One moment Harry Potter was in the dark of his cupboard, curled up against the too familiar hunger pains—Aunt Petunia had been in a mood this whole week—and the next he stood in a room with strangers.

Someone shouted: "What the fuck have you done, Snape! Change him back!"

Goosebumps raised all along Harry's arms, blood thundered through his ears and he froze in place.

This must be like the time he ended up on the school roof when he ran from Dudders. Aunt Petunia was going to be livid. Not knowing what else to do, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and imagined his cupboard, the scratchy feel of his blanket, the musty smell of being locked in too long—he'll have to air it out when his aunt's mood had improved… Please let me go back—please!

Nothing happened.

Silly to hope. Last time they had to get him down with the ladder. He always did that, hoping for something that was never going to happen. He should stop that. Grow up. He opened his eyes.

There was something wrong with his glasses. It turned everything into a bigger blur than usual but he could still see that this wasn't number 4 Privet Drive. He would have noticed if Aunt Petunia suddenly started decorating in Dungeon-grunge, and even then she would never hang those moldy brown curtains. They looked like Aunt Marge's dog had chewed it on the daily. Heck, if they had a dungeon he would have been the first one to be locked there instead of his little cupboard, he could bet money on that.

The room had black stone floors in need of a sweeping, and a huge fireplace, big enough for people to stand in. Harry had only seen such things in travel book pictures and the telly. There was a table with plants and stuff on it, something weird swam in a glass jar—he didn't think goldfish should look like that—and a large black pot lay overturned in the middle of the floor, surrounded by a puddle of green goo.

The door must be behind him where the stranger was still shouting about a snape—whatever that was didn't sound good.

A shiver ran down his spine. Don't make sudden movements. Be invisible. Look for another exit. Should he take a chance and see what was behind the curtains? Maybe luck would be with him and there would be a large window he could jump out of, it doesn't matter if they were not on the ground floor—

"Harry, are you alright, mate?"

He fought hard against the urge to run and turned to the man.

"I'm fine, thank you, sir."

He had never seen this man in his life. He had never met anyone with such bright red hair, he would have remembered—and the guy was wearing a dress! Aunt Petunia would go spare if she saw Harry with someone like that!

He took a deep breath and tried to be polite.

"I'd like to go home now if that's okay… My aunt and uncle will be worried."

A lie, but the stranger wouldn't know.

For some reason, this made the man frown and twist away to shout: "What have you done to Harry!?"

The too loud voice made Harry's skin crawl and it took everything he had in him not to hunch his shoulders.

This time he braved a look at the rest of the people and immediately wished he hadn't. The second stranger was the scariest man he had ever seen. It looked like a chunk of his nose was missing in his scarred face but the worst was the large blue eye that couldn't be real 'cos it rolled around like mad, looking as if it was about to pop out at any moment. And he was also in a dress!

He was holding a small kid that couldn't be more than five years old in the air.

It looked like the kid had been playing in adult clothes, like Dudders did the one time with Aunt Petunia's silver evening gown. The fuss his aunt made! Dudders never tried that again. This kid was nearly drowning in a large black dress. It did not look like something his aunt would be seen dead in but she always said there was no accounting for taste.

Harry had never seen such strange people… No, he had. The old men that sometimes bowed to him in the street had dressed exactly like this. A cult then. Aunt Petunia had been going off about one just the other day. Why were they shouting at the kid?

The kid himself was yelling and kicking, and the strange man in turn shook him roughly, making the kid's long black hair fly through his face.

"Hey!" Without a second thought Harry rushed forward to help. "Don't hurt him!"

For the first time, he realised he was in the same predicament as the kid as he stumbled out of shoes that were too large for him, before tripping on a river of green cloth. He fell to the floor, and pain flashed through his palms and his knees burst into a dull throb.

Harry scrambled up, he could worry about himself afterward, right now it was more important to help. "Let him go!"

"Leave him, Harry. That's Snape." Hands grabbed Harry from behind. "You don't know what he did."

"It doesn't matter!" That's the snape? A boy? He tried to shake himself loose. "Let me go! What did he do? He's just a kid!"

At that, the kid started laughing. "Oh, Potter! You don't remember! This is just perfect!"

The men separated them.

The kid was carried out—swearing worse than Uncle Vernon—and Harry was held back by force.

"Stop, Harry! That's Snape, he doesn't deserve your help!"

Fingers gripped his shoulders too hard and Harry knew what that meant. He stopped struggling immediately, hoping to avoid the smack. "Sorry, sir, I—"

"Don't call me sir! Merlin! It's me, Harry, Ron!" His grip tightened still more and he shook Harry. "Don't you remember?"

"I'm sorry—" He blinked back sudden tears, he was too old to cry!

"Don't apologise, god! I don't know what that arsehole did to you but don't worry, Moody will set him to rights!" He turned Harry to face him. "Ye gods, mate, you look younger than a firstie, how old are you?"

"Ten, sir." He'll be ten in two months, but he was closer to that than nine and didn't want the man to see him as a kid so he didn't mind lying. "What-what are you going to do to us?"

"Nothing! We're not going to do anything to you, maybe to Snape but not you!" the man said.

That was supposed to make him feel better? Anyone that could hurt one kid could hurt another. Harry stood stock still.

"God, look at you! Wait, let me fix your robe, I can do that, and your pants. They must be falling off, yeah? Can't do anything about your shoes, mate—" He took a stick out of his sleeve and Harry couldn't help himself, he cowered. The man did not seem to notice, he kept talking but the expected hit never came. "—we need Hermione if we want to fix your shoes, hey? I've always been pants at tailoring charms, especially shoes. Deminuo," he said and waved the stick.

A strange purple light shot out of it, and whirled around Harry.

He was too shocked to do more than squeak and that set the man—Ron—off laughing.

The next moment Harry's clothes started shrinking until they fit a bit too tight, then thankfully stopped. The cloth turned out to be a dress, splattered with the same smelly green goo that was on the floor, or so he thought, and did not dare to touch it.

"Let me remove the potion too—Scourgify!"

The man waved the stick a second time and the goo disappeared into thin air.

"Oh, the look on your face! If you're ten then you don't know about magic yet, do you? Where's your wand, wait right here!" He let go of Harry to search on the floor until he found a second stick and brought it back. "Here, this is yours, give it a wave!"

There was only one way to deal with crazy people according to Uncle Vernon, and that was to play their game until you can get away and pray it didn't rub off. His uncle had been talking about miss Figg that lived down the street, but Harry thought this definitely counted also.

He took the stick and gave it a small wave.

Rainbow coloured sparks shot from the tip, fizzing through his fingers, and he nearly dropped it.

Ron laughed. "You're a wizard, Harry!"