Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones

Chapter 14: Diagon Alley

Alone in his darkened shed, oblivious to the laughter coming from outside as his children enjoyed the warm summers day, Arthur Weasley fiddled with the small radio in his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pulled a wire from the centre of the muggle object.

I wonder what this wire is for, he thought to himself idly as he gently tugged onto it to see what it would do, his mouth taking on a small frown when nothing happened. Maybe if I pulled it out completely...

"Mr Weasley?"

The quiet voice drifted in from the doorway of the shed, joined by a brief tentative knock on the door, but Arthur barely heard it, his thoughts spinning in a different direction. Why wasn't anything happening?

Maybe it's got something to do with that muggle eckeltricity...

So lost in the task at hand, Arthur didn't notice the door opening or the light that suddenly spilled into the small room. It didn't even register that there was currently only one person at the Burrow who would call him 'Mr Weasley' instead of 'Arthur' or 'dad', so focused was he on the muggle object in his hands.

"Mr Weasley?" continued the voice tentatively.

"Hmm?" asked Arthur absentmindedly as he experimentally fixed the wire to another part of the radio.

"Can I...erm...can I talk to you? You know...just for a minute..."

The voice sounded unsure, and the tone of the request finally made its way into Arthur's distracted brain. He raised his head, his eyes immediately meeting the green ones belonging to the newest addition to their family.

"Harry," Arthur said softly, making sure to fix a reassuring smile to his face as he surreptitiously studied the boy before him.

The sight that greeted his eyes was a far cry from what it had been when he had first cast eyes on the boy.

To put it simply, he now looked more human.

Harry's street rags were gone, long destroyed by Molly, now replaced by clothes that, although they had once belonged to his son, Ron, were still a great improvement on what the boy had been found in.

Despite this though, Arthur found himself wanting to get Harry some of his own clothes as well, bought specially for him and him only. All children should have clothes of their own, and it broke Arthur's heart that Harry had so far been denied something so necessary in his short life. Arthur vowed silently, as he looked towards the nervous yet brave and oddly defiant boy, that Harry will never go without life's necessities again, no matter what it took.

Looking at the boy once more, Arthur noted that Harry was clean now as well, and his hair was slightly less wild now that it had been washed. It was still a messy in a way which Molly had not yet been able to completely tame, no matter how hard she had tried, but Arthur rather thought it suited the boy.

Perhaps the biggest change he could see in the boy, as he stood nervously in the doorway, was in how healthy he now looked compared to what he had been like even one week ago.

When they'd first met, Harry had been literally wasting away, his body strangely reminiscent of an emancipated prisoner. In fact, Arthur hadn't realised that it was possible to be that thin and still be alive. Harry's magic had definitely contributed to his continued survival according to Pomfrey; take that factor away and Harry might have died years ago. It was a sobering thought, and Arthur did his best to keep the emotion he felt off his face. He wanted Harry to feel comfortable in his presence, but he never would if Arthur kept frowning and glaring every two seconds.

Pushing the thought away with a bit more force, Arthur resumed his silent assessment of Harry, whilst he waited patiently for the boy to start speaking.

Harry had added a little bit of weight to his starving frame now of course, helped by three square meals a day of Molly's cooking and a few of Poppy's nutritional potions, lending him the look of being merely unhealthy now, rather than downright malnourished. Of course, any kind of weight gain was a massive improvement on the state he had been found in, but it was clear that Harry still had a long way to go before he resembled anything like a normal teenager.

Harry had slept rough for far too long for the signs to have disappeared in the mere week or so that he had been in their home, and it broke Arthur's heart every time he was reminded of the boy's terrible and traumatic past.

The bruises that had marred his face on that first night were gone, long healed by Poppy, but Arthur caught a certain look in Harry's eyes sometimes, when he saw him in a rare unguarded moment. It was a look that screamed of hope warring desperately with fear, reminding Arthur that, although the physical pains were slowly being fixed, the damage done to the boy went much deeper, and would be much harder to overcome than a few bruises.

Harry was a strange mix of scared child and grown adult. It was clearly no accident that Harry had survived all these years by himself; he was obviously intelligent, resourceful, brave and stubborn, a combination that, had it been nurtured instead of abused, would have resulted in an almost unstoppable wizard.

