Author's Notes: Hello, if you're a new reader, I strongly recommend that you read Lionsnake Chronicles I: Harry and the Viper's Chess first, just so you understand how Harry ended up living with Snape as his legal guardian and how he settled in during his first year as a Slytherin.

This is a Slytherin!Harry fanfic. There's no pairings yet, just to be clear. I like to stick with canon-based characterizations.

I thought about breaking up this first chapter, but decided that it made more sense to keep it together. I must say, I had a lot of fun weaving all the elements of this chapter together.

May you enjoy your reading adventure.

Not for the first time, Harry started eating breakfast alone at the pre-set dining table at number thirty-seven, Spinner's End.

He'd woken early as he usually did to let Hedwig in after she'd tapped her beak on his bedroom window.

As Harry drank apple juice and chewed on the toast smothered in strawberry jam, he grinned to himself, remembering his week-long stay at Sally-Anne Perks' house in a Muggle well-to-do neighborhood. It'd been great fun to be accepted into her circle of Muggle friends, and they'd gone on hikes, went camping, started fires, and told ghost stories like normal outdoorsy Muggles did.

A few days after, Harry had gone out to the Malfoy's palatial mansion and had surprisingly enjoyed his month stay with Draco, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Pike Lestrange, who was a year younger than them. Draco's mother in person was much warmer than Harry would have thought. Even though her voice and tone were glacial, she had treated Harry like a son; he was very glad that Draco didn't seem resentful that his mum had gone out of her way to make Harry feel welcome. It would have made Harry's long stay uncomfortable.

The Malfoys had hosted several charity events while Harry was there and he rubbed elbows with the upper-class witches and wizards who seemed more than happy to shake his hand and introduce themselves. It would have been quite boring if Draco hadn't performed some mischief to get them out of the various parties.

When Harry mentioned he'd never before played Exploding Snap, a wizard's card game, Draco had been positively gleeful, since he had discovered that Harry could match him at Wizard's chess. So, they had spent much of their free time playing it at Malfoy Manor with Crabbe, Lestrange, and Goyle when they were grew bored of playing Quidditch on their brooms, walking through the immense garden labyrinth surrounding the manor, or watching magical performances in Lucius Malfoy's personal theater.

Draco had mercilessly beat Harry several times and often bragged about it when there was a break in conversation. The other boy was compelled to fill silence with chatter. For that fact alone, Harry was supremely grateful that the Malfoys had not gained custody of him.

"What are you smirking about?" Severus Snape asked as he entered the cramped dining room. The table could seat only two and was flush against a corner. Harry's guardian took a seat in the only remaining chair and pulled the battered plastic cover off of his chipped ceramic plate.

"I was imagining how awful it would have been if I'd had to stay with the Malfoys." Harry took another bite of his toast.

The adult snorted in a sympathetic manner.

Ever since Harry had arrived at Spinner's End in Cokeworth, Severus Snape had treated him with reluctant civility. It was a far cry from the suspicion Harry had grown up with the Dursleys and the constant vigilance he'd had to impart to avoid his Cousin Dudley's abuse. Of course, Harry Potter wasn't a normal boy.

Harry was a wizard—a wizard fresh from his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After ten long years living with relatives that neglected or tormented him, Harry was glad to be rid of them. All he had to do was do a little bit of homework every day, and then he was free to fly his broom inside the tall hedges that somehow existed right outside the backdoor of Snape's tiny house; when viewed from the outside, the grassy space was non-existent and the tall hedges looked merely like well-pruned shrubbery.

Despite this, Harry missed Hogwarts castle with its secret passageways and ghosts, his classes, eating banquets in the Great Hall, and chatting with the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid. He longed to go back to learn as much as he could about magic.

Harry's guardian was also a wizard and the Professor of Potions at Hogwarts. At the end of the school term, Harry had been required to undergo a bloodline analysis, so that he might be placed in a different home from the Dursleys. His relatives under Wizarding Law had committed the terrible crime of Child Mistreatment. Harry had known nothing else and believed when he first arrived at Hogwarts that the Dursleys' dislike of Harry had excused most of their behavior towards him. He hadn't known that being sent to his room—the cupboard under the stairs—and not being fed for a day or so, that being treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly… constituted as neglect.

After all, he'd thought at the time that he hadn't starved to death and the Dursley adults hadn't beaten him. So their treatment of him, while nasty, hadn't seemed that terrible to Harry, even after a licensed mediwitch had explained the extent of his injuries that his magic remembered what Harry could not.

He had been quite dissuaded of that notion after several sessions with Psych-Healer Fawley in an unused classroom at Hogwarts while Harry had awaited the Wizengamot's decision. She had said that he had all the signs of accidental Obliviation. That is, because of the abuse at the hands of his cousin and the unsupportive manner with which his aunt and uncle must have handled a younger Harry's allegations, Harry must have wished very hard to forget what had happened that his magic had altered his memories. The Psych-Healer had smiled sadly then and told Harry that he must have desperately wanted to love his adopted family to have made that choice. That statement had made Harry feel very strange. When she next asked how he felt about the Dursleys, he told her he didn't know. Harry held no love for the Dursleys, but he didn't exactly hate them either.

