Chapter 2

"I don't want to stay here."

Gareth crouched before Harry in his bedroom at Little Whinging, Harry perched on the edge of the bed. "I know. I wouldn't want to either. But the Hogwarts term starts tomorrow and you can't stay there with me anymore."

"Why not?"

"You know why, Harry. You're not a student and you're not a child of any of the staff. I'm going to be busy teaching and I won't be able to look after you all the time."

"I can look after myself," Harry insisted. "I can stay in your rooms when you're teaching classes. I promise I won't be bad and mess anything up or do anything naughty."

"I believe you, I really do," Gareth said with a sigh. "But I'm sorry, Harry. It's not up to me. Dumbledore is still in charge of your placement, and Headmaster of Hogwarts, and he said you have to come back here. You have the mirror; you can contact me if you need to."

He nodded to the handheld mirror resting on the bed beside Harry, who didn't even glance at it. It was partner to one that used to belong to Snape, so that Harry could contact him if there was ever an emergency. He'd only ever used it once, when Vernon's sister Marge had visited on Dudley's birthday and whacked Harry around the shins with her walking stick hard enough to leave Harry hobbling. He'd called Snape in tears and within an hour Snape turned up on the doorstep of number four. Harry didn't know what he said to Marge, but she had left early and not come back since.

"But what if I turn into a werewolf? I might and then I'll attack my aunt and uncle and cousin and turn them into werewolves, or kill them and—"

"Stop, Harry. You're not going to hurt your family. I'm coming to get you next Sunday, well before moonrise, so even if you are infected you won't—"

"But what if I turn into a werewolf before then?" Harry interrupted urgently.

"You won't. Werewolves only turn on the full moon, never at any other time."

"But what if another werewolf comes to attack me here?"

"It'll be out of luck, because you won't be here, like I just said."

"But what if—"

"You'll be alright, Harry," Gareth interrupted, not unkindly, reaching over to squeeze his shoulders. "There are protections on this house to keep you safe. You have the mirror to contact me if there is an emergency. You'll be okay."

Harry let out a long sigh but nodded and made no more objections. He stayed in his room when Gareth left, listened to his footsteps head downstairs then the soft murmur of voices for a few minutes before the front door opened. Harry went to his window, looking out to watch Gareth leave. He paused at the end of the pathway and turned to look up at Harry's window, tapping two fingers to his head in a salute before waving. Harry waved back and pressed his forehead to the glass when Gareth turned and headed down the street. The chill of the glass was nice against the scars on his face.

He'd just barely survived the werewolf attack. Dumbledore, knowing he couldn't get out of the castle fast enough, had sent Patronus messages to several trusted people in the hope that they would respond quicker than he could. Gareth had arrived just in time to stop the wolf from tearing out Harry's throat, killing the beast shortly before Sirius Black turned up, the animal body turning human in death to reveal Fenrir Greyback. Technically, the killing of werewolves was a crime, but it was a clear cut case of self-defence and the prejudice against werewolves meant that even if it hadn't been, people were rarely brought to court on the matter. Gareth would never be charged.

They healed Harry's wounds just enough to keep him from dying then rushed him to Saint Mungo's, where he'd spent a week. The wolf hadn't managed to bite him, but no one knew if any of the animal's blood or saliva managed to get into any of the various claw scratches, so when the next full moon came—a week into September, the very night before Harry's new term at school began—he would be taken from Privet Drive and tucked into a secured room for the night to see if he transformed. He was dreading it.

He spent two weeks at Hogwarts after the hospital, mostly helping Gareth clear out Snape's rooms and office. Gareth would be taking over as the new Potion Master and Head of Slytherin, which required him to be situated closer to the common room than his normal rooms on the fourth floor, while Dumbledore sought to find a replacement Muggle Studies teacher. The other staff members were at Hogwarts too, preparing for the upcoming school year, and Harry overheard some of them expressing concerns about his involvement with cleaning out Snape's rooms, saying it would make it harder for him to deal with Snape's death. He found it didn't. If it'd been Spinner's End then he thought he might have had problems, but he'd never spent time at Snape's rooms in Hogwarts. He had no attachment to them, so he didn't mind helping Gareth pack Snape's books and clothes away. Snape didn't have much in the way of ornaments or knick knacks, and absolutely no photos.

"Where are they going?" Harry asked not long after they began, pulling books off the lower shelves in Snape's bedroom while Gareth took the ones higher up. There were almost as many here as at Spinner's End and Harry wondered if Snape had even read them all. It seemed like an awful lot of books for one person to read.

"Some of the books will go to the school library, but most of them and his few other personal belongings will go to Spinner's End. His clothes I'll take to a second hand shop in Diagon Alley. But if you find anything you want to keep, just say so."

Harry nodded and carried on. He cleared two shelves before speaking again. "What's going to happen to Spinner's End? Is someone else going to live there now?"

Gareth paused to watch him as he answered. "No. The house belongs to you now."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Me?"

"Yes. Severus left it to you in his will."

"What's a will?"

"It's a document someone writes saying what they want to happen to their things when they die."

Harry considered that with a frown. "You mean, Severus knew he was going to die so he wrote a thing saying I can have his house? But I'm just a kid, I can't have a house."

"He didn't know he'd die," Gareth told him. "People write their wills just in case an accident happens, like it did with Severus. As for the house, you can have one you just won't be able to live there until you're older, or unless there was an adult to live there with you."

"Can't you live there with me?"

Gareth shook his head apologetically. "I'm not your guardian, Harry, and I have to be at Hogwarts to teach. It's not something you want to hear, but at the end of the month you're going to have to go back to Little Whinging."

