Harry didn't want to leave the bedroom. He knew that it had to be getting close to the time they were scheduled to depart. He was dressed and ready to go—school trousers and Dudley's slightly-overlarge dress shirt, which he'd tucked into his waistband as best he could to give the illusion that the shirt might have been bought with him in mind.

He wasn't going to see Snape a second sooner than he had to. If possible, he would wait for Snape to come to him, impatient to be off. Then there would be no time for conversation, no time for insults or ultimatums, just the rush to the train station (were they taking the train?) and the ensuing tension that would only grow over the journey.

Snape did come to him. He rapped on the door, and did not wait for a response before he pushed it open.

He'd donned a dress shirt and pressed trousers for the day, all dark, and even tied his less-than-greasy hair back at the nape of his neck. It looked a far sight better than the usual stringy, limp locks that framed his face, but Harry knew better than to remark upon it.

"You need to eat breakfast," he stated plainly, his tone strangely bereft of malice.

Harry opened his mouth to offer the politest formulation he could manage of "piss off", but Snape cut him off before he could get the words out.

"Do you have a tie, Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt himself flush at that question. Rather than respond, he turned angrily to his trunk and began digging for one of his school ties. If he didn't have to speak to Snape, he wouldn't. Simple as that.

He finally found one and had just begun tying it around his neck when he felt Snape leave the room. He almost breathed a sigh of relief, but the professor returned in just seconds.

"Here." He was offering out a slate-grey tie, shiny enough that it looked to be silk. "This is preferable."

Harry stared at it for a moment. What in the bloody hell was this? Snape was lending him clothing? It was just a tie, of course, but still…. "Mine's good," he mumbled uncertainly.

Snape just shook the tie slightly. "Humor me, Potter."

Harry did. After yesterday, after learning of the long weeks ahead of him, he didn't have any fight left in him. Eyes still averted, he discarded his school tie and began to do up the other. When he'd adjusted it properly, he turned back to Snape, carefully keeping his gaze directed at the doorframe just beside the professor.

Snape suddenly drew his dark wand. Harry shrank back instinctively, wondering if the man was finally going to give in to the urge to hex his least favorite student.

Snape froze as soon as Harry reacted. A glance at his face revealed a drawn mouth and an unusually stark pale tinge to his skin. His hand lowered fractionally and he cleared his throat slightly. "Would you permit me to adjust your shirt?"

Oh. Harry felt like a sniveling idiot. Snape had not, after all, actually hurt him, magically or otherwise. He'd been an insensitive bastard and violated his privacy, sure. He'd been verbally cruel and ruthless. But he hadn't done anything so inappropriate as start cursing Harry.

So Harry forced himself to swallow and replied, "Yeah, that's fine—sir."

Harry waited, but Snape still did not cast anything. After a moment, he said quietly, "As I will be presenting myself as your father today, I think it's best you get into the habit of addressing me informally."

That threw Harry for a loop. "You mean… you want me to call you what, d—father?" He couldn't bring himself to say the other word.

Snape's expression remained unreadable. "If you wish. Simply refraining from 'sir' or 'Professor' would also be acceptable."

Harry had to quash the urge to laugh bitterly. Snape had spent how many years insisting Harry always address him with an honorific, and now he was advising him to refrain? Not that Harry didn't understand the logic of it, and he was certainly aware that Snape probably hated the necessity of this. But still, it was amusing to think that he now had permission to address the man as though they were on familiar terms. As though they were family.

"All right, s—all right." A glance up told him that Snape was not about to throttle him for leaving off the sir. Which was strange, and left Harry with an unsettled feeling.

Snape nodded slightly, then raised his wand once more. He drew it in a tight, complex pattern, and immediately Harry felt the dress shirt starting to tighten around him, the sleeves shrinking, the fabric tightening over his shoulders, until the garment finally him like it had been painstakingly tailored for him. He couldn't deny that it was a nice feeling.

It was a shame that he and Snape hated each other, else he could have asked the professor to teach him that particular spell. Oh well.

"Thanks." He couldn't help but let a little of his gratitude seep into that word, despite the fact that he was still fairly angry at Snape.

"You're welcome." Snape returned his wand to the sleeve of the (shockingly) black button-up shirt that he'd donned for the day. "What would you like for breakfast?"

