All Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

This story is a response to another challenge fest at Potions and Snitches.

2010 Challenge Fest Entry. Response to Another Potions Accident by Ebbtide.

I'm sorry for falling behind on my other two stories, but I promise I will update soon.

Many thanks to my wonderful beta, ObsidianEmbrace, and to my good friend Kristeh. Both are always there to offer words of support and encouragement, and bounce ideas off of.

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Vincent Crabbe smushed the last bite of his chocolate-sprinkled cupcake into his already full mouth, and stared at the blond-haired boy in confusion.

"But what does Granger have to do with this?"

Draco scowled. "Just do as you're told, Crabbe. Now come on," he said, grabbing the larger boy's forearm, and dragging him along down the corridor, towards the Potions classroom.

Goyle scuttled along after them, dropping his satchel in the process. His face flushed a deep scarlet, as he attempted to bend down to scoop up his quills and parchment, which had spilled from his bag.

"Goyle," Draco hissed, "you are such an imbecile." He rolled his eyes and loosened his grip on Crabbe's arm, as he inconspicuously waved his wand and returned the contents back into Goyle's bag. Magic was not actually allowed in the corridors, dormitories, or anywhere other than under the direct supervision of a Professor. Most students, however, flouted the rule, and most of the Professors turned a blind eye to it, with the exception of Snape.

Managing Slytherin House—a House comprised of over eighty-percent of Death Eater's children—presented many challenges. It required a strong Head of House, who could provide a balance of firm discipline, an understanding of the obstacles and prejudices that the children of his House would face, not only with students from the other three Houses, but with the other Professors as well, and a shoulder to cry on. These children also had to contend with strong influence and pressure from their own families to join the Dark Lord's ranks, when they became of age.

They could be an unruly lot, but many were also misunderstood and lost children. Many of the Death Eater parents, in particular, could be harsh and abusive if their high expectations were not met. Some were introduced to Dark Magic at a young age, and lacked any moral foundation from their parents.

If there was one man who could fully provide that balance of firm guidance, understanding and a strong shoulder to lean on, it was Severus Snape.

Though none of his House knew where his real loyalties lay, he managed to keep them in line, and safe, while making them feel special and favoured, by always providing them with structure and dignity. He would never reprimand one of his Snakes in front of other students, or even in front of other Professors, but he expected obedience, respect and rigid adherence to his House rules.

One of Snape's strictest rules, as a matter of fact, was that his students were not allowed to use magic in the hallways, under the pretence that it was for their own protection, since Slytherins always bore the burden of guilt in any altercation that might occur between the Houses.

Secretly, Snape knew how volatile his Snakes were, and he had to contain them as much as he could, to avoid mayhem in the hallways.

"Come on, you two," Draco snapped. "You remember Snape's warning last night about being late to class again."

"So why am I doing this again?" Crabbe whispered.

"Because I told you to," Draco said coldly. "Now be quiet," he shushed the larger boy.

Draco, Vincent and Gregory slipped in the door just as the bell rang.

A raised eyebrow, and a twitch in his jaw was the only sign of Snape's disapproval; that was enough for the three boys to understand Snape's unspoken warning.

They slipped quietly into their respective seats; Goyle and Crabbe sat together, at the table next to Hermione Granger and Parvati Patil. Draco sat down next to Pansy, nodding conspiratorially at Crabbe as he did so.

As usual, the minute that Snape's sweeping robes crossed the threshold, all chatter ceased, so Draco dared not chance a word to his House-mate, under his Head of House's watchful eye.

With a swish of his wand, Snape's spidery scrawl appeared on the board in the front of the classroom.

After ensuring that the instructions were written out to his satisfaction, Snape turned around to address the class with a stern expression.

"You have one hour to complete the potion. We will be preparing a variation on a sixth year potion, called Veritaserum-"

Black eyes glittered with malice, and every head in the classroom spun around as the creaking of hinges echoed off the walls of the silent classroom.

"Mr. Potter, how very nice of you to join us," Snape said in a dangerous voice. "Five points from Gryffindor-" he traced his thin lips with his long potion-stained fingernail, "-and...I believe detention is in order as well."

Harry gritted his teeth, and slipped into the seat beside Ron; as he did so, his bandaged arm brushed against the sharp corner of the desk, and he winced. Harry shivered when he remembered the thin edge of Wormtail's blade slicing through his tender skin-and Voldemort's high-pitched cackle, as it sent shivers dancing up his spine.

Draco snickered. Serves Saint Potter right, he though maliciously. The prat thought that he could do whatever he wanted, and received praise that he didn't deserve. But it was his little show-off friend that held Draco's attention today. Father had made it very clear that he would not tolerate anything less than him being in the top of his year, but time and time again, that little Mudblood showed him up. Well, not this time, he vowed. If Crabbe did what he was told, the perfect little know-it-all, would look like a fool, when her Potion turned a muddy brown, instead of crystal clear and odourless as was called for, making her finally look incompetent. He could not, and would not, face his father's wrath again this term, when he failed to meet his high expectations.

Draco held his breath as he saw Crabbe lean over. He swiped at the stray strands of blond hair, plastered to his brow. He loosened his tie slightly; the heavy scent of potions fumes hung in the air, tickling his nostrils.

