"I can't believe you," Remus said for what felt like the hundredth time since Severus had left in a right snit and Sirius came rushing to his aid in the kitchen. "What were you even thinking?"

"Oh, come off it, Moony," Sirius snapped, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the fireplace. "What, did you think I was going to let him snoop around my house in the middle of the night, doing Merlin knows what, or even attacking us? What if he was gathering information for Voldemort?"

"Well, he wouldn't need to creep around headquarters to do that, would he?" Remus said irritably. "He hears plenty of information during the Order meetings."

"Yes, and I've spoken to Albus about allowing him into those, because—"

"Padfoot, would you give it a rest?"

"Yeah, would you?" Tonks muttered from the other side of the table, where she'd been trying to work on a report for the last twenty minutes. "You're both going to make me bloody late."

"Sorry, Tonks," they both said, before lowering their voices and continuing to argue over their cooling breakfast.

Remus took a gulp of his tea, even though it had long since stopped steaming. "The point stands," he went on, ignoring the dark look that passed over Sirius's face. "What you did last night was unacceptable. Arthur told us he might be stopping by to deliver the potions. I'd been expecting him to arrive sometime soon. What were you thinking, Sirius? Grabbing him like that after disarming him?"

"I've done worse, and you've never lifted a finger until now." There was a very ugly glint to Sirius's eyes that was incredibly worrying. Tearing a chunk off his cold toast, he said while chewing, "You've never had a problem with it before."

"That was before," Remus sighed, even though he'd been asking himself that same question since he'd happened to need a drink of water at midnight, and had come downstairs to find Severus on the verge of a complete meltdown, and Sirius on the verge of physically assaulting him. The look on Severus's face…He'd caught only a glimpse of it before it had vanished like it had never been there at all, but it had been enough. It had been more than enough. "You were about to attack him—"

"Attack him? I wasn't attacking him," Sirius retorted, tossing the crust of his toast down and pushing his breakfast away. "Stop defending him. He's a greasy bastard who doesn't know how to keep his abnormally large nose out of others' business. It's making me ill to even talk about him."

"I'm only relieved I came down when I did, because you most certainly were attacking him, and—" Remus noticed Arthur standing awkwardly in the doorway and broke off quite suddenly, leaving Sirius to look around wildly at the newcomer. "Sorry, Arthur, were you there long? Did you need something?"

"No, I only just got here, but…" Arthur seemed rather pale and drawn, like he'd received news of a terminal illness. There was a hesitation to him that sent alarm bells ringing in Remus's head. He'd been that way since returning from Spinner's End the day before, as if he'd narrowly dodged a catastrophe—or had found himself suddenly directly in the middle of one. "I'm sorry to interrupt you two of you, but Remus—before I leave to pick up Harry, there's something we need to discuss. Urgently."

—

The morning rush to wake the boy up and prepare him for his hearing was what finally snapped Severus out of his dissociative haze and allowed him to realize what, exactly, he'd said to Lupin the night before.

Inviting him to dinner? he thought hysterically, peeling the last boiled egg and arranging it next to Potter's toast and bowl of hot cereal. Did the boy need a drink, or was this enough? What the fuck was I thinking?

He'd been unable to find sleep after the uncomfortable, heated dream he'd had about Remus goddamn Lupin of all people. Instead, he'd rolled himself out of bed, reopening half a dozen fresh wounds as he went, and headed downstairs to begin making breakfast for Potter. His hearing was at nine, and Arthur was due to arrive at the house for the second and last time at half past seven. It was a good thing he'd stolen Floo Powder from Malfoy Manor last night; side-along Apparition was always rough on the passenger, and the boy needed his wits (and stomach) about him if he was to stand at what would undoubtedly be an obscene mockery of a court hearing for underage magic.

"Potter." He prodded the boy's shoulder, jostling him. "Wake up."

The boy sighed and stretched, cracking his eyes open and patting the cushions around him for his glasses. Severus grabbed them off the table and handed them to him. "Time is it?"

"Half past six. I have breakfast ready in the kitchen. You need to wash your hair before the hearing. Where are the clothes you found during our outing?" he asked, dragging Potter's trunk over to the sofa. "Set them out now for easy access. Arthur should be here in an hour."

