Harry sat quietly on the bed the man had placed him on, head spinning slightly; everything was happening so fast. The man who had saved him from the clutches of the mob paced the room, muttering about senile old men who send him on equally senile tasks that lead trouble. They boy wasn't sure what it meant, but was content to stay quiet and calm his nerves with the help of Mara, whose cool scales were very grounding.

"Stay where you are Potter, I'll be back," commanded the man, as he quickly left room.

"We sssshould not have entered thissss place," whispered Mara after the door closed. The adder slipped from Harry's neck to curl around his arm instead. "To many mensss know you."

"I don't even know how," replied the boy, lifting the snake close so their conversation remained quiet. "I've never met any of these people! They act like I'm some sort of movie star."

"If mansss believesss your famoussss, and findsss out you are not, they may come to crusssh you. Man mensss enjoy crushing the weak."

"But he saved us from that mob, so maybe he's different."

"He saved you, yessss, but now you are here alone, and when he returnssss, you will be alone with him."

Harry shrugged and winced slightly, his bruised ribs ached all the more after spending the day trying to find the strange pub, that they were now they were talking about leaving. Before Harry could reply that he would rather take his chances with the man, a knock sounded from the door and in walked the barman, and apparently innkeeper, Tom with a tray of food. Tom flashed a smile in the boy's direction, reminding Harry of a bald, toothless walnut, and beckoned the boy over to the table where he was setting up the meal. Cautious, Harry made his way over, with Mara still wrapped around his hand.

"Thought you might be hungry," said the innkeeper as Harry sat himself down. The food look delicious, with a thick beef stew filled with hearty chunks of meat, slices of fresh bread covered in butter, and a large glass of something called pumpkin juice. "You looked a bit malnourished when you were downstairs, but now that I get a good look at you, I can see you're downright starved; nothing but skin and bones!"

With a nod from the wizened barman, Harry dug in, spoon in his snake-free hand. The boy did not remember a time he had eaten food like this. For as long as he could remember, he lived off the scraps leftover from the Dursley's meals and whatever he could sneak from the kitchen. The stew had to be the best thing Harry had ever eaten, and he couldn't put it in his mouth fast enough.

"Careful boy," warned Tom, laughing at the boy's enthusiasm. "Eat too quickly and your be sick; and this meal's not quite as good the second time around." The boy slowed slightly, taking a sip of the pumpkin juice.

"Going back to what I was saying before," Tom continued. "I'm sure the professor is going to want to know who treated you this badly. Starving, with the bruises of make for tales of beatings; and not just that shiner on your face - I can see how gently you move yourself boy, you've been hurt badly. Wherever you were, it was no place for someone as famous as yourself."

"Me? Fa-famous?" spluttered Harry, choking on his pumpkin juice. Mara unwound himself from the boy and moved a ways down the table, tail flicking in the agitation of getting splattered by flying spit. "I think you all have the wrong Harry because that's impossible."

"Of course it's possible," cackled the bartender. "Why else would those cracknobs downstairs get so worked up. You're Harry Potter, the-boy-who-live, vanquisher of he-who-must-not-be-named. The entire wizarding world knows your name."

"That will be all Tom," said a voice from the doorway. It seem the man had returned while the two were talking and now stood impatiently with, what appeared to be, several letters in hand. "I have matters to discuss with Mr. Potter... privately."

With a nod and a wink, the innkeeper excused himself, leaving Harry alone, one again with the man who had not yet given his name. Shutting the door behind Tom, the man made his way over to the table and sat opposite of Harry. Mara, still quite distrustful, hissed quietly and stood tall, a small guardian between the man and the boy. Ignoring the adder, the man arranged himself and his documents, while somehow managing to look intimidating at the same time. Only once everything was ready, did he look at Harry.

"I suppose introductions are in order, as I doubt you have any idea who I am, or even where you are. I implore you to use whatever iota of judgment you possess to hold your questions and comments until I am finished." The man glanced at Harry, who looked as though he had been about to speak. Using his lifetime of practice, Harry restrained himself and merely nodded at the man. "I am Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; a school that you have been invited to attend this coming year. This of course means that you, Mr. Potter, apparently have some potential in the Magical Arts.

"I have been informed," continued Snape, holding up one of the letters. "That you have lived with muggles, or rather non-magical individuals, for the past ten year after the death of your parents. And as Petunia has always been rather useless, it is safe to assume that her care has not granted you anything of particular merit."

Harry could feel something strangely personal in the Potion Master's last remark, as if Snape knew his aunt somehow, but Harry's reeling mind quickly lost track of the idea. Thoughts of fame and magic scrambled his brain in confusion so that, even if Snape had allowed him to speak, he wasn't sure he could ask anything. Luckily, or rather unluckily, Snape did not seem to be at the point of allowing questions and continued onwards.

"Mr. Potter, you have been placed under my care, until such a time that a more permanent solution to your lack of guardianship can be found. As such, until you are returned to your muggle family, you are my responsibility and I-"

A clattering of spoon stopped the professor short. Harry, with eyes wide, had dropped the utensil into the remains of his stew. Even from across the table, the boy's shaking was evident.

"You're going to send me b-back?" stammered the boy. "Back to the Dursleys?"

"Useless or not, Mr. Potter, they are you legal guardians and only living relatives. There is no reason not to return you."

"But what about that school you teach at?" Harry stood up, chair clattering to the floor, and began backing up towards his bag still on the bed. "Hogwarts, right? Didn't you say I going to go there?"

"Term does not begin until September 1st. Until school begins students are required to stay with their guardians, and you are not exempt from this."

"I'll die if I go back there." The words came quietly, but certain. Without shadow of a doubt, Harry knew he would not survive a return to Privet Drive.

"Melodramatic aren't we," Snape sneered, reaching into his robes. "Quite like your father; he too had flair for theatrics. Now have a seat Mr. Potter, before something happens that you regret."

Rather than answer, Harry grabbed his bag and ran for the door.