Harry averted his eyes again. He had a feeling that "nothing" would not be tolerated as a response. So he shrugged instead.

Snape sighed heavily. "I understand that you are not happy with arrangements. However, you will not use that as an excuse to refuse to eat."

Harry clenched his jaw. This was going to get old, and fast. "May I make myself something?"

Snape stepped out of the doorframe and into the hallway, gesturing for him to go—though not, surprisingly, with a sneer and a sarcastic flourish. The movement was tight and controlled, the man's expression shuttered.

Harry drew a deep breath and headed downstairs. He would pretend Snape wasn't there. He would ignore the man. He headed straight for the fridge, planning on cramming down the first thing he saw. Cheese. Good. He grabbed the block out and went to the counter to cut a chunk off. He didn't care what he ate, and Snape hadn't given him specifics, just told him that he had to have something. This would do.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry ground his teeth harder in an effort to stifle his knee-jerk response to that voice.

"What else are you having?"

"I don't know, sir." He lopped off a thin slice of cheddar, then returned the block to the fridge.

"Would you care for eggs?"

God, that almost sounded… solicitous. Not that a couple of fried eggs could make up for what Snape had done, of course. "No thanks."

"Toast, then? Meat or potatoes?"

"Just this." Harry braced himself for the shouting, or the lecturing, or whatever came next.

Snape sidled into the room and eased himself into a seat at the table. His eyes were sharp and observant, as always, and Harry found himself ready to be dissected by that gaze.

"Coffee or tea?" he offered mildly.

Harry almost sarcastically asked what Snape thought would pair best with a hunk of cheddar cheese. He didn't, though, in the end, just shook his head and took a bite of the cold cheese.

Snape did not say anything more. He just watched Harry, his face still smooth. He did not even quirk an eyebrow in that way of his, the one that imparted so much judgment so efficiently. Nor did he demand that Harry sit with him at the table. When Harry had consumed his meager piece of cheese, Snape stood and beckoned to him.

"It is time we were off."

Harry nodded listlessly. He wished it were anyone but Snape accompanying him today. Even Remus, or Sirius, or one of the Weasleys, though he was still angry with all of them and not very inclined to simply forgive them for their presumptions.

"As far as anyone is concerned, your mother passed unexpectedly when you were very young due to the complications of a rare disease. We had already separated by the time she passed, and I had taken up a job that required me to travel. Because of this, and because I had not been involved in your life, I determined to leave you with your relatives, who agreed to raise you. I have only been able to visit you occasionally over the years, as my work keeps me very busy. I recently discovered how your aunt and uncle have abused you—"

"They haven't," Harry cut the professor off. "They never really laid hands on me—"

That was enough to cause Snape's face to crease with severe irritation. "There is more than one kind of abuse, Potter. But we are not arguing this now; that is the story for the day, and I expect you will stick to it. Do you have any questions?"

Harry wanted to protest that the professor didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but he sensed that the man would not allow them to be sucked into any sort of discussion at the moment, not with an appointment looming over the both of them. And Harry really did want to get through this hearing.

"No, sir."

"Remember to drop the 'sir'," Snape instructed. "Take hold of my arm." He offered one out to Harry.

Harry forced himself to draw a deep breath. He didn't want to do this, he realized. He didn't want to sit in a Muggle courtroom before some tight-arsed magistrate and plead that he wasn't a juvenile delinquent. He didn't want to listen in public, on the official record, as his supposed family tried to pass him off as such, tried to argue that he was no better than a common thief, that he'd never been any better.

"Calming Draught?" Snape offered quietly, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

Harry meant to say no. He meant to growl "bugger off", maybe flip the man a rude gesture for his presumption. His body had other ideas, though, and he found his head bobbing affirmatively with just a touch too much enthusiasm.

Snape produced a thin vial from one of his trouser pockets—which had to be magically enhanced, Harry thought, because there was no way it would have fit in there otherwise. He offered it out to Harry, who unstoppered and downed the whole thing in one go before passing the empty vial back to Snape.

Snape Banished the vial with a wandless spell, then seemed to hesitate. "It will be all right, Harry," he murmured at last.