He cleaned up as the boy picked at his food, gathering bits of rubbish and old newspapers to be set out that night, and then spelled the used dishes to be washed as Potter went to bathe. Then he headed out into the living room to see what, exactly, Potter had found and had him buy for him.

The clothing was far more suited for casual wear: an unprinted t-shirt, a pair of plain black trousers, and a cardigan. Severus supposed it would do. It was better than nothing, at any rate, especially when he certainly had no proper formal clothing to give to him. And it could be worn during days spent around the house; seeing Potter strut around in oversized, ragged clothing had begun to wear on his nerves. It was as if he had no other clothing to wear.

Did he have any other clothing to wear?

Stop that, he scolded himself, still feeling on-edge after Arthur Weasley had interrogated him and implied that he, of all people, should know what Potter's home situation was. Why would he? Whatever went on at home was Potter's business. It was the family's business. After all… he hadn't gone spreading his home situation around, because in the end, it hadn't done him any damage, and it hadn't killed him. He didn't even have many scars. Unless the boy was actively in danger, there was no need to step in.

Was he in danger?

Severus took a long draw of his coffee. If Potter was in danger…if Lily's boy was in danger…there was nothing in the world that he would not do to save him. He would kill Tuney and her husband. He would do it with his bare hands, if he could. But, of course—that was only if Potter was in danger. And he was not in danger. If he was, he'd have told somebody, like one of the professors, because Potter was not one to keep such things to himself…was he?

"This is useless," he hissed under his breath, rubbing his eyes and leaning against the counter, too anxious to sit down and keep still. "Potter," he called over the roar of the shower, "you have twenty minutes!"

The shower shut off a few minutes later, and Potter peeked out of the steam with the look of a man heading to the gallows. "Sorry. I got lost in thought."

"Get dressed, hurry up," Severus ordered, shoving his bundle of clothes at him and walking away to give him privacy. "Weasley will be here at any moment."

Did the boy have shoes to wear? He hadn't thought about that…Severus eyed the ratty trainers by the door with disgust and went upstairs, taking the steps by two's and three's. Dragging his own school trunk out from under his bed, he threw it open and rummaged through it for a pair of shoes for Potter. Then, leaving his room a mess of scattered bits of clothing and old parchment, he rushed back down to the living room and thrust the pair of scuffed dress shoes he'd found at the boy. "See if these fit. I won't have you wearing those bits of trash to a hearing."

"They're a little big," Potter murmured, "but I don't have any socks on, so they should be fine if I wear a thicker pair…"

"Keep them, then, and grow into them," Severus told him, running a hand through his hair and tugging the curtain aside to look out the window. "Wear them at school. Minerva just might cry from happiness at the sight of them."

"You're acting strange today," the boy said accusingly, looking up from his seat on the couch. "Almost—nice."

"Am I?" Severus muttered, looking out the window again.

"Yeah. You are."

"Hm." Did your family ever beat you or whip you like a dog? Severus wanted to ask, but stopped himself just in time. It wouldn't do for the boy to get upset before his hearing.

"Why are you being so nice?" Potter asked.

"Would you prefer otherwise?"

"No, I just want to know why. Is it because of my mum?"

Severus stopped. Twisting around to glare at him, he opened his mouth to snap back something undoubtedly awful, when there was a knock on the door. Perfect timing. Wrenching the deadbolt back, he jerked his head to the side and watched as Arthur hurried into the room, spouting apologizes for being late and useless pleasantries. "Use the Floo," he said, cutting the two of them off as they murmured to each other. "Go directly to the Ministry, don't waste time finding an Apparition point."

It was only once they'd both left in a burst of flames that Severus managed to relax, if only incrementally. Heaving a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair again and looked around for something to do. He gathered the last of the rubbish and cleaned up the mess he'd made in his bedroom.

