A/N: Thanks so much to Sansa for both a speedy and thorough beta of this.

Disclaimer: The wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and to all those whom she has licensed that world. I'm not on that list. I make no money from this, nor do I wish to.

Chapter 12: The Living Presence of Trees

"Are you going back to the nursery today?" Draco asked his godfather while watching him dress down a young man named Steve whom Severus was paying to replant Narcissa's garden.

"No, not there you idiot, the buxus microphylla goes there, not the ligustrum sinense!" Severus hissed, stopping Steve from committing the grievous error of planting a Chinese privet where the littleleaf boxwood was meant to go. "What did you say, Draco?" Severus asked as he struggled not leap forward and shake some sense into the irritating and befuddled Steve.

Draco opened his mouth to repeat his question.

"No, no, no! I said the buxus microphylla goes there," Severus barked.

"Er . . . what?" Steve asked.

Severus shook his head, mumbled something derogatory about Steve's parentage, and squeezed his eyes shut. "The boxwood, you idiot, the boxwood!" Severus spat in a strained voice as if merely mentioning the plant by its common name might strike him dead.

Draco rolled his eyes and fought the urge to laugh.

"Right," Steve began confidently. "Er, what?" he said again, as his gaze shifted between the two plants in front of him, his earlier confidence bleeding away at a rapid pace.

Severus darted forward and stood close enough that he could loom over Steve. "The one with the small leaves. Oh for the love of God, that one!" Severus finally said, pointing his finger at the small boxwood. "I have never borne witness to such egregious incompetence. No, don't you dare touch that. You're bruising it. Stop. Stop! Leave at once! I'll not have you mucking up my garden."

Steve scrambled to his feet. "Crazy wanker. Good luck finding anyone to work with the likes of you," he muttered under his breath before removing his borrowed gardening gloves and leaving without further comment.

Severus watched him go and sighed. At this rate, the garden would never be replanted. He turned to see Draco sniggering. Severus's eyes narrowed. "Careful, Draco," he said as he waggled the gardening gloves in Draco's direction. The threat of forced labor sobered Draco immediately. "Now I believe you were saying something?"

"I thought you said you were going back to the nursery today."

"I did. I am. Now that I don't have to worry about hopeless young men named Steve tromping through the garden and planting things willy-nilly without regard to my planning. Honestly, he called himself a yard man but couldn't tell the difference between the buxus microphylla and the ligustrum sinense?" Severus sniffed. "That's false advertising."

Draco sighed. "Forget about the ruddy plants! When are we going to see Harry again?"

"Watch your tone, Mr. Malfoy. That is inappropriate behavior for a young man of fifteen. I'll not have it."

"Sorry, Uncle Severus," Draco said, running a hand through his hair.

Severus perched on the low stone wall and bade Draco to join him. "We are not going to visit the nursery today. I am." Before Draco could protest, Severus said, "Do not argue with me."

Draco shot him a sideways glance. "But you're going to find out, aren't you?"

"I am going to try," Severus said with a weary tone, wondering to himself for the millionth time why he was choosing to get involved and why he was choosing to get involved now.

"Why does this concern you so?" Severus asked, hoping that in Draco's answers he might find his own.

Draco looked down at his hands. He shrugged his shoulders as he struggled to find the right words. "He was my best friend. I don't understand. Why wouldn't he tell me? I told him all of my secrets. Why didn't he tell me his? Why would anyone let that keep happening and not tell someone? Why didn't someone do something?"

Severus looked away. They were good questions, but too many of them had no answers. "Let your mother know I've gone to the nursery. I'll be back this afternoon," he said as he stood and smoothed his trousers.

"Oh, you again," Wells said as Severus strode forward. "Suppose you'll be wanting the kid again, aye?"

"Quite," Severus said, annoyed by the little man already. "I'm here to see--"

"—I know what you're here for. The kid set up all your fancy trees over there," Wells said as he pointed a crooked finger towards the side of the nursery.

"Is Mr. Potter here?" Severus asked in irritation as he looked around, suspecting that Harry had made sure he wouldn't have to be here.

Wells looked Severus over. Severus had the distinct impression that Wells' beady eyes were searching for something that one couldn't see in the regular course of things. After an uncomfortably long period of time had passed, Wells asked, "What do you want with him? He's a good lad, he is. A bit on the feisty side, but that never hurt no one." The tone was soft and beseeching. Severus realized that for all of the man's gruffness, Wells cared about Harry.

Severus met Wells' hard stare with as much openness as he could muster. "I assure you, sir, I mean him no harm. In fact, my godson and I are quite worried about him. We've not seen him for several years and . . . he seems a bit worse for the wear. He is not anxious to talk with us and I thought this might be the best opportunity I had to find out what has happened."

