Harry rode in the car silently, willing his owl who was now under the cover to be as silent as he was. Running through his head was all the advice that Snape had drilled into him – mind his manners, keep his temper, stay quiet, don't be a bother, keep his head down, protect himself – but, above all, remember the truth. He knew he had very little protection – the laws regarding child abuse in the wizarding world were about what you'd expect in a world where child endangerment in school was so common. And Snape had explained to him that child welfare laws in the muggle world might protect him against the worst forms of abuse – but that the ministry was always very reluctant to allow a magical child of Hogwarts age to get involved with muggle governmental programs, especially a child like Harry. And in a world where caning was still allowed in many muggle schools around the country, there were also many legal things legal guardians could do to Harry even without that limitation. Harry knew that his wits and the few stratagems that he had been able to work out with Snape were the only protection he could rely on. Thinking of Snape made him blink in sadness, he had not expected the parting to be so difficult. It had been difficult listening to what he knew his father had to say to the Dursleys, harder than he had realized it was going to be. It was like his father was saying his greatest fears aloud – and it made it that much easier to believe. And now he was alone with these people that he didn't know at all, and he was afraid of what was going to happen.

But surely it couldn't be that bad, right? he told himself. There's my cousin, another kid like me. If they're raising him, they should be okay parents at least.

"I understand I have a cousin," Harry said softly, breaking the silence. "They told me he was close to my age."

"Don't even think of dear Duddems, you wicked boy!" Petunia snapped. "I will not have you hatching wicked plans on him already! You leave him alone!"

"I was looking forward to meeting him," Harry tried again. "I've not met any of my family before, I was hoping we could be friends."

"He's not friends with freaks like you," Vernon told him sharply. "We have told him to stay away from you! You will be too busy anyway."

"Busy?" Harry asked. "I've almost finished my summer homework . . ."

"A boy like you needs to stay busy or you find mischief," Petunia sniffed. "We know all about your kind."

"My kind?" Harry echoed, not trying to be cheeky but clearly confused.

"That's enough cheek out of you," Vernon growled. "Unless you want the belt when you get home. Seen and not heard, that's the best state for children like you."

Harry found himself not exactly scared or frightened, but more confused. Vernon threatening the belt wasn't exactly a new threat to him, Snape himself had threatened it a few times when he had screwed up really badly himself. But so far the threat had remained theoretical and the physical corrections Harry had received had been delivered by his father's hand or, if he were very cross, with a slipper or a ruler. But even those had been rare, and had practically faded to non-existent by the time he went to Hogwarts. Of course there had been that last time . . .

"You were seen!" his father spat angrily, slamming down the paper in front of the two boys with disgust. "You not only risked your lives in that Godforsaken death trap but you risked the exposure of the entire magical world!"

"But Professor . . ." Ron started bravely.

"Father . . ." Harry started at the same time.

"Silence!" he ordered them, turning away and trying to get his own temper under control. When he thought about how close Harry had come to being seriously injured . . .

The boys obeyed, glancing at each other with trepidation.

"Professor Snape," they heard McGonagall enter the room. "Are the boys quite well? I got your message."

"They are well," he answered. "They are practicing their skills at silence while I am attempting to regain my temper."

"These are some serious shenanigans," she scolded. "Ronald, your parents will be informed. You both will miss the welcome dinner as well. I will also assign you both detentions as well, we will arrange the details tomorrow."

"Yes, professor," they both mumbled, chastened by their stern head of house.

"And that is in addition to whatever punishment your parents assign you," she told them. "For a serious infraction such as this one, especially since most of it happened before you were technically at school, we would expect some parental reinforcement."

"That will not be a problem with Harry," Professor Snape nodded to her. "Perhaps you could escort Ron back to his room and give me some time with my son?"

"Of course," she nodded. "Come, Ronald."

Ron gave Harry a glance of sympathy, but let his Head of House lead him out of the Potions classroom, leaving Harry alone with his angered father.

"If it helps, I am sorry," Harry told him.

"I'm sure you are, staring down some unpleasant consequences," Snape told him. "I had thought I could trust you coming to school from the Weasleys. Perhaps you are too young, I shouldn't have left you."