The court-ordered evaluation by Healers had informed Harry that he was below the average weight and height benchmarks for his age because of the Dursleys' persistent neglect. Every morning he drank a bitter-sweet nutritional potion for the past month and a half, and so far hadn't seen any change in his outward appearance. He was still short and skinny.

Harry had brilliant green eyes he'd inherited from his mother and messy jet-black hair from his father. He wore round glasses—though he had a fancy spare pair that he hadn't tried out yet—and on his forehead there was a thin, lightning-shaped scar, which made Harry very unusual even for a wizard. It was the only evidence that he'd survived a curse that was meant to kill him from an evil Dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. His parents had been murdered eleven years ago, but Harry had escaped, and somehow—nobody understood why—Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he failed to kill Harry.

Because of this, Harry had been brought up by his mother's horse-faced sister and her portly husband alongside their exceedingly fat and spoiled son. He had spent nearly his entire life never understanding why he made odd things happen without meaning to, since he had believed the Dursleys' story that he had gotten his scar in a car crash that killed both his intoxicated, delinquent parents.

And then, nearly a year ago, Harry had received a letter from Hogwarts, and the whole story came out. Harry had taken his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous…

Snape snorted to himself as he read through a copy of The Daily Prophet. "Idiots," he muttered as he drank Earl Grey tea.

Harry had noticed that Snape held no affection for his Muggle relatives, who had their memories of Harry erased when the Wizengamot had decided that the Dursleys were inadequate to retain custody of him.

Where Harry was scrawny and short, Professor Snape's tall stature gave the impression that a very strong breeze might knock him over. His black hair and eyes, sallow skin, yellow and uneven teeth, and hooked nose would not impress most people, but Harry knew it was what happened when someone didn't spend time in the sunlight for months at a time—well, except for the color of his eyes and hair and shape of his teeth and nose. Harry was sure the Potions Master had been born with those traits.

Living with his legal guardian, Severus Snape had taught Harry many things that had gone counter to the rules he'd been taught in the Dursley home. First and foremost, a house-elf was a small creature with a big head and giant, bulging eyeballs who enjoyed doing menial labor. Second, while Harry was expected to tidy up his room, he was not supposed to tidy up the rest of the house as that was Nanua's—Snape's house-elf—job. Third, Harry was expected to make noise when he moved about so Snape would know he was still living somewhere on the premises. Fourth, Harry was welcome to go down to the Potions Lab in the basement if he wanted to talk to Snape, so long as the sign outside the door read something along the lines of 'Proceed' or 'Enter'; if it had a 'No Entrance' or a biohazard symbol on the door, Harry knew well enough to stay away.

What was especially special today was that it was Harry's twelfth birthday. He didn't expect Snape to do anything, but he hoped—and Harry really shouldn't because Snape often would forget what the date was when he was in his lab for too long—that maybe he would perhaps mention it or even congratulate him. With the Dursleys, Harry had learned to expect absolutely nothing, not even acknowledgement.

Harry finished the last of his cold eggs and drank his bottomless mug of juice and waited patiently for Snape to finish reading.

Glancing at him, Snape folded the newspaper up. "Have you decided where we are going today?"

Harry froze. "Going?"

With a long pale finger, Snape tapped the date printed on the Daily Prophet. "Today is July Thirty-First," Snape drawled as if this was a very important date, and to Harry it was.

"Yes…" Harry said slowly, his heart beginning to pound.

Snape laid the newspaper down and entwined his fingers. "It is your twelfth birthday as the birthday presents in the sitting room would indicate. Were you planning on lazing about all day after opening your gifts—as is entirely your choice—or did you wish to go somewhere?"

Harry couldn't help it. He inhaled sharply as his eyes filled with tears. "You… you remembered."

His guardian stood up quickly. "Compose yourself," he said with a growl, "When you've made a decision, you will find me downstairs."

Snape left swiftly, his robes swelling out behind him. In the few weeks he'd been there, the Potions Master always found somewhere to be whenever Harry was on the verge of crying.

Harry wiped the tears from his face. He had no bloody clue what was interesting to visit other than Diagon Alley, the magical shopping center hidden behind the Leaky Cauldron in downtown London.

He nibbled on his lower lip and pushed the chair out. He walked the five long steps it took to the kitchen door and took barely three more through the tiny kitchen to push open the door to the sitting room. Closing the hidden door behind him which appeared to be a book shelf when it wasn't open, Harry glanced at the giant pile of birthday presents sitting beneath the room's only window next to a rickety old table. He then reached to his right to another shelf of books. It swung towards him slowly revealing a narrow door with 'Enter' in bold letters across it. Harry pushed that narrow door open, letting the heavy, book-laden door slide shut behind him. Musty basement air breezed towards him. Before him was a cramped, dimly lit stairwell with steep steps.

