Boy knelt on his knobby knees, stained green and brown from the dirt and grass. He was gardening. He liked gardening. He could work without interruption. That was one of the good things about gardening. He liked to pretend that the garden was his, that he was a grown man with his own house and he was taking care of his garden. Or, on particularly hot, humid nights, like tonight, he could pretend that he was a secret agent, or a pirate, or –

The crickets chirped loudly, startling him out of his reverie. Best be getting on with his chores. If he finished quickly, he could get a few hours' sleep in before his morning chores. After almost nine full years of chores, he was fast and efficient at them. Not that he let Them know. If They did, They would find more chores for him. Sometimes, he wouldn't finish one of his chores on purpose so that They'd think it was a struggle to finish his workload. Sure, They punished him for it, but he got the feeling They liked punishing him. Sort of a stress reliever type thing. Gardening done, Boy stood on his stained and calloused, bare feet and stretched, feeling the pleasant crack and pop of his back as it straightened from kneeling hunched over for so long. He looked up at the night sky, the few stars that were visible blinked feebly, trying to pierce their way through the light pollution of Surrey. The moon was waning, a sideways grin, smiling down on Boy. He smiled back. He always felt comforted by the moon. Probably because it meant that They were asleep.

He put away the tools he had used and turned on the hose slightly, the cool water flowing gently out. He took a long drink, then used it to clean himself up a little, just a quick rinse down to get rid of the outer layer of dirt. Ma'am didn't like it when he tracked dirt. He couldn't get rid of everything, much of it he suspected was permanently ground into his skin. He doubted even a hot bath with soap and a scrub brush would be effective. He smiled, watching the water flow over his hand. He wondered what a hot bath would be like. When he washed the dishes, he would immerse his arms as far into the water as he could and reveled in the feeling of warmness enveloping him. He imagined it was what a hug from a loving person was like.

Turning off the hose, he shook his limbs off, trying to dry as much as he could. Going to sleep wet wasn't pleasant. He headed for the garbage bins that stood out on the curb like everyone else's on the street. Quietly with practiced movements, he opened one of them and untied the bag on top. Directly on top of the rest of the garbage, sat a plastic grocery bag, tied up. He pulled it out, then retied the trash bag, tightly this time, before placing the lid back on the bin and headed for the backyard, then inside, making sure to lock the door behind him. As silently as he always was, a trait so long ingrained he no longer thought about it, he entered his cupboard under the stairs, closing it with a soft click.

Sitting cross-legged on his tiny mattress that once padded his crib, he untied the bag and smiled at the treasure within. Since he was in charge of cleaning, and They were rather wasteful people, Boy could sneak a lot of leftover food. He made sure to sneak food that would last, as he had to wait until trash night to collect it. That, and it needed to last him a long while. No telling when They would remember to feed him. Once, They forgot for almost a full month before Ma'am remembered to put out some stale bread and gristle. He never complained. That never worked and usually ended up having the object of complaint taken away till he 'learned to appreciate it.'

Bread heels, bruised fruits, and pretty much all of Dudley's vegetables (at least the ones that were given raw to dip in ranch. Those lasted longer than cooked ones.) These were all normal pickings. But tonight, was special. Tonight, Dudley had thrown a large fit because he wanted burgers, not the spaghetti with meatballs and sauce offered. So, Sir and Ma'am had driven out and gotten five burgers all for Dudley while They finished Their spaghetti. Dudley's leftovers were to be thrown out. Which meant that they were fresh enough for Boy and plentiful enough that Boy had to limit how much he took. He knew, from a previous experience like tonight, that he couldn't eat much even if it was available. That had been a disaster.

He pulled out a plastic fork, one of the throw away ones They get from Their take-out that he kept a supply of, washing them when he could. The spaghetti was stored in a sandwich bag that had once held crisps for Dudley at one point but had since been rinsed out and used for moment like this. Boy paused for a moment to smile down at the still slightly warm food in his lap. He'd been able to seal it while it was hot just a few hours ago. Smiling at his good fortune, he tucked in happily.