On the other hand though, there were certain circumstances where Harry's experience was woefully lacking, and that it was clear that he just didn't know how to act. Molly had tried numerous times to show affection towards the boy, be it with a hug or even just a gentle pat on the shoulder, but each time Harry had either flinched away nervously, or had been so stiff and tense that the moment soon became uncomfortable for Harry and Molly both. He was spooked too easily, always seeming to expect the worse when someone interacted with him.

"Can I..." Harry began again, interrupting Arthur's musing immediately. "Can I...talk to you? If you're not busy that is..."

"Harry," Arthur interrupted warmly, dragging his thoughts back to the present. He felt slightly guilty as he looked towards the unsure boy standing painfully still in the doorway, tense and ready to bolt at the first sign that he was unwelcome there. Arthur shook himself to push the feeling away, fixing a welcoming smile onto his face as he gestured for Harry to join him. "Of course you can talk with me. Come on in."

Harry followed his gentle instruction, relaxing slightly when he caught sight of Arthur's smile. He offered his own small, unsure smile in return, and Arthur felt his heart swell at the distance this boy had come already.

"Now, what seems to be the problem?" he asked Harry warmly, pushing aside the radio for the moment.

As Harry moved further into the darkness of the shed, Arthur took a look at the open door, wondering whether he should close it so that their conversation was private. In the end he dismissed that idea. In the two minutes Harry had been in his presence, the boy's eyes had darted numerous times to that open door. He was clearly more comfortable with an obvious way out, not wanted to be trapped alone with a grown man in a small space, and although it broke Arthur's heart that Harry did not yet trust him completely yet, Arthur refused to deny him that small comfort.

Following Arthur's gaze to the door, but apparently choosing not to mention it, Harry seemed to take a deep, steadying breath, before moving nervously forward, obviously still anxious that he was interrupting something. After a moment of tense indecision, he raised his eyes to meet those of Mr Weasley.

"I...erm," Harry began unsurely, clutching the piece of parchment tightly in his hands. "I just got this...in the post. An...owl brought it."

Immediately, Arthur's consciousness was bombarded with every terrible scenario that his tortured mind could come up with; everything from hate mail to death threats invaded his thoughts, a pattern not helped by the fact that Harry seemed so obviously anxious about it.

"It's from Mr Dumbledore," Harry continued, oblivious to Arthur's momentary panic. "Aberforth, I mean.

"Oh," Arthur said, letting out a relieved breath. Relief was quickly replaced by curiosity as he wondered what the old pub landlord had written.

"Could I take a look perhaps, Harry?" Arthur asked carefully, eyeing the slightly crumpled parchment.

"Oh," Harry replied. He held out his hand. "Here."

Arthur reached forward taking the parchment from Harry's unresisting hand. He forced himself to ignore the flinch he felt as his hand had faintly brushed the boy's, tapering down his anger at those blasted Muggles as he began to read.

Harry,

I'm not much of a letter-writer so I won't say much. I was wondering if you'd like a job. You did good work in my pub last week, helping me out, and I reckon I could use an extra pair of hands. So what do you say? We can have some more of those chats if you want, or not. It's up to you. Let me know what your answer is by tomorrow. Arthur will show you how.

Aberforth.

Dragging his eyes away from the scruffy writing, Arthur looked towards the fidgeting boy in front of him.

"What seems to be the problem?" prompted Arthur gently as he handed back the parchment.

"I...erm...I don't know what to do," Harry mumbled.

"What do you mean?" Arthur questioned, surprised by the young boy's admission. He'd thought Aberforth and Harry had gotten along fairly well. "Do you not want a job?"

Arthur thought this was quite understandable, especially with what the boy had been through in the past few years. For someone who had been denied the chance to have fun for so long, Arthur wouldn't blame the boy for wanting to take some time off, especially when he would be beginning an intensive education soon.

"No, I do," Harry confessed, surprising Arthur even more. "I've wanted one for...ages. But I've always been too young. No one wants to hire a kid..."

"We have different rules in our world," Arthur told him. He had noticed the faint frustration in Harry's expression but he chose not to comment on it. "It is not unreasonable for a shop keeper, or in this case a pub landlord, to take on help from someone your age. Bill and Charlie both had part-time jobs when they were younger. When money was tighter..."