Draco looked down in satisfaction as he ground up his Spine of Lionfish into a fine powder, and added it to the potion. Next, he added one ounce of Dragon blood, one Puffer-Fish Eye, and prepared to add the last ingredient—the Belladonna. As the potion continued to brew for its allotted time period, Draco felt a surge of relief; his potion looked perfect; the texture, the colour—Professor Snape would not be able to find fault with it. Granger's potion, however...well, let's just say, that for once Snape would have valid reason to bring the insufferable know-it-all down a peg.

He was anxious to see the smug look of superiority wiped off of Granger's face, when she realised that her perfect potion was anything but. Draco tingled with anticipation as he imagined the look of horror that would wash over the Mudblood's face, when the swishing of Snape's robes would announce that he was coming over to grade them, and that it was too late to salvage her ruined potion.

"Now, I assume that everyone is adding the final ingredient, and then we will allow it to brew for a full-moon cycle to ensure the efficacy of the potion," Snape's silky voice cut through Draco's dark thoughts, "however, I will be grading you on the preparatory stages of the potion, as the brewing cycle will not improve the formulation, for those—" and here he smiled an ugly, twisted smile, while staring straight at Harry, "—incompetent students who continue to produce sub-standard, mediocre results."

Harry dug his nails into the desktop. He wanted to tell the greasy git that by the looks of his clumpy, greasy hair hanging down his ugly face, his shampoo was sub-standard and mediocre.

Draco rotated the ladle clockwise, one more time before he flicked up his golden eyelashes, just in time to see Vincent grab something from his table that definitely did not look like the harmless Doxy eggs that he had told Crabbe to add to Granger's potion to make it turn a muddy brown. No! Those looked like Ashwinder eggs...and those would definitely do a lot more than turn the potion dark.

It was like watching a film in slow motion; three things happened in succession-Draco shoved Pansy to the side; a scowl appearing on her pug face, as she was knocked into the cauldron, sloshing potion down the sides in the process; as the clear liquid hit the flame, it hissed and popped. Goyle, who was slightly more cognizant of his surroundings than Crabbe, had noticed Crabbe's blunder, and attempted to grab his mate's pudgy arm, a second too late.

Harry, who, because of his honed Quidditch skills, was trained to detect the slightest movement, had caught out of the corner of his eye, Crabbe's hand hovering over Hermione's cauldron at the next table, and also shoved his partner Ron aside. Harry was not perhaps as skilled in potions as Draco was, but he knew from experience, that it did not bode well when a Slytherin was dropping something into your cauldron.

Snape, in the meantime, had spun around in a swirl of flapping black robes, to witness his best and worst students streaking across the room in panicked desperation. Harry, being the smaller of the two, and faster because of his years spent dodging his uncle and cousin's flailing fists, unfortunately reached the scene first.

Draco's first thought when he saw Potter reach Granger's cauldron, just as it was about to explode, and shove her out of the way, was..."What an idiot Gryffindor," and Harry's last thought before he lost consciousness after he'd been thrown three feet across the room, from the force of the explosion, was how very large, and hairy Snape's nostrils were, as the image of the irate Potions Master, hovered blurrily over him.

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Harry struggled to open his heavy eyelids; bright lights from overhead made it feel as though a thousand daggers were stabbing his eyes. His head was pounding and he generally felt like he'd been run over by a Hippogryph.

"Harry...how are you feeling?" asked a soft voice.

He felt a small hand squeeze his gently, and as he struggled to open his protesting eyelids, he saw Hermione's concerned face leaning closer to him.

"Wow mate, I'm glad that you're okay. I thought you were a goner for sure."

Hermione scowled up at her tall, freckled friend. "Ron! Can't you be more sensitive?"

Ron turned red. "Sorry Harry. I meant, I'm glad that you're not dead. I mean, uh-"

"That's enough Ron," Hermione huffed.

"What he means, Harry, is that we were worried about you, and that we're glad that you're alright."

"What happened?" Harry croaked; his throat felt like sandpaper, and pain jabbed at his temples, as he pushed himself up on his wobbly arms.

Hermione gently pushed him back onto the bed. "Stay there Harry until Madame Pomfrey comes."

"Ron, why don't you go get her," she said, nodding towards the Mediwitch's office.

Ron nodded, and left them alone.

"What happened Hermione? I feel like hell."

Hermione sighed.

"Well, you see...there was a little accident."

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Ron's hand froze on the handle to madame Pomfrey's door.

"I'm afraid the effects of this potion on Potter are simply unknown Headmaster."

Ron pressed his ear up closer to the door.

"But surely you have an idea Severus," Dumbledore's soft voice insisted.

"Normally, true Veritaserum takes a full-moon cycle to brew-for the effects to be at maximum potency, however...with the introduction of a volatile ingredient, such as Ashwinder Eggs, it is possible that the effects of the Veritaserum could be a little skewed; perhaps more potent, or varying the truth-compelling effects of the potion. It is too soon to tell how they will affect Potter."

"Even though he didn't actually ingest the potion orally, he could be affected?"

