Chapter 2: Seeing is Believing

The blood stemmed and the wounds healing after draining Snape's vial of medical potions, Harry sighed, the parchment crinkling in his hands.

"It is the truth, Mr Potter, that I hold nothing but animosity for your Muggle relatives.

As I am privy to your tendency to assign culpability to your person, I say this: the fault is not yours, nor are you deserving of such treatment. Mr Potter, what you deserve is a childhood, and yet, though I yearn otherwise, I cannot offer this, not now, without either one of us suffering the consequences.

I apologise, truly, that I cannot personally remove you from your relatives', but you have my word; I will do what I can to ensure your safety. Three days, Mr Potter. Allow me that.

And know this, should you not retain anything else. However it may seem, you are not alone.

P.S. I am certain Mr Malfoy would be a more than adequate confidant."

Harry had been hoping to be whisked away, of course, but like every hope of his, it wasn't to be.

And Draco… well, Draco had his own problems to deal with.

And yet, though he didn't quite understand, he felt the sincerity in those words – like maybe, Snape knew – and he trusted the man. Maybe someone else's word, or best, may not have been enough, but he knew Snape's was.

In the end, he'd survived – maybe he hadn't lived, but he'd survived – eleven years under this roof; he'd give Snape three days, whatever that would mean.

And he would grin and bear it (and stay out of the Dursleys' way), just like he did everything else.

It was that thought that, funnily enough, lulled him to sleep.

Lying on the threadbare covers of his bed as the morning's first rays drifted in, his eyes fixated on the ceiling, Harry didn't notice when his door was pushed open.

"Do you always have to set him off?"

Harry startled, going for his wand almost immediately, before registering the figure's identity.

Aunt Petunia stood at the doorframe, a first-aid kit clutched in one hand. The permanent frown that marred her face in Harry's presence was stronger than ever, but it was the disapproval in her eyes that Harry took offense to.

"I set him off?" Harry challenged, scoffing.

Aunt Petunia glanced away and though only for a moment, Harry knew that she knew he was right. The silence stretched on, but before it could grow any more awkward, Petunia jerked the kit in Harry's direction. Though surprised, Harry didn't show it, instead scrambling to take it before the offer could be rescinded.

A question formed on his lips, but even in his hesitation, Aunt Petunia seemed to understand.

"You're not the only one who lost her that night," Petunia said, almost a whisper.

Harry's eyes narrowed and he stepped back, arms crossed defensively.

Not once had Petunia even acknowledged his mother's existence, and now –

"I know you don't care, Aunt Petunia," Harry scowled. "Whatever you're playing at–"

Harry cut himself off, wincing at the pain that flickered across her eyes.

"They're all I have, you know. Vernon and Dudley," Petunia paused, and looked Harry right in the eye. "And I may not like you, but you're all I have left of Lily."

They were, perhaps, the most profound words Harry had ever heard spoken at Privet Drive. And no, they would not ever be enough for Harry to forgive her, but if anything, he understood. And with Aunt Petunia, he thought, understanding was good enough.

The only thing Harry could say to that was a thank you, and with that, the moment was over.

"Don't come down until Vernon leaves," she chided, frown back in place.

And just as unexpectedly as she'd come, she was gone.

Harry figured his Aunt must've done something, because Vernon didn't touch him the next three days – and neither did Dudley, which was a welcome surprise. They'd locked him in – installed a cat flap and all – and it hurt, of course, but they'd kept him fed and watered, and he hated them still, but it wasn't so bad now, knowing that he wasn't alone.

Hedwig cooed, seemingly sensing his mood, and Harry reached over to ruffle her feathers.

Then the doorbell sounded, and Harry stiffened. Doorbells could mean any measure of things, and Harry hoped to Nimue that it meant something good, this time – his life had been lacking sorely in that regard, recently.

And if Aunt Petunia's typical reception being suddenly cut short, or the too-careful creaking of the stairs weren't enough to alert him, the sliding of his locks did. Immediately wary, but somewhat hopeful, Harry scrambled to his feet, wand already in hand.

"Hello, Harry."

The man in the doorway greeted him with a weary, but warm smile – which, really, seemed to sum up his whole figure. Harry eyed him – his frayed blazer and scratch-lined face – hesitantly, wand still gripped tightly, though somewhere, in the back of his mind, he felt a stirring of familiarity.

"Do I know you?"

"I suppose you could say so," the man replied, his tone vaguely amused.. "I'm Remus Lupin, Uncle Moony, if you prefer."

"Uncle Moony?" Harry murmured questioningly, brow furrowed.

"A story for another time. But for now…," Lupin paused, his eyes sweeping around the room in what Harry took to be contempt. "Let's get you out of here, eh, Harry."

Harry blushed involuntarily, hackles rising.

"We're not all children of privilege, Mr Lupin," Harry said, voice tightly.

Lupin's eyes flashed in surprise and he met Harry's, apologetic.

"Forgive me, I meant no offense," Lupin said, clasping his hands before him.

Harry scowled, unimpressed.

"I'd forgotten how Slytherins are," he chuckled.

Harry rolled his eyes, ready for a confrontation – he always was, these days – no matter that manners required him to be civil, if not polite.

Lupin shook his head slightly, smiling sadly.

"I'm making a right mess of this, aren't I?" Lupin mused, proceeding to wipe a hand on his shirt and offer it to Harry. "Remus Lupin; I was told you were in need of help."

Ah.

Harry sighed, taking Lupin's hand firmly.

"You should've opened with that, Mr Lupin… Remus," he amended at Lupin's reproachful look.

"Well, we got there in the end," Lupin said, gaze flitting over to Hedwig. "I'll take your owl, and you pack your things. We have someplace else to be."

Aunt Petunia stood at the doorstep, glaring at the trunk in Harry's hand – a rather empty trunk, by all accounts, which Lupin had tutted at, and shot sorrowful glances at Harry for – and at Lupin, who stood guardedly in front of Harry.

"You can't just…," she screeched, waving the washcloth in her hand. "I'll call – Vernon won't stand for this."

It never ceased to amuse Harry just how much more foolish the Dursleys could get.

"Neither will I, Mrs Dursley," Lupin countered, voice hard. "I will not, in good conscience, stand by while a child is abused."

"I'm not abused," Harry protested, at the same time as Aunt Petunia's 'we would never!' echoed in the hall.

Lupin glanced at Harry, then at Aunt Petunia, and hummed. His voice dropped, and he leaned in close, murmuring something that Harry couldn't quite catch – though he did hear 'Lily' and 'ashamed'.

Aunt Petunia paled and Harry's eyes widened.

"If you'll excuse us, Petunia," Lupin smiled, predatory, and his aunt was more than happy to scamper.

Harry barely stopped his jaw from dropping. For all the compassion Lupin had shown, it wasn't all there was to him, and whatever history they shared, and whoever Remus Lupin was, Harry vowed to find out.

"Come along, Harry, it's a long drive ahead," Lupin grinned, and Harry grinned back easily.

Perhaps getting whisked away was a practical hope, after all, Harry thought.

A/N:

Many, many apologies, my dear readers, for being gone so long! My final exams are done now, though, and my muse has returned - just as Lupin has for Harry. No one saw that coming, I suppose? But honestly, I can't wait to continue this fic, and see where Harry goes in future. And as always, thanks so much for reading - this couldn't be possible without you all!

Until next time,

paltropie.