After he clomped down the worn stone steps, Harry leaned against the wooden support beam at the bottom of the stairs. His guardian was scribbling something with quill and ink onto parchment held down at the top corners by paperweights. Snape's Potions lab was the largest 'room' in the house and Harry was always amazed to see it, when the rooms above were so confined. "Sir? What would be a good place to go for one's birthday?"

Snape didn't answer at first. Then he placed the quill back into the inkwell and turned. "For a twelve-year-old boy who has spent most of his life among Muggles?" Snape pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I suggest Hogsmeade. It's the only entirely magical community in Great Britain, and most Hogwarts students don't visit there until their third year."

Harry grinned widely. "That sounds fun. How do we get there? By broom?"

His guardian snorted looking derisively towards the ceiling. "I refuse to travel by broom when Apparation is much more efficient and less physically taxing."

"But could we…?" Harry loved flying the broom more than anything.

"Hogsmeade is a two-hour trip by broom, if the weather is good, whereas Apparation takes mere seconds to traverse great distances."

Harry sighed. "Oh, all right." It sounded boring to him, but he supposed he shouldn't push his luck. "Are we going now?"

"You may want to change into robes," Snape advised.

"I'm fine wearing these," Harry said, gesturing to his denim trousers and cotton shirt.

"Far be it for me to tell you what to do on your birthday," Snape said to himself. "Very well, if you're ready, then let's be off. We'll Apparate from the garden."

Harry let out a whoop and ran up the steps, while Snape manually put out the gas-lit lamps in the basement. That was one of the strange things about this house. While it was wired for electric power, Snape had never paid to have it connected. Harry had found an old, dusty and cobwebbed television set crammed in the little attic along with other Muggle electronics and devices Snape had no use for. Of course, even if Harry had wanted to tinker with the junk he wouldn't be allowed, since Snape had magically locked the attic's only access door and forbade Nanua from unlocking it. With the lack of electricity, every room instead had either gas-lights or candle-lit lanterns.

"Bye, Nanua!" Harry called out in the sitting room, knowing that the house-elf would hear him.

"Farewell, Master Harry," responded the aged house-elf demurely from her perch on top of the door. He looked up at her with a grin. A week ago, Harry had given up any hope that she would call him just 'Harry'. He still teased her about it; she responded as expected by calling him 'Master Potter' instead. However, Nanua had quite the sense of humor. The reason he had given up was because of how she had retaliated when he didn't let it go.

At the next meal he and Snape shared, Nanua had imperiously and solemnly announced Harry as 'Lord Potter'. Harry had nearly choked on his first bite of mash. Blushing furiously because of the scathing look Snape had directed at him, Harry had turned to Nanua and begged her to please just call him Harry like he had told her and to stop embarrassing him. A sound similar to a wheeze had erupted from his guardian then—half-snort, half-rasp—but when Harry had turned to see if he was alright Snape had been as blank-faced as ever.

Briefly waving at Nanua, Harry yanked yet another hidden door open to reveal a closed skinny door to his left and a shoe foyer straight ahead. Tromping through the cramped room, he shoved the outside door open and ran through, excited to be out of the house. The tall hedges obscured any other buildings around, for which Harry was grateful. He'd made the mistake once of exploring the area around number thirty-seven, which sat by a nasty-smelling, brown-colored river on Spinner's End. Needless to say, Snape had forbid him from doing so again when Harry had been chased by older hooligans because he wouldn't turn out his pockets on command.

Harry didn't mind all that much that he had to stay inside or near the house. They didn't live in a nice section of town and the air was always fresher in the garden behind Snape's home.

It didn't take long for Snape to join him. Even so, Harry could barely contain his excitement as he lightly bounced on the balls of his feet.

"Now," Snape said, "Take this." He offered a potion to Harry, who looked at it with a frown.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, sir."

Pocketing the vial, Snape merely raised an eyebrow and took a firm hold of Harry's arm. "Three… Two…" Before he said number one, Harry's arm twisted away from him and the world imploded. It felt like Harry's body was attempting to shrink itself down to a tiny speck. Before Harry quite knew what was going on, he had collapsed onto hard-packed dirt and had to mercilessly quash the impulse to vomit.

Snape roughly helped him up by the back of his shirt.

Harry adjusted his glasses and stumbled a little bit. Snape put a hand on Harry's arm to keep him from keeling over. The same blue vial was offered to Harry again. He took it without a word and drank it. He instantly felt better, and then the after-taste of the potion hit him. Harry made a face. "Can't you mask the flavor?"

Snape ignored him, the empty vial disappearing into his robes.

