Hollow

Harry stood numbly before the Headmaster. Dumbledore was looking at him with pity, and he could feel the gazes of Professors McGonagall and Snape on the back of his neck.

Expelled.

He supposed it wasn't all that surprising, given his habits over the last nine months or so. Since Sirius' death, he had found himself less and less able to cope with the events happening around him. Ever since the first week of summer, cut off, for the most part, from all of his friends, he had been trying to find ways to avoid thought. He had been unsuccessful for the most part, until Dudley was arrested. The police had brought him home, where Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had, typically, insisted that he was innocent, just misunderstood. Harry had not heard what Dudley had been arrested for until later.

Drugs. Dudley had been caught smoking marijuana with his friends behind the primary school. As curious as any other teen, and eager to think about anything not involving magic and the wizarding world, he had asked Dudley about it. Dudley's reply had been somewhat of an epiphany for Harry.

"Your mind gets all fuzzy, and you're floating, and nothing really matters anymore." Nothing matters anymore. The next time Dudley went out with his friends, Harry followed. As he expected, they headed for an alleyway, where they started to smoke up. Harry watched them just long enough to see their moods change, then he walked boldly up to them. One of Dudley's friends tried to hide the joint he was holding, but Harry was quicker than him. Before Dudley could say more than, "Harry, what...?" Harry had snatched the joint and taken a deep drag. He passed it on to the next boy, proud of the fact that he only coughed a little, and stood there like he knew he belonged. The other boys looked at one another, then seemed to dismiss his presence, only acknowledging him enough to include him in their circle.

Since then, Harry's habit had been formed. Marijuana, while not physically addictive, became his escape, and he used it more and more often as the summer wore on. Dudley introduced him to their supplier before the beginning of August, as Harry had offered to pay, a task Dudley usually took on, using the money his parents always gave him without question. Harry had set up regular deliveries for the school year, using Hedwig. The man gave him a suspicious look, and Harry had the strange feeling Hedwig disapproved, but the first trial had gone off without a hitch, so Harry had been able to face his friends without flinching, a task that had worried him since that night at the Ministry. It was only with the backup of cannabis that Harry felt able to meet them without guilt for leading them into the trap.

He had tried to be careful at school, but there were only so many places you could hide in a building filled with people, and finally Snape had caught him. Now he stood before Dumbledore, still high from the drugs in his system, as his life of the past five, nearly six years collapsed around him.

"Harry, drug use is strictly forbidden, and grounds for immediate expulsion. It has detrimental effects on your wizarding powers, no matter how little you may have noticed it until now. The danger to the other students is unacceptable. The rules are absolutely inflexible. I'm sorry. Minerva will escort you back to Gryffindor Tower to collect your things, then she will place you on the train in Hogsmeade. And I must take your wand." Harry reached for his pocket, then shook his head.

"It's in my room." McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, probably a reprimand for not carrying it at all times, but Dumbledore held up his hand for silence.

"Then you shall have to bring it back here before you leave." He bowed his head, appearing deeply saddened. McGonagall led him from the office, mouth tight with anger. Harry loaded his things into his trunk silently, glad that it was the middle of the night and his dorm mates were sound sleepers. When he had everything, he picked up his wand and took a last look around the room. His gaze slid over Ron's bed without a pause. Harry wondered briefly if he would miss Ron, but in truth they hadn't been very close this past year, mostly due to Harry's reticence. He shook his head. Ron would move on easily.

He walked out, dragging his trunk behind him. When he reached the common room, McGonagall took his wand and led him back to Dumbledore's office. Silently, Dumbledore accepted the wand, then snapped it in half, offering the pieces to Harry. Harry stared at them, before finally reaching out and taking them, wondering if this was all a dream. He put the pieces in his pocket, then was forced to follow McGonagall out of the school. He looked around him as he walked to Hogsmeade for the last time, absorbing details until the train pulled out of the station, bound for Diagon Alley.

Once they had left the station, he rolled down the window and tossed the broken shards of his wand into the night.

The first thing he did in Diagon Alley was visit Gringotts. It turned out to be the only thing he did there. The last of his high had left him on the train, and reality was setting in again. He was supposed to return to the Dursleys, and Dumbledore had already sent them a letter, but he knew he couldn't go back. After being expelled for drug use, they would be even less willing than before to take him in, and they would make his life a misery. He had already made the decision to start a completely new life for himself. To begin, he needed to find a place to stay, and a job, and it couldn't be in the wizarding world. He knew he couldn't bear having to face a world where everyone knew who he was, who would know, soon, that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was a failure. He would have to exist, somehow, as a Muggle.

So he went Gringotts, removed as much as he could from his vault, and had it converted into Muggle money. It was more than he expected, as the exchange rate was quite good just then. He could live quite comfortably on that for several weeks, while he found a job.

Two weeks later, he was beginning to despair. Living on his own was more expensive than he had thought it would be, although he had found a small rooming house, at quite reasonable rates, which gave him one meal a day. And he had free transportation in the form of his Firebolt, as long as he was careful to use his Invisibility Cloak. Most of his money went towards food, although Hedwig had learned to hunt for herself. But he couldn't seem to find a job anywhere. The fact that he hadn't finished school was working against him, although he did have his fifth year general education certification, delivered with his OWL results last summer. HYe still had some money left, but if he didn't find a source of income soon, he would be in trouble. Finally, in desperation, he turned to the one person from his old life that he still had any contact with. His dealer.

"How's life going, Harry?" They had met in the park where the dealer worked. He was a small, nervous man, whose name Harry had never known. Harry had set up the meeting via Hedwig, hoping that the guy would show up.

"Not good. I got kicked out of school. I'm living on my own now, but I'm starting to run out of ready cash, and I was hoping you could help me out."

"Well, I could, but I don't really see why I should." Harry nearly wept with despair, but shouldered on.

"Can't you see I'm desperate? But I can give you a good reason, one you'll understand. If I don't find a job, I run out of cash. I run out of cash, I can't buy from you. And I buy from you a lot." Harry knew that his dealer didn't have a particularly good business. He had picked the wrong neighbourhood to work in, and he didn't have a lot of buyers. Losing Harry would mean a good chunk of his income.

"All right. Well, I personally can't help you, but I can get you to someone who can. Provided you don't mind working on the shady side of the law..." Harry looked at him like he was crazy.

"I buy from you, don't I?'

"Well, some people have funny ideas of right and wrong. Buying, fine. Selling, some people have difficulties with."

"So I'd become a dealer?"

"Not necessarily. My man, my supplier, he owns a lot of stuff all over. Clubs, hangouts, you know. He also supplies about a quarter of the dealers in the city, and I think he runs other... businesses as well. Things not quite right with the law. Prostitution, pornography, probably deals in stolen goods as well. I don't know everything he does. And he's always looking for new people."

"All right. How do I meet this guy?"

"I speak to him every week, to arrange pickups and such. I'll tell him about you. Meet me back here Sunday night." Harry agreed, and the dealer faded back into the shadows of the park. Harry left for home, hope growing again that he might be able to manage his escape from the wizarding world.

By Sunday, he was nervous again. He was close to the end of his reserve fund. He had enough to last him two weeks of food, and a month of shelter, before he was done. He could go back to Diagon Alley for more money, but by now everyone was sure to know of his expulsion, and he couldn't bear the shame. Left with no other option, he went back to the little park to meet his dealer. Harry wasn't sure he wanted to do this, but at this point he didn't have much choice. So he got in the little brown car his dealer pulled up in, and drove to the arranged meeting with the man who could possibly employ him.

They walked into the seedy club, and found it empty except for the bartender. It was probably too early for customers. The bartender nodded at his dealer, and indicated a small stairway with his eyes. They followed it up, and found themselves in a dim narrow hallway, with many small doors leading off it. Only the one at the far end of the corridor was open, so they went to it and peered in. There could not have been a greater contrast with the rest of the building. This office was well appointed, opulent even, decorated in many shades of blue. Behind the brushed steel desk sat a powerful looking man. He shoved a case at the dealer, and the dealer handed over an envelope stuffed with bills. At another signal from the man behind the desk, the dealer left. He gave Harry a parting glance, but didn't seem to dare disobey his boss. Harry stood straight, looking the man in the eye, unwilling to give any impression of weakness.

Just as he was about to look away, the man chuckled and leaned back. Harry relaxed, marginally.

"Name?"

"Harry Potter."

"That your real name?"

"Yes," replied Harry, affronted.

"Right, no need to get flustered, just checking. Seems a very average name. Almost too average. Most people nowadays go for something unique. So, you're looking for a job. Do you know what I do?"