"I'm not too young!" Harry protested. "Really, I'm not. Having that week with the Weasleys when you went to the conference and then came to plan at Hogwarts was brilliant. I mean, I was looking forward to seeing you tonight of course . . ."

"Of course," Snape nodded dryly.

"I was!" Harry laughed despite himself. "I missed you, you old grouch. And this really weird thing happened at the Weasleys that I really wanted to talk to you about."

"What happened?" Snape's eyes snapped.

"Nothing bad, just weird," Harry assured him. "There was a house elf that visited me, that begged me and tried to convince me not to go to Hogwarts this year. The poor thing seemed distraught and I tried to calm it down, but it just kept hitting itself."

"They do that," Snape assured Harry.

"Well, this one said that it would try and keep me from going by getting me in trouble, and then it shredded all my homework and made it look like I tracked mud in the house and that I took one bite of every cream bun that Mrs. Weasley had just made."

"What did you do?" Snape asked, clearly confused. This did not sound like a dark attack at all.

"I told Mrs. Weasley," Harry shrugged. "What else could I do? Ron helped me re-do my homework, and since I'd already done it once it wasn't too hard. Ginny helped me clean up the mud, but people were right put out about the cream buns."

"So did that lead to you stealing a car?" Snape drawled.

"I don't know if it did or not," Harry told him. "You see, everyone had gone through, and then the barrier was blocked for Ron and me. The train was about to leave, and Ron and I couldn't get on it! And it made me think of that house elf."

"So why did you take the car?" Snape pressed.

"We panicked," Harry admitted. "We just really wanted to get to school."

"Ah," Snape told him. "Up until that point you were completely innocent. What could you have done instead?"

"We could have waited for his parents," Harry admitted. "They would have figured out how to get us there."

"And then we would have together puzzled over why you were blocked to get on the train," Snape told him. "Rather than discussing how much trouble you are in."

"Yeah, that wasn't great of us," Harry agreed.

"Not great?" Snape asked with incredulity. "Not great?"

"Okay, it was stupid," Harry admitted. "Really stupid."

"Stupidity, particularly dangerous stupidity, is always punished," Snape told him sternly.

"Yeah, I figured I was in trouble," Harry sighed. "What's it to be, then? The strap?"

"You deserve the strap," Snape told him severely, though Harry could tell that wasn't going to be his consequence. "If you weren't just twelve years old . . ."

"Then it's a good thing I have a nice father," Harry smiled, hoping to soften Snape a little bit. "So what's it to be then? Boiled in oil? Chopped up for potions?

"A choice," Snape told him, trying to regain control of the conversation.

"You don't often give me one," Harry acknowledged.

"As you've gotten bigger I've not used corporal punishment as much," Snape told him. "But I want to impress upon how much I do not want you risking your life like this. So, you have a choice this time, though I do not always promise to give you one. Twelve with a ruler or four days on restriction in my quarters."

"But it's the start of school!" Harry protested. "I haven't seen everyone since June!"

"It's your choice," Snape told him. "You can go up to the tower tonight if you choose."

Harry thought for a minute, and felt the difficulty of the decision. In some ways it was far easier just to be told to bend over and take your medicine. He didn't want twelve with a ruler, his father was serious about punishments and he knew it would hurt. But to miss the excitement of the first days back in the Gryffindor common room, catching up with all of the people he'd missed . . .

"I'll take the ruler," Harry said softly, hoping he wouldn't regret his decision. "I don't want to miss seeing people."

"I thought that might be the case," Snape told him, pulling the ruler out of the drawer.

"Just, you know, don't do it too hard."

"It will be hard enough," Snape told him firmly. "You were quite naughty."

"Your lap or the desk?" Harry asked.

"Your choice," Snape told him.

"Your lap then," Harry told him. "It's bad enough to get punished, at least on your lap it's not so bad."

"Over my lap then," Snape beckoned, sitting on an chair. "It's time to pay the piper, Mr. Potter."

Harry obeyed, bending over his father's lap with trepidation squeezing his stomach. That ruler in his father's hand was a formidable weapon, and he knew that the fear his father had felt at him risking his life would result in a firm punishment. This was likely to be the hardest spanking he'd ever gotten from him. How much he wished now that he had used logic instead of driving the flying car before!

Without further ceremony, Snape proceeded to bring down the ruler twelve times on the backside of his son. Harry yelped obligingly, cried out, but didn't protest. He knew he deserved it.

