Chapter 1: Pleas

Draco,

Why aren't you returning my letters? I haven't received a single letter in the four days I've been here – not from Theo or Blaise or Millicent or even you, and we promised to write each other, didn't we? Did I do something wrong? I'm scared, Draco. Every day I spend here without an answer, it seems to me, more and more, that first year was all a dream and I'll wake up in a minute locked in the cupboard again and if that's the case then the Dursleys were right and I'm really a freak after all I mean who's crazy enough to dream up such a thing

please send me a letter, draco, anything to just let me know you're hearing me

i know i said it wouldnt be so bad, and its not, but i cant stay here anymore

whatever ive done, im sorry

please, come get me

The quill fell limp in Harry's hand, and he stared at the words he'd written, inhaling sharply. To see his thoughts like that, out on paper… He shut the pain out and scoffed, cursing his own weakness.

Bloody hell, I'm not five anymore.

Friends, he thought bitterly. What a joke.

In a fit of blinding anger, Harry snarled, squeezing the quill so hard it snapped. He hissed in pain as it pierced skin, and scowling at it in betrayal he flung it at the wall. From her cage in the corner, Hedwig hooted, looking concerned. Harry forced a smile. At this point, the snowy owl was the only thing anchoring him.

"I'm fine, Hedwig. Just being stupid, is all."

Hedwig hooted again, and Harry's lip twitched. It sounded like she agreed with him.

"Boy!" a voice thundered from downstairs.

Harry rolled his eyes; he couldn't believe he still had to deal with this. He pushed his chair back, his eyes narrowed at the smudged and blotted parchment. Sighing, he scrunched it up and tossed it into the bin – that letter would not see daylight past these four walls.

"Don't make me come up there, boy!"

"I'm coming, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered, testily.

His uncle was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking bigger than ever. He didn't scare Harry though, not anymore; after Voldemort, everything else paled in comparison.

"What," Harry demanded, knowing he was pushing it, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Uncle Vernon wasn't a fast man, not by any means, but Harry was caught off guard. It was the first time a hand had come flying at him in a year, and he hadn't yet become accustomed to ducking. The backhand caught Harry full on the face and he jerked, almost slamming into the wall.

"I'll have none of your cheek under my roof, boy," Uncle Vernon growled.

Harry put a hand to his lip and winced as it came away bleeding.

Damn, Harry thought, knowing that it would bruise.

Harry glared, but Uncle Vernon raised his hand, and Harry shrank back – he wasn't about to go looking for another one.

"Sorry," he muttered, knowing he'd brought it upon himself.

Harry had the irrational urge to laugh – well, he certainly missed having me around.

Steadying himself, Harry wiped the blood off on his shirt. It mattered little; Aunt Petunia had never asked questions anyway.

"Give me your bloody stick," Vernon grunted, his beady eyes aimed at Harry nastily. "The Masons will be over tonight, and I won't stand for any of your funny business."

Harry rose to his full height, internally snorting. The man was dreaming if he thought Harry would simply hand over his wand. It was safe in his trunk upstairs, and safe there it would remain.

"You're not having it, sir," Harry stated, and his uncle looked stumped by the blatant defiance.

Uncle Vernon lunged for Harry, but this time, Harry was quicker, rushing up the stairs.

"I don't think you realise, Uncle Vernon, just how dangerous my bloody stick can be for a Muggle," Harry drawled, in an imitation of Draco. "Men have found themselves on the wrong end of a wand, and they were wizards."

He fixed a challenging stare on Uncle Vernon.

"You're welcome to try, though."

The man hesitated, and Harry knew he'd won. Vernon Dursley was a coward, and that fact would never change, much to Harry's satisfaction. It made him that much easier to exploit.

"Fine, have it your way. But you'd better stay in your room–"

"Making no sound and pretending that I don't exist," Harry finished.

"Interrupt me again, boy, and your bird gets it," he threatened. "I still have the shotgun."

Harry jerked out a nod, knowing the man had no qualms making good on them.

"Don't bother coming down for dinner tonight," Uncle Vernon said, dismissing Harry.

Harry sighed, but took comfort in the fact that he had a stash of food hidden away, under a loose floorboard. The Trolley Lady had looked at him oddly when he'd purchased such a horde, but she hadn't said anything – and there was the problem, wasn't it?

Flopping down on the bed, Harry wondered if Dumbledore knew what really went on here (of all people to know the full extent of things, it'd be him) – and made him come back, anyway. In all honesty, Harry wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. And being Slytherin probably hadn't helped his chances, either.

Sometimes, in the darkest of nights, he wondered what it'd be like if he had chosen Gryffindor instead.

Merlin, I hate it here, he thought, staring glumly at the ceiling.

Hedwig, perhaps sensing his depressive mood, flew over to him. Hooting, she nudged him under the chin.

"It's nothing, Hedwig," he soothed, stroking her feathers. "I shouldn't have set him off."

Hedwig tilted her head, studying Harry with what he thought was a critical expression for an owl.

"I know, but it won't get much worse than this," Harry whispered. "Draco's… he's supposed to come take us to the Manor."

Try as he might, Harry just could not put that matter to rest, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

They'd better have a good reason, or I swear to Merlin…

Hedwig nipped at his ear, as though she knew where his thoughts were going, and had taken it upon herself to scold him. Harry laughed, the tension draining out of him, and drew the covers around himself. Comforted by Hedwig's presence, he fell into one of the best sleeps he'd had in months.

If only that sleep was an indication of only good things to come.