"A little. Drugs, of course. You own some clubs and stuff." Harry flushed. "Prostitution. Pornography. Theft. I don't know for sure."

"Well, pretty good. Prostitution bother you?"

"Not really. A little embarrassing, I suppose." Unconsciously, Harry mimicked the other man's short way of speaking.

"Good. Now, I'm Mr. Black." Harry couldn't help it, he winced a little, and Mr. Black noticed. "Something wrong?" Harry shook his head.

"My godfather...His name was Black." He almost couldn't go on, and had to continue in a whisper. "He was killed last spring."

"No parents?" Harry shook his head again. "Well, happens to the best of us. Most of the people you'll meet on London's underbelly don't have much family left. Not too surprising, that. What I was saying. I'm Mr. Black. You're Harry. Now, you have any special skills?" Harry shook his head. "Too bad. Well, come a little closer, and let me take a look at you." Harry walked around to Black's side of the desk, and stood there while Black studied him. "I think I can use you. You living somewhere?" Harry nodded, and gave Black his address. "Good. I'll send someone around tomorrow morning to pick you up. Nine o'clock." It was a clear dismissal, so Harry took his leave, wondering what exactly he would be expected to do. Not that he wouldn't do it, he needed the money too badly. But it would have been nice to know.

Monday morning, Harry woke at 8:30 to be ready when whoever showed up arrived. Finally, he heard a knock on the door, and opened it to see a young man standing there. The man strode into the room without an invitation, and stood in the middle of it, looking around. It gave Harry a chance to study him. He wasn't tall, not too much taller than Harry himself, and thin, without looking weak. He wasn't beautiful, but striking, with dark hair and bold, mischievous features. He wore loose jeans slung low on his hips, and a tight, black sleeveless tee shirt. The glint in his eyes reminded Harry painfully of Fred and George, and he hurriedly looked down, just as the man turned back to him.

"So, you're the new one, yes? Did Mr. Black bother to tell you what you're doing for him?" Harry once again found himself mute, and shook his head, still looking at the floor. "Hmm. You're a quiet one. I assume you're only doing this because you need the money? Don't worry we all are. If we had a choice, we'd be doing something else. If we're lucky, we can make enough to get free of all this. Here's how this works. You start on street. If you're good enough, you move to club. I'm good enough, just. I move as soon as I get you trained. Most people stay at club, 'til they're too old. By then, hopefully you can get out. If not, you're back on the street. You get half, Black gets half. If you lose your pad, Black'll provide, but it won't be very good. You feed yourself, but on the job, you can take it out of the total, not just your half. If you get sick, Black'll take care of you, up to a point. The best part is, discounts on all Black's stuff. Out of your pocket of course, but he'll give you his price, not dealer price. That's good, that is." Harry tried to interject, but the other man spoke right over him.

"I..."

"Now, I'm more the talkative, perky, cheerful sort, but you I think... How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?" He didn't give Harry a chance to answer. "You would go more for the young, innocent look. With some skill, you can probably even pass for twelve or so." Harry finally managed to break through the guy's train of thought to speak.

"Stop! What are we doing? Selling? Drugs? What?!" The other man smirked.

"Sex, Harry. We sell sex." Harry had suspected that was what the man had meant, but wanted to hear it straight out.

"All right. How did you know my name?"

"Black told me. By the way, I'm Blade, and no, that's not the name I was born with. I'll train you this week. Then you start on street. If you're still willing."

"Yeah. I don't have much choice, I need the money." Harry shrugged.

"What happened, parents kick you out?"

"No, they died when I was a baby. My godfather was killed last spring, and I started doing some pot with my cousin. Got caught at school, and they kicked me out." He tried to sound nonchalant, but he knew some of the pain showed through in his voice. Blade's posture softened a bit.

"That's rough. But a bit of advice. Most people on the streets have similar sob stories behind them, and using it to get sympathy won't get you far."

"Don't worry, I had that beaten out of me a long time ago. My aunt and uncle, who raised me, didn't approve of my parents...lifestyle, and I grew up being told that it was for my own good they died. I stopped looking for pity a long time ago."

"Good for you. Now, let's go, and I can show you some of how Black's organization works. And we'll have to get you outfitted for work."

They walked out of the building, and Blade led him to a motorcycle. Harry wondered aloud how Blade could afford it, but he explained that it was owned by Black's organization, and he only got to drive it because he had to show Harry around. Blade took him to the sector of town that Black's men controlled and showed him how things worked. Harry learned that freewheelers never lasted long in this area. Black either hired them, or made them leave. Then Blade took him to the warehouse that was the base of operations for the boys and girls working in this area. He showed him where to turn up for work, and where he would be assigned a spot.

"Black runs a really organized system. It's one of the reasons we get caught so rarely. Each spot has at least partial shelter, so we can be out in worse weather. And they all have at least one hideout, for when the cops come by. Black is motivated by profit, and part of that is having his people on the streets, not in jail. It's the main reason he takes such good care of us, training us and everything. We're the best, healthiest whores out there, and people know it.

"Now, you have to provide your own clothes, but we give you guidelines on how to dress to attract the most customers. And speaking of, most of your customers are going to be men. That's the way it is, so get over it. That's part of the training too, along with how to give the most pleasure in the least time." Harry blushed. "You may blush now, but you'll learn fast. More customers equals more money. Two blowjobs in a half an hour makes twice as much money as one. Profit. You start training now." Blade led him to a smaller room off the main warehouse, the room where he would spend the next week learning anything Blade could teach him. At the end of the week, he would emerge from that room a new person.

Before leaving him at home that first evening, Blade gave him another bit of advice.

"By the way, we don't fight over customers. You see one of your johns going to someone else, tough. They pay for what they want, not for what you want. See ya tomorrow." And Blade revved his bike and took off, leaving Harry to stumble to his bed, exhausted.

In a week, Harry was no longer tired out by a day, or rather, a night, working. He had learned to shift his sleep schedule so that he could stay up all night, and he no longer stumbled home at dawn exhausted. Blade proclaimed him proficient, and had their manager set Harry up a regular spot.

"If you get someone looking to hire you, not just any common whore, you want him to be able to find you, easy. If not, he may very well take who he gets, and you lose out." Harry's new spot was a corner by an old dead end alley between two shabby apartment buildings. The alley provided some shelter from the wind, and even a little rain shelter, provided by the overhanging balconies of the upper stories. He had a hideout, a cardboard box near an old dumpster. There was an all night convenience store in the ground floor of one of the buildings, where Harry could go to warm up for a little bit, and the light let people see him at night. Overall, it was a good spot, especially for a beginner, and Blade told him so. Over the next few days, he worked while Blade observed, critiquing Harry's approach. Finally, he was turned loose, working on his own. Clad in some torn jeans and an old tee shirt, Harry would stand near the edge of the light, trying to look young and lost. Since it was well into spring by now, he never got too cold, although sometimes to attract attention, he would pretend shivers.

Overall, he thought he was doing pretty well. He made rent easily, although he didn't always have a lot left over. As a result, he got skinnier, although he did always get one meal a day at his rooming house. He did count himself lucky, in that he had an unseen protector. Hedwig seemed to be keeping a maternal eye on him at night, and had proved herself worthy when a man had tried to knife him for the money he supposedly carried. Hedwig has swooped down on him, clawing his scalp badly, and allowing Harry to twist away.

In reality, Harry never had too much cash at any one time. To reduce such incidents as the would-be knifer, Black's men came around every hour to collect, and Harry would get his half back at the end of his shift. They kept good records, and he had never been cheated. He wasn't particularly enjoying himself, but life wasn't bad, and the job had its perks. Namely the cheap drugs. He didn't get into narcotics, since he could see around him every day the way they destroyed lives, but he certainly had a psychological addiction to the uncaring state provided by a good high. Harry soon found himself smoking up nearly every day, to escape the harsh realities of his life.

Life moved on for Harry, and he found himself getting better at his job, fast. His guileless face seemed to draw men like a candle draws moths, and Harry was only getting better with practice. By the end of July, he had a fair number of regular customers, and even a few who would pay handsomely in order to acquire his services for the night. He had kept up his odd mentor student relationship with Blade, who had indeed moved into a club, and who told him that he was doing pretty well, for someone who had only been on the job three months. He had been changed to a better spot, and he even had use of a small room, for people who wanted a little privacy, or a bit more time, and didn't want to go to their own places. He knew most of the other boys and girls who worked near him, and was even friendly with the collectors. He hadn't seen any more of Mr. Black, but learned quickly that no one did.