Wells kept on staring, his immutable gaze commanding Severus to go on, to confess his purpose and his sins. Severus fought the urge to look away. "I am concerned about the bruising on his arm and face that I saw yesterday."

Wells' gaze flickered for a moment. "Bullies, bad neighborhood," he spat, daring Severus to refute him.

Severus smirked and stepped forward. "I know where Mr. Potter lives. I'd wager those bruises didn't come from any bully. I'd wager, too, that you agree with me."

Wells looked away. He shook his head. "That boy attracts trouble."

"That may be the case, but I'd venture that he lives with far more than he attracts," Severus said in a low whisper. Wells' head shot up at that. Severus held his breath, afraid he'd overplayed his hand.

Wells hobbled forward, "Just what are you saying, Mr. Snape?"

So the old man was going to make him say it, Severus thought to himself. Fine. He was in no mood for silly intrigues and follies. "I believe the Dursleys are not particularly careful with Mr. Potter's physical well being."

Wells stepped back and waved his hands out in front of him. "I didn't say nothing about . . . about that!" he whispered in a furious rasp. "I'm not accusing nobody of anything like . . . like that! I'll not be a party to it neither. Are you a detective? Oh Christ, you're a detective."

Severus rushed forward. "I am not a detective, I assure you. I am just concerned. I only want to know what you know. That's all. I'm not asking you to accuse anyone of anything."

Wells ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. "I'm not making no accusations," he mumbled. "I stay out of other people's business. I'm no party to any of that."

"I understand," Severus murmured. Truly, he did understand. In the space of a few moments, Mr. Wells had articulated the heart of the matter. It was too bloody scary to get involved in something so serious when all you had were assumptions and vague bits of subjective evidence. Even when the evidence was blatant, family issues were . . . delicate.

Wells sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Harry's been working for me about two years now. Scrawny little pup, but a hard worker, quiet, respectful . . . most of the time, anyway. He gets real angry some days—edgy like. Usually when people ask about how he hurt himself. He's got a million excuses, of course. I used to think he was just odd—the way he studied about plants, asked a million questions, mumbled those pompous botanical names over and over until he got them right." Wells hesitated and shifted his weight before continuing. Severus stood stock still. "Never talks about his family. Never talks about what he does for fun. Don't think he has any friends. Oh, he's polite and friendly enough, but he makes it real clear that you can't get close to him. Then--" Wells paused again. "One day, about a year ago I think, he stayed late to help me, missed the evening bus. I called his home to explain and spoke with his uncle, told him what a good worker Harry was, asked him to pick him up—didn't want a boy of thirteen getting home on his own. When I told Harry, I swear to Christ that for a second he looked horrified. I . . . I didn't understand it at first. It didn't even strike me as odd when he shooed me home, assuring me that his uncle would be along any moment, and that I didn't need to stay. So I left. Course, I forgot something and came back a few minutes later. Got there just in time to see Harry and his uncle having a row. Don't know what it was about, but the uncle gave him a good cuff about the ears and grabbed him by the arm, yanking it hard and dragging him to the car. Next day, someone saw bruises on his arm and Harry said he had almost fallen off a balcony the night before and that his uncle had grabbed him just in time. He didn't know that I'd seen. I started wondering after that about . . . well, you know," Wells mumbled. He paced back and forth a bit. "That's all I know. He could have deserved it for all I know. Maybe he clobbered his uncle right hard earlier. I don't know. I'm not saying another word," he said, his crusty demeanor back.

"Thank you, Mr. Wells," Severus murmured.

Wells nodded. "Your trees are over there. I'll send the boy along momentarily."

Severus paused for a moment before turning towards the trees. A few minutes later, he heard the rustle of leaves behind him.

"Mr. Snape."

Severus didn't have to turn to recognize the voice, or the wariness, the hesitance, in it. "Mr. Potter," he said as he turned around. "You're quite right. These Atropurpureums are quite lovely. Tell me about this one here," Severus said as he gestured towards the small sapling closest to him. "The roots seem a bit spindly."

Harry felt a bit off-balance. He'd expected Mr. Snape to bark questions at him about the "bully" situation or check the bruising on his arm. After all, that's what most people did. They took an impassioned interest in him when they thought him hurt. A part of Harry was always dismayed by how easily he deflected their concern. They only seemed concerned long enough to figure out that he was alive, breathing, and could take a few knocks without falling apart. After all, he wasn't their problem. So he'd come prepared for Mr. Snape. Mr. Snape was disinterested. Harry felt an unfamiliar sting of hurt at that. His lack of faith in the world reaffirmed, he shrugged it off and launched into dissection of the tree's form, growth, and proportion.

"These are quite nice specimens. Well-formed, symmetrical, good color. Mr. Wells runs a good nursery, it seems."

