in the Great Hall. Albus was at the head table, observing the boisterous children pouring into the room. Stroking his impressive snow-white beard, he stared around the room, seemingly deep in thought. He considered himself a tolerant man. He was patient and understanding – almost to a fault – and valiantly attempted to see the good in everyone; however, he was not blind, nor was he particularly obtuse.

He'd seen the signs of mental mishandling in Harry Potter since his second year at Hogwarts, but he knew that it was better for the poor boy than the utter horror he would encounter without the blood protection that his aunt provided. So, needless to say, when Harry requested to spend the Christmas holiday with his Muggle relatives instead of with the Weasleys or at Hogwarts, confused was a vast understatement to how Dumbledore was feeling. But despite several teacher's protests ("Have you finally lost the last of your marbles, Albus?"), he agreed to let him go.

Looking back on it now, he simply couldn't understand what in the name of Merlin he had been thinking. He watched a rather bruised and tattered Harry walk through the doors to the Great Hall and solemnly take his seat next to a furious looking Ronald Weasely, and thought back to the conversation he had with the boy a few nights ago. Truth be told, he was happy that Harry had stood up for himself like that. The boy was blossoming into a young man. Still, something needed to be done about his relatives. But what?

"What the bloody hell do you mean he tossed you down the stairs?" Albus heard Ronald all but screech at Harry. He smiled to himself, glad once again that Harry had found such an incredibly loyal friend at Hogwarts.

Albus turned his twinkling blue eyes up towards the dark cloudy sky, and followed the path of a snowflake as it drifted contentedly from the ceiling and disappeared just before it would have landed on Miss Granger's bushy head of hair. And suddenly, in that way which only someone in his head could begin to fathom, an answer to his problem flitted into his mind's eye. He smiled serenely before turning to the dour looking potions master sitting to his left and held out a steaming pitcher of spiced cider.

"Something warm to drink, Severus?" he asked politely.

Said man set down his fork (which had been full of baked yams and halfway to his mouth), turned to the grinning Headmaster and narrowed his dark eyes mistrustfully.

"What do you want, Albus?" he asked without answering the man's question, voice laced with suspicion. Dumbledore poured him a goblet anyway and set it down next to his abandoned plate.

"Funny you should ask, my boy…" he began, setting the pitcher down and turning to examine a piece of lint on his violet sleeve, "It's about Harry…"

Now Severus knew he was in for it, but nodded anyway for the Headmaster to continue.

Later on, Severus reflected that he really should have just walked away and secluded himself in his dungeons.

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"ARE YOU INSANE?" came Snape's bellowing voice from the front of the hall.

Ron dropped his fork as everyone collectively snapped their heads in the direction of the Head Table. The offending piece of cutlery clattered noisily against his plate and dropped onto the wooden table with a thud, and then there was complete and total silence. Professor Snape was standing next to Dumbledore's chair, practically seething. His face was tomato red and bit of his lanky hair was whipped across his face, the locks sticking to the crook of his nose and onto his thick eyebrows. His plate had flipped onto the floor, spraying the nearest staff members with the remnants of his meal, and he had his fork grasped in his fist as if he wanted to stab someone with it. Knowing Snape, he probably did.

Professor Dumbledore, meanwhile, was leisurely picking bits of potato out of his lengthy beard, smiling happily as if it was the most amusing thing to have one of his employees screech at him and fling vegetables into his hair.

He said something quietly enough that no one but Snape could hear, and went back to his dinner, radiating composure. Snape opened and closed his mouth a few times, gaping like a particularly large and greasy fish, before tossing his fork onto the table and storming out of the hall, all the while mumbling and growling about meddling old coots and irritating children.

"Blimey... What do you suppose THAT was about?" Seamus asked, breaking the still shocked silence at the Gryffindor table.

All at once, every student in the room started whispering excitedly about what had just transpired between their hated potions teacher and their headmaster.

"Maybe he got sacked!"

"What if Dumbledore told him his dad died?"

"What if his wife died?"

"Don't be stupid! This is Snape we're talking about. He doesn't have a wife."

"What do you lot think?" Ron asked, looking around at his group of friends.

"I don't know, but I hope it was something awful," Ginny said flippantly, turning back to her dinner.

"I-I don't know, Gin... Awful for him probably means awful for us t-too. You know h-how he gets with us when he's a-a-angry..."' Neville stuttered, looking suddenly peevish and apprehensive.

"Harry, are you sure you're alright?" whispered Hermione concernedly, having only eyes for her obviously injured friend.

"Hmmm?" Harry asked dazedly as he pushed a few peas around on his near-full plate. "Yeah, Herm. I'm fine."

"I still say you should go to the hospital wing. That limp looks painful, and your eye looks positively horrid," Hermione whispered, hesitating a moment before gingerly reaching out to touch Harry's forearm.

"I told you I'm FINE!" Harry snapped. "Hermione, will you just lay the bloody hell off? I'm dealing with it. We can talk about it later, but just stop staring at me, alright? You're causing a scene."

"Hermione, I told you to leave it, didn't I? He doesn't want to talk about it. Why do you have to keep pushing?" Ron was staring at her exasperatedly, having actually abandoned his dinner in favor of reprimanding her. He really had matured a lot this year, and if Hermione hadn't been so upset about Harry she would have been proud of him.

"Thanks mate. Look, I'm not hungry. I'm going to go up to the dorms okay?" said Harry, laying down his fork and getting to his feet.

"I'll go with you," Ron said, turning away from his own plate.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Weasley," came Dumbledore's voice from behind, and they turned as one to stare up at the man. "I need to talk with Mr. Potter, if that's all right?" he questioned, staring down his large nose at Harry.

Harry brightened a little. Maybe the Headmaster had found a solution! "Yeah, of course sir," he agreed quickly, and followed the man out of the room.