Severus Snape was not in a good mood. People who sort of knew him would say he was never in a good mood. For that matter, people who knew him well would say the same thing. He'd just come from a meeting. Meetings with Headmaster Dumbledore were always vexing. At least, they were to Severus. With his blasted calm smile and his bloody twinkling eyes. How, in the name of Merlin, do eyes perpetually 'twinkle'?

He scowled at the cooling fireplace where he'd just flooed from. Of course, it would be up to him. Of course, no one else was available or could effectively disguise as a muggle. Never mind that he was busy. Never mind that he loathed Lily's sister and such sentiments were returned. Never mind that he had an extensive list of potions to brew, many of them for Hogwarts of Dumbledore himself! No, it was Snape, the one who apparently had oodles of time on his hands. Snape, the one who would be 'delighted' to visit long-lost 'friends'. Severs snorted. 'Acquaintance' was too strong a word, never mind 'friends'. Sighing to himself, he shook his dark hair out of his equally dark eyes. No use procrastinating. Albus will continue to badger him until the distasteful deed was done. Like eating vegetables before the meatloaf. Get the unpleasant task done first so it's not hanging over your head. He gave another sigh and trudged up the narrow step to his bedroom. He always kept a supply of muggle clothes, needed them for when he bought groceries and the like. He could apparate to wizard's grocers, like many did, but he enjoyed the anonymity of muggle stores. He was never likely to run into an old acquaintance that simply had to stop and catch up. He pulled out dark slacks and a dark button-up shirt, magically kept crease-free in his closet. He quickly dressed, pulling on comfortable yet worn dark shoes. Lastly, he pulled his hair back in a small tie at the nape of his neck. While he would never do this normally, having far too much resemblance to Lucius' preferred style, he conceded for trips like this when he would have to look the part of a muggle professor.

Ready as he'd ever be, he threw on a light sweater (dark in coloring) that had a special pocket on the inside for his wand, which he carefully tucked inside before turning on the spot and disappearing with a lout crack.

Little Whinging, Surrey was just as detestable as its name, in Severus' opinion. Most places were, but the cookie-cutter houses with the perfectly manicured lawns and the identical cards all spoke of a conformity and normalness that physically hurt. Severus gritted his teeth and hurried along the cracked yet spotless sidewalk, paying no mind to the various muggles that were puttering around their perfect yards, just trying to spy on each other than do actual yard work. Most stared, some were subtle and some not, as he walked by. Severus' long purposeful strides took him directly to the fourth house on the street, currently devoid of muggles on lawns. Steeling himself for what promised to be a decidedly unpleasant visit, reminding himself that it would be very short. He marched up the front walkway, ringing the doorbell firmly.

Boy heard the doorbell and instantly jumped from his spot on a stool in front of the sink where he'd been washing vegetables for dinner and scrambled into his cupboard. That was one of the Rules. It was tied with the Rule of Don't Let People See You. Whenever someone was at the door, Boy was to get into his cupboard from wherever he was as quickly as humanly possible and make absolutely no noise, as if he didn't exist. He closed the door just in time, as Ma'am was making her way downstairs. She passed by his cupboard on the way to the front door. His curiosity, which despite Their best attempts to squander was still strong, caused him to put his ear to the crack, not daring to open the vent.

The door opened and Boy heard the beginning of Ma'am's usual perfectly polite greeting when it was suddenly cut off by a strange chocking sound. Did the person at the door attack Ma'am? He furrowed his brow and tried to listen harder. He heard a faint voice, deep, so probably a man, with a silky-smooth quality to it that gave Boy a mental image of a poison that lulled you to sleep before causing you brain to implode.

"Hello, Petunia. I see you're are doing …well."

The Voice was met with silence. That was odd, Boy thought. Ma'am never missed an opportunity to talk.

"I'm sure whatever you are attempting to get out of that gaping hole you call a mouth is terribly important and riveting for all parties, however, I don't particularly care to listen. I don't want to be here anymore than you do so I will make this brief." The Voice sounded both bored and annoyed. Boy had a feeling that those were the Voice's default state of being. "I was sent by the Headmaster to check in on the boy." Boy perked up. They couldn't possibly be talking about him, could they? No one came to check on him. "Call him over so I can report back to Dumbledore as quickly as possible. You don't even have to pretend to be polite and invite me in for tea." The last line was practically oozing sarcasm.

