Chapter Ten - Promises

"How about a hidden camera?"

Simon looked up, a weary and slightly irritated look to his features. Jack was sprawled across the sofa, twirling a pen between his fingers, and eyeing the cracks in his brother's ceiling.

"You know, you really ought to decorate this place again," he added, as an afterthought. "If you ever decide to bring a woman back here again… well, let's just say that she won't be all that impressed, you know."

"Firstly, putting a camera into the Dursleys' house would require me to enter their property, put a camera somewhere I think would capture some kind of cruelty towards Harry, and when said cruelty happens, justify my use of unlawful spying to the police," Simon replied icily. "I wouldn't even know how to go about that, let alone wish to face the trouble afterwards, and what if it failed and I end up with a criminal record and can't teach any more? Fat lot of good I'd be then."

He frowned, looking back to the laptop which sat on his dining table. He hadn't known what to do on it for some time now.

"Also, I don't know how much money you think I make as a teacher, but I hardly have enough to redecorate, what with the mortgage and the car and everything. Money just pours away…" he sighed then, and ran a hand through messy hair.

"Can't afford a haircut either, I see," Jack said, brightly. "And you could just ask Mum and Dad for some money. You know they'd give you it. The prodigal son and all that. They'd be thrilled to help."

"They'd be smug and never let me live it down. I knew I could never go back to them when I moved out, and I stand by that now."

Jack sat up suddenly, fixing his brother with a slightly pained desperate look. Simon smiled inwardly; he hadn't seen that kind of look from him since they'd been young. "When did you say it was that social services were visiting Harry?"

He had been wondering when the penny would drop. Despite the large SOC SER TODAY scrawled across that day's calendar entry in the kitchen, it had taken Jack the best part of the day to figure out what was happening, and why he was so tense.

It felt like time had been flying by. It was nearly Christmas, and Simon had promised himself that if social services hadn't been in touch by Friday, then he was going to storm down to wherever their headquarters were and do some serious shouting. He just didn't know what else to do. Thankfully, on the Wednesday evening, they had contacted him to let him know one of their support officers would be visiting the Dursley household that Saturday, to best see them all together.

"Worried?" Jack asked, breaking into the stream of his thoughts.

"No, I couldn't be better," Simon replied, and Jack's eyebrows shot up. "In fact, I'm so well that I think I might just burst into song…"

"Yeah, all right, there's no need to be sarcastic," Jack muttered, his face morphing into a frown. He went back to twirling his pen in the air, watching it clatter loudly in the unnaturally still room more often than not.

"You're not helping matters!" Simon barked so suddenly, that Jack very nearly fell off the sofa all together, and the pen flew through the air into Simon's outstretched hand. His look of disbelief instantly turned to one of calm, as if he had intended it that way all along, before Jack could notice.

It was a little after midday of the 14th December, when the door bell rang. Petunia marched to the door, half in irritation. The war between whether or not to make the boy answer the door was always in her mind. One the one hand, why should she have to leave her soaps when he could just as easily go? But on the other, what if it was someone of some importance, and the first thing they saw was a scruffy urchin? No, better keep him out of sight, and go herself.

A cheerful young woman was on the other side. "We don't want any," Petunia said sharply, seeing the papers in her hand. She moved to close the door, but the woman's words stopped her short.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Dursley. My name is Claire and I'm from Social Services," she said, without the bright smile ever leaving her face. Petunia looked her up and down, her mind working. Where was the boy? What had she set him to do?

An unnaturally bright smile lit up Petunia's face. "Of course you are. Do come in. I must apologise," she continued, leading their guest to the kitchen, "but we do get so many cold callers around here that I forget my manners sometimes. May I offer you some tea?"

"No thank you, I'm here strictly on business today," Claire told her, her sharp eyes leaving hers only once to glance swiftly around the room. It wasn't long enough to take in anything of real value, yet Petunia felt uncertain. "I was hoping to speak to a young Mr Potter in your care, if that's at all possible?"

Petunia smiled again, her face stretching uncomfortably. "I'm afraid that's not possible today, you see Vernon's taken the boys on a camping trip."

"Oh how lovely," Claire said, not believing a word, Petunia thought. "Though I didn't think there was anywhere close by to go camping. When will they be back?"

"Not until late tomorrow night, I shouldn't think. The boys always want to stay out for as long as they can together. You know how young children are," Petunia said. "But you're welcome to call back any time."

