Severus opened the door to his chambers wearily, and sat down on the couch. The visit to the Dursleys, handing them over to the Ministry, and then confronting Dumbledore had taken more out of him than he expected.

He felt like crying himself. And it was a cold day in hell when Severus Snape felt like crying. If he thought that Dumbledore's apathy was the worst thing his old mentor could have done, he was wrong. He felt personally betrayed by the contents of the Dursley's letters. Not only because the Headmaster had ordered the abuse of a child, and followed through on it, but he had done it to Lily's child.

The night that he had left the Dark Lord's ranks, even if not officially, he had taken an oath to protect Lily's child. He had trusted Dumbledore to see to Harry's well-being for the intermediate ten years, and now he saw how wrong he had been. He felt personally betrayed, because of his misplaced trust. Dumbledore had made an mockery of his oath, by sentencing Harry to such treatment for ten years. For sentencing Harry to such treatment at all. Obviously the man had no respect for the living or the dead. Severus' oath, Lily's memory, and Lily's child were all defamed by his actions. Even James, with all the insults Severus, whether truthfully or untruthfully, could throw at him, would never have stood for anyone being treated that way, and Severus knew James would have died rather than have his son treated like that. James had died to protect his son. Faults the man had aplenty, but when push came to shove, when everyone had to chose a side, James did the right thing.

"Hi," a small voice said behind him, tentatively.

"Hello, Harry," Severus said. "Come over here." Severus patted the cushion next to him. Harry did so, nervously, sitting on the edge of the seat, turned so that he could see Severus. Harry began quivering slightly as Severus looked at him.

"Please don't send me back," Harry whispered. "I can't go back." Severus sighed, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Why ever would I send you back?" he said. "Haven't I promised you that I will never do that?"

"Yes, but - " Harry began quickly, and then stopped.

"But you don't believe I'll keep my word," Severus finished for him. "I don't expect you to, either. But please, try. I promise I will never send you back. That isn't what this conversation is about."

"So...you don't believe Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, hopefully.

"Believe him?"

"That - that I'm a burden, and a freak, and - and - " Harry's voice broke, and he bit his lower lip.

"How can I, when I can see you're not?" Severus asked. "Your relatives are currently in custody of the Ministry, awaiting further developments in their case. They will go to trial, and face a punishment for their actions against you." Harry shook his head.

"But I don't want to hurt them too," Harry said.

"Remember what I told you," Severus argued. "This is for the protection of others." And Harry nodded. "Can you get your text books?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, getting up, and picking out his Transfiguration, Charms, Potions, and Herbology text books. He laid them out on the table for Severus.

"Alright, let's start with Transfiguration," he said, picking up the book. "You're learning how to transfigure a pine needle into a sewing needle. Do you remember the theory you read about yesterday?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Severus then transfigured the spoon laying on the table into a pine needle. It would work the same for all intents and purposes as a real pine needle.

"Go get your wand," Severus prompted, and in a minute Harry was back with his wand. "Pinus setam!" Severus said, with a flick of his wand, and the pine needle turned into a sewing needle. "See?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Severus turned the needle back to the pine needle.

"Now you try," he prompted.

"P-pinus," Harry began, "setam." He looked at Severus and flicked his wand hesitatingly. Nothing happened to the needle, and Harry winced. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine, Harry," Severus said. "You're doing fine. Just try to be a little more confident. Pinus setam!" Severus cast the spell again, showing the fluidity of the words and the movement. Then he turned it back. "Try again."

"Pinus setam," Harry said, waving his wand, doing his best to imitate Severus. Still, nothing happened. Harry swallowed nervously and searched Severus' face for any sign of anger.

"Try to reach into yourself and feel your magic," Severus said. "When you feel it, then cast the spell. Your magic will flow out your wand." Harry nodded. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in, holding it. After a minute, he let it out.

"Is something wrong?" Severus asked.

"I can't feel anything," Harry responded, not opening his eyes. Severus frowned in concern. The boy definitely had magic. There were enough displays of accidental magic, powerful accidental magic, that Severus knew Harry was not somehow a squib.

"Pinus setam!" brought Severus out of his musings. Harry practically shouted the incantation, desperation written on his face, as he pointed his wand at the pine needle. And still nothing happened.