"Albus, the potion was absorbed through the pores of Potter's skin, fumes breathed in through the throat and nostrils. I would wager that the effects on Potter will be more pronounced than if he'd ingested the recommended phial orally. And the boy's small stature does not bode well."

"So, Harry will be compelled to tell the truth?"

"Potter will not only be compelled to answer questions posed to him truthfully, but he may well feel a strong compunction to reveal his deepest secrets against his own will. In other words, Potter could lose all sense of inhibition and speak whatever thoughts come to his mind. He may lose all power of reasoning and forethought.

Ron's jaw fell. "Oh no," he thought, in horror. "This was bad. Very bad."

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Harry's hand hesitated on the door to the Potion's classroom. This was the first time he'd been back since, the accident, and quite frankly, he wasn't looking forward to it. The incident leading up to the unfortunate series of events that followed, were rather vague and somewhat confusing.

Harry remembered feeling the force of the explosion, but not what caused it. He'd heard rumours that Crabbe and Malfoy were the culprits and that they'd actually received detention till the end of the term. Wonders never ceased; Snape had actually punished his Slytherins. Dumbledore probably gave him an ultimatum, he thought bitterly. After all...purposely introducing a volatile ingredient into another student's cauldron, with the purpose of intending harm, was surely grounds for expulsion? Dumbledore probably told Snape that he'd better discipline the culprits, or they'd be suspended or expelled-at least Harry imagined that that was what had happened. Let's face it, it was no skin off Snape's back, that his most hated student could have been seriously injured, and Snape was probably gloating that he'd finally found a way to force Veritaserum down Harry's throat.

Harry released his hand from the doorknob, and swiped his moist palms against his robes. Since the accident, he mouth had gone amok; he wasn't anxious to spend any more time with Snape than was necessary, for fear of what he'd say. After all, Harry had many secrets, and not all of them involved him sneaking off to Hogsmeade under his invisibility cloak, or Dobby stealing Gillyweed from Snape's Potion storeroom. No, some secrets, were best left hidden.

Harry forced himself to grab the door-handle, and with a large gulp of air, entered the classroom. Harry felt the heat creep up the back of his neck, as curious eyes stared at him.

They had probably heard the rumours that he had no control over his mouth. It was like his lips were disconnected from his brain, and everyone was rather annoyed with him.

Harry looked around the classroom for an empty table. Just as he was about to sit down next to his best buddy Ron, Harry flinched as Ron's book-bag was slammed down with a thud, on the chair beside him, making it perfectly clear that Harry was to find a seat elsewhere. Geesh...Ron had no sense of humour. They were only plastic spiders that Seamus had placed in Ron's bed, after Harry had revealed Ron's deepest secret fear to the whole fourth-year Gryffindor Boy's dormitory.

A glare from Hermione told Harry that she'd not forgiven him either for revealing her little mishap with Polyjuice potion in second year. Harry looked imploringly at good old easy-going Neville; the boy lifted his chin up at Harry and turned his head away; Harry hadn't really meant any harm when he accidently tripped on Trevor's box, releasing the toad into the path of a hungry Crookshanks; Honestly, Neville was just over-reacting. After all, Hermione did come up with a spell that expelled the contents of Crookshank's stomach before any real harm could be done, hadn't she?

Ron and his big mouth. Frankly, Harry should be the one who was upset. At least when he had revealed Ron's secret, it was a by-product of the Veritaserum-Ron on the other hand, revealed Harry's part in Trevor's near-death experience, as revenge for Harry's loose lips.

Harry looked wildly around the room. The only free seat was next to Draco Malfoy. Oh Merlin! He was not going to sit beside that slimy Slytherin-he just wasn't!

"Potter!" Snape barked. "Stop standing there like an idiot and take a seat beside Mr. Malfoy."

Harry scowled at his professor, and then he scowled at Malfoy, but he bit his tongue-literally, to stop himself from telling the greasy git to go to hell.

Harry glared at Malfoy, who surprisingly kept his mouth shut.

This was the last class of the term, but of course Snape was determined to make them all work till the last minute.

"Instructions are on the board as usual. There will be no idle chit-chat, and you will each do your share of the work," Snape said while his obsidian eyes were pinned directly on Harry.

Harry gritted his teeth. He wasn't sure how he managed to fight the compulsion to answer back; maybe it had something to do with the sting that blossomed from where he had pinched himself on his arm, to shut himself up.

Harry managed to focus on the potion he was supposed to be preparing, and even managed to work amicably, well as amicably as was possible when partnered with Draco Malfoy.

Harry worked in silence side-by-side with Malfoy, until Snape pronounced that time was up, and he began to sweep through the isles, his long robes, rippling behind him; he sneered and insulted the other House's attempts at Potion-making, while lavishing praise on his Slytherins.

When Snape reached Harry and Draco's table, he peered down his long nose at the perfect potion simmering in the Cauldron.

"Well done Mr. Malfoy-" He turned his dark eyes on Harry and sneered, "-especially considering that you undoubtfully did all the work by yourself."

Harry clenched his fists.

Snape leant in a little closer. "You're just like your father Potter-lazy, spoilt; basking in undeserved praise and glory."

The blood was pounding in Harry's ears; he could almost imagine that steam was billowing out them.