So he kept working, learning new skills from his fellow whores, and saving up his money, so that maybe he could buy himself out of the slums one day, without having to go back to the wizarding world.

~~~~~Four months earlier~~~~~

Ron and Hermione watched at breakfast as Dumbledore rose, looking older than he usually did. Dumbledore seldom spoke at breakfast, and they hoped that it had something to do with Harry's mysterious disappearance, along with all of his things, in the middle of the night.

"Good morning. But unfortunately, it is not a good morning. Some of you may have noticed an absence among our students today." And indeed, many people had been pointing at Harry's empty seat and wondering. News travelled fast at Hogwarts.

"Harry Potter was expelled from this school late last night." The Great Hall was filled with shocked silence. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, confused. Hermione mouthed the word 'expelled' silently to Ron, who could only shake his head.

"Yes, expelled. And I would like to take this opportunity to bring home an important lesson. The world today is filled with many evil things, and many of them are not magical. Guns. Hatred. Drugs. Harry Potter, the symbol of goodness for the wizard world, succumbed to the evils of the Muggle world. He hid himself in drugs, until he was no longer truly living. Let him be a lesson to you all, to beware, for the Muggles are stronger than we can ever guess, for they outnumber us, and they create many things that a wizard or witch can fall easy prey to." He sat down again, looking very tired, and now the students erupted into chaos.

Ron and Hermione sat in the middle of it all, silent. When things started to quiet down again a bit, they rose and left, before people could turn to them with questions. But even alone, they could think of nothing to say.

Draco Malfoy listened to Dumbledore's speech with rising glee. Finally, Perfect Potter had fallen, and fallen hard. For five years, Draco had tried to get him expelled, and finally, Potter did it all on his own. Admittedly, it did steal some of the glory from Draco, since he had no hand in Potter's downfall, but the important thing was, Potter was gone. Draco rose from the table as soon as the rest had stopped gloating, quietly, over Potter's fall, to write his father a letter, informing him of what had happened to the Wizarding world's modern hero.

Only Ginny Weasley had the presence of mind to go speak to Professor Dumbledore. She approached him carefully where he sat at the centre of the staff table, head bowed with sorrow.

"Professor Dumbledore?" He looked up at her voice. "I just wondered... What is going to happen to Harry? Where did he go?"

"Unfortunately, Miss Weasley, that is a question I cannot answer. I sent him home to his aunt and uncle, until I could find a better place for him in our world, since they are still his legal guardians. However, between here and there, Harry managed to disappear. I expect he is rather ashamed of himself, unwilling to rejoin our world, where everyone will immediately recognize him, and he is equally unwilling to return to his relatives. I can only hope he overcomes that, and turns up somewhere where we can find him." Ginny had tears running down her face. "Don't worry my dear. Remember, he still does have access to Diagon Alley, so he will not run out of funds. I'm sure he'll turn up. One thing, at least, is certain. Voldemort will have no interest in a failed wizard so he is quite safe." Ginny turned and ran out of the Hall before she lost control completely.

Severus Snape watched the youngest Weasley's precipitous exit through narrowed eyes, not really think about her. He had no special feeling for Potter, but he did feel a certain empathy, as memories of another young boy resurfaced. Having turned against the Death Eaters, he had nowhere to live, and had spent time on the streets, although he had not been forced into Muggle London, as he had not been nearly as recognizable as Harry Potter. The teenaged Snape had lived on scraps stolen from family pets and the little he could beg or steal, until Dumbledore had found him, and brought him here. Snape felt a twinge of pity in his heart for Potter, and hoped, very softly, that someone would find him and take him in, before he found himself in worse straits than Severus Snape had as a young man.

Minerva McGonagall was watching Dumbledore, worried. He was a very old man, and such a disappointment could be dangerous. Harry Potter had been a gross disappointment. He had buckled, and given in, rather than displaying the strength she had come to expect from him over the years. She felt her trust had been betrayed, and she hardened her heart against the young criminal, leaving him to his fate. She preferred working with those who chose to go on under pressure, not people who gave up. She couldn't stand people who couldn't complete what they started. Harry Potter was dead to her.

~~~~~~~~~~

Harry dragged himself in the door of his building, noting vaguely the pathetic Christmas decorations scattered around the room.

Oh yes, Christmas is today. Isn't that nice. As he had no one to buy gifts for, and no one to receive gifts from, he had mostly ignored the fervour of the holiday season. Until tonight, when he had been a gift. One of his regulars was holding a little party, and wanted Harry there as the entertainment. He had paid a lot, partially in advance, which was unusual. So Harry had agreed. But the 'little party' had turned out to be a big party, a really big one, and all the men seemed to want him. Most of them had paid him something, which was good, because he was already getting paid, and the host had given him free drinks, which had also been nice, although he had to remain mostly alert.

So he was sore and tired, and looking forward to his bed. He fell against the door, cursing as his key stuck, and finally fell through, stumbling to the feet of Mr. White. It was a conscious joke. Mr. White controlled the sector of Mr. Black's organization that dealt in prostitution. Harry looked up befuddled. White looked down at him, then went to shut the door.

"I'm here to give you your Christmas present, Harry." Harry grew even more confused.

"Present?"

"Yes. It is Mr. Black's tradition to open new club every year, on New Years. So, of course he will need new staff. According to the reports I've been getting, you've been improving immensely all the time. In just eight months, you've become one of my best street people. Of course there are plenty better, but they aren't getting better. You are, and that is what I look for when it's time to promote. So, starting New Year's Eve, you work in The Castle. It's a theme club, where our customers get to pretend they are royalty for an evening. You still look young enough, so you'll be acting the page. You know, doing little errands, fetching drinks and such. For this, we provide the costume, so don't worry about dress. Pay works slightly differently as well. You get a salary when you work. You can also expect tips, but less than you're used to getting perhaps. However, we no longer take half. The club system is more your traditional job than street. You'll get used to it." He gave Harry a time and address, then left. Harry made sure to put the information where he would see it when he woke, and collapsed into sleep.

New Year's Eve, Harry arrived at The Castle. It had a facade shaped like a medieval fortress, and when he went inside, everyone was dressed in renaissance-era outfits. The manager met him at the door, and directed him to the staff room, where he found a girl giving out costumes. She gave him his, and she assigned him a locker. He quickly changed into the costume, which was supposed to resemble a page's uniform. He wore puffy breeches, which were a little too large and fell low on his hips, and shoes with a large brass buckle. The tunic had puffy sleeves to match the pants, and buttoned on the side, but was also designed to be too large, sliding off his shoulder on one side. He also had a ridiculous hat with a pink feather. Overall, the outfit was rather silly, but it did achieve the desired effect of cute but revealing.

Harry was also instructed on the role he would play. He was to work mostly in the coatroom, taking people coats as they came in, but he was also to do any little errand he was asked to do. So that is what he did. He mostly stood to the side unobtrusively, looking cute and available.

The man approached him in the coatroom. He had just arrived, and was carrying a magnificent overcoat, lined with what looked like very expensive furs. He asked Harry to take very good care of it, insinuating that there might be a substantial reward if he got it back safely. Harry placed it in one of the lockers reserved for such situations, and hoped that something would come of it.

Later the man came back, and Harry gave him his coat. The man looked it over, then focused on Harry.

"You're a sweet boy. Let me give you something as a reward." He pushed Harry back into the dim coatroom, and made him face the wall. Unbuttoning his trousers, he leaned into Harry's back. "You've been a very good boy. Yes, a very good boy." When the man was done, he left, leaving Harry leaning on the wall, grasping a fifty-pound note. Harry tucked it away, and went back out into the main room, hoping for more, similar attentions.

Two years later, Harry had progressed about as far as he could in Mr. Black's clubs. He was a top quality dancer at Skin, the premier club in London that catered to the type of appetite Harry's talents satisfied. He made easily five times as much as he had made on the streets, and the work was easier as well. He doubted anyone who had known him before would ever recognize him now. His hair was still jet black, but he straightened it regularly, and wore it longer than he had, just brushing his collarbones. He had had laser surgery to correct his eyesight when he became a dancer, courtesy of Mr. Black, so he no longer wore glasses. He was still lean, but he had grown, although he would never be called tall.

He danced in the club every night, wearing skintight outfits that showed off his body to greatest effect. When he wasn't dancing, he circulated among the patrons of the club, bantering and teasing, hoping to attract someone's attentions long enough to make a quick quid.