"Harry," Severus said. "May I enter your mind? I want to see if there's anything wrong with your magic," he explained.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. Severus suspected, and he was correct, that Harry allowed this because he was not equipped to deny anyone anything. Quietly, Severus entered Harry's mind, ignoring the emotions and the memories, and searching only for Harry's magic. He wasn't finding any, and this concerned him greatly. More than he would like to admit.

He searched and searched, and finally, he found a trace. Severus began following the tiny tendril of magic until he came to its source. Hidden away in the farthest part of Harry's soul, buried and forgotten, was Harry's magic, shrunk to its smallest size. Inaccessible in its current state. Seeing what he needed to see, Severus retreated from Harry's mind.

"Harry," Severus said, recovering himself. "Your magic is buried and shrunk. Do you know how that happened?"

"I tried to get rid of my freakishness, sir," Harry mumbled.

"Yes, that's probably it," Severus agreed. He had come up with that theory already, but he wanted to hear it from Harry. "You can't use your magic in its current state," he continued. "You'll have to work at bringing it to the forefront of your mind and making it grow."

"So - I can't do spells?" Harry asked, cringing at his own question.

"Regrettably," Severus said. "But it shouldn't be permanent. You'll just have to do some meditation to find your magic again." Harry nodded.

"Yes, sir," he said. "Can I still do potions and herbology?"

"Of course," Severus said. "Neither of those require actual magic from you." Severus picked up the potions book, and handed it to Harry. "Would you care to begin here?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, smiling a bit.

"Open to page three-hundred and ninety-four."

And so, Severus Snape, lonely dungeon bat whose goal was to make the first years cry, began to tutor Harry Potter, the son of his childhood nemesis. After covering the theory in the potions book, Severus and Harry moved down to the potions lab. Perhaps Severus couldn't provide a thorough education in all the subjects, like herbology, that required access to rare plants which he didn't have, but he would certainly make sure that Harry understood potions. That was something he could handle. He hoped Harry had Lily's gift for potions, and combined with his tutelage, Harry would undoubtedly be brilliant at it.

"We're going to brew a cure for boils, now, Harry," Severus said. "Read over the instructions, thoroughly and completely, to the end, and explain to me everything you do."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded. He carefully read over the recipe, and then pointed at the first sentence. "It says to get a pewter cauldron." He looked up at Severus expectantly.

"They're right over there," Severus said, pointing to a nearby shelf, filled with every style of cauldron imaginable. "Pick out a pewter one."

"Umm..." Harry said when he walked over to them. "I know it's not this one," he mumbled, moving a gold cauldron aside.

"Keep working at it," Severus encouraged, picking the gold one out of Harry's way. He wanted Harry to think on his own, and by process of elimination, Harry would be able to either solve the puzzle or come close. Harry continued to move cauldrons aside which he knew were wrong. Finally, he had narrowed it down to just the pewter, lead, and iron cauldrons.

"I don't know which one," Harry said. "I'm sorry."

"You did a good job narrowing it down," Severus complimented him. "But this one is the one you want. See, it's lighter than the lead or the iron ones. That's how you can tell. It's also more flexible." Setting it on the table, Harry looked at the next step, and began putting the ingredients together, heating and stirring them, as Severus gave instructions and small corrections. By the end of the process, Harry had a near perfect remedy for boils.

"Now put a sample in a jar for me to grade," Severus instructed, and Harry hurried to comply. "Now, over the next week, write an essay about the twelves uses for dragon blood."

"Yes, sir!" Harry said, grinning at the thought of having homework like any normal child.

.oO-Oo.

He had been so disappointed when he couldn't transfigure the pine needle. He couldn't be normal at anything, even being a wizard. Of course, Harry hid his disappointment in himself. He didn't want Professor Snape to be disappointed in him either, and the better act he could put up, the better chance he had of not disappointing him.

Then his thoughts flew to the shattered picture. Well, the Professor definitely would be disappointed in him then. Angry too. And he'd hate him. Heck, Harry hated himself, but that was nothing new. But then Professor Snape suggested they start on potions. Harry was intrigued by potions, mostly because he knew it was the Professor's subject, and he wanted to impress his new caretaker. At the same time, he was wary of it, because he was sure he'd be a disappointment.