Apparently, it was enough for Ma'am to find her voice. Her shill voice practically a hiss, obviously not wanting to alert the nosy neighbors that anything was amiss with their visitor.

"What on earth do you think you are doing here?" She demanded. Boy was surprised. She rarely showed this much open hostility to anyone other than him. "I refuse to have any of your kind in my house!"

"Apparently, your listening skills are as defunct as usual. Or is simply your comprehension abilities?" The Voice replied with a disdain Boy could practically taste. "I have less desire to enter your home than I do to walk into an Acromantula's nest. I need to report to Albus the state of the boy and believe me, I have just about anything I'd rather be doing, including gouging out my own eyeballs for potion ingredients. Now, produce him so that I can leave."

There was a tense moment of silence. Boy wished he could see what was going on. Finally, Ma'am spoke up. "I wasn't told that you people would be coming to check on us." She said with as much disdain as she could muster, which compared to the Voice, was lacking, although Boy could almost see her sharp nose up in the air.

The Voice sighed. "I don't care. Just produce the boy so I can get on my way, Petunia. I have places to be."

"I find this highly irregular!" She snapped back. "Am I just to expect random visitors to just pop by willy-nilly, forcing me to drop everything to entertain them?'

"I can assure you," The Voice was obviously irritated now. "I doubt you would have the least ability to 'entertain'. The boy, Petunia. Now."

Boy flinched at the tone. It was one that demanded respect and immediate obedience. He was tempted to present himself to appease the Voice.

Another tense moment of silence was heard before Ma'am's voice, which was equal parts subdued and defiant said, "He's not here."

"Where is he?" The Voice asked irritably.

"Out. With friends." Ma'am lied. Boy gave her an unseen look through the cupboard door. He wasn't allowed to be seen much less have friends to go 'out' with.

"Then call him back." The Voice seethed.

"There's no way to. You'll just have to come back another time." Boy heard the front door begin to close before it was forcibly stopped. Probably by the Voice.

"No." The Voice hissed, causing Boy to shiver, fear racing down his spine. "I have not come all this way just to be turned aside. I have no desire to come here again and by Merlin I will report to Albus that at the very least, I tried!" The Voice didn't get any louder. If anything, it got softer. And more dangerous. "The boy must come home eventually, for meals if nothing else. I suppose this would be the time you invite me in to be …'entertained'. The Voice sneered, although Boy could hear the Voice forcing his way in regardless of Ma'am, who was no doubt trying to keep him out without making it obvious to the neighbors. The Voice must have won because the door shut but now the Voice was inside and a bit closer to Boy's cupboard.

"I will be sitting in …here." Boy could hear a great many things that were not said in the pause. "I would suggest that you apply yourself to finding the boy quickly. I do have things-" The Voice cut off again, abruptly changing the topic. The Voice sounded both disgusted and horrified when he spoke next. "What is that?"

There was a pause before Ma'am replied, confused. "What is what? The pictures?" Sneering disdain entered her own voice. "Surely you people know what pictures are?"

"I wasn't talking about that." His own sneer of disdain was heard that far outclassed Ma'am's. He sounded like a pro. "I was talking about what was in the pictures. I wasn't aware you kept a pig as a pet. Peculiar but not unheard. And strangely fitting." The last sentence was spoken with a hint of amusement.

Boy had to physically clutch his mouth to stop the laughter from being heard. He was saved by Ma'am's own offended spluttering. Boy had the same opinion whenever he had to dust the frames and the mantelpiece where they resided. He'd wondered if he could get an actual pig, dress it up in Dudley's clothing, stick a wig on it, and see how long it would take for Them to notice. If they ever did. The personalities were remarkably similar.

"Enough. I don't care and you are wasting time." The Voice cut in before Ma'am could get her bearings. "Find the boy so I can leave." He spoke with such command that Boy didn't know how anyone could not immediately obey. Boy heard Ma'am huff and march towards the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. Boy flinched back. She sounded mad. And that meant pain. They all liked taking Their frustrations out on him. He gave a tiny sigh before freezing, afraid the Voice might have heard him. When he didn't hear any movement, he relaxed marginally.