When he went home in the early mornings, he would smoke himself into a stupor, hoping to forget, then sleep for the day, before rousing himself to go back to work. It was an uninteresting existence, but he got by, and even managed to save some money, against the day that he would be too old to continue to sell his body. Harry no longer had any dreams. Hedwig had deserted him, disgusted with the abuses he inflicted on himself, and he couldn't even bring himself to worry about her fate. In his more lucid moments, he spared a small hope that she had found a good home, but mostly he didn't think of her. Harry didn't do a lot of thinking anymore, he merely existed, letting himself and others abuse his body. He had long since forgotten his old acquaintances, except as distant memories, and he often wondered if he hadn't just invented his entire life at Hogwarts in some drug-induced hallucination. He drifted on through life, and was only occasionally brought back to the harsh realities of his situation by a glimpse of red hair around a corner, or some other snippet of sight or sound that reminded him of something from the past.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ron Weasley stood in the Great Hall, two years after his graduation, next to his fiancée Hermione Granger. Their class had returned to Hogwarts for their second annual class reunion, and everyone was there. He expected that, over the years, there numbers would dwindle, but now, they were all still close enough to return. It was nearing midnight, and they had settled into reminisces of their years at Hogwarts. Ron suddenly turned to Hermione.

"Did anyone ever hear what happened to Harry? He sort of seemed to cease existing after he was expelled. We defeated Voldemort without him, and no one seems to have spared him a second thought." Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but was forestalled by another of their year mates, Hannah Abbot, who had been in Hufflepuff.

"I heard he never made it to his relatives house after they expelled him, but that none of the Death Eaters had had any cntact with him either." Suddenly it seemed that the whole room was involved in the conversation. Speculation abounded until one voice cut over the crowds. It was Dean Thomas, who had turned out to be a spectacular Auror, and had captured and questioned an astounding number of Death Eaters.

"No one knows what happened to him. The Ministry tried to find him, to protect him at the outset of the war, but couldn't. None of the Death Eaters we talked to had ever seen him, and there weren't even any rumours that he had been seen, much less any plans to attack him. He really did seem to drop off the face of the earth. The best guesses are that he left the country. He did remove a substantial amount from his Gringotts account the night he was expelled." The room fell into a thoughtful silence, until another voice spoke quietly from a corner.

"I heard that someone had seen him selling himself in London, working the streets. But that was a long time ago." The speaker was Draco Malfoy, and as soon as he was finished, the entire room looked at him, waiting for more. Seeing that he had the attention of the whole group, he continued. "The story I heard was pretty accurate. After all, that scar of his is hard to disguise. But I don't know why Harry Potter would be whoring himself out, so any guess is as good as mine." The group descended into silence again. Small conversation groups slowly formed, but the merry mood had been broken, and many soon began seeking their beds.

Albus Dumbledore sat up bolt right in bed, clutching his sheets. He had been dreaming of Harry Potter, again. He had always felt that expelling the boy had been the wrong thing to do, as the boy had so obviously needed help, but his hands had been tied by the strict rules that bound the school. He wondered for the thousandth time what had happened to the boy. He had heard all the rumours, but found each as unlikely as the last. If only things had fallen out differently...

With that wistful thought, he drifted back off to sleep.

Professors Snape and McGonagall had sat up late, poring over old school photographs. They both were dismayed to see the changes in their former students every year at the annual reunions, reminding them of their own aging, and they dealt with it by diving back into memory. McGonagall nudged Snape's side as she looked at a photo of three young students, too boys and a girl, arms wrapped around each other, smiling and waving happily.

"Harry Potter. I wonder what ever happened to him? He wasted his schooling, silly boy. Still, I wish, sometimes..." She trailed off. Snape said nothing. He had his own private fears over the fate of the boy, but since he was powerless to do anything, dismissed it as a lost cause.

"We never should have let him go. We ruined his life, casting him out on his own. Very few youngsters are capable of supporting themselves."

"Severus! I think he deserved what he got. Imagine wasting his talent on drugs." McGonagall shrugged guiltily. "Besides, how were we to know he would decide to disappear? He was supposed to go straight to his aunt and uncle." Snape looked at her sardonically.

