Chapter Three.

All characters herein are the property of J K Rowling.

Thank you once more for all the wonderful reviews and may I continue to please you all. A hard task indeed. I hope this is up to my usual standard, for I have had to write the majority in the midst of a severe bout of flu.

Evening came and darkness fell gradually, shrouding the streets of surrey in shadow. On the threadbare carpet of a room at 4 Privet Drive, Harry potter lay on his stomach, his filthy t-shirt having ridden up to reveal pale skin stretched over a sharply protruding spine. He had been little more than thin prior to the summer holidays, and two weeks of near starvation had taken their toll both on his physical and his mental state. To say that Harry was falling fast was an understatement; he was positively plummeting into his own grief, as his guilt and self blame devoured him from within. Before him, his photograph album lay, open to an image of his mother, his father, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin in the days before fate conspired to divide them.

To look at the boy at this present moment, a quill clutched tightly in his hand, one might have thought he was in a trance, his green eyes unseeing and glazed over. To look at the photograph before him, one might presume Harry Potter to be insane, for scratched across the image in livid red ink were the words, 'Harry Potter-Murderer. Three down, one to go'. As the inky darkness came to fill the room, Harry rose to his feet abruptly, his hands clenched tightly and rage distorting the features of his face. The quill snapped in two, the shattered pieces falling to the floor noiselessly as he stood there, seemingly fighting an inner battle he could not win. No matter how hard he fought to repress it, the pure, unadulterated anger would always get the better of him, rising up and slicing through him like a hot knife when the pain of his loss became too much. For a few moments, he stood there struggling to control the beast, but it was futile and he ran over to his open trunk, delving through it's contents until he found what he sought, the shiny metallic object laying cradled in his hand.

It had started only a few days following his return to the Dursley's, when one night, he had woken once more from the hellish nightmares, sweating and trembling, the pain of the memory as fresh as the day of the event. He had needed to do something badly; anything that might deflect from the agony, and the only option he came up with, considering he could not shout and scream and cry out his woes, was the knife. The irony had not evaded him; the Golden boy brought so low that he was resorting to muggle means of expressing and excavating his pain. His legs were now a criss cross of weeks old scars and scabbed over cuts; he had, until now, avoided damaging his arms for the risk of it being noticed by his Aunt and Uncle would be too great. Besides, in the scorching heat of the Summer, even he had not been foolish enough to resign himself to wearing his cousin's oversized sweatshirts.

Now, however, he was beyond caring about the heat, as he turned the razor sharp instrument over in his hand, his right arm trembling minutely as he lifted it to rest on the ratty bedcover. Clutching it in a death grip, he drew the knife across the papery skin of his forearm, watching dispassionately as crimson hued blood welled up from the semi-deep slit. He repeated the motion a further two times, feeling his anger dissipate as his eyes once more glazed over, displaying their usual lack of emotion. Wiping the edge of the knife on his already stained t-shirt, Harry returned it to the bottom of his trunk and knelt at the side of his bed, resting his cold cheek on the cover, eyes lightly closed. Red specks danced before his eyelids and he followed their trail as the fatigue set in, drawing him towards a brief oblivion.

It was no more than twenty minutes later that he came to abruptly, blinking fuzzily into the darkness as he listened for whatever had roused him. Hearing at least three voices downstairs, including that of his uncle, he stood up abruptly, grabbing the bedpost as the room swam about him. Considering the time of day, along with the fact that Dudley was staying with Piers for the night, the only conclusion to be reached was that whoever stood downstairs had something to do with him. Cursing the bad timing, he once more delved through his trunk, retrieving a ridiculously oversized sweatshirt and yanking it over his head, as he struggled to remove the bloodstained bedcover, shoving the offending piece in the case and slamming the lid shut. Just as he was considering making a dive for the bathroom, his uncle's meaty fist made contact with the door to his room, his gruff voice grating on already tattered nerves.

'Open this door, Boy. You have two visitors from that school of yours'

Harry paled, his fists clenching spasmodically at his sides as he stared at the door, seemingly rooted to the spot, unable to move in any direction at all. This was not meant to happen. He had been so certain that his last letter to Remus would quash any ideas of removing him from his solitude that he had not planned any attack should anyone turn up. He had no defence strategy, no legitimate reason to offer for wishing to remain where he was, and furthermore, once whoever stood beyond that door, saw his less than healthy appearance, it was nigh on impossible he would be left to his own devices.

Pushing open the door to the boy's bedroom, a brief hint of concern crossed the face of Severus Snape, as he stepped in, closely followed by Remus Lupin. Flicking on the light switch to his left, his dark eyes swept over the poorly furnished room, before coming to rest on the pathetic figure before him. The reason for the Headmaster's concern was blatantly obvious as he took in the filthy, emaciated state of the Boy who Lived and the vacant expression in the green eyes. Chancing a quick look at Lupin, who now stood beside him, he saw his own concern reflected more overtly as amber eyes blinked back tears of disbelief.