Harry nodded in distraction as he fiddled with one of the small trees. He frowned. It looked as though it was on the verge of a bit of leaf-tip burn. Damn John and his over watering.

"You've been working for him two years, he says? Started earning your keep at an early age, it seems."

Harry looked up in surprise, his distraction broken. "What did you say?"

"Only that Mr. Wells mentioned that you've been working for him for two years. Long time."

"That's not what you said, and why are you talking to Mr. Wells about me at all?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing into small slits.

"Conversation, Mr. Potter. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

"I've heard of it," Harry said as he mumbled "I've also heard of interrogation," under his breath. "Have you decided on any of these?" Harry asked as he gestured toward the ring of small saplings and tried, once again, to get the "conversation" back to matters at hand.

"I'm still deciding. Mr. Wells thinks very highly of you, you know."

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Talking with Mr. Snape was like being trapped on a deranged tilt-o-whirl. "He does?"

"Yes. He worries about you, I think," Severus said conversationally. "Do your aunt and uncle worry about you, Mr. Potter? Do they worry about you working so far away? I wonder, Mr. Potter, how is it that you get home at night? What happens if say . . . you have to work late? What do you do then?"

Harry's hand tightened around the slender trunk of the tree they were examining.

"Careful now, Mr. Potter. It wouldn't do to snap such a lovely young sapling. You've bruised it as it is. They will only bend so far before they break. Rather like people."

Harry gasped and loosened his hand. "Is that what you're trying to do, sir? Bend me until I break?" he asked as he released the trunk and stepped back.

Severus looked him over carefully. He didn't respond to Harry's question, at least not directly. He turned back to the saplings. "This one I think—this one seems the best of the bunch," he murmured, as his graceful fingers traced the small, spiky leaves still young and tender but unmatched in brilliance of color and promise.

Harry hesitated. "Er, perhaps you didn't see the far side of it, Mr. Snape, but that one . . . that one's taken a bit of a hard knock." Harry made the point of turning the tree so that Severus could see the broken branch and the few leaves edged with a yellow. "I mean, it will come back. All ornamental acers do—they have a second set of leaves in reserve—but, it's not as in good of shape as the others."

"I'm well aware of its imperfections, Mr. Potter," he murmured, staring at Harry rather than the sapling.

That was when Severus realized it—why he was doing what he was doing. He'd always had a soft spot for bruised things, plants especially. There were very few plants that couldn't be nursed back to health, even under the most dire of circumstances. That small shot of green after weeks, sometimes months, of gray desolation always sent a thrill through him. That was only the beginning, of course. Coaxing that small shot of green to burgeon into maturity with only patience, care and discipline as his guides was an adventure every time. Each one different, just as each plant was different. He'd learned long ago that he couldn't force the plant to do what he wanted, he could only guide it and allow himself the grace to stand awash in the wild beauty of what it would become. He was hoping that, in this regard, people could be more like the flora and fauna he labored over.

Uncomfortable with the weight of Mr. Snape's appraising stare, Harry's face was suffused with color nearly as brilliant as the forlorn sapling he held at arm's length. "Then why would you want it?"

"Because, Mr. Potter, and as you so aptly pointed out, it has not withered completely. It simply needs care and attention and once it receives a steady dose of both, I have no doubt that its brilliance will outshine all to which it is compared."

Harry was immeasurably perplexed. He didn't like feeling out of depth, or as if others were talking about him while talking around him. Harry gave a short, choppy nod. "It's your choice, I suppose, though I can't imagine why you'd spend your time on this one when there are others in far better shape," he said, his voice testy.

"Perhaps you will soon understand that concept," Severus said, still staring at Harry, willing him to understand, or at least acknowledge, the metaphorical speech in which they were engaging, whether with knowledge or unwittingly.

Harry let go of the small tree and shook his head. That gnawing, edgy feeling he been getting around Mr. Snape was back. "I'll go get John. He can take care of you from here."

"No need to rush, Mr. Potter. Do you have another customer than needs attending? Any chores? Mr. Wells assured me that I would have your undivided attention for the afternoon. Was he mistaken?"

Harry gulped and shook his head, nodded, and then shook his head again, confused and flustered. Just what was Mr. Snape playing at?

Severus smiled. "Good. There are a few others I might like to purchase as well." Severus worked through the remaining specimens at a methodical pace. Every once in a while, he cut his eyes to the side. From the periphery of his vision, he could see Harry standing to the side, wary and uncomfortable. "Tell me, Mr. Potter, what are your plans when you finish school?"

"What?" Harry blurted, reeling from the abrupt conversation shifts. The tilt-o-whirl was in full form.

"Your plans. After school."

Harry stared at him blankly.

Severus sighed. "Your preferred occupation. Your hopes and dreams for the future," Severus sneered.