Harry doubted that those words had actually passed Snape's lips as soon as he heard them. Comfort from Snape! And in that—that soft, reassuring tone! And for God's sake, the man had called him Harry!

Getting into character, he reminded himself. A father certainly wouldn't call his son by his last name. And Snape probably just didn't want to deal with hysterics, so he'd mustered up enough decency to say something reassuring. That was all it was.

XXXXX

The courtroom was a claustrophobic place, one that had Harry nearly clawing at the neck of his shirt in an effort to free himself of the unbearable constriction. He wanted to rip off the stupid tie, but he knew that Snape wouldn't approve of that in the least, and the last thing he wanted was to pick a fight with Snape in the middle of a Muggle courtroom right before his hearing.

They'd Apparated to an abandoned alley just a block away from the courthouse (though Harry had no earthly clue how Snape had brought them there, unless he'd traveled to this neighborhood at some point during the day he'd been gone). Snape had given Harry a once-over, instructed him to tuck in his shirt, then cast a glamor on himself—one that altered his features just enough to make their relationship believable, not to mention make Snape unrecognizable to any of Voldemort's spies that might be lurking about.

Together they'd made their way to the Youth Court floor, and been shown into the proper room, where they'd been seated on the defendant's side of the room. All this in near silence, which Harry appreciated, since he'd expected hissed threats from Snape all morning and had received none.

The Dursleys were already there, seated in the back row of the court, dressed to the nines. Dudley had slicked his hair down, Petunia had done herself up with her best makeup, and Vernon's mustache had never looked more trimmed and proper. All three of them glared nastily at Harry upon sighting him.

Harry did his level best to ignore them.

Mrs. Applewhite was there too. Harry had seen her on the right side of the room, just three rows back. She'd caught his eye and sent him a little wave of encouragement, which he'd appreciated more than he could ever say.

Snape guided Harry to his seat, one hand on his back. Harry hated that insincere gesture. Yes, he understood the need for keeping up appearances, but it stung to think that the only person who'd ever publicly supported him like this—an actual hand on his shoulder, a presence at his side—was only fulfilling a role he'd cast for himself. It made Harry want to childishly shrug that hand off, because if there was anything worse than having no one to comfort him it was having to endure this farce.

Likely Snape was fighting the urge to retract his hand and wipe it on his trousers. Hah. At least neither of them was happy about this.

The bailiff at the front called for the room to rise. They did. Harry swore he could hear the groaning of wood as his cousin and uncle stood up. The magistrate had entered—a wrinkled, older woman with bright red lipstick, small rectangular frames, and short, curling red hair streaked with grey. Her lips protruded forward in a tight, unpromising pout as her gaze swept over the courtroom.

"You may be seated," she instructed as she took her own place behind the bench. Her eyes dropped to the papers before her, which she picked up carefully and began to leaf through. "We are here today for the hearing of Mr. Harry James Potter, who stands accused of burglary of valuables equaling less than one thousand pounds. Mr. Potter is accompanied by his father Severus Potter, who has reclaimed custody of Mr. Potter from his relatives Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley."

Harry heard his aunt's disbelieving snort from where he was sitting. "That's a filthy lie—"

"Mrs. Dursley." The judge's sharp gaze immediately snapped to Petunia. "You wish to dispute that information?"

Harry twisted back in time to see his aunt stand, clutching her purse before her, her whole face twisted in a hateful sneer. "The boy's father is dead," she hissed. "I don't know what lies they've been feeding you, but the boy's an orphan that we were good enough to take in. And now they're dragging in riffraff from God only knows where to tell lies about my dead sister and her equally dead husband—"

"Mrs. Dursley," the judge cut Petunia off harshly, "this court has thoroughly reviewed all pertinent evidence in the case, including the boy's birth records and Mr. Potter's identifying forms. If you lack such basic confidence in this court, I invite you to step out so that we might proceed apace."

Harry couldn't help but feel a vindictive little twinge of satisfaction at that rebuke. Even if his aunt was telling the truth in this situation, and the judge was only telling her off because of a clever bit of magic on the part of the Ministry of Magic—or, more likely, Dumbledore's meddling.

Petunia looked stunned and embarrassed—not a good look on her pale, bony face, though Harry definitely enjoyed seeing it there.