He settled down on his mattress. Looks like he had a free afternoon, if the Voice continued to stay. He wasn't allowed out while they had guests over, even unwanted ones like the Voice. Boy found he liked the Voice. Not just the sound of him, which was smooth and silky, but he was funny and didn't let Ma'am push him around at all. Rather, he pushed Ma'am around like it was the most natural thing in the world! He must have been a big man. After all, the bigger you are, the more people you could boss. Boy couldn't boss anyone because he was little. He saw glimpses of kids in the street and knew that most of them were bigger than he was.

He pulled out the broken and half-melted army men that he had been able to rescue from Dudley and the garbage. Content to entertain himself for however long the Voice would be here, he began to imagine armies to back up the green men, waging rescue missions and heroic deeds.

Lost in the world of death-defying stunts performed by heroes in uniform, Boy didn't realize that he wasn't completely silent. True, no normal person could have heard the barely-there taps of his army men on the wood, or the near-silent rustling of the mattress as he shifted every now and then. But then Severus Snape was not a normal person. No, he was a man that had been through war in the most intimate way possible. He had seen death, caused death, almost died more times to count. He had been in huge battles and small skirmishes and many a solitary duel. And, most notably, he had been a spy for over a year.

And with such experiences under his belt, it was little wonder that his senses, which were always keen, were overly sensitive to the slightest of changes in what was considered normal. Plus, he had long ago developed that sixth sense that allowed him to know, without knowing how he knew, that something was wrong. Or he was in danger. Or there was another presence nearby.

He had gotten the feeling that something was amiss almost immediately. Petunia was never a great liar, he didn't have to be a veteran spy or legillemens to know when Petunia was hiding something. She had obviously tried to get Severus to drop the issue with the boy and leave, which only made him more determined than before. Which seriously sucked because now he was stuck in the most obnoxious, frilly, sterile, normal living room that he had ever had the misfortune to experience. He'd rather be at one of the Dark Lord's meetings. Those were at least devoid of lace doilies.

When he had entered the room, he noticed the pictures immediately. He would have been the worst spy ever to not have. They were everywhere. But what struck him, aside from the fact that Petunia had apparently birthed an actual pig (he'd always assumed it would have been a horse), was that other that the mustached walrus that was evidently her 'husband', there was no evidence of a second boy. And he meant none. If he didn't know better, he'd assume that only the three Dursley's occupied the house. Which left Severus with a bad feeling.

As he sat on the patterned couch (he was surprised it was wrapped in plastic), pondering the strangeness, he heard it. Petunia was making a racket in the kitchen but it was muffled, allowing his famous ears to pick up the faint but distinct sounds of-

There was either another person in the immediate vicinity, or they had mice. Since Severus figures no mouse would want to get within 50 meters of any of the Dursleys, he assumed it was the former. Furrowing his brow, he concentrated on the sound. Whomever they were, they were making a conscious effort to make as little noise as possible. If Severus had not been …well, Severus, he would have missed it completely.

He cast a silencing charm towards to the kitchen to hear better. Getting up quietly, he stepped slowly towards the sounds. He soon found himself standing in front of a boot cupboard. Crouching down, he listened.

There! The sound of someone breathing, and the rustle of clothes as they moved. Confused more than anything, Severus grabbed the latch and pulled the door open.

The door to his cupboard was suddenly pulled wide open. Boy jumped back in surprise, clutching his toys in his hands to hide them from view. He blinked at the sudden light, having already gotten used to the darkness of his cupboard. Crouching in front of the cupboard, filling the small doorway, was a dark man.

Not to say that he was dark, physically or spiritually. In fact, he was rather pale, almost unnaturally so. Rather, he wore dark clothing, black mostly, which went with his black hair and black eyes. Which were staring at Boy blankly. Boy stared back, trying not to breathe. His heart was lodged somewhere in his throat.

He had no idea what this man (who was probably the owner of the Voice) wanted but Boy knew only one thing at that moment. He had broken the number one rule. Don't Be Seen.

They were going to kill him.