"You were well aware that he hated his relatives. He was predisposed to ignore authority. I would have predicted some sort of rash move from him. You were lax in your safe guarding." McGonagall shivered, and changed the subject.

~~~~~~~~~~

Harry finished his dance number, flinging his shirt into the crowd, and disappeared backstage. There, the manager of the club found him.

"Harry! Quickly, this way. A very important customer is asking for you. I don't know who he is, but even Mr. Black defers to him. You're to go to him in room thirteen, and do whatever he asks. And don't expect any extras from him. Although if he's pleased, Mr. Black might see his way to giving you a raise." With that as motivation, Harry opened the door of room thirteen. He was still slightly sweaty from his performance, and of course still shirtless. He wore only a pair of black vinyl pants that fitted him as though painted on.

Upon entering the room, his eyes were drawn immediately to the man seated by the window. The man was dressed all in black, contrasting sharply with the soft creams of the chamber. A hood concealed his face, but Harry had not stood there for more than a few seconds before the man spoke.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Get over here!" The man's sneering voice seemed oddly familiar to Harry, but he could not place it, and quickly dismissed the idea as fancy. He stood before the man, unconsciously posing a bit, but that commanding voice rang out again. "On your knees." Harry fell to his knees, automatically reaching out to undo the other's trousers as he slid forwards on the chair. The other man didn't seem too interested, sitting passively.

When it was over, Harry sat back. The man lifted his hand to Harry's face, pushing Harry's fringe off his forehead, revealing the thin scar there.

"So, the rumours are true. Harry Potter has become a prostitute." Before Harry had time to wonder how the man knew his name, he shook his head, tossing back the hood. Harry gasped. Before him were the unmistakable features and pale blond hair of Lucius Malfoy. "I see you recognize me. Regulus was very good about keeping you in his business, although I was surprised you didn't recognize his resemblance to your godfather. After all, they were brothers. Now that I see you, I can believe it. You've been drowning yourself in this underworld life. I would be willing to wager that you have yourself half convinced that magic doesn't exist. Well, your time of withdrawal is up. I'm taking you with me." Malfoy rose and pulled a discreet bell pull in the corner. Almost immediately, Mr. Black opened the door. Now Harry could see the resemblance to his godfather, and he remembered, dimly, seeing a name on a great tapestry. Regulus Black, brother to Sirius. Malfoy spoke again.

"You've done well, Regulus, my dear. He is first class. I shall take him with me, as a gift. It was a stroke of luck that you found him, and you shall not go unrewarded." He gathered up his cloak, and collected Harry with a sharp gesture, draping him with another long black cloak. Then Lucius Malfoy pulled out his wand, and apparated himself and Harry to Malfoy Manor.

Harry looked around the room Malfoy had put him in. It was very opulent, speaking of ages of wealth. The bed was carved mahogany, and the spreads were of the finest silk. All of the furniture matched the bed, and was trimmed in silver. The predominant colour was a deep forest green, complimenting the wood trimming. Harry had already seen quite a few small statuettes that he expected were worth quite a lot of money. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, unwilling to inadvertently damage anything. He was still wearing nothing but the black vinyl pants he had had on when Malfoy removed him from the club, with the addition of a red ribbon around his neck. If he craned his neck, he could see a tag hanging from the ribbon, and he recalled Malfoy's earlier comment about a gift. Harry wondered briefly who he was a gift for, but stopped thinking about it when the door creaked open.

Draco Malfoy stood there, staring sharply at Harry.

"Well, Father said there was a gift waiting in my room, but I didn't expect you." He moved to the bed, and read the tag hanging from Harry's neck. "To Draco, Love Father. How sweet. He knows how I love the feel of young men." Draco waved his wand at the door, and it swung shut. Harry could hear the lock mechanism click, but he suspected that that wasn't the only thing holding it closed. Draco crawled onto the bed, pushing Harry back until he was spread full length across it. Then Draco lowered himself slowly onto Harry, still fully clothed.

"So, Harry Potter, how do we find ourselves in such a position?" His breath ghosted across Harry's face, stirring his hair. "Two rivals, the good boy expelled, the bad one sitting in the lap of luxury. Funny old world isn't it? Here I am, heir to a magnificent fortune, successful wizard, and so on, and there you are, former hero, now a prostitute, dismissed from the wizarding world." He smirked, and continued. "I just love how things work out, don't you?" He levered himself off Harry, and hovered over him. "Talk to me, Harry. Tell me how things are with you."

Harry smiled up at him. This kind of thing he knew how to handle. He raised his arms, letting his hand trail up Draco's chest, gently slipping the ivory buttons through the dark blue silk until it hung open, untucked from grey trousers.

"I was under the impression that talk wasn't exactly the first thing you wanted from me." The swift intake of breath was all Harry needed to realize that Draco wasn't nearly as experienced as he pretended to be. The other man sank down on top of him again, and Harry's nimble fingers loosened the buttons on Draco's trousers as he managed to wriggle out of his own. They met, skin to skin, and Draco's eyes widened. Harry deftly flipped them over, and Draco gasped at the unexpected motion. He started to speak, but Harry put a finger to his lips, then began licking and sucking his was down Draco's chest. Draco's eyes rolled up, and Harry closed his own as long fingers found his hair, content to imagine, just for a while, that this was only some anonymous customer, not Draco Malfoy, his childhood nemesis.

Hours later, Harry sat in one of the comfortable armchairs, his feet resting on the edge of the bed. Draco had fallen asleep quickly, and Harry, unable to sleep with someone else in the same bed, had extricated himself, but having nowhere to go, had settled in the chair. He had slept in many more uncomfortable places. At least he was warm, and fairly comfortable.

Harry was roused a few hours later, by Draco, who had woken, and was moving about the room. Seeing that Harry was awake, he came over.

"I'm going to take a shower. The bathroom is just over there, if you need to use it." He indicated a door in the corner. Harry rose and stretched.

"I'm sure I could use a shower. Thank you." Draco nodded and turned. Harry followed, and Draco looked back at him, startled.

"I was going to shower now. You don't have to come." Harry stopped. He was used to spending every minute of his time with a customer looking for ways to please him, but as it seemed that he would be staying here for some time, he apparently didn't have to do that. He went to lay down on the bed, relieved that Draco would probably tell him when he wanted him, and he didn't really have to look for suggestions. He quickly fell asleep, exhausted.

Harry had lived at Malfoy Manor for three months now, and the pattern established by his first day had held. Draco would come in sometime in the evening, and Harry would serve him, until Draco fell asleep. Harry, who could still never sleep with someone else in the bed, even after three months of living with Draco, would doze off in one of the armchairs until Draco rose. Once Draco had left for the day, Harry fell asleep in the bed, waking in the late afternoon. Food would appear periodically, but Harry never saw another living being, not even a house elf, other than Draco. In the hours when he was awake and alone, he would often browse Draco's book collection, as he had nothing else to do. Sometimes he merely sat and stared out the window, allowing his mind to drift aimlessly.

Harry missed the carelessness provided by a good high, but the Malfoys had not provided any drugs for him, and he had no other way of getting any, so he went without. He wasn't allowed to leave Draco's room, but he didn't mind. They had taken him out of the clubs, and if there wasn't much difference in the work he was doing, he was at least left to his own devices much of the time, and he only had one master. Harry hated being a slave to one man, but his childhood hatred of the Malfoys had faded. He often wished to be back in his small London room, but he did not miss the harsh life of the street. He loathed himself for feeling grateful to the Malfoys, but even had he had a choice, he still would have left the club. Encased in the elaborate jewel box that was the room he lived in, he could forget the world.

It was, unbeknownst to Harry, the exact anniversary of his arrival at the Manor, when his routine changed. Draco came in earlier than he usually did, and tossed a bundle of cloth at Harry. Harry glanced at the window. It was still light, far too early for Draco to be home. He turned back to Draco, but his questions were forestalled by Draco's raised hands.

"I know, I'm home early. Father is hosting a party tonight, and we must attend. You are to wear this. He indicated the bundle. Harry pulled it open. Inside he found a pair of black leather trousers and silver trimmed black boots. He also saw a black collar. Wordlessly, he pulled on the ensemble, standing before Draco. Draco stared at him with undisguised desire, and Harry slunk closer, responding to the unvoiced demand. He slid his fingers under Draco's formal robes, undoing the clasps of his trousers. Draco tried to push him away, saying they hadn't time, but he couldn't hide his obvious interest. Harry promised to be quick and went to his knees.

When they were ready to go down, Draco shook his head.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Father also wanted..." He took out his wand, and spun Harry around, touching his wand to Harry's right shoulder. "Insignia Familia." Harry twisted around trying to see his shoulder. Draco led him over to the mirror, and Harry saw, emblazoned on his left shoulder blade, the Malfoy family crest; a bed of roses with a serpent hidden in the leaves. Draco saw his interest in the symbol. "Ah yes, the fatal serpent, concealed by beauty. Very representative of our family, don't you think?" Harry didn't bother to respond, he only followed Draco down the stairs, feeling unprepared to meet a crowd of wizards who would know exactly who he was and what had become of this. He was being forced back into the same situation he had fled from originally, in circumstances much worse than the original.

Harry stood in the corner of the ballroom, hoping to avoid any more attention for the night. During dinner, he had knelt by Draco's side like an obedient dog, ignoring all the jabs directed towards him. After dinner, when the dancing had started, many of the wizards, and some of the witches present had pulled him aside, to sample his skills, as they so delicately put it. Draco had let him go, an amused smile touching his lips. Now it was late, and Harry was tired. He slumped against the wall, hoping that everyone who wanted had already approached him, and that he would be left alone.

His hopes shattered when a shadow fell on him. He stood straight and looked up, trying to see who was before him, not that it particularly mattered. A familiar voice said,