He'd been right, it wasn't what Harry wanted to hear. He cried and screamed, sulked and pleaded, and threatened to run away, but it hadn't changed anything. He was stuck with the Dursleys, his only comfort being a magical mirror and the promise that Gareth would take him away next summer, if Harry wanted.

He pulled away from the window and went over to Lego Hogwarts, tucked in the corner of the room. Opening it up, he found the little figure of Snape, down in the dungeon with a cauldron, and pulled him out. As far as Lego figures went, it really was accurate, right down to the scowl painted on his face. It was also the only likeness Harry now had of the man, except for a single photograph of Snape with Lily when they were thirteen; he hadn't liked having his picture taken. Harry found the figure of Gareth and moved it to the dungeon, then closed the castle up and went to his bed. He pulled up his shirt and lay on his front, trying to let the air soothe the itching of his scars, Snape's figure still clutched in his hand.


Harry was so nervous about the approaching full moon that, to his great embarrassment and his aunt's annoyance, he wet the bed the night before. It wasn't the first time it'd happened since the werewolf attack and was another reason he hadn't wanted to return to the Dursleys—to no surprise, as soon as Dudley found out he teased Harry mercilessly about it.

Harry couldn't decide if it was better or worse than the nights he woke up screaming from nightmares of monsters. At Hogwarts, Gareth had come and sat with him when that happened, calming Harry down until he could sleep again. Here, Petunia scolded him for waking up the rest of the house and Harry would crawl under the bed with his duvet, Bedtime Bear, and Lego Snape and spend the rest of the night muffling his sobs and trying to convince himself he would be okay.

Gareth wasn't alone when he came on Sunday afternoon to pick up Harry; Sirius Black was with him and Harry hung back when they came to the door. They were both dressed in Muggle clothes, but this didn't appease Petunia and Vernon, who were extremely eager to get the two men off their doorstep—and, preferably, as far from Little Whinging as possible.

"What's he doing here?" Harry asked in a small voice, staring past Gareth nervously. "Am I under arrest?"

"Aurors don't arrest children," Gareth assured him. "Sirius is just here to help make sure you're safe and secure in the room we have prepared for you."

"Is he going to kill me if I turn into a werewolf?"

Gareth crouched, hands on Harry's shoulders and expression serious. "No one is going to kill you, Harry, or arrest you, or do anything else unpleasant to you. I will stop anyone who even tries, I promise you that personally. Do you believe me?"

Harry hesitated, glancing past him again to Sirius, who still stood out on the doorstep with his arms folded over his chest. He said nothing, but he gave Harry a small, faint smile, and Harry reminded himself that even if Sirius had been a bully, he'd been James' best friend. He probably wouldn't do anything bad to Harry on that account, even if Harry did feel that Sirius didn't exactly like him.

So he nodded to Gareth and followed the two men out. They would take a Portkey to wherever they were going. Harry thought they should leave straight from the house, but because Dudley didn't know about magic—he thought Harry's injuries had come from a rabid dog—they didn't want to draw suspicion by making him wonder how they'd left the house without going through the front door. Harry thought this was drastically over-estimating his cousin's intelligence and powers of observation.

They used the Portkey in the small alley between Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent, a few streets over from Privet Drive, and it deposited them inside a dilapidated room with boarded up windows and so much dust Harry immediately began sneezing.

"Where are we?" he asked when he could speak again, wiping snot on his sleeve and looking around. There wasn't much in the way of furniture and what was there was broken and gouged as if used as a chew toy by dogs. Gareth conjured and lit some candles for them.

"The Shrieking Shack," Sirius answered, a strange lilt to his voice as he looked around.

"The haunted house in Hogsmeade?" Harry gasped. "Mr Nick told me all about that. He said even the Hogwarts ghosts don't go there!"

"It's not haunted. It was used by another werewolf, years ago. People were just told it was haunted so they wouldn't go investigating."

Harry shivered, edging closer to Gareth and asking in a small voice, "Is that werewolf going to be here too?"

"No," Sirius answered in a tone that brooked no argument. "It'll never come here again."

Harry didn't dare ask him why he was so sure.

There was still an hour before the moon rose so they cleared a space to sit and wait. Harry wished he'd brought something to distract himself while they waited, but Sirius drew a deck of cards from his pocket and together he and Gareth tried to teach Harry how to play poker. They didn't do very well, mostly because Harry kept thinking about what might happen when the moon came up and interrupting every five minutes to ask the time.

"Is it gonna hurt?" he asked when there was only ten minutes left. The cards were abandoned, his attention far too distracted to concentrate on poker. When both men hesitated to answer, he had to swallow a sudden lump in his throat. "It will, won't it?"

"Yes," Gareth said softly.

Harry nodded, blinking hard against tears. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out Lego Snape, which he'd taken to carrying everywhere with him, and stared at it for a few seconds before holding it out to Gareth. "Can you look after him for me, please? I don't want him to get damaged."

"Of course."

"What is that?" Sirius asked, his expression of confusion only increasing when Gareth held it up to show him.

"It's Lego. Muggle building blocks, with little people to go with it."

Sirius leant closer, peering at the figure. "Is that… Snape?"

"Gareth got it for me," Harry said a little defensively, knowing Sirius' opinion of Snape. "He got me a whole model of Hogwarts with all the teachers for my birthday."

Sirius blinked, sitting back. "Hogwarts? I thought you said it was a Muggle toy."

"Custom built and special ordered figures," Gareth explained.

"Sounds cool."

"How much longer?" Harry asked, peering at Gareth's watch.

"Seven minutes."