Used to that response after a frivolous complaint, Harry looked around. The town around him looked like it belonged a century in the past. There was nothing modern about it: No cars or street lights with electric bulbs, or even paved roads. It looked as if someone had contracted a bricklayer for the main throughway. The people all wore robes of various colors and styles; some wore hats and others didn't, but every single one of them was staring at Harry curiously. For once it wasn't because of the scar hiding underneath a fringe of hair; it was his clothes.

Harry grinned up at the taller adult. "Do they have a Quidditch shop here?"

Snape smirked and turned north. They were standing on a road called High Street. Harry looked around in excitement, taking in all the shops around him.

Finally finding a sign with a broom and snitch on it, Harry cackled as he ran past several startled witches and nearly plastered his face on the show-window where a beautiful black broom—a Nimbus Two Thousand and One by the little card's reckoning—was on display. "Wicked!"

"There's hardly enough improvement in the model to warrant replacing your Nimbus Two Thousand," Snape said over his shoulder and then opened the door to Three Hoops.

Harry immediately darted in looking around gleefully.

There were shelves upon shelves of Quidditch accessories, packs of the four balls used in Quidditch, pads and glasses for Quidditch players. Harry noticed the large selection of Hogwarts-themed gear, separated by House. By far Slytherin and Gryffindor out-represented Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

There were racks upon racks of uniforms and framed posters of world-famous Quidditch teams. Bottles of broomstick oil, jars of broomstick polish, and broom-bristle scissors for broom upkeep. There were special seats that could be put on a broom for long-distance flying or for better handling during a Quidditch match. There were about five different types of rubber grips that could be put onto the handle for extra hold. And then there were the displays of brooms. Harry was instantly drawn to them. They were actually selling antique Shooting Stars! 'A classic!' a moving ribbon on the card below it said.

"Interested in anything today, sir?" The storekeeper asked Harry.

"Not right now. I was just looking at your extensive inventory," Harry said smoothly, using a tone which he'd heard Draco use to butter up his father's business associates.

"Of course, take your time." The storekeeper stepped towards Snape, "Ah, Severus, how are you?"

"Well enough," Snape responded.

"Here to browse for your godson?"

"No, today is Harry's twelfth birthday. As most wizards his age, he is obsessed with Quidditch and broomsticks," Snape said drolly.

The storekeeper went rigid and then stiffly turned towards Harry, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter. My name is Barnaby Rosier."

"I didn't take any offense, Mr. Rosier." Harry grinned. "I do wonder if could you tell me the difference in dynamics between the Comet Two Sixty and the Nimbus Two Thousand?"

Rosier beamed. "The Comet series are far more sensitive and reliable as far as brooms go, but the Nimbus series outmatches any of the Comets with raw speed and delivery."

"I have a Nimbus Two Thousand," Harry said proudly. "I won my very first Quidditch match with it."

"Wonderful!" Rosier cheered for him. "With your build, you must be a Seeker. There are a few items I think you may be interested in. Come this way."

Harry followed the man into the depths of the store and listened extensively to his tips and suggestions about specialized padding, books on flying techniques, and aerodynamic hats and cloaks. Harry examined all of the merchandise the shopkeeper presented. Nothing really caught his eye but it was interesting nonetheless.

"Oh! There's something that just arrived today that I think you might want to look at. I'll be right back!" An excited Rosier bustled to the backroom without a backward look.

Harry glanced towards the front of the store. He didn't see Snape's dark form standing around, but he wasn't worried. He probably had better things to do than babysit him.

Turning back around, Harry nearly stepped on a house-elf that had bright green eyes and bat-like ears. The creature moved back and bowed so low that his long, thin nose touched the carpet. Unlike Nanua, this house-elf was wearing what looked like a dirty old pillow case with rips for arm- and leg-holes.

"Er, hullo," Harry said curiously. "Who might you be?"

"Harry Potter!" said the house-elf with a reedy, wavering voice, "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir… Such an honor it is…"

"Right," Harry said feeling that something wasn't quite right about the situation he found himself in. He looked towards the door to the backroom, wondering when Rosier would reappear. "Is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," Dobby said earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir…. It is difficult, sir…" The house-elf hung his head, "Dobby wonders where to begin…"

"How about the important bits?" Harry said.

The house-elf leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights. "Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, a few months past… that Harry Potter escaped yet again."

Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes shone with tears.

"Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if Dobby has to shut his ears in the oven door later…"

Waving his hands towards the house-elf, Harry was sickened by the thought. "What? No, don't do that."

"But Dobby must. Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. If they ever knew, sir…"

"'They'? Who's they?"

"Dobby's family, sir. The wizard family Dobby serves, sir—" With a squeak, Dobby disappeared with a snap.

"Ah, there we are!" Rosier crowed excitedly.

Harry looked this way and that, but the house-elf had well and truly gone.