Petunia dropped back into her chair then, her lips pressing shut and her hands folding tightly over her chest, so that she could glare silently at the judge.

"Excellent," the judge drawled out, returning her attention to the documents before her. "Mr. Harry Potter will be permitted to address the bench with a brief opening statement before we proceed to reviewing the evidence, including that contained in the police report and hearing from the witnesses who have kindly joined us today. Mr. Potter will then be allowed to make a closing statement before judgment is rendered. Misters Potter, you both are permitted to address the bench, though I remind you to keep your statements brief."

Panic was beginning to worm its way back into Harry's veins despite the Calming Draught. He turned frantically to Snape and whispered, voice practically hoarse, "Shouldn't I have arranged for a solicitor or something?"

"No need," Snape replied in a murmur. "It would be superfluous at this stage. Would you like to speak, or should I?"

Ha. Easy question, that. As if he wanted Snape waxing poetic about Harry Potter's personal character, even if Snape was ostensibly here to support him. So he stood and spoke up, trying to find his footing as he went along. "Er, Your—ah—Honor"—Harry was gratified to get a small affirmative nod from the judge—"I would just like to say that I never broke into Mrs. Applewhite's home and I never stole anything from her. I was accused by my cousin and some neighborhood kids, and that was all the evidence they had against me. I… I hope that the evidence will show that today. And I hope that the real people—culprits—are caught, because Mrs. Applewhite deserves some justice after what she's suffered." Harry dropped back into his seat and turned his gaze to his lap, feeling too self-conscious to look anywhere else.

Harry felt that fatherly hand return to his shoulder briefly. He wished it weren't so necessary for the lie, so he could bat it away and tell Snape never to touch him again. He didn't know what was worse, that Snape would probably gladly comply or that the casual touch actually made him long for something he'd never have.

Maybe Mr. Weasley would have done this for him. That he could have stood, probably, as long as the man wasn't like his wife, assuming things before he ever got any proper facts.

"Thank you, young Mr. Potter." The judge wasn't warm when she spoke, but Harry thought that her tone was maybe just a fraction kinder.

Maybe, Harry thought, because she'd actually reviewed the facts of the case before arriving that day, and had already come to what had to have been a fairly evident conclusion.

And as the proceedings dragged on, Harry began to believe more and more that that had to be the case. And it was nice, Harry thought to himself more than once, to have an adult on your side, making sure that people couldn't think the worst of you just because they were too stupid to see what was right in front of their eyes.

XXXXX

The proceedings went much better than Harry had expected, perhaps because of the unexpected vociferous testimony of Mrs. Applewhite herself. When the woman was invited to give testimony from the bench, her determined stride nearly gave Snape's a run for his money. Then she proceeded to make no secret of glaring balefully at the arresting officer, who was attending the day's hearing to bear witness as to what had occurred.

Afterwards, Harry wondered if the judge had started with her first because she knew that it would take serious audacity to tell the woman who'd been victimized that she'd been mistaken in her version of events.

"Mrs. Applewhite," the Judge began briskly, "can you please give an account as to what occurred Saturday the twentieth of June, at approximately two forty-seven in the afternoon, at your residence?"

"I most certainly can," the plucky older woman declared, shifting her glare to the Dursley family. "My sister'd just borrowed the car that morning. Her husband had dropped her off to get it, seeing as she planned to go out of town to visit an old girlfriend a few counties over and they only had one car themselves. I thought I'd lend them mine, you understand. Well, those awful boys—the Dursley one, and, oh, what's his name, Bupkiss—those two were hanging about on the street, up to no good as usual. I ignored them best I could.

"When I came in from pruning the roses, I heard some noise at the front door, and this girlish giggling—"

At that Harry heard Dudley start to make a noise of protest.

"I don't sound like a girl," the boy grumbled, then grunted as Vernon elbowed the boy in the side. But Dudley, of course, was too thick to take the broad hint. "What? I don't, okay? She's just—"

"Mr. Dursley," the judge hissed from the front, her thin brow knitted together into a single furious line. Her words carried across the courtroom with all the force of a gunshot, leaving stunned and uneasy silence in their wake.