Snape bared his yellow teeth. "He too enjoyed a privileged life-"

It was like someone uncorked a plug.

"You think my life is so privileged, you overgrown bat," Harry screamed.

Snape's lips thinned; his eyes glinted dangerously. "How dare you Potter-twenty points from Gryffindor," he said, as though his teeth were grinding on glass.

Harry slammed his hand down on the desk. "You think I care about your damned points? You can shove your precious points up your arse."

Gasps of shock echoed throughout the classroom.

"You think you know everything? You think that I'm some spoilt prince? You think that I live a privilged life?" he spat, as he pulled at his shirt; the buttons flew off, snapping in succession as they landed on the dungeon wall.

Harry jabbed at the large faded scar on his stomach where the skin was raised. "This is where my aunt threw the frying pan with the bacon in it at me, because I'd burnt Dudley's breakfast."

"Oh, and you see here," Harry said breathlessly, as he traced a thin line down his stomach, "-this is where my cousin threw a glass at me, because I spilt some of his juice on the table..."

"That's enough Potter," Snape said softly.

"Oh is it Professor?" Harry sneered. "I don't think so. You want to see how spoilt I am?"

He rolled up the legs of his trousers, revealing several long faded red stripes down his legs.

"Let me see," he said, pointing to the left leg, "-this one was compliments of my dear uncle's belt, when I landed on top of the house when I was ten-trying to avoid my cousin and his mates, who were trying to beat me up-" He pointed at the other leg; a brittle laugh erupting from his throat, "-and this one was my reward for coming home with better grades than my cousin."

"Oh, and I was so spoilt," he mocked, "that my bedroom was a broom closet until I came to Hogwarts."

Harry turned to Ron. "Why don't you tell everyone how spoilt I am Ron."

Ron's freckles stood out starkly against his pale face, as he stared in disbelief at his friend.

"You remember, don't you Ron, when you and your brothers ripped the bars off my windows in second year?"

Ron nodded slowly.

"Oh, and I just keep food under the floorboards, beneath my bed, for the hell of it. After all," Harry continued in ragged breaths, "spoilt princes don't need to eat do they? Bread and water, sent through a cat-flap in the bedroom door is good enough for Prince Harry."

Harry began to scoop up his books and shove them into his book-bag.

"I'm just a freak you know. I'm just the product of no-good parents who killed themselves in a car-crash."

Harry whipped his head around to look at his professor; a wild look in his eyes.

"Did you know that Professor? Did you know that up until I started at Hogwarts, I had no idea that I was a wizard? That I had no idea that I was famous, or even how my parents had died to save me?"

By the end of his rant, Harry was panting.

He looked around at the pale, shocked faces that stared back at him.

Oh Merlin, he thought, what have I done?

Harry clapped his hand over his mouth, as suddenly the realisation of what he'd just done, hit him. All the secrets that he'd fought so long to keep buried deep inside him, he'd just announced to the whole world.

Now, the Slytherins would really have ammunition to use against him, wouldn't they?

Harry grabbed his book-bag off the desk, and fled out the door.

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Harry ran up the charmed staircase, and through the corridors as fast as he could; his vision was blurred with tears prickling at his eyes, and the jabbing stitches in his side made it hard to breathe.

Thankfully, the Common room and dorm was empty, as everyone was still in class.

Harry stared around at the dorm, with a heavy heart; this was his home, but now he felt exposed...disgraced. How could he face anyone ever again? He didn't want pity, and he certainly didn't want anymore attention drawn to himself.

He could just imagine the headlines; Rita Skeeter would really have a field day with this: "Poor Harry Potter! Is this another ploy to seek attention, or is Harry Potter really abused by his Muggle family?" Her Quick-Quill would flutter back and forth across the parchment, as her malicious hot-pink-glossed lips, delightfully dictated the news that poor Harry Potter was nothing but a pathetic, abused orphan.

Harry stashed all his belongings in his trunk, except for his invisibility cloak; taking one last moment to stare sadly at the portrait of his mum and dad, looking so happy, waving up at him; his heart ached with grief. If only they hadn't died, if only he hadn't been sent to the Dursleys, if only Sirius was a free man...

Harry's throat clogged with emotion, as he placed the picture of his parents in the trunk too. Wasn't it funny how his whole life fit in an scuffed up, three-by-two-by-two foot deep trunk?

Harry carefully and quickly threw the invisibility cloak over himself; he hadn't much time, before the Common room would fill up with students and his friends would be looking for him.

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Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He'd managed to slip by the throngs of students filtering out from their classes, and was breathing heavily, from pulling his trunk down the grassy hill towards Hagrid's hut.

It was a warm, breezy day, and the fluffy white clouds dotted the clear blue skies; birds chirped, crickets croaked and Harry's heart felt heavy. He looked back up at the gilded arches and tall towers of his home for the past four years, and Harry choked back the tears that threatened to fall.

He had seen Hagrid, hand-in-hand with Madame Maxime taking a stroll up towards the castle; an idea had formed in his head.