"Get a job, I suppose," Harry said. "Find a flat to share, or a room or something. Move away from the Dursleys." Harry shrugged. "I haven't given it much thought."

"What kind of job?"

Harry shrugged again, annoyed. "I haven't given it much thought, I said," he spat. "Is this the only tree you'll be needing today, sir?" he challenged, trying in desperation to return the conversation to the trees.

Severus tsked. "You're what, fourteen, fifteen? You'll be done with school soon. It's almost time to apply to University."

Harry snorted. "University? Right," he mumbled.

"Oh, dear," Severus said with malicious glee in hopes of baiting Harry, "I seem to have hit a nerve. I apologize, Mr. Potter. I didn't realize your marks were so dismal."

Harry's hands curled into fists and his face flushed with anger. "Oi! My marks are near perfect!" he blurted without thinking. He clamped his mouth shut and clenched his teeth, determined not to say anything more. He would not let Mr. Snape get to him this way.

An idea came to Severus then . . . perhaps a graceful way out for everyone. "Then I am confused, Mr. Potter. Why wouldn't you continue on to University? Surely your aunt and uncle have encouraged you to apply to University? I imagine they are quite proud of you, yes? Have all of your little certificates and awards of excellence proudly displayed throughout your cheery little home."

Harry said nothing as he looked away and ground his teeth. He was not going to play along with this. He was not. The bloom of frustration began creeping across his cheeks and neck.

Severus continued on. "Draco tells me your cousin is a boarder at another school. It must be wonderful for you to have your aunt and uncle's undivided attention. How they must dote on you. Oh and with that roving band of bullies who seem to only target you, I imagine they're very protective. Tell me, Mr. Potter, which top-drawer solicitor have they retained to prosecute on your behalf?"

Harry's face turned an alarming shade of red as his lips pursed into a thin line. "Are you going to buy the effing tree or not?" he snapped.

"You will not speak to me that way, Mr. Potter," Severus growled as he advanced on Harry, noting that the blossoming color had all but withered. "Am I clear?"

Harry nodded, his upper lip curling in defiance even as he continued to back away. "Yes, sir," he taunted. "Shall I have this loaded for you, sir, or would you like to see anything else, sir?"

"Have I struck a nerve, Mr. Potter?" Severus asked with faux innocence, quietly marveling at Harry's display of anger. One could see so much more about a person when that person was impassioned and unhampered by conscious thought.

"I know what you're doing. Leave it. It's nothing to do with you," Harry hissed.

"I am merely purchasing plants for my garden, Mr. Potter. That I should choose to make conversation with you is my own business. As it is, I think I've gotten what I need for today." Severus said.

Harry's shoulders sagged in relief, though it was short-lived.

"Tomorrow I wish to see all of your annuals. Same time? Oh, and Mr. Potter, I've already checked your schedule—I know you are working every day this week. Mr. Wells has graciously agreed to provide your services to me exclusively."

Harry shook his head. "Why are you doing this?" he asked in an angry murmur.

"I don't know what you mean," Severus said as he turned to leave. "Until tomorrow, Mr. Potter."

Severus had taken a few steps before a thought came to him. Perhaps they would do well to invite Harry for dinner, soften him up over brisket and fresh made rolls before springing his idea on him. "Mr. Potter, I nearly forgot. Narcissa wanted to invite you for dinner next Wednesday, say seven o'clock?"

The oddest expression Severus had ever seen passed over Harry's face before all emotion was completely shut away. "Not on your effing life," he said before turning on his heel and walking to the back of the nursery.

Severus's lips pursed and his eyebrows knitted together. That was not the reaction he'd expected, not by a long shot. And then there was the issue of Narcissa's bizarre reactions whenever Harry's name was mentioned. It was time to get a few answers.

Narcissa looked up from the paper when she heard the backdoor open. "Back so soon. I see no new progress has been made in the garden. Have you run off Mr. Straithwaite already, Severus?" she asked with a smirk.

"If you are referring to that bumbling oaf named Steve, I have not run him off—he's been dismissed for bald incompetence. Really, Narcissa, how could you allow that cretin in your garden?"

Narcissa chuckled as she turned the page. "He does just fine, Severus. We can't all be like you, now can we?"

"More's the pity," Severus mumbled as he sat down at the table. "Where's Draco?"

"I sent him on a walk. He's been moping around all afternoon and was driving me insane."

"I see," Severus said as he rested his palms on the table and stared at Narcissa. Narcissa pretended not to notice as she scanned the society pages and local news.

"There's to be a benefit for the Balthor Boy's Home. Perhaps I should contribute. Take Draco with me, introduce him to some of our circle," Narcissa mused to herself. Severus said nothing in response. The paper rustled some more. "Now that is a ghastly picture of Miranda Pettibone. Canary yellow?" Narcissa tsked. "It's not even in fashion, let alone it makes her look like a bloated banana."