"So sorry for the wait," Rosier offered a rolled scroll to Harry, who was obliged to open it.

Unrolling it, Harry looked at the beautiful illustration of a red-wood broom. Below it were statistics on the broom design, Harry was stunned. It blew the Nimbus series out of the water. He peered at the animated broom without a rider. "The… Firebolt?"

"Won't be out until next year!" Rosier said gleefully.

"Wow," Harry murmured. "Can I have this?"

"Yes, keep it," Rosier's teeth were very straight and yellow. "I have a few more copies of it."

"Thanks! I'll keep you in mind when I need a new broom."

The storekeeper nodded. Just then the door opened, and a bell rang loudly in the backroom. "Excuse me."

Harry nodded and decided it was time for him to leave. He wasn't sure what to make of the house-elf yet… but he'd tell Snape about the strange encounter when he saw him.

As the shopkeeper helped his next customer, Harry stepped out of the store and looked up and down the street. He didn't see a tall, black-robed figure among the groups of chatty wizards and witches.

"Psst, Harry Potter!"

It was Dobby crouched in a small alley between Three Hoops and a leatherworking shop called The Beater.

"Dobby? What have you come to warn me about?"

The house-elf tore at his ears with a slight whinge in the back of his throat. "Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts," Dobby hissed out anxiously, pawing his ears.

"W-what? But I've got to go back—term starts first of September."

"No, no, no," Dobby squeaked, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously.

The house-elf had disappeared again.

Harry turned and saw Snape was standing in front of the alley, inspecting him.

"I was just—" Harry turned to look back at where the house-elf had been. "There was a house-elf that wanted to talk to me."

"In a darkened alley? You're lucky the creature didn't kidnap you."

Harry's ears turned pink, and he stepped out of the alley. "Sorry, sir."

"Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I think I am." Harry looked up towards the sun. "How long was I in Three Hoops?"

"It's half past noon," Snape said over his shoulder as he headed down the street.

Nearly three hours? Harry quickly caught up to him.

A pub called The Three Broomsticks came into view, squished on the corner between two oddly-shaped buildings that didn't have street access. Harry wondered if they might be apartments.

"You'll either have ice water or Butterbeer," his guardian directed.

"Yes, sir." Harry entered after him and followed to a booth in the far left corner. Snape sat down with his back towards the corner, and Harry took the seat across from him. Two menus fluttered onto the table, and Harry eagerly looked his over.

The Three Broomsticks had all sorts of curious people in it of all shapes and sizes. It reminded Harry a little of the Leaky Cauldron, except everyone was dressed nicer.

It was a full hour before they'd left. Harry was full of fried fish and chips that had tap-danced on his plate before they went still and was feeling a little light-headed because of the sweet, creamy Butterbeer no matter how much water he drank. Snape had eaten a small bowl of salad with little raisins that sang in harmonized 'C'. The Potions Master had seemed to enjoy chomping on the raisins which squealed and then fell silent.

"Is there a sweets shop?" Harry wondered aloud after they left the pub and ventured down the street. Snape hadn't let him order dessert, so Harry was craving sweets.

"Honeydukes is straight ahead. I will be at the Slughorn Apothecary three stores up the adjacent side street. Do stay out of trouble," Snape said drolly.

Harry took off like a shot, weaving through the staring groups of magical folk and apologizing when he bumped into strangers. A cheery, squat building sat on a corner lot; a small side alley ran diagonally from it. Harry went straight inside the brightly colored building, seeing the hard candies and striped lollipops on display. Cheerful music played and the air was a mite cooler than it'd been outside as he stepped through the door.

Harry looked around. There weren't any other customers around. A solid-framed woman stood behind the counter, packaging bags of what looked to be toffees with a flick of her wand. "Hello, dear. If there's anything you're looking for, just let me know."

There were shelves upon shelves of the most succulent-looking sweets imaginable. Cream chunks of nougat, shimmering pink squares of coconut ice; hundreds of different kinds of chocolate in neat rows; there was a large barrel of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, soft-colored orbs with a sign declaring it 'Whizzing Fizzbees'. Along another wall were 'Special Effects' sweets: Droobles Best Blowing Gum ("fill a room with bluebell-colored bubbles that refuse to pop for days!"), splintery Toothflossing Stringmints, tiny black Pepper Imps ("breathe fire for your friends!"), Ice Mice ("hear your teeth chatter and squeak!"), peppermint creams shaped like toads ("hop realistically in the stomach!"), fragile sugar-spun quills, and exploding bonbons.

As he continued to wander into the forest of candy and sweets stands, Harry found a corner with 'Unusual Tastes'. There was a tray of Blood Lollipops and Pus Suckers and bags of Cockroach Clusters. Harry let his eyes wander up the wall at the very wide selection of insect-centric candies they had, wondering who would eat them.

"Harry Potter, there is a plot," a squeaky voice emanated behind a large stack of Mud Fudge and Gravel Brittle.

