Severus stared at the boy, his face a mask, and wondered what to do next. If acknowledging that his relatives didn’t want him was that severe, what might happen if Severus pushed further?

But he had to ignore that little voice, because more than he cared for the child, he needed to know. He wanted to know so he could know how Potter had done it, had lived and come out of it seeming so clean that it took someone who’d been through it as well to know for sure. Because Severus hadn’t come out of it clean, and he wondered if Potter hadn’t either, if he was just acting.

Harry, oddly enough, didn’t feel like he disliked Snape any more than he had before the detention. He knew he should—Dudley threw fit after fit if anyone ever dared talk to him like that—but the professor was a grown up, and grown up’s got to do what they wanted. Besides, he had let Harry cry on him—nothing that the Dursleys would ever do. Snape made Harry feel safe, and it would take a lot more than a yelling match to dispute that.

“So,” Harry said awkwardly, twisting his fingers in the edge of his robe.

“What are the Dursley’s like, Potter?” Snape asked suddenly, and Harry gave a small sigh. It couldn’t be something easy, like his favorite food or what his best classs was.

“Loud.” As soon as he said it, he looked up, a little nervous. “I mean, Uncle Vernon’s always yelling and Dudley’s just like him, and Aunt Petunia’s got this horrible high laugh—“

For a moment Harry thought he saw the ghost of a smile on Snape’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“How are they to you, I mean, Mr. Potter.”

“Uhm…I don’t know. It was very kind of them to take me in, I suppose,” Harry said in a tone of voice that indicated he would rather have been left in the zoo than in their care.

Snape heaved a sigh. “Tell me about your uncle then, Potter.”

Harry supressed a quiet sigh. “His name is Vernon Dursley and he works at this place called Grunnings that makes drills. Drills are—“

“I know what a drill is, Potter,” Snape hissed, and Harry looked at his hands.

“Sorry, sir. Uhm, he makes drills.”

“Tell me how he treats you, Potter.”

“Uhm—“ Harry looked a little nervous and shrugged. He opened his mouth, then closed it and shrugged again.

“I don’t know what you want from me, sir,” he said helplessly.

“What happens if your cousin misbehaves?”

Harry shrugged again. “Probably gets a new computer game to make him stop.”

“And how many computer games do you own, Mr. Potter?” Snape asked snidely, and Harry snorted.

“I’m not allowed to touch the computer, Uncle Vernon says I’ll short it out.”

“What do you get, then?”

Harry shrugged.

“Stop that infernal shrugging, boy, or I shall remove your shoulders.” Harry muttered an apology and stared at his hands.

“What do you get, Potter, when you misbehave?”

“Is this my third question?”

Snape bared his teeth. “This is a command. Answer.”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On what I do.”

“What if you broke a lamp?”

Harry bit his lip. “I’d probably get the cupboard for a week, sir.”

Snape relaxed slightly in his chair. He hadn’t been wrong. He hadn’t been wrong. “The cupboard?”

“My bedroom, sir. I sleep in, uhm, the cupboard under the stairs. It’s not very bad,” Harry rushed to add. “It’s cosy, and I fit because I’m so small. I probably won’t get meals, either.”

“They withold food from you?”

Harry shrugged, then quickly answered. “I guess. Most times they just forget I’m in there.”

“Forget.”

“Yeah. I guess, cause they never wanted me, when they don’t see me they just—pretend I don’t exist. But, to be fair, sir,” Harry said as he saw Snape’s gaze sharpen, “I do the same thing.”

“So you dislike them.”

“Yes.”

“This is why you ran away.”

Harry felt his throat tighten. “I guess.”

“Don’t guess, Potter. This is your life. Now, you know why you ran away from the Dursleys.”

Harry wouldn’t tell him. He couldn’t, not yet. He could see himself, one day, telling, but that day was not today. “I guess so. I mean, yes.”

It felt like the worst lie he’d ever told.

“What about your aunt?”

“This is more than three. We said just three.”

“I have asked you two questions: Why you ran away and what your family is like. You have provided an insufficient answer, so I am merely narrowing it down so your thick mind can understand. Do—you--understand?” Snape asked mockingly, and Harry nodded.

“My aunt’s name’s Petunia.”

“How does she treat you?”

Harry shifted in his seat. “Not—not particularly well, I suppose.”

“Suppose?”

“She hates me.”

“You’re an eleven year old boy.”

“She always looks at me like I’m about to set her on fire. She yells at me and tells me horrible things about my mum and dad, Uncle Vernon too, and she always tells me I burn all the bacon and it’s expensive.”

“Why are you cooking in the first place, Potter?”

“’Cause I can, and she doesn’t want to.” Harry paused and started to bite his thumb nail. “She, uhm, she burned all the pictures of my mum in the fire place, years and years ago. She missed one, in the phot album, and I found it and she slapped me and burned that too.” Harry brightened up. “Professor McGonagall gave me a picture of my parents, sir.”

“How wonderful,” Snape said sarcastically. “Do your relatives hit you often, Potter?”

“Is this my third question?”

“No. Answer me.”

Harry pulled out his wand and held it in his lap. His voice got very soft.

“Not terribly often, sir.”

“How often is that?”

Harry mumbled something into his lap, staring at his wand. He was magic, he would never have to go back to the Durlsleys again, so none of these questions mattered, none of them could touch him here.

“Potter.”

“About—About once or twice a day, sir.”

“What?”

“I mean, I don’t get beaten or anything,” Harry jumped in to answer. “I don’t, I don’t get hurt awful bad or anything. Just, just a smack or something.”