"Follow me," so Harry did. As they stepped out into the well-lit hallway, he recognized the man before him.

"Professor Snape!" The exclamation was hardly more than a whisper. Snape turned and pushed him against the wall. He was wearing an elaborate set of robes a shade of green so dark that they appeared black in the dim light. Harry was already working on the clasps when Snape grabbed his wrists, holding them above his head.

"That's not what I want, boy. It sickens me to see how they treat you, like a possession." Harry was silent, surprised by Snape's words. "I'm going to try to get you out of here. No one should ever have to fall to such depths, much less a wizard, even a failed one." He released Harry, and stepped back. "Now, I have spoken to one man that wishes to, ah, sample your services, who has not yet done so. I am already suspect, because of certain... events from the past, so I cannot help you directly. Take this chain. It is an inactive portkey. When this man brings you out of the ballroom, I will activate it, and it will take you to my chambers at Hogwarts. That way, the blame will fall on him, not me, and I will join you there as soon as I can get away from this... gathering." He turned away, but Harry caught at his sleeve.

"Why... why are you doing this? I'm nothing. I can handle this." Snape's face softened.

"I'm doing this because, Potter, it very nearly happened to me." Then he disappeared back into the ballroom. After a few moments, Harry followed, looping the chain Snape had given him around his wrist. Within ten minutes he was approached by another man, one he didn't recognize. As he exited the ballroom, his eyes fell on Snape, who nodded infinitesimally at him. As soon as he was through the door, the other man was on him, hands roaming across his bare chest, sweeping lower and lower. Just as the man reached his belt, he felt a tug in his abdomen, signalling the portkey's activation. Harry was pulled away from the surprised man, and found himself, bare seconds later, stumbling to a halt in what he assumed were Snape's chambers at Hogwarts. He stood uncomfortably, waiting for Snape to arrive.

After half an hour, he seated himself in the faded blue armchair by the fire. He was dozing off when the door creaked open and Snape stepped in. Seeing Harry seated by the fire, he sighed in relief.

"Good, you made it. I used someone else's wand, to further distance myself from your disappearance, so I wasn't entirely sure it would work. There was an uproar, but no one figured out my involvement. As long as you stay here, you should be safe." Harry rose gracefully, intending to repay Snape the only way he knew how, but before he managed to work his hands into Snape's robes, Snape pushed him away.

"What are you doing?" Harry was bewildered.

"Trying to repay you for helping me." Snape shook his head.

"I don't want to be repaid."

"Then why did you do it? You never liked me, you're not related to me, so if you don't want payment..." Snape grabbed his upper arms, stopping him.

"I did it because what happened to you almost happened to me, when I was your age." Harry's face must have shown his confusion, because Snape led him back to the armchair and they both sat down, while he started to explain. "I joined the Death Eaters straight out of school. I was young and foolish, and thought that they were the path to power. But after a year of doing nothing but follow orders, I realized that they were deluding themselves. Voldemort valued only those of purest blood, regardless of ability, and I didn't want to be thought of as a lesser being simply because my family wasn't as old or powerful as the rest. So I left the Death Eaters, stopped going to meetings, and hid myself in the Muggle world, where they couldn't find me. But I soon ran out of money. I started living on the streets, begging for work, begging for cash. Luckily for me, I was found, by the one person who could help me. Dumbledore found me begging outside a candy shop, and he brought me here, setting me up as a spy and a teacher. But that small period of time affected me more than I knew, so when I saw you thrown into the same situation, I couldn't sit back and do nothing. I had to save you from the fate that Dumbledore saved me from." Harry was looking down at his hands. His lips moved, and Snape could barely make out what he said.

"Thank you. I don't deserve it, but thank you." Snape was startled to realize the depths the boy's self worth had fallen to, and resolved to do as much as he could to raise it again. He rose, ready to go to sleep after a long and stressful evening.

"Are you ready to sleep?" Harry shook his head, and Snape sighed. That confirmed his suspicion about how Harry had been forced to live, sleeping in the day, and working at night. "Well, you're welcome to use anything in this room. I'll set up a bed for you in the corner, for when you're ready to sleep. The bathroom is just through here." Harry looked where Snape indicated, a discreet door next to the fireplace. He looked back up at Snape, eyes wide, and nodded his understanding. Snape nodded back, satisfied, and went into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Harry wandered over to the bookshelf, looking for something to read until he was sleepy. Not surprisingly, most of the books were about either Potions or the Dark Arts. Harry pulled out a thick tome, covered in smooth leather, called Dark Creatures and Where To Find Them. He curled up in the chair he had dozed off in earlier, and started to read.

Harry woke to a hand on his shoulder. He woke, as was his habit, all at once, and was crouched on the far side of the chair, ready to defend himself against anyone nearby. When he saw it was Snape, he relaxed. Snape did as well, when he saw Harry wasn't going to attack him. Today he was wearing his customary black teaching robes, rather than the formal set Harry had seen last night. Harry wondered aloud what day it was.

"It's Monday morning. I was going to breakfast, and you looked uncomfortable, curled in that armchair. You could have used the bed." Harry looked at the armchair. It was more comfortable than many of the places he had slept in the past, when he had been unable to make it home to sleep.

"I was reading."

"I see." The book lay on the floor near the chair, upside down. Harry bent to pick it up, embarrassed to have been so careless with Snape's book. "Do you want any breakfast?" Harry thought of facing the Great Hall, and Snape saw the panic flash across his face. "Don't worry, you don't have to come to the Hall. No one has to know you're here except the house elves, although I suspect Professor Dumbledore knows already. I can have a tray sent to you." Muscles Harry hadn't realized he'd tensed relaxed, and he nodded. As Snape was about to go through the door, he found his tongue.

"Thank you, Professor Snape." Snape paused, and looked back.

"You can call me Severus, Harry." A rare smile grew on his face, and Harry felt himself responding, the corner of his lips tugging up into an expression he hadn't felt for many years.

"Thank you, Severus."

One week later, Severus Snape stood before Professor Dumbledore in his office. He had refused the chair offered him, not wanting to be caught off guard by pleasantries, and now he regretted it. He felt like a child called before the Headmaster for some inadvertent transgression. He forced his hands to unclench, just as Dumbledore looked up over his half moon glasses, pulling his attention away from the documents in front of him.

"So young Harry Potter has been found. I believe he is living in your quarters." Severus' wince was enough of an answer. "Good. You are the one person who may be able to bring him back to us. Where did you find him? Has he told you anything?" Unwilling to betray confidences, Severus severely edited what he said.

"I found him at Malfoy Manor. From what he told me, Lucius found him working the clubs. I imagine serving at the manor was a step up from what he had been doing, but he hasn't told me very much." The statement was mostly true. Harry hadn't told him much, after only a week, but from what they had talked about, Severus had a good idea of what his life had been. "He still hasn't left my chambers, although I have given him plenty of opportunity. I mostly leave him to his own devices, but he seems to be content with staying in my chambers and reading." That was also only partly true. Harry hadn't left Severus' suite of rooms, but he had regained a more normal sleeping schedule, and only three days ago, he had wandered into the workroom and started helping Severus prepare ingredients for his next class. Severus reflected that it was like living with a helpful ghost. Harry rarely spoke, and he made very little noise when he moved, so it often seemed as though he would appear out of nowhere and start working.

Finally, Dumbledore released him after a few more questions, with instructions for Severus to begin trying to reintroduce Harry into the world.

"Severus?" Severus looked up from the potion he was brewing. A question from Harry was very unusual. He had been living in Severus' quarters for three weeks now, silently helping Severus, and spending the rest of his time reading. Severus indicated his attention with a raised brow, and Harry continued.

"What happened to Voldemort?" His question was direct, not bothering with any extemporaneous details, reduced to the fewest syllables possible. Severus took a deep breath.

"No one is entirely sure. Many theories have been proposed. The most accepted is that his soul became disconnected from this world, and he ceased to exist."

"When?" Severus took another deep breath. The answer was likely to hurt Harry, but he had a right to know.

"At the exact moment your wand was snapped. The theory is that, when he cast the Killing Curse on you as baby, he was killed, but his soul was bonded to you somehow through the unique experience you both shared, so it continued to exist in this world, rather than going on to whatever happens after death. Your innate magic and the soul bond were enough to keep him here in a very weak form. Since then, he had been trying to get back into a body, first, through Quirrell, then by creating his own body.

"When your wand was snapped, it reduced your magic potential, and the drugs suppressed your natural ability enough so that it could no longer support the soul bond. Frankly, and this may sound callous, but if you hadn't been expelled and your wand snapped, the only way to defeat him may have been your death.

"Either way, when the soul bond disintegrated, he didn't have the strength to remain here. What I heard from those who were with him at the time, it was as if he had received the Dementor's Kiss. An unensouled body. But we do know that he is gone." He rolled his sleeve back, and showed Harry the unmarked skin of his forearm. "Receiving the Dark Mark is a very weak form of soul bond. When his soul was destroyed, those bonds snapped, and the Marks disappeared. Even before he returned in your fourth year, the Mark was there, very faintly. Now, it is gone entirely." They worked in silence, Harry thinking furiously.

"Wouldn't the bond created by the Mark have held Voldemort here?"

"No. You see, that bond was one way. The receiver gave a bit of his soul to Voldemort, and received the Mark in return. None of Voldemort's soul was involved in the exchange, so he couldn't grasp those bonds to stay here." Harry put down his knife and walked into the sitting room, thinking hard. He remained there for several hours while Severus finished the potion, a bone set for Madame Pomfrey, and went to sit across from Harry. When Severus had seated himself, Harry spoke again.