"I certainly shall," the young woman said, undeterred. She was used to this kind of behaviour from those she visited, if nothing else. "I'll be back before you know it, Mrs Dursley."

She moved slowly back the way she had come, this time her eyes were clearly darting around, taking in all the details she could. They rested the longest on the cupboard under the stairs, and the locks on the outside of the door.

"Do you know when you'll be back?" Petunia asked. "It would be awful for you to come all this way again, just to be disappointed."

"I couldn't possibly say," Claire replied, her fingers touching the door handle. It moved unexpectedly under her hand, and she jumped back slightly. The door opened, and if looks could kill, Harry Potter would have dropped dead under the glare of his aunt that very moment.

"Oh, and you must be Harry," a cheerful woman said when he walked inside. He froze instinctively, a strange fear contorting his features at finding himself suddenly so close to his aunt and a strange woman who knew his name.

"Yes, Ma'am," he replied, keeping his eyes on the floor, not seeing the looks which passed over his head between the two women.

Suddenly, Harry felt a gentle hand on his chin, tilting his head up. "Well aren't you just the sweetest boy I've met all week," the new woman said with a warmth in her voice that had rarely been directed at him, and never under this roof. She was kneeling down on his level, her eyes watching his. There was some kind of hardness about her which made him feel safe and afraid all at once.

"My name's Claire," she said, when it seemed that he wouldn't reply unless directly asked a question. "I'm from social services, and I'm here to ask you a few questions alone, if that's all right with your aunt."

Harry sensed that it didn't quite matter what Aunt Petunia thought on the matter, and the glare that passed from her to Claire didn't miss his attention. "Perhaps in here will do for our chat," Claire said, pushing the door to the lounge open, and taking Harry's hand in one swift movement. Harry didn't miss the look his aunt sent him. It clearly meant that bad things were coming his way, and he felt a slight tremor pass through him.

The door closed behind them, with a soft click, and Claire lead him right across the room, as far away from the entrance as she could. She sat down on the small window seat, and beckoned for Harry to join her. He hovered uncertainly.

"I… I'm not meant to sit on the furniture in here," he explained quietly. She gave him an incredulous look for a moment.

"Well, today I'm giving you permission," she said quietly. She winked then. "Your aunt will never know."

He glanced back at the door, and took the hand which was offered to him when he turned back to her. It felt strangely like he was sinking when he sat down on the soft seating for the first time, but he became accustomed to it quickly.

He could feel the woman's gaze on his face again, and he turned to look at her. Aunt Petunia had made it quite clear that she was not welcome in their home, and he had long held the belief that any enemy of the Dursleys was a friend to him. Up close, he could see that she was far younger than his aunt, and she didn't have the same kind of pinched look that Aunt Petunia always wore either. There was something about her eyes which reminded him of the way some of the shopkeepers in town regarded him, and this familiarity warmed her to him more than she could have realised.

"Is Dudley allowed on the furniture?" she asked after a moment. He shook his head slightly.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked quietly. His eyes had dropped back down to his lap again, as they had a tendency to do when awkwardness began to set in.

Claire took a moment before answering. Harry thought it looked to him like she was trying to phrase things carefully for his benefit. "I'm here to find out whether or not you're happy and safe living with your relatives."

"Who sent you?" he asked, emboldened by her easy though unexpected response to his question.

"I'm here as part of the government," she replied quietly, "but quite a few people have suggested to us that we might want to come and check how you're doing here." She glanced down at the papers she was still holding when she said this. Harry felt a small feeling of warmth inside him when he realised that she was telling the truth. People did care about him.

"Who thought that we might want to come and check on me?" he asked. His only response this time was a bright smile.

"Tell me about living here, Harry, how are you finding it?" she asked. "Do you feel that you're treated fairly?"

He paused then, weighing his words. He wanted to make sure that he said the right thing, if that was what it took to make sure that things changed around here. He could imagine no other conclusion from their conversation. It never crossed his mind that he might be removed from there altogether.

Just then, he happened to glance at the door. There was a gap larger than usual between the floor and the bottom of the door; often when he was free to wander the house, he had listened to their quiet conversations in the lounge on an evening. Often when he'd been caught at it, and sent to his cupboard with a stinging cheek, he would hear his Aunt demand that Uncle Vernon fix it. He never had.