"Done," Snape told him with the last smack right across his upper thighs.

"Ouch!" Harry protested, his eyes watering. "That really hurt!"

"I should hope it did," Snape told him, banishing the ruler. "What was the term your Head of House used? Shenanigans? There are to be no more of them."

"I'll be good," Harry promised, pushing himself up from Snape's lap.

They both remembered when Harry was a young child and one or two smacks to his bottom would result in him needing long bouts of hugs and reassurance, which of course Snape provided him. But now it felt strange – Harry did want comfort, but didn't know how to ask as he had when he was small.

"Not too good, I'm sure," Snape smiled a bit. "Though better would be nice."

Snape reached out to pat Harry's shoulder reassuringly, and Harry took that as an invitation. Soon, he found himself enveloped in his fathers potion-scented robes. "I'm really too old for this," Harry mumbled through the muffled layers.

"You are too old for the naughtiness," Snape agreed. "But not too old for hugs, I think. Now, are you off to Gryffindor common room then?"

"Of course!"

"You are missing dinner," Snape told him, smirking a bit as Harry rubbed his backside unconsciously. "Perhaps we could have a bit of dinner together before you head up?"

"That would be great!" Harry agreed, suddenly happy. "Can I have treacle tart? The Hogwarts elves make it so well! I haven't had one since June."

"Shouldn't your punishment make you more subdued?" Snape asked. "It seems to have made you cheekier."

"I'm just relieved it's over," Harry told him. "And I lived through it with all limbs intact."

Harry smiled at the memory, though he had to wonder why that particular memory made him smile. He had so many other memories that were actually fun – trips they took, spells Snape taught him, reading together on rainy days over cups of tea and biscuits – why did the memory of his last smacking come to mind? And make him miss his father terribly? Ah, the mention of the strap. The boogey-man that Snape threatened him with but never actually used, because they both knew he would never use the cane.

After not a long drive, they pulled up to a regular-looking house in a neat, regular neighborhood. Harry had seen neighborhoods like this before, but somehow it felt very different knowing he was going to be living in one.

"Get your trunk out of the car and bring it in," Vernon commanded, heading into the house.

Harry obeyed silently, grateful that the trunk had a featherlight charm on it or him hefting it by himself would have been nearly impossible. He followed his Aunt and Uncle into their home, a neat and tidy home that just felt, well, sort of small and normal. Harry glanced at the furniture and the wallpaper and wondered if this place would ever feel like home to him.

"Where is my room?" Harry asked, looking around.

"That is very presumptuous of you," Vernon growled at him. "What makes you think you get a whole room to yourself?"

"You're right," Harry looked down. "Will I be sharing with my cousin then?"

"Of course not!" Petunia spat, her voice full of moral outrage. "His life doesn't deserve to get worse just because you are here. But I suppose you do have to sleep somewhere, so we have decided you can share Dudders second bedroom."

"Second bedroom?"

"Yes, second bedroom," Petunia explained as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "It's where my darling boy keeps the things that are . . . not as much of interest to him at the moment. I have put up a cot in there for you."

"Okay," Harry tried to seem reasonable. "Should I put my trunk in there now?"

"Get in there, boy, and don't come down until it's time to cook supper."

"Okay," he agreed. It seemed weird to be ordered to stay in his room, although he likely would have anyway because it would be nice to get his room settled. "Where is it?"

"First door on the right," Petunia told him.

Harry, feeling odd at not having someone help him or even show him his new room, shrugged it off and lifted his trunk and Hedwig's cage up the stairs. He found the first door easily enough, but walking in the room he thought there must have been a mistake of some kind. This couldn't be a room set up for him surely – it felt like a disused storage room for broken junk. Broken toys and objects, old clothes, and debris cluttered the room in sharp contrast to the painfully neat downstairs rooms. Harry was about to back out of the room when his sharp eye did in fact spot a camping cot put in the corner of the room just as his aunt had said it would be. Sure enough, this was his room. But there was hardly room for himself in the room, let alone the trunk. He lifted his trunk in and put it on the cot alongside Hedwig's cage, and then stepped back out of the dusty room.

"Aunt Petunia," Harry called. "I think there's a problem with the room."

