A/N: thanks to those of you who reviewed. It's really encouraging. Please review. By the way, should anyone be confused by this chapter, this story does take place in England, where to average school day 9am – 3:15pm. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Harry Potter sat in class in the back row, working quietly. The sleeves of his too large school jumper were rolled up several times so that he could actually use his hands. This was English, his favourite lesson, and he would not let some pesky oversized piece of clothing spoil it. The reason he liked this lesson so much was not just because it was so interesting, but also because the teacher, Miss Chadwicke, was different from the others. The other teachers would ignore Harry, even if he knew the answer or needed help. Miss Chadwicke would pick on him when he knew what the answer was and came over to help if he asked for it. At the moment they were studying different types of poetry, which he really enjoyed.

At that moment, the bell rang, signalising the end of school. English had been their last lesson, the only lesson after lunch.

"Your homework," Miss Chadwicke shouted over the scuffling of thirty-two seven-year-olds packing away their things to get to lunch on time, "is to write a limerick of your own, to be handed in next lesson! Harry, please stay behind for a bit, I'd like a word." With that, she stepped behind her desk and started to sort out the pieces of homework she had set the previous lesson.

Harry walked up to her, wondering why she wanted to talk to him. She didn't look up from the pieces of homework until everyone else had left the room. After the door had shut behind the last student, she turned her young face to Harry, looking concerned.

"Take a seat, please, Harry," she said gently, indicating a front row seat directly in front of her desk. Harry did so, wondering why Miss Chadwicke looked so concerned. She was nice, but why would she be concerned about him? He was just a freak after all, everyone said so.

Miss Chadwicke hesitated. She had only started teaching the previous year, and had left university but two years ago. Even though her little sister was a psychology student at university right now, and talked about it a lot, neither had any idea about how to start a conversation like this.

"I've noticed," she started carefully, "that you are always dressed in oversized clothes. You are also the skinniest boy in your year, and I saw disturbingly many bruises and scars on your arms when it was so warm yesterday. Is there anything going on at home that shouldn't be? Are your relatives treating you badly?" She looked at Harry very intently.

Harry was confounded. A teacher, an adult, worried about his wellbeing? It couldn't be. He wondered if he should tell her. He remembered the last time he had told someone. Mr. Kestella, Miss Chadwicke's predecessor, had asked the same thing two years ago, just after Harry had started school. Harry hadn't wanted to lie, so he told Mr. Kestella how he was treated at home. When Social Services called, the Dursleys had convinced them that harry bruised easily and liked to draw attention to himself by telling lies. After the officials had left, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had given him the punishment of his life. They had made sure to teach him what happened if he ever told again.

"Harry," Miss Chadwicke interrupted his troubled thoughts, not unkindly, "if there are problems at home, you can tell me. How can I help you if you don't tell me the problem? I am here to help." Harry pondered this. He had to admit, there was logic in his teacher's words, and he so desperately wanted someone to know.

While Harry talked, Miss Chadwicke grew increasingly shocked, agitated – and furious. How dare the Dursley family mistreat this child? From what her shy student told her, they had beaten, starved and neglected him, in addition to forcing him to do all the chores in the entire household and locking him in a cupboard for days on end. When the seven-year-old child fearfully added, "Please don't call Social Services!" at the end of his gruesome story, and she reassured him several time that she wouldn't, she almost saw red.

"Do you have any idea," she said with forced calm, "as to why your aunt and uncle treat you like that?" She fumbled with the drawer of her desk and eventually took out – and squeezed –the little beanbag her thoughtful sister had provided her with for stressful situations, which this definitely counted as.

"They say it's because I'm a freak," Harry said sadly, "because I can make weird things happen."

"Like turning Mr. Richardson's wig blue on April Fool's Day?" Miss Chadwicke asked, perplexed, "I thought that was funny. The whole staff did. Earlier that day I myself had emptied a bucket of blue food colouring on his head when his wig was still in his pocket. He resembled a Smurf for a week." She smiled fondly at the memory.

Harry looked at her, shocked at the revelation that she knew it was he who had turned the wig blue. Miss Chadwicke decided it was best to wrap up the conversation.

"You may go," she said, and the little boy hurried out. The Dursleys would not have to worry about Social Services – yet.

Claire Chadwicke unlocked her bicycle from the teachers' bike shed. She always cycled to and from work. It helped clear her head. Today, however, it did not do much good. She even cycled the longer, quieter route from Park Road Primary School on one side of Little Whinging to Spinner's End on the other side. Harry's words refused, point blank, to leave her head. She knew who he was, of course. Both Claire and her sister Helen had been born squibs to two Healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. Both had been killed by Lord Voldemort, as they had worked for the Order of the Phoenix during the war. She had grown up in Spinner's End and lived in her parents' old home. She had made friends with Lily Evans, and just about every other child living there.

As Claire cycled down the driveway and around the back of her house, she came to a decision. It was time she visited an old friend. A friend who lived next door who would be home by now since it was the summer break. A friend in the magical world who did not tolerate child abuse. A friend called Severus Snape.