Each minute seemed to take an eternity and yet as a whole it felt like no time at all before they passed. Harry sat trembling the whole time, growing more and more anxious, and when there were only a couple of minutes left he leapt up and backed away from the two men, staring at his shaking hands.

"It's happening!" he screamed. "I can feel it, I'm turning into a werewolf! You've gotta go away now!"

"We're not leaving until—" Gareth began, but Harry cut him off.

"NO! You're not safe!" he insisted, and when they still didn't move to leave he fled the room, panic growing with every second and the sound of them following him. There was a coat cupboard near the boarded up front door and he rushed inside, uncaring of the dust and spiders that fell on him in the process, and jerked the door shut, holding it in place and panting heavily in the dark.

"Harry?"

"Go away!"

There was silence for a moment then the sound of someone sitting on the floor outside.

"You don't have to come out if you don't want to," Gareth said, "but I'm going to sit out here, alright?"

"I'll hurt you. A werewolf can probably get through this door."

"I've got my wand."

"Severus had a wand too," Harry said quietly.

"I've got Sirius here, so we've got two wands between us, and you're not as big as Fenrir Greyback. I think we'll be okay."

"I don't want to turn into a werewolf."

"It's moonrise. I don't think you're going to or it would have started by now."

"It feels like I am."

"Tell me how that feels."

Harry hesitated, thinking about it. Now that Gareth said the moon was actually up and he no longer had the terrified apprehension of what was coming, he realised he didn't actually feel much of anything. His scars ached, but that was nothing new. He'd thought he felt a tingling in his hands and feet before, but now he focused on them he couldn't feel it. There was some pain in his gum, but that had been there since one of his teeth came loose.

Instead of answering, he asked, "Is the moon really up?"

It was Sirius who answered, sounding a bit further away. "You can come and see for yourself. You can see it through the cracks in the window boards."

Harry considered it, but—"What if I only turn into a werewolf when I see it?"

"That's not how it works, kid. You turn as soon as it rises, or you don't turn at all."

"How do you know for sure?"

"I'm clever like that."

"That's not a proper answer. Did you read it in a book?"

Sirius didn't answer immediately and for a moment Harry thought he wasn't going to, but eventually his quiet voice came through the door. "No. I used to know a werewolf."

"You mean Remus Lupin," Harry said, shivering slightly. The thought of being the same kind of monster as the man who betrayed his parents made the idea of being a werewolf even worse.

"Yes," he answered almost too quietly to hear. "Did Snape tell you about him?"

Harry nodded, then remembered they couldn't see him. "Yeah."

"How much did he tell you?"

"That Remus Lupin told the Dark Lord where my mummy and daddy were hiding, and then you cursed him and now he's in a coma—that's a special sleep that he can't wake up from because of something wrong inside his head—in a special prison." He paused, then asked, "Does he still turn into a werewolf even though he's in a coma?"

Sirius sighed, there were footsteps, and then the sound of him sitting down. "Yes, he does, but he's still in a coma even then so he can't hurt anyone."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

"You gonna come out now?" Gareth asked. Harry thought about it. It was very dark in the cupboard and there was even more dust and cobwebs than in the rest of the house. Still he hesitated.

"How long has it been since the moon came up?"

"Nearly five minutes."

"You really think if I was a werewolf I would have turned into one by now?"

"Yep."

Cautiously, Harry pushed the door open. Gareth sat just next to it, his back to the wall, while Sirius was cross-legged in the middle of the hallway.

"Not looking very wolfy to me," Gareth said as Harry came out fully.

"I think you're safe, kid," Sirius agreed.

Harry was starting to think so too, but he didn't fully believe it until he went to the window at the end of the hall, insisting the adults not follow, and peered between a gap in the boards to see the big, bright moon hanging low in the sky outside. Only then did he relax and turn to the others with a relieved smile.

"I'm not a werewolf."

"No, you're not," Gareth agreed with a chuckle, getting to his feet and wiping dust from his trousers. Sirius followed suit, returning Harry's smile. "Let's get you back home."

Harry's grin fell. "To Privet Drive?"

"'fraid so."

Maybe being a werewolf wouldn't have been so bad, Harry thought, and it must have shown on his face because Gareth offered, "How about some ice cream before we take you back?"

Harry nodded vigorously. That was an offer he definitely wouldn't turn down.


School began the next morning. The relief of not being a werewolf eased Harry's nerves enough to sleep well that night, but he spent the morning getting more and more worried about it. He knew all the other kids were going to stare at him and ask about his scars. He had his story of a rabid dog to tell them, but he didn't want to talk about it at all, and he didn't want them making fun of him for being mutilated. It was bad enough coming from Dudley.

He took Lego Snape with him, even though students weren't supposed to bring toys in from home, carrying it tucked in his pocket for what little comfort it provided.

His predictions weren't wrong. He and Dudley were now in the same class—each year group having two classes of students—and Dudley wasted no time in telling everyone that his cousin was a bed-wetting crybaby since being attacked by a rabid dog. It didn't stop the kids from staring or asking for details about the attack until the teacher called for their attention, saying they weren't to bother Harry about his scars.

It kept them from asking about it during class time, but didn't stop them staring or from coming up to him in the playground at break, begging to hear the story. He mostly shut down when they did, his throat locking up until all he could do was shake his head at them and back away until one of the teachers on playground duty noticed and came over, shooing away the rest of the kids and staying by Harry's side until the end of break. He took advantage of this and spent every break from then on hanging around whichever teachers were on playground duty. It only reinforced the crybaby label he'd earned, but it kept people from bothering him so he didn't mind.