Professor Snape began explaining the theories behind potion making, and then brought him down to his private lab to brew the boil potion cure. Finally, he had finished. Honestly, following the instructions was not all that different from cooking. Sure, he'd never been able to read a recipe before, but he knew a thing or two about cooking in general. And potions mirrored it a bit.

And then he got homework! He knew Dudley got homework from his school, and he also knew kids were supposed to complain about it and hate homework. But really, for him, it was just a sign that perhaps, maybe, he could be normal.

"Did I get the potion right, Professor?" Harry asked after a minute. He desperately wanted to please his professor. There wasn't much hope, he knew, but maybe if he did good enough at his potions, Professor Snape might still keep him, if he ever found out about the picture. Of course, Harry was determined to do everything in his power to keep Professor Snape from finding out. But he already knew that his life had a habit of being an open book. And he knew that his professor was relentless in knowing everything he could. Heck, Professor Snape knew almost everything about what had been done to him! He knew what a wretched freak he was, and the Professor still kept him around. Professor Snape still hugged him, and fed him and cared for him. Despite everything.

Harry had never been unconditionally accepted before. Shoot, Harry had never been accepted before! He wasn't sure how far he could push Professor Snape before he was rejected. Everyone had their limits. It was just that he hadn't found the Professor's yet. And he didn't want to either. In fact, that was probably he greatest fear right now. Greater than the fear of being beaten or starved was the fear of being rejected. He simply wouldn't be able to face it. Every so often, Harry tried to imagine how rejection would feel. And every time he tried, he found that it left him suffocating.

He had never been dependent on anything before. Well, no more dependent than any other living organism was on food. But he had always looked after himself, detached from everyone. The only time he tried attaching himself was with his mouse, and he learned his lesson the hard way then. He knew he was setting himself up for disaster, caring for someone, but his idiotic heart just wouldn't listen. He craved the care his professor gave him, and he equally craved to care for his professor. He hoped and prayed that everything went alright for him and Professor Snape. If it didn't, Harry knew he would die of a broken heart.

Was that even possible? He knew the phrase, but he knew that sometimes things were less than literal. Or was it more? Throwing that thought aside, he went back to the first question. Harry knew that there had been a dull ache in his chest the day his mouse died, before he steeled his heart off. But was it possible to die of a broken one? He supposed not, because he couldn't see how losing something would break your heart, literally. But he could see someone losing their will to live, and dying by other means.

"Yes, Harry," Professor Snape replied, bringing out of his morbid thoughts and back to reality. "You did a fine job on your potion." Harry breathed a sigh of relief. At least he had succeeded. His professor had told him he did well, and this was his own specialty, so Harry was sure he was being held to high standards.

And Harry was right. Professor Snape was holding him to high standards in potions. But with the excellent student ratio he currently had, Harry was doomed to succeed. Anyone who was willing to put half an effort towards potions couldn't fail at it when they had an experienced potions master for a professor.

.oO-Oo.

Severus had sent Harry to get ready for bed. After a shower, Harry had quietly gone to his room, and presumably was changing. Severus was not going to intrude on the boy's privacy, but he did want to put him to bed personally. Harry had never had anyone who cared if he was in bed or not, and was sure it was the right thing to do. After all, he remembered his mother tucking him in as a child, and how much he appreciated that, especially after his father had beaten him. It meant that there was at least one person on the face of the earth who loved him. Even if his mother hadn't loved him enough to take him out of the situation, he hadn't seen it that way at the time, and the good-nights from her had been his only lifeline to sanity during those days. Yes, he was in retrospect angry with his mother over it, but there wasn't much purpose in being angry with the dead, and he knew that.

If only he had seen it sooner with James Potter! Potter was just as dead as his mother, and he was just as angry with him as he was with her. As he thought it over, looking at the fire and waiting for Harry, he figured the only explanation was that he had loved his mother at one point, before he realized what she had done. Or really, failed to do. And because his anger at his mother was tempered by his love as well, his anger was a colder one. It was more intellectualized. With Potter, his anger was still smoldering. Anger at an emotional level.

His temper was something he had definitely inherited from his father. Why couldn't he control it better? He was always making cruel and sarcastic remarks to everyone, and honestly, he enjoyed it. Without his sarcastic comments, he would lose his comfort zone with interacting with people. It wasn't that he didn't like people, (alright, he really didn't like some people,) but even with the people he liked, his attitude was his shield, protecting him from getting attached to anyone, and anyone getting attached to him. He was a spy, after all, and a spy couldn't afford - liabilities.