Harry blinked, seeing one eye peering from behind the unusual sweets. "Does it have anything to do with…" He looked around and lowered his voice, "Voldemort, has it?"

"Ah," the house-elf moaned piteously, "Speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, looking over his shoulder. He couldn't see the counter from where he was. "Well, has it got to do with You-Know-Who?"

"No, sir. Not—not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir—"

"Well, then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts. I mean, there's Dumbledore for one thing—you know who he is, right?"

Dobby bowed his head. "Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir—" His voice dropped to an urgent whisper, "There are powers Dumbledore doesn't… powers no decent wizard…"

With a pop, the house-elf was no longer behind the table. He had seized a large sweets cookbook and began to beat himself in the head. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

Harry immediately grabbed the book, preventing the little creature from harming itself further. "Stop that!" He hissed, clutching the book and looking over his shoulder. He wondered if perhaps the sheer volume of sweets around them had muffled the house-elf's cries.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the house-elf, who'd gone slightly cross-eyed and was shaking like a small dog. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family."

Breathing out slowly, Harry tried not to get angry at whoever owned the poor elf. He knew from being around Nanua that Dobby's behavior and state of clothes were abnormal. Harry desperately wanted to ask him who his family was, but he had to stay on topic. There was no guarantee that the house-elf could even tell him.

Harry put the book back on the table. "Look, I will return to Hogwarts, even if someone is planning to make something bad happen. All my friends are there."

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" Dobby's eyes were large and wide, his mouth in a sly grin.

"I expect they've been busy—wait a bleeding minute," Harry said with a frown. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me since last month?"

Dobby shuffled his feet. "Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best—"

"Have you been stopping my letters?" Harry growled.

"Dobby has them here, sir." Stepping nimbly out of Harry's reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat writing, Draco's over-flourished loops, Sally-Anne's untidy scrawl, a scribble that looked as though it was from Hagrid, and those were just the ones jutting out the top.

Harry was furious. "Give them to me."

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry…" The house-elf repeated. "Dobby hoped that if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him… Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir…"

Unable to contain himself any longer, Harry made a grab for them.

Spryly, Dobby jumped onto a tall container of Gargling Butter Drops. "Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No! I love going to Hogwarts! Now, give me my letters!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the elf said sadly. "Harry Potter leaves Dobby with no choice."

Dobby snapped his finger, and the largest container of colorful gumballs Harry had ever seen began to float.

Harry's stomach lurched. "No," he croaked as he looked around. The woman at the counter was no longer there. "Please put it down."

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school—"

"Dobby, put it down!" Harry had raised his hands up. "Slowly!" If that display fell, he imagined that he'd be grounded for the rest of the summer break.

"Say it, sir." The house-elf was not enjoying this in the slightest, Harry saw.

When Harry had visited Draco, he had told Harry that when you swore to do something your magic often forced you to follow your promise. Harry swallowed the lie he wanted to speak. "I… I can't."

Dobby gave him a tragic look. "Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

A woman shrieked behind Harry, and the entire display crashed to the floor. With a crack like a whip—partially masked by the breaking glass—Dobby vanished.

Stunned, Harry was ankle-deep in colorful candy. He turned around fearfully.

At first, it looked as though the woman might forgive him, but then her mouth twisted sourly and she charged out from behind the counter. "Bolla Reparo," she cast as she jabbed her golden brown wand at the mess.

Just as Harry's glasses had repaired themselves on the train ride last year, the display—minus its contents—jumped back onto the shelf, good as new.

"It-it wasn't me," Harry stammered out, still ankle-deep in gumballs, "There was a—"

"Are your parents around? Someone is going to have to pay for my lost merchandise," the witch said sharply. There was a man hovering over her shoulder now, looking woefully at the candy on the floor.

"I-I can pay." Stored in an underground vault at Gringotts—a Goblin-run bank in London—was a small fortune that Harry's parents had left him. Harry didn't have direct access to it, but it was likely that Snape would allow Harry to pay for the damages.

"This is worth at least fifty Galleons," she said shrewdly, "I don't suppose you have that much." She looked Harry up and down with a look that obviously said she didn't believe he did.

An owl swooped by the large front window and suddenly a red letter had fallen somewhere from the rafters. Harry swallowed and went to open it, but the letter suddenly became animated. The back pieces warped into a facsimile of pinched lips.

"Dear Mr. Harry Potter, we have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used in Honeydukes' Delicious Sweets and Special Confectionaries by you this afternoon at seventeen minutes past two."

Harry gulped, his eyes wide at the fluttering letter. Snape was going to kill him.

"As you know, Underage Wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely, Zalphine Gobfinn, from the Improper Use of Magic Office in the Ministry of Magic."

The scarlet letter flopped to the floor on top of the gumballs and then burst into flame.

Harry's ears were ringing with panic. He carefully looked up to the two adults watching his every move.