When Harry awoke, it was to the sound of a car door slamming. He yawned, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. He glanced at Hedwig's cage, and seeing it empty, smiled.

Well, he thought, at least one of us will have a full stomach tonight.

A creak sounded in the corner, and he whipped around, to realise that someone – no, something – was in his room. He startled, adrenaline rocketing through his body, and automatically reached for the wand by his bedside.

Huge green eyes bugged out at him from the darkness.

"What are you?" Harry demanded in a hiss, hearing the voices of the Masons float upstairs.

Perhaps it sounded rather rude, but that wasn't the first thing on his mind at the moment.

The creature stepped out of the shadows cast by the cabinet, bowing so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes, and it didn't look much of a threat – but his grip on the wand only tightened.

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, Harry Potter, sir… Such an honour it is…"

Harry hissed at it to shut up, sure that if Uncle Vernon heard, or saw, any of this, he'd get much worse than no dinner.

"Why are you here?" he asked, forcefully, still unwilling to put away his wand. "And be quiet about it, please."

It – Dobby, stared at him in undisguised admiration, going almost cross-eyed.

"Please?" Dobby wailed, bursting into very noisy tears. "Never… never ever…"

"Dobby, stop it!" Harry grunted.

He heard noises falter downstairs and made to reach for the elf, wanting little more than to strangle it. Dobby jumped back, banging into the wall, and Harry jumped out of the bed, clamping his hand over its mouth.

"If you don't shut up, Dobby, I'll have to hex you," he whispered directly into Dobby's large, bat-like ear, as the noises downstairs stopped completely.

"Just the cat," Harry heard Aunt Petunia's faint and feeble assurances.

"You've got me in chest-deep trouble, Dobby," Harry sighed. "Just… tell me what you're here for, alright, then leave."

Dobby nodded furiously and 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 just weeks ago… that Harry Potter escaped yet again."

Harry nodded, though his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears, and yet –

"Who are you, really, Dobby?"

Dobby ignored it, shaking his head, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing.

"Harry Potter is not like other Slytherins…" Dobby said, rocking on his feet. "Harry Potter is good, and Harry Potter … Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger."

Huh.

Harry sat back, thinking. A moment passed, then –

"Okay, I won't go back."

Dobby blinked, looking as if he hadn't expected such an answer. Then he beamed, sniffling.

"Harry Potter is a good, good wizard," he sputtered. "If sir be… if sir be needing anything, call for Dobby. Yes, yes… you is safe here, Harry Potter."

Harry almost felt bad, but he supposed it was worth it, having Dobby finally leave him alone. He was wrong, anyway – he wasn't safe here. Dobby bowed once more, and just as suddenly – and silently – as he'd come, the house-elf vanished, leaving something package-like behind. Harry edged closer, squinting, and when he realised what it was, he couldn't help the noise of disbelief that escaped him. If he ever saw that elf again…

Harry shook his head, tearing into the letters.

As the front door clicked shut, the Masons finally leaving after almost two hours, Harry dropped his wand into the space under the loose floorboard, not wanting to risk the chance of his uncle laying a finger on it. He shoved the stack letters deep into the cabinet, just in time for his door to slam open.

Harry had been expecting it, but at the sight of his uncle, red-faced and panting, he cowed instinctively.

"What did I say, boy?" Uncle Vernon shouted, spittle flying.

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry mumbled, a touch nervous, for the first time in a long time.

Uncle Vernon stormed in, fisting the collar of his shirt.

"Didn't you understand me?" he spat, right in Harry's face.

Harry nodded frantically, but it was no use. He flinched as the fist came at him, hitting him square in the nose. Harry heard a crack, and the violent spray of blood seemed to shock his uncle into releasing him. Harry crashed to the floor, the hand he'd placed to break his fall bending awkwardly beneath him, and he groaned.

"You're lucky I didn't lose my business deal," Uncle Vernon said, and stalked out, slamming the door again behind him.

Harry grimaced, slowly getting to his feet. He dragged himself over to his trunk, digging around for a cloth to stem the flow of blood. All he could find, though, were school robes.

Ah, whatever.

Pressing the robes to his nose, Harry whimpered as pain shot through his entire head. He coughed, wheezing, tasting the coppery tang in his mouth. He stepped slowly towards the window, rolling his wrist as he did so, trying to shake away the pulsing along his right arm.

"Hedwig," he called, and even to him, it sounded incomprehensible.

(If Hedwig had heard that, well, he'd just love her more.)

He knew now, why Draco or any of his friends hadn't been answering, but this burden wasn't for them to bear. Harry pulled a piece of parchment towards him, wincing. Resting it on the windowsill, his hand shook as he scribbled, the words almost illegible.

Professor,

I need help.

A/N:

This is the sequel to "Potter in Green", if you haven't already realised. If you really want, I guess you could start reading the series from here, but things won't really, fully, make sense unless you've read the first fic, so I suggest you head there first. And if you're here from "Potter in Green", well, I am so grateful to have you back, and I hope that this one will be just as good - but hopefully even better.

Since Harry's a Slytherin, the past has gone differently, and so will the future. With this in mind, this is how I envision the summer before second year to play out, and from here on out, in certain ways, the plots diverge significantly from canon.

I hope I made it believable, at least. Either way, it was a joy to write - I don't think I've smashed out a chapter this quickly in such a long time. (It only took three hours, if you were wondering.)

Thanks for reading, and I hope you'll come back. Please leave a like and review; they mean the world to me.

Until next time.