"Do you...want me to help out too?" Harry asked quickly, ducking his head to look at his feet. "I can give you the money...you know...when I'm paid. I want to be able to stay..."

"Oh, Harry," Arthur said. "You don't need to pay your way with us. The boys only took jobs on so that they could earn a little pocket money. Molly and I never took a knut from them, and we won't take anything from you either. Any money you earn is yours to spend how you wish."

"But I don't want to be a burden."

"You couldn't be." Arthur said softly, hating the people who had failed this boy so desperately. "One day you will see that, I promise you."

Harry didn't know what to say in reply to the stirring and sincere words from the Weasley patriarch, but it seemed the man didn't require an answer.

"Harry," Mr Weasley began tentatively. He had a feeling that there was something more to Harry's concerns that he had already mentioned. "Is there something else bothering you?"

"Sort of," replied Harry quietly, biting his lip nervously as he thought of how to phrase his next concern. "What about...you know...talking and stuff?"

"Oh," Arthur replied, taking in the nervousness of the boy in front of him. It was clearly something that had been bothering him since the meeting with Aberforth, and Arthur cursed himself for not having noticed earlier. "I thought you'd got on well? He seemed to like you, Harry."

"He said he did," mumbled Harry, before raising his eyes. "I just...I don't get why he wants to know about my past."

"He doesn't Harry," Arthur replied softly. "He wants you to speak about it."

"I don't understand," Harry said with a frown.

"He wants to help you," Arthur answered, his tone sure. "Sometimes, in situations like yours, it helps to talk with people about things. Aberforth has helped his fair share of lost souls over the years."

"But I don't want to talk about it," Harry whispered with difficulty, eyes shut.

"Harry," Arthur began gently. "Has Aberforth ever implied that he would make you talk about anything?"

Arthur knew Aberforth Dumbledore quite well, and he couldn't believe that the old man would force a traumatised boy to talk about the horror that had occurred in his life. Aberforth was quite possibly the most patient man Arthur had ever met, and if he was offering a job to Harry, it meant that he had decided that the young boy was worth the time. Arthur, oddly enough, felt his heart rise in hope at the thought.

"No..." muttered Harry, but the slight frown on his face was what concerned Arthur. It was clear that, as far as the boy had come in the last week or so, he was still having trouble trusting them. And honestly, Arthur couldn't blame him.

"I know Aberforth quite well, Harry," Arthur told him firmly but he was careful to keep his tone kind. "He would take a secret to the grave if someone asked him to. He's also not the type to force you to talk. That's one of the reasons why I agreed to allow you to meet with him at all."

"He never told you what we talked about...you know...last time?" Harry asked tentatively, as if afraid of the answer.

"Never breathed a word," Arthur answered, sparing a small smile for the boy in front of him.

Harry seemed to be having an internal debate, his brow furrowed in confusion, but in the end he seemed to come to a decision.

"I'd...I'd like to take the job," Harry told him. "If he'll still have me. I like him. And I...I trust you."

Arthur was stunned by the quiet declaration, as much for the sincerity of the statement as for the words themselves. For a boy like Harry to say that he trusted him...well, it seemed Harry had come further than they'd thought.

"Well," Arthur began, clearing his thought discretely. "Let's see about that reply then, shall we?"

Harry nodded and backed out of the shed. Arthur followed him, the bright sunlight hitting his eyes, his mouth curved upwards as he allowed a smile to grace his lips. Maybe Aberforth was right after all. Harry wasn't broken beyond all hope. Not by a long shot.

A couple of days later, the redheaded family, two parents and five children, moved quickly down the crowded shopping street, barely sparing a glance for the wonderful magical shops that they passed along their way. To passers-by they seemed tense and nervous, the two parents anxiously glancing towards the youngest boy in their troop.

The boy was small, scrawny looking, as if he knew the true meaning of hunger, and his face had a pinched unhealthy look about it. His green eyes were wide though, open in amazement as if he was looking at the magical street as if for the first time. He was different to the rest of them, but most barely gave him a second glance. He had red hair as well, although it was messier than the rest, and that was enough for them to assume that he was part of their family, in one way or another.

"How are you doing, Harry?" Arthur asked quietly, as he glanced anxiously over to the boy walking quickly beside him. So far, Harry had been fine. His problems with people obviously were not when they were in crowds, but when he was alone with them. In fact, Harry looked a little awestruck by Diagon Alley, and the look of wonder and amazement on his face made him look years younger.