And Harry had become his Achilles heel. Would he be strong enough to avoid manipulation through Harry? He hoped so, but he highly doubted it. His one weakness was those the loved. He didn't love many, but when he did, he was an eternal friend.

Well, it was about time for Harry to be finished getting ready for bed. He hadn't come out to say good night, which disappointed Severus. Of course, he wasn't going to say anything about it. Harry likely just didn't want to pester him, or some such nonsense. Well, he was going to pester Harry with a good night. Severus knocked quietly. Harry's small voice, resounding from behind the closed door, told him to come in.

"Hello, Harry," Severus said, closing the door soundlessly behind him. "Everything alright?" He noticed Harry standing next to his bed nervously. Undoubtedly, Harry was trying to show some sign of respect and dignity, even though he stood before him in his bare feet and fuzzy blue pajamas.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "Everything's fine." Well, of course Harry would say everything was fine. Compared to the condition of his past ten years, everything would always be fine.

"I just came to say good night," Severus continued. "So hop into bed, you little monkey." Harry scrambled into bed, and sat on his heels, keeping Severus in his view. Severus sat down next to him, and his eyes wandered to the nightstand.

"Where is the picture of your mother?" he asked, curious. It was odd, he thought, that Harry wouldn't have it set up next to his bed.

"Oh - um -," Harry began, "Well, you see, I put it away so nothing would happen to it." Harry tried to give him an encouraging smile. It screamed, "Believe me!" and Severus gave Harry a skeptical look.

"Are you sure that's what happened?" he asked.

"Yes, sir!" he said. "I just didn't want anything to happen to it."

"Alright," Severus said, still very skeptical. He took Harry by the shoulders, and laid him back into his pillow. Standing up, he pulled the covers over Harry's form, tucking the corners around his thin shoulders.

"Would you like to hear a story?" Severus offered. Harry just blinked at the suggestion. Severus snorted at Harry's reaction. "Alright, I'll tell you a Muggle story, since you probably don't know many of them either.

"Once upon a time, there was a little boy who watched over the sheep in his town. It was a good job, but he got bored with it. After all, it was just watching a bunch of sheep. Nothing ever happened, day after day. So finally, this little boy decided he would make something happen. He began to call, 'Wolf! Wolf!' and the men of the town came running with pitchforks and other farm equipment. 'Where is the wolf?' they asked, and the boy began to laugh at them, saying that there was no wolf. The men were angry that they had been called away from what they were doing, for a false alarm. The next day, the boy did the same thing, and the men came running, this time, even angrier than the previous day. Finally, a third time, the boy called, 'Wolf! Wolf!' and no one came. The men of the town decided that they wouldn't be called again for a false alarm. But this time, when the boy called, he really had seen a wolf. He kept calling, and the men didn't respond. The wolf attacked the flock, killing and scattering the sheep. No one believed the boy that he had really seen a wolf, until they saw the dead sheep. And so the boy learned that he should only cry wolf when there really was a wolf."

Severus was moved to a certain amount of emotion as he saw this scene play out in his mind's eye. He knew Harry was keeping something from him, but he also knew that he wasn't going to push Harry about it. It was almost comical, him telling a bedtime story, but the story wasn't without a purpose. He hoped Harry would be able to use the story to his benefit. Of course, to Harry, this story would undoubtedly seem harsh. He leaned over, and placed a quick chaste kiss on Harry's forehead.

"You know, Harry," he said in Harry's ear, trying to soften the story a bit in its application, "I love you no matter what. No matter what happens, or what you do, I will always love you. You don't have to be afraid of telling me anything, ever." Severus pulled back and smiled at Harry. "Good night, child." Patting Harry's head for a moment, he turned and walked over to the door.

"Good night, Professor," Severus heard as he opened the door, and he smiled softly to himself.

.oO-Oo.

Professor Snape knew. It was obvious from what he said there at the end that the Professor knew something had happened to the picture, and it wasn't what he had said. Could he actually believe the assurances of love?

