"Get inside that house," said Snape though gritted teeth. They had crossed the threshold into the property in the same manner that they had gotten out of it. As Snape approached the door it swung itself backwards automatically, in expectation of the Professor's fury. He was apoplectic with rage, anger radiated off him in waves; you could almost feel it in the air. As they went into the house the panes of glass shook in their frames, loosening the dirt on the glass. Snape dragged Harry into the living room, snatching Harry's bags out of his arms and throwing them, along with his own, onto the chintz sofa.

"Potter, you are as conceited as you father, an attention seeking, impertinent, spoilt brat," scathed Snape.

"Don't you talk about my father," said Harry, his voice rising in volume and pitch, his hands bawling into fists.

"Your father," he persisted, "was just as arrogant as you are, and if you think for one moment that I would want you," Snape's voice dripped with distain, "as a son-"

"My father was a good man and if you think ANYONE would want you as a father-," said Harry, rage beginning to pump through his body, growing in intensity, making him feel as if the pressure building within him was going to break through at any moment

"Your father was a cruel, weak bully," said Snape in cruel spite.

At this, Harry lost it. He had no wand. He could do no magic. But he could hurt Snape. He could fight him tooth and nail, and that was just what he did. He surged forward at his professor, butting him in the stomach, winding him, and sinking his teeth into his arm, biting down so hard that he could taste Snape's hot blood in his mouth like he had sucked down on a penny. Snape gave a grunt of pain releasing Harry and moving away from him, giving a pant. Harry ran for it, slipping out of the room and towards the door.

On a broomstick Harry was swift and nimble: he was equally so on foot, in no small part due to years of informal training from being chased by Dudley and his gang. He dodged Snape's arm as he made a snatch at Harry, to keep him in the room and in the safety of the house, but like a racecourse hare fled round the corner out of the room, slamming it behind him to delay Snape. Harry grasped the handle of the front door, twisted it open and ran over the threshold, into the summer heat. In the same fashion as earlier, he left Snape's property and sped down the street heading right this time, away from the bus stop where he had seen the teenagers. At full pelt he ran, following the curve of the road at first and then through a warren of footpaths and side ways. He had a head start on Snape, and that was good, but he had heard Snape slamming the door in his haste, after him. He was faster and fitter than Snape, he knew it, and he could keep out of his reach long enough. He was not going to go back to Spinner's End. He was not.

A stiff tightness came to his chest. He quickly developed a stitch in his side forcing him to pull up from his run; he compelled himself to keep walking forward clutching at his side trying to massage the pain out of his body. Deep breaths wracked his chest. He was lost now but kept moving onwards, perpetually onwards, alone. After a time, he came to a park and he put himself mercifully down on the remaining rungs of a damaged bench, resting his chest forward to his knees opening his lungs and taking deep gasping mouthful after mouthful of the dry air, his back was dripping with sweat that ran around the nape of his neck and dripped down to the dusty earth in the oppressive heat. The tranquillity was only disturbed by the pounding of Harry's heart in his chest.

"Ay, oy!" a voice yelled. Harry almost jumped out of his skin at the brutal sound breaking the slumbering peace of the summer park. A short distance from him was advancing the group of teenagers that Snape had spurned earlier. They looked just as nasty as they had done earlier, and Harry was more than willing to judge by appearances and assume that this was not a superficial nastiness. The boy that had called out had crew cut hair and was swaggering forward, his gang supporting him in numbers. "Ay, oy you. What you want?"

Harry remained silent, standing up. No answer would get him out of this. Adrenaline began to flood his body. Should he run? Could he run? One, two, three, four, five, six, seven of them, and one of him. Even with Dudley he hadn't faced such odds.

"Ay you, you deaf?" the boy asked, rhetorically. Again Harry didn't reply but kept silent, taking a step backward, hitting his calves against the wooden bench. At that he skipped behind its frame putting a barrier between himself and the gang. There was not time to flee now. He had no where to run to. He was lost and alone.

"Ay you. Not so big now you not got Daddy, are ya?" the boy shouted again. The gang were on top of him now, splitting into two factions encircling the bench. Harry felt the hard back of the bench pushing into the base of his spine. Crew-cut shoved him harder into the bench stepping forward so that he was only inches away from Harry. Harry could see a vain twitch in the boy's forehead. He had shiny eyes that glinted internally. "Ay," he gave a further shove. Sweat dripped from Harry, this time it was due to fear.

"What you need is to show respect," another shove, the bench was beginning to bruise Harry's back. The gang laughed sardonically. Looking at the boys Harry could see the weakest side was the left; the boy there looked smaller than the others. He had to do something. He ran hard at the gap however, though smaller, the boy was solidly built.