Severus stared down at the small creature. His first thought had been to wonder where Petunia had gotten a house-elf. But as he studied the cupboards occupant, who was obviously terrified to have been caught and was sitting perfectly still, curled up in a tiny ball, bright green eyes opened as wide as they could. The – boy, yes it was a child – had a disgusting mop of dark hair that fell haphazardly down his face, covering a fair portion of it. And 'mop' was truly an appropriate likeness since the hair that was obviously unwashed for quite some time, years probably, had begun to clump together in what could almost be considered as dread-locks. He was wearing what looked to be a very old, oversized shirt that fit like a short dress and was so threadbare as to be immodest. Severus couldn't even begin to guess its original color.

The boy had no trousers, his thin legs curled up protectively in front of him, his probably equally thin arms tucked behind them. They looked like little more that sticks. The skin of his feet was scarred and calloused. Judging by the shape, Severus would hazard a guess that this child had never worn shoes before in his life. The rest of the skin, visible to Severus from the light filtering around him to illuminate the dismal scene before him, at first glance looked to be tan, but he could tell that it was not the sun that had darkened the skin, but years of unwashed filth that had seeped into the pores and stained the very pigments.

And the smell. Severus' admittedly large nose was as average as the next at smelling, but he didn't need it to smell the very poignant stench of unwashed body, and sickness, and stale bodily fluids. He didn't bother looking at the rest of the cupboard. It was obvious that this boy was not just hiding in here. This was his room.

His mood and thoughts (and eyes although he wasn't consciously aware of it) became noticeably darker as he simply squatted there, absorbing all the visible information available. The terrified eyes, the obvious abuse and neglect, the bruises…

Oh yes, Severus could see the distinct bruises that littered the boy's legs. There were a fair number of scars from who-knows-what as well. It took all he had to remain in control. A lifetime of practicing said control, and several years in a war where losing control meant death, helped.

But not by much.

Severus drew a deep breath. Through his mouth so that he wouldn't gag from the stench. Merlin, that really wasn't helping. He could taste it.

He closed his eyes, making sure his occlumency barriers were erect and unshakeable. Once he was convinced of their stability, he opened his eyes to look at the boy. Who hadn't moved a muscle. Was he breathing? Yes, there was a slight movement as his chest expanded and deflated. Probably a tad too fast to be calm breathing but Severus really couldn't blame him.

Schooling his face in a completely neutral expression that belied nothing, he spoke softly. "Hello, little one. My name is Severus Snape. I've been sent to get you." Well, to check up on him more than anything. Really, this was just supposed to be a routine visit, make sure the boy hadn't been attacked by rogue Death Eaters and then be home before his cauldron completely cooled down. Those plans were shot. Severus couldn't leave him here even one second longer. This really was all Albus' fault.

"Hello, little one. My name is Severus Snape. I've been sent to get you." Boy didn't know what to make of that. 'Get him'? 'Sent'? Who sent him? Was he taking Boy away from here? Boy quickly moved away from that line of thinking. Best not get hopes up for unreasonable expectations. Ma'am obviously didn't send him. Probably not Sir, either, otherwise Ma'am wouldn't have been so rude to him. And would have called Boy out immediately. But no one else knew about Boy. Right? Or was there someone else that knew about Boy, knew about his life and what he endured and was taking him away?

No, bad Boy, don't get your hopes up. Nothing good ever happens to you.

While he was mentally berating himself, he almost missed the hand that reached in towards him. Seeing movement without registering what it was, Boy flinched back, trying to curl up smaller. The hand stilled but didn't withdraw. It was palm up, fingers slightly extended. Boy knew that sign. That meant, 'Give Me What You Have Now.' All he had was his little green men. Saddened by the loss but trying not to show it, he slowly brought his own hands out and dropped the toys in the outstretched palm before yanking them back quickly. Sometimes the hand would snatch at Boy when he was giving over whatever item he had, and pull him closer. To hit him easier without having to reach.

His green eyes dropped, depressed to have his only toys taken away. He'd been so good about hiding them from Them, too. He'd had them for years now. He watched as the hand withdrew and the man – Snape he had said – looked at the toys, his face giving away nothing.