Harry lay awake in bed, tossing and turning, his mind being tortured over the lie he had told his new caretaker. He couldn't afford to lose the Professor, that much was certain. But the guilt of having lied to the one person who seemed to care for him was pressing on his chest like a lead weight. Professor Snape fed him, loved him, cared for him, taught him, and he had lied to the man. Harry let out a choked sob. He didn't know what to do about it.

Harry wasn't stupid, and he knew the story Professor Snape had told him was meant to encourage him to tell the truth. He knew he should undo the lie he had told. But if he admitted that he had told a lie, it would just make Professor Snape upset with him. Then again, the lie was told, and admitting the truth was the only way to get out of it, no matter what the consequences were.

Swinging his legs out of bed, Harry stood up on the cold floor and made his way to the bedroom door.

.oO-Oo.

Severus sat in front of the fire, cradling a cup of chamomile tea, heavy on sugar and milk, wondering how long it would take Harry to come to him about what had really happened to the picture. He wasn't angry with Harry at all, just disappointed. And even then, his disappointment didn't run deep. He remembered being a little boy, scared of the consequences of his actions, and lying to get out of it. He just needed to illustrate to Harry that lying was not the right answer.

Of course Harry would lie to him if he thought he did something wrong. From Harry's perspective, messing up once was justification for horrible punishments, and probably Harry feared that he wouldn't be loved anymore.

A soft patter of feet brought him out of his reverie, and Severus looked over his shoulder, where Harry stood, wringing his hands, looking very uncomfortable.

"Yes, Harry?" Severus prompted.

"I - There's something I need to tell you," he said.

"I thought there might be," Severus said. "Come over here." Harry edged his way over to Severus, and hesitantly sat down next to Severus. "Here," Severus said, handing him the still untouched tea. "This will be good for you." Harry wordlessly accepted the hot porcelain, but not drinking. "So what was it you wanted to tell me?"

"Well," Harry began, and then sucked in his breath, stringing his next words together without pause or breakage. "I broke the picture this morning and I put it under the bed because I was afraid you'd be angry for breaking it, and I'm really sorry, and can you still love me?"

"Of course, Harry," Severus said, putting his arm around Harry. "I will always love you. Just make sure you don't lie to me next time. I think you've learned your lesson?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Good," Severus said. "Then I'll let you off this time. You've suffered enough for this mistake without anything else. Let's see that mess you put under your bed." Harry set the still untouched tea on the table, and they went back into his bedroom. Harry held the covers of the bed up a bit as Severus got down on the floor, putting this biggest shards of glass and the photograph from under the bed. Severus slipped his wand from his sleeve.

"Reparo," he muttered, and the frame rebuilt itself around the photograph. Harry audibly sucked in his breath. "Here you go," Severus said, handing Harry the picture. "Just be careful with it, and if something happens again, let me know, alright?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said, setting the picture up on his nightstand again, but this time, slightly further away from his bed.

"Good night," Severus said. "Sleep well."

.oO-Oo.

Harry felt so much better then, having told the truth. He was still scared about further consequences for lying in the morning, but he could at least sleep with a clear conscience. Whenever he told a lie to Uncle Vernon, he always made sure it was water-tight and he could get away with it. On the rare occasions that his lies fell apart, there was always hell to pay for them.

Harry had worked all day in Aunt Petunia's flower gardens. Her favorite flowers, aside from petunias, were definitely her roses. She had Harry spread special things around her roses to help them grow. Harry had tasted it one day, and it was terrible, so he decided he was never going to try eating rose food again. But there were daffodils, tulips, gladiolas, iris, bleeding hearts, and snap dragons he had to care for as well. So, during the summer, he spent a good share of his days working in the garden, weeding, turning the soil, transplanting, watering, and feeding the various plants. Honestly, it wasn't one of the jobs he hated. He liked working with the plants. They never yelled at him or hit him. And they were beautiful.

But one day, when he was working in the garden, Dudley and his gang decided that they were going to play "Harry hunting" again. So they came over and announced their game to him. After all, he did need a chance to run, or the game wouldn't be fun at all.

"I'm working, Dudley," Harry responded. Dudley picked up a stick and began prodding Harry in his side as he placed a daffodil into the soil. "Leave me alone!"

"Run, Harry, run!" Dudley shrieked.