Hagrid was a regular visitor to the Leaky Cauldron and other such establishments, which meant that he was probably connected to the floo network. Maybe he could use Hagrid's fireplace to floo to London. He had grown up as a Muggle; he could easily blend in. He daren't go anywhere in the Wizarding World-he was too well-known, and word would surely get back to Dumbledore, who would insist on him returning to Hogwarts, and then the Dursleys.

If one thing had been accomplished with Harry's little outburst, it was that speaking about the treatment he'd endured while living with the Dursleys out loud, made him realise how truly horrible these people were, and he really never wanted to go back. But where else could he go? He couldn't go live with the Weasleys; they had too many children of their own, and now that Voldemort had truly returned, Dumbledore would probably insist that he go back to his relatives to ensure his protection with the blood wards.

Harry felt that he didn't belong anywhere; not in the Muggle world, and now that the whole Wizarding world thought that he was a liar and attention-seeker, he felt like an intruder there as well.

Despite his sombre mood, Harry couldn't help the small smile that lifted the corners of his mouth, when he entered Hagrid's hut. Everything was larger than life to accommodate the gentle giant that lived there.

Sadness enveloped him again at the thought the he and his friends would never again sit, sipping tea with Hagrid-slipping their rock-solid cauldron cakes under the table, to Fang. Speaking of which...

Thankfully, Fang seemed to be asleep in the corner, so Harry quietly slipped off his invisibility cloak, and made his way to Hagrid's hearth.

Harry looked up forlornly at the bowl of glittering floo powder sitting uptop the mantlepiece. Oh Merlin, the man was tall!

Harry had to use two hands to pull over the large wooden chair towards the grate; Harry eyed Fang nervously, as the leg of the chair knocked against the enormous, black cauldron sitting next to the Fireplace-the clanging sound echoed off the walls of the hut. Harry held his breath as Fang opened one large droopy eyelid, and slobber dripped down his snout, and sprayed into the air when Fang began shaking his head back and forth; Harry shuddered.

Thankfully, Fang lay his head back down, and immediately began snoring.

Harry gingerly pulled the chair the rest of the way, and climbed up; as he reached a hand up to grab the bowl, he knocked it over; green glitter fluttered to the ground.

Harry's stomach roiled with anxiety, as he peered into the deep glass bowl. Damn! There didn't look like there was enough to get him halfway up the floo, let alone all the way to the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry cupped his hands and began scooping up the powder off the floor and back into the bowl; his Adam's apple began to bob up and down, when he heard voices outside, increasing in volume as they became closer.

Harry grabbed the handle of his trunk; beads of perspiration rolled down his brow as he hurriedly clutched a handful of powder, and stepped inside the grate.

"The Leaky Cauldron," he whispered frantically-throwing the sparkling dust into the air, just as he heard the unmistakable sound of the large metal door-handle rattling.

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Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, when he saw floo powder sprinkled across the floor, and the large chair standing next to the hearth.

"Severus?" Albus laid his arm gently on the younger man's shoulder. "I need you to-"

"It is my fault that Potter went running off. I will go retrieve him, from wherever the idiot boy went running off to."

"Severus!" Albus admonished.

"I apologise Headmaster, but that foolish boy has again put himself and others in danger, when he left the safety of Hogwarts in his vulnerable state."

Albus sent him a reproving look. "Harry is hurting right now Severus. I would have thought that you above anyone else would understand what Harry-"

"Don't!" Severus barked.

How dare the man bring up his past in front of Hagrid. It was bad enough to find out that all his preconceived notions about Potter were wrong; to find out that the boy's childhood could be a carbon-copy of his own, but to have Albus reveal all his secrets that he'd buried so long ago. A sudden thought struck him; that was how Potter must feel. Severus knew that if ever his secrets about his own treatment at the hands of Tobias, were to ever come to light in such a public way, he would have been mortified.

Damned the boy. He hated the fact that he felt a connection to the spoilt brat-that he had something in common with him. But Potter, wasn't the spoilt prince that he thought he was-Severus knew that now. He wished that he didn't know that; oh how Severus wished that he didn't know that-that he could go back to the way things were, where he could freely hate his worst enemy's son. But things would never be the same again...

"Where'dya think he went off ta Professor? Hagrid, asked, lines of worry creasing his eyes.

"We will do a Prior Incantum on the Floo Hagrid. Don't worry; we will find him," Dumbledore said patting the large man on his fore-arm.

Hagrid scowled. "He's a good lad. I knew those Muggles were the worst kind, the minute I laid eyes on 'em. That big lug Dursley, I oughta-"

"Hagrid, we need to hurry if we are to find Harry," Dumbledore said firmly.

Hagrid nodded. "Of course Professor."

Dumbledore swished his wand towards the fireplace, and incanted, "Priori Incantum."

Harry's voice came floating out of the fireplace, echoing through the room; desperation lacing his tone. "The Leaky Cauldron."

Understanding dawned on Dumbledore's face. "Yes...yes, that makes sense. That is where he spent several days last time he ran off."

Severus scowled. "Potter, it seems, has a habit of doing whatever comes to mind, without a thought to the consequences."

Severus narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore.

"I warned you before Albus, that this was a dangerous trait that should have been curbed long ago."

"Severus, you may lecture me later on all my faults, but for the moment, time is of the essence. We must find Harry, before-" his eyes crinkled in concern, "-before, others do," he finished.