"It was a good thing I was expelled then."

"No, not at all!" Severus exclaimed. Harry looked up at him sceptically, one eyebrow raised, an expression he had learned from Severus. "It did defeat Voldemort. But nothing that ruins the life of a child is ever a good thing. We would have found another way." A single tear ran down Harry's cheek, and Severus knelt before him, catching the tear on his finger and tilting Harry's face up towards him. "Your happiness and safety should have been worth more to Dumbledore than some silly rules, and certainly worth more than Voldemort's life." At this, Harry's tears fell faster, and Severus took him in a gentle embrace, allowing Harry to release his emotions for the first time in years.

Since that day, Harry was much more secure around Severus. He didn't stiffen with fear every time they touched, and he spoke more, initiating conversations as they worked together in the workroom, discussing the books he read. They both avoided direct discussions of magic, although it did come up in the books Harry read and in passing. Harry was thankful that Severus didn't use much magic in their suite, and in return, he tried to adjust to living with it, even knowing that he would never be a wizard again himself.

Harry still refused to leave their suite, even though Severus kept encouraging him. To the rest of the wizarding world, his existence was still a mystery, and he liked it that way, although he knew that that would have to change sometime. He couldn't spend the rest of his life in a suite of four rooms, much as he would like to. So he went to Severus.

"Severus?" Severus looked up from the exams he was marking. "I... You're right; I need to start facing the world again. I can't just stay here forever. But I don't know how I can go back either. I need your help. I can't do it alone. Please." Severus rose from behind his desk and came to stand before Harry. Harry looked up, meeting his eyes diffidently, very unlike the wounded youngster who had stood there several weeks ago.

"Well, I think the first step is talking to Dumbledore. He knows you are here, of course, the man is positively uncanny in his knowledge of what happens in this school. After that, we'll see what he says, but I think the best course of action would be to invite your friends to come visit, here where you're the most comfortable. Maybe Dumbledore could establish you as my assistant."

"But my magic..." Severus shook his head.

"You don't need magic to do Potions. Don't you remember what I told you the first day of class? No silly wand waving and all that? No worries, you'll be able to assist very well as you are. In fact, you already do. Now, let's go see Dumbledore."

Harry perched on the edge of his chair nervously. He had arranged this meeting on the advice of Severus and Dumbledore, but he was still nervous. He would be seeing Ron and Hermione for the first time in ages, and he still wasn't entirely sure he could manage it. Hermione taught Muggle Studies at the school now, so he wouldn't be able to avoid her forever. And once Hermione knew, Ron would know too. Even so, he hadn't seen them since his expulsion, and he was shaking in his skin. In an effort to make himself feel more confident, he had dressed in his favourite clothes, a pair of soft black trousers and a blue tank top, and was in his favourite place, the faded blue armchair in the sitting room.

It hadn't worked. He was still as apprehensive as all hell, and if they didn't arrive soon, he might just call the whole escapade off and go on hiding in the small suite for the rest of his life. There was a knock on the door. Severus opened it, to spare Harry, who didn't look as though he could move from his chair, to reveal the surprised faces of Ron and Hermione.

"Professor Snape!" Hermione recovered first, leaving Ron to gape at Severus. "I didn't expect to see you here!"

"Well, these are my rooms." His dry voice afforded Harry a small bit of comfort. No matter how nervous he himself was, Severus would provide a steady balance. Severus let Ron and Hermione in, indicating Harry in his chair, and closed the door, before disappearing into his workroom, shutting that door as well to give them some privacy.

Hermione and Ron came over to where Harry was sitting, standing awkwardly until he gestured them into the chairs waiting for them. The pair was obviously uncomfortable, perched stiffly on the edges of their chairs. Harry wondered what made them so uncomfortable. He didn't think he had changed that much. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed to be on good terms with Severus. Ron's first words confirmed his guess.

"Harry, why are you here? With Snape of all people!" He looked about to explode into a tirade, when Hermione laid a calming hand on his knee. Harry looked down and caught the sparkle of a diamond on her finger. Hermione noticed his gaze, and blushed.

"Harry, Ron and I have something to tell you." They shared a secret glance. "We're engaged." Harry was silent. He was surprised, and then surprised at himself for being surprised. The couple was looking at him expectantly, and he managed to drag out a congratulations. As soon as he did, Hermione started babbling about wedding plans, and it was Ron's turn to lay a calming hand on her knee.

"The point is Harry, I'd like you to be best man. Will you, please?" Harry looked at Ron's hopeful face, wanting to say no, but unable to disappoint his friend.

"Ron..." Ron's face fell. "The thing is, I can't handle people. The way I lived... I can't. I just can't." Ron looked, if possible, even more disappointed. Harry looked at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap. "I'm sorry." The words came out as a whisper. He looked back up at his friends. Hermione was kneeling in front of him, reaching for his hands.

"Harry, could you tell us about it? Maybe it would help." She stroked his wrist, gently, and he jumped, unaccustomed to being touched. Hermione noticed, and went back to her seat, letting Harry think.

"I... I got a small apartment, but I didn't have enough money, and I couldn't find a job. I was going hungry, trying to save money, and running out of time to make the rent. I almost gave up, but I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Then I found a job, selling..." He trailed off, gathering courage to continue. "It worked out, even though it wasn't very pleasant. I lived, and fairly well I guess. Then Lucius Malfoy found me. He took me back to his manor, and kept me there. Until Severus found me. He rescued me, and brought me here. That's why I'm here, and not somewhere else, Ron. Severus is the only one who cared about me, to find me and bring me back." The two opposite him immediately protested, and Harry shushed them. "I know you tried. I meant the adults." But secretly, he blamed them equally, for not trying harder, and he hated himself for it.

There was silence for a time, before Ron spoke up again.

"Selling what, Harry?" Harry was silent, until Hermione pitched in.

"Not drugs Harry! Nothing illegal, right? Harry?" Harry's voice was just above audible level, but he knew Ron and Hermione would hear him.

"No, not drugs."

"What, then?" Harry could tell Ron wasn't going to let it drop, so he stood, looking Ron straight in the eye.

"Myself, Ron. I sold my body on the streets." Ron recoiled in shock. Hermione rushed to him, reaching out to embrace him, but stopping.

"Oh, Harry!" Harry was inexplicably angered by her hesitance to touch him now, and the years of loneliness took over what he was saying.

"That's right, don't touch me! After all who knows where I've been. Even I've lost count of how many men have touched me, used me. I was starving, I had to do something, and that was the only thing I could do. And I was good at it. After the first year I worked in a club, and you know what? I enjoyed it sometimes! Seeing men on their knees, begging for what I could give them, taking what I had to offer! I made the best out of what I had." Hermione had retreated to her chair, shaken. Harry sat back down, collapsing backward into the chair.

"When Lucius found me, I was working the club, and he bought me." Harry's voice was a monotone, like a pane of glass holding back his emotions. "Bought me like an old rug, and took me to the Manor. I was a 'work of art' he said, and he put me on display for all his friends. Until Severus found me, and got me out." There was another awkward silence, that dragged out longer than seemed possible.

"And Snape..." Ron was blushing. "Are you... you're not..." Harry laughed bitterly.

"Fucking him?" Ron's face flamed. "That's right Ron, I'm a whore! I'm a fucking whore! That's all I'm worth. Severus keeps me here because I shag him senseless, and I don't want to leave. Does that turn you on? Do you want me to do you? Or Hermione? Will you pay me to fuck her while you watch? That's all I am, a fucking whore!" Harry was shouting now, tears running down his face. The other two had backed away. Harry collapsed into a small ball on the floor, sobbing. He felt strong arms go around him, and recognizing Severus' touch, he began to relax. As soon as he had calmed, Severus settled him back in the chair, tucking the throw from the couch around him. Then he turned to Hermione and Ron.

"How dare you even suggest such a thing! For your information, we are not sleeping together, we never have, and we most likely never will. You have no idea what he has gone through, you... you children!" He advanced towards them, pushing them towards the door. "Get out. I don't want to see you in my chambers again, not until Harry and I both agree that it's safe." A half formed protest began to leave Hermione's lips. Severus froze her with a glare, well remembered from their school days. "I don't expect that will be soon." He held the door open for them, standing there until they left, looking back nervously over their shoulders.

Harry was still curled up in the chair when Severus returned.

"Well that could have gone better." The smooth voice was full of irony.

"It was a disaster. I don't know them anymore. Hell, I don't know me anymore. Who am I, Severus? The Harry they knew is dead, and he's not coming back, and I don't know how to find the Harry I am now." They were silent for a while, Harry recovering from his outburst and Severus thinking hard.

"You may have a solution, Harry." Harry looked up, confused. "You said it. The Harry they knew is dead. You're trying to be someone you can't be. Sometimes I think that Harry died with Sirius Black. What we need to do is make a new person, one who didn't live the life of that Harry, one who lived your life. We're going to find who you are, not who they want you to be. There isn't a place for Harry Potter, former saviour of the wizarding world, not anymore." Harry twisted his head around to look at Severus.

"Do you think I can do that? Leave that Harry behind?" Severus smiled, and helped Harry out of the chair.

"I think you can do anything you feel like doing."

One month later

The young man stepped into the potions dungeon. The Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh years twisted in their seats to stare at him. He couldn't have been more of a contrast to Professor Snape, who was mysteriously absent today. He hardly looked older than the students, although if you looked into his eyes, you would see an astonishing age in their depths. The rest of him, however, was quite in keeping with his youthful appearance. His hair was dyed a fiery orange, contrasting sharply with the obviously unnatural glowing blue eyes. He wore a brilliantly white vest and dark blue jeans slung low on his hips, showing off a strip of dark red boxer shorts. A silver chain hung from his belt loop to his pocket.