"I'm okay..." murmured Harry as they walked swiftly past a shop that claimed to sell animals of every variety. Harry could have sworn he saw boa constrictor in there, but they moved past the window too quickly for Harry to be sure.

Strangely enough, although he was surrounded by all manner of strange people, Harry felt more at home here in the crowd than he had in the Burrow. He supposed it was something to do with the disguise he was wearing. He was anonymous here- no one was paying any attention to him, allowing him to revert back to the state he had been in on the streets, a state that he felt much more comfortable with.

Here, he didn't have to be the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't even have to be Harry. All he was at this moment, was a redheaded boy. Nothing special, nothing to gawk at; just the way he liked it.

Harry moved a hand nervously through his new hair, still unused to the strange length. It slightly longer than usual, a ruse designed to make sure his scar was hidden at all times, and it had been changed to a very bright shade of ginger, ironically enough, to help him blend in.

Harry had had his reservations about the disguise but he found himself grateful for it now. Harry's lessons were due to start soon, and in the next few days the teachers from Hogwarts would be coming to the Burrow to give him a few introductory lessons. For that, he needed his own wand, hence their trip to the magical street.

The whole family had accompanied them, minus Percy, and Harry found himself grateful for the support. Harry had never been taken shopping before, and he found the whole experience rather intimidating, especially surrounded by the crowd of people on the busy street.

It was odd, but Harry found himself reverting back to his street instincts. Never make contact, don't draw attention, survive. His senses were heightened, his focus pure, and it gave him a confidence in himself that he had been lacking recently.

This he knew. He had no idea how to handle kindness and care, but anonymity...that he could deal with.

"Come along then, everybody," Molly said, interrupting Harry's musing as she looked towards her troop when they reached a break in the busy street. "Arthur, why don't I take the kids to get an ice-cream at Fortescue's while you take Harry to go and get his wand?"

"Okay, dear," Arthur agreed easily and he waved goodbye as she ushered Fred, George, Ron and Ginny in a different direction. Percy had barely spent any time at the Burrow, so much so that Harry had only seen him once, and he had not joined them on this trip.

"Come on then, Harry," Arthur said kindly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder to guide him through the busy street. "Ollivander's is this way."

When they reached the shop, Arthur allowed his hand to fall from Harry's shoulder, but Harry found that he missed the warmth and the weight of it.

"Let's get you a wand," Arthur said kindly, offering a small smile to the boy as he gestured for Harry to enter the small shop.

"I...erm...I didn't much like Mr Ollivander," Harry admitted tentatively as the bright sunlight hit his face once again.

"He is rather...odd, isn't he," Arthur agreed. Gently, he steered Harry through the street, keeping a hand on the young boy's shoulder so that he wouldn't lose track on him in the busy crowd.

"Was he right?" Harry asked anxiously. "You know...about my wand?"

"I don't know, Harry," Arthur sighed. "But I intend to find out. I don't want you to worry about it though. That wand chose you, and no matter who has the brother wand, there's nothing wrong with that, I promise you."

The boy still looked unsure, but his grip around the boy containing his wand tightened slightly and there was a faint smile on his face.

"Come along, Harry," Arthur said, injecting a cheerfulness into his voice that he didn't quite feel at the moment. "Let's go and find the others, hmm?"

They walked side by side, dodging the other people in the streets as they made their way over to the ice-cream shop.

"Harry, mate! Dad! Over here!"

They walked quickly over to the outside table where Mrs Weasley, Ron, Fred, George and Ginny were all finishing off what looked like delicious ice-creams.

"All sorted?" Mrs Weasley asked as her husband greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

"In a way," answered Arthur, somewhat gravely, and Harry ducked his head at the thought the trouble he had caused them once again. Mr Weasley noticed the reaction from Harry and frowned slightly before turning to face his children.

"Boys, Ginny," Arthur said. "Why don't you take Harry to look at the Quidditch shop? I just need a word with your mum for a moment."

Harry felt his cheeks redden slightly, since he knew that they'd be they'd be talking about him, but he agreed readily and followed the boys and Ginny onto the street. leaving his new purchase in Mr Weasleys possession.