A shadow moved slightly on the floor, and he swallowed. It was Aunt Petunia, of this he was sure. She was listening to every word he said, and suddenly, an image of her angry glare filled his mind. This new woman would not remain in the house for long, and once she had gone, Aunt Petunia would tell Uncle Vernon how he'd betrayed the family, and Uncle Vernon would be angry and…

He took a deep breath then, afraid by the sheer prospect of it all. Harry turned his eyes to Claire then, with a strange sorrowful look, he wasn't aware he was giving her. He shook his head softly, and his eyes fell back downwards again.

"I'm quite happy living here, thank you." His voice was clipped and certain. It was unlike his natural way of speaking, and it surprised even himself. It felt like an older person speaking for him.

Claire turned tragic eyes upon him. "You know that you can tell me anything, Harry, and if you're unhappy here then you need to let people know about it so that they can help you."

For some time, they went back and forth. Claire asked ever more probing questions into Harry's life at home, and Harry answered automatically with an answer he thought that he would give if he were treated in the same manner as Dudley.

It felt like forever to Harry, but when he glanced up at the large clock, it had only been fifteen minutes, when Claire seemed to give up entirely. She stopped for a moment, and surveyed him warmly. She leant close to him and whispered softly by his ear.

"It's okay, Harry. If you're ever unhappy or afraid living here, then let someone know. I'm a friend of Mr Glass at school, and we can help you if you feel like we need to, I promise." This whispered declaration was almost too much for Harry, but he held firm. She was leaving, that much was clear, and Aunt Petunia was still outside the door. Once she had gone, if he'd said anything to displease his family, he would feel the effects, not her. She was unable to help him really, he knew.

Still, the knowledge that she knew Mr Glass warmed his heart, and he managed to give her a bright smile, which he hoped looked more genuine than it felt. He was tired, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in his cupboard and hide for a while. He was unused to so much attention focused on him at any one time.

Oddly, as he watched the front door close behind Claire, he felt like he'd let her down. He turned back to Aunt Petunia, and her gaze was something unusual to him. "Come and sit down at the table and eat your lunch."

It felt like his eyes were going to fall out of his head, but he managed to hold his reactions into himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten lunch, or the last time it had been at the table, and not in his cupboard. He wondered if this was some kind of reward for lying for them.

He entered the kitchen quietly, and sat down. He had been expecting some kind of trick, at the very least, not a small ham sandwich with the crusts cut off, just the way that Dudley always requested his. He ate it quickly, and when he finished, Aunt Petunia told him he could have the day to do whatever he wished.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he smiled at his aunt.

Claire sat down on the dark green sofas, and took in her surroundings automatically, as she had been trained to do a long time since. The mug of tea in her hands warmed her through, and she felt the comfort of old, well worn furniture. She looked to the two men surveying her, unsure what they wanted to hear. It was unusual, but not unheard of, for those with an interest in those she protected to request her presence to hear for themselves what was going on.

"He says he's fine there," she said quietly, speaking more to the mug than to the two men. "That he's happy there," she amended.

They were two brothers, she knew. One older, calmer, and already world-weary, though he was around the same age as herself, twenty-three, she guessed at most. The other was younger, more impulsive, and not yet twenty-one. They were so similar, and so stark in contrast at once, that it was almost unnerving.

Their reactions were as she'd predicted from her words: Jack leapt to his feet, with a wild cry of "What?!" whilst Simon stayed seated, a frown crossing his face. This was just a new problem for him, added to a multitude of others which she imagined all began and ended with the young boy she had just been to see.

"Surely you don't believe him?!" Jack cried, "He's miserable there! They treat him like dirt!"

"Where were you in relation to his Aunt and Uncle when you were speaking to him?" Simon asked, cutting across his brother sharply. Jack stopped raving, and leant heavily against the door behind him.

Claire quickly explained, adding, "I'm sure she was listening outside the door though, but Harry shouldn't have thought she'd be eavesdropping."

Simon snorted derisively. "If you knew she was there, then he knew," he stated. "He's anything but stupid, and you'd be amazed by how perceptive he is. Couldn't you have taken him further away?"

"I'm not permitted to take him off the premises, and there was nowhere in the house I could go where she couldn't follow me to listen," Claire admitted.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence, broken twice by angry noises from Jack's direction.