"Narcissa," Severus cut in, "I can wait you out, but grow tired of these games. They are as useless as spiteful gossip about a social matriarch's ill-conceived evening gown. Let us cut to it. I saw young Mr. Potter this afternoon. On a whim, I invited him to dinner next week, said it was from you. Do you know he had the most bizarre reaction I've ever seen. I wonder why that is?"

The paper snapped closed. For an instant, Severus thought he saw the pain of guilt mar Narcissa's winsome features. She smoothed them out effortlessly, though, as she folded the paper and laid it on the table. "Why are you telling me this?" she asked with a tone that rung of forced disinterest.

"What has you so rattled about Harry Potter? For that matter, why would he be so rattled by you?"

"I haven't a clue as to what you are referring."

Severus leaned forward, pressing his palms into the table. "I have never known you to be a coward, Narcissa Malfoy. Draco isn't here. There is no pressing business or distractions, just you and me. Every time that boy's name comes up you act as though someone has said the name Lucius Malfoy."

Narcissa looked away. "I really don't--"

Severus's palms slapped the table. "Stop this," he hissed.

Narcissa turned to him, her glare matching his own. "What is it that you want me to say, Severus? I don't even know what you're talking about."

"You know precisely what I'm talking about, Narcissa. We talked frequently when Mr. Potter was a young boy about his ghastly family, about the way they treated him, but I never had reason to suspect that there was more going on. Not until yesterday. But you—you've been acting as though you know far more than the rest of us and whatever it is has left you feeling guilty. Did you suspect that he was being abused?"

"Severus, I--"

"—Did you or not? It's a simple question--"

"—I don't know what--"

"Answer me!" Severus roared.

Narcissa's eyes glittered with some enigmatic emotion. "Yes," she spat. "Yes, I suspected. Yes, I think I even knew! Is that what you want to hear, Severus? Is that it?" Narcissa broke down into sobs. "Is that what you wanted to hear?" she whispered.

Severus sat back. He'd not expected that answer, not really. "How long?"

Narcissa sighed and wiped away her tears. "The night before Draco left for school. The night we'd thought the boys had been kidnapped by Trotter Blackmun. I saw bruises around Harry's arm and few smaller ones across his collarbone. He told me he'd fallen."

"And you believed him."

"No." Narcissa paused and looked away. "No, I did not," she whispered. She stood and wandered towards the window over the kitchen sink. She stared out over the garden, her gaze resting on the large, squashy hydrangeas at the corner of the house. She'd not been able to bring herself to plant lace caps.

"Why didn't you do anything? Why didn't you say something?"

"I promised myself that once I got Draco safely to school I'd confront the Dursleys with my suspicions. Then things started happening with the house, I had packing to attend to, meetings with solicitors. One day became two, became three, four. A week went by. Harry seemed the same as he'd always been---a melancholy child with the spirit of an angel. He wasn't sick, there were no obvious signs of injury. Two days after Draco left, Harry was out playing in his garden as if nothing had happened. He smiled shyly in my direction when he saw me, but made no move to interact. He seemed fine. So, I started second guessing myself as the days went on. I was sure I'd just imagined what I'd seen—made too much of it. I was overwrought that night. I think I would have processed paper cuts as ghastly wounds that night.

"But I watched them—the Dursleys, I mean—to the point of stalking them. I think I was waiting to catch them in the act. It would have been so much easier to confront them under those circumstances. But nothing else happened. One week turned into several and then it was simply too late. I let it go.

"The day I moved away, Harry came to me and gave me a small bunch of lace caps, just like the first time he'd come over. I could tell he wanted to say something to me, but . . . well . . . I don't think I wanted to hear it. He must have figured that out, because he told me he'd miss me and my chocolate chip pancakes before trotting back to his own yard. His own life. And then . . . I left.

"I often thought of him, you know. Wondered how he was. I assured myself that he was fine. When Draco told me what he'd seen, how Harry had acted . . . I just want it to go away," Narcissa whispered in a pained voice.

Severus sat in silence. "It's not going to go away. I am going to do what I can to help him, Narcissa. I am sorry, but I am not willing to let this go away."

"He practically lived with us for years, you know. Sometimes . . . sometimes it was almost as if I had two sons. When I think about . . . you have to understand, that night . . . Trotter Blackmun . . ." Narcissa whirled around. "Why? Why, Severus? Why do you care so much for a boy you met a handful of times and whom you haven't seen or thought of in four years?" "Why you and not me? How could I have let this happen? How can I live with myself?" remained unasked.