Severus was confused. Why did he give him his toys? These were obviously ones that had been rescued from probably the garbage. They were horribly deformed, probably the after effects of exposure to high temperatures. Most likely an open flame. Signs of a budding sociopath in Severus' opinion. He didn't think this was a gesture of good-will from the boy. Ah, Severus realized. He misinterpreted my body language. Most likely from never having been offered a helping hand before. Resisting the urge to sigh in anger and sadness, he shook his head and held out the hand with the deformed toys to the boy again, this time with verbal clarification.

"I don't want your toys, child." He kept his voice low and calm, like speaking to a frightened animal. Severus found small children and animals had more in common that people liked to admit. "You may keep them. They are yours." The boy's eyes which had been downcast in frustrated depression, suddenly snapped up to look at him, wary confusion in place. Severus resisted the urge to jerk back. Those eyes were like staring into a soul. He had never seen such innocence. Granted, his experience with children began at the age of 11 on up. Still, there was almost a magical quality to the eyes.

The boy didn't take back to the toys right away. He looked from the man's face to the still outstretched palm then back again. He was obviously calculating the likelihood that it was a trick, suspicious that Severus meant harm of some kind. Severus was feeling very peculiar feelings in his heart, like little pin-pricks. And anger. Mostly anger. He kept that on a very tight leash.

"Go on, boy. Take them." Slowly, cautiously, obviously waiting for some sign that showed Severus' ill will. Then, quick as a striking snake, the boy snatched the toys back and pressed himself further into the wall, clutching his prize in his hands. His wide, green eyes stared at the older man, waiting for his reaction.

Realizing that he would have to take this much slower than he first realized (and squashing the mounting anger), Severus slowly withdrew his hand, not wanting to make any sudden movements that would startle the boy.

"I wanted to speak with you, little one." His voice as calm as possible. Honestly, he should get a freakin' medal for acting. He was positive he'd been hit with a blood-boiling curse. "Will you come out?" The boy was looking down at the returned toys with an unreadable expression. Slowly, he looked up into Severus' eyes.

Going by instinct, Severus stood up, knees protesting their extended period of stress, and took a step back. For almost a full minute, he simply waited, inwardly doubting himself but outwardly keeping up his calm façade.

He was rewarded. A thin, almost skeletal hand reached out, gripping the framework. In the light, the sheer layer of filth was even more pronounced. He wasn't sure how they managed to keep the smell contained. Slowly, with eyes never leaving the older man, the child emerged from his 'room', standing pressed against the wall as if to distance himself, just in case. Severus made no attempt to get closer.

He nodded solemnly. "Thank you for your consideration." Green eyes widened in shock. Probably for being thanked. Taking a deep breath, he decided to just dive right in. "My name is Severus Snape. I am a professor at a prestigious boarding school. It is the same school your own parents attended. You have been enrolled practically since birth. I was sent by the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, to check on you." He paused, gaging the boy's expression. Stunned shock was the only emotion visible. Unsure exactly where to go from here, He decided to just wing it. "Due to the nature of your… living condition, I have made an executive decision." Severus wondered why he was being so completely honest. Probably to hear himself think out loud more than anything. "I have decided that the Dursleys," He tried and failed to keep his anger from his tone when he spoke their name, "are not fit guardians and therefore you will be immediately removed from their home. You will most likely be staying with me since I can't really think of a place right now while I confer with Headmaster Dumbledore to make a more permanent solution. Is that agreeable?"

He took a steadying breath as he waited for an answer. He sincerely hoped the child wouldn't make any kind of fuss. He didn't really have a choice in the matter, but it would save Severus a lot of hassle and headache if he were more amenable. The child was still staring at him, the shock slowly fading as he processed everything. Finally, with such a cautious hope in his far-too-green-to-be-normal eyes that it hurt Severus to look at them, the boy nodded his head. Once.

Severus felt a relief wash through him that he was instantly annoyed with. Drawing himself up, he nodded back curtly. "Right." He said. "Well, get whatever things you have together. I will inform Petunia of the changed circumstances." His eyes darkened with a sadistic glee at the thought of his upcoming 'talk' with Petunia. The boy visibly brightened (but didn't smile which Severus thought odd).