Severus grabbed a handful of glittering powder and stepped into the Fireplace. He started to raise his hand, and looked at Dumbledore.

"I will find the boy Albus, and I will bring him back. But when I do Headmaster-" He raised his dark eyes to pin the man with a penetrating stare, "-I expect you to answer me truthfully about how much you knew about Potter's home life."

Dumbledore's blue eyes widened in surprise. "What are you suggesting Severus?"

"I'm suggesting that perhaps you chose to ignore some warning signs."

Dumbledore lowered his eyes.

That was the only answer that Severus needed. "The boy will not be returning to his relatives Albus."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Of course not Severus."

Severus threw the sparkling green powder into the air. "The Leaky Cauldron," he said in a gruff voice.

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Harry rolled out of the fireplace, blackened with soot from head-to-toe.

He breathed a sigh of relief; the pub seemed to be relatively empty. Now he just had to make his way to the back and tap on the wall that separated the Wizarding World from the Muggle World, without being seen.

Harry tapped three times on the bricks, and sucked in a breath as the wall opened up into the streets of London.

He was reminded of first year, as he strolled down the streets of London; he harboured strange looks tagging a large trunk and an owl cage behind him.

Harry's stomach began to rumble, and he was reminded that he'd not eaten for several hours now. He was beginning to have doubts now about his decision to hide in Muggle London. At least in the Wizarding World, he could have gone to Gringotts and withdrawn some gold. Harry pulled out a couple of pounds and a few pence from his pockets.

His stomach growled again, and the smell of food mingling in the air, was making his stomach turn.

Harry stopped outside a brightly lit cafe, that advertised a piece of pie and tea for a pound, seventy-five pence.

As he entered the cafe, a bell tingled above his head, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as the harsh light stabbed at his eyes. He slipped quietly into a booth, and tipped his head, as he felt the heat creep up his neck; every head in the place had turned to stare at him.

A young girl about his age, approached him. Her blond curls spilled down her pretty, pale face, and glossed lips twitched as she blew large bubbles with her chewing gum. To say that she was well endowed was an understatement. Her low-cut, tight tank top squeezed her large breasts together to emphasise her cleavage, and Harry thought that his face was on fire.

Unfortunately, Harry was still under the influence of the potion and couldn't stop himself from running off his mouth once again.

"What can I get you luv?" she asked, leaning down so that her breasts were eye-level with Harry.

"How about a pair of those?" Harry retorted with a crooked grin.

I guess not, Harry thought with a wince, as he was left with only a sting and a red hand-print planted on his cheek.

Harry left the diner with a still-grumbling tummy, and in disgrace. Although, one old-timer winked at him as he slunk out the door with his head down.

Harry ended up buying fish and chips wrapped in newspaper from a street vendor, and sat in an alleyway as he ate.

Harry groaned when he was suddenly surrounded by about fifteen alley cats, eying his fish with sad, pleading eyes and their meows echoing off the dingy brick walls of the old building that he was leaning on.

"Fine," he sighed. He threw the fish in the middle of the alleyway. "I was considering becoming a vegetarian anyway," he said, popping a chip into his mouth.

As the sun set in the distant, smog-filled sky of the city, Harry's head drooped lazily, and his eyelids closed. Harry's hand unconsciously stroked the purring calico that had buried its furry head inside of Harry's jumper.

The seasoned street bum that came upon a slumbering Harry, several hours later scratched his head, at the sight before him.

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Harry woke up as the sun was rising over the horizon; he was shivering and his stomach was protesting from the little nourishment it had received the night before.

I need a job, he thought. Hmm...but who's going to hire a fourteen, soon-to-be-fifteen-year-old? One scrawny, and short, fourteen-year-old. Physical labour was out, but he had plenty of experience cleaning and cooking.

By the middle of the afternoon, Harry was an employed bus-boy at Finnigan's Convenience Store.

Harry worked hard during the day, sweeping and washing the floors and stocking the shelves; by week's end, he'd gotten his first pay. He was looking forward to sleeping on a soft bed, instead of the hard ground; granted he was quite used to sleeping in cramped, cold spaces, after years of living with the Dursleys, but now he had enough to rent a room somewhere.

Problem was though, the small fourteen-year-old look as though he was about eleven-years-old, and everytime he tried to rent a room, the proprietor would either threaten to call social services or the police.

Things were becoming very complicated and not at all like what he'd planned; although if truth be told, he'd not planned this whole thing out very well at all.

The next day as Harry was scrubbing the floorboards, his heart began to ache as he thought about Hogwarts. He missed his friends terribly, and he began to doubt the brilliance of his plan.

With a heavy heart, Harry fell asleep that night, once again on the hard, cold ground, wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm. He felt like a little child, but he couldn't stop the tears from prickling his eyes. Every dream he'd ever have of having a real family-a real home, was always snatched away from him; always just out of reach.

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After work that evening, Harry strolled down the busy street; the sounds of car horns and screeching tires, filling the air. Despite the wad of money clenched in his palm, from the pay he'd just received, Harry felt oddly dissatisfied. The humiliation that he'd felt when his secrets had been revealed, paled in comparison to the ache of loneliness and despair, that clung to him like a tattered old blanket.