He strode to the front of the class, all eyes following his every move, wondering who this strange man was, who was so daring in breaking the strict dress code and waltzing into the classroom as if he belonged there.

"Good morning, class. Professor Snape has asked me to take this class today, as he has other business to take care of. He trusts that you will obey me as you would him. We will be starting study on potions and salves that change your appearance. You will begin today with magical dyes, much like the ones on my hair and eyes, and gradually work up to much more complex potions such as Polyjuice Potion. These dyes are not difficult, but they are very delicate, mostly due to the nature of their substrates. Many magical dyes are mixed in strong alcohols, and are therefore very volatile. If I see a single flame, you all be serving detention so fast you won't even be able to say dynamite." The stranger continued his lecture, explaining the various properties of the dyes, and giving each pair a choice of dye to concoct. Then he turned them loose with one final warning.

"The alcohol these are mixed in is nearly 200 proof. That's almost 100 per cent alcohol, for those few who don't know. It will get you intoxicated very fast, and in very small amounts. I don't recommend you try it." As he spoke, he noticed two boys in the back of the room, sniggering together. He decided to keep an eye on them, just in case.

Just as he suspected, about halfway through the class period, he noticed one of the boys slipping a glass vial into his robes. He let them go for a few minutes, then called them up to the front. He let them stand there while he supervised the careful mixing of two potions. By the time he returned to them, they were shifting nervously. He faced the one on the left, who he knew had the vial in his pocket.

"Tell me, have you ever had alcohol before? Don't worry, you won't get in trouble for this." The boy, glanced around the room, then answered with a hesitant yes.

"How much?"

"A shot of whiskey at my cousin's wedding."

"Right. Now, it probably burned a bit going down, right?" The boy nodded, still looking a bit frightened. "Good. Imagine that sensation, times ten, and without the good aftertaste. That's what's in that little vial you have in your pocket, except worse. Because afterwards, your oesophagus feels like it's burning, and your face twists out of your control, and your mouth goes all numb. Then your head feels like it's floating off your shoulders, and you black out. Then you wake up, you can't remember what you did, your brain feels too big for your head, and if you're lucky you throw up a couple times." The two boys' expressions spoke volumes. They were all too clearly thinking, 'Lucky to throw up? Are you crazy?'

"Yes. Lucky. If you're unlucky, you end up feeling nauseous all day, along with the headache, so you won't eat and it will all last longer. Then you have to deal with everyone telling you the stupid things you did while you were drunk, and laughing at you, and you get detention for anything you were caught doing." He stopped, and let them think about it.

"So why don't you hand over that little vial, and we can forget all about it." The boy took it out of his pocket, and passed it over, looking grateful. The stranger took a seat behind the desk, looking up when the second boy asked hesitantly,

"Aren't you going to give us detentions, or take points?"

"No. You have the right to make your own mistakes, and learn from them without my help. But this would have seriously impaired your ability to concentrate in class for several days, and I won't have that. As long as it doesn't interfere with your studies, you can do whatever you want, for all I care. It's your life. Now go finish your dye." The two boys returned to their seats, whispering with wonder.

One Week Later

Hermione approached Severus Snape at dinner, ready to confront him about the stories flying around school.

"A word, Professor Snape, if you're free." He turned to her politely, and she took a deep breath, remembering their last encounter just over a month ago, when he had forcibly ejected her and Ron from his chambers. They had avoided each other since. "I keep hearing things about your new assistant, and yet I have seen neither hide nor hair of him. He seems like a difficult person to overlook, so I can only conclude that he is either a figment of my students' imaginations, or a severe recluse." She paused waiting for some sort of response.

"Oh, he's real enough. He is simply adjusting to his new life here at Hogwarts, and wishes to remain separate for a while. He'll join us when he's ready." Severus' face remained politely impassive. Hermione shook her head, brown curls bobbing.

"Well, I'd like to meet him, if that's all right. I can't say I approve of some of the things he is telling the students, and I'd like to discuss it with him."

"I assume you mean his policy of non-involvement in the students' lives outside the classroom? His insistence on letting them make their own mistakes? I assure you, we've hashed it out many a time, and while I can't agree entirely with him, he does have some good points."

"I would still like to speak with him myself. By the way, what is his name? None of the students seem to know, and the other staff certainly don't."

"Anis. I'll see if he will agree to meet with you." Severus rose and swept away, leaving Hermione's curiosity about the new assistant entirely unsatisfied.

Hermione stepped into the cool dungeon room, eager to meet the new assistant, Anis. An unusual name. She assumed it had Latin roots, like many old wizard names, and resolved to look it up at some point in the near future. In the room, she found a smaller version of the potions classrooms. There were high, marble topped workbenches, various sizes of cauldrons, and all the other accoutrements of potion making. Anis was standing before a cool, crystal clear cauldron, back to the door. He was wearing nothing but a pair of red velvet trousers. Paired with his now jet black hair, he looked positively demonic. Hermione noticed a mark on his left shoulder, and moved closer, trying to see what it was. Somehow he sensed her movement.

"Come in, Professor Granger. I'll be with you in a moment." Endless curiosity piqued, Hermione moved up beside him to see what he was doing. He held a tiny vial in his right hand, one drop trembling on the lip. It fell, hitting the surface of the liquid in the cauldron, and spreading into a thin layer over the top. He set the vial down on the workbench, pulling a grading sheet toward him with his other hand. Taking up a quill, he graded the potion.

"Too thin. That amount of dye should have stained the whole cauldron blue, and it would still have to be diluted before use. She let too much of the alcohol boil off. Silly girl. Always giggling with her friends and not watching her potion. Just last week she forgot to add the salt, and almost dyed her skin permanently blue." He turned to face Hermione, holding up the beaker of dye concentrate. "Smell." Hermione took the beaker, lifting it to her nose. Before she had moved her hand more than six inches, Anis grabbed her wrist. "Don't sniff. Waft. Even with too much of it boiled off, there's enough alcohol in that to give you a headache." Hermione followed his instructions, and wrinkled her nose at the burning sensation.

"Why do you let them use such strong stuff?" He raised one eyebrow at her.

"It's necessary. The dyes won't mix without it, and we'd end up with a tub of useless weak alcohol with lumps of various magical and non-magical substances sitting in it." He took the beaker out of her hand and decanted it into a sealed vial. "Luckily for this student, all she needs to do is add a bit more ethanol, and it will still be usable." He set the vial in a rack, already labelled, and spun back to face Hermione. Her head was whirling. Every move Anis made was crisp and rapid, exactly calculated to create the most effect with the least effort. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Do you play Quidditch?" Anis frowned.

"No. But you didn't come here to ask that." Hermione shook her head. She hadn't meant to ask that, it had just popped out. Before she could speak again, Anis continued. "You came to ask me why I let the students do what they want, as long as they do their class work." Hermione nodded. Anis shrugged, and led her to two straight backed chairs near a bookshelf at the end of the room.

"Let me tell you a story. When I was a kid, I was relatively happy. My parents weren't around, but I didn't remember them, so I didn't miss them. But I was a strange child, my parents didn't even name me, and the people I lived with didn't care to give me a proper one. It was the lady across the street, my babysitter, who called me Anis. When I was old enough, she told me what it means. Nothingness, hollow. It describes me well. Especially now. When I was old enough, they sent me off to school. I always felt different. Later I learned that I would have gone to Hogwarts, but they kept me out to protect me. Instead, I went to the local comprehensive. They stopped feeding me at home. I still slept there, but I had to feed myself. And I couldn't find a job. That was the worst time of my life. When Severus finally came to get me, and told me what had happened, I felt cheated. Who's to say I couldn't have protected myself, had I been here? Who decided I was so helpless? Who decided that what I went through was better than what I might have suffered had I been here? No one should have the right to decide that for another human being. So I don't. Children have to make their own mistakes, and rectify them. If we are always the punishing force, they don't learn. If they have to deal with consequences on their own, they'll learn fast, and do better next time."

"But they don't know what the consequences might be! We have to protect them from the results they don't know about," Hermione protested.

"Then our system is flawed. We should be teaching them the consequences, not punishing them arbitrarily. If they don't understand the consequences of the action, why should we expect them to understand the reason they shouldn't do it? I teach my students the consequences, and then it's up to them."

"But they'll ruin their lives! They'll get bound up in drugs and alcohol, and forget about school." Hermione was gesticulating to emphasize her words, waving her arms wildly. By contrast, Anis was a statue.

"In my experience, children are resilient. They stumble, then they adjust. In my classes, they know that if work isn't done, they lose points. If they get their work done, let them do what they want. If Dumbledore had held to that, maybe I would have led a happier life." He looked directly at Hermione for the first time, and she found herself staring into a very familiar pair of intense green eyes.

"H...Harry?!" Her mouth worked up and down, not unlike a fish. Anis rose.

"I am Anis. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." Hermione jumped up and grabbed his arm.

"I know you're Harry. What has happened to you?" Anis whirled, wrenching his arm free, and looming over Hermione.

"Harry Potter died when Dumbledore snapped his wand. He was buried when no one cared enough to find him, when they left him out on the street, to sell his body to paedophiles and perverts on the street. His body rotted when Lucius Malfoy handed him to his son as a gift, to be branded a slave." Anis turned away again, and Hermione got a good look at the tattoo on his left shoulder. A serpent in the rose bushes, the Malfoy crest. She reached out to touch it, but Anis was already too far away. "Harry Potter is dead. I am all that is left. This... emptiness."