Being left alone—the teachers didn't talk to him much, save to ask occasionally if he was sure he didn't want to go play with the other kids—gave him a lot of time to watch everyone else. He found it enjoyable to watch other people, to notice Dudley's friends talking about him behind his back, John cheating at stick-in-the-mud, and Heather purposely twisting her wrist wrong as she swung a skipping rope so Sarah would trip and Heather could take her turn sooner.

And to see Anita Darzi glaring at Heather and her friends from the other side of the playground. Harry thought about trying to make friends with her seeing as they were both outcasts. Harry was ostracised because Dudley picked on him and no one wanted to risk Dudley turning his attention on them, too, and Anita was left out because she came from a family of Sikhs and wore a turban. Peggy Elliot, the most outspoken and influential of the girls in their year before she started speaking in tongues, had caused a fuss when she claimed her parents said she wasn't allowed to play with non-Christians. They'd had an assembly about racism and religious intolerance and the Elliots had been called in to talk to the headmistress, but it hadn't stopped many of the kids in their year ignoring Anita most of the time.

Peggy had been cured of speaking in tongues as suddenly and inexplicably as she'd fallen ill, Harry knew from overhearing the teachers talking about it one lunchtime, but she wasn't back at school because her parents decided to send her somewhere else. Mrs Bennett said this was because Mr and Mrs Elliot hadn't been able to convince the school board that Anita was the one responsible for their daughter's ailment and thus deserved expulsion, and then went on to wonder how stupid the Elliots were if they thought some fancy private school didn't have coloured people.

It wasn't the only thing Harry overheard from the teachers, who after a couple of weeks mostly forgot that he was there and could hear them. He also learned that Anita's older brother had been arrested in the summer for abusing Anita, but released on bail and was now living with a cousin, forbidden from going home. Between this, Peggy speaking in tongues so suddenly, and Harry being attacked, the teachers wondered if their year group was cursed. (They had remembered Harry then and promptly changed the subject.)

Harry didn't think they were cursed. He couldn't see why anyone would put a curse on a bunch of seven year old Muggles, except maybe Anita, but he didn't think she could do that even if she did seem pretty good at magic for a seven year old. Even if someone had, Sirius and Kingsley would probably have noticed and removed it when they came to visit.

But even after deciding he would try talking to Anita, Harry didn't approach her for a couple of months, when it'd been long enough for the children to get used to his scars and lose interest in wanting to know the story. He spent a few weeks plucking up his courage, afraid she would turn him away for being a freak or just for being a boy—most of them didn't play together because of cooties.

Harry wasn't totally sure what cooties was, only that there was a version for boys and a version for girls and catching it from the opposite sex was bad. Snape had told Harry that wizards weren't affected by Muggle diseases so Harry wasn't worried about catching girl cooties, but Anita wouldn't know about their magical resistance to it and she might not give him the chance to explain, or believe him even if he did explain. By the time he did work up the courage to leave the teachers and go talk to her, half term was upon them and he balked and decided to approach her afterwards.

Half term meant Hallowe'en. In Privet Drive this meant Dudley consuming an even larger amount of sweets than normal whilst demanding an elaborate costume for trick-or-treating. Harry was never invited to come, but he didn't care. As much fun as dressing up and asking for sweets from the neighbours might be, Harry wasn't going to do it on the anniversary of his parents' death. It just didn't feel right.

It was worse this year, the grief of Snape's death amplifying the loss he felt for his parents not only through sheer emotion, but because Snape normally came to pick him up at half past four every Hallowe'en to take him to Godric's Hollow so Harry could visit his parents' grave. In a way he didn't really understand, it gave Harry a sense of connection he couldn't get from pictures and stories, even though it made him sad. He didn't want to lose that.

He spent most of the day miserable and bitter, moping about the house until Vernon yelled at him to go and sulk in his bedroom. He tried playing with Lego Hogwarts, but wasn't in the mood, nor did he feel like playing with the Famous Figurines that were hidden under a loose floorboard beneath his bed, with Wizarding Cluedo and the magical puzzles that were normally left at Spinner's End most of the year. With Snape dead, Harry couldn't bear the thought of them being left there. He knew it was stupid because the house had been empty before for most of the year, but it still bothered him so Gareth had brought the toys to Privet Drive for Harry, helped him find a place to hide them, and enchanted the loose floorboard so only Harry could pry it up.

The more the day wore on, the more grumpy Harry got. He didn't even want to join the Dursleys for dinner—Snape used to take him to the pub in Godric's Hollow for burger and chips before returning him home—so when the doorbell rang at half past four, when Petunia was starting to cook dinner, Harry was hiding under his bed in a sulk and prodding at the bedsprings. He heard the front door open, the brief murmur of voices, then footsteps climbing the stairs. He ignored the knock on his door, at least until a familiar and highly unexpected voice said, "Harry? Can I come in?"

He scrambled out, banging his head on the bedframe as he went, and jerked the door open, staring up in disbelief at Gareth. "What are you doing here?"

"Coming to get you. I know Severus took you to Godric's Hollow every Hallowe'en. Do you still want to go?"

Harry nodded without even thinking about it.

"You should probably find some shoes then."

Harry glanced down at his bare feet then ran to his drawers, pulling it open to get some socks and sitting to pull them on before hunting down his trainers and fetching his coat, ready to go in just a few minutes. He would have left the house without saying anything to his family, but Gareth insisted on mentioning to Petunia that they were leaving. She responded with only a glare at Gareth's robes, cloak, and pointy hat.