It didn't take long before they came upon the shop and Harry, despite his self-imposed silence, felt his eyes widen in shock as he glanced at the merchandise that this particular shop was displaying in it's window. Broomsticks, strange looking balls, what looked like some kind of sport-robe, moving posters...it was incredible.

Harry knew a little about Quidditch, mainly from what Ron had told him, but he'd never seen the game being played before. As they made their way inside the rather cramped and busy store, Harry found himself hungrily taking in the posters of Quidditch players, not unlike the one in Ron's room, half-hoping that one day he would get a chance to play the game himself.

The twins wanted to show Ginny something, so he and Ron walked over to a display in the far corner of the room, Harry drawn there by the shiny gold balls on sale. Tentatively he picked one up, and to his surprise found that it came to life in his hand, wings popping out from the metal shell, whirring as fast as the wings on a bee.

"It's called a Snitch, remember?" Ron told him as he picked on up too. "The ball that the seekers catch. They aren't properly activated yet, or the shop keeper would have a devil of a time trying to catch them all."

Harry nodded absently as he replaced the ball where he found it. Magic itself had captured his imagination like nothing else in his life, but by far the most astounding things he had come across so far was the game played on brooms high up in the air.

Harry found himself itching to give it a try.

"We can try to fly later, if you want?" Ron offered cautiously, having noticed the look on Harry's face. "When we get back, I mean. I'm sure Fred or George won't mind lending you one of their brooms for a bit. I'll teach you."

Harry nodded in cautious excitement, a small smile forming on his lips as he looked at the eagerness in Ron's face that was no doubt reflected in his own. He was about to thank Ron out loud, when a voice interrupted them.

"Well," drawled the voice from behind them. It was the voice of a young boy, posh by the sound of his accent. "If it isn't the Weasel..."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron snapped as he flipped around to meet the owner of the voice.

Harry tensed slightly at the mention of the name Malfoy, and at the hatred in Ron's voice, but he didn't turn around choosing instead to continue perusing the display of snitches. In his experience, it was better to ignore the taunts of other kids. In a lot of cases, engaging with them was exactly what they wanted. Instead, Harry chose to ignore the young boy, his stance wary and tense, but seeming apparently unaffected to the outsider.

Ron, however, did not seem to be able to help himself.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy," Ron snapped angrily.

"Shopping, Weasley," Malfoy replied, deliberately talking down to Ron. Harry clenched his fists tightly but still he didn't react. "Of course, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? When was the last time your family could afford to buy anything? One hundred years ago, was it? Two hundred?"

"At least we don't live among peacocks," Ron replied hotly, his face blushing furiously. "You stuck up, slimy git – "

"Now, now Weasley," Malfoy tutted. "I wouldn't want you to embarrass yourself in front of your new friend."

Malfoy turned his attention to Harry, and the thin boy felt eyes burn into his back, but still he didn't turn round. His patience was wearing thin though...

Malfoy seemed to get frustrated at the lack of response, raising his voice slightly louder as he looked back to the small boy.

"On second thoughts...perhaps not a friend," he sneered. "Red hair, and hand-me-down clothes? You must be a Weasley."

Finally having had enough, Harry turned slowly to face the boy, taking in his pale, pointed face, and his white blond hair. He had been ready to ignore whatever assertions the git made about his character, but for some reason his fuse was shorter when he insulted his adoptive family.

Malfoy was smaller than Ron, and not much taller than Harry really, but somehow he still managed to somehow look down his nose at them.

Needless to say, Harry took an instant dislike to him.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, trying to taper down his fear and inject his voice with confidence. Lessons learnt on the streets came back to him; never appear weak, always act like you had every right to be there.

"Oh," sneered the boy. "Look what we have here. Definitely another Weasel."

"Don't mess with me," Harry warned after the boy had shot him a disgusted look. Harry couldn't help his heart thudding when the boy automatically assumed he was part of the Weasley family. Pushing aside the thought though, Harry turned back the blond boy, trying to look as threatening as possible. "Just leave us alone."

"Don't mess with you?" Malfoy laughed, although he looked slightly less sure of himself now that he was confronted with an openly hostile Harry. "You? Who do you think you are?"

"He's Barney," Ron interjected, shooting a nervous glance to Harry. "My cousin."

"You Weasleys do seem to breed like rabbits," Malfoy taunted. "Nothing better than animals, the lot of you..."