Then he took a shower to think things over. The kiss. The conversation. The dream he'd had. Severus stayed in there until the hot water drained away with any evidence of his frustrations, and his cheeks were so flushed he felt as though his head would burst like a bloody balloon. Turning the shower off with quivering hands, he stepped out on wobbly legs and dressed in only a shirt and pair of shorts, for easy access to the sluggishly bleeding gashes and abrasions on his arms and back. He drizzled antiseptic over each of the wounds within reach and applied Dittany, before bandaging a few that were too large to heal immediately.

Then, still feeling frustrated and confused, he went upstairs, laid in bed, and took some—time—to himself. It was only after he was sufficiently exhausted and ready to ignore everything that had happened in the last four days, that he dressed fully and left for Tesco to stock the fridge.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. Caught up in the idea of being alone in his Muggle shit pile for the first time in over a week, Severus settled down to work on his spells, free from the fear of potentially causing an accident that would injure the boy. It was only after he checked the time and realized it was approaching noon that he began to feel concerned. Where was Potter? The hearing had been due to begin at nine…surely it would be over by now. Getting up from the table, he moved to the living room, where he checked the fireplace for any sign of disturbances and peeked out the window.

He was ready to fire call Albus when the Floo roared to life behind him, spitting Potter out onto the floor in an ashy heap.

"Well?" he demanded, clearing the soot away from the boy and rug.

"I got off!" Potter shouted, rolling to his feet with a grin. "I'm going back to Hogwarts! I haven't been expelled! I'm going home! "

"And I expect you'll be back to stealing from my stores in less than a month," Severus said, taking care to keep his usual edge of cruelty out of the words. "Don't remove your shoes. We're going out."

"Out? Where are we going? I already ate, Mr. Weasley got me food," Potter said quickly. "Are we going back to the bookstore?"

"The library. You'll have two hours to do as you please in there." Ushering the boy out into the street, Severus locked the door and headed down the road through Spinner's End, half-listening to Potter as he rambled on about the hearing. "They used that old bat as a witness?" he sneered when the boy brought up Arabella Figg. "Can Squibs even see Dementors?"

"She said she could. Dum—Professor Dumbledore didn't say a word to me the entire time, though. I wonder why?"

Severus waited until they passed by a small gang of Muggles boys to reply. "If it's not too incredibly taxing on your brain, Potter, perhaps you can think back to why you're learning Occlumency. The answer lies within."

"Is it because I'm a security risk?" The boy said quietly, all enthusiasm draining out of him. Severus felt an odd twinge in his chest. "What if I can't learn Occlumency in time? What happens then?"

"Then you remain here for the rest of summer, and we continue our lessons when we return to school. As it stands, you'll be with the others for less than a week before you board the train." Pulling the torn fence aside, he herded the boy through it and down to the riverbank. "Tonight, we'll have another lesson, and we'll see how those breathing exercises are working for you. I forgot to mention—your werewolf will be stopping by for dinner."

"Lupin is coming back? But I thought you didn't want him at—" Potter stopped talking, looking embarrassed. "Er…so why are we going this way?"

"Shortcut. Through here, now, and to the left." They ducked through yet another torn section of fencing, and up the bank out onto the street in town. "If there's ever a need to move quickly through Cokeworth, follow the riverbank. Do not follow the roads. A Death Eater would not be familiar with the area, and an adolescent boy running down the river, hidden by bushes, would be less noticeable than one running through the open streets."

The door to the library rang with a tinkling chime, and one of the bookkeepers glanced up from behind the desk, watching them silently as they moved from the lobby to the aisles of bookshelves on the right. "How long did you say we could stay, sir?" the boy whispered over the hum of the fan on the front desk.

"Two hours," he murmured back, brushing past him to find the science-fiction and fantasy section. "Do as you will, but do not make a mess, or a scene. Do not leave. I'll find you when it's time to leave."

And with that, he set off on his own, leaving the boy behind.

—

He wanted to see the 'storage room.' That was irrefutable. Whether Severus would allow him to see that storage room was less certain; Arthur had said he hadn't put up much of a fight at all, appearing almost unconcerned with the entire matter, but then Arthur had suggested…

Well.

Remus wasn't entirely certain what the man had seen inside the room, because Arthur had been oddly unwilling to give details. "See for yourself," he'd said, "before either of us begin to make wild claims that may not be true."