Severus shrugged. "The answer is a bit odd," he murmured. "Except to say that he was a most extraordinary boy and I cannot bear to see that squandered by a sullen, angry young man who is as much at the mercy of those who hurt him and those who stand by passively and allow it to continue. He needs us, whether he can admit to that or not, he does. Perhaps I am willing to do this because no one else is. There is a wild brilliance in him that simply needs to be coaxed out."

"Do not start waxing poetic about that, that yellow spider orchid you saved from certain death a few years ago! You and your damn plant analogies," Narcissa said with a weak smile, hoping for a small reprieve from the unrelenting guilt she staggered under.

Severus played along for a moment. He harrumphed. "It was not some silly little orchid, Narcissa. It was a Caledenia xanthochila. Have you any idea how rare that species of orchid is? It exists only in a small area in the Wimmera region of Australia and, before the Flora and Fauna Guarantee Act was passed—on which I provided technical assistance if you will recall—it was nearly extinct!"

"You're doing it again," Narcissa said before she returned to the table and sat down.

"What? What am I doing?"

"Going to the scary plant place."

"You know, Narcissa, we humans could learn a lot about life through the study of plants, and you're stalling."

"Really? Like what, Severus?" Narcissa asked, ignoring the 'stalling' comment.

A rush of anger washed over Severus. The image of an eleven-year-old Harry sprang into his mind's eye, battered and bruised from a day at the lake, terrified that his 'secret' had been discovered. "How to show distress and need without ever saying a word," he whispered.

Narcissa sighed and slumped under the weight of her resignation. "I deserve that, I suppose," she whispered. "You blame me, don't you?"

Severus looked away. "This is not about assigning blame, Narcissa. That will not help him. Not now. Nor will it help you."

"You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

"How can I? How can we? It is staring us in the face, Narcissa. You, we, can no longer pretend it's not there. It may have been easier when he was a shy child, but he is no child. He is a young man full of righteous anger with no idea how to properly express it. There is still a spark of hope there, I know it. But it will not remain for long."

Narcissa straightened and nodded. "Let's get started, then. What do you propose we do?"

Severus, who was never lacking in words, found himself startled into a lack of words.

"Don't you ever think I didn't care for Harry," Narcissa said, her eyes blazing. "I . . . I did not do what I should have when I had the chance. I can't change that, but I can damn well try and do something to help him now." Narcissa was amazed that, instead of the pressure of her guilt increasing, some of it burned away in the face of her commitment.

Severus hesitated, remembering Harry's reaction when he'd mentioned Narcissa. "I don't think he'll be particularly appreciative of your help," he said as gently as he could.

Narcissa squared her shoulders. "You don't think I know that? You don't think I've spent hours, days, feeling the weight of my guilt? Wondering what he must think of me? I wasn't ready to face that before, I don't know if I'll ever be ready, but I am willing. If things are as you say, then he needs everything we can give him, regardless of whether he wants it. Even if he never forgives me, I still want to help him." Narcissa looked down at her hands for a few moments, gathering in her emotions before they overwhelmed her. "Enough of this. Tell me what you propose."

Severus's fingers traced the grain of the table's top. "I was thinking that Wolsford might be in need of a new student. Harry let it slip that his marks are near perfect. He has an obvious interest in botany and would do well there, I think."

"Wolsford," Narcissa repeated. "Well that's . . . you don't do things by halves, do you?"

"It will get him away from those awful people and will give him every opportunity he deserves. Draco will be a good influence, I think, and Harry will know someone there."

Narcissa bit her lip. "Do you think the boys will be able to rekindle their friendship?"

"I do."

Narcissa nodded. "Right. Well, let's get started then. I'll call the Headmaster and get the application forms. How will we get Harry to apply, though? The Dursleys won't do it."

Severus studied his fingernails. "I have an idea, but I imagine everything will fall apart before being set to rights. Can you handle that?"

"I'll have to, won't I? Yes. Yes, I can."

It took another week for Severus to wear Harry down again. He'd gone back to the nursery the next day and the day after that. Each time he purchased a ridiculous number of shrubs and bedding plants. He insisted on working only with Harry, a demand with which Harry dutifully complied under the fierce gaze of Mr. Wells. Harry did as he was asked, but became a little more sullen, a little more withdrawn, the more Severus continued to push harder on the more personal subjects.

On the third such day—Severus visiting on the pretense of needing assistance with the difficult decision between floribundas and hybrid teas—Harry stopped being polite and snapped.

"I'm just not sure. The Floribundas are certainly more fragrant, but the hybrid teas are more beautiful. What are your thoughts on the matter, Mr. Potter?"

"Well the floribundas are easier to care for, far more disease resistant." Harry paused. "You know, sir, there's a new study out about a combination of the floribunda's disease tolerance and fragrance with the hybrid tea's symmetrical budding. I don't know if any of the grafts are available, but I'm sure Mr. Wells could help you find out."