The older man turned on his heel and marched into the kitchen and dining area, not looking to see if the boy had followed his orders. The silencing charm was still on the doorway so when Severus threw open the door, Petunia was taken by complete surprise and gave a screech, almost dropping the handset she'd been using. Before registering who it was, she looked like she was about to start to yell at the interruption. But then she saw the cold fury in Severus' eyes and promptly shut her mouth with an audible 'click'. The door closed behind him, still charmed silent.

"Hang up the phone, Petunia." He spoke softly, using a tone that any of his students knew meant DANGER. "We need to have a quick chat." That single word seemed to convey so much.

Boy wasn't sure to whether to believe the man – Snape he had said – but if it was true, then he wasn't about to be left behind because he wasn't ready when the man left. Everything in him screamed that it was just a ploy, another sick joke like the ones that They would play on him. Get his hopes up that something good would happen only for something far worse to happen. Chances are, the man would be a hundred times worse than Them, that he would beat him every day and tie him up outside like a dog and do horrible things to him. Probably.

Boy collected his meager items – a single change of shirt, just as threadbare and dirty as the one he was currently wearing, his handful of broken toys that he'd nicked from the bin, and his two drawings with his three crayon nubs, found and saved during his chores – and tied them up with his 'blanket'. It was just a child's size sheet that used to be Dudley's. Ma'am had chucked it years ago and since Boy's own sheet had been worn to the point of being nothing more than rags, he'd nicked that too.

He wasn't sure what to do about his food supply. Deciding that he was better safe than sorry, he wrapped the bag carefully in his other shirt before adding it to his other belongings. Nothing except the tiny mattress he'd slept on was left of Boy's time in the cupboard. He wasn't sure whether he'd get to leave or not but if he did, he might be a little sad to never see the cupboard again. It had always been his. A safe place, one that none of Them could fit in so They had always left him alone when he'd been in it.

He exited the cupboard, closing the door carefully for the last time. Maybe. He stood next to it, as still as he could. He didn't want the man to get angry at him for fidgeting while he waited. He knew Their pressure points, what got Them angry or annoyed, what prompted cuffs on the head or beatings or more chores. The man was a new element. And boy knew he should be scared, new that there would be growing pains and that he'd push buttons he wasn't aware for a while before he figured the man out, knew he should be scared and rethinking his desire to leave – but he could feel the thrum of something, something within him that seemed to be urging him to go with the man, listen to the silky voice, trust Severus Snape –

The kitchen door opened with a bang, causing Boy to flinch before he could stop himself. The force of it caused the door to swing shut behind the man as he swept out of the kitchen. Boy could almost see a long black cape billow out behind the man, appearing like some vampire lord. It was strangely fitting. Boy hadn't heard anything from the kitchen when the man had entered, but hadn't thought anything of it. The man seemed more likely to whisper poisoned barbs at a person when angry, rather than Sir's purple-faced shouting.

The man stopped in front of Boy and looked down at him, his expression unreadable. Boy carefully kept his own eyes lowered, knowing that They didn't like it when he stared at Them, and assumed that he was safer assuming the same the Snape.

"Is that everything that you wish to bring? We won't be coming back." The man's tone was as blank as his face. It gave away nothing and made Boy unconsciously shiver at not knowing whether he was in a good mood or not. Boy quickly nodded, being sure to not look directly at the man.

There was a few seconds silence before the man gave a terse "Very well," and swept towards the front door. He paused before opening it. Turning back towards Boy – who had followed at the safe distance of about a meter – he suddenly reached into his coat and pulled out a stick. Boy flinched again. Would the man start the beatings now? How safe was he if he carried a stick around, as if just waiting to smack any disobedient boys?

The man pointed it at Boy who kept deathly still, afraid to even breath. Then suddenly Boy was covered in a long coat, one that reached his ankles. It was so warm and soft, like the towels fresh from the dryer. The man lowered the stick to his bare feet and as suddenly as the coat had appeared, shoes appeared on his feet. Boy marveled at both, never having worn shoes before nor a coat. The man tucked the magic stick back in his own coat.

"That will have to do until we get you some proper clothes. Though first we'll have to clean you up. You are long overdue for a bath. Come." He gestured towards the stunned boy and opened the door. Boy practically ran after the man, the cupboard, Them, and his entire life at Number 4, Privet Drive already forgotten in the wake of the dark man and his magic coat-and-shoe-giving stick.