Harry had to hide a smile behind his hand as he pretended to rub at a spot just above his lip.

"If you cannot be quiet, you will be asked to leave."

Petunia, to Harry's delight, looked utterly mortified, her mouth slightly agape.

"Okay, but tell her to stop lying about things, because I don't sound like a girl when I laugh. She just didn't hear me good 'cause—uh. Well, she just wouldn't know—"

"Mr. Dursley," the judge bit out, "I can and will have you and your entire family removed from this courtroom. Your abhorrent behavior will not be tolerated. You will accord my person and these proceedings all the respect that they are due. Is that clear?"

Dudley paled a bit at that and stared down at his lap, wringing his pudgy hands together slightly. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, shockingly enough.

Well, Dudley did have manners, Harry reflected. He just had to be bribed quite thoroughly to use them most of the time.

"Mrs. Applewhite?" the judge prompted smoothly, her voice returning to its previous placidity.

"Hmph," the older woman snorted. "I'd know well enough what those two boys sound like when they're up to no good, I tell you. Cackling like hyenas, they were, about throwing a party in my house while I was away.

"Well, I don't lock the front when I'm home, of course, but here those two come sauntering in, cool as you please, as if they owned the place. And then the big one, Dursley, there, says that the place stinks 'like old lady', and decides he doesn't want to have a party there after all. But, he says, there might be something worth hocking." Here Mrs. Applewhite did an admirable job of dropping her voice low and dulling the syllables enough as to convey her clear opinion of Dudley's intelligence. "And then I hear the two little bastards ransacking my house, crowing over how much they'll make pawning my heirloom jewelry. Filthy animals had their grubby paws all over my mother's brooch! The very brooch she smuggled out of occupied Germany, and I won't tell you how!"

The judge lightly cleared her throat. "Mrs. Applewhite, we understand that you are upset. If you could stick to the facts, though…."

The older woman hmphed unhappily to herself, sending another withering glare in Dudley's general direction. "Well. Suffice to say, then, that I recognized that hooligan's voice, clear as day, and that if I hadn't recognized that, I certainly wouldn't have mistaken little Harry's footsteps for those of his lumbering tub of a cousin! I swear, the boy shook the house with every step he took—"

"She's calling me fat," Dudley whined, though not as loudly as his last interjection. This one, surprisingly, sounded as though it was intended for his parents only. "She can't do that, can she Mummy? It's slander—"

"Mr. Dursley!" the judge growled, and this time she punctuated the admonishment with a sharp rap of her gavel. "You will keep your mouth shut until you are called on! One more word, one more single utterance, and I will see to it that you're facing misconduct charges as well! This is your final warning. Is that understood?"

Harry watched from the corner of his eye as his cousin nodded into his lap, looking, Harry thought, surprisingly young and scared. Well, this would be the first time he'd ever been to a hearing. Harry remembered how intimidating he'd found the first one, though he hadn't had anyone there for him, not really. Vernon, glaring daggers at him the whole time, but that didn't count. And Harry had been chewed out for something he hadn't even done.

Still. Dudley was awful, but in a lot of ways that stemmed mostly from his gross immaturity. Really, Petunia and Vernon hadn't given the boy many opportunities to grow up, so what could Harry expect?

"Mrs. Applewhite, did you ever see either Piers Polkiss or Dudley Dursley on your property at any time?" the judge continued after a last warning glare at Dudley.

"Yes," Mrs. Applewhite declared. "I was afraid they might beat a little old woman like me for sport, so I kept well hidden mostly, but when I heard them finally leave I crept out and saw them running up the front walk, laughing the whole time, until they saw a patrol car go by."

"Did you witness what occurred then?" the judge pressed.

"Well," Mrs. Applewhite huffed, "I wasn't stupid enough to poke my head out just then, but I did see those two panic a bit at the sight of the bobby's car. Then the bigger one said something and pointed off to the east, and the skinny one nodded, and then they started waving down the bobby's car and chasing off down the street after him."

"Did you call the police then, Mrs. Applewhite?"