“A smack or something.”

“Uhm, yeah. Like, if I break something or I burn the bacon or, or Uncle Vernon catches me touching any of the stuff I’m not supposed to touch. They just—it’s just what it is, sir. Like, like gripping me too tight or, uhm, hitting me in the head, or—or bumping me into the walls. It’s all normal.” Harry could feel himself babbling. “I mean, there are a lot of kids worse off then me, like that little girl that got beaten to death in Surrey last year sir. And I get to go to school, and I get all Dudley’s old clothes and I get some food in my stomach and it’s not, it’s not a bad life—“

Snape sneered. “Being starved, locked in cupboards, and being abused—“

“I’m not abused! That’s when parents or someone hurt their kids, they aren’t my parents—“

Snape continued like he couldn’t hear Harry. “This is normal, for you, Potter?”

Harry shrugged. “Er, yeah. I guess. I mean, I’m not really a part of their family.” He got a defiant look on his face. “I wouldn’t want to be. So they just, they keep me around, and it’s good of them to, to take on such a burden for practically nothing—“

“What do you mean, practically nothing?” Snape asked. He had heard that Dumbledore paid a regular sum in Muggle money each months—a sizeable sum.

Harry mistook him for not understanding why they got anything. “The government sends money, because I’m a dependent on them and I havent any other family. It’s not enough for, for new clothes or anything, not more than a—a pit-ants, really, but they keep me anyway. They could have turned me out a lot—“ Harry started, then he closed his mouth immediately. Snape, however, seemed to be putting the pieces together.

“Turned you out a lot sooner,” he said, and Harry shook his head desperately.

“No, I told you, I ran away. I ran away because they didn’t—“

“They left you there. They drove out there and left you there, didn’t they? That’s why they didn’t want you—they left you.” Snape sounded wondering, like he couldn’t understand why he hadn’t put it together sooner.

“I ran away. I’m selfish and greedy and horrid and I ran away for the attention—“

“They just pushed you out of the car and drove off, didn’t they?”

“No!” Harry yelled, and he slammed a fist down on the desk like he had seen Uncle Vernon do when he was angry. He had let Snape find out as much ass he would let him. If they knew, no one would love him. If his own family couldn’t love him, why should anyone else make the effort? He knew that was what would happen, so he put all he could into this last battle.

“I ran away! I ran away because I, I didn’t like my cupboard. I ran away. They wouldn’t do that.”

“The people who beat you, starve you, and imprison you are above abandoning you?” Snape mocked. “I know, Potter. I’m right, aren’t I? They left you.”

“No, they wouldn’t. They don’t, they aren’t like that. I was making it all up, I always tell lies. They love me.” Believe me, Harry pleaded with his eyes. Believe me. Because he knew that, if Snape knew, he would never love him, or like him, if he knew how bad and ungrateful he was.

“They despise you so much they left you in an alleyway to die,” Snape said matter of factly. “Face up to it, Potter.”

“No. They loved me, I heard them running the streets calling my name and I ignored them—“

“They loathe you, you stubborn boy. They. Loathe. You.”

Harry clenched his hands into fists. “You don’t know them. They’re not like that, not at all. They love me.”

“They love the idea of you starving to death in the slums.”

“That’s not true,” Harry said pleadingly with Snape. “It’s not true.”

“You said it yourself, boy—they didn’t want you.” Harry let out a whimper. “They never wanted you.” Harry covered his ears with his hands. “They waited until—“ Snape suddenly stared at Harry, at the wand clutched in one bony little hand, and the last piece of the puzzle, the piece even Harry didn’t know, fell into place. “Until they knew you were a wizard.”

Harry pulled his hands off his ears. “What? No, they don’t know. They couldn’t—“

“Your letter, you stupid child. They read your letter—“

“No—“

“They found out and they tossed you aside like an animal they no longer wanted.”

“No,” Harry said feebly. “T-they love me. They, they wouldn’t—“

“They don’t care about you.”

And with that, Harry slumped over as if all the bones in his body had disappeared.

“Shall I go give everything back, then?” he asked softly.

“What?”

“My new books and things. You’re going to send me back, aren’t you?” Harry’s voice sounded dead, and he stood up mechanically. He should have known it was too good to last.

“You imbecilic boy, sit down.” Harry sat, staring at the desk in front of him. Couldn’t Snape just send him home? Knowing he couldn’t stay was making the castle press against him so tight he could hardly breathe. “Why would we send you back there?”

Harry’s throat went tight and he gulped. “B-because I’m ungrateful and selfish and I never do what I’m told and I’m, I’m willful and I eat too much food and I’m a freak and my own family didn’t even want me—“

Snape silenced the boy with a look. “Potter, you fool, of course you aren’t going back.”

Harrys eyes lit up, and he almost bounced as he was refilled with energy. “I’m not?”

“No.”

“But I’m no good. This just proves it—no one will ever love me,” Harry said mournfully. “Why would you keep me?”

Severus looked at the boy, and James Potter’s messy hair and nose, Lily’s shy smile and green eyes, at the Gryffindor patch on the boys robes and the thin spectacles that perched precariously on his nose, and he tried to think of him as James or Lily or a Gryffindor.

And all he could think was, Severus.

So he said “Because no one ever loved me either.”

Harry just looked at him up and down for a moment, then extended his fragile little hand. Severus instinctively clutched it in his own, and the two sat there, held together by an understanding and something so simple as a little boys hand.