Harry, who hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings, bumped into a solid object.

"Oi, what have we got 'ere then?"

Harry's stomach clenched in fear, as he looked up to see that he was surrounded by a group of older boys-about seventeen or eighteen, hair greased back, dressed in leather jackets, and torn jeans; one was sporting a pocket-knife, and held it up threateningly-inches from Harry's face.

He grabbed Harry by the scruff of the neck; pulling him so close that Harry could smell the alcohol on his breath.

He tried to pry the money from Harry's fingers, but Harry arched back.

An ugly scowl appeared on the boy's face.

"Give me that money pipsqueak," he growled.

"Go to hell you asshole," Harry spat.

Harry started gasping when he was pulled up by his collar-dangling on his toes.

"What did you say?" he said, baring his teeth.

"You know that zit looks really big this close up."

Harry doubled over in pain when a booted foot landed a hard kick to his stomach. He stubbornly held on to the money.

Suddenly, the fist clutching Harry's collar, released him, and he was thrown backwards. Harry's tormentors' faces turned white. All at once, the boys turned tail, and ran off in the other direction.

Harry lay on the cold ground, clutching his stomach; his eyes clenched shut. He felt the tinny taste of blood in his mouth, and his skull felt as though it'd been crushed, when it smashed against the asphalt.

"Potter."

Oh Merlin. He must be hallucinating from the pain. He could have sworn that he heard Snape's voice.

"Potter." The voice got deeper.

There it was again. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, the voice would go away.

"Potter," the silky voice said again.

Harry opened one eye, and despite being dressed in dark trousers and a shirt, it was unmistakably the scowling face of the greasy git of the dungeons.

Harry groaned.

"What do you want?" he croaked, closing his eyes again.

Harry felt cool fingers probing the back of his head.

Harry's eyelids fluttered open to see dark, smoldering eyes studying him. If Harry didn't know better, he'd say that Snape actually looked concerned about him. But Harry knew better...

"I believe that you have a concussion Potter. I need to get you somewhere safe, before I can heal you properly."

"Heal me?"

"Yes, I can't heal you here," he said, leaning down, gently lifting Harry to his feet.

Harry tried to pull away, but the larger man was too strong.

"No," Harry protested, "just leave me alone. I'm fine."

"You are not fine Potter, and you are coming with me. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

He smirked at Harry.

"I'm sure that you are familiar with the term, Body Bind," he sneered.

Harry was in too much pain to argue, and Harry recognised that he was defeated. "Fine, but I'm not going back to Hogwarts.

Snape looked down his hooked nose at Harry. "You are in no position to issue ultimatums Potter."

"And you've got a big nose, bad breath, greasy hair and-"

Harry's lips suddenly glued together.

Snape slipped his wand back into his trouser's pocket. "Aw, that's better."

Snape held Harry firmly to his chest, grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's cage; the bird eyed the Potions Master suspiciously, but must have decided that he meant no harm, because apart from a small squack, she settled down on her perch, to pick at her feathers.

Snape led Harry towards an empty alleyway; holding the boy up, firmly under his armpits. Harry was rather thankful, as he felt as though his legs wouldn't have supported him anyway.

Harry was never sure whether the feeling of being turned inside out was from Apparating, or his head injury, but if Snape had not been holding onto his arms with an iron grip, Harry would have made acquaintance with the very hard ground.

"Come," a firm voice ordered.

All Harry could make out through his pain-filled haze, was a run-down looking house, with a white, or rather yellow , picket-fence, that had seen better days. The grass looked as though it hadn't been mowed in several months, the shingles were peeling off the outside, and the shutters were flapping in the wind. Rain had begun to drizzle down, splattering on the sidewalk.

Under normal circumstances, Harry would have rather eaten slugs, than follow his professor anywhere, let alone a house that looked as uninviting and creepy as this one, but at this moment, pain radiated right up to his cerebral cortex, and his eyes felt like daggers were being plunged into his sockets, so Harry didn't even question where Snape was leading him; he just wanted the world to stop spinning.

Snape led him down a dark corridor, and into a dimly-lit room. He lay Harry gently down on the soft mattress and as Harry's head touched the feathery pillow beneath his aching skull, he thought how heavenly it felt to lay on a real mattress, and not the cold ground.

Snape waved his wand, and Harry's lips became unsealed. Although, ten minutes later, as the most foul-tasting crap, disguised as potion was forced down his throat, Harry wished that Snape had left his lips glued together.

"What the hell was that? Cow dung?"

"It is to alleviate the pain Potter. Now shut up while I examine you."

As Snape pressed against the large egg on the back of Harry's head, he screamed out in pain. "Get your slimy fingers off me, you greasy git."

Snape straightened up, and scowled down at Harry.

"Mr. Potter, I will over-look your wayward lips, on the premise that you are under the influence of a very powerful potion, but I promise you-" he sneered, "-that when you are well, you will become very familiar with dirty cauldrons, and slimy potions ingredients."

Harry groaned. He had a feeling that the Potions Master had been taking notes of his indiscretions for a long time.

"Now, I would prefer that Madam Pomfrey takes a look at you."