"I damned well did. Told me it'd be a while before they could send anyone out my way, the idiots. I told them they had someone out on the street right then, and they told me he was off patrolling down off New Street, to the south of Magnolia Crescent, this time of day. I told him I saw with my own two eyes one of theirs pass down this way, and to tell him to come back to my house because I wasn't setting foot outside with those two lurking about. A couple of regular thugs, I tell you, and in a quiet neighborhood like ours. Makes me sick, it does."

The judge's lips, Harry noticed, seemed to thin further, the wrinkles on her face growing deeper as well. "Thank you, madam. You may step down."

Mrs. Applewhite gathered up her handbag slowly and deliberately, her poise and deliberate slowness reminding Harry of a cat with its back up for some reason. The woman spared him another sympathetic smile before returning to her seat.

That, unfortunately, was the last of the supportive testimony for a good while.

XXXXX

Harry had decided he was never going to show his face again. He didn't need to look over at Snape to know the man's face was set back in its usual sneer. How could it not be after hearing what he'd heard? The arresting officer (Lubberwort, whose name had, for some reason, caused Snape to snort aloud) had gone on at length about how troublesome Harry was, how he'd always been something of a miscreant, how he was known in the area for tormenting small animals (Harry supposed this was an extrapolation from the incident with the cat). The officer detailed how sullen and defiant Harry had been upon arrest, and how this was typical, consistent with his vast experience with ne'er-do-wells.

The judge, whom Harry had assumed up until then was on his side (especially given Dudley's revealing outbursts) had only asked a few quiet, terse questions to clarify that the officer had not witnessed the even in question and had merely acted upon the word of a few other teenaged boys. Then she'd dismissed him.

Then came Dudley, Piers Polkiss, and, of course, Harry's loving aunt and uncle, all of whom painted Harry as a vicious, ungrateful twit who could not find any constructive uses for his abundant free time, and so had resorted to causing mischief and generally being a menace to society. His aunt and uncle went on at length about their efforts to reform "the poor misguided boy", but alas, it seemed there was something in his very blood that could not be eradicated. Then, too, the judge had listened almost silently, lips still pursed in a McGonagall-esque disapproving expression, only asking the occasional question for further clarification. Vernon and Petunia even went so far as to carefully disparage Mrs. Applewhite, implying several times that she was getting on in her years, her senses were starting to go, and she was such an optimist, God bless her heart, always thinking the best of people, even when they clearly didn't deserve such consideration. She must have been confused. Diddykins couldn't have possibly done such a thing. He'd never been in trouble before, and Piers too, such a well-mannered and polite boy.

Harry expected that was it then. Even Dumbledore's interventions likely couldn't gloss over an official Muggle court proceeding like this. He'd be lucky if he only got community service this time, though even that would likely be several months' worth. Enough to interfere with his year at Hogwarts. Sure, he'd be called up to give his side of things, but what could he really say in the end? Old Mrs. Applewhite wasn't mistaken? His family, who'd raised him for better than thirteen years, was mistaken? That he really was a good boy, honest? Sure, the judge would take this delinquent at his word.

He wished then that he could sink into the floor and disappear. That Harry Potter could just dissolve and it would be as if he'd never existed. Because he was sick of this, sick of things going from bad to worse. Sick of getting people killed, or nearly. Sick of endangering everyone he'd come to love just by being him, sick of being hated for something he wasn't, for things he couldn't even control. Sick of feeling like the only people he could rely on were his friends—friends who hadn't written to him much, friends who were in over their heads too. Friends who probably wouldn't have signed on to be friends if they'd known what it would really be like to be Harry Potter's sole companions.

Harry felt something cool and smooth brush against his knuckles just as Petunia, the last of witnesses against him, was leaving the stand.

A glance to the left told him it was Snape nudging a glass of water toward him. When the man caught Harry's eye, he gave a significant tilt of his head toward the drink.

Right. Snape was likely still drugging him in a bid to keep him from throwing a tantrum or something and embarrassing his "father". Harry immediately averted his eyes, though he did take a big gulp of the stuff.

When he settled the glass back down on the table, though, Snape did something truly bizarre. He laid a hand on Harry's forearm and squeezed firmly for a few seconds before letting go. A gesture that was too small, too subtle to be for show, one that twisted at Harry in a way he didn't want to think about too much.