"You're Harry Potter?" The man asked incredulously, stepping forward to take one of Harry's hands. "I've always wanted to meet you! Herman Honeyduke is the name! This is my wife, Beatrice."

Harry's hand was shaken in a very strong grip.

The witch shot a dirty look at her husband.

"But th-the candy," Harry stuttered as the wizard pulled him towards the counter. Harry looked over his shoulder and saw the gumballs vanish with a flick of Mrs. Honeyduke's wrist.

"Would you mind terribly if you signed—" Mr. Honeyduke said.

The door to Honeydukes burst open, and Harry's guardian stormed in, black robes swirling in a menacing manner about him. "Potter," Snape hissed, a red letter clutched in his hand.

Harry gave the candy store owner an apologetic look and walked towards Snape. "S-sir, I didn't—it was a house—"

"Wand. Now," Snape enunciated clearly, a waiting hand held out and up.

Harry flushed, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. When he found only the scroll that the Quidditch storekeeper had given but not his wand, Harry checked again and then felt around the hem of his pants. It was then that Harry realized he'd forgotten to take his wand with him, that it was still under his pillow where he'd placed it last night. "I-I don't have it, sir," Harry's voice was tiny as he shrunk in on himself.

"Am I to believe that you performed a Hover Charm wandlessly?" Snape asked sharply.

"I didn't do it," Harry gasped out. He was telling the truth!

"I don't recall seeing him with a wand in his hand at all," Mrs. Honeyduke said mostly to herself.

Snape's eyes raked over Harry, making him squirm. "You claim you didn't use magic, and yet this notice clearly states that you did. What," he said very slowly, "happened?"

"It was the house-elf. From the alley and in Three Hoops."

Quiet consideration emerged in Snape's beady eyes. "I see." He turned to Mrs. Honeyduke. "Could you corroborate his account to have this fluke removed from his record?"

Her eyes squinted as she concentrated, and then she smiled. "I did hear a crack of Apparation," she agreed. "Who would believe a twelve-year-old could cast a Hover Charm without a wand in hand? Nonsense, I say."

"Thank you." Snape gave Harry a stern look. "We have overstayed our visit here."

"Er, sir. Even though it wasn't my fault, they lost fifty Galleons' worth of merchandise when that display crashed to the floor…"

Snape blinked at the large empty case Harry had directed him to look at and then looked to the Honeydukes.

"It's not a problem, Mr. Snape," Herman Honeyduke said congenially.

From within his robes, Snape pulled out a money bag and set it on the counter. "You should find that this will cover any loss of profit. Harry will be forbidden from returning for a year." Snape turned and looked at Harry severely, eyes flicking towards the Honeydukes.

"I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused, Mr. and Mrs. Honeyduke," Harry said.

The man grabbed a bag of toffees from the tray on the counter. "Here you are, lad. Come visit us again when you are able."

Snape and Harry walked out of Honeydukes. "I can't leave you alone for even one moment, can I?" He murmured.

"Sorry, sir."

Harry walked alongside his legal guardian, looking up at him anxiously. He worried about what would happen when they returned to Snape's house on Spinner's End. Since taking Harry in, his guardian never once lifted a hand in anger no matter what foolishness he'd gotten up to, but that didn't mean that Harry would go unpunished. Harry had spent half of the school year in detention because of his rule-breaking before… He learned very quickly that there were always consequences for his choices whether or not Harry intended the end result.

Snape glanced down at him. "I believe there is more to this story that will have to wait until we arrive home."

They strolled to a clearing, and then his guardian gripped Harry's upper arm tightly. Without warning, Harry felt like his eyeballs were trying to dig into his sockets and his eardrums were attempting to puncture themselves. Everything was dark, and he felt as if he were being crushed, suffocating.

This time Harry landed on his rear. Snape didn't help him up, yet he remained waiting for Harry to recover.

"I think I prefer flying a broom," Harry said decisively, hanging his head forward. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Come."

Forcing himself up, Harry recovered enough to walk unsteadily, and he entered through the foyer door. Snape was nowhere in sight.

"Master Harry, sit and drink tea." Nanua led him gently through the sitting room and kitchen and had him take a chair. "You've had quite the scare, I hear." Her large blue irises implored him to do as she had asked. Harry was relieved to sit and sipped the tea. Instantly his stomach settled and he felt less dizzy. Based off what it remedied, Harry thought his tea might be spiked with whatever potion Snape had given him earlier. "Thank you, Nanua."

"Now," she began matronly, "What's this about a house-elf bothering you?"

"He's been stopping my letters, Nanua. You know how I wondered about why I seemed only to be getting parcels a little after I went to Draco's place?"

She smacked her thin lips angrily. "What a naughty house-elf, he is. Do you know his name, Master Harry?"

"Dobby. He had large floppy ears and green eyes, and he was wearing a grimy pillowcase for clothes. I think his family's been mistreating him."