It wasn't quite dark enough for trick-or-treaters yet, but there were a few kids playing outside who called out compliments on Gareth's wizard 'costume'. They walked to the narrow alley between Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent and Gareth Apparated them away. They reappeared in a small woodland at the edge of Godric's Hollow and walked the rest of the distance, coming out the woods just before the first houses appeared. The road they came in on was the same road with the house where Harry's parents had been killed and he grabbed Gareth's hand as they passed it, unable to keep from glancing at it even though he hated it. It made his heart ache to see the half-destroyed house that was a home he could never remember.

He did like looking at the statue in the village square, staring up at the life-size replica of his parents. He knew they were only stone, but it still felt like his parents were watching over him a little. He felt that even more strongly in the small church graveyard, where he would kneel before the double-sized headstone and tell them he missed them, and about the spelling test he did well on, and the race he'd won in P.E. Maybe it was the date and the dead being said to press on the living world this day of the year, but it almost felt like they were really there listening to him.

This year he hesitated to speak though. He knelt and wiped away the plants that started to grow up over the past year then sat back on his heels.

"Hi Mum, hi Dad," he greeted quietly, then said nothing else. He was more aware of Gareth waiting a respectable distance away than he'd ever been of Snape. He wanted to explain why Snape wasn't there, but he couldn't find the words to say it and after a minute of sitting in silence, throat growing tight, he got up and went over to Gareth.

"Can you tell them?" he asked, trying not to cry.

"Tell them what?"

"About… about Severus. I don't know what to say."

His voice shook and he worried that Gareth would say something dismissive, but the man just nodded, moving forward and getting to one knee before the graves while Harry stood at his shoulder.

"Hey, Lily, James. I'm Gareth. I…" He paused and turned to Harry. "Did you tell them about me?"

Harry nodded. Gareth looked back to the grave.

"I'm here today instead of Severus because… I'm afraid I have bad news. A few months ago, Severus was killed. A werewolf attacked his home and Severus died protecting Harry from it." He paused and Harry thought he was trying not to cry. He'd lost that battle himself, tears dripping unchecked down his cheeks. "I know we never met when you were alive, but I hope you'll believe me when I say I promise to look after your son in Severus' place."

He took a shaky breath and stood, squeezing Harry's shoulder before moving back again. The news out now, Harry felt more able to talk. Before he even realised it he was telling the whole story of what happened in August, the words spilling out of him uncontrollably, punctuated with sobs. It was the first time he'd really spoken about it since it happened.

When his tears overwhelmed him and he couldn't speak any more, Gareth dropped beside him and offered his arms for a hug, which Harry threw himself into gladly, wailing into the man's chest and grateful for the soothing hand rubbing at his back.


School resumed two days later. The visit to his parents' grave and finally talking about the werewolf attack had eased something in him, made him feel a little less afraid than he had in months, and he had the nerve to leave the teachers and approach Anita on the very first break. As usual, she was hanging about near the back of the playground where it bordered the grassy area, which they weren't allowed on today because it'd rained that morning.

Despite his decision, he was still a little nervous so he spent ten minutes slowly sidling up to her instead of directly approaching. When he was within a few feet he stood nervously, hands fidgeting, rocking on his heels slightly, until she said, "What do you want?"

"You wanna play?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Play what?"

"Um…" He hadn't thought that far ahead and cast about. All the skipping ropes were claimed, as were the two decent footballs, but while the third one was useless for kicking around it still had enough form to it for throwing. "Catch?"

She glanced over at the ball. "I'm not playing catch with that. It's rubbish."

"Oh. Okay. We could play tag?"

"Why?"

He shrugged. "It's fun?"

"But we're not friends," she pointed out.

"Do you want to be?"

She was so surprised by his question that her jaw dropped. Then she snapped it shut and squeaked, "Me?"

"Yeah. I thought we could be friends 'cause we both don't have any. If you wanted."

She scowled slightly at that, but glanced over towards Heather and her friends in the process so Harry didn't think the scowl was at him. She still seemed hesitant to accept him, though, so he edged a little closer, glanced around to check no one was close enough to overhear him, and whispered, "I know you're a witch."

Her eyes widened. "How do you know that? The wizards said we're not allowed to tell Muggles!" she said in a hushed voice.

"You know about Muggles? What wizards?"

"The ones that came and told me and my parents that I'm a witch in the summer. They said I can do magic and after primary school I'll go to a magic school called Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, sitting down beside her. "Me too. I'm a wizard. Hogwarts is really great. It's in a big castle. I got to go there this summer."

To his surprise, Anita looked wary at this. "Is that where you got attacked by the dog?"

"No. It wasn't a dog anyway, it was a werewolf, but Muggles aren't allowed to know that so you can't tell anyone."

"What's a werewolf?"

"It's a person that turns into a wolf on the full moon."

"That sounds scary. I don't know if I'm going to go to Hogwarts."

"Why not? Do you want to go to a different magic school?" First Tori, now Anita. At this rate, he thought, there wouldn't be any girls in his year at Hogwarts at all.

"I didn't know there were different magic schools, but I don't think my daddy likes me being a witch and he wants me to go to a school with more Sikhs and other Indian people."

"A Muggle school? You can't do that!" Harry objected. "If you're a witch, you have to learn magic."

"I want to, but my daddy might not let me." She sniffed then rubbed at her nose as the bell went, indicating the end of break, and just as Harry was about to get up and walk away she said quickly, "We can play tag at lunchtime if you want."

He looked at her in surprise, but then nodded and smiled and they headed to join the children lining up to go back inside. It was a start.

They started playing together from then on and by the time the Christmas holidays came around they called each other 'friend'. They hadn't visited each other's houses—Harry reluctantly admitted that his aunt and uncle were unlikely to let him have a friend over, and Anita said her parents were the same since her brother's arrest. She'd quickly changed the subject after that, as she had the few other times Harry brought her brother up; it was clear she didn't want to talk about him. Harry left it; in return, she didn't ask about the werewolf attack. But they played together at breaks, sat together in the classroom, and they stood together against Dudley when he tried to pick on Harry and against Heather when she tried to pick on Anita.