He very much wanted to see that room, even if it meant sneaking in unseen.

"This is very good," he said softly, swallowing a forkful of potatoes. "Did you make it yourself?"

Severus looked at him in vague disgust and continued eating without even deigning to give him a reply.

They'd retired to the bedroom, sitting in not-entirely-uncomfortable silence on opposite ends of Severus's awful bed, leaving Harry downstairs to read and eat in peace. Remus was normally quite content with a lack of words, but tonight he felt on edge, like something big and not necessarily good was about to happen.

"Has this always been your house?" he asked, looking around at the small details of the room, from the ancient cracks in the walls, to the odd burn marks on the ceiling. "I wonder what its history is."

"It's my house, Lupin," Severus said through a mouthful of salmon.

"You were raised here, then?" he pressed, gently, reading between the lines as best he could with someone so determined to keep himself a mystery.

For over two minutes, there was no response. Remus waited patiently and continued eating. He was ready to admit defeat when Severus muttered, "Yes."

"It was as if he hadn't seemed to realize there was something wrong with being abused, Remus," Arthur had said urgently. "As if he believes it to be normal. How many children has he missed? How many have gone through that school, not understanding that someone had possibly realized and known all along what their home situation was like, but hadn't said a word because he'd thought nothing of it? How many of those children could Hogwarts have saved, Remus? How many?"

How many times had Severus himself shown potential signs? Remus couldn't help but wonder. Had he even been abused? Someone so bitter, so withdrawn from the world and full of hatred, could not have had the most ideal upbringing; but abused? Could Severus's father have been a follower of Voldemort, as Arthur had hesitantly suggested, and filled his son up with the same animosity he himself had held? Or was there another explanation?

And if not Severus's parents…then had it been James and Sirius? If Remus and his friends were responsible for Severus's outlook and delusions, for the abused children he had quite possibly missed all these years—was he, too, responsible for those children's continued plights?

Did the blame lie only with Severus?

"You look as though you're plotting something," the man in question said darkly, lowering his plate to his knees and setting his fork aside. "Another prank?"

"I didn't kiss you as a prank," Remus sighed, distracted. "I meant it seriously. I know you don't believe me—"

"For good reason."

"—and you don't have to. There's a history between us. I understand that. Just…" He held back another sigh, knowing it would make matters worse. Taking another bite of his potatoes, Remus swallowed them half-chewed and mumbled, "Just know it wasn't a prank, and that I would gladly try again if you were willing."

Severus looked at him with an anger Remus was starting to wonder wasn't actually anxiety. "Do you have mashed parsnips for a brain, or do you genuinely not recall me telling you there's no need to discuss what happened that night? It's over. It's done. It will not happen again, because what happened was a mistake, and should not have occurred in the first place. This—Lupin, are you even listening to me?"

"Call me Remus," he said, without thinking.

"I should have undercooked your salmon and given you the shits," Severus spat without missing a beat, before shoveling the last of his dinner into his mouth and setting his plate onto the dusty nightstand with a thud. "Get out of my room."

"Of course, Severus," Remus said, and he couldn't help but smile.

—

Lupin was up to something.

Arthur must have said something to him, Severus supposed, because he'd never asked questions about the house itself until today. It made him regret inviting the wolf to dinner. (It made him regret not having told the world about his being a werewolf during their Hogwarts years, so that he wouldn't have had to deal with him now, nearly twenty years later. If Remus Lupin had been executed at the age of sixteen, many of his problems would never have been.)

"So you've lived here all your life," the wolf said eventually, setting aside his own plate and giving Severus his undivided attention. "And Lily lived nearby, didn't she?"

Severus had to physically stop himself from getting up and leaving the room. "We're not discussing her," he said flatly. "If you know what's good for you, you will stop now."

To his astonishment—and even greater suspicion—Lupin nodded and changed the subject. "How has Occlumency been going?"

How much should he reveal? "We're practicing deep breathing exercises. The boy needs to calm himself before he can learn to clear his mind, otherwise we will be getting nowhere. Is there a purpose behind this interrogation, Lupin, or has Arthur Weasley asked you to press me on whether or not Potter has been abused by his relatives?"