"A budding botanist, I see. I read that study—it's an intriguing premise. Tell me, Harry, do you study botany at school?"

The tension Severus was used to seeing returned to Harry's shoulders. "Um, we don't have classes like that."

"I see. How did you find out about the study, then? Do your aunt and uncle support your intellectual pursuits?"

Harry sighed and squeezed his eyes closed. "I don't know what you're playing at, but it's not going to work. I'm tired of this." Harry tried to turn away, but Severus gripped his arm. Harry flinched. As Severus pushed up Harry's sleeve, Harry snarled and snapped and tried to twist out of his grasp.

"Who does this to you?" Severus asked in a menacing whisper as he brushed his thumb over the fading bruises.

"I told you—bullies."

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe," Harry spat. "Leave me alone!"

"Narcissa told me, Harry. She told me what she saw all those years ago. I know."

Harry's eyes blinked before his face twisted into a grotesque mask of anger. He yanked his arm from Severus's grasp. "Fine," he spat. "You've found out my deep, dark secret, sir. So my uncle smacks me around every once in a while. Big deal. Big sodding deal!" he screamed, attracting the attention of other customers. "Why the fuck do you even care? Why are you here? Where were--" Harry's voice choked. He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I don't need your help and bloody well don't want it. So sod off and leave me the bloody hell alone!" he screamed before he ran off.

"I am not that easily deterred, Mr. Potter," Severus murmured as he watched Harry run away.

Severus returned to the nursery two days later, determined to make progress. He had the Wolsford application in hand and was already thinking through the various ways that he could maneuver Harry into at least considering applying.

"Ah, Mr. Wells. So lovely to see you again. I have an appointment with Mr. Potter, as you know."

Mr. Wells looked to the side. "Sorry to say, Mr. Snape, but the lad called in sick today. He won't be in the rest of the week, it seems."

Severus's stomach plummeted. "I see," he said, barely able to keep his alarm at bay.

"John over there can show you anything you need to see."

"Actually," Severus said, thinking quickly, "I was rather hopeful that I could discuss something with you. I'm in a bit of a spot. We had a young man working for us doing the planting, but we've had to sack him. I'd hoped that I could employ Mr. Potter on a temporary basis to assist me."

Mr. Wells started to protest.

"I'd pay you for the loss, of course. And I'll pay Mr. Potter's wages as well. It would only be for a few days."

Mr. Wells narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, scrutinizing Severus as he had the week prior. "I suppose we could work something out," he said with a slow drawl. "I'll have to let Harry know, of course."

"Why don't you let me? If it's all right with you, I'll let Mr. Potter know personally."

"Fine, fine," Mr. Wells said as he flapped one of his hands back and forth in a dismissive wave. "You can have him Monday through Wednesday, but that's all. I need him around here—he's the only one with any sense!" Mr. Wells barked in John's direction as he hobbled off to berate the young man for one thing or another.

Pleased with himself, Severus made haste in leaving, anxious to get to Harry.

Severus knocked on the door, his impatience spelled out in the rapid taps of the knocker. He waited a few moments before knocking again, his strikes heavier and faster than before. At long last the door opened to reveal a perfectly normal looking Harry Potter.

"Bloody hell," Harry swore, "what do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?"

Harry made to close the door but, as persistent as Draco had been, Severus wouldn't allow it.

"I went to the nursery today. Mr. Wells said you'd called in sick."

"Yeah, so?" Harry asked dully.

"Do you make all your guests have their conversations on the steps of your home?" Severus sneered.

Harry muttered something under his breath before shaking his head and opening the door just wide enough for Severus to get through. "Well?" he barked as he gestured towards the opening.

"Your hospitality knows no bounds, it seems," Severus said as he turned sideways to slip through the door.

The door shut with a something approaching a slam. Without a word, Harry walked towards the kitchen and flopped down in a chair. "What do you want and why are you here?"

Severus sat. "Are you injured?"

"What?" Harry asked, not expecting the question.

"I asked you if you are injured. I thought perhaps you'd called in sick because you and your uncle had gotten into a row. I thought perhaps he'd, what did you call it? Oh, yes, I thought he might have 'smacked you around' a bit."

Harry snorted as he looked around the bleak little kitchen. Severus followed his gaze and found fruit bowls sitting empty, cupboards closed tight, and no sign that anyone inhabited this space.

"He's not even here," Harry finally said.

"What?"

"I said he's not here. He, they rather, are at their summer house in Majorca. Dudley's off for the summer so they've left for a three week holiday."

"And they've left you here? Alone? Fourteen years old and they've left you for three weeks?"

Harry laughed. It was a brittle, dissonant sound. "Of course they have. What? You thought they'd take me with them? I've been taking care of myself for a long time, sir. I don't need them and I don't need you."