Harry didn't like Christmas. It was two weeks with only the Dursleys for company, two weeks of listening to Dudley go on about all the presents he expected to get and the foods he planned to stuff his already fat face with. While Harry would get a few presents, he didn't have a family to open them with and share the joy of the day, and he would be allowed a minimal amount of the food. He wouldn't even be allowed to sit at the table for the main meal, instead given a plate of food and banished to his bedroom. The Dursleys didn't want him intruding on their family holiday time; the only thing they dragged him along to was midnight mass. Snape used to come visit for an hour or two in the afternoon or evening, depending on if he had any trouble with the students at Hogwarts, but even that didn't quite make up for having no real family Harry could celebrate the holiday with. For all Dudley's obsession with presents, Harry had come to understand that Christmas was a family holiday, and he didn't have one of those.

He woke up to a small pile of gifts at the end of his bed on Christmas morning, as usual. He assumed they came by some kind of spell; he didn't believe in Father Christmas, but magic was real enough and he knew there had to be enchantments that could get the presents into his room overnight. He had entertained the thought that Snape delivered them himself, sneaking in while Harry slept, but Snape always denied it and Harry didn't think Gareth would do it so he let go of that belief entirely now.

There was no box of Famous Figurines this year, but there was the new winter coat he always got, a book on magical creatures, an etch-a-sketch, the usual box of sweets from Dumbledore, and from the Hogwarts' staff a net that accompanied a box of toy butterflies enchanted to fly. He wasn't sure it was really a good toy to have in a house where he couldn't openly use magical things, but he liked it anyway. He could always say the butterflies worked on batteries. His aunt might figure out the truth, but Dudley would believe it.

Gareth, to Harry's surprise, turned up at the end of lunch. Harry had finished his own meal, but he could hear Dudley demanding a third serving of Christmas pudding downstairs. Vernon was the one to answer the door, his voice getting louder and alerting Harry to Gareth's presence when he half-shouted, "We don't want your sort around here today."

Harry knew by now that 'your sort' was the Dursleys' way of saying 'wizards'; they seemed to have some aversion to saying any actual words related to magic. Harry hurried down from his bedroom, pausing partway down the stairs to look over Vernon's shoulder and smile at Gareth. Vernon was trying his best to shut the door on the wizard, but Gareth had stuck his boot through the gap and as Harry got closer he heard him say, "Dursley, if you don't open this door right now I will stand on your porch and sing carols as loudly as I possibly can, which is definitely loud enough to get the neighbours' attention."

Vernon blanched and stepped back. He didn't like carollers at the best of times; he certainly couldn't handle the thought of the neighbours seeing a man in robes and a cloak belting out 'Jingle Bells' at the top of his voice on Christmas afternoon. Gareth stepped inside, tapping a couple of fingers to his head as he shut the door behind him and grinned at Vernon.

"Much obliged, Dursley."

Vernon glared, face red with the effort it took him not to start yelling at the man, and spun about to storm away.

"I didn't think you'd be so early," Harry said as he and Gareth headed up to his bedroom. "Severus never came until later."

"After lunch is the best time," Gareth replied, shedding his cloak when they were inside the room. "All the Slytherins are too stuffed full of dinner and pudding to cause any trouble. There aren't a lot of them staying at the school this year anyway. Happy Christmas, by the way."

Harry returned the sentiment then looked up in surprise when Gareth drew a small rectangular package from his robes, enlarging it before holding it out.

"For me?"

"Unless there's someone else hiding in the room."

Harry took it. "But why didn't you send it with the other presents? Oh, thank you for my coat," he added dutifully, "and the book and the etch-a-sketch."

"You're welcome. I just wanted to give this one to you personally."

"I don't have anything for you. Only Severus gave me pocket money and my aunt wouldn't take me shopping even if I did have any…"

"It's alright," Gareth assured him. "You don't have to worry about getting gifts for me. Open it."

Harry sat on the floor and did so, Gareth sitting beside him, and his breath caught when he tore away the wrapping paper to find a framed, full-body coloured sketch of Snape.

"I know you don't have any photos of him, so I thought you might like this. I know what it's like to lose someone close to you and not have anything of them afterwards."

"Did you draw this?"

"Mmhm."

"I didn't know you could draw," Harry replied absently, brushing his fingers over the sketch. It didn't move, but he didn't care. He finally had a picture of Snape, something more than a ten year old photo and a Lego imitation.

"Bit out of practice if I'm honest, but I know my way around a pencil."

"It's amazing. Thank you."


Sikhs didn't celebrate Christmas, Anita told Harry before the holiday, which he momentarily forget when they returned to school in January and he started to ask, "How was your Christ- I mean, holiday?"

She just shrugged, looking miserable, and hung up her coat and bag on her peg in the cloakroom then walked off without saying anything more. She hardly spoke all day and at break she forcibly told Harry to leave her alone when he tried asking if she wanted to play.

"Did you girlfriend dump you?" a sneering voice said while Harry sulkily kicked pebbles about the playground. He'd gotten used to having someone to spend breaktime with.

He looked up at Dudley with a scowl. "She wasn't my girlfriend. Go away."

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Dudley sang out of tune. "I bet you even kissed her."

"Yeah," agreed Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend. "She's a girl and she's your friend and that makes her your girlfriend."

"Not like that," Harry defended angrily. "That's stupid anyway. If that was true then you are Dudley are boyfriends and you kiss each other."