'Harry, what are you doing to yourself?', the former DADA teacher whispered, as he stepped forwards, coming to a halt as Harry took a few steps backwards. Lupin looked at the boy in confusion, taking in the dead eyes and the clenched fists with dismay. Receiving no response, no sound at all, not even an acknowledgement, he turned back to Severus, unsure of what action to take next.

The Potions Master had watched the scene silently, weighing up the options as to the next course of action. He had seen this type of behaviour before, but that had been many years ago, and he had not been placed directly in the situation himself. All he knew was that Albus wished Potter removed to somewhere he could be kept an eye on before he wasted away to nothing. This was not going to be as easy as one might think; Severus could see in the boy's eyes and demeanour that he would not be leaving this self-imposed isolation willingly. Glaring at Lupin, he swept forwards, coming to rest a mere foot away from Harry, a look of disgust painted on his features as he took in the stench of unwashed teenager.

'Collect your things, Potter. The Headmaster has deemed it necessary to remove you before you succeed in starving yourself to death, not that it would be a vast loss to the universe'. The words were spoken in a harsh, clipped tone as dark eyes bore into green with little mercy. Lupin was clearly incapable of being anything other than a soft-hearted imbecile, and such a manner was not going to do anything to coax some response from the deeply withdrawn younger wizard, who currently glared back at Severus, refusal clearly showing in his eyes.

'With all due respect, Sir, I made it clear that I wanted to stay here for the rest of Summer. I have no intention of leaving, least of all with you', Harry said, turning his back on the taller man and sliding over to the bed, where he sat down, staring straight ahead. His thoughts had been in turmoil since the unexpected arrival, and it was all he could do to rein in the uneasy combination of dread, anger and hopelessness at this situation. All that kept him from erupting was the certainty that he could not be forced to go with Snape and Remus against his will, but if it came to it, he would fight, and fight damn hard. No-one, not even his Godfather's best friend, was going to remove him from the security of the solitude he had found here, safe from the prying eyes of sympathetic admirers and from the perceived accusatory glances of others.

Severus ground his teeth and brushed a stray strand of black hair from his eyeline, before turning sharply to Remus and snapping out his next words with unconcealed irritation.

'I would suggest, Lupin, that you gather Potter's things. I have no intention of wasting any more of my precious time in this hovel.' He pursed his lips as the other man looked at him appraisingly, a hint of realisation sparking in the pale amber eyes.

Harry followed Lupin's movements as his trunk was dragged from beneath the bed and shrunk to a more manageable size. Panic brought bile to his throat and his chest tightened painfully as he realised Snape had no intention of permitting him his simple desire of being left alone. Breathing heavily, his eyes darted between the two men, coming to rest on Snape, who was currently stood before the window, gazing into the darkness beyond. Taking his chance, he shot from the bed and darted towards the open door, adrenaline racing through his veins and wind rushing through his ears as his heart pumped fear.

Severus Snape turned from the window at the sudden movement, already having anticipated some similar stunt from the boy, and was across the room in lightning speed, grabbing a hold of a wasted upper arm. Harshly, he yanked Harry back into the centre of the room and spun him about until they stood facing one another, Remus looking on the scene in silent shock. Under any other circumstances, he would have been in there, standing up for the boy, but these were not normal circumstances and urgency required desperate measures.

Harry struggled to free himself, pulling and yanking against the restraint, but Snape maintained an achingly painful grip, the sharp fingers digging through to the bone. The transformation was quite phenomenal as desperation and blind irrationality took over the boy. Green eyes came alive with fury and glaring hatred as pale, claw-like hands came up with speed to attack his captor, giving no time for Severus to protect himself. It took a minute for Lupin to take action as he stared in horror at the chaotic scene but gathering his wits, he snatched his wand from within the deep folds of his navy robes, aimed it at the boy he had come to consider almost as a Godson and shouted 'Stupefy'.

Severus relinquished his grip on Harry's arm and caught him by the waist as he sunk towards the floor unconscious. Raising his free hand to his face, he probed the bloodied scratches that now adorned the sallow skin, his eyes slightly wide with the remnants of surprise. Unless whatever issues Potter was fighting, were dealt with in haste, the boy was going to be a danger not only to himself, but also to those around him. At the present moment, he endeavoured to not even consider exactly whom the Headmaster might have in mind for such a difficult task, instead turning to Remus with a sneer.

'It would seem your Golden Boy is not so golden anymore, Lupin. I'm not sure Hogwarts is the place for a wild animal, but nevertheless, we have an order to follow, I believe'

Placing a hand under Harry's knees, he pulled the underweight boy into his arms and made his way from the oppressive room, Lupin trailing behind him dazedly.