"No, you don't," said crew cut grasping Harry and swinging his fist forward into the side of Harry's head. Releasing him, he crashed his other fist up into Harry's solar plexus, squeezing the air out of Harry's lungs, forcing Harry to collapse onto the floor - wheezing. At that the gang set about Harry, landing boots into Harry's spine and torso, Harry's arms raised to protect his head from the volley of blows. He rolled himself beneath the bench escaping some of the onslaught, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching the sides of his head harder, pushing himself into the ground.

There was a blinding flash in the air, and a hand reached down and grabbed Harry dragging him to his feet before forcing him down onto the bench once more, looking Harry over. Harry had a cut on his right brow where the first blow had met his head and there were grazes on his cheek and exposed hands, he doubled over slightly in clear pain as he massaged his stomach and ribs, grimacing. Harry moved along the bench away from Snape, weeping brokenly. His body ached, he was filthy. Dirt had been rubbed into his cleanest clothes and he was truly miserable. He huddled into the corner of the bench screwing his eyes shut and drawing his knees up to his chest hiding his face.

"Potter," said Snape quietly. Harry ignored him sobbing onto his knees. "Potter." Snape said slightly louder this time. He extended his hand holding it just above Harry's shoulder as if uncertain of what to do. "Harry," said Snape bringing his hand down gently. This got Harry's attention. He turned his head sideways to look at Snape with his green eyes and saw Snape looking down at him with some care in his eyes. "Can you get up?"

"Yes," said Harry meekly, noting that Snape didn't correct him by asking him to say 'sir' or 'Professor'. Harry looked around himself. Lying around the bench were the teens, hexed to the ground, crew cut released a deep grown. He stood along with Snape, who removed his hand awkwardly from Harry's shoulder. On their first step though he grasped back hold of Harry, who had sucked the air hard through his teeth.

"Are you alright?" asked Snape casting a careful eye over Harry. He had received a kicking.

"Yes," said Harry, heaving a breath down into his lungs, shaking. Snape did not remove his hand but linked it round Harry's back and supported him under his armpit. Snape walked Harry back for the second time that day: back to Spinner's End, where they returned once more to the house's living room and back to the chintz sofa. Harry was beginning to dislike the sofa, which still had the shopping strewn across it. He sat there and waited as Snape left the room, returning with a length of black leather folded into a large padded rectangle and bound closed with a thin thong. It gave off a distinct smell or earth that put Harry in mind of herbology. Snape undid the binding and unfolded the leather packet. Within it there were a number of vials of various potions and lotions in multiple colours.

"This will sting," warned Snape removing a violently blue bottle of viscous liquid from where it was held in place. He poured some out onto his palm and rubbed it across his two hands, warming it, before applying it to the cuts and grazes on Harry's face. Snape had not been lying, it did sting but when Snape removed his hand from Harry's face and Harry placed his own hand to where the cuts had been, he could feel it was healed. Snape applied the substance to his hands.

"Take your top off and turn your back to me," instructed Snape. Harry did what he was told and felt Snape apply the blue liquid to his back. He felt his painful bruises ease.

"Do you still hurt?" asked Snape clinically.

"No, sir," lied Harry, still not turning around to look at the Professor. He opened his mouth and closed it again like a landed fish. He finally opened his mouth to speak, "Thank you, sir, and… I… I am sorry, sir."

There was a pause. "What are you sorry for?"

Harry swallowed. "I am sorry for biting you and running away,"

There was another pause. "And?"

Harry ran through a mental list. Apologised for the biting, running… shouting maybe? "Err…shouting sir?" Snape did not look pleased. Okay, not fighting. He had got into a fight, he hadn't started it but… "Err…fighting sir." This elicited a response.

"You weren't fighting, you were beaten," said Snape angrily.

"…err…ignoring you."

"Stop thinking with your mouth: give your brain a chance to function," said Snape waspishly. "Why would you think I, your guardian for the next three weeks and the one ultimately responsible for your safety, would currently be less than pleased?"

There was a pause on Harry's side of the conversation. "Because I could have hurt myself?" ventured Harry.

"You could have been killed," said Snape his temper flaring, "Your Mother died for you and you were willing to risk it because you couldn't control yourself."

"I-"

"Silence," said Snape calming himself down, suddenly realising how scared he had been when he had heard Harry's cries and seen him being hit. He looked at Harry's back again, frowning deeply. "Potter. Go upstairs and have a bath. Here, take this," Snape handed him a second vile from his set, this time in a sickly yellow. "Empty it into the water while you are drawing your bath. Wash your hair."

Harry got up and went to the door.

"And Potter," Harry turned at the voice, "I too apologise."

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