For a moment they both looked startled at this piece of logic then Piers, who was by far the more intelligent of the two, twisted his face angrily and snapped, "My dad said only faggot boys kiss each other and I ain't a faggot boy."

"Me neither. You're going to pay for that!" Dudley cried, and then swung a fist at Harry. The fight was short but intense, Dudley and Piers landing several bruising blows on Harry while Harry managed to elbow Dudley in the face and kick Piers in the shin.

Dudley and Piers were quick to point the finger at Harry when the teachers broke them up, but all three were sent to the headmistress' office. Harry tried defending himself, but the headmistress didn't listen. When Petunia and Piers' father turned up they were all too eager to believe their own children rather than Harry.

They were sent home early and as soon as they were through the door of Number Four, Privet Drive, Petunia grabbed Harry by the ear and yanked so hard he thought it would come off.

"How dare you attack Dudley and embarrass our family that way!" she shrieked, ignoring Harry's wails and attempts to get her to let go of his ear. "I'm ashamed to be related to you—more so than usual! You're a cruel, rotten little boy who should have died with his worthless parents. You're going in the cupboard," she said, dragging him down the hallway, past a grinning Dudley, and yanking open the door to the cupboard under the stairs so she could shove Harry inside among the mop, bucket, ironing board, and other bits that were kept there. He crashed into the ironing board, almost bringing it down on top of him, and straightened up as the door slammed shut behind him. The sharp clack of the lock being thrown came immediately after.

"You can stay there while you think about what you've done," Petunia said through the wood then Harry heard her stalking off. Heavier footsteps approached.

"You're going to be stuck there forever," Dudley said gleefully.

It certainly felt like forever. He upturned one of the buckets to sit on and rubbed at his ear, which ached and throbbed. He wanted to check in a mirror, but from feel alone he would swear that it'd stretched.

The cupboard was dark and there were spiders, but he resolved not to beg to get let out. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction, but as the hours went on his stomach started to growl and his bladder to ache. He tried to hold it and ignore his hunger, but by the time he heard Vernon return from work he was hopping about in what little space he had, legs tight together.

He heard the murmur of voices from the kitchen as his aunt and uncle spoke, then approaching footsteps, and he started call out when the door opened anyway. He got a glimpse of his uncle—furious, ready to repeat everything Petunia had said earlier only with more flying spit—and didn't give the man chance to speak before he bolted out of the cupboard and past him.

"Get back here!" Vernon roared, but Harry was already halfway up the stairs, running for the bathroom and sighing with relief when he was finally able to use the toilet.

He didn't realise he forgot to lock the door behind him until it crashed open and he spun around to face his furious uncle. Unfortunately, he was still going at the time and a stream of urine sprayed over the wall and onto Vernon's trousers then all over his shoes as the two stood there, staring at one another in stunned silence. A part of Harry knew that he should do something, but his bladder was too relieved at being emptied to let him stop now and his feet felt stuck to the floor. Vernon seemed equally frozen in place so it wasn't until the stream of urine stopped that either of them reacted.

Vernon gave a wordless roar of fury and advanced, while Harry backed up until he hit the toilet and found himself sitting. His uncle's face had gone purple and his fists were rising, but there was no space to get around him so Harry could only squeeze his eyes shut and cringe away, tensing against the incoming blow—

The taps exploded. Water gushed into the sink and bath tub, and the showerhead burst off its pipe with enough force to crack the porcelain rim of the bathtub then rebound and crash against Vernon's head before falling to the floor and rolling to the door. Vernon staggered, blinked slowly, and then crumpled face-first to the floor where he lay unmoving, blood seeping out from beneath his hair to mix with the water slowly easing up from the taps and the headless shower pipe

"MUM!"

Harry started. Dudley, who'd been peering around the door to see Harry get punished, now stood flush in the doorway, one fat finger pointed at Harry, his face white with terror, and his voice a whole octave higher than normal.

"MUM! Harry killed Dad! He killed him!"

Harry stared at Vernon's prone figure. Killed him? He hadn't killed him, had he? Undeniably the thing with the taps had to be accidental magic, but surely Vernon wasn't dead. He was just knocked out. He had to be.

He scrambled to his feet at the sound of Petunia hurrying up the stairs, fumbling to do up his still open trousers, and tried not to look guilty as his aunt came rushing in. She paused at the doorway just long enough to gasp at the mess of the bathroom, then she shrieked Vernon's name and dropped to her knees beside him, first attempting to roll him over and then giving up to press her head to his back, presumably to try and hear his heart. She didn't listen for long.

"He's dead! He's dead, you killed him, you monster, he's dead!"

Harry was in shock. He stared at Vernon as Dudley and Petunia sobbed and screamed, wondering if it was really true or if he was just dreaming, at least until Petunia's sense came to her and she got to her feet to run out for the phone. Harry stared after her, aware in some way that Petunia using the phone was bad, but didn't fully realise why until Dudley said in a watery voice, "Y-y-you're going t-to j-jail."

The very thought almost made him vomit, but he didn't doubt the truth of it. He'd killed Vernon and killers went to jail. He didn't really know what Muggle prisons were like, but he knew that Azkaban had Dementors, which were monstrous things, and then there was the Black Prison, where Lupin was held, but Harry could at least be sure he wouldn't be incarcerated there as he wasn't a part-human creature. They might lock him in Azkaban though, if the Ministry found out about this; Vernon was killed with magic after all. And the Ministry found out about everything.

What was he to do? He didn't want to go to Azkaban. He couldn't survive there. He'd never been around a Dementor, but Snape said they made you think about all the bad things in your life all the time and forget everything happy. That seemed bad enough when the only bad things he had to think about were not having any parents and having to live with his aunt and uncle. Now he would have to think about the werewolf attack and Snape dying, too, and he would forget about Anita and Lego Hogwarts and Gareth.