Her gnarled fingers pressed against her cheek. "That name is familiar…"

Through the doorway across from Harry, Snape reappeared with Harry's wand wrapped in something that looked like plastic.

Harry sat up straighter.

"You are not to touch your wand until the Ministry has an investigator sent to analyze it." His guardian set the holly wand down on the table and took a seat. "With Beatrice Honeyduke's account, your record will in due time be cleared of the false charge that you've used magic outside of school."

After his stomach grew queasy again, Harry took another swallow of tea. Quite suddenly the severity of what the house-elf had attempted to do hit Harry. Dobby had tried to get Harry expelled so that he could not return to Hogwarts because of the 'bad things' that might happen that year. Harry gulped down the rest of the tea and set the empty teacup on its saucer. It quietly refilled itself.

"Now," Snape said touching the tips of his fingers together, "Start from the beginning, when this house-elf first appeared. I want descriptions, manner of speech, words and actions. House-elves don't generally leave their place of residence unless their master orders something of them that requires it."

So, Harry told him all about the curious, wretched creature named Dobby, who insisted that Harry didn't return to Hogwarts.

When Harry initially declared the house-elf's name, Snape's black eyes had gone dark with anger though none of it showed on his face. He didn't interrupt Harry's account though, patiently waiting until the very end.

"Just as I thought, someone is plotting to do you lethal harm," Snape said smoothly.

Harry shivered. "Do you know whose family Dobby belongs to?"

"If a family hides the creature away from public eye, any accusations of mistreatment will fall on deaf ears in the Ministry. It is better to leave it be," Snape said callously.

"But I can't leave him like that!" Harry exploded.

"Do you think I enjoy telling you there's nothing to be done?" Snape said derisively.

"You know which family Dobby belongs to, don't you?"

"I do not," Snape said curtly, meeting Harry's gaze easily.

With a scowl, Harry looked away.

"Harry," Snape said quietly.

Harry cautiously met his gaze.

"You are never to leave home without your wand again."

"But I can't use magic, what's the point?" Harry said angrily.

"What's the—" Snape took a sharp breath, lifted his hand to his face, and dropped it before he could make contact. "There are exceptions to that rule. Did you learn nothing from the excerpts of British and International Magical Decrees you were assigned last April?"

"I remember a good bit about what's illegal to import into Britain," he said lamely, recalling the illegal dragon he'd helped save from certain death last year at Hogwarts. Harry's eyes were affixed on Snape's face as it colored with anger.

"Sweet Rowena, be merciful," Snape grit out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Harry allowed him a few breaths of quiet, before he asked, "What did I miss that was so obvious that you didn't think to write a question about it?" Truthfully Harry was remembering quite a bit of Wizarding Law now, but only the parts he had to write about.

Dropping his hand, Snape's furious black eyes pinned Harry to the spot.

Harry looked down, sweaty hands clenched around the teacup. He reminded himself that there was no cupboard under the stairs at number thirty-seven on Spinner's End and that for all his guardian's barbed words Harry was never denied food or shoved around.

"If you ever find yourself in a situation where your life is endangered, you are allowed to use magic," his guardian said very slowly through his teeth. "The exception being that the Statute of Secrecy must not be broken."

Harry thought back to the heavy scroll, trying to remember if he'd even read that. He had an inkling that he had, but had dismissed it out of hand.

"Now," Snape said much more neutrally. Harry looked up to see that his guardian's coloring had gone sallow again. "What did I tell you that you are never to do ever again?"

"I am never to leave the house without my wand," Harry answered dully.

"Why?" Snape asked slowly, eyes narrowing.

"Because I have to protect myself in case someone tries to murder me," he responded coolly. It made sense, Harry reasoned. Voldemort had tried to kill him twice already, which was much more than most persons of his age had to deal with.

"You may yet manage to keep your fool self from getting killed." Snape stood up, habitually adjusting his robes.

It was when Snape took up Harry's wand that Harry realized he'd forgotten to ask a very important question. "Er, how long is it going to take for everything to get sorted out?"

"Likely a month or more."

"Oh." Theodore and the four Slytherin girls Harry had yet to visit weren't going to let Harry hear the end of it when school started. "I'm grounded?" He asked just to be sure.

Snape smiled thinly. "Perhaps by the time your record is cleared you'll remember you're a famous wizard and not a middling Muggle."

Harry slumped back into his chair with a groan. "What about my letters? Dobby's taken them all, stopped them from reaching me."

His guardian looked to his house-elf, who answered promptly, "I will take care of that, Master Harry. Don't you worry about that." Nanua patted Harry's arm with her bony fingers. "Your letters will be returned to you."

Without another word, Snape left the dining room.

Standing, Harry decided he really ought to get started unwrapping those presents so he could send out the thank-you letters to everyone. He took a deep breath and went into the sitting room.