"Shut up Malfoy!" Ron yelled, drawing the attention of some of the shop's other customers. Harry looked around the shop, hoping to spot Fred and George to get a little support, but they were nowhere to be seen. "At least my family are decent people. Yours..." Ron laughed loudly, causing spots of pink to appear on Malfoy's otherwise pale face. "Serve any evil wizards lately?"

"You know nothing," Malfoy snapped, obviously flustered by the comment but unwilling to look weak. Harry had to appreciate the boy's acting skills. "You are traitors to you own kind."

Malfoy took a step forward, chin raised high as he looked towards the two redheads in front of him in disgust. Harry had to steel himself to hold firm and not step back at the movement.

"You Weasels will never amount to anything –"

"Shut up, you coward," Harry interrupted angrily. If there was one thing he hated, it was bullies, and there was no doubt about it; this boy definitely fit into that category. "I've known people like you my whole life. You think you're better than everyone else, but deep down you're nothing but scum..."

Angrily, Malfoy moved forward, shoving Harry so that his back hit the shelf behind him. Pain erupted in his back, but it barely registered as red clouded his mind.

"Don't touch me!" Harry growled, pushing back with all his might. Red overcame his vision and he could hear his heart beat thudding in his ears as memories swirled around his consciousness too quickly for him to regain his senses. Half-blindly, Harry swung his fist, idly registering the sharp pain as he connected with bone. There was a groan, and someone called his name, but it didn't sink into his clouded mind. All he that registered was that he was under attack and had to defend himself.

His fists swung again, making contact with any part of the attacker as he could, and when they were pulled behind him, he struggled harder than ever. He hated being restrained, hated being that vulnerable, so he kicked out and fought harder than he had ever done in his life.

"Oof," groaned the person behind him, but Harry didn't care. In his struggle, they'd released his arms again, and he wriggled away to a corner to get his breath back, his fists raised in front of him so that he could defend himself if necessary.

His back was aching from where he'd hit the shelf and his fists were throbbing painfully. Slowly, as he took a deep breath, the cloud covering his mind beginning to finally lift. Looking around him, the carnage he had caused was obvious. Shelves had been knocked over, the merchandise scattered all over the floor.

The rest of the customers in the busy shop were standing stock-still, staring at Harry with wide eyes and open mouths. Harry closed his eyes desperately as he tried to will his mind into cooperation.

"Someone get dad," ordered Ron quickly, presumably to one of his siblings as he moved slowly and cautiously over to where Harry had taken refuge.

Confused by what had happened, Harry raised his eyes to meet those of his friend, immediately aware that something was wrong. Ron was clutching a hand to his side, his face set in a grimace as he hobbled over to Harry.

"What...What happened?" Harry asked, his voice hoarse, flinching as Ron sat beside him on the floor.

"You attacked Malfoy," Ron answered concerned. He glanced over to the centre of the room, Harry's eyes following his gaze until he noticed the bloodied and beaten boy trying to pull himself off the floor. Harry's eyes burned with shame.

"I'm...sorry," Harry choked out. "I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't, mate," Ron muttered to his friend, very conscious of the crowd that had gathered to see what the commotion was.

They sat like that for a moment, surrounded by the chaos of the fight, waiting for eye of the storm to pass and the trouble to really begin.

They didn't have to wait long.

"Wait until my father hears about this!"

It was Malfoy, and although he looked considerably worse for wear, he was on his feet and hobbling angrily over to where Harry and Ron were sat. Harry's energy had been sapped out in the fight, and he made no move to defend himself as the boy came upon them.

"How dare you attack me! You'll be in so much trouble for this!" sneered Malfoy, sensing perhaps that his foe was at his weakest. "My father has connections with the Ministry you know. He'll have your father's job for this – "

"That won't be necessary, Draco," interrupted an oily voice that startled Harry as it came up beside him. Turning slowly, so as not to aggravate his back, Harry was greeted with the sight of Professor Snape, the greasy haired Potion's Professor, making his way slowly around through the crowd towards them.

Harry's self-preservation instincts screamed at him to run, but he couldn't seem to summon the energy. Instead he remained unmoving and vulnerable on the floor, resigned to whatever fate would befall him. He was tired of running. He just wanted the nightmare to be over.