So how to avoid jail? He could already hear Petunia's shrill voice demanding police and paramedics, so the Muggle authorities would be here soon. He didn't know how long it took the Ministry to learn about magic used against Muggles, but he didn't think it would be long. He could never stop them from finding out, and he didn't think anyone would believe him if he tried to claim he was innocent, which really only left the option of not being arrested.

He had to run away.

He almost left immediately, with nothing more than the clothes on his back, but a part of his brain was functioning logically enough to make him run first for his bedroom. He grabbed the small suitcase that he used for his summer visits to Spinner's End and stuffed in a couple of pairs of underwear, a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and a jumper. He squirmed under the bed to take up the loose floorboard and pull out his photo album—hidden with his magical toys so that if Dudley came snooping he wouldn't find a book of moving pictures—and also took Morgana, his favourite of the Famous Figurines.

He took Gareth's drawing of Snape from the wall—Gareth had magicked up a nail himself on Christmas day when Harry mentioned that the Dursleys would never let him, and he'd faced down Vernon and Petunia to make sure they didn't take it down even after he left—but it wouldn't fit in the small suitcase. He grabbed Bedtime Bear and stuffed it in then stared at the picture again, aware of every passing second. He really didn't want to leave it behind. He turned it over, but the clasps on the back were too fiddly for him in his growing panic and he made a wordless noise of frustration then picked it up and smashed it down. The glass front broke and he turned it over and yanked out the picture, trying not to crease it much as he stuffed it in the suitcase. He gave Lego Hogwarts a sorrowful glance, but there was no taking that and he had Lego Snape in his pocket still. It was enough.

He zipped the suitcase up and dragged it out behind him. Dudley still stood in the bathroom doorway, looking very lost and alone, and Harry turned away to hurry downstairs, the suitcase thumping down behind him. Petunia was still in the kitchen on the phone and Harry left the suitcase by the front door to dart quickly to the cupboard under the stairs, where his coat was. He grabbed it and pulled it on, but Petunia heard him and opened the kitchen door, staring out at him with the phone still pressed to her ear. He didn't give her chance to stop him, speeding back to his suitcase and jerking the front door open. She didn't try to stop him, but as he fled the house he heard her yell into the phone, "He's running away! Get some police here this instant!"

Harry ran.

He prided himself on being the fastest runner in their class—maybe even the whole school. In their sports day the year before, he won the 100-metre sprint and continually beat people during P.E. classes. Even with the suitcase dragging along behind him, made easier by the little wheels on the bottom, he had no problem running all the way from Privet Drive, through the streets, until he came to the main A-road that led east into Little Whinging proper and west out of town.

He turned west, slowing to a walk and trying to catch his breath. He kept his head down as he went and when he saw the occasional police car he hurried off the path and into the bushes, terrified of being seen even though it was already full dark. He'd heard sirens when he fled Privet Drive and knew that the police must now be looking for him.

He wondered if they'd gone through his bedroom—police did that to criminals, didn't they?—and couldn't remember if he'd put back the loose floorboard properly. There was nothing to do about it now, but he really hoped he had. It was a small thing compared to murder, but he didn't want to get in trouble for having Muggle police find his magical toys or the mirror that he'd left behind, the one he had never actually used to contact Gareth. He didn't want it on him now, just in case Gareth could use it somehow to find him.

He wasn't walking long before the sweat he'd worked up from running cooled off. It hadn't snowed yet this winter, but the night sky was clear and bitterly cold even with only a slight breeze. He wasn't sure how long he'd walked when his legs finally got too tired to take him much further, but he'd reached an abandoned hospital that he knew was near the edge of Little Whinging and rumoured to be haunted by insane ghosts. The local teenagers liked to dare each other to go inside, but Harry didn't think there would be any about on a cold night like this. Harry himself wasn't afraid of any ghosts; ghosts were perfectly amiable for the most part and any that weren't were found by the Ministry and exorcised.

Tired and cold, he went around the hospital until he found a gap in the fence to crawl through. The area around the main building was overgrown with grass, weeds, and a tall yellow plant. He pushed his way through, following a path of semi-flattened plants to the front door, which had a broken chain hanging from the handles. He pushed it open and slowly crept inside.

It was even darker here than outside where the street lamps and car headlights brought light, but from what little he could see he gathered he was in the hospital lobby. He could just make out the outline of a reception desk and some chairs. It wasn't that much warmer inside the hospital than out, especially not close to the door, but despite his lack of fear of ghosts, Harry found himself to afraid go very far into the dark hospital. Ghosts were fine, but there was no telling what else might be lurking in the shadows.

He edged over to the reception desk and sat down on top of his suitcase, wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm. Without the momentum of his escape, he was now forced to consider what running away actually meant. He had nowhere to go, no one to help him, and no money or food, something he became especially aware of as his stomach rumbled. He'd been pulled out of school before lunch and not let out of the cupboard to eat all day so he'd had nothing since breakfast. He sat shivering and miserably listening to his stomach grumble until, just as he started to fall into an exhausted sleep, he heard a noise from outside.

In an instant, he was wide awake, scrambling to his feet and creeping back to the doors. They had been glass, originally, but were now broken frames with wood boards nailed across them. He peered through a gap in the boards and tried to see what was out there. For a long minute he saw nothing and was ready to convince himself that he'd imagined the noise or that it was just the cars on the road beyond the fence, but then he saw something move in the darkness and a light swept over the grounds.

Someone was outside the hospital.