Why the hell had Snape done that? To make him feel better? Because… well, it was stupid. But the feel of that, combined with the Calming Draught that had been passed to him, it didn't feel at all as though he was merely being managed. Yes, he'd felt the familiar soothing wash of the potion throughout his body, but the way Snape had passed it to him had had an effect all on its own. Like the man cared about him and how he was doing.

But that thought made Harry uncomfortable, so he shoved it aside.

"Before we conclude," the judge began, her shrewd gaze sweeping over the courtroom, "by hearing from young Mr. Potter himself, I would like to read a few excerpts from letters submitted on his behalf by professors at his private boarding school. I believe several present parties will benefit from this information."

Letters submitted on his behalf? Harry's head snapped up at those words, his mind reeling. What could they possibly say? Why would any of his professors sent anything? It wasn't like his record was spotless. They'd probably just end up making things worse by alluding to his "adventures" and calling them well-intentioned, or something along those lines. It wasn't as if McGonagall approved of his escapades; far from it, in fact. She'd always been certain to deduct large numbers of points and assign him detentions whenever she caught him with so much as a toe out of line. And Harry didn't think any of the other professors knew him well enough to write anything, really.

Well, Dumbledore, maybe, but who knew what nonsense the Headmaster might have churned out, or how he'd go about trying to exonerate Harry.

No, Harry decided, letters were not good. They rarely ever were.

"From one of the boy's mentors at the school, one M. McGonagall."

Harry buried his head. He didn't want to hear this.

"Sit up straight, Harry."

Oh, good. Now all the blood was rushing to his face. Snape had spoken the words quietly enough, of course, and his tone was—shockingly—not one of rebuke, but all the same. Harry felt about two inches tall then.

But he did as he was told, forcefully folding his hands tightly in his lap. He did not look at the Potions Master.

The judge had fished out her reading glasses by then, and was staring down at an unfolded piece of paper. She began to read: " 'Harry is a model student, both in the classroom and while playing sports. He is unfailingly kind to all of his classmates, and even goes so far as to intercede on their behalf when they are being bullied." The judge's accusatory glance flickered up to Dudley and Piers for half an instant.

" 'In my dealings with him, I have found him to be honest and forthright, even when confronted with disciplinary action, rare though those occasions have been.'" The judge carefully folded that letter and set it aside.

Harry breathed a small sigh of relief. Of course, he reasoned, they wouldn't want to sabotage him in this. Of course they would stretch and twist things for him to avoid a complicated situation with the Muggle justice system, especially with Voldemort back now.

"This one," she continued, withdrawing another letter from a stack of papers before her, "was submitted by the headmaster himself. 'Harry is a bright, inquisitive boy who has made many contributions to this institution since arriving. I must note that he received in just his second year an award for special services rendered to the school, an honor that has only been bestowed seventeen times since the school's founding some centuries ago. I do not now, nor could I ever believe, that this young man has committed the crime of which he has been accused.'"

Now you don't, Harry thought bitterly. Now that Snape's poured Veritaserum down my throat to prove it. One nice letter that glossed over the nightmarish events of his second year and turned it into a positive didn't do a whit to undo the sting of that betrayal. The old wizard hadn't even bothered to check in on him! No, had just sent Snape off to collect him like some meddlesome stray dog who'd caused trouble with the neighbors.

"I feel that the situation is clear enough for me to make a ruling. However, I would still like to hear from young Mr. Potter, should he like to speak again before I announce my decision." And with that the judge was peering expectantly down at Harry.

And Harry did not know what to say, what he possibly could say. He hoped the judge had meant that she believed his teachers over his relatives and an officer of the law, but nothing seemed to be making much sense lately, so he wasn't about to put much stock in this interpretation of things.

He stood clumsily, knocking a knee against the underside of their table as he did so. He didn't know what she wanted to hear, even. And the only thing he could think to do was to say as much. "I—ma'am… I mean, your honor, I don't…."

"Perhaps you could give us your version of events?" she inquired, her tone going gentler, almost coaxing.

That, too, made Harry feel worse. As though he were so fragile that he could not handle being spoken to normally. He sighed internally and began haltingly, "I was just at the park down the road from my aunt and uncle's house when the officer and Dudley and Piers showed up, saying I'd robbed someone. There's not much more than that to tell."