Lupin was an excellent liar. But even excellent liars gave themselves away, sometimes, and Lupin did so by smiling. The wolf carried a patient, almost soothing smile when he was trying to assure someone of his innocence in a situation. Severus had noticed it years ago; and it had never failed to show the truth. "That's not the reason why I'm asking this," he said, voice soft and lips quirked. "I ask that every time I visit, Severus. This is no different. Arthur did speak with me, yes, but that's not the reason I'm asking now."

Liar. "I've noticed nothing unusual in the boy's memories," he said coldly.

The matter seemed to have been dropped until he'd nearly managed to forget it had ever been brought up in the first place. Shifting slightly from where he'd fallen into a slouch, Lupin asked quietly, "What would you count as unusual?"

"What?"

"You heard me. What would you count as unusual? Locking somebody in their bedroom for days on end? Withholding meals? Belting them?" Although visibly uncomfortable, Lupin seemed oddly intent on getting an answer. "What do you think is strange in a family?"

Severus frowned and stood up. "What I think has nothing to do with this."

"What you think has everything to do with this, because if Harry is in danger, you're the only one who knows," the wolf retorted, getting to his feet and following him out the door onto the landing. "Don't walk away. We need to talk about this. What do you think is normal?"

"It doesn't matter," he snarled over his shoulder as he walked down the stairs and through the sliding shelf, waving a hand irritably at Potter, who looked vaguely alarmed at the sight of him. "Don't follow me, werewolf."

As usual, Lupin didn't bother to listen. He shut the back door shut behind them as Severus went to the edge of the garden and lit a cigarette. "What do you think being abused constitutes?"

"What does it matter," Severus said, "if Potter has missed a meal here and there? What does it matter if he has bars on his window? Those are not things that put someone in danger. Unless they are being sexually inappropriate, or holding him down and beating him until he passes out, what does it really matter? You know as well as I do that a miserable childhood has never killed anybody."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think a childhood is something one should have to recover from." Glancing back at the door, Lupin leaned back against the low wall of the garden, rubbing his thumb over a divot in the top of the crumbling brick. "What about your parents? Was that what they did to you? Beat you until you passed out?"

He didn't respond in lieu of taking a drag of his cigarette, and then another, and another, until he hoped the question had been forgotten. What did it matter? Severus wondered. In the end, what did it matter, what his parents had or hadn't done to him?

"Did your parents hit you?"

"This conversation is pointless," Severus said. "For someone so fixated on the concept of minding your own business, if your dear friends are to be heard, you're oddly against the idea."

Lupin pushed away from the wall and stood in front of him. "It's not my business, no, but Harry's safety is, and if you've seen signs—"

Severus pulled his cigarette away from his mouth and kicked at the wall, relishing in the throbbing pain that pulsed through his leg. "What signs? What do you want me to say? That the boy's family had talked of caning him? Do you want a sob story about my parents? Do you want me to tell you Potter's aunt hit him with a frying pan? That he slept in a—Jesus, what the fuck even was it—a—a closet? What do you want me to say? Is any of that the sort of abnormal you're looking for?"

"Yes!" Lupin damn-near shouted, looking wild. "Yes! It is! That is exactly the abnormal I'm talking about! There is nothing normal about that, Severus—about any of it! That is not a safe environment!"

"I sincerely doubt the boy has actually been caned," Severus snapped, and then immediately began to doubt himself. Had the boy been caned?

(And why should he care? Why should he? It hadn't killed Potter. What his parents had used, what they'd—done to him—hadn't killed him. Why should he care? Why did he?)

Lupin seemed to notice his sudden doubts, because he seemed slightly less frustrated. "You know something is wrong at that house. You know there is. Even if you don't know from experience that something is the matter, even if you won't—or can't—admit to it, for whatever reason, you've seen things in his memories. You know."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Severus asked. A wave of exhausted crested over him. He dropped his cigarette into the grass and ground it out into the earth. "What do you want me to say to him?"

And Lupin didn't reply, because perhaps he didn't know, either.