"What do you mean, Professor?" Malfoy asked confused, glancing between the Professor and the two redheaded boys sat on the floor.

"I doubt your father will be pleased to hear that you have been engaging in muggle fighting," Snape replied evenly, although he had a look of disgust on his face at the word 'muggle'.

"But, they started it!" protested the pale boy, clearly taken aback by the lack of support from the dark haired man. Harry himself was startled by the position the Professor had taken. He had been expecting the dour man to start berating him and Ron, not the pale-faced boy.

"I do not care you stupid boy," snapped Snape, not even sparing a glance for Harry or Ron. "Your father is, as of this moment, trying to win favour with our current Minister of Magic. This foolish endeavour will only serve to damage his campaign."

"What can I do?" asked the boy as he desperately looked around the crowd of onlookers. Harry thought he looked a bit pathetic now, but that only made him regret his actions more. This boy was no street fighter; he was definitely no threat.

"Leave," Snape answered shortly. "Go home, Draco. And mention this to no one. I assume you can heal yourself when you get back to the manor?"

"Yes, sir." The boy paused, fidgeting slightly. "You'll...erm...you'll keep this quiet then?"

"You have my word, Draco," Snape replied, a little less harshly this time. "Your father will not hear about this from me. And I doubt any of these cowards will have the guts to tell him. Lucius Malfoy is not a man to cross."

It was said rather evenly, but no one in the crowd of onlookers missed the threat in the words. They shuffled uncomfortably and began to move away back to their shopping. At the sight of the shop emptying slowly, Harry felt himself release a breath that he had not realised he had been holding. There was a great deal of muttering and odd looks from them as they dispersed, but no one contradicted the tall greasy haired man.

Without another word, Draco sent one more glare towards Ron and Harry before spinning on his heels and storming out of the shop, soon becoming lost in the busy street, looking distinctly more ruffled and bloodied than he had when he'd entered it.

In the quiet aftermath of the blond boy's departure, Snape turned his attention to the two boys in front of him, a glare forming on his lips. Harry tensed slightly as his eyes met with the dark eyes of his Professor, the expression in his eyes unreadable.

"I suggest Mr Weasley," began Snape, speaking as if it caused the man pain to not insult the two of them, "that you and your...cousin find your parents and return home."

Ron looked rather shell-shocked, but choked out a "Yes, sir."

Seemingly satisfied, Snape gave them one last stern nod before he too stormed out, the people in the busy street parting like the red sea.

For a moment, both boys were quiet, taking in the destruction around them with small amount of shock. Nervously, Harry glanced over to the shop keeper, but the man, who was clearly no stranger to school children fights, simply sighed and raised his wand. Harry closed his eyes, half-expecting to be cursed, but without the energy to defend himself.

To his surprise, he felt nothing.

When he opened his eyes cautiously, he realised that the shop keeper had been merely tidying up the mess. Shelves were righting themselves, and fallen stock was flying back to its original position. Idly, as he watched the spell do its work, Harry wondered if he would ever get used to magic.

"Bloody hell," commented Ron, his eyebrows raised as he turned to glance at Harry with a frown. He was clearly still in shock over Snape's appearance and Harry couldn't blame the boy. "Well, that was unexpected."

Harry had nothing to say in reply, choosing instead to close his eyes tightly again and lean back against the shelf behind him, stoutly ignoring the pain that erupted in his back at the movement.

In truth, with everything he had experienced of the Potions Professor so far, he hadn't expected the man to come to their rescue either. The man had seemed so angry, especially when he first came upon the scene, but instead of berating them, he had sent Malfoy on his way as if nothing had happened. Harry didn't doubt the young boy's words when he had threatened to tell his father, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what trouble they had just avoided with the help of Snape.

Harry knew the man hated him, although he still didn't know exactly why, and that begged the question...

Why on earth had he helped them?

A/N- So, this chapter is long overdue, and I'm sorry for that, but was it worth the wait? What did people think of Snape's appearance at the end? Has he really seen the error of his ways, or did he do what he did because of his oath to Dumbledore and his promise to Lily? And was Draco in character do you think?

I'd love to hear from you! There was an astounding response to the last chapter (over thirty reviews!) and I thank each and every one of you wonderful, wonderful people! I'm so glad you liked the idea if Aberforth talking with Harry. That will definitely be an idea that will come up again!

Thanks for reading!