"No!" Harry screamed back, grabbing the stick away. "Leave me alone! I'm planting your mom's garden! Go away!" Well, Dudley wasn't going to get told off like that, especially not by a little freak like his cousin. So Dudley pushed Harry down into the dirt, messing his already filthy clothes more, and breaking the stems of a dozen daffodils. Harry gasped, horrified, as he looked at the destroyed flowers. What would his aunt do now?

"Told you to run," Dudley hissed into Harry's ear, before leaving. Harry set about trying to fix the flowers, but like any gardener knows, and even Harry knew it, he couldn't fix them. But he just had to try, and so for an hour, he kept trying. But blood, sweat, and tears, all of which were being put into this project, just wasn't enough to repair the flowers. Finally, it started getting dark, and Harry packed up the gardening equipment in the twilight.

After taking his shoes off, he went in the house, and opened the door to his cupboard. He hoped somehow his aunt wouldn't find out about the flowers, otherwise, he knew he was in deep trouble.

"Did you finish with the garden?" Aunt Petunia called out, before he closed the cupboard door behind him.

"Yes, Aunt Pentuia!" Harry replied, keeping the door open long enough to answer.

"We're going to go check," she said, coming around the corner. "Let's go, freak." Harry left the safety of his cupboard, a knot of anxiety building in his stomach. Together, they walked out to the garden.

"My flowers!" she gasped when she saw the prominently broken daffodils. "What did you do?" she growled, towering over Harry, who cowed before her, trying to make himself small.

"Well, there was this bunch of rabbits, and they started breaking them, and I scared them off before they could eat any more!" Harry explained. Aunt Petunia calmed down, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief as she believed his lie.

"At least they didn't get more," she said.

"Mom! Mom!" Dudley called from the house.

"Out here, Duddikins," Aunt Petunia called, as Harry hid his grimace at the ridiculous pet name.

"I want another slice of -," Dudley began as he stepped outside, "Oh, you've seen what the freak did?"

"What?" Aunt Petunia said, glaring at Harry again, who resumed his cowed stance. She reached out and grabbed him by the front of his hoodie. "What did you do?"

"He was attacking me this afternoon, and so I had to push back to defend myself, you know, and he fell back into the flowers," Dudley said, with a cruel smirk at Harry, who looked like he was about to cry.

"That's not what happened!" Harry blurted. "They wanted to play 'Harry hunting' and I wouldn't because I needed to plant the flowers, and they pushed me into them!"

"Much like the rabbit story," his aunt drawled, looking at her hand suddenly like it were infected. After all, she'd touched the freak's clothes. "Inside!" she hissed.

Uncle Vernon was home, and so he went straight to him, with the story of the daffodils and Dudley's expert witness. Harry felt himself shaking all over, terrified of what would happen to him, now not only for destroying the flowers but for lying.

"So let me get this straight," Uncle Vernon said, very calmly, ("Never a good sign," Harry thought.), "Harry destroyed the garden, and then lied about it, and then called you a liar, Dudley?"

"Yes, Dad," Dudley said, sniffing a bit, all for the effect though, because, discretely, Dudley threw Harry another smirk.

"You will not get any food for a week, boy," Uncle Vernon growled, as he stood up, looking down at Harry. "One glass of water a day. Now," he said, unbuckling his belt, "take that filthy thing off and grab your ankles." Harry complied, trying desperately to keep the tears in his eyes. He bent over and grabbed his ankles tightly, bracing for the first blow. The belt whistled through the air and landed on his bare back. Despite his best attempts, he let out a small yelp of pain.

"Shut up, freak, or you'll get more," his uncle warned. Harry nodded, as he bit his lip. A second time, the belt whistled and landed. Harry blinked as tears welled up against his will and fell on the floor, but he didn't cry out. Again and again, the belt whistled and fell, and Harry lost count. It was easier to not scream if he took it one lash at a time. Finally, his uncle grabbed him by the back of the neck and threw him head first into the cupboard, where he fell against the shelf of cleaning supplies. Powdered sink cleaner fell on his back, and he screamed in agony as it stung his open wounds. Thankfully, his uncle didn't unlock the cupboard to address the scream.

Harry hoped against hope that there wouldn't be any punishment in the morning. He hoped he hadn't pushed Professor Snape too far. And with those thoughts, he fell asleep.