Harry tried to hoist himself up, but Snape's strong hand pushed firmly against his chest.

"No! I'm not ready to go back to Hogwarts just yet."

"The students have all left to go to their families Potter, but I would prefer not to move you just yet. I'm not sure of the extent of your concussion, and you are seriously mal-nourished and run-down."

He raised a dark eyebrow. "Undoubtedly, a legacy from life with your relatives."

"Oh God," Harry groaned.

Harry did not want to talk about his life with the Dursleys-especially not with Snape.

"Don't worry Potter. I've never claimed to be a psychologist. I will not force you to talk about this with me, although I daresay, your traitorous lips will leave you with no choice in the matter," he sneered.

Harry flushed.

"I will see if Madame Pomfrey can come here to take a look at you. I have some training in Healing, but I'm not an expert in head injuries. I do know that the pain reliever that I have just given you is safe to take with a possible concussion, but it does have some tranquilizing properties, and depending on the severity of your concussion, it may not be advisable for you to sleep right away."

"Rest. I will floo the Headmaster to assure him that you are safe."

He gave Harry a stern look.

"You have caused an enormous amount of worry to the Headmaster and your friends with your recklessness."

"I know. I'm sorry," Harry whispered.

"Rest assured Mr. Potter, we will be working on your penchant for seeking danger this summer."

Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

"What do you mean...this summer?" A sinking feeling began to form in the pit of his stomach.

Snape smirked at him.

"All in good time Potter. All in good time."

"You know, you really do have a big nose, and greasy hair, and-"

"Potter," Snape growled, waving his wand menacingly over Harry.

"It's not fair," Harry grumbled. "I can't help myself. By the way, how long before this potion wears off?"

The corner of Snape's thin lips lifted. "This potion is untested Potter. It is impossible to predict. But I daresay that before it is over, you will be revealing to me much more than you ever wished."

Harry pulled the blankets over his head.

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"Wake up Potter," a very familiar, and very annoying voice interrupted his slumber.

Harry's rolled over and opened one eye.

"Eek! What the hell are you doing here Malfoy?" he asked angrily.

"Good morning to you too Potter," Draco said in a bored voice.

He was sitting in a chair by Harry's bed, flipping through the pages of the latest copy of "Wizarding High Society", feet propped up on the brass head-board of Harry's bed.

Harry gritted his teeth.

"Get the hell out of here Malfoy," he said angrily.

"My my," he drawled, "didn't we wake up on the wrong side of the bed, Potter."

Harry pulled the pillow out from under his head, and threw it at Malfoy's smug face. Unfortunately, abruptly pulling the pillow out from under his head, not only caused his head to throb and his vision to tunnel, but the annoying tosser, actually managed to catch the damned pillow with one hand!

"Get out Malfoy," Harry said furiously.

"No can do Potter. Professor Snape had to step out to buy some supplies," he said in a disgusted voice. "Honestly, why he chooses to live in this God-forsaken Muggle neighbourhood, I'll never understand. Anyway...he said that I'm to attend to your needs; be at your beck and call..."

"I'm not a child and I don't need a baby-sitter, and you are the last person that I want to see right now," he sneered.

"Besides, if you are so high and mighty and this place is so above you, why the hell are you here?"

Draco moved forward, and into the slice of light, filtering in through the curtains; a large blue and purple bruise, under his right eye, marred the boy's pale, smooth skin.

"Let's just say Potter. That you and I have more in common than you might think," he said quietly.

Before Harry could ponder that statement further, Snape appeared at the door.

"Mr. Potter, if you are feeling up to it, you may join us at the table for breakfast."

"Yeah, that'll really help my appetite," he said acerbically. "Eating with the greasy git of the dungeons and a bigoted, self-absorbed arsehole."

Draco smirked at Snape.

"You weren't kidding when you said that Potter had no control over his mouth. This should be a very interesting summer."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean by that?"

Draco turned to Snape. "You mean you haven't told him yet Severus?"

"No Draco," he drawled. "I thought that I'd leave that pleasure to you."

The corner of Draco's silver eyes creased when he smiled. "You and I will be spending the summer together Potter."

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Harry had to admit, that although the company left much to be desired, Snape had gone all out with the breakfast.

Fresh fruit, eggs, waffles, pancakes and a large pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice was laid out on the large kitchen table.

In the light of day, Harry supposed that the place wasn't so bad, in a dilapidated kind of spider-web in every corner, and dust-bunny balls floating through the air, kind of way. A good cleaning and perhaps a coat of paint and it wouldn't be bad at all. The ceiling was high, the windows were large and lit up the kitchen in a warm glow. It could be quite homey and comfortable with a little elbow-grease. It wasn't so bad at all. Now... having to sit down and eat a meal with Snape and Malfoy was another matter altogether.

"So, Potter-" Draco said, leaning forward; a gleeful smile on his face. "-Severus tells me that you have no control over what you say, and have to answer every question honestly."

Harry's stomach swooped. He just knew where this was going. Sure enough...

"In third year, did you sneak out to Hogsmeade and throw mud at me?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter," Snape said in a silky voice, "I'd like to know the answer to that question as well."

Harry groaned.

This was going to be a very long summer indeed...