"What problem?" she asked officiously, climbing up the steps in a bit of a huff.

"I'm not sure where I can put my trunk," Harry told her.

"That is not my problem," she snapped at him. "You have lived in luxury far too long, I think."

"Well, can I at least have some bags to throw out some of this junk?" Harry asked, trying to think of how a muggle would deal with this mess without a wand.

"No, these are Dudders treasures," Petunia told him. "That is not your room, you are just allowed to share it with dear Dudley! You can't throw away anything without his permission."

"But this isn't reasonable . . ." Harry started.

The slap came swift and sharp, and caught Harry completely by surprise. He had never been slapped before, he had not really considered it a possibility. He just stared in shocked silence, a pink handprint forming on his cheek.

"Get in your room and stay there until I call for you," she hissed.

"How dare you?" Harry gasped. "You hit me!"

He found himself shoved in the room and then there was the unmistakable click of a lock behind it. Harry, in shock, put his hand on the door and realized that it was indeed locked. He had been slapped and shoved in a terrible room and actually locked in. What would his father tell him to do?

Calm yourself down, he could almost hear his father's voice. Panic gets you nothing. Use your head, you need to use your brains to survive.

Hearing his father's voice helped, even if it was only in his head. The voice was right – panic would get him nothing. First things first – he was now on warning. They had no problem with physically hurting him, and the threat of the strap earlier was probably not theoretical. He would need to be careful. And now what should he do? Well, obviously he needed to do something in his room in order to be able to sleep.

Harry spent the next hour carefully arranging and stacking the clutter, completely filling the closet to the brim, and folding and sorting the clothes enough that eventually he could place his trunk beside his cot as a sort of night-stand. There would be no unpacking his trunk, but he could live out of his trunk if he needed to, especially with the room around it cleared away a bit. He also had a fairly wide path to the door cleared as well, and the door could swing open freely without hitting clutter now as well. The room still felt musty and dusty, but he supposed there was little he could do about that without cleaning materials. But, he opened the window for fresh air and put Hedwig by the open window, and she hooted appreciatively. He would let her out to hunt that night if he could, but for now she needed to rest. In the pile of mess he had found a couple of worn blankets, so the corner of the room with the cot had begun to feel a bit more cheerful.

He sat on his cot, feeling happier as to the state of his room, and began to wonder what he should do next. His cheek still stung a bit from the slap, and that sting made him feel both angry and fearful. He wished he could talk to his dad about it.

The notebook, he remembered. Frantically, he searched the trunk until he found the humble looking notebook, cleverly disguised as a school one. He opened it, and found a message waiting for him.

How are you faring? His father asked.

Harry's heart felt warm for a moment, one hint of normalcy in the middle of the storm of crazy that was happening. Harry thought for a minute, wondering how he was going to answer. Should he tell the truth? How was his father going to deal with the frustration of knowing how bad it was for him there?

I miss you, Harry answered, figuring that was a safe answer.

Stop avoiding and tell me the entire truth immediately, Snape wrote in immediate answer, and Harry realized he must have been waiting for the communication.

How do you know I don't just miss you? Harry wrote defensively.

You've said nothing nice to me for months, Snape wrote. You would only say it now if you were under distress. Tell me what the distress is.

Harry had to admit that that was true, so he wrote, I think they don't really want me here.

Evidence?

I've been put in a room full of junk and broken toys, where I've had to do major stacking and reorganizing just to put my trunk in it, Harry wrote. And I'm sleeping on a camping cot.

That's not everything.

Harry always felt like his father could read his mind, but how was he doing it over this notebook? Aunt Petunia slapped me, Harry wrote sadly. And I'm locked in my room. I swear I wasn't cheeky! I just said there was a problem with the room and asked if I could clear out some of the junk.

I believe you.

Harry blinked in surprise at how much it meant to hear those words. A small part of him almost expected his father to think the slap was his fault, and it felt really good to have his father affirm that it wasn't.

Do you remember the conversation about physical abuse that we had? Snape wrote. Unfortunately, there is very little we can do even though what she did was very wrong. I'm sorry. Are you alright?

I'm okay, Harry wrote, feeling tears prickle his eyes.

Keep your head down, Snape wrote. Try to outsmart them. You can do this. But whatever happens, no matter how naughty you are, they don't have any right to abuse you.