"You were at the park alone?" the judge prompted.

Harry almost shrugged, but decided it was best not to test the woman in any way. "Yes."

"Why was that? What were you doing there?"

Harry sighed aloud then. "I needed out of the house. I… I just wanted some fresh air, is all."

"Did you not feel comfortable enough at your relatives' home, in their yard perhaps?"

Ha. There it was, then. She didn't actually believe him. She was leaning toward Dudley's ridiculous story. And now she was trying to find a hole in his version of events. But he wasn't going to give her one, even if it was painful for him to tell the truth.

"No, I didn't. Um… someone recently passed away at our school. A student. And… I was involved in the incident. Actually, it was sort of…."

Harry felt Snape's grip tighten on his forearm again, and this time not in a supportive way. It was a warning not to continue talking about Cedric, probably because he might give too much away.

"It's been hard," he finished lamely, "and I hadn't told my aunt and uncle. I just needed some space away from them to… to…."

"To process," the judge finished for him, her voice nearly oozing with sympathy now.

Well good. At least he was pathetic enough to win her over.

"Had you told anyone where you were going?"

Harry swallowed thickly. "No. But Dudley and Piers passed by the park on their bikes before the burglary and saw me sitting there."

"Do you have anything else to add, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shook his head into the ground. "Just that I hope Mrs. Applewhite gets her heirlooms back."

"I do as well, Mr. Potter. You may be seated."

When Harry did sit again, Snape's hand settled back on his shoulder, his grip tight. Harry figured the man was trying to find a healthy outlet for the urge to strangle his "son". That little squeeze earlier, of course that had been intended to manage him. To keep him groundedw. There was no emotion behind it. It had been calculated.

And this, now, the clear tension in Snape's grip, the way his fingers dug slightly into Harry's flesh, that was his true feelings. Barely contained disgust. Veiled loathing. Frustration that he had to be here in this position, that his unruly charge had been so close to laying bare his soul before this Muggle judge in what he likely believed to be a transparent bid for sympathy.

The judge took her time carefully arranging the papers before her, including the letters submitted from Hogwarts, before finally raising her gaze. It landed nowhere near Harry. Instead, her rapt eyes pinned the Dursleys, her face pinched tightly in disapproval. "It seems rather apparent to me, due to the incompetence of the investigating officer, the lack of concrete evidence, and testimony given on Mr. Potter's behalf, that this young man is innocent of any wrongdoing in this case. I would like to thank those who gave or submitted testimony today, and reassure those present that appropriate actions will be taken regarding all that has come to light today."

And just like that it was over. Though the judge's final promise puzzled Harry. He almost thought to ask Snape what the woman meant by what had "come to light", but he figured it was likely just a reference to the incompetence of the local police department. He hoped that his other cases might be revisited as well so that his record might be cleared, but he doubted that things would go that far.

Oh well. Good thing that he didn't plan on spending much time in the muggle world anyway.

At least the whole damned thing was over now.

"You did not expect to be cleared?"

Snape's level question drew Harry out of his preoccupation. Did his slight surprise show? "I just figured that things don't usually go my way. Seemed like a good time for something else to go wrong."

Snape frowned, brow knitting, likely disapproving of Harry's obvious self-pity. He looked as though he were about to say something, possibly something scathing, to verbalize that sentiment, but he was interrupted by a woman's shrill cry, which cut easily through the din of the milling crowd.

"Harry!"

Harry winced and steeled himself for what, he was certain from a single glance at Snape, was bound to be an awkward and tense interaction.

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. I've been working a lot lately, which has, sadly, left me less time for writing. As always, I have every intention of continuing with all of my stories. It will likely just take a good amount of time. I prefer to get good chunks together before publishing, and I'm fairly picky about the quality of what I'm putting out there, so again, apologies for the long wait. I can make no promises as to time frames for any of my works because my work schedule consists of 32 scheduled hours/week and an additional 8-32 unscheduled last-minute hours, so things are always a crapshoot. Also I'm trying this thing where I have a social life outside of work, and who knew it would be so demanding?

Again, thank you all for your beautiful comments and encouragements. I deeply cherish them all, and I'm so happy that you are enjoying the story thus far. I hope you're all doing well.

Cheers,

~Mel