"So what are you going to do now?" Simon asked her.

"Nothing," Claire said quietly.

"Nothing?!" This time, it was Simon who had leapt to his feet. "You're going to leave him there to god knows what kind of fate? You've seen that woman. You know what she's like! They're hurting him!"

She gave him a level stare. "Prove it. Show me some kind of evidence that he's being neglected or worse, and I'll have him removed."

Simon's mouth went dry.

He would never have suspected Jack to leap in for some kind of hamhanded rescue. "You've seen him, for god's sake! He's a bag of bones, wearing his fat cousin's handmedown rags for clothes! His cousin's a whale of a kid – fed twice what he ought to be, and Harry's fed less than half. You can see it with your own eyes! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"

Jack staggered slightly, overwhelmed by unexpected emotions, Simon suspected. He watched his younger brother turn dazedly on the spot, and run a hand over his face in a gesture of stress he had rarely seen in him before. He wondered for a moment if his eyes had glistened, or if it had been merely a trick of the light.

"Please, be calm," Claire said, speaking again, and setting her mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of her. It was the only thing between her and the angry brothers. She could feel their pain, but there was nothing she could do in this instance. "I cannot return to my office and file paperwork for the removal of a child who could well have a fast metabolism, who could be spinning tales for attention—" they both moved to speak, but she held up a hand to stop them. "This is what my superiors will tell me. We must be certain before we remove someone from their home, and in the cold light of the office, the evidence isn't enough."

"What can we do?" Simon asked, a note of pleading in his voice which he wasn't used to, "What can you do?"

"I can do little, but continue to check on him at unexpected times, and involve the teachers, such as yourself," she said, helplessly.

"And what of when he ends up covered in bruises, or in hospital? What then?" Jack demanded.

She gazed at him. "Should it ever come to that, I expect pictures of his injuries," she said, suddenly cold and hard. "I want pictures of any injuries, and if necessary, I want that kid on tape saying he wants out of that house. I don't care what you have to do to get that kind of evidence," she added unexpectedly, "not when it's someone's life we're talking about. Keep records of behaviour suggesting abuse or neglect, and get witnesses to sign it."

Simon and Jack were momentarily stunned into silence.

Claire continued. "You need evidence that will stand up in a court of law, because to get him away from them for good, I suspect that's where we'll be going. There's something about her that seems like…" she paused, searching for words, her demeanour softening again, thinking of Harry, "… like she doesn't want him there, but she's unwilling to let him walk away."

Simon and Jack shared an uneasy look at this, but didn't comment. She rose to leave then, and neither of them stopped her, or stalled her.

She turned her smile on them, wearier than the one she had bestowed upon Harry earlier, and far more genuine than Petunia had seen her. "I am glad he has two such defenders, I think Harry might need you before long," she said quietly. "You have my number, Mr Glass, and there will be an ongoing investigation into the family. Feel free to contact me with anything you feel is necessary, and I'll email you a copy of the notes I've taken today, strictly off the record, that is." She flashed him that smile again, more determined this time.

They said their goodbyes at the door, and when she was gone, Simon leaned against the back of it, and Jack sagged against the wall.

"I didn't expect this to be easy but…" Simon trailed off with a sigh that was half exhaustion and half frustration.

"I know," Jack said, through gritted teeth, slamming his hand against the wall, and then wincing in pain afterwards. Simon snorted with laughter.

Jack turned a dirty look on him, and then grabbed his jacket from the hook behind the door.

"Where are you going?" Simon asked. Jack had been around so much of late that it was strange for him to leave without real reason. He had even started driving to university from his house on a morning.

"Electrical shop in town," Jack explained, a dark smile crossing his features. "We're going to buy a camera and a dictaphone. We'll get those bastards, don't you worry about that."

Simon didn't have time to object to his brother's language, and he only just had time to grab his house keys and a jacket before the car was revving impatiently outside the house.

He promised then, to anyone who was listening, and many who weren't, that he'd do whatever it took to keep Harry safe.

A/N: Actual plot progression, I tells you!! I don't really know the way social services work here, to be honest, and I'm not sure I can research into this kind of thing accurately, so I'm drawing conclusions that will fit with where this story is going. Thanks as always, to all those reading out there. I know it's very Simon-heavy at the minute, and I suppose a lot of this story will be, but as time goes on and Harry gets older, he'll feature a lot more.