Severus was trying to process everything he'd heard, but was failing. "Why did you call in sick, then? Are you ill?"

Harry cocked his head to the side. "To get away from you, of course. I don't know why you're suddenly so interested in me, but do us all a favor and leave it. There's nothing going on here that is any concern of yours."

"Are you mad? Of course it's my concern. Harry, these people are hurting you, neglecting you. You can't possibly want to live like that."

"Oh, and you're offering something better, are you? Please. It's all the same with you people. You'll lose interest soon enough. Given the choice between me and something else, you'll choose the something else. I don't play those games anymore."

"This is not a passing fancy for me. Or for Draco or Narcissa. We want to help you, Harry. Let us help you."

Harry leapt to his feet. "That's a bloody lie! They don't want to help me. They never have. Don't you lie to me," Harry hissed. "Of all of you, at least you were honest with me, don't lie to me now."

Severus sat still and waited. Harry started pacing.

"She knew. She fucking knew and she did nothing. Nothing! But then again, I shouldn't have expected anything," Harry continued, the anger bleeding away with each word, while the cold sense of resignation filtered in.

"There were extenuating circumstances, Harry," Severus began.

"There always are," Harry said without a trace of sarcasm, or anger. It was said with honesty, an understanding of the way the world worked, that no child of fourteen should comprehend.

"There don't have to be any more sick days, Harry. No more smacking around. No more holidays alone—by the way are you eating? How do you get around?"

Harry looked at Severus as though he was barmy. "I do have a job, you know—earn my keep and all that. And the Dursleys aren't stupid. They left money for food and things."

"Why can't you see that this is not the way it should be? Not the way it has to be?"

"I know what you're doing. Stop it. Please just leave me alone," he whispered.

"I'm sorry, but I can't."

"I wouldn't take help from you or her or him if you were the last people on this godforsaken earth."

"And here I thought you intelligent. You are quite stupid, aren't you Mr. Potter?"

"What did you say?"

"You won't accept help out of what . . . a sense of misplaced pride? Out of spite? One of your more brilliant plans, I'm to assume."

"I needed help years ago. It never came. I've got less than two years to go and then I'm free of this place. I've made it this long without any assistance, I'm certainly not about to take any now, especially from those who could have done something before and didn't. It's not worth it to me to sell myself like that. You can wallow in your guilt for an eternity before I'd take anything from you," Harry spat.

"You've got enough crosses to bear without taking up mine and Narcissa's. Accepting help does not mean you forgive, Mr. Potter. And, for the record, your anger with Draco is dreadfully misplaced. He had no idea what you suffered. I love my godson, but he has lived in a very protective bubble for far too long. He is chomping at the bit to help you—angry and upset that you've been wronged so."

Harry looked up at that. Severus was pleased to see that spark of hope grow just a bit more, a shot of bright spring green through the dull haze. "He must have--"

"He didn't. I assure you," Severus said softly.

Harry nodded and bit his lip for a moment. "That still doesn't excuse her. Or you, for that matter. And just what do you plan to do? Swoop in and be my grand rescuers? I don't need that."

"Perhaps not," Severus said, smiling inwardly when Harry gave a start, a wounded look flashing across his face for a moment. Severus fumbled in his satchel and slid the Wolsford application packet across the table.

"What's this?" Harry asked, curious despite himself.

"A chance to save yourself," Severus murmured.

Harry opened the packet and slid the papers out. "Wolsford? You want me to apply to a bloody posh boarding school?"

"Yes. You'd be there most of the year. It would be a chance to study the things you enjoy. You can complete your A Levels there before going off to University. It's a chance, Harry, and an escape."

Harry threw the papers on the table. "You're joking with this."

"No, I am not. Please, just think about it."

Harry's fingers worked the hem of his shirt. They sat in silence for several minutes. "I could never afford it," Harry murmured.

Severus relaxed. Harry was thinking about it. "There are scholarships and other things. If accepted, and I've no doubt that you would be, how it's paid for should be the least of your worries."

Harry nodded, feeling very subdued. He was trying to squash the ebullient sense of hope and excitement that kept rising in his chest. Perhaps this was a way out. "Do you still teach there?"

"I do. Draco attends as well. You'd know people."

Harry nodded again. "Thanks for this. I'll . . . I'll think about it."

"Good. Of course, If you have questions or need help with the application, it's a good thing that Mr. Wells has loaned you to me the first part of next week to help plant Narcissa's garden."

Harry sighed in exasperation, too weary to fight with him on this. He could endure a few days of Narcissa Malfoy. Besides, if what Mr. Snape said was true, maybe it would be an easy way to get to know Draco again. Maybe there was something there worth saving. "You don't give up, do